Darcy's Trial (29 page)

‘I love you, Elizabeth,’ he said simply.

‘I love you too Mr, ah, De Bourgh. That is why we are here.’

‘May I kiss you?’

He moved across the bed, and in a somewhat awkward position their lips brushed, conferring on Elizabeth a thrill of illicit pleasure. She held for a while as he nibbled her mouth, then with a gasp drew gently away.

‘Am I too rough?’ Darcy frowned.

‘Not at all. It is delicious beyond words—but so intense.’ She moved into his arms, and they lay down side by side, with her head tucked under his chin, while her breathing returned to normal.

‘Mr Darcy, there is something I would like to know, although I hardly dare ask.’

‘We need have no secrets now, my love.’

‘Is this the first time you have lain with a woman?’

His body tensed for a moment, then slowly relaxed. ‘In the sense I think you mean, yes, it is.’

‘And what other sense is there?’

He sat up, and pulled back a little so that he could see her face. ‘When I was an undergraduate at Cambridge, some friends in the fencing club persuaded me to visit a courtesan named Madame Céleste, highly favoured by students and lecturers alike. They argued this was a necessary part of my education, so that I would know how to please a woman.’

Elizabeth giggled, fascinated. ‘And what transpired?’

‘The lady received me in a silk nightgown covering a chemise much like yours, but with a lower neckline. On her invitation, I disrobed to my shirt and smalls, but to my embarrassment felt unable to proceed further. I could not bear the thought of losing my virginity to a woman who was going through the motions of love merely for money. Accordingly I apologised, we talked awhile, I paid her, and I went on my way.’

‘In short, you left university with your education incomplete, and now neither of us has the first idea what to do? You disappoint me exceedingly sir, for I was counting on your guidance.’

He laughed with genuine amusement, and Elizabeth, warmed that he should confide such a humiliating episode, felt increasingly at ease. However, their impending physical encounter remained as a nagging threat.

‘We might try removing our clothing,’ he suggested.

Elizabeth gulped. ‘
On top of
the blankets?’

‘Why not, since the fire is warm?’

Excited as well as shocked, Elizabeth fingered Darcy’s striped nightgown with a flirtatious grin. ‘We could proceed in stages. This first.’

With the nightgown removed, she allowed him to unfasten some buttons at the top of her night dress, and to kiss her throat and neck, before pushing him on to his back so that she could repay him in the same coin.

They lay together on top of the bed, with the candles snuffed, and only the flickering firelight illuminating the room. Cosy in their private chamber, in a remote and snowbound inn, Elizabeth felt transported to a magical land, where familiar rules no longer applied, and anything was possible. Nothing existed except their bodies, the warmth of the fire, the softness of the pillows, and the slight prickle of the blankets against her skin. Darcy had kissed her in places she would have hardly imagined, once even shockingly trailing across her breasts. Her fears seemed far away now, belonging to the world she had left behind. Arthur Kaye might never have existed. She realised with sudden joy that no matter what happened next, the trial had already succeeded. Darcy had not taken imperious control, treating her merely as a means to satisfying his own needs. They had learned together, in a spirit of innocent playfulness.

She shivered in delicious fright as his fingers walked down her belly to a spot she had never dared touch since she was a small child. For a moment she tensed, then a burst of exquisite sensation took her breath away and she cried out.

He withdrew his hand. ‘Am I hurting?’

‘No! Do that again! Oh my goodness!’

Elizabeth returned from the table, from which she had taken another mouthful of bread and pickle. On a whim she sat astride Darcy, pinning him firmly to the bed.

‘Sir, you are suspiciously good at this lovemaking lark.’

‘And what might that mean, madam?’

‘I fear you have been spinning me a taradiddle, and that Madame Céleste taught you a deal more than you have let on.’

‘Your accusations are, as usual, far from the mark. My account was accurate in every detail.’

‘Then where did you learn these tricks?’

He smiled. ‘Have you not heard, madam, that Pemberley is favoured by a particularly well-stocked library?’

She gasped. ‘There are books?’

‘Several, mostly of Indian or Arabian origin.’

‘And are all visitors allowed to view these works?’

‘By no means. They are kept on the top shelf of a cabinet for which only I have a key.’

‘As mistress of Pemberley I assume a key would also be made for me?’

‘I would have to think about that, Elizabeth. I’m not sure it would be proper.’

‘Then you can forget about any engagement, Mr Darcy, whatever the outcome of our little experiment.’

‘Access to these manuals is essential to gaining your consent?’

‘Among other things, yes. I will have to draw up a list. We could begin with your arrogant paternalism, based on an illusion of superior judgement that has been repeatedly disproven by events. That will have to go. There are additional matters I wish to raise, but we can postpone these for the time being.’

‘I see. In the future, as now, it will be women on top.’

‘I’m a reasonable woman, Mr Darcy. I ask only for equality …’ She squealed as he rolled her over on to her back. ‘Sir, unhand me! This is an outrage!’

‘Silence, woman. It’s time to continue our experiment.’

Elizabeth blinked, and stretched out a hand. ‘William, where are you?’

He moved in beside her. ‘Just checking the fire.’

‘I must have dropped off.’

‘Only for a few minutes. Elizabeth …’

‘Yes, dearest?’

‘I doubt we’ll be able to leave tomorrow. The snow is falling faster than ever.’

‘Curses, does that mean we will have to remain here as man and wife?’

‘Is the thought unbearable?’

‘There is one consolation, which is that we will be able to carry out further trials. We need to confirm that this evening was not a fluke.’

He turned towards her, his face just visible. ‘Will you marry me?’

She giggled. ‘We still have to go through my list of requirements.’

‘Seriously, Elizabeth.’

‘You should know, sir, that it is not in my nature to be serious. However, I suppose that in the end I will have to marry you …’ She guided his hand to her abdomen. ‘After all, the heir to Pemberley may already be in residence.’

It was a warm evening in April, with the London season now in full swing. In Almack’s Assembly Rooms, just a short ride from Darcy House, Elizabeth and her husband joined a select gathering that had been invited by Lady Harbury to attend the coming-out ball of her niece, Miss Kaye.

In Elizabeth’s mind there had been not a moment’s doubt: for Helena’s sake she would have to attend, whatever the embarrassment. Darcy had made a token effort to dissuade her, after which he changed his tune and insisted on coming too—partly, she knew, from kindness, but mostly because he had no intention of letting her anywhere near the Kayes without protection. The fly in the ointment was of course Sir Arthur Kaye, who could scarcely be expected to miss his sister’s ball.

On entering she spotted Helena amid a group of Lord Harbury’s associates, in which Darcy recognised two cabinet ministers; however, Helena had obviously been looking out for her, and immediately ran over.

‘Elizabeth! Mrs Darcy I should say. Thank you so much for coming.’ She nervously curtsied also to Darcy. ‘I cannot believe that all these dignitaries are assembled for my coming out. Of course this is due to my aunt’s organisation, rather than my own status in the
ton
. Lady Harbury is a leading patroness of Almack’s. Have you been here before?’

Elizabeth surveyed the grand room with its chandeliers, tall columns, enormous blue drapes, and the semi-circular gallery for the orchestra. ‘No, this is my first invitation. Helena, you look beautiful this evening. Was that a cabinet minister’s son who was conversing with you so intently?’

Helena coloured. ‘I doubt whether the Honourable Mr Montrose is greatly interested in
me
. However, he is a pleasant man, and has been granted the supper dance.’ She blinked in obvious embarrassment. ‘My card was filled in by the committee in advance.’

‘Is Sir Arthur attending the ball as well?’

‘He is present, yes, although I doubt he wishes to take part.’ Helena looked uneasily at Darcy, of whom she was plainly in awe. ‘I’m very grateful to you for coming, sir, under the circumstances.’

‘I’m delighted to be here,’ Darcy returned, with somewhat forced gallantry.

The orchestra, which had been tuning up, broke into a reel, and couples began to form up for the opening dance.

‘It is
your
turn to say something now, Mr Darcy.
I
mentioned how well Helena was looking, and
you
ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the Assembly Rooms, or the number of couples.’

He smiled, but remained silent, with one eye on the dance and the other still scanning the groups at the edges of the hall.

‘It would be odd to avoid conversation entirely,’ Elizabeth persisted, ‘unless after two months of marriage we have already run out of topics.’

‘I have no doubt you can say enough for both of us.’

‘I hope you are at least listening, dearest. I may decide to quiz you later, so as to ensure your attention was not engaged elsewhere.’

‘And where else might it be engaged?’

‘Who can say? As a mere hypothesis, you might be less interested in dancing with me, than in checking the whereabouts of a
certain gentleman
of dubious repute?’

He sighed, as the dance steps brought them together, and said softly: ‘I shall be glad when this is over.’

After supper, Elizabeth was glad to sit out a dance, while Darcy joined the group around the Duke of Montrose, who was Pitt’s President of the Board of Trade. To her pleasure, it was not long before her husband became an active participant, not merely an onlooker, and accordingly she turned her attention back to Lady Carmichael, who was seated nearby alongside her daughter. Mixing in such elevated society was daunting, but she was learning to cope by listening carefully, and seeking opportunities to reward the speaker by demonstrating her exact understanding, or even to inject an occasional shaft of wit.

Tiring of sitting, she decided to join Darcy’s group, but as she circled the edge of the room, a gentleman suddenly approached her from the side, and she found her route blocked by Sir Arthur Kaye.

She tried to manoeuvre around him without meeting his eye, but stopped when he said in a low hiss: ‘Mrs Darcy, may I have a word?’

She took a deep breath, afraid of appearing discourteous. ‘If you must.’

‘I would like to express …’ His voice dropped still further, so that she could scarcely make out his words. ‘To express my regret over—what happened.’

She searched his face for signs of his former arrogant mockery, but saw only confusion and defeat. ‘Your
regret
is noted, Sir Arthur.’

‘I understand what you must think of me.’ He leaned towards her, and more in disgust than alarm she took a step back. ‘I want you to know that I have changed, Mrs Darcy. Through study of scripture, I have recognised my sins, and sought to follow a better path.’

Elizabeth observed him in silence for a few seconds, trying to discern signs of genuine repentance, but although his words were serious they were curiously devoid of emotion: it was hard to believe he spoke from the heart. It was as if the influence of Sir Osborne had faded, to be replaced by
another influence
—Lord Harbury, perhaps, or some clergyman who had taken up his cause. It was impossible to warm to him, but she did feel a grain of pity for a man who might never have experienced love, either as giver or recipient.

‘Understand that I do not ask your forgiveness,’ he pressed. ‘What I did was unforgivable. I wish only to express my sincere regret.’

Elizabeth looked into the distance, contemplating the word
unforgivable
, before replying impulsively: ‘Yet we are enjoined to forgive, Sir Arthur, and I find to my surprise that I would like to forgive you, but on one very strict condition. That you will never again commit a similar wrong, not only towards me, but to any other woman, whatever her position in society.’

She looked again for any sign of emotion, but detected only a flicker of surprise. ‘Thank you, Mrs Darcy. You have my word.’

As they returned in the early hours of the morning, Darcy stared at her in horror. ‘Elizabeth, I cannot believe you did that.’

‘Is it wrong to forgive?’

‘Forgiveness should be earned, by many years of right conduct, not bestowed on the basis of a few weasel words.’

‘No doubt you are right, as always.’ She rested her head affectionately against his shoulder. ‘But I think we must consider
for whose benefit
we forgive. The obvious beneficiary is the culprit, but what of the victim? I have no wish to go through life encumbered by hatred.’

‘Hmm.’ Darcy pressed his lips together. ‘I still say it would be best if I ran him through with my rapier.’

She giggled. ‘That would be satisfying, I agree, but would we not feel guilty afterwards? No, I’m convinced my way is better. It’s as if I’ve drawn a final line under all the horrible things that have happened. They are all in the past, and we need think of them no more.’

He pulled her closer, and they continued their journey in relaxed companionship.

There is some latitude in dating the events in
Pride and Prejudice
, since the novel was begun in 1796 and not published until 1813. I chose to set
Darcy’s Trial
in 1804, mostly to give plausibility to the references to Wordsworth and Constable.

As well as Constable and the Wordsworths,
Darcy’s Trial
includes one other historical family, the Beaumonts. Sir George Beaumont of Coleorton Hall (1753-1827) was, as described, a noted amateur painter and patron of the arts; he later made the first bequest of paintings to what became the National Gallery. On his death, the baronetcy passed to George Howland Willoughby Beaumont (1799-1845)—Georgie in the novel—whose father was Sir George’s cousin Thomas Beaumont (died 1818), and whose mother was Bridget Beaumont (died 1842). Evidence of Sir George Beaumont’s personality and opinions survives from reports and letters. For the other Beaumonts, and especially Bridget, I found no evidence, and the character ascribed to her is therefore pure invention; the same goes for Thomas, Georgie, Bridget’s sister Frances, and her husband Henry Beauchamp. The Kaye and Harbury families are entirely fictional, as is their estate Wistham Court.