Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife (32 page)

The season commenced with Parliament, and Parliament did not commence until after the frost was out of the ground. Only when they could burrow did vixens begin to breed, thereupon releasing the lords from the rigor of the hunt. Every year, government was in wait until vermin sought reproduction.

Gentlepeople returned to London with the opening of Parliament. However, the true season did not begin until after Easter. Fair weather thenceforward begat a stream of bounteous coaches trailing in from the countryside. It was thereupon that the opera opened its most impressive productions, the theatre its most anticipated plays. Soirées were graced and supper parties attended. And ball after ball after ball lay waste to more than one pair of slippers.

Owing to their prominence in the first circles, duty demanded that the Darcys make appearances upon these occasions with far greater frequency than practicality might have instructed. Never was duty shirked. Georgiana had been nurtured at the breast of family commitment; Elizabeth was still a novice. Unexamined as he kept his feelings, however, neither was compleatly aware of how very repugnant the entire process was to Mr. Darcy.

Eager as he was for Georgiana to be out, however, Darcy that year did brave the incumbent pomp more readily. His sister in society and Elizabeth gracing his arm was a duality of pleasure. Moreover, as he was no longer in want of a wife, he was relieved of the discomfiting necessity of deflecting the attentions of young ladies anxious to acquaint themselves with his wealth. An additional gratification would occur at court. For as part of her coming out, Georgiana was to be presented to the king, and by reason of her marriage to Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth was to meet him as well.

Mrs. Darcy was a bit more apprehensive than was her husband. However happy she was about Georgiana’s formal introduction to the peerage, it betokened her inauguration as hostess to the aristocracy with far greater urgency. They could not entertain with casual affairs using past guest lists. Every family of their station was to be canvassed quite mercilessly to ferret out marriageable young men. Families inhabited by such prospects were to be invited regardless of traits of ill-character and uncongeniality infecting their ranks.

The “marriage market” was hardly unknown to Elizabeth. Marrying well was paramount at all levels of society. However important it was in Meryton for her mother to marry off her daughters to men of income, in drawing rooms in the West End of London, it was a matter of no less importance than (and in many ways comparable to) Parliament enacting a declaration of war.

An additional anxiety was the sheer volume of curious looks Elizabeth was certain she would incite upon entering every room as Mr. Darcy’s wife. Unswerving attention would be paid to her dress, her coiffure, her every word. All would be monitored and discussed, and with no particular generosity. She believed she could weather the sniping, but it would be disconcerting to be the cause of such an uproar.

As her resolve often solidified in the face of intimidation, Elizabeth eventually chose a contrary course. She would not cower in embarrassment upon the arm of her handsome husband. She intended to enter every ball, opera, or drawing room with one single intention: to draw as many eyes, excite as many whispers, and disturb as many people as she could. And try not to trip.

They arrived mid-afternoon, mid-week.

It had been long past evenfall when she and Darcy had first arrived in London after their wedding. Thus, as they entered his townhouse that spring, Elizabeth gazed upon its majestic facade with unadulterated awe. Once indoors, she had little time to look about. For they had little more than kicked off their shoes before thither came a maid bearing a tray over-flowing with cards. Elizabeth was interested in but one.

Her experiment amongst the gossipmongers must wait at least a day, for Bingley and Jane were already in London. Their inaugural engagement would be supper with the Bingleys. This, quite naturally, was of considerable relief for an anxious societal neophyte.

However highly Bingley esteemed the Gardiners and their company, Cheapside was not a hotbed of frivolity. With only the company of the Hursts and Miss Bingley at home (who were carted from residence to residence much like three extra trunks), the Bingleys had been languishing restlessly in town for more than a month.

At least Charles Bingley was restless. For Bingley was the bellwether of any forecasted festivity and he dearly loved the social season. Not for rank—beatific Bingley could find pleasure within any social strata. He loved bobbery of any nature; hence, he was quite impatient for the Darcys to arrive. Upon their greeting, he literally wrung Darcy’s arm.

“Now that you are here, my friend, things shall surely quicken. London has been dead as deuces. The horses will not run for another fortnight and Jane and I have been reduced to attending readings to have any pastime at all!”

Letters were a poor substitute for actual conversation, limited in their ability to convey the nuance of any specific bit of information, hence, supper was a bit of a bobbery itself. For a short interval it sounded as if all talked at once before conversation settled into a low murmur.

So deeply did they sally into the exchange of news, it is not surprising that Elizabeth’s recent portrait sitting was addressed, for she had written of it to Jane. These details were savoured more assiduously than their meal (for Bingley’s cook came with the house).

Modesty did not permit Elizabeth to tell Jane in company of how Morland begged to exhibit the painting at the Royal Academy—nor would it keep her from sharing that little morsel once they were alone. Jane would find more pleasure in that honour than did Elizabeth.

Georgiana took everyone unawares by announcing it herself. So eloquently did she speak of the work, her pride in the honour overrode Elizabeth’s repeated self--effacement. Even Darcy sat basking in the happy glow of contentment, glad Georgiana had relieved him of the duty to crow.

Proving the bonhomous rivalry he and Darcy had always enjoyed was not abandoned, Bingley announced to the table that Jane was to sit for her own portrait. Attention thus turned from Elizabeth’s compleated portrait to Jane’s upcoming one, and, his mission accomplished, Bingley sat with a satisfied smile. Jane took the coaxed congratulations graciously.

Not yet satisfied he had stolen all the available thunder, Charles added, “Ours shall be taken together.”

Inevitable as the rain (and bidding similar consternation), Bingley’s sisters attended their table. When their brother made his addendum, both sisters visibly cringed. They knew that he had just announced their lack of aristocratic ancestry. All young men of illustrious heritage had their portraits hung in the ancestral home by the time they reached majority. As their own fortune had been made only as recently as his father and by West Indies trade, at that juncture, they had yet to form an estate. Had Bingley not embarked upon that search, he would not have let Netherfield Park, danced at Meryton, nor married sweet Jane Bennet. Of this the Bingley sisters thought little, preferring not to dwell upon the mean turns life took.

No one else at the table made note of Bingley’s lack of his own likeness, certainly not Elizabeth. She was pleased at the notion of a portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley together.

Wishes be known, she would have preferred hers had been taken with her own husband. However, all of the other subjects in the Pemberley gallery were presented alone, or in large family groupings. Thus, there was a tradition. Through the glow of the candles, she gazed at her husband sitting across the table.

“One day, when our children have been born,” she thought as she looked upon him, “I shall suggest our own family portrait.”

She envisioned a canvas containing both their countenances. A gaggle of children with dark hair and the Darcy eyes would surround them, a kennel of dogs lying at their feet. It would be a lovely picture and the vision was a consolation.

That she had thought of children during the supper, Elizabeth believed was serendipitous. For beautiful, gracious Jane was even more radiant than usual that evening. She did hope that her sister’s glow was due to the delight of Bingley’s more educated attentions, and pondered if her own countenance betrayed a similar luminosity.

Just moments after leaving the table, Jane urgently drew Elizabeth aside and, sotto voce, revealed that her sister’s suspicion was, indeed, correct. Jane’s glow was from Bingley’s ministrations, not necessarily from the delight, but the result. She and Bingley (motility of deposit having overcome the obstacle of ineptitude of delivery) were expecting a child by late fall.

In rapt attention did Bingley watch his wife and her sister, much aware that Jane would tell Elizabeth the news forthwith. His was anticipation rewarded, for forthwith of Jane and Elizabeth’s heads in brief conference, Elizabeth turned, caught her husband’s arm and whispered to him. If Darcy was taken unawares by this confidence, only one quite familiar with the shades of that man’s inscrutability would have detected it in the expression of happiness that softened his countenance ever so subtly.

As the others took their chairs, Darcy stood. With all the dignity and none of the vapidity expected upon such a singular occasion, he held his glass before him and led a toast to the happy couple. Bingley’s face flushed with joy, happy at last to have finally begotten a first to Darcy in something.

Congratulations flowed along with the wine, but as another always compounds the delight of one good bit of news, an announcement equally tumultuous and no less happy was submitted. For even Bingley’s happy disposition had finally been trampled by the very near proximity of Netherfield Park to Longbourn and, invariably, the ever-rapacious Mrs. Bennet. They had made arrangements to quit their tenancy and were in the process of making final negotiations to move to Kirkland Hall in neighbouring Staffordshire.

That was but thirty miles from Pemberley! Darcy pronounced it a fine estate (it was he who had quietly written about the vacancy to Bingley). Upon hearing this assessment from someone whose opinion she valued, Jane looked consoled.

Her husband had purchased it upon impulse, sight unseen. When he told her about the place, his countenance bespoke the unmitigated happiness of a child seeking admiration of a new toy. Therefore, Jane could do nothing but assure him she loved the place sight unseen. It was a relief for her to learn she would not have to persuade herself sincere.

From the heights of new-borns and new homes, discourse waned. Bingley’s newest obsession was the gentlemanly sport of boxing, and he regaled Darcy with tales of pugilistic exploits. As the ladies excused themselves, the lolling Mr. Hurst sat upright in his chair (which was as much animation as anyone had quite known of him).

“It is far more rousing than the races, Darcy. I must have you come,” Bingley said.

As he inveigled, he walked about waving Bell’s Weekly, which contained the outcomes of the latest matches, but Darcy’s countenance did not reflect his friend’s enthusiasm. Indeed, he looked quite dubious.

“I should not think watching two men batter each other with fisticuffs much of an amusement, even if one can wager upon the outcome,” he replied rather dourly.

“If you do not favour watching the sport, one can be instructed in the art. It is quite beneficial to the constitution.”

“I take my exercise with a foil, Bingley. You know that.”

All avenues expended, Bingley sat dejectedly in a side chair, his bit of moroseness unquestionably inflated by a bit of playacting. Darcy successfully contained a laugh, allowing Bingley to continue to believe himself an object of pity.

“I have laid money down upon one boxer, Darcy. He is a fine pugilist. Savage Sam Cribb.”

“Indubitably an artiste of unparalleled sensitivity.”

Not so thick as not to understand that jibe, Bingley replied indignantly, “That is not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“I have laid money down backing this boxer and I have yet to witness a match.”

“Pray, why not?”

Bingley sat a moment and glanced at Mr. Hurst who was studying Bell’s with great industry.

Satisfied that he would not be heard, he leaned toward Darcy, lowered his voice and uttered the unthinkable, “Jane refuses to allow it.”

At this most mortifying admission, Darcy dared not even smile. Therefore, he frowned.

“Too unsavoury,” Bingley added.

It was quite evident to Darcy why Bingley begged his company. If her sister’s husband attended such an event, Jane would relent.

Friendship required certain…concessions, hence he reluctantly relented. To make certain the debt was understood, Darcy acquiesced with overt magnanimity.

The single obstacle Mr. Darcy saw that lay before him was convincing Mrs. Darcy. This was not a question of permission to do his own bidding. The difficulty would lie in persuading Elizabeth, who adored the excitement of the races, not to accompany them.

* * *

Upon the carriage ride home, Elizabeth experienced an unexpected attack of melancholia. She thought possibly seeing her beloved sister once again and talking of Longbourn had made her homesick. True, she did miss her father dreadfully. Her mother, not so keenly. Hence, she was perplexed from whence sprang her languor.

Accompanied by two individuals whose natures were not particularly effusive (and ignorant that her husband was plotting to divest himself of her company for an evening of sport), the mood in the coach was positively bleak. It was unfortunate that he had yet to devise his plan of attack. A little repartee would have been welcome.

Alone in her dressing room, the unfamiliarity of the London house quieted her further. Endeavouring to keep her nostalgia at bay, she recollected the profoundly pleasant remembrances of their first night together there as man and wife. As anxious as he had been to bring his wife to Pemberley, it was the only true honeymoon they had.

They had talked several times of travelling to Italy when the French conflicts had ended. Elizabeth truly believed, however, Darcy should be happy if he never left England.