Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

ELIZABETH DID MEET the senior Mr. Wickham, but only in passing. He was a tidy man with a shock of white hair. He was dressed impeccably and quite formal. He did not smile at all, but he seemed a pleasant person overall, if somewhat strict about the way things must be done. Elizabeth supposed that was what one wanted from a steward.

At one point, she did decide to ask Mr. Darcy about Mr. Wickham, and he got very quiet and looked at her with an expression on his face that she found inscrutable.

They were having tea together. It was afternoon. She wished they could go back to discussing the sermon they'd heard the day before at church. They were having an interesting conversation on the meaning of the order of the beatitudes.

He set down his tea and fixed her in place with his gaze. "Tell me about what occurred between you and him," he ordered in a rough voice.

She flushed. "We spoke on occasion, I suppose, is really all."

He didn't say anything.

She began to pick at the edge of the long sleeve of her morning dress. She'd had new clothes made, but only at the urging of Mrs. Reynolds, who had put it all in motion for her. The modiste had come to call with bolts of fabric, had pinned and measured and made suggestions. Then the dresses had come, well, some of them, anyway. They were coming in installments. One installment was here, but the other two were forthcoming. This dress was light lavender, and it was a beautiful color of fabric, she thought. "I think I may have thought it was more than it was. He seemed to single me out in a way, I suppose, and I thought he was taking me into his confidence about his past ills. But it seems he lied to me, actually."

"More than it was in what way?"

"Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? He is connected to a Miss King now—"

"I don't think so," said Mr. Darcy.

She lifted her gaze to his.

"You were attached to him?" His voice was cold.

"No," she said, but it sounded false to her own ears. She snatched up her tea cup and peered into it.

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated. "Why what?"

"I mean what does a man like George Wickham have to recommend him? He has no income and no—"

"He was in the regiment, so I assumed—"

"He was serving for someone else, as I understand. It's not as if he purchased that commission, Mrs. Darcy, let me assure you of that."

Oh, interesting that he'd called her Mrs. Darcy. He almost never did that. She liked it, actually. It made her feel possessed in a way that maybe ought to have been stifling, but simply wasn't. It was like being covered up in a warm, heavy blanket. She met his gaze, letting out a little breath.

He was still cold.

She looked away again.

"Well?" he said. "Why?"

"Oh," she said. She shook herself. "I don't know, Mr. Darcy. It was a very long time ago—"

"Barely six months," he said. "And he is still there, isn't he?"

"I suppose," she said. "It's not as if I think of him."

"You don't think of him? Which is why you brought him up."

She sighed. "I am only confused, I suppose. What happened? Why do you hate him? Why did he lie to me? Why did he say things about you that made me think so badly of you? I don't understand it, sir, because you are a very good man, and he made me think you weren't."

"Well, the answer to that is simple," he said tartly. "Mr. Wickham is not a good man."

She didn't know what to say.

"Do you wish to defend him? Go ahead. I have been waiting, in fact, Mrs. Darcy, to hear why exactly you were in love with him."

"I was never in love with him," she said, defensive, but this was sort of a lie. She had been attached to him. She had fantasized about being married to him. She had, at the very least, thought them connected enough that she'd thought he would claim her first two dances at the Netherfield Ball and had been horrified when they were taken up by Mr. Collins.

After Mr. Wickham hadn't even appeared at that ball and after he'd been more and more distant—always pleasant, she supposed, but never making her any promises, never really behaving as if there was anything between them except friendship, she'd realized she'd been hoping in vain.

So, by the time she had heard he was especially interested in Miss King, who had an inheritance, she had hardly been hurt anymore. By that time, she'd talked herself out of whatever madness it was that had let her think it was possible for her to have that sort of love affair with any man at all.

"Convince me of that," said Mr. Darcy.

She furrowed her brow. "Well, it's the truth. Why don't you believe me?"

He settled back in his seat, agitated. He busied himself by adding more sugar to his tea, which likely didn't need it. "At the time, when we danced at Netherfield, I didn't understand why you were bringing him up. Only in retrospect did it become clearer to me. You did it on purpose. You wished to unsettle me. It's not the first time you've done a thing like that to me, after all. You seem to delight in doing things like that, as if you enjoy riling me up."

"I don't, sir, no." She shook her head.

"But you did," he said.

She considered. "All right, I suppose. But I thought that you had done him a great wrong, and that you were a different sort of man than you are."

"You thought that I was a man who cared only about appearances and not about anything important. You thought I was stupid and priggish and you delighted in knowing which buttons to push to make me lose my composure."

"No," she said. "That's a very unfair characterization of that conversation. You never lose your composure, for one thing."

He raised his eyebrows. "I think, while I had a gunshot wound, I was not entirely composed."

She sighed. "Well, that was then. You certainly been very composed for our entire marriage."

"Which isn't a good thing? You like me better when I lose my composure? Is that why you like him?"

"For heavens sake, Mr. Darcy, I do not like Mr. Wickham. He told me falsehoods, and I cannot make sense of why he did, and I feel only foolish that I was taken in my him."

Mr. Darcy blinked at her. "He does that, though. Takes people in. He can be very personable."

"Indeed," she said. "But I don't know why. Why lie to me? What did he hope to gain from it? He certainly wasn't interested in me."

Mr. Darcy's jaw twitched. "He broke your heart."

"For the sake of all that's holy, I was not in love with him. My heart was not broken. I never gave him my heart."

"Do you have any intention of giving any man your heart, Mrs. Darcy?"

She sputtered. "Well, no, we're married and I'm not going to go off and—to suggest such a thing."

He reddened. "I meant…" He bowed his head. "Never mind what I meant. It was utterly foolish."

Oh. Well, here was evidence of the possibility that he was, in fact, in love with her and only wanted a bit of a nudge in that direction. "You mean, you meant to ask if I would give you my heart?" she said, all in a rush, and her face heated up when she said it. She couldn't look at him.

"No, no, please. I don't know why we're talking about this. It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm nothing like him. If you want a man like that, I shall never please you—"

"You do please me," she said. "I obviously don't please you."

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, you don't…" She could not finish the sentence. "You haven't… We haven't…"

"Haven't what?"

She was flustered and her face was on fire. She told her tea, "If you want me as your wife, as fully your wife, I am willing, you know."

He didn't say anything.

Lord, he didn't even understand her, did he?

"Mrs. Darcy," he said in a low, low voice, "you went through an ordeal, one which was very unpleasant and that culminated in this marriage. I know you wouldn't have chosen this outcome for yourself if things had been different. And I'm not the sort of man who would trespass against you further."

She lifted her gaze to him.

He took a drink of his tea, grimaced, likely because there was too much sugar, set it down and got to his feet. "I'm afraid I need to excuse myself, madam," he said, looking over the top of her head at the wall behind her. "Forgive me, but I must quit the room."

"Of course, sir. No need for apologies," she said.

And then he was gone, and she resolved she would never bring up the topic of his coming to her bed ever again. It was far too embarrassing, and she was horrified with herself.

ELIZABETH HAD BEEN given a maid upon her arrival at Pemberley, and the girl's name was Harmony. She was probably around Elizabeth's age, which Elizabeth thought was a mercy, for she knew that the lady of the house might often be given a mature maid, one who had worked her way into the position. However, Elizabeth would not have preferred such a thing, for she would have not felt equal to an older maid.

Harmony felt like an equal. At least, she would have felt that way if the girl hadn't nearly worshiped Elizabeth. She thought the sun rose and set in her mistress. She was ever so excited to be Elizabeth's maid, and she often said things punctuated by statements such as, "Of course that would be nothing to a fine lady like yourself" or, "But I'm sure someone like you wouldn't be impressed with such a thing."

Elizabeth found these things privately funny, but she—perhaps not to her credit—didn't entirely disabuse Harmony to the fact that she was not truly a fine lady and that she was indeed quite easily impressed.

One day, Harmony was late to help Elizabeth dress for dinner. She appeared a quarter hour later than she should have, and she was red faced and her hair was coming free from the bun she kept it tied back in.

"Oh, Mrs. Darcy, you've had to dress yourself!" Harmony exclaimed. "I'm ever so sorry. I completely lost track of time. Oh, you'll dismiss me for certain."

Elizabeth could have said that it was all right, that she had been raised in a household where it was common that she had to put her own dresses on, and that she had developed a number of little tricks to get into complicated wardrobes, such as putting her dress on backwards so as to do up the buttons, and then scooting it around frontwards and simply getting Jane to do up her top buttons.

Speaking of Jane, Elizabeth had a letter from her just the day before, indicating that Mr. Bingley was back in Netherfield, but without either of his sisters, and that he had invited the Bennet family to dine with him—the first invitation they'd had since before the rumors about Elizabeth had begun. Jane's letter was subdued. After all, she'd been in London before and had been rather snubbed by the Bingley family, but there was an underlying hope to it that let Elizabeth know that Jane still carried a bit of a torch for Mr. Bingley.

Elizabeth wanted a happy ending for her sister. Indeed, for everyone in her family. She hoped this was the beginning of a renewed interest in courting Jane. After all, Mr. Darcy had said that thing to her during the proposal, and she had been too embarrassed and flustered to probe it, but she resolved she must ask him now.

Of course, she hadn't yet worked up her nerve to do so, because speaking to him was so very difficult and horrid. She'd likely be late for dinner tonight, so it wouldn't do to bring it up.

Anyway, Elizabeth told Harmony to never mind it, just to set about putting Elizabeth's hair up and to fix the rest of her buttons.

Harmony burst into tears as she was braiding Elizabeth's hair.

"What is it?" said Elizabeth. "Please, please, I'm not angry. It doesn't truly matter. We can do something simple with my hair. I daresay my husband doesn't care what I look like."

Harmony tried to stop crying. "This is horrible, me falling apart like this in front of a lady such as yourself. I don't deserve being your maid. I knew I would only ruin this opportunity."

"I'm not going to dismiss you," said Elizabeth gently. "Nothing is ruined."

"It was the puppies, you see," said Harmony.

"Puppies?" said Elizabeth.

Which was how she ended up not at dinner at all, but downstairs in the kitchens, kneeling in her evening gown and gaping at the tiny, furry darlings who were all in a wooden box, huddled around a hot water bottle.

Their mother was nowhere to be found. There were four of them. They were precious and small and wondrous.

Elizabeth rushed up the stairs to try to make it to dinner on time, and she barely, barely made it. Out of breath, she stood at her chair as Mr. Darcy came into the dining room.

"Is something wrong, Mrs. Darcy?" he said.

"Oh, no, sir. A bit of excitement with the servants is all. I shouldn't have allowed myself to be distracted. I suppose it does me no credit getting caught up in it." In Longbourn, such a thing as four puppies in the kitchen would have delayed dinner entirely, and everyone would have been too excited to eat. Indeed, she was planning to get through dinner as quickly as possible and then excuse herself to go down and check on them. She wanted one of the puppies, at least one, as her very own. She'd never had a dog, not in the way some people had dogs.

There were dogs who did work on the farm with the herding and the like, and her father had a few hunting dogs, but just a pet, a little companion for her to walk and dote on, she was overcome with the thought of it.

Mr. Darcy raised his eyebrows. "Is it a secret?"

She shook her head. "Nothing to concern yourself with, sir. Let's eat, of course."

"You're concealing it from me?"

She cringed. "No, of course not." She let out a breath, feeling foolish. "It's puppies, you see. They found four tiny puppies without their mother. They'll have to be bottle fed and kept warm and raised like little babies and I… oh, I'm sorry, it's foolish."

"Oh, so, that's where you were," he said.

She looked up at him and he was smiling. She hesitantly smiled back.

"Do you like dogs, Mrs. Darcy?"

"Doesn't everyone?" she said with a little laugh.

"No," he said. "Not everyone." He laughed, too.

"Do you like dogs?" she said.

"Where are they?" he said. "How small? Are their eyes open?"

"I don't know. They're not hairless, so perhaps. They were all asleep. But they're darling."

"Where are they?"

"In the kitchens," she said.

"Let's go and a have a look," he said.

"Truly? But…" She gestured at the table, at everything all set up for them. "What about dinner?"

"I think we could have dinner in the kitchens, couldn't we?" He smiled at one of the footmen. "My wife wishes to be with the puppies, so we can accommodate that, can't we?"

"Mr. Darcy, we couldn't possibly!" She was laughing, though, and she couldn't stop smiling.

He came around the table and offered her his arm, grinning at her as if they were sharing a secret. "Let me escort you, madam, if you please?"

She took his arm and together, they traipsed back down the stairs to the kitchens, where they were met by at least half of the staff, all of whom got very quiet at the sight of him.

He extricated himself from her and raised both of his hands. "No, no, it's all right. I certainly don't mind if we're raising puppies. I'm excited, too. Please, show them to me."

They ended up sitting on the ground around the box with the puppies on their laps while they ate on plates on the floor, and while the other servants came in to chat with them, all of them all very excited.

Mr. Darcy had questions. Where had they found the puppies?

Mr. Falk, who was one of the footmen, knelt down to say that Harmony had shown them to him. "They were left out in this box, as if someone had simply abandoned them. I carried them in here, and we resolved we'd ask Mr. Wickham if it was all right to take care of them."

"But then," broke in Mrs. Reynolds, settling down on the floor between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth, "I found out about it and said if Mr. Wickham had issues with it, he could come to me. I knew you'd be pleased, sir. It's like when you were small and old Daisy died when she was birthing her pups. You raised all of those yourself, helping me with the feedings."

Mr. Darcy beamed at her. "Those were big Great Danes. These look like some other breed, something smaller."

"Well, they might be mutts, but those puppies of Daisy's weren't pure Danes either," Mrs. Reynolds said with a laugh. She scooped out one of them and plopped it onto Mr. Darcy's lap and another onto Elizabeth's, who giggled in delight.

The puppy did open its eyes. It squirmed into her warmth, and the weight of it was like something divine. She scratched it behind its tiny ears. "Oh, they're so small and perfect. I've never been quite so close to puppies this small."

Once, there had been puppies born at Longbourn, but the big mama dog who herded the cows had guarded them from the Bennet sisters, barking whenever Elizabeth or Mary had tried to get close. Jane had been disgusted by the idea of them when she'd seen them first born without their hair, pronouncing them like rats.

"Here," said Mrs. Reynolds, scooping out the other two, one each for her and Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth had her lap full of puppies now, and she was so pleased she didn't quite know what to do with herself.

"I think you should name them," said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth looked up and realized he was looking right at her. "Me?"

"I think they came here for you," he said. "They heralded your arrival, and they are seeking someone to take care of them. You seem to want to do that. Do you?"

"Oh, yes, please," she said softly.

"That settles it," said Mr. Darcy. "They are yours, Mrs. Darcy."

She shook her head. "I couldn't. No, no. They must be ours, of course, Mr. Darcy."

"Ours?" He was pleased by that. "Yes, all right. We'll raise these little rascals together. But you'll name them all."

"Well," she said, "all right. But I think I must take some time to get to know them first. I wouldn't want to give them the wrong names."

"Absolutely not," he said. "Quite right." He looked to Mrs. Reynolds. "Now, I may be wrong about this, but I think my wife is going to want to be quite hands on with these little ones."

"Yes, definitely," said Elizabeth, petting both of the tiny little dogs on her lap.

"So, I think we must have her set up with a room on the bottom level near the door so that she can take them out—with assistance of course. Harmony, you found them, so you won't mind?"

"No, sir," said Harmony breathlessly.

"If you don't wish it, Mrs. Darcy, you needn't be bothered by it—"

"Of course I do," said Elizabeth. "Thank you. I'm sorry to create so much trouble for everyone, however. I suppose they're only puppies, and—"

"No, they are the children of Pemberley," announced Mrs. Reynolds. "Nothing but the best for these little sweetlings."

"Quite right," said Mr. Darcy again, giving Elizabeth a smile that made her heart thud. "You're a natural nurturer, Mrs. Darcy, and I knew that when you were so good to me when I was wounded."

"Oh, but all I did was fetch you water," she said. "I couldn't even find anyone to rescue us!"

"Don't sell yourself short," said Mr. Darcy, lifting up one of the puppies on his lap. "I don't think I'm the least bit wrong about this."