Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

EVERYTHING HAPPENED QUICKLY after that.

Well, except the moments where Elizabeth was alone, which were sometimes late at night and sometimes in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon. She would walk in the gardens at Longbourn or sit in the sitting room with embroidery on her lap as she only stared out the window. During these times, she went back and forth, going over the evidence.

Did he love her?

Was that why he wanted to marry her?

She couldn't decide.

It seemed to her that there was just as much evidence to support the idea that he was doing it out of an attempt to appear honorable to the outside world as there was to support the idea that he did have regard for her. He said he loved her. He had said it more than once.

But maybe he was only saying that because he wished her to think it.

Or perhaps he was trying to convince himself that he believed it. Mr. Darcy wished to have a good opinion of himself, she thought, and his own inner strictures were such that he might try to convince himself he felt love even when he didn't.

At this point, however, she would own that it was all becoming very complicated. If Mr. Darcy believed he loved her, then he did, didn't he? Even if he was only trying to force himself into it, it all came to the same thing in the end, she thought.

Well, except it didn't actually come to the same thing. Not at all.

Anyway, it didn't matter, not in the end, because she didn't love him, and so it was likely better if he didn't love her, because if he did, that would be a difficult situation for them both, very awkward.

However, if he loved her, maybe she might find herself falling in love with him, too. There were a number of attractive attributes that Mr. Darcy possessed, not least of which was the way he looked into her eyes when they spoke sometimes, a little smile playing on his lips, as if he was growing quite fond of her.

She was so concerned with the question of whether or not Mr. Darcy was in love with her that she didn't even notice the fact that the awful dreams had stopped. She no longer dreamed of Lady Matlock or the burned house. She no longer woke with her heart pounding as if it wished to get free of her chest.

Agreements were drawn up. The special license was procured. The marriage took place in London. It was a small ceremony at a small church, nowhere fashionable, and with only a few people in attendance—not even every member of her family. There was no wedding breakfast afterwards.

She was carted off to his town house with the understanding that they'd set off that afternoon, for Derbyshire. She was shown into a sitting room, where she expected she'd be alone. Her husband had already taken his leave of her, indicating he had things to see to in preparation for the journey.

However, she was not alone in the room, for Lady Matlock was seated inside, gripping a teacup, her expression severe. She did not get to her feet when Elizabeth came into the room. She simply glared.

Elizabeth wasn't sure what to do. She approached Lady Matlock, but she did not sit down. She stood, facing her, hands behind her back, like a scolded child awaiting a punishment.

"Well," said Lady Matlock, "I was mistaken about you, it seems."

Elizabeth blinked at her. Was this… an apology?

"Doesn't seem to have worked out badly for you, though, does it?"

Elizabeth only stared, mute. Why could she never figure out what to say to this woman?

"Well?" said Lady Matlock. "Oh, perhaps you're really just an idiot, is that it? Let me spell it out for you, then. If I hadn't assumed that you were a social-climbing, money-grubbing manipulative temptress and then spread this idea to others, including the Lucas family, who were my guests for several days, then there would have been no suffering or persecution of you or your family. If that hadn't happened, Mr. Darcy would not have felt so very responsible for everything, and he is quite concerned with his own responsibilities, you know? He's honorable to a fault. If that hadn't happened, he would never have considered rescuing you. You owe this marriage to me, do you see that?"

Elizabeth licked her lips. "W-well, perhaps, from a certain point of view, I… suppose."

"And yet, you stand there, staring at me, stammering, and do I hear any thanks? Any gratitude?"

Elizabeth choked. This woman could not be serious. "Thank you, Lady Matlock," she breathed.

Lady Matlock smiled. "You're quite welcome, Mrs. Darcy." She got to her feet, setting down her tea cup. "Congratulations on your nuptials."

"You're too kind," said Elizabeth faintly.

"Remember, he's doing this out of duty," said Lady Matlock. "He'd never choose someone like you, not if I hadn't interfered and ruined everything. You're not ideal, but since I only have myself to blame for this disaster, we shall weather it the best we can. Enjoy Pemberley. Do feel free to stay in the country as long as you possibly can." Then, without waiting for a response, she swept out of the room, leaving Elizabeth alone.

Elizabeth sat down heavily and bit down on her bottom lip so hard that it hurt. She felt as if she might burst into tears, and she didn't wish to do that.

It was possible that he loved her. There was some indication of that, she supposed. But it was much more likely that Lady Matlock was correct.

Mr. Darcy had married her for the sake of his reputation and the perception of others of his good character. Honorable to a fault, indeed.

It was not long before the man himself came back to collect her. They climbed into his carriage and set off for the north and Pemberley. They traveled throughout the afternoon, into the evening.

Quite late that first night, they stopped at an inn. He procured them separate rooms for sleeping, and he didn't visit her, even though it was their wedding night.

She wasn't sure what to make of this.

On the one hand, she thought it was simply because it was an inn, and he likely didn't want it to happen there. And that he was also probably tired from all the traveling and that it had no bearing on anything at all.

But she couldn't help but take it as a sign that he really did not love her, after all.

They reached Pemberley the following day. Their traveling together was pleasant. They spoke to each other about books and about other various sundries. He was polite, and so was she. She enjoyed his company, as far as that went.

She had only met with his sister briefly, and they had left Miss Darcy in London, which Elizabeth had taken, at the time, to mean he did love her, because he wanted them to be alone for the first part of their marriage, which was when people were usually very wrapped up in each other, or so she thought.

But now, she wasn't sure.

He'd come to her that night, certainly.

But he didn't.

He did not come to her that first night in Pemberley, nor the second night, nor the third. She realized at this point that there was a time to have brought it up and that time would have been at breakfast the morning after he first had not appeared. She could bring it up now, but she didn't know how to do it.

He didn't love her.

He didn't want to do that with her. Whatever it even was, and she wasn't entirely clear on that. She had been given a sort of talk by Mrs. Bennet, but Mrs. Bennet was still angry with her and she kept saying pointed things such as, "Oh, you likely already know all about this when you were overnight with the man for two nights."

Anyway, Elizabeth was fairly certain she had the gist of it, and it was very intimate. It involved nudity and insertion of body parts and… he didn't want to do that with her. Clearly.

She tried to think of a reason he wouldn't come to her that also meant he loved her, and she came up with nothing.

Well.

Of course there was the possibility that he loved her, but she'd indicated she didn't love him, and so he didn't think she would welcome him in her bed. And if that was the case, she should tell him that she would.

Except that, erm, it sounded sort of dreadful, all of it, with the nakedness and the insertion and the beastliness of it. As if they were mere animals. And, well, maybe it was better to avoid it?

Then a week had passed, and now she definitely couldn't say anything at all.

So.

She didn't.

PEMBERLEY WAS ONE of the largest houses that Elizabeth had ever spent a night in. She had to admit that her experience with such luxury, such wealth, such size was limited. She did not feel at all comfortable in what was now her home.

She was concerned, also, for she was to be mistress of this place, and she was not sure entirely how one went about such a thing.

On the first day, after breakfast, when Mr. Darcy did not mention having not come to her room the night before to divest her of her virtue, and she had not mentioned it either, as if it were the normal way that a marriage were conducted, she had been introduced to the housekeeper, a Mrs. Reynolds.

Elizabeth liked her.

The woman was a grandmotherly sort, with apple-red cheeks and a ready smile. She clearly doted on Mr. Darcy like a son. She looked Elizabeth over and pronounced her picture-perfect. "What a good choice you've made, sir," she said to Mr. Darcy, beaming.

This was heartening, of course.

Mrs. Reynolds indicated that Elizabeth must come downstairs again, later. "After you've see the house, I think. And take your time. Whenever it is convenient, whenever at all. Just poke your head into the kitchen and someone will show you into my sitting room and fetch me. Then you and I shall have a little sit-down, and talk about everything there is to talk about, all right?"

Elizabeth had nodded, but had felt the idea of it like dread. Was she supposed to have been making plans of what she would do to this grand house? Was she supposed to be planning dinner parties or balls or anything of that nature? She didn't think so. Her marriage to Mr. Darcy might have made her family respectable, but there were still rumors, of course. Mr. Darcy had indicated that they'd come here, to the country, to wait out the gossips, who would eventually tire of the subject, he said. So, Elizabeth thought they were keeping a low profile out here.

Even so, maybe she needed to be introducing herself to the people of the countryside. They should invite the local parson and his wife to dinner, perhaps? Maybe a Sunday luncheon, after church?

Her stomach churned.

It was the churning that forced her down to meet with Mrs. Reynolds. She couldn't bear putting it off any longer. If she simply faced it, it would be over.

So, she went and presented herself and was taken into Mrs. Reynolds's sitting room. In due time, the woman appeared, smiling widely. She clapped her hands together. "Oh, right away, she comes to see me. That's what I like to see, initiative. I should have known he'd marry a girl who would have a drive in her."

"I don't have a drive!" Elizabeth protested. What did that mean, anyway, that she was driving a team of horses up and down a road straight through the center of her being? No, definitely not. "I only thought…" This was dreadful. She must appear nervous. She straightened up, pulling herself together. "You said to come. I have come. What can I do for you, Mrs. Reynolds?"

"Well, it's the other way around, ma'am, it's what I can do for you, of course." Mrs. Reynolds sat down on a chair and looked her over. "You needn't be frightened, dearie."

"I'm not," said Elizabeth, cringing. She bowed her head. "If you tell me what is expected of me, I shall make sure to do my best to meet the standard of a mistress of a place like this. I am sorry if I need instruction, but you'll find I am capable of taking it and implementing it. I did most of my own instruction as a girl. I taught myself a number of subjects. Mostly by reading books, though, and I don't know that there are books on how to run a grand household."

"No, no, it's not that way," said Mrs. Reynolds. "Nothing is expected, you see? You may do it exactly as you like. Some mistresses are very hands-on and have a great deal of opinions here and there, and if you have desires, ma'am, I am here to make sure they are carried out." A bright smile. "Some women, on the other hand, have other things to see to, and they leave the household to be run by the servants. I want to assure you that Pemberley runs quite well, quite well indeed. I and Mr. Wickham have the place quite in hand."

"Mr. Wickham," said Elizabeth. "Yes, I suppose I knew that his father was the steward here."

"His father…" Mrs. Reynolds inclined her head. "So, you have met Georgie, then?"

"I have," said Elizabeth, and she was aware that her tone changed when she said it. She hunched up her shoulders and ducked down her head.

"Oh, dear. What did he do to you?" Mrs. Reynolds lowered her voice.

Elizabeth's gaze snapped up. "Oh, nothing, of course." She shrugged. "He is very uncharitable towards my husband, though, and I find it all puzzling."

"Well that is puzzling," said Mrs. Reynolds. "After everything our Mr. Darcy has done for Georgie, you'd think he'd be grateful."

"Well, Mr. Wickham—Mr. George Wickham, that is—he indicated to me that he had been intended to become the parson here in Derbyshire, but that Mr. Darcy had put a stop to it and then blocked him from getting any inheritance at all, though he was promised it by the late Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth bit down on her lower lip. "Perhaps I oughtn't say anything. I don't wish to stir things and I should likely speak to my husband about it—"

"Oh, best not to mention Georgie to Fitzwilliam, truly, my dear. Here's what I know." Mrs. Reynolds raised her eyebrows. "Georgie didn't want it. He demanded that Fitzwilliam give him the value of the position, thousands of pounds, and Fitzwilliam did it. But what we hear is that Georgie gambled it away, pretending to be a gentleman."

Elizabeth let out a little breath, nodding to herself. She had met Mr. Wickham at a card party. She had watched him play cards. She had watched him enter into bets that were too rich for her blood. She supposed it was likely true. She knew of four people, most close friends or acquaintances, who'd gotten under a bad bit of debt from card parties and the like. Most of them were good people otherwise.

No, going into debt didn't necessarily put a blight on Mr. Wickham's character, but lying about Mr. Darcy, that was something else. Why had he done that? She would have to ponder that, she supposed.

"He always did wish to pretend to be a gentleman," said Mrs. Reynolds. "His father, the steward here, you'll meet him, and he's never approved of such a thing. I don't have to tell you that one can't be a proper steward without understanding that everyone must stay in their proper places."

Yes, of course. Except Elizabeth had married rather up, hadn't she? Was she staying in her proper place?

"Would you like to go over menus, ma'am? If you'd rather, I can handle it all myself," said Mrs. Reynolds.

"Well, if you would prefer—"

"No, no, dear, if you would prefer," said Mrs. Reynolds, giving her a gentle smile. "There's nothing to learn except that. A woman of a grand estate knows her worth and her importance and she trusts herself. Whatever you wish is the way it must be."

Elizabeth reeled, trying to let that settle into her. She licked her lips. "Very well, then, Mrs. Reynolds. I think, then, that we shall continue on the way things are for now while I am adjusting to my new surroundings. When and if I find things that need altering or improvement, I shall come to you."

"Very well done, ma'am," said Mrs. Reynolds, beaming at her.

Elizabeth smiled back. She liked Mrs. Reynolds quite a lot.