Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

FOR THE NEXT several weeks, their lives revolved around the puppies. Elizabeth was given a room downstairs to take care of them. It was determined that they were probably about two or three weeks old, considering their eyes were open and they were furry but couldn't really walk yet. They crawled about on their bellies and made adorable mewling noises. They had to be fed milk from bottles and they needed help to empty their bladders and bowels because they were still yet so tiny.

Elizabeth was up in the night with them, but Harmony helped, and so did Mr. Darcy. The first night, when she woke to the sound of their mewling to see his tall form across the room, she was shocked.

He spoke to Harmony. "Let's not wake Mrs. Darcy for this feeding," he said in a low, deep voice, and she thought she might like to wake and hear that voice in the depths of the night, and then scolded herself for having such a thought as that!

Then wondered if she must scold herself after all. He was her husband, wasn't he? If there was ever a man's voice to wish to hear in the darkness, it must be his.

As the weeks passed, she allowed herself to puzzle evermore over all of it. The real question, she supposed, was whether or not she loved Mr. Darcy. She had not been fair in her assessment of all of it thus far.

She had been leaving it up to him, which put too much pressure on him. Yes, love should exist regardless of whether or not it was reciprocated, so she must simply determine whether or not she loved him.

If she did love him, and he didn't love her back, that was embarrassing and painful, but she shouldn't withhold her feelings simply because she wished to be safe.

Then she thought she was being ridiculous.

She must not be in love with him.

If she were in love with him, she would know, wouldn't she? People knew these sorts of things. When people were in love, they were certain about it, and they didn't spend time dithering over it.

Yes, well, that must be the way of it. And if that were the case, it was good that their marriage was only one of friendly regard and not of any rousing passions or strange, carnal activities.

By the time the puppies were walking on their own and did not need night feedings or special care, she had quite convinced herself that there was no reason to be dissatisfied with any part of her lot in life. She was married to a wealthy man who respected the fact that she didn't love him and didn't press for more. She had been rescued from awful rumors and the threat of disrespect by this marriage. She had every reason to be quite happy.

News had come from Longbourn. Jane was engaged.

Elizabeth was happy for her. She read Jane's letters about Mr. Bingley, and she tried to squelch any little pangs she got when she read the sweet things that Mr. Bingley did or the way Jane reported he doted upon her. She skimmed over Jane's long and detailed discussions of whatever it was that Bingley had said or done, telling herself that it was a bother to be in love and thank goodness she'd been spared the indignity.

Besides, it was not as if she had no love in her life.

After all, she was head over heels for the puppies. There were two boys and two girls, and Elizabeth had decided to give them all regal names, the fact that they were mutts notwithstanding. Just to add a little dash of ironic snobbery, she gave them Latin names—well, mostly. There were Rex and Regina, which was Latin for king and queen, and then Caesar. Then, the last little girl puppy, she whimsically named Cleopatra, for she was the most desired of them all. Little Cleo knew her power and went here and there, bestowing her favors where she saw fit, always knowing that if one person was too busy to allow her to lodge in their lap all morning, someone else would comply.

Mr. Darcy was partial to Cleo as well. Elizabeth caught him, on more than one occasion, scratching the little dog under her chin and telling her, in a little singsong voice, that she was the best little girl in the whole wide world, wasn't she?

She felt something when she watched Mr. Darcy with the dogs, too, something she couldn't explain, a kind of floaty, liquid feeling that filled her all up and made her want to sigh. She didn't know what that was about.

Occasionally, she examined it. Did it mean she loved Mr. Darcy?

Oh, no, that was foolish. Who felt love when watching a man with animals? That couldn't be the case.

Even after Elizabeth moved back into her room and the dogs were not cared for like infants, they were an integral part of her day. She and Harmony took them out onto the grounds of Pemberley in both the mornings and the evenings where they let the dogs ramble and run all over the fields. They taught them to fetch and to heel and to sit and to bark on command.

Elizabeth never went anywhere without a little reticule that she had repurposed for various treats the dogs liked, cured meats and specially made biscuits, which Cook made with regularity. All of the servants doted on the dogs as well. They really were the children of Pemberley.

Evenings were spent with the dogs curled up around her skirts, sometimes at her feet, but more often on the couches and beds with her, which she knew wasn't quite proper but was so nice that she couldn't quite break the little darlings of the habit. There was nothing better in the world than being surrounded by the four little furry bodies, being surrounded by their love and adoration.

She was happy.

Then one day, while she and Harmony were giving the dogs their afternoon exercise, a man appeared at the edge of the grounds. Harmony saw him and she went still over, her eyes going wide, like a frightened deer.

"Do you know that man?" said Elizabeth to Harmony.

"No, never seen him before, ma'am," said Harmony, too quickly.

The man melted back into the wooded area, out of sight. Elizabeth gathered up the dogs and Harmony. They all went inside.

She knew she must get more information from her maid, who was concealing something from her. But Harmony was also clearly terrified, and Elizabeth did not wish to further frighten the poor girl. She thought about that for a while, trying to think of a strategy that would assure Harmony of her safety.

Why would the girl lie? Obviously, she was frightened of that man, which could mean he had threatened her if she said anything. Elizabeth must find a means to secure Harmony's safety before Harmony would reveal anything. But without more information about who the man was, she didn't know how to do that.

Harmony lived at Pemberley, of course. Most of the staff did, though there were a few couples—husbands and wives who were both employed at the estate—who kept their own cottages nearby. Those servants would retire to their homes for the evening. Harmony, however, would be tucked inside the walls of Pemberley at night. As long as Harmony was with Elizabeth or on the grounds, she should be safe from the man.

Of course, there were periods of time here and there when Harmony was not with Elizabeth, and during those times, could she be going off to see that man?

Maybe Harmony was lying because she was trying to conceal her own wrongdoing? Could that man be a sweetheart, or someone she was sneaking around with? Maybe that explained the fear. Maybe the man was forbidden to her in some way, and she didn't want anyone to know about it?

It didn't quite seem right, however.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth couldn't make heads or tails of it and was stymied in a way forward. However, she should have known her maid better. Elizabeth did not have to ask any questions, because the next time that she was alone with the maid, Harmony was wretched.

"Oh, ma'am, I have to tell you about that man we saw this afternoon," she said. "I lied to you about him. I do know him. I'm so sorry for telling a falsehood. It was only that I thought he would not come here, to Pemberley. I know not how he found me."

"It's all right, Harmony," said Elizabeth, feeling a bit amused at how hard the poor girl was on herself. She shouldn't have even considered the possibility that Harmony was trying to conceal her own wrongdoing. The poor girl couldn't let herself do anything wrong without falling to pieces. "Truly, I am not angry with you, not even a little bit. I am only worried. You seemed very frightened of him."

Harmony nodded. "He is where I got the puppies."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "What?"

"Oh, ma'am, it was awful what I did. I didn't think that it would go like this, really, when I took them. I thought maybe the servants might feed them and that then they'd be given out in the community or some such. I didn't know everyone would become so attached to them."

"You took the puppies?"

"Well, that man, he has a lot of dogs," Harmony said, "but he uses them in awful fights and he has men bet on them. He had taken little Rex and Regina and Caesar and Cleo away from their mother because he says that you have to train fighting dogs mean, and that means no mothering at all. Says it makes them soft that way."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "That seems utterly foolish. All animals are better raised up on mother's milk!"

"I agree with you," said Harmony. "Anyways, the thing is, he was at my family's house because my father has gotten into debt with him in some way, what with betting on the fights, and that man—his name is Mr. Grayson—was there to collect from my father. But there is nothing to collect, not in the way of money, so he comes and takes eggs and milk and sometimes a plucked chicken here and there, whatever he demands, it must be given. He says he is tallying up the debt, but it never seems to have even made a dent, ma'am, and I hate him." Harmony's lower lip started to tremble.

"From what I hear of him, he doesn't seem very likable," said Elizabeth.

"I shouldn't have taken the dogs, but he had them there, and I… oh, they were so sweet and so tiny and I just couldn't bear it, the thought of him turning them into mean, cruel dogs. Besides, they wouldn't have lasted long in those fighting matches. The dogs get killed quite a lot."

"I would imagine," said Elizabeth, who knew of such things. People would gamble over anything, it seemed. Fighting animals turned her stomach, but she knew many who saw nothing wrong with the practice.

"But really, deep down," said Harmony with a little grimace, "I just wanted to hurt him in some way, take something from him, because he has taken so much from my family. We never have any eggs to sell anymore, and sometimes not enough for ourselves to eat. It was vengeance, you see, ma'am." She was very solemn. "I had vengeance in my heart, and that's what drove me to it."

"Harmony, you did nothing wrong at all," said Elizabeth. "Why, it's not vengeance to want fairness. That man is taking advantage of your family."

"He knows, you see. He saw the dogs, and now he is going to… well, I don't know, but I think he will take it out even worse on my father, and I know it's all my fault, and I don't know what to do."

Elizabeth shook her head, a fierce feeling rising in her. "I shan't let that happen, Harmony. I shall fix this problem, one way or the other. I don't want you to worry about it."

"No!" Harmony was aghast. "A great lady like yourself shouldn't have to muck about in the dirt with something as this. And it is my fault, and I should pay the consequence. I wonder if…" She took a deep breath. "I am thinking about asking for an advance upon my wages to pay Mr. Grayson for my father's debt, but I'm afraid he will also demand I pay for the puppies, and I don't know if I can get an advance that large. Furthermore, it will be ever so hard to have no income for months or maybe years—"

"No," said Elizabeth, getting to her feet. "No, those are my dogs, now, Harmony. It is my business now."

"But they wouldn't have been your dogs if I hadn't taken them."

"That doesn't matter," said Elizabeth. "I tell you, I shall find a way to fix all this."

BUT HOW?

ELIZABETH did not have an allowance, and she was loath to ask for one, not least because she'd been accused of trapping Mr. Darcy in this marriage for his money. She did, however, have use of various lines of credit with certain merchants in town which was how she'd managed to procure dresses and some bonnets and ribbons, that sort of thing. If she occasionally felt guilty about making these sorts of purchases, she reminded herself that she must not embarrass Mr. Darcy by looking too shabby, either. And, compared to his income, her purchases were not exorbitant.

Even so, she would prefer, if at all possible, to find some way to solve this problem herself. She had a bit of pride in that way, she supposed. She was stubborn.

To this end, she set about examining all manner of ways to raise funds, including selling her dresses or even getting some sort of monetary advance on the credit that Pemberley had.

In the end, however, all of these things really involved using Mr. Darcy's money, didn't they? She fussed over it for two days, but there was nothing for it. She could not find a way to solve this problem without going to her husband.

Then, resolved, she did not ask.

It was dreadful. She was put in mind of many various conversations she'd witnessed in the Bennet household, her mother's voice going shrill as she bemoaned the lack of money lavished upon herself and her daughters. Her father would be, at first, sardonic and amused, making jokes about alchemy and turning straw into gold.

And then it would turn ugly.

Her mother would narrow her eyes and say that her merchant father had a better ability to provide for his family than her penniless gentleman husband. She would say that Mr. Bennet spent too much of his time being idle and that his family would be beggared while he buried his nose in books.

Her father would grow angry, but he wouldn't shout. He would make worse jokes, more and more cutting, and they would be about his wife's intelligence or her manners. When it was truly bad, he implied Mrs. Bennet was hideous to behold: old and fat.

This always left her mother in tears and her father looking abashed and ashamed of his petty cruelties.

Elizabeth didn't know how to ask a man for money, that was the problem. How did a wife broach the subject with her husband?

She could bring it up over dinner, perhaps. But no, it was gauche. Dinner conversations should be polite and diverting. Similarly, tea was not the time. Sometimes, Mr. Darcy joined her and Harmony with the dogs on the grounds, and that was perhaps the optimal time, for Mr. Darcy would have the sweet darlings right in front of him, and he could not but be moved by the plight they had escaped.

She tried one afternoon, but the opportunity to bring it up never quite seemed to present itself.

Harmony, bless her, never once asked how Elizabeth was coming along with the plan to solve everything for her family, but that only made Elizabeth feel more guilty.

So, one evening, Elizabeth paced in her room until she finally got the courage to seek her husband out. She thought she would find him in his study, but when she arrived, it was dark, the fire burning low, and she knew he must only be in his rooms.

Elizabeth had never ventured into her husband's bedchambers, though she knew where they were. He was not situated far from her own rooms, after all, just round a bend. He had a sitting room and a bedchamber and a room with a built-in tub, she understood, something ornate if the servants were to be believed. She had heard them talk about hauling water to fill it.

She crept down the hallway, looking now and then at the long curtains that were drawn over the windows. They were ornate, too, embroidered with tiny shimmering threads.

She felt ill.

Her stomach was turning over and over and she almost convinced herself she must go back to her own room and empty the contents of it in a chamberpot. But no, she could not give in. She must face this.

So, steadfast, she arrived at her husband's bedchamber and rapped upon his door.

The sound was rather more loud than she might have anticipated. She cringed from it, her heart exploding in a fit of fluttering heartbeats, like a flock of birds trying to beat their way free from her body.

And then… nothing.

She let out a breath, practically on the verge of tears. Wasn't he here? Hadn't he heard?

Well, she would knock once more, and if there was no answer, she must simply give up, having tried her best.

She raised her hand to do so and the door opened.

Mr. Darcy was not dressed. His jacket was removed, and his shirt was pulled out of his trousers. His waistcoat was unbuttoned over his untucked shirt. He was wearing no cravat. His shirt opened tantalizingly, showing off a little triangle of his bare chest. He had a bit of dark hair there. It looked soft. She was amazed at how much she liked that hair.

Such a strange thing to like, really, a man's chest hair, but it was utterly appealing in some way that made her body do ever stranger things. That flock of birds in her chest fluttered and stretched and preened.

"Mrs. Darcy," he said in a wondering voice.

"Sir," she said, and her voice had no strength.

He cleared his throat. "You are, erm, at my door."

"I am," she said, licking her lips. She was trembling. Her hands shook. She thrust them behind her back. Her mind went entirely blank. She tried to look at his face, but her gaze kept getting dragged down to that tantalizing triangle of bare skin just below his throat. Why was it doing this to her?

"Are you frightened?" he said.

She shook his head.

"You're shaking like a leaf."

"No, I'm not shaking," she said, which was foolish. She most certainly was. She wished to die at this very moment. She would like an arrow to burst through that window behind her, skewer her through the throat, and put her out of her misery.

He dragged a hand over his face. "You don't need to do this. There is positively no obligation on your part in this way. I swear to you, I am perfectly happy as we are, and if and when things may progress, madam, we shall do it as a pace that is comfortable, especially for you. To see you like this, like a terrified rabbit, I assure you, it does not move me in such a manner. I am not the sort of man who enjoys it as a kind of awful conquest."

She blinked at him. What was he talking about?

"Let me escort you back to your room," he said, his voice soothing and velvet. "No, wait, I have some brandy in here. You could stand a fingerswidth of that, I should think, just to calm your nerves and help you sleep. I'm dreadfully sorry you felt the need to present yourself in this way." He sighed heavily. "I supposed I thought it was best not to speak of it at all. I find I get dreadfully tongue-tied, truthfully, when it comes to, well, these sorts of matters, but I realize now this was an error on my part."

"Oh, you think I'm here for that," she said in understanding. "You think I've come here to be bedded!" She let out a laugh, a high-pitched and uncontrolled laugh. She nearly doubled over, so great was her relief. It was simply the relief of her anxiety. Giving it mirth gave it a way to escape.

He drew back, and he blushed. The red stain traveled all the way down his neck, all the way down to that tantalizing triangle of bare skin.

She was struck dumb, staring at him there. "It's because I'm looking at you, isn't it? Of course you must think—Oh, God in heaven, this is a disaster." She would have turned and fled, but her legs weren't really working. She stood rooted to the spot, feeling shame rush all through her.

He swallowed, abashed.

She lifted a finger. "That brandy? Are you still offering that?"

"Certainly." He stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in."

She staggered forward, nearly going sprawling.

He caught her.

She sagged into his arms, thinking of that time when he had been shot, when they'd slept in each other's arms in that burned-out house.

He let out a hiss of a breath, swallowing again.

She watched his Adam's apple bob and thought this man's neck—her husband's neck—might be the most intriguing of things to gaze upon in the wide world.

He set her on her feet.

She brushed at her skirts. "It's about the dogs," she said in a weary voice.

"Oh?" he said. He was walking across the room now, which was his sitting room, not the room that contained his bed. His back to her, he went over to a small cabinet, bent over, and came out with the brandy. He set that on top of the cabinet and then also brought out two glasses.

She came across the room, and now her limbs felt loose and warm, as if she'd finished taxing exercise. "It's about… well, it's about my maid. She is such a sweet girl, and I hate for her to suffer in any way at all, and I wish to help her, but I do not have the means or capability to do so. I must come to beg for your help, it seems. I'm ever so sorry to inconvenience you at all, you realize. And I don't wish you to refuse me, but it is well within your rights, of course. You are my husband. You are the head of the household, so you must do as you think is right. Only hear me out, if you don't mind?"

He poured the brandy. "Yes, of course, Mrs. Darcy." He held out a glass. "You could have spoken to me about this at some other time?"

"I know," she said. "But it's hard, you see. I am not well-versed in asking for favors, I'm afraid. Perhaps it's not to my credit." She accepted the brandy, grimacing.

"Oh," he said, giving her an understanding smile. "Well, I think we have this in common, madam. It may not be to my credit, either, but I do understand."

She began to explain, then, about Mr. Grayson's appearance and then Harmony's confession. He listened, nodding, throwing back his brandy and pouring himself more. Only when she was finished did she drink hers. It burned through her, warm and relaxing. She sighed. "So, you see, I feel we must do something, and I would like, if at all possible, if we could give this Mr. Grayson enough money to forget about our dogs and to stop terrorizing Harmony's family. I don't know if it's right to appease a man like that, but I can't bear the idea of it. Poor Harmony, blaming herself for it all. And poor Rex and Caesar and Regina and Cleo, and think of the life they were spared!"

"Indeed," he said. "It seems to me a perversion of the idea of dogs themselves, to use their natural desire to please their human masters to turn them to their own destruction. It's an ugly thing, in my opinion."

"Yes, just so!" She nodded. "I am so happy we're in agreement. If it's a lot of money, I am willing to go without. I don't know what it is that I might need, but I shall happily forgo new dresses or any sort of luxury for any period of time at all. I know that's not really making up for any of it. After all, you shouldn't have had to take me on as your wife in the first place. I can't say I'm even sure why you did it."

He let out a rueful laugh. "Oh, the devil take me, Mrs. Darcy, don't ask me that question in this moment."

"I wasn't! You have no reason to answer me anything. I want nothing from you, truly. I am sorry for what extent I am a burden on you."

"I do not see you as a burden." He sighed and poured himself more brandy. "I think it is you who are burdened with me. With a husband for whom you have no wifely affection."

"I have a great deal of affection for you, sir!" she protested. "Oh, please believe I am happier than I ever expected to be. I love my life here and I love the dogs and I love Pemberley and we are easy with each other, and… it is no burden for me."

He downed the brandy. "You don't love me, though."

Her mouth opened. No sound came out.

"Oh, apologies," he said. "You are under no obligation. It is my wounded pride, what with the way you laughed. You laugh at me in such a way sometimes—"

"I wasn't laughing at you," she said.

"Laughing at the idea of going to bed with your husband, then."

"Only because you have made it very clear you don't wish it!"

"You do not wish it. You are terrified—"

"No, I was frightened of…" She gestured about at the room. "This."

"Me."

She winced. "No," she said. But she had thought this over so many times that she was quite confused now. Hadn't she decided, in fact, that she did not love him, that she must not love him? Hadn't she decided that if she did love him, it would be apparent to her? "I don't think that is necessary for love, anyway, is it? Aren't they separate matters? It seems that way from the way it is discussed in various plays and books, I think."

He eyed her. "But you don't love me, and you never have. You married me as an expedient. You have found it pleasant, but not because of some growing passion between us."

She was miserable. "I cannot say, I suppose. How does one know if one is in love?"

"One knows, madam," he said gently.

"I suppose I am not, then," she said in a small voice, and she could not look at him.

He let out a very noisy breath.

She cringed.

But then he was laughing, a great peal of laughter. She looked up to see that he had thrown his head back, and he was smiling. His shoulders shook.

"Now," she said in that same small voice, "you are laughing at me."

"Oh, indeed, no, I'm laughing at myself," he said. He stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "We should have had this conversation a long time ago. Foolish to have avoided it, truly." He let out another bout of laughter.

She was confused.

He let go of her and wandered across the room. He hurled himself down on a chair that was set up near the fire. "I feel ten times lighter."

Hesitant, she came over to another chair that flanked his. She stood behind it, keeping the chair between them. "Do you?"

"Oh, quite," he said. "You see, I had been going back and forth over it, watching you, trying to determine it, ‘Does she love me or doesn't she?' I don't know why I didn't ask you."

"I have been thinking the same," she said. "But then I determined it didn't matter how you felt about me, not if I knew my own feelings for you."

"Too true," he said with a nod. "But this is better, because now we both know exactly where we stand and there's no more anguish. It's relieving."

She nodded, but she didn't feel relieved. She felt worse, actually. "I am not saying that my love for you could never grow. Doesn't that happen all the time in marriages, after all? People have to be married for various practical reasons and they come to have deep feelings for each other?"

"Yes, just so," he said, smiling at her. "I am happy to know that, also, I must say." He thought about it. "I suppose, whatever the case, we'll eventually have to…" He grimaced. "No, I don't want to think about that. We can absolutely wait for any sort of consummation. Just the thought of trying to force that on you turns my stomach."

"I have said I'm not unwilling."

He laughed again. "We are leaving this subject. It's the brandy that made me speak of it at all, I daresay. Forget to think on that, if you please."

She hunched in her shoulders.

"Please, be reassured, Mrs. Darcy," he said.

But do you want it with me? was what she wanted to say, and why she wanted to ask that, she didn't know. Do you love me? was what she wanted to say, because she still wasn't clear on that.

This conversation indicated that he did, she thought. And if that was the case, then he had pursued her not because of his reputation and not because of being thought the sort of man who ruins a woman. And so, then, why had he said she was merely tolerable when he first set eyes on her?

She thought of something, something very obvious.

Maybe he didn't find her physically appealing. Maybe he didn't think she was pretty. Maybe he enjoyed her wit and the fact she liked to talk about books with him and the way she could fall in love with tiny puppies. Maybe he had high regard for her, but felt no stirring toward her.

That would explain why he didn't want to bed her.

Yes, that must be it. It was the piece that made it all fit.

"Mrs. Darcy, I have no intention of demanding any conjugal duties from you. Stop making that face."

"I realize that, sir," she said, blushing. "You've made that very plain."

"Good," he said. "So, tomorrow, I am off to speak to Harmony's father, and I shall get to the bottom of this Mr. Grayson business, one way or the other. I shall keep you apprised of it all. You are forbidden to feel as if you must ‘pay' for this in any way. Those dogs are the children of Pemberley. They are part of the family, and they shall have whatever money in my coffers necessary to ensure their health and happiness. I adore them, too, and you know it." He gave her a smile.

She couldn't help but smile back. "I do know that, yes."

"And then, I think it may be time for me to fetch Georgiana. We have had our honeymoon, such as it was, and in her letters she is eager to be here with you. She writes to me that she has wished to have a sister."

"I should be happy to have your sister here, of course."

"Excellent," he said. "We are going to be happy together, Mrs. Darcy. We may not have some romantic story from a book, windswept yearning and storm clouds or the like, but we shall have more than what many couples have, I believe. I'm quite satisfied with that."

"Yes," she said faintly. "Yes, so am I." She had thought she was satisfied before, but this entire conversation seemed to have robbed her of that satisfaction. She couldn't make sense of why.