Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer (25 page)

"There is no remedy for love,

But to love more."

--Henry David Thoreau

Damn it to hell!
Darcy took one last look up the stairs before storming out into the frosty night.
I should not be forced to run like some criminal, driven from my own house, by my own wife
. He paced back and forth on his front stoop, his breath blooming out around him with every heated exclamation, every "harrumph," every "damnation," every "ridiculous" that was spat out. Stomping his feet on the chilly pavement, he slapped his arms to ward off the freezing winter temperatures.
She's lost her mind, that's all there is to it. I shall care for her, of course, for as long as she lives, and if she's not careful, that won't be too much longer
.

He was furious with Elizabeth for her unprovoked behavior, while even angrier with himself for still feeling concern--and to what purpose? It was Boxing Day, the day after Christmas. He had approached their room with the noblest of intents. He would bring supper up for them both, sparing her an arduous trip up and down the staircase. Besides, most of the servants were off for their Yule holiday, and he wanted Mr. and Mrs. Winters to have a well-deserved rest also. He was perfectly willing to pitch in, warm up something or slice something, do whatever culinary magic it would entail to feed his beloved. How hard could it be?

He just required the most minimum of direction, such as just where the kitchen was exactly and how to light the oven, perhaps a recommendation on which pan to use and if he needed some sort of oil, and mayhap she could direct him to where those pans were actually kept, and the silverware--they would need silverware and dishes, too. Lizzy would help him. She liked blancmange. Could that be very difficult? And dressed lamb--that was his favorite.

He was too proud to admit his ignorance to the few remaining servants. Perhaps he should aim a bit lower. By God, wouldn't some nice fruit and cheese be better all around, healthier, less trouble, too? Now, where was the fruit? And the larder? Where was cheese stored anyway?

To his shock, he had been greeted at the door not by his adoring wife but by some hysterical banshee propelling objects at him, great, heavy glass and metal objects, sailing lethally and deliberately through the air, accompanied by screams of "Liar" and shrieks of "How could you?" over and over again.

In his bewilderment, he never noticed the note that lay in shreds at her feet nor the locket she had clutched to her chest. He was too busy with his evasive action, his bobbing and weaving. All he knew for certain was that he was half an hour late in coming to her rooms, and this was his punishment. His ungrateful wife had finally snapped, did not appreciate him, never had. Suddenly anger and resentment could no longer be restrained, and they commenced a series of door slamming and verbal denunciations.

***

He stomped back into the house and made his noisy way up the stairs and into his own dressing room.
Enough is enough
, he fumed
. I've been far too complacent with her temper tantrums and her stubborn pride
.
I've spoiled her--just plain spoiled her.
"You are spoiled, young woman, spoiled! I have been far too indulgent with you!" he yelled. He grabbed his greatcoat and gloves and began loudly clomping back down the stairs, challenging her to voice a complaint, casting dire glances toward Elizabeth's dressing-room door.
I will be a doormat for her no longer.
"I will be a doormat for you no longer, madam!!" he bellowed, nodding his head, completely in agreement with himself.

Since her door was wide open, she had to have heard the commotion of this dramatic departure and reentrance, let alone his defiant proclamation, and yet she never appeared. He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, his breathing labored and his heart pounding.
Damn it! Maybe she's made herself ill.
He could not contain his worries; they had been his constant companion for months.
She's been so quiet lately, and tired. This fit of temper must have been a shock to her system.

He took a few more hesitant steps toward the front door, slapping his gloves across his palm and then stopping again to gnaw on his lip.
I suppose I could just quietly go up and have a look in at her. She's losing her balance so often--what if she's fallen again?
He continued standing there, unable to leave and unable to go back up.

He could have just as well had "Kick me" painted on his back. Suddenly an object flew down, hitting him sharply on the back of his head. "Don't leave without your stupid hat, Mr. Darcy. It has become chilled outside, and I should not wish to be accused of being the cause of your fever." Elizabeth haughtily spun around and slammed her door shut.

The momentary stillness was followed by the sound of a latch.

Months and months of anxious, heart-stopping apprehension finally broke within him.
Impudent little mongrel!
"Inputil Mingol!" he bellowed absurdly.
I really must get control of myself.
His mind spun like a top, he was so incensed. He was so infuriated. He was angrier and more upset than ever before in his life, let alone in their three-year marriage.
How dare she throw my hat at me!! This is a new hat!
Finally getting his rage controlled enough to form coherent words, he yelled up to her, "Locked doors between us are not permitted in this house, Elizabeth!" He stood at the foot of the stairs and bellowed the clincher, "I forbid them, as you well know!" That told her!

He could contain himself no longer. He charged back up the stairs, two at a time, ending outside her door in a mind-rending and furious temper. "Mrs. Darcy, open this door!" Nothing--not a sound. He tried the handle once and then again. "Mrs. Darcy, this is still my house. You are still, if only momentarily, my wife, and I insist you open this door immediately!" He banged furiously for several moments and then stopped to listen.

Alarm began to take precedence over anger when no sound came back to him. The whole house seemed deadly quiet.

"Elizabeth, are you all right? Elizabeth?! Are you hurt? Damnation, Lizzy, answer me!" He waited a few moments more and then, taking a step back, raised his heel and bashed in the door with his boot. His eyes darted quickly around the room, finding her off to the side by the windows, sitting at her dressing table.

Tears streaming down her face, Elizabeth jumped up before retreating two steps. "How dare you force your way into my rooms, breaking in my door! I was right about you. You are no gentleman!"

Darcy's expression became horribly mottled as his eyes twitched and blinked. He quickly closed the distance to where she stood. "
Are you suddenly deaf, woman?! Haven't you heard me yelling for you to open that damn, bloody door?!
" The rafters shook as he roared.

Elizabeth drew herself up to meet him face to face, figuratively speaking. She was in actuality short of his height by about ten or twelve inches. They stood chin to chest, glaring in each other's general vicinity, breathing hard as if both had just arrived at the finish line of a very long and debilitating race. "
Of course I heard you, you great ape! I simply chose to ignore you!
"

He slammed the exquisite, if slightly dented, beaver hat on his head and bellowed, "
Lis is bast strew...!
" Annoyingly, he was screaming in tongues again and took a moment to compose himself, taking long, deep breaths. Finally calmed, he could continue. "This is the last straw, Mrs. Darcy! I can abide your disrespect, your viper tongue, your bad temper no longer. I am leaving you, and may you have joy of the evening."

"That's the best gift of the season. In actuality, it is the
only
gift of the season!" She hissed directly into his waistcoat buttons, spraying saliva everywhere and sounding much more defiant than she felt. "Just see that you don't return!!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and for the first time in their short marriage, Elizabeth thought that perhaps she might have gone a little too far. As he raised his arm, she jumped back, covering her head as if to protect herself from an imminent blow. He was only attempting to wipe his buttons.

"How dare you!" Now he had gone past mere anger into an unknown realm of fury. He turned into a stranger before her very eyes. "How dare you insinuate that I would strike a woman! You really don't know me at all, do you? You never really did."

He turned on his heel and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. It banged open again and then closed with a thud. Elizabeth could hear his heavy footsteps going down the stairs and heard him wrench open the foyer door, storming out into the night. She struggled to resist the impulse to run to the window to call him back, so she sat down at her dressing table very quietly, holding onto the edge of the seat cushion. Her heart was pounding furiously.
Maybe he'll turn around and come back. All couples have their little ups and downs, don't they? If he would come up here and take me in his arms, why, that is all I really want, some assurance that he still loves me.

But what if he meant it? What if he never does come back?

Her blood ran cold. Although not normally one to give in to tears, they ran freely down her cheeks now.
When will this nightmare ever end?
She tenderly patted her huge stomach and shifted restlessly on the dresser chair, thinking nothing of the tremendous pressure increasing on her bottom and her back. She rose awkwardly and waddled to the window in hopes of seeing him turning in the street, to see him walking back to her, but all was deathly quiet. He was gone already.

***

It had been a brief hour before this unpleasant encounter with her husband that Lizzy had received the note along with the return of her long-lost locket. Up until then, it had been an idyllic day with all the concern over Fitzwilliam's whereabouts behind them and then the joy of his happy news. She had actually even forgotten about the locket.

Darcy had made his annual appearance at the Boxing Day breakfast for the staff, passing out their Christmas bonuses--hefty bonuses to compensate for his increasingly irrational behavior. Then the couple exchanged their own special gifts in private and spent the afternoon quietly and happily alone, laughing and talking together.

She was confused at first but overjoyed that the precious item, the only thing she had ever received from her mother, was returned.
Wherever did this come from?
It had taken her several minutes to understand what was being implied. At first she thought the note was from Jane, but that made little sense.
How did Jane get my locket?
Her brows beetled in confusion. No, it wasn't Jane's stationery, but it
was
on Bingley stationery.

"
Miss Bennet,
" the note began.

Miss Bennet? There is only one person so ignorant and pig-headed enough to still call me Miss Bennet.
She began to read again,

Miss Bennet,

It appears our darling Darcy misplaced your trinket several months ago when he stayed with me at Netherfield for our private visit, a visit we thoroughly enjoyed alone at my home. It must have fallen from his coat when he removed it, the locket being discovered upstairs in my bedroom. I had intended to return this during my visit with you at Lady Catherine de Bourgh's home, but I was mysteriously misrepresented to her and had to leave before I could accomplish my mission.

I hope this hasn't caused you any alarm. I had thought to discard it, but then realized it may have sentimental attachments for you. It obviously has no other value.

Please give Darcy my love and relate to him, for me, how I dearly I look forward to his next visit.

Regards,

Caroline Bingley

Lizzy sat very still, her mind so paralyzed that it was unable to wrap itself around this tidbit of news. Darcy was at her house? No. Fitzwilliam Darcy? Her Fitzwilliam Darcy? When could he have visited? She and Darcy had been in each other's pockets for months now. The only time he was away from her was when he assisted her father in returning home, and when he went away to assist Charles at Netherfield...

Elizabeth was still clutching one bit of the shredded letter when Darcy entered her dressing room, arrogantly proclaiming that since there remained no footmen at home to carry her downstairs, he would, like his mud hut-dwelling forbearers, provide primitivelike sustenance for his woman--peach tarts, plover's eggs with mint jelly, fresh fruit, cheese, and toast tips. All that she needed to tell him was how.

He stopped when he saw her furious stare. "Lizzy, whatever is wrong? You look like you've fought a ghost!"

It was a terrible argument. Tensions that had been repressed but building were exploding everywhere with horrible accusations and threats, most of which, thankfully, were shrieked in words that were unintelligible. When he finally stormed out, she sat at her dressing table, staring at a gaping hole where there had once been a door handle and lock. Now, like her marriage, the lock and handle lay in shattered pieces upon the floor. She was numb. She clutched her poor little locket to her heart and felt physically ill. She never thought for a moment that he would become so angry that he would actually kick in her door.

Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God! Could he really be having an affair with Caroline? No, this I cannot believe. I will not believe--he is the best of men. I'll kill him. Oh dear Jesu, maybe he has the right of it, though, the way I treat him, and I look like a sea cow anyway. Who can blame him for finding comfort with another? I wish the baby would come, that it was all finally over.
Caressing her stomach, she began to sob, not really noticing that the persistent back pain and occasional kicking, her daily companions for so many months, had finally ceased.

***

It was a half hour after Darcy's dramatic exit that those horrible pains returned with a vengeance, the pain her doctor had been dismissing out of hand for the past week, worse now by far. There was also a queer pressure on her bottom, distracting her from her wallowing in abject misery. Moaning, she wiped away tears with a knuckle and quickly sat down, loudly blowing her nose with her delicate Belgian lace handkerchief. It never occurred to her to call for the doctor or even to have mentioned those earlier discomforts to her husband.
Of course, now there is no husband to tell.
It was the sort of whiney type of reflection that caused her to abruptly renew her wails.