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Chapter 17
One day, on a sunny but cold day towards the end of December, Fitzwilliam surprised his wife by suggesting that they go for a drive.
"To, where?" she had to ask, as it was very unlike him to mention such an outing.
"Not any place in particular," was his reply, but as she only stared at him in disbelief, he added, "Georgiana shall watch James ... we won't be gone more then a few hours."
As she had only just finished feeding him, she supposed that he should be satisfied until their return.
"You have spoken to Georgiana?"
As she still looked uncertain, he held out his hand to encourage her, saying, "Yes, of course, so you have no excuse ... come, Elizabeth."
He would give her no more information than that, no matter how many questions she put to him, so she could only wonder what he might be planning.
They drove through a part of the country she was unfamiliar with, all the while she alternated between watching the scenery, and studying her husband curiously. After half-an-hour of attempting to figure it out, she finally asked, "Fitzwilliam, what are you up to?"
"Can't I wish to take my wife out to enjoy the countryside without raising speculation?" he inquired innocently, which only succeeded in making her more suspicious. But as he, obviously, was not going to tell her anything, she finally gave it up, and began to enjoy herself.
Within the hour, they turned onto a long gravel drive lined with Spanish Chestnuts, bare now, but promising cool shade in the summer. A red brick house appeared before them, not as large as Pemberley, but grand just the same.
"Are we visiting someone?" she inquired, "Who lives here, Fitzwilliam?"
But he only smiled mysteriously, declining to answer her. The style was either Roman or Greek, with ornamented columns supporting a protective roof over the front stairs. She observed the windows, noticing how they appeared to be empty. In fact, the place looked uninhabited.
An idea had occurred to her by then, but she said nothing, deciding to allow Fitzwilliam the pleasure of sharing it in his own time.
They walked up the front stairs together, and as he opened the door for her, a sudden draught of cold, stale air greeted them.
It has been empty for some time, she surmised to herself. The rooms, although bare, were not in disrepair, and it was easy to imagine furnishings in them. A curved stairway led to the upper stories, with several more columns for support, the floors appearing to have been polished only recently.
She turned to gaze at her husband, waiting for him to speak, and smiling expectantly.
"So, what do you think of it?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers.
"It could be very inviting ... with the right family."
"I thought so," he agreed.
She could wait no longer, laughing softly at him, "No wonder you have been so pleased with yourself lately ... you have been planning this all along."
He did not deny it, and as she went to embrace him, she said, "Thank you, my love. I am sure that the Bingleys shall like it very much."
They walked through the place then, hand-in-hand, feeling like intruders as their footsteps echoed around them, and even when they spoke, they kept their voices low as if unwilling to disturb the silence. There were endless rooms which seemed to come around to themselves in a sort of maze. Elizabeth lost her sense of direction in no time, relying on her husband to get them back to where they had begun.
They were on the third floor, when far below them, they heard a faint "Hello!"
Followed by, "Darcy, are you here?"
As soon as she recognized the voice, Elizabeth exclaimed joyfully, "Fitzwilliam, you did not say they were coming today!"
Starting down the stairs then, she almost flew in her excitement, closely followed by her husband. When they reached the bottom of the curved stairway, she saw the Bingleys waiting for them, and as the sisters embraced each other happily, Jane, apparently as surprised as she, cried, "Lizzy, what are you doing here? I had no idea!"
"I did not either, Jane ... this whole thing has been a surprise." With a glance at Fitzwilliam, she added, "I believe, we have very sly husbands."
Indeed, the two of them did appear to be quite satisfied with the reception of their scheme.
It was time to take the Bingleys through then, each of them happily expressing their admiration at every aspect, and appearing very well pleased, overall.
The gentlemen had arranged everything so completely between them, that all there was left to do was to sign the papers, and return to Netherfield to begin preparations for moving. First, however, they were to stay the night with the Darcys, a prospect enjoyable to them all.
"It really is becoming too much, Lizzy, though I hate to complain. We do not seem to have a moment to ourselves." Jane said unhappily. She and Elizabeth had gone up to her room to see James, and use the opportunity for a private discussion. After Jane had admired him, and Elizabeth had begun to nurse, they sat together to catch up on all that could not seem to be included in their letters. With some questions from Elizabeth to get the conversation started, Jane admitted the reason for their wishing to leave Hertfordshire; not surprisingly, their mother. "I am afraid even Charles was losing his patience ... as I was."
"That must have taken some doing on Mama's part," Elizabeth commented, somewhat amused, but sympathetic just the same.
"Oh, Lizzy, you do not know the half of it," Jane sighed, "Since Emily's birth, I have received every kind of advice ... much of it, I would not use ... still it does not deter her. I can only feel sorry for Kitty and Mary now that we shall be moving. Her attention will be entirely focused upon them."
"Well, perhaps we could invite the girls up for a time this next year. Kitty and Georgiana seemed to have gotten along very well this summer ... I am sure they would love to see each other again." Elizabeth offered.
"We could invite Mary, but she probably would not come ... she really has become a homebody. I do not know what will become of her." Jane's concern was apparent. Elizabeth, wishing to lighten her mood, said, "Well, after all, Jane, she is twenty. She must know what she wants out of life by now, and if she does not, then she can accept our offer and take advantage of a change of scene."
"Yes, I suppose," Jane conceded, then, happily , she changed the subject, "We were terribly excited when we received Mr. Darcy's letter telling us about the house ... it really is lovely."
"I knew he was up to something," Elizabeth said ruefully, "He has been so secretive lately. He truly enjoys surprising me, I think," she smiled, "And I must admit, he is very good at it."
"You did not know any of it until today?"
"He never let slip even once. Though, when I told him that you were looking for one, he pretended ignorance, which should have alerted me." She laughed, remembering, "I attributed his lack of interest as merely wishing to keep his attention on the baby."
"About that, Lizzy ... you mentioned in one of your letters that you had a difficult time ... was it very bad?"
"Bad enough," but Elizabeth really did not feel like discussing the subject then, wanting to keep the conversation on a more pleasant note, so she said, "Now, tell me about my niece, Jane, I suppose she is a little angel."
"Oh, yes." Jane smiled just thinking about her daughter, "She is , Lizzy. I cannot even remember not having her, already. Charles really dotes on her, and I am afraid, shall spoil her by the time she is one."
"That does not surprise me ... but I am sure that your children will turn out to be just as sweet and unassuming as their parents." Elizabeth teased her.
"I know it shall break Mama's heart to take her away, but really, I believe it will be for the best." she was beginning to sound forlorn again, so Elizabeth, now finished with feeding James, said, "I imagine they shall wonder what's become of us, Jane. We should be returning, don't you think?" With that, she, with great efficiency, changed her son into a clean diaper and gown, and the three of them went downstairs.
The gentlemen were in the drawing room, passing the time before dinner in idle conversation when their wives entered. Elizabeth smiled at Fitzwilliam, and sat beside him on the settee, but though he returned her smile, his eyes were already on James. Mr. Bingley, seeing his nephew for the first time, said, "It seems like only yesterday that Emily was so small ... I cannot believe she is three months already."
"Nor I," Jane agreed, meeting her husband's eyes and smiling a bit wistfully, "I must admit that I miss her ... even though we only just saw her this morning."
"You have a nanny watching her, then?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes, though it was not easy to find a reliable one ... I mean one that isn't planning on leaving to be married themselves soon, or for other plans." Jane corrected herself, adding, "But we were fortunate in finding Miss Benedict. She has been very good."
"How did you find her?" Elizabeth wondered.
"She is the cousin of the Lucas's governess, also a sweet girl. They have been most satisfied with her."
James was beginning to fuss, his eyes growing sleepy, so Elizabeth rose to take him back to his bed before dinner. "Fitzwilliam, would you come with me? I would like to ask you something." She said to him. He looked a little surprised, but excused himself to the Bingley's and followed her out. When they reached their room, he asked her, "Now what, Elizabeth, was so important?"
She had laid James in his bassinet and turned towards him. "I have not had a chance to tell you how much I appreciate what you did today, Mr. Darcy." She put her arms around his neck, and kissed him so that his own arms encircled her in response. "You have made Jane and I very happy." She added smiling into his eyes.
"In that case, Mrs. Darcy, I know that Bingley and I shall also be very happy," he concluded.
She laughed softly, "I do not have a doubt of it, sir."
The Bingleys left the next morning to begin arrangements for the move to Brindelwood, as the estate was entitled. They were planning to stop at their attorney's along the way to sign papers for the purchase of the property, which included several acres of timber, an ash grove, cherry orchard, and rented farmland. Hoping to have their affairs settled, and to be moved in by the end of January, they knew that there was much to be done. Although, Jane confided to Elizabeth, the most difficult would be the announcement to their parents, especially, their mother.
Meanwhile, about a week after the Bingleys had departed, Elizabeth approached her husband with an idea. He had been in the library reading, when she joined him there. She waited patiently, not wishing to interrupt him, a full five minutes after sitting in the chair opposite his, until he noticed her of his own accord.
His eyes met hers over the book, amused because he knew she had been there, but, on his side, fully expecting her to speak first. When she saw him smile, she spoke,
"Fitzwilliam."
"Yes, Elizabeth."
"What if we were to give a ball?"
"A ball?" She evidently surprised him, as he had no answer, and she continued before he could think of an argument.
"Yes, to welcome the Bingleys to the neighborhood," She hurried on, "We would invite all the local families, of course, friends and relatives ... with some exceptions, of course."
"Of course." He studied her thoughtfully, "And when were you planning on having this ball?"
"Not me, my love, we ... oh, I don't know, perhaps a week or two after they had settled in. Would that be too soon, do you think?"
He looked a bit doubtful, "It might take you, I mean us, longer to arrange than it shall them to move in and get settled."
But her expression was so hopeful and so determined that he agreed, saying, "Very well, Elizabeth, if you really wish to do this, then it is fine with me ... just do not overtax yourself, please."
She went over to him, and kissed him, saying, "Thank you ... I promise I shall not overdo."
Chapter 18
Posted on Friday, 22 March 2002
She was to remember these words over the next several weeks, as the many and varying tasks involved seemed to take over her life. She had set the date for the second Saturday of February, the eighth, and realized later that that was probably the last decision she would make without someone telling her that it would not work. First, there was the head cook, Mrs. Willoughby. Elizabeth had approached her with the expectation that everyone in the household would be as excited as she was. She was mistaken.
"Mrs. Darcy, with all respect, ma'am, I cannot promise what meats shall be available this far in advance, and as for fruits ... you will just have to take your chances."
Elizabeth finally had to be satisfied with the promise that she would be notified no later then two weeks before the ball, with the actual menu
The musicians were another matter. They had to be hired from London, of course, which meant that they would have to be housed overnight. The closest inn was in Lambton, but it had been booked for a shooting party for the whole week. She, at last, decided that they would have to stay at Pemberley, in a wing adjourning the servants' quarters.
The invitations were printed in good time, however, her guest list appeared to be growing daily. The original hundred went out as planned, but then she, or Georgiana, or even Fitzwilliam, would think of someone else, who could not possibly be omitted, and so it soon grew to almost double in size.
She found her time with James was becoming less relaxing, her mind going over every little detail with which she needed to see to yet, or may have forgotten entirely. She was not sleeping well, her thoughts refusing to calm themselves, until she would give up and rise, as weary as when she had laid down.
Fitzwilliam noticed all of this, and one day, said, "Elizabeth, we need to talk."
"About what?" Forcing her voice to sound patient, despite just receiving the news that the wine she had ordered was not available, and something else would have to be substituted.
"About you and this ball. It has gotten out of hand."
She did not argue. "And what do you suggest I do about it, Fitzwilliam?" She knew she sounded tired, but she no longer cared.
He took her into his arms then, saying, "You could allow me to help you ... you do not have to do it all yourself."
"Fine," she said against his coat as she closed her eyes, "You may order the wine."
"Fine." he replied, amused at her quick compliance, "Anything else?"
"If I think of anything else likely to vex me, I shall let you know."
"Thank you," he smiled down at her, "But do not wait until you already are ... all right, Elizabeth?"
"Mmmmm." she barely replied, now quite comfortable.
The Bingley family was completely moved in by the end of January as planned, and a few days later, the Darcys traveled to Brindlewood to see them, bringing James along on his first outing. They were finally able to meet four month old Emily. She was small and blonde, her hair lay in little curls around her head. Her eyes were china blue, her skin fair. Too young to sit up by herself, yet old enough to smile charmingly at whoever was looking at or speaking to her. Elizabeth could see her parents' good natures in her personality already, by her placid acceptance of whatever was going on around her. James was now a month and a half, and she studied him as someone closer to her own size with great interest.
They discussed the ball.
The Bingleys were very excited, of course, and were touched that it was to be held in their honor. Elizabeth, at this point, felt she had done all she could to plan, and the outcome would have to succeed or fail according to fate. In a way, it was a relief, because, from this day until the day of the ball, it was nearly out of her hands. Everything had been prearranged that could be, and she was determined to let herself have a good time despite any detail which might go awry. In other words, she simply was not going to worry about it ... much.
The Bennets, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Eastman (happily for Georgiana), friends from London, and various other relatives and acquaintances were all to stay at Pemberley for the two days prior and following the ball. The Bingleys also had houseguests, including Miss Bingley and the Hursts. Elizabeth had not heard from Lady Catherine, though she was invited, taking this to mean that Fitzwilliam and herself had not been forgiven yet.
The night before the overnight guests were to begin arriving, she lay in his arms and thought about everything which she had accomplished over the past month. She only hoped she had not forgotten anything, or at least, anything of importance.
She must have sighed aloud, for he asked, "What are your thoughts, Mrs. Darcy?"
She smiled, "I am thinking that I shall wait to host another ball until James is sixteen ... no eighteen. Even then, I may think twice."
"Well," he reassured her, "Three days from now it shall be past you, and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you did it, and did it well."
"That remains to be seen ... but I promise, that as I have done all I possibly can, I am determined to enjoy myself. Perhaps," she said, teasing him, "I shall even dance."
"Perhaps you shall."
"Perhaps with a tall, handsome, man."
"If he is fortunate."
"He shall be."
"Do I know him?"
"Oh, yes," she said, and smiled, even as he kissed her.
For the next two days, guests arrived in every type of conveyance, the Bennett's carriage, being one of the first. Georgiana happily greeted Kitty, and the two of them had their heads together for the rest of that day, no doubt discussing Mr. Eastman, who was due to arrive the following afternoon.
Mr. and Mrs. Bennett were introduced to their first grandson, but Elizabeth sensed that her mother's enthusiasm was tempered somewhat, by the fact that she blamed her for Jane's move to the north. By contrast, the Gardiners arrived on Friday evening, and upon meeting the youngest Darcy, appeared to be so taken with him, that they were forevermore secured in the hearts of their niece and her husband.
In fact, everyone who was supposed to do so, had arrived by Friday night, so that, for the first time in many years, Pemberley was nearly full. Elizabeth met Colonel Fitzwilliam's elder brother, Lord Fitzwilliam, the current Earl of Matlock, who had acquired his title from his father, his dignity from his mother, and, she felt, a sense of humor from who knew where. For as he was introduced to her, she definitely saw a spark of mischief behind the highly polished manners, inducing her to like him immediately.
The Bingleys, also, were hosting overnight guests including Miss Bingley, the Hursts, The Lucas', the Phillips, and various other friends and relations.
Saturday morning, while feeding James, Fitzwilliam entered, and without a word, sat in the chair nearest the fire, opened the book he had with him, and proceeded to read. She studied him, considering his odd behavior, before she asked, "Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes?" not looking up from his reading.
"Are you all right?"
"Perfectly so ... thank you."
She was silent for a moment, then, "Why are you in here?"
"Where else should I be?"
She raised her eyebrows, knowing exactly why he had escaped into their room, but instead of questioning him anymore, she spoke just loud enough so that he could hear her, directly to their son, "Jamie, I believe your father is hiding out."
He looked at her over his book, "I am not hiding."
She continued as if he had not spoken, "But we do not mind, do we, my little Jamie? Papa may stay if he likes ... all day if necessary. So long as he emerges tonight to dance with your mother."
"Elizabeth, I am not hiding," his voice was a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
"I imagine," she went on still to James, "That your grand papa's in the library ... someone must be in the study?" She looked up at him, waiting for verification.
"The Earl." he supplied.
She nodded, "Billiard room?"
"Colonel Fitzwilliam and several others that I am not even certain I am acquainted with."
She smiled, "And the dining room and drawing room are occupied as well. Georgiana is entertaining Mr. Eastman and Kitty in the music room ... so you see. Jamie, he has no place else to go. We must allow him to remain ... mustn't we?"
He now appeared to be deep in concentration on his book, so she said, "For he is most handsome, is he not, Jamie?"
She could see the corners of his mouth twitching, as she continued, "An excellent papa ... you could not ask for better."
He turned a page, still determined to ignore her.
"And your mama," she said softly, as his eyes finally met hers, "Is so very much in love with him ... "
His book lay forgotten as he went to her, leaned on the arms of her chair, kissed her lips thoroughly, and said, "Mrs. Darcy, I see I shall not be able to read in here either."
"Was I disturbing you, Mr. Darcy?" she asked him innocently, her eyes laughing into his.
He shook his head at her, pretending frustration, "Yes, Madam, you are very disturbing."
"Then you wish me to be quiet?"
"No," he said as he kissed her again, "I did not say that ... but I can see that this is going to be a very long, trying day."
"Which you shall avoid by remaining in here?" she teased.
"Only if I can keep you here with me."
"That is not possible."
He smiled at last, "No ... but it is a dream."
She sighed a bit wistfully, "A restful dream, no doubt ... but it shall have to wait until after tonight ... which I had probably best be preparing for." She stood then, laying the sleeping James in his bed, and, smiling at her husband invited, "Come Mr. Darcy, let us face our guests together."
He took her hand in his, "If I must."
"Yes," she said kissing him, "We must."
Guests began arriving promptly at seven o'clock, the appointed time, to be greeted by Mr. Darcy, his wife, and his sister.
Elizabeth stood between her husband and sister-in-law, with the purpose of proper introductions being furnished if there should be anyone unfamiliar to her, which, of course, there were. Some of the comments made under his breath, however, caused her to smile perhaps a bit too much, or speak more enthusiastically, then she normally would have done.
When the Collins entered, for example, her, "Welcome, Charlotte," was more forward than she had intended, simply to cover Fitzwilliam's rather resigned, "Oh, my God ... " heard beside her.
When she would have the chance, then, she would turn and flash him a warning with her eyes, intending to influence him, but which most probably, did not.
The Bingleys came en masse with the Phillips' and the Lucas', whose admiration of Pemberley knew no bounds. This, of course led to another bit of underspoken witticism by Mr. Darcy, covered once again by Mrs. Darcy, who was wondering by that point, if it was absolutely necessary for the both of them to be present.
When Miss Bingley, who was all attention to Georgiana, civil to Elizabeth, and somewhat warmer to Fitzwilliam, moved on with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, however, they exchanged an amused glance.
After a while, Elizabeth was convinced that her smile must be permanently affixed, and that if her hand were held or kissed anymore, it would fall off. By eight, though, nearly everyone had arrived, and the three of them were free to enter themselves, to happily mingle with their guests. Mr. Eastman, as expected, was present to escort Georgiana, so Fitzwilliam offered Elizabeth his arm and they went in together. Their progress was slow, as they had to stop and speak with almost everyone they passed, and when Elizabeth lingered next to Charlotte, Fitzwilliam moved over to converse with Colonel Fitzwilliam and several other gentlemen.
It was wonderful to be able to talk with Charlotte again, as they tried to catch up on every little thing since the last time in which they had visited. Happily, they exchanged baby stories, and then, Charlotte, changing the subject, said," Lady Catherine appeared to be quite interested when she knew that we were coming here ... I have a feeling she shall wish a full report upon our return."
Elizabeth looked surprised, "Why, she could have come herself, if she wished. I sent her an invitation, but received no reply."
"She very probably is not ready to forgive Mr. Darcy as yet, but her curiosity is beginning to show itself ... in spite of her resentment of you, Lizzy"
"Yes," she laughed, "I imagine she thinks the whole place is falling to pieces since I arrived. Well, she is only hurting herself ... perhaps someday, she shall soften."
"She is very stubborn," Charlotte agreed, "We will just have to see if her curiosity regarding you shall, in the end, outweigh her sense of outrage."
They were both smiling when Fitzwilliam returned to ask if Elizabeth wished to dance. She left Charlotte knowing that they were all three of them recalling the Netherfield Ball, and her first dance with the aloof Mr. Darcy.
Everything has changed since then, Elizabeth thought serenely. In fact, it is almost as if they had been two different people on that night a year and a half ago. Well, they had been, really.
As she looked across at him, her expression reflecting her thoughts, she was very glad that whatever had changed had brought them together. She did not force a conversation tonight as she had then. There were no awkward silences to fill, no reason to be uneasy or tense. His eyes held hers while they moved easily together, and when she smiled at him, he returned it. Further down the line, Jane was dancing with Charles Bingley, and Georgiana with Mr. Eastman, and she had the rather comforting feeling that things were as they should be.
When the dance ended, they chatted with Lord Fitzwilliam, who had only just been introduced to Miss Bingley, and appeared impressed. Elizabeth was silent as he questioned Fitzwilliam about her, but as soon as they could leave politely, she remarked, "I wonder if by marrying an Earl, Miss Bingley might at last cease her repining of you."
"He is merely interested, Elizabeth ... he has not proposed yet."
"Well, my love, I am in high hopes that, not only shall he propose, she will accept, and the satisfaction of being a titled woman shall make her content, at last."
He smiled, amused by her mood, and, changing the subject, suggested that they dance yet again.
In fact, they danced together twice more, before Elizabeth, checking the time, realized that James would require feeding very soon.
"I shall be back in twenty minutes, Fitzwilliam," she promised, and made her way to the stairs.
As she opened the door to their room, she expected it to be light, but blackness greeted her. She had left the baby in the care of Clara, one of the chambermaids, and she did not understand why she would have let the candle burn out.
She said quietly, "Clara," thinking that perhaps she had fallen asleep, but there was no answer. That's very odd, she thought, taking a tapir from the hallway sconce to carry in with her. But, when she entered, she nearly dropped it in shock, for there, sitting in the rocker by the bassinet was Mr. Jeffries!
"How did you get in here?" Elizabeth managed, when her speech had recovered sufficiently.
"Why, Mrs. Darcy," Mr. Jeffries' smile was smug, "These big old mausoleums are just full of back stairways which are used very little ... except by the help, and nobody pays them much attention."
"And of course everyone is busy downstairs this evening," she finished for him warily. She glanced around the room, "Except for Clara who was supposed to be watching my son ... what have you done with her?"
"Why, not a thing ... she looked so weary that I took pity on her and allowed her to rest in your dressing room ... I hope you do not mind, my dear." He grinned wider, and she guessed that he had either drugged her, or knocked her unconscious, as no sound was heard coming from the dressing room.
Elizabeth attempted to peer into the bassinette to reassure herself that he had not harmed James, and at the same time, not draw attention to it.
He followed her line of vision, however, and said smoothly, "Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Darcy. I did not hurt your child. I have no time for such trivial matters."
This was when she saw the small gun in his hand which he was holding rather carelessly before him ... as if he wanted to make sure that she noticed it, but, at the same time, keep her guessing on whether he would really use it. She also noted that he had been drinking, and quite a lot, judging by his appearance.
She kept her voice cool, "You are drunk, Mr. Jeffries, you would not have the nerve to come here if you were not."
His face took on an expression of mock surprise, "Why, my dear Elizabeth, I am hurt ... truly hurt. I reasoned that since I received no invitation to your ball, it must have gotten misdirected, and I merely came to enquire after it ... but instead of righting such an oversight, you act as if I were unwelcome." He had risen unsteadily while he was speaking, all of his movements watched closely by her, the hope that he would step away from her baby being uppermost in her mind. He did, but only to approach her, where he took hold of her wrist, his voice suddenly serious, "You know how I feel, Elizabeth. You will come with me tonight ... to London. I shall not leave here without you."
She stared at him in disbelief, "And you do not think my husband shall come after me?"
"Oh, I know that he will ... I am counting on it, in fact. I am in great anticipation of shooting him myself." His smile had returned, apparently pleased at the idea, and she fought off a rise of panic. He is quite mad, she thought to herself, he is determined to kill Fitzwilliam and he is using me to do it.
"What about my child?" she asked, to see if he had any compassion at all.
"Your child? What do I care about that? I have no need of some wailing, whining infant ... leave it here and perhaps Miss Darcy shall wish to raise it."
That answered her question ... the man had no heart, and did not care that she knew it.
"Unless, " he continued thoughtfully, "You are one of those who feel that the true mother should be the only mother ... " he acted as if he were going back over to the bassinette, his gun poised, until she said loudly, "NO!" and laid her hand on his arm. "No," she repeated, forcing her voice to return to its normal register. "Do not hurt him, Mr. Jeffries ... if you want me to come with you, I shall ... but only if you promise not to hurt my child or ... my husband."
He studied her carefully, "You are sly, Mrs. Darcy. You are hoping that my desire for you is so strong, that I will deny myself what I have dreamed of for some time ... " his eyes slid to the door, "The question is, of course, are you worth it?" She waited, holding her breath, as he continued, "Will you be, I wonder?" His face came closer as if he intended to kiss her, and she closed her eyes tightly to shut out the image. But nothing happened, and when she opened them, he was watching her expression meditatively.
She asked in a tight voice, "Well, Mr. Jeffries, will you promise?"
"I make no promises, madam," he spoke in anger, her disdain making itself felt even in his present state of inebriation. "You shall come with me ... you have lost any choice in the matter, and whether or not I shoot your husband will be up to myself, alone."
"How do you intend for us to leave Pemberley without being noticed ... the servants shall know that I would not leave my guests." she was clutching at straws, she knew, as she fought the panic rising inside of her.
"The servants will not notice me ... after all, they have seen me all week, and have assumed that I am just another guest ... a very confused and easily lost guest, but a guest nonetheless."
"You have been here all week?"
"Oh yes," he said coolly, "I had to discover where to find you, didn't I?"
The thought of him lurking about their house almost made her feel sick, but she covered it by saying, "They shall notice us downstairs ... we must pass through the kitchens, and there shall be many people for you to deceive as we go."
"Not if you walk beside me calmly ... as I know you are capable of doing," he had put the gun against her ribs as he spoke, so that she understood fully his meaning. "You see, Mrs. Darcy, what an efficient weapon this is ... small enough to conceal, but quite adequate for completing it's job."
"But what," she was stalling now, "Shall you accomplish? What will you gain from this? My husband's wealth is not my own!"
"Besides the ultimate satisfaction of simply taking something of Darcy's right out from under him, so to speak," he said, pleased with himself, "I am certain that you, Mrs. Darcy, will benefit directly from his death ... and through you, shall I be."
With his free arm, he turned the doorknob. "Check the hallway," he ordered, "And do not bother to lie ... if there is anyone there, they or you might end up dead."
She waited until he had swung the door wide enough for both of them to pass through. Then she looked down one direction and back towards the other. There was not a soul in sight, as she had both hoped and feared. They crossed to the door opposite, which led to the service stairs, and he opened that also, saying, "Go ahead, my dear, I always allow ladies to enter first."
As they started down the steps, he kept her ahead of him while remaining close to the wall, lest a servant should come up and meet them. At the first landing, she hesitated.
"What is it?" he asked sharply, "What is the matter?"
"I am ... just feeling a little dizzy, Mr. Jeffries. Please allow me to stop and catch my breath." It was not a total falsehood, and she was desperately trying to think of an escape. He looked suspicious, but after waiting a moment, asked her impatiently, "Are you quite ready?" Then, "Now, Mrs. Darcy." using the gun to prod her. She began walking again, staying one step below him, all the while praying for something ... anything that would end this nightmare.
Their progress was slow because the stairwell was only lit by a single tapir every ten feet or so. As a result, the shadows were thick and made the steps appear misleadingly shallow. Apparently, the combination of this illusion along with the effects of the alcohol caused him to miss a step, and, losing his footing, he toppled forward suddenly, falling past her and on down the stairs. When he stopped at last, he was lying on the landing below, unconscious, his scream still echoing around her.
Sinking down upon the stair in disbelief, a strange roaring in her ears, she thought she heard her name being called from above, Turning her head seemed an impossibility at that moment, however, for her eyes remained fixed, as though mesmerized, upon the figure below.
It is over, she thought in disbelief, just like that. She was vaguely aware that Fitzwilliam had come down the stairs and was besides her, wrapping his arms around her tightly.
At the same time, the landing door by Mr. Jeffries' head opened, and Lord Fitzwilliam stepped through almost casually.
He glanced up at the two of them, calling, "She all right, Darcy?" Then, after studying the figure beneath him, said with some surprise, "Well, as I live and breathe, it's Roger Jeffries!"
When Fitzwilliam went in search of her, she had been absent from her own ball for over an hour, and he was becoming concerned. Upon entering their bedroom, however, he found no Elizabeth, his son crying relentlessly, and someone pounding on the door from the inside of the dressing room, obviously panic-stricken. He found that door locked with no key in sight, so, forcing it appeared to be the only alternative. It did not resist much, being old, as well as receiving some more than willing assistance from the person on the other side. As it gave in to their efforts, a tear-streaked chambermaid nearly fell out onto the floor, crying, "Oh, Mr. Darcy, sir, someone knocked me out! I did not see them come in ... I had my back turned away from the door checking on the babe!" Then, as it occurred to her, "Oh, the little one, is he all right?" She hurried over to the bassinette, and seeing him well, though very angry, she relaxed a bit, then anxiously, "But where is Mrs. Darcy? She was to come and feed him ... "
"You have not seen her?" She grew silent at the serious tone in his voice, only shaking her head fearfully in reply. Considering her report gravely, he realized that she was far too upset to be of any further use, and so, she was dismissed to tend to her now aching head.
James was beginning to lose volume, which his father hoped meant that he would go back to sleep, for without Elizabeth there was not much he could do to appease him.
Knowing this only made the situation more intolerable. Where would she have disappeared to, and who would knock out the maid? If it were for kidnapping then why was the baby still here? Unless ... Elizabeth was the target.
He could only think of one person obsessed enough to enter their house and simply take her, believing, no doubt, that he would get away with it ... Jeffries. As soon as he thought of it, it made sense, but with this realization, came a sense of panic. How long had they been gone? Where would he take her tonight? And, most disturbing of all, had he harmed Elizabeth in order to compel her to leave with him? Reasoning that they would not take the main stairway, but, he thought, some way with much less traffic, especially tonight. In no time, he was back in the hallway, his hand on the service stairway door, when Lord Fitzwilliam appeared in the hallway.
"Problem, Darcy?" he asked, "I wondered where the host and hostess had got off to ..." then seeing the expression on his cousin's face, changed his tone to genuine concern, "What's wrong? What is it?"
"Elizabeth's gone ... I suspect ... but I'll tell you later. Would you check downstairs? See if you spot her ... with a sort of sandy-haired lunatic." The urgency in his voice sent Lord Fitzwilliam back down the main staircase, while Fitzwilliam entered the more narrow stairway cautiously. He stopped for just a moment, to let his eyes adjust to the dim light, and to listen carefully. Were there voices coming up from below him? Perhaps they were only servants going about their business, but he started down them with some hope. Suddenly, the most blood-curdling scream ever heard by himself, filled and reverberated through the stairwell, followed by the sound of something heavy falling with a series of slow thuds.
Then ... silence.
He took the stairs two at a time down to the first landing. As he turned the corner, he saw his wife sitting on a step nearly halfway down, , her back to him. On the landing below her, lay Jeffries, unconscious or dead, he did not know, a small pistol lying next to him.
"Elizabeth!" He said her name, but she did not react, her gaze remaining riveted upon the figure below.
Beside her in a moment, he wrapped his arms around her, yet she did not seem to be aware of his presence, only of the ghastly scene before her.
When he spoke her name again, he, at last, broke into her thoughts.
She met his eyes, then, and in disbelief, said, "My God, Fitzwilliam, he was going to kill you."
Below them, the landing door opened and Lord Fitzwilliam, who must have heard the scream as well, stepped in to study the motionless man lying there. He apparently recognized him, but Fitzwilliam did not wait to find out how or why, he was already guiding his wife back up to their room.
As they reached the door, James' wailing greeted them, and that, more than anything else thus far, succeeded in returning her to her senses. Abruptly, she went into their room, picked him up, and held him tightly, her eyes closed as if she were praying. That, of course, was not what he wished for just then, and, as he was just taking a breath for another squall, she sat with him in the rocker, unbuttoned the bodice of her gown, and began to nurse him.
Her husband, meanwhile, stood uncertainly for a moment, needing to leave, but wishing to remain.
She met his eyes, urging him, "Go, Fitzwilliam ... I am fine ... we will talk of this later." Reluctantly, he left, yet uncertain of what, exactly, had happened in the past hour.
Going down to the second floor, he met Lord Fitzwilliam coming up, "Well, Darcy, what do you want to do with him? We can't very well leave him where he is."
"No," he answered ruefully, "Although if I had my way, I would throw him outside and let him freeze ... " He considered the problem, then, "There's a room off of the kitchen with a bar across to lock it securely. We'll put him in there tonight, and I'll send for the constable tomorrow."
"He's got a nasty blow on the head."
"Ask the poor maid about her nasty blow ... oh, all right, I'll see that he at least gets a bag of ice ... more than he deserves."
They called several of the brawnier male servants to help move Jeffries to the aforementioned room, now used mainly for storing preserves, but at one time for holding casks of wine, giving cause for the bar on the door. A blanket was found for the prisoner, and they laid him upon it, none too gently.
Then, after Fitzwilliam set the bar in its place with a noticeable grimness, they returned upstairs.
Lord Fitzwilliam, upon noticing his cousin's dour expression, and wishing to be helpful, suggested, "You look like a man who needs a drink." Fitzwilliam did not answer, but went somewhat willingly with him to the study, where the Earl poured two generous glasses of brandy.
After offering one to his cousin, he took a long drink himself, suggesting affably, "Now, Darcy, you tell me your sorry tale," and, while settling himself comfortably into a chair, finished, "Then, I'll tell you mine."
"You say you know Jeffries?" Mr. Darcy began.
"Oh, yes ... " Lord Fitzwilliam replied with a sardonic smile.
"Then you know that he is ambitious."
"I do."
"Unprincipled."
"Very much so."
"And a snake."
"Appears we are speaking of the same man. How did you come to meet him?"
"Through a neighbor, the Covingtons ... you might have met them ... he happened to be attending this tea which they were hosting ... some months ago. Last spring, I think, where he got it into his head that he wanted two things: My money and my wife."
Lord Fitzwilliam did not appear shocked, but only nodded as if he knew what was coming.
"And all in the name of politics, " Darcy continued scornfully, "I will admit he had me interested for a while ... he can be very persuasive. Then he ( and Elizabeth suspected this long before I ), not only made a blatant attempt on my life, but tried to convince her to leave me in order to enter into 'London Political Society' with himself ... as if she would." He drained his glass and stared moodily into the fire for some minutes before he began speaking again, "She had the notion to lure him back to Derbyshire, so that we could make our point once and for all. We had truly believed we were finished with him, until tonight."
"And tonight?"
"I am not certain yet, but by all appearances, it looked as if he were going to kidnap her. What he hoped to achieve I can only guess ... she did say that he fully intended to kill me ..." He looked puzzled, "I suppose he would ask for a ransom, but, if I am dead ... "
"If you are dead, then she would be your beneficiary." his cousin interjected reasonably, "It helps if you try to reason like a snake, Darcy."
"Yes, I suppose it does." He looked over at Lord Fitzwilliam, "And your story?"
"Very much like yours, it turns out." He refilled his glass and offered some to Darcy who declined, already feeling the effects.
Lord Fitzwilliam continued, "You may not remember my wife, Delia. We were married less than a year. This was, oh ... five, six years ago."
Darcy shook his head. They had not been close.
"Beautiful woman ... headstrong though ... I must surmise that she decided life in "London Political Society", as you called it, was preferable to my quiet and, quite probably, rather dull life at the estate in Matlock, for Jeffries actually had her talked into going with him."
He was staring out of the window as he spoke, as if he could see her standing there. "The day after they left together, I heard that she died ... fell off of her horse. Never regained consciousness." He shook his head at the memory, "God, I felt guilty."
"Why?" Darcy was incredulous," You did nothing."
"I wished her dead, Darcy, and then she was ... you see? What a nightmare. At any rate," he seemed to return to the present, "I never saw Jeffries again until tonight."
"And yet you can feel compassion for him ... you are the one who suggested tending to his head," Darcy reminded him.
"Only so he's fit to stand trial ... which he shall. Funny us having suffered the same consequences by the man ... odd coincidence, don't you think?"
"Well, he is obviously attracted to money, status, and beautiful women, and, he has enough charm to get him by ... still, if his schemes actually worked, would he have to repeat them? They exchanged a glance, then, Darcy stood, saying, "I believe I should act the host and see how our guests are doing ... supposing there are any left after being neglected for so long ... are you coming?"
"Go along, Darcy," he replied absent-mindedly, still gazing out of the window, "I'll be along later."
At rejoining the party, he discovered that many of the guests had moved into the dining hall for supper, leaving only a few couples to dance. Everyone, it seemed, appeared to be having a fine time even without the hosts present. However, as his eyes idly skimmed the crowd, he was not a little amazed to see Elizabeth. She was talking, or rather listening, to her Aunt Phillips, a smile fixed upon her face, which, even from this distance, appeared to him to be forced. In fact, the animated manner in which she was behaving did not sit naturally upon her. She looked as if she were simply trying too hard, a fact clearly obvious to him, and, as he noticed her sister, Jane also observing her with grave concern, to others, as well.
After being married to her for over a year, he had come to realize that she seemed to be required to release her emotions on a somewhat regular basis. Usually, this meant with weeping.
Not that she was morbid about it.
She would generally go off by herself, or sometimes even turn to him, and "have a good cry", as she called it. He was not of the opinion that she did this overmuch, but only as needed, and, he supposed, for her it was the best possible therapy ... a way to move past a situation and get on with it. Watching her now, he could guess that she had not had that emotional release from her confrontation with Jeffries as yet. She gave the appearance of being very much in control; her back was stiff, she was avoiding eye contact, and, she was keeping her conversations brief.
When she saw him in the doorway, she looked away quickly as if she knew what he was thinking. He went to her then, and when close enough, said quietly, "Elizabeth, what are you doing down here?"
She answered in the same tone, "I am seeing to my guests."
"You need not need do this."
She looked into his eyes, so that he saw the tears so close to the surface, but she kept her voice steady, "Please, Fitzwilliam. Allow me this ... let me finish tonight, and then tomorrow I shall deal with the other."
He nodded to show he had understood, and walked away, not necessarily agreeing with her decision, but accepting it just the same. For, if she thought this was best, then he would have to trust her judgment.
"Lizzy, you are not yourself." Jane's voice was concerned, "What is the matter?" She had drawn her sister aside and spoken quietly to her, but Elizabeth answered, "Do not ask me now, Jane ... wait until tomorrow."
"But why?"
"I can not talk about this tonight ... it is too hard, and I will wind up feeling sorry for myself. Please, just wait," then with an apologetic smile, Elizabeth hurried off to visit with Mrs. Lucas and Maria before they said their goodbyes. She had been going non-stop since returning downstairs, fearing that if she did so, fatigue would set in immediately. She had lost sight of Fitzwilliam long ago, and, in fact, until she looked at the grandfather clock in the ballroom, was not aware that it was approaching two o'clock in the morning. People were beginning to leave in groups, while the houseguests prepared to retire, with the last to depart being Jane and Charles Bingley.
As they said their farewells, Jane promised earnestly, "I shall stop over tomorrow afternoon, Lizzy."
"I will confess all, then, Jane. I promise," Elizabeth smiled stiffly, although she was not certain that it would be any easier to speak of on the morrow.
She was the last to go upstairs, every muscle in her body aching with weariness. As she stood outside of their room, she paused for just a moment, hesitant to go in without first checking to make sure that it was safe. The first places to draw her eyes were the rocker, then immediately, the bassinette. That was when she realized that the bed was yet unoccupied. She had assumed Fitzwilliam would have come up long ago, but because she was so very tired, she had to stop and think where he might be. Under no circumstances did she wish to sleep alone tonight ... assuming she did at all, so, she went in search of him. Finding him alone in the study, she asked, "I looked for you upstairs ... aren't you coming to bed?"
"Soon ... I am not tired yet," he studied her, adding "Elizabeth, you said that we would talk about what happened tonight..."
"Not now, please ... I can not even keep my eyes open. I am exhausted."
His gaze moved to the fire, apparently expecting such an answer. "I imagine that you are ... " was all he said.
She waited uncertainly, but as he did not move, she finally went back upstairs by herself.
As expected, she slept fitfully, her dreams convoluted with unpleasant images, so that, more than once, she woke up in a cold sweat. After the third instance of this, she looked at the clock in frustration, and noticed that it was nearly four o'clock. Why had he not come to bed yet?
Slipping on a robe and slippers, she padded downstairs, retracing her steps directly to the study. He was there, still in the chair before the fire, fast asleep. Reluctant to return upstairs without him, she tried to wake him, pleading, "Fitzwilliam, please come to bed with me."
He did not stir, even when she tugged on his hand, and so, feeling very much alone, she sat on the floor beside him to watch the few flames which still burned upon the hearth. Eventually, her eyelids began to get heavy, and she leaned against his leg as sleep, at last, took over.
When she awoke, it was light, and, as a result of her rather unorthodox sleeping position, she was now quite stiff. How she had stayed upright, she did not know, but, somehow, she had not disturbed her husband's rest, for he was asleep still. After allowing herself time to become totally awake, she stood carefully, and went upstairs. In the daylight, the room was not so intimidating, and, she had no problem entering. James was just waking up, so she changed and fed him, humming to him softly as she did so. Glancing at the time ... nearly six, she decided that it was not too early to ring for a bath, hoping that it might revive her and perhaps even soothe her taxed nerves.
Because of the ball, and knowing that it would likely be a very late night, she had arranged breakfast to be informal, with the sideboard laid out so that the guests could serve themselves at whatever time they chose to make an appearance. As it was, she was one of the first to come down, nearly seven-thirty, but she was glad to be granted the time alone. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she sat at the table, forcing her thoughts to focus only upon the dance, and not the incident with Mr. Jeffries.
It had been enjoyable, she thought to herself, I do hope everyone had a good time. I certainly did until ... no, stop that, Elizabeth.
It was so nice to see everyone from Hertfordshire again ... even Aunt Phillips had been appropriate, and Kitty, why, Kitty could actually be turning into a refined young lady! She had not run nor laughed too loudly, nor one of a dozen things certain to embarrass her family all evening. Much of the credit, at least, belonged to Georgiana, who simply impressed by her example, and apparently had inspired Kitty to emulate her.
Her thoughts, inevitably, shifted to her husband.
She knew how much she had concerned him last evening. He wished her to confide in him about all that had occurred ... but, for some reason she could not. She did not even want to recollect it, much less talk about it. Today, in the light of day, it seemed only a bad dream, and if that meant being able to forget it that much sooner, then she would wish it to remain so. Also, deep inside of her, she held the belief that if she wept, Jeffries would have succeeded in manipulating her, and she refused to give him that satisfaction.
All through her reverie, people entered, ate their breakfast, usually joined in some desultory conversation, and then, left again to pursue other occupations for the day. At about ten-thirty, Fitzwilliam came in, poured himself some tea, and sat wordlessly beside his wife.
They were alone at the table, and after drinking his tea in silence for a several moments, he inquired, "How did you sleep?"
She did not think he was aware of her having spent the night on the study floor, so she replied impassively, "Fine, thank you."
"You must have risen early."
"Yes ... I was no longer tired."
She glanced at his face, but while unable to decipher his expression, she spoke as though she could, "No, Fitzwilliam."
He looked surprised, "No, what?" he asked.
"No, I did not lie awake all night worrying about Mr. Jeffries." Well, it was almost true, she had not consciously thought of him, but sub-consciously, that was all she had thought of.
Becoming quiet, he studied her face, until she asked impatiently, "What would you rather I do?"
"Nothing you do not wish to," he replied, his voice carefully neutral.
She stood, taking her cup to the sideboard to refill it, but her hand was shaking so that she spilled tea on the saucer. She set the pot down, and took a deep breath to firm her resolve; I shall not cry, she thought. When she felt as if she were back in control, she returned to the table with her refilled cup.
"How long do you think you can keep that up?" he asked, after another lengthy silence.
"As long as I must." she replied.
"We need to talk about this, Elizabeth," Fitzwilliam was working very hard to remain patient.
Mary entered the room just at that time, her nose so deeply ensconced in a book that she did not notice them at all, however, it successfully put an end to their conversation. Happy to have an excuse to quit the subject, Elizabeth rose to leave, but in one swift movement, her husband claimed her hand, determinedly pulled her down the hall to his study, and closed the door firmly behind them.
She faced him furiously, her eyes flashing, "What do you mean by dragging me in here?"
"We must discuss last night, Elizabeth, you cannot postpone it forever." His voice, still reasonable, was beginning to take on something of an edge. "I apologize for behaving so impulsively but this room is the only one currently being unused.
She could not argue with his reasoning, but still wishing to evade the issue at hand, she only snapped, "You could have asked me."
"You would not have come." he replied evenly.
She glared at him for a full minute before she blurted, "Why are you so determined to have this out?"
"Why are you not?" He challenged her.
She appeared to calm down, and when she spoke again, her voice was cool, "I am dealing with this in the best way that I know how to ... I am sorry if you do not understand."
He answered her sharply, "You are not dealing with it at all. You are pretending that it never happened, but it did, Elizabeth ... and we both need to face it."
"No," she lifted her chin, determined, "This shall not affect me, Fitzwilliam. I am the same as I was yesterday, and the day before, despite what you believe."
"You are not the same. Tell me now, that you are not checking rooms before you enter them, that you are not watching James closer than ever, that this was not the reason you slept on the floor in here by me, rather than in our bed alone? Tell, me Elizabeth."
Her eyes widened as he said this last, surprise and shock in them, but she did not answer.
The anger left him suddenly upon seeing the look on her face, and he added in a troubled voice, "If you wish to keep this inside, I cannot stop you ... but, at least admit that it has affected you."
She turned away from him slowly to look out of the window, her arms crossed in front of her, "No ... I cannot."
"Elizabeth ... why?"
"Because ... oh, Fitzwilliam, don't you see? I have to get on with my life. I cannot give Roger Jeffries the satisfaction of knowing he has disrupted it ... that he has succeeded in destroying my peace of mind. How can I give him that?"
"How could he know any of that? As far as he is concerned, his plan has failed ... all of his plans have failed. He should have no more influence us."
But she shook her head, "He knew it last night ... he knew exactly what to say, what to do, to keep his presence hanging over me ... he knew exactly."
"If you are not able to get past this, than you would be right ... he will be hanging over you ... over us. My love," he was almost pleading with her now, "Please do not let this happen ... Elizabeth, look at me."
But she remained where she was, unable to give in.
She knew her own mind, what she needed to do, he did not. How could he? He had not even been present.
Still standing by the window, looking out at nothing, she heard him abruptly open the door behind her.
"Very well," his voice was low, "Do what you like ... if you wish to drive yourself mad by this, then do so ... just don't expect me to stand by and watch."
They avoided each other the rest of that day. Lord Fitzwilliam was kind enough to inform her when the constable came to take Jeffries away, so at least, she had that for comfort.
Jane arrived at mid-afternoon to talk, however, even with her closest sister, she did not delve into the conflicting emotions which the event had left within her. After last night, Elizabeth felt she owed Jane the whole story, but as she spoke, she kept her voice dispassionate, as if it had all happened to someone else entirely. She told her when and how they had met Jeffries, his attempt on her husband's life, his shocking proposition to her, his reappearance the night before with his attempt to kidnap her, and finally to end up with Fitzwilliam's fortune.
Jane was astonished. Somehow, she could not believe that anyone could be so evil, and in her heart she searched for some explanation.
Perhaps he had been mistreated, perhaps he was misunderstood, perhaps no woman had ever truly loved him. No one could be so heartless as to try to separate a happily married woman from her husband and baby. It did not seem possible. But as she ran out of rationalizations, she finally had to admit that, maybe this time, there was such a person. Elizabeth, watching the conflict on her sister's face , said, "Jane, please do not trouble yourself over Mr. Jeffries. He is what he is ... I only hope and pray that he is gone from my life forever."
"Yes," Jane agreed, distressed, then she brightened, "But perhaps, he shall reform while he is in prison. Maybe there is some decency in him still."
Elizabeth shook her head. Jane would always seek out the good in people, and if there were none, then she would suppose that it was buried, and only needed to be rekindled.
It was, undoubtedly, what made everyone love her, for who does not wish to be thought of as kind, or decent, even when they have not actually earned the consideration? Elizabeth, however, had learned long ago that there are wicked men and women, and no amount of giving them the benefit of the doubt would change who they were.
Her lack of sleep the night before caught up with her, at last, and after saying goodnight to her guests, she retired to her room immediately after dinner. She knew that they were capable of entertaining themselves, Pemberley had many amusements to keep them busy, so she did not feel as if she were neglecting them.
She had intended to read for a bit to take her mind off of her troubles, but when she reached her door, and felt the now familiar dread inside of her, she decided to spend some time with James until she was sleepy. It was a little early to feed him, so she took him out of his bassinette, laid him in the center of their bed, and after lying down on her side to face him with her head propped upon her hand, began to play idly with his fingers.
She spoke very softly to him, "My little Jamie, your mama is very unhappy ... I fear that your papa is too. But he does not understand ... he does not know that I cannot talk of that wicked Mr. Jeffries ... I am angry ... very angry, but not at Papa ... I think I am angry at myself, for letting that evil man do this to me." All the while she was speaking, his eyes watched her as if he understood every word. Knowing that he did not, of course, did not bother her, she was beginning to feel better from just speaking her thoughts aloud. His little fingers wrapped themselves around hers, and she studied them as she began to talk again, "I could not bear if he had done something to you, Jamie, nor to Papa ... and he knew that. If he had taken me away, I would never have seen you again ... I would not have Papa to kiss me any more ... what kind of life would that be?" Her eyes wanted to tear up at this idea, but she blinked them back quickly. "But as much as I would have hated to leave you, it would have been better than having you or Papa be harmed ... for that would certainly have killed me, as surely as if he had shot me with that silly little gun he waved around in so courageous and fine a manner." The memory of his brandy-induced bravado briefly fanned the little flame of irate disdain within her, then, melancholy reemerged to extinguish it, as her son's gurgle brought her back to the present.
"Somehow," she sighed unhappily, "I am finding any of this very difficult to tell your father ... I do not know why, but I am afraid that I have managed to hurt him deeply," Her voice caught, and as she paused, tears of self-pity, commiseration, and loss began to slide down her cheeks, "Now Papa is angry and does not wish to speak to me ever again ... "
"Yes ... I do."
She started. She had not heard him come in ... not realized that he had been listening to her for some time. She sat up to look at him, torn between feeling embarrassed that he had heard her, and happy to have him there. As he held out his arms, she went to him gladly, and buried her face in his coat.
"Elizabeth, I am sorry." His voice was quiet, "I thought I was considering your best interests, but I was wrong, and instead of listening to you, I tried to know what you were feeling."
She could not answer him; At first, because of the tears that would appear in spite of the foolish promise she made to herself earlier, and soon after, because his lips simply would not leave hers.
The houseguests began their exodus the next morning, as one-by-one, carriages, along with gentlemen on horseback, filled the drive once again.
"We will see you soon, Lizzie," Mrs. Gardiner said as they bid their farewells in the hall, because it was much too chilly to take James out of doors.
"You may count on it, Aunt," replied her niece, "Perhaps we shall make it to town this winter yet."
"We would love to see you ... I hear there shall be a new symphony being performed by Herr Beethoven."
"Georgiana would enjoy that very much, but we will have to see how the weather holds," Elizabeth told her, "I shall write and let you know."
The Bennets had left earlier in the day to get a good start since they had much further to travel, and as usual, Elizabeth had said her goodbyes with mixed feelings. Although her mother had really behaved as well as could be expected, her second daughter reasoned that her good conduct could only last so long. Both Mrs. Bennett and Kitty, however, were made very happy when Elizabeth suggested Kitty's coming to stay for a time during the summer, nearly compensating for her sin of convincing Jane to move away from Longbourn, as their mother still believed. Georgiana had been excited at the prospect of Kitty coming to stay also, and they had begun planning what occupations they would busy themselves with. What with Georgiana's wedding in the spring, Elizabeth thought that they would find plenty to think and talk about.
Mr. Bennet appeared to be truly sorry to be leaving Pemberley, but hinted that he might return as early as May, barring any emergency at home. Neither one of her parents had been informed of the situation the night of the ball concerning Mr. Jeffries, and Elizabeth wished it to remain that way. There was no reason to worry them now that it was over, and she already knew that they wished she were closer to home; It just seemed pointless to mention it.
Mr. Eastman would be leaving in the afternoon, but he kept himself apart from the leave-taking, out of respect for his fiancée's sensibilities. They were still shy around each other, not ready to openly express their feelings, yet these three days in which they had spent in one another's company, had definitely helped the process, and Elizabeth could see how they were already more at ease.
As the last carriage drove away, she felt a sense of relief. Mainly, because she was glad to have the house back to themselves, but also, because it was over, and, she had survived. Whether or not her first ball had been a success seemed immaterial considering what they had endured over the past four days, but the knowledge that it had been so, satisfied her, despite how inconsequential the matter might seem in retrospect. She believed and trusted that everyone had enjoyed themselves, that some new friendships had been formed, as well as old ones renewed, and even if she was not anxious to repeat the experience very soon, she had learned quite a bit ... especially about herself.
After she and her husband had begun speaking to each other again, she considered everything that Mr. Jeffries and herself had said that night. She could think of no reason for recrimination, yet much of her reaction had been of guilt. Had she felt guilty for appearing to be so tractable in deserting her husband and child? She had not had a choice in the matter. The only alternative would have been death, either her own or theirs. He did have that gun, after all, and there was nothing she could have done about that. No, she finally decided, she had done the best she could, the only guilty person should be Jeffries, himself, and she was willing to wager he felt nothing of the kind. The most satisfying consequence of the whole ordeal had been the increase in her affection for Fitzwilliam. She had already loved him deeply, but, although she had not thought it possible, his actions had impressed her, even when she had been outraged by them. The only reason she could think of for this, was that she tended to understand his point of view even when she disagreed with it. It actually was both a blessing and a curse, as she never could remain angry with him for very long, and usually, by the time he was ready to forgive her, she had long since exonerated and even forgotten whatever it was which had separated them in the first place.
Later that afternoon, Elizabeth brought James down to the library, and, laying him upon the rug, sat cross-legged beside him. He was smiling at her when she spoke to him now, and whether it was because he recognized her, or it was simply "gas", as her mother had claimed, she thought it was wonderful.
She took every opportunity of late to play with him on his own level, usually games involving his fingers and toes, her reward being, simply his smiles.
Her husband, who was seated in a chair, reading nearby, after some ten minutes of watching them, astonished and delighted his wife when he gave in to uncharacteristic impulse and joined them. As he stretched out on his back, with James lying atop him so that he could look into his face, she knew she would always treasure the picture of them together, at this time, and in this place.
"Mr. Darcy," she said, a contented smile upon her face.
He did not turn his head to look at her, so intent was he on his son, but he answered, "Yes, Mrs. Darcy."
"I believe that you have something of mine."
Smiling directly at her now, he inquired, "And, what might that be?"
"I believe you have my heart."