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Chapter Eleven ~ Love

Posted on Thursday, 19 April 2007

Edwards held out two jackets for Darcy’s inspection.

Darcy was not really paying attention, which was surprising, for while he was no arbiter or great follower of fashion he was a firm believer in his own opinion. Thus he was never going to be a man bullied by his valet into choosing this jacket or that jacket.

Yet on this particular morning, he was not thinking about which jacket to wear. He was thinking about the fact he was back in London, facing a season. Again.

He could not even break the monotony by visiting his Aunt in Kent, though perhaps this year’s season would be different because he had a wife. Darcy was not sure, however, he would like the exchange of matchmaking mothers for tittering society ladies.

They had returned to London several days previously after Easter. Catherine had found it difficult to leave her little Charity school organisation. Darcy had strengthened this resolve of his wife’s to remain at Pemberley until her obligations came to an end, as he had no desire to hurry back to the eyes of the ton.

However, because Bingley was becoming restless, he made no objection when the ladies of Lambton convinced Catherine that they wanted, nay needed, her to go to London. It would do no good if Bingley returned to London alone. Not since he discovered that Miss Bennet was in town.

It was Miss Bingley’s fault that her brother had discovered the news. She had made an arch inquiry of Catherine as to whether she would find time for her Cheapside relations upon returning to town.

It was natural for Catherine to respond that since her elder sisters would be staying with her Aunt and Uncle, of course she expected to see a great deal of them.

The look on Caroline Bingley’s face, and then her face again, when she saw her brother’s face, was Miss Bingley’s just deserts for such an impertinent question. Yet he wished that his friend had remained in ignorance, at least while they’d remained at Pemberley.

Darcy had realised it would be useless to attempt to keep the Bennet sisters from Bingley. He had thought for some moments over trying to separate his wife and her sisters, but he had no just cause.

The Gardiners could not move in the same circles as they did, but the elder Bennet sisters had always been propriety itself, and any rejection of Catherine’s family by himself could only be taken by society at large as a repudiation of his wife.

Perhaps if Miss Bennet and Bingley truly loved one another, they should be together? Darcy was not blind; he had seen how Bingley mourned for his lost love, something he had never done in the past. He had previously moved swiftly from one infatuation to the next, hardly looking back.

At first he’d been inclined to suspect it was merely because Catherine was present, reminding him constantly – if not in speech, then in look. But it had continued.

Edwards at this point coughed and proceeded to help Darcy on with his jacket.

“Thank you, Edwards, that will be all.”

Edwards bowed before leaving the room.

Darcy frowned at his reflection, had he picked this coat?

He could not wonder any longer because a knock at the door, followed by a swift opening revealed his sister. In what Darcy could only call a disaster of a hat.

Georgiana laughed and turned about to show off her new accessory, pulling Catherine into the room as she did so.

“What do you think, William?” she said as she twirled some more.

Darcy had realised his wife and sister had gone shopping that morning, in preparation for the season, but he had not thought his wife would buy such a monstrosity. He looked at Catherine, about to tell her that in no way was she to wear such a thing outside the house, when he realised she had interpreted his look and looked indignant.

“It is not my hat!”

Georgiana stopped her twirl. “Oh no, it’s mine, William! I know I am not to come out but I saw it in the shop and fell in love! And before you ask where I can wear it, I thought when Mrs Annesley and I walk in the park! And you did say, William, did you not, that I could spend my pin money where I liked?”

Darcy was dumb-struck. He had never thought of his sister as being one of those frivolous young ladies. Of course she was of an age where fashion and such like was likely to take some hold of the mind, but Darcy had always hoped Georgiana would be the exception. He had expected her, as in the past, to spend her pin-money on books or sheet music.

Perhaps her shyness and reserve, though partly entirely natural, had been merely exacerbated by Wickham and that she was now recovering. Or like him, she found it much easier to perform for those she admired and liked, rather than strangers.

“We came to tell you that we had returned, and that Mrs Gardiner had sent around a note stating her intention to visit this afternoon, so you mustn’t hide in your study!”

Darcy was struck again by the change; his sister of six months ago would not have even dared to have even mildly teased him, or dreamt of telling him what to do.

Darcy merely nodded and assured her he had no intention of avoiding their guests.

“Good, and perhaps Charles will arrive unannounced during their visit! Kitty tells me that Jane is so handsome that I expect he’ll lose his breath!” With that the ladies made to depart.

“Catherine, if I may have a word?”

Georgiana closed the door behind her.

Catherine seemed to sense why he wished to speak with her. “How, pray, was I supposed to tell her she had chosen the most horrid, hideous, ugly bonnet I had ever seen, without hurting her feelings!”

Darcy opened his mouth to tell her exactly how one did, when he realised he could not. If he, or anyone else, had told Georgiana the bonnet ill became her, it still would have hurt her feelings, because she had chosen the bonnet.

Catherine made a little ‘ha’ sound.

“Very well, but she cannot wear it.”

He expected her to retort that he would have to tell her sister, but Catherine merely replied. “I expect I shall have a terrible accident with it. Although it is a shame, when she has spent so much money on it, but one cannot expose her to laughter.”

“She will have to learn the lesson of making ill-decisions when it comes to spending money freely at some point, it might as well be now,” Darcy adjusted his sleeves, “And I do not expect anyone would laugh at her openly.”

Catherine looked sceptical, “Have you met many young ladies?”

Darcy ignored that remark, “Is it natural to fall in love with a garment?” Darcy had picked up on those words and wondered. He sometimes wished Georgiana had been a brother, at least he could remember what it was like to change from boy to man. He had always hoped to marry before Georgiana made the leap from girl to woman, and he had, but he had assumed his wife would be of an age, and of a certain background to understand Georgiana’s needs. But he had not married such a lady, and he must do as best he could.

“Of course. I fell madly in love with a riding dress today,” Catherine sounded wistful.

Darcy thought that she could not ride and said as much.

“Well, I can sit on a horse, and maybe if he walked very, very slowly I would not fall off, but no, I cannot ride proficiently at all, which is sadly why that lovely gown is not being made up for me.”

Darcy turned to look at her.

“Well I thought you would not approve of such a purchase.”

“Your money is your own to spend as you like.”

Catherine smiled, “I realise it is, but it would not have stopped you saying something. You do not mind hurting my feelings.”

“I would hope you would not be so swayed by any one person’s comments.” He was pleased to note that he did have some power over her behaviour but he still felt, as he had at Netherfield, that it was not a positive trait to be always thinking and doing as other people suggested.

“No. But I have already learnt my lessons about buying silly items, and when one has Lydia, one is only left with silly items.”

Darcy found this an obscure comment. He could easily have let it pass, but he felt like inquiring as to the meaning.

“Only that anything I purchased that was any good would always become Lydia’s. I suspect that does not happen between brother and sister.”

“No, but it does between cousins.” Darcy moved to his dresser. He would have elaborated, but while he knew many things had been swapped between himself and Fitzwilliam, the only thing that came to mind was not to be spoke of in front of a lady, particularly a wife, no matter how she was come by. “I did ask you to stay for another reason.”

“Yes?”

Darcy took a deep breath and turned to lean on the dresser, in order to watch Catherine carefully.

“I wished to ask you a question.”

Catherine’s forehead furrowed, “Will I know the answer?”

“I expect more so than I. Miss Bennet, “ Darcy paused, “do you think she is in love with Bingley?”

“Jane?” Catherine looked down for a second before nervously turning to wander slightly around the chamber. “I think she does, yes.”

“You think?”

“I cannot be certain. We were not close. I liked to think many people in love that in truth might have only had a slight feeling of affection. Jane does not show her feelings well, but I think she did with Charles. I think she did love him. But – “

“But?” prompted Darcy, trying to keep an eye on his wandering wife.

“But, “ she stopped walking and looked up at him, “if she did love him then why – why be so cruel to him when, even if something was the truth, it was not his fault? I cannot understand why someone would believe something so dreadful of the person they love. But perhaps that is love? Perhaps she was so crushed because he had failed to be the man she thought he was. So maybe she does love him and was only hurt because the man she loved was not the man she thought she should love. Or maybe Lizzy – who I am sure you know is of strong opinions – affected her? But where Jane thinks she is right, she is firm. Maybe she thought it would hurt me? I do not know.” Catherine stopped to laugh somewhat nervously. “I expect you wanted a yes or a no?”

“If the answer cannot be a yes, or a no, then no, I do not want any answer to be fit into such confined meaning.”

Darcy heard his guests arrive, and be taken up to the parlour. He realised they did not know how close his study was to the entrance, or how keenly his ears picked up their conversation through the open door as they passed by.

“I cannot believe – “came a voice that Darcy could place as Elizabeth’s, but the rest of her statement was lost to him, but it sounded as though it was filled with admiration.

“Did you not come here before, Aunt?” That was Miss Bennet

“Oh no, Kitty visited me. I did not think – “ Mrs Gardiner sounded younger than Darcy had expected. Not that Mr Gardiner was in any way a decrepit elderly man, just that he had expected his wife to be of a certain age.

“Of course he would not,“ that was Miss Elizabeth’s voice again. The tone was rather scathing. Darcy had a feeling that he was the ‘he’ she was referring to.

“Lizzy,” hissed Miss Bennet, and then they were gone.

Darcy had not expected his first meeting with Miss Elizabeth to occur where she did not even realise he was attending to her words. Usually it had been Darcy speaking and her overhearing.

He could only assume it was directed as his not visiting the Gardiners before, apart from when he and Mr Gardiner had sorted out the marriage settlements. Now that Darcy was more aware of his behaviour and the construction placed upon his behaviour, he wished he had made at least one social call, particularly one with Catherine.

But there was nothing to be done now. He just hoped he was strong enough to bear their disapproval, and to bear being in the same room as disappointed hopes. To bear being in the room with a woman he had admired, had done more than admire, thinking the worst of him.

He waited what he hoped was an appropriate time for sisters and aunt to be reunited, and for Georgiana to be introduced to them, before joining the ladies.

He realised his bow was stiff, but he has surprised even himself when he had realised his own level of apprehension. If it was this now, Darcy could not begin to imagine how he would feel as the season proper started, and they were likely to be invited hither and thither, firstly because of the Darcy name and secondly, as some sort of new wonder until the next scandalous attachment became known.

Catherine acquitted the introductions and Darcy found himself seated, listening to what could only be described as a stilted conversation.

Georgiana looked slight withdrawn, although with encouragement she spoke more, but in essence the conversation seemed to be entered into with enthusiasm only by Catherine and Mrs Annesley.

Mrs Annesley usually kept herself distant at such times, and her suddenly finding her voice gave Darcy an indication to how the conversation had been before he entered the room. This made Darcy feel marginally better because it could not have been his entrance and presence that had caused the tension in the air.

Mrs Gardiner seemed to be choosing her words very carefully; Miss Bennet added a few quiet words here and their and Miss Elizabeth was uncharacteristically silent. He could see her observing the conversation minutely.

“Perhaps a walk in the square would be nice?” Mrs Annesley finally suggested.

“Oh no I am afraid we should be going – “ said Mrs Gardiner.

“So soon?” asked Catherine.

“Yes, my dear, visits must be strictly timed.”

“So that no party may overstay their welcome!” said Miss Elizabeth archly. Darcy could only wonder if that comment was directed at him, or directed at her sister. If at him it had gone wide of the mark because Catherine looked as if she had taken on all its meaning for herself.

The party stood and said their goodbyes, with Catherine entreating them to call again very soon.

“Write to us, my dear,” said Mrs Gardiner.

Darcy stood awkwardly in the middle of the room after he had walked to the windows to see the Bennets and their aunt leave the house.

“Come Georgiana, I thought you wished to show me the bonnet you purchased this morning?”

Mrs Annesley had taken the morning to visit a sick aunt, otherwise Darcy was sure she would have somehow convinced Georgiana not to buy the bonnet; that was, after all, why he was paying her.

Their exit however left him and a silent Catherine alone.

He was not sure what to say.

Catherine appeared to be solving the matter by exiting the room, but even a cursory look at her face showed how upset she was.

“Catherine… “

She stopped, and said something, but so quietly that he could only hear the word sorry.

Darcy did not know what she had to be sorry about, she had behaved well and attempted admirably in a difficult situation. He was only sorry that her aunt and sisters had not known how to behave. That Miss Elizabeth had taken the opportunity to make an arch comment directed, he was sure now, at himself. A comment he would have been intrigued him some months ago, and now was just painful.

Though he could not entirely blame them, for the situation was awkward. They were prevented from speaking openly by the presence of Georgiana and Mrs Annesley. But Georgiana would have objected to not being present, and Darcy had assumed that Catherine and her aunt had spoken properly when she had visited before.

How he could expect her to speak properly, when he would not allow her to tell the true story he did not know. But he could not allow the true story to be known.

Catherine had moved past the stage of merely looking upset, and was openly crying. Perhaps that is why she had been apologising.

Darcy had never been good with the tears of young ladies. He had been exposed to purposeful tears by young ladies who thought the way to his heart was showing their vulnerability. Those tears were always artfully timed, and never mired the face of the crier.

Those tears one ignored.

Genuine tears, however, could not but move even the most hardened heart.

He didn't know what to say to comfort her. There was nothing. The only thing he could do was what he'd done when Georgiana realised Wickham's true nature and intentions. He enfolded Catherine in a tight embrace and let her ruin his coat.

Chapter Twelve ~ Revelations

“It is very beautiful,” said Jane, looking at the necklace, “and far too – you should not have bought this for me!”

“Don’t be silly! Who else am I to buy presents for, but my sisters?” replied Kitty.

Despite their first awkward meeting, Kitty, buoyed by the fact that people like Sir John had returned to town and treated her quite normally, had made the effort to visit her sisters at her aunt’s.

Without the presence of Georgiana or Darcy, it had been less stilted, and it seemed to Kitty that what had happened the previous week had simply been the result of a natural awkwardness attendant on a first meeting after a major change. But it became clear that the subject of Darcy and her marriage would not be touched.

After that first meeting she had fled to her room, after indulging in the tears that left her embarrassed afterwards. There she had time to think.

Their behaviour had been regrettable and their actions poorly done, but when had she and Jane ever been close? When had she and Lizzy ever been close? Kitty’s own behaviour whenever either sister had attempted to correct her behaviour must have made them both despair, and made them have to steel themselves to talk to her on such subjects. Not, of course, that she was as bad as Lydia.

Neither was she close to Aunt Gardiner; fashion was a common topic, she would have never considered discussing deeper matters such as gentlemen with her sisters or her aunt. Or they would have been convinced that Kitty did not have any thoughts of a more serious nature, even on the subject of men.

To be truthful, Kitty had not. Not then.

Nor would they be convinced she would notice any sly comments; Kitty had never paid attention much before to Lizzy’s arch witticisms. Lizzy had a way with words and could say so much without saying anything that could give offence, unless one realised the true meaning of the words. Thinking about it, Lizzy would not have made such a comment about overstaying her welcome to her. It had been directed at Darcy. She had presumed, and more than likely presumed rightly, that Darcy would not wish to have the wife of a tradesman and her nieces in their house a moment longer than necessary.

Yet, in this circumstance, Kitty understood – Lady Matlock had made her understand during those first few bridal visits – that appearances were paramount. Kitty’s relations must visit her, or their marriage would appear even stranger than it already was. The regard of society outweighed the inconvenience of ‘such relations.’

Based on these reflections, Kitty determined to make an effort with her sisters, and gauge the response.

It had been all been moderately successful, organised around the other responsibilities of the season (strange that a ball should now be a responsibility in her eyes) and now she had invited Jane, ostensibly so that she could present her with the necklace but really so that she could finally arrange Bingley to also be present.

“But Kitty, it is your birthday soon, I should buy you a present,” said Jane softly.

Kitty wondered if Jane thought she was going to disclaim, but Kitty loved presents much more than she liked buying things for other people.

“Something lovely, I hope.”

Jane smiled,” I – I do not know what you would like, but I shall try.” Jane seemed on the verge of wanting to say something more. “I do not know how to say this – we have been quite,” Jane paused and drew a deep breath,” the situation of your marriage – “

Kitty turned away from Jane, curling her fingers around her bed post. She had wondered, and hoped, that sometime someone would ask her. To actually wish to ensure she was – Kitty did not know what: happy? Safe?

It had taken some weeks, but now Kitty did not know what to say. She knew Darcy’s feelings on the subject, but he did not know Jane or Lizzy. They could be trusted. Something inside her also twinged at the thought that the blame was being misplaced.

It had taken her some time, waking up in the middle of the night gasping, to have completely remembered what had occurred down by the creek that fatal morning. Wickham had said something to Darcy about spoiling his fun in Ramsgate. It had not made any sense to Kitty at the time, until Georgiana had made some comment about a summer in Ramsgate. The moment she had made the comment she had gone pale and suddenly withdrawn into herself. Kitty had assumed she had been taken ill and insisted Georgiana take to her bed.

Later, it had been as if a piece of a jigsaw had fallen into place, and a pretty mountain scene suddenly come to life when before all you could see were edges and glimpses. Kitty had rarely been good at such puzzles, and this time she wished she had remained ignorant.

It explained to her precisely why her husband did not want to expose Wickham in any way; public exposure of Wickham would very likely involve exposure of Georgiana.

Kitty also found it explained why he had not fought more against the idea of marrying her. He felt guilty. He who knew what Wickham was and had always known, if Mrs Reynolds’ chatter was to go by. Mrs Reynolds had not known she was divulging any great secret as she pointed out the miniature portraits to Kitty, nor did she realise she was causing any great pain to Kitty when she waxed lyrical over Wickham’s faults.

But it would not be public exposure if she told her sisters.

She knew that he would not see it that way, so she had resolved to wait until an opening, which was now.

“Jane,” Kitty began.

“I should not have said anything, forgive me,” Jane looked upset.

The moment was slipping away from her, and Kitty still did not know what to say.

Jane made some silly remark about Kitty’s gown and put out a hand to admire the material. Kitty caught the hand.

“Jane, there is something you should know,” Kitty was not sure what propelled her, but something prompted her to sit at her sister’s feet. Something she had done as a child, looking up at her beautiful big sister and asking for a story. Or telling Jane about the dress of Mama’s she’d ruined and would Jane break it to Mrs Bennet.

A worried crease marred Jane’s forehead. Jane always looked so serene, but now that had fallen away from her.

“It was Wickham, not Darcy.”

It took Jane several moments to understand what Kitty meant, Kitty could see it on her face.

“But Mrs Long…”

Kitty squeezed Jane’s hand and smiled a watery smile, but a smile nonetheless. “When has Mrs Long ever been right?”

Jane put a hand over her mouth, “Poor Mr Darcy. So honourable…”

Kitty had not seen it as honour. His behaviour after the wedding had not been honourable. But she could sense he was trying. Not as hard as she had, but he was. Did that make it honourable? She did not know.

Jane continued on in this way, including Kitty in her regrets. But when she made to find excuses for Wickham, Kitty pulled back.

“No. There is no excuse, Jane. None. He had done this before.”

Jane looked shocked, as though she couldn’t accept such villainy, and Kitty supposed she couldn’t. Kitty wouldn’t have until she had been confronted by it.

“You see Jane, your Mr Bingley is blameless. Even if Darcy had…Bingley would have still been blameless. He loves you.”

Jane began to cry. Not the blotchy tears that Kitty always managed, but ones that rolled down her cheeks and somehow made her more beautiful.

Kitty breathed a sigh of relief.

She had told Jane. Jane would confide in Lizzy because Kitty had not asked her not to.

Kitty didn’t know why it was important they know, important to know she wasn’t married to a man who would –

Kitty shook her head. He would not care what they thought.

The first moment she’d seen him, when as part of the stationary couple she could watch the entrance of Bingley’s party to their little assembly. Bingley had looked happy, Mr Hurst bored, the ladies in their finery – Kitty had drooled over their dresses so much so she had not seen their faces, but upon improving her acquaintance she was sure they would have looked smug – but Darcy had seemed completely uncaring. As if expressing to all, his inward thought – why was he bothering attending such an event?

There were few people that Darcy appeared to care about enough for their opinions to warrant any notice. She was not one of them and nor were her family. Yet, now that she had friends in London, those who did not presume to judge her on her marriage or on her family connections, Kitty felt even more keenly the injustice of her situation and a desire to right it.

There was a knock at the door; Kitty looked up from the vanity as Sally moved to admit whoever was on the other side.

They were going to the Opera tonight. Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned from Lady Catherine de Bough’s estate in Kent, and would be accompanying their party.

It seemed ridiculous that she would be the chaperone for her sisters! Or that she would choose the Opera as an outing for her birthday. But it was suggested and Kitty hardly liked to disagree, particularly when it would provide some privacy for both Jane and Bingley.

Jane and Bingley’s quiet conversations since Kitty’s revelation had given her hope that she might succeed where her mother had not. She did not want to interfere any more than she had, and she knew that Darcy suspected she had told her sisters the truth.

He had not said anything to her, but he could not have been blind to the changed demeanour of both sisters on their various visits and the change in the Gardiners that very night when they had stayed to dinner before leaving Jane and Lizzy to their sister’s care.

The door revealed Darcy.

Kitty hoped that he was not going to choose this moment to rebuke her.

As Sally had tactfully gone to attend to Kitty’s opera cloak, Darcy’s first words made her heart sink.

“I can only presume you spoke to one of your sisters about Wickham.”

Kitty made no response, instead looking at the strand of pearls Georgiana had presented her with that morning. She had been so pleased when Kitty had looked delighted, and delighted she was. Her own jewellery!

Of course she had the Darcy jewels, which Mrs Wilson had given the keys to Sally for, and Sally had pulled them all out and gasped. Kitty had been equally stunned. But they were not hers to call her own.

“I cannot pretend to be pleased, I had thought that you would – “

Kitty could not help but cut him off, “I never promised I would not say anything. You assumed my silence was agreement.”

Darcy appeared not to know what to say to that.

“Everyone assumes my silence is agreement, so I don’t hold it against you.” It was true, when, except for rare occasions, she had stopped running to Mama and crying over every incursion of Lydia’s on her wardrobe it was presumed that Kitty no longer minded and had decided that sisterly affection was more important that having ownership of anything.

Kitty just did not see the point of arguing.

“You knew my feelings on the matter.”

And they were stupid male feelings, thought Kitty, like the eldest Lucas boy when he had demanded that none of the young ladies of the village tell the beautiful newcomer of any childish exploits.

“Why, pray tell, did you think that your decision was the correct one?”

He was sounding annoyed at her lack of response. She had always wondered why Mama liked the sound of her own voice during arguments and never seemed to take any heed of anyone’s interjections that was not the purpose of her wailing, so it was much better just to listen. This situation seemed similar.

“I would like for you to answer me.”

Kitty felt intimidated, but if she did not say something it would always be like this. It would be Lydia all over again.

“I am surprised you did not decide to talk to me about this earlier; it must have been clear something had been said to Jane or Lizzy, much before this.”

“It was the fact your Aunt and Uncle have radically changed their behaviour.”

“You think an aunt and uncle in Cheapside are incapable of remaining silent about such a thing?”

Kitty did not need to add that, according to Colonel Fitzwilliam, not to mention her letter sent via Mr Collins, Lady Catherine was spending most of her time gossiping in Kent and writing said gossip to all her friends. Kitty was not meant to know, but it was not her fault if they spoke so loud. She was inclined to agree with the Colonel that the more poisonous tales that Lady Catherine spread the less they were to be believed. Since nobody could be convinced Lady Catherine was the fount of all knowledge when she had not witnessed the courtship, the marriage or even after the marriage.

“I will not make comment on your aunt and uncle’s character. I will not have you exposing this family to scandal.”

“I thought I already had.”

“More scandal.”

That hurt. It had not been her fault. Well it was, but she was not entirely responsible, others were far more culpable than herself. She could not believe she had thought he was trying. It was clearly only acceptable if she did nothing that he did not like.

“I don’t think my aunt and uncle knowing that you do not seduce helpless young women is likely to ruin your reputation.”

Anything Darcy could possibly say would only upset her more, so she spoke quickly to prevent his speaking.

“I think it says something of your character that you choose to speak to me now. Before we are to depart for the Opera. On my birthday. You may think this is convenient for you but it is inconvenient for me and I would ask you to leave.”

Kitty stood up from her place at the dresser for this. She knew that she had no real power to eject him from her bedchamber, she could only rely on his sense of honour.

He looked as if she had somehow wired his jaw shut, so clenched was it.

“Sir?” she asked as imperiously as possible.

That was all it took, he made no bow and shut the door rather firmly on his way out. She had thought the almost slamming of the door was a childish gesture, something she would have most certainly have done.

Sally returned with her opera cloak, eyes downcast, making Kitty wonder if Darcy was aware of the household being aware of the awkwardness of their situation and thus the hawk eyed look out for any matrimonial discord. After all, he should have known Sally would still be able to hear any comment he might make.

Again he did not care; perhaps he thought servants had no opinions to give, or that his household would, by virtue of being his, agree with him? Kitty did not know that he was right, but she also did not know he was wrong.

Kitty turned to look in the mirror and wondered what she had done.

Chapter Thirteen ~ Follies, Nonsense, Whims, and Inconsistencies

The journey to the Opera was intolerable. It was the last place Darcy had wanted to be before his conversation with his wife. Now, Darcy wanted nothing more than to be out of everyone’s company.

How dare she disobey him, and then feign indifference to the whole thing? As if the offence had been that he had asked her to pass him the butter and she had not.

Darcy had, and he supposed this was common to most people, never wanted to be an object of scorn and derision. But he had exposed himself to such treatment in order to prevent worse treatment of others and in order not to have people consider him worse than a fool. His marriage was a mere blip in his reputation and standing, a much less serious one than what would occur if his sister’s reputation was sullied in any way or if it was revealed he had, essentially, harboured and helped a known scoundrel.

This was why he had forbidden both Catherine and Mr Bennet to speak of the circumstances of their engagement to anyone. It had become clear Mrs Long thought of the situation as his developing a zealous passion, because that was a story far easier to embroider and be swallowed by the population at large instead of his being a gothic villain.

Though if the offence had been lesser, Darcy had no doubt it would have been easier to cast him in the light of wrong-doer; the denizens of Meryton and its surrounds held him in no particular affection. Darcy had not cared and still did not, because the feeling, apart from a few notable exceptions, was mutual.

If Darcy was honest with himself, he also had no desire for Elizabeth Bennet to realise his foolishness. He wondered if he was punishing her for believing in Wickham’s lies. It was entirely childish. He had seen Fitzwilliam indulge in similar behaviour as a child when he was blamed for a window Snitterton had broken. Fitzwilliam from then on let himself be blamed for all the accidents that followed the Viscount, telling Darcy it would show them when it was revealed that they had wronged him so.

Except it was only a bitter taste that was revealed when he had seen Miss Elizabeth look at him with pity. Not only her, but all her relations; that they should pity him, it was intolerable.

He only listened with half an ear to the conversation in the carriage; it was nonsense led by his wife, who seemed unconcerned at the fact she had not an hour before ejected her husband from her room.

This rankled with Darcy. It implied that she considered him in the wrong and that her behaviour was unimpeachable and thus needed no examining of her own conscience. The idea she might merely be putting up a front so as to not excite comment crossed his mind briefly but he dismissed it. She was only a girl, and one that did not have those meditative deeper feelings; when she felt something she expressed it.

Before they had reached the Opera, Darcy had determined that he would have to act. He had accepted that this was to be his lot in life, a painful realisation, but he could not have his will flouted. Particularly when that will was designed to protect his family and its reputation.

This determination meant he could escort the ladies to the Darcys’ box with equanimity.

It became obvious that Bingley was to have no eyes nor ears for anyone but Miss Bennet. This meant that Colonel Fitzwilliam was left to entertain both Catherine and Miss Elizabeth.

Darcy had never been one for entertaining, even when he felt like making the effort. He watched his cousin. Fitzwilliam was talking animatedly. He had the talent of speaking without saying anything. It was not a talent Darcy wanted to cultivate; on the whole he did not see the point of it, but now watching the conversation flourishing between his wife, her sister and his cousin, he wished that he could speak with ease.

They were discussing fashion and books, which made him think of the Netherfield ball and how incongruous it was to speak of books in a ballroom, and equally so to discuss them at an Opera.

Yet this sort of inconsistency was what society was built upon, and why he felt so out of place. He liked his order and his seriousness. He had never learnt to laugh openly. Many mistook this for a lack of a sense of humour, and perhaps he did lack it comparatively but it was not missing altogether, he did just not see the point in making light of everything.

He wondered how an open and even-tempered man like Bingley would have dealt with Wickham. How he would have dealt with a marriage not of his making and then an ignominious ejection from his wife’s chambers.

Before any of it, and even much after, he would have answered promptly and surely that it was impossible for anyone to have handled it better them himself. He wondered now if this was the height of arrogance – to expect that his way was the only way; the sort of arrogance that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would have fun mocking during her observations of human frailty.

Though Darcy supposed that Miss Elizabeth would object to her views being summarised in such a way; she would not wish to be thought of laughing at human frailty. She preferred to call it absurdity.

What had she said, he could remember her words clearly, and he wondered if this was because of what had happened and whether he would have remembered otherwise.

Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can.

In other words, the frailty of humanity. Darcy wondered if she had mastered the art of laughing at herself?

He never could. But then he did not profess to be able to do so.

Darcy looked away, suddenly feeling the eyes of his wife on him. She had been watching him apparently openly staring at her sister.

It did not mean what she must think it meant. She was capable of coming to the most probable conclusion, and in any other circumstance, such as Miss Bingley’s teasing at Netherfield, it might have been the right conclusion. But Darcy did not wish to punish himself by letting himself fall more in love with a woman he could never have, not even if an accident were to take his wife from him.

Of course it was not illegal as in written into statute books, to marry one’s sister-in-law but it would certainly blot his copy book one too many times for society. And if Darcy was honest with himself, he would feel the same.

The Opera was finally starting which allowed Darcy an object for his scrutiny. The players passed before his eyes without him paying them more than a jot of attention.

His mind was still wheeling, he was not sure how it had come to this point; after all he had started the night so angry at Catherine and he was not sure when he had started to feel angry with himself.

He had assured himself that he would act to curb dangerous flouting of his will, and now he had thought himself into a realisation that perhaps he was arrogant about his own actions and thoughts. But Darcy had no clue as to how to separate the times he was acting irrationally and when he was not.

The answer was clearly to examine his own behaviour and do so minutely. He still thought that he was correct in choosing to keep his own folly, and that of both Catherine and Georgiana secret. But he had to admit the real damage was the idea that he was not master of every corner of his home. It felt dangerously like submission and a lack of control.

Yet, perhaps Catherine had every right. He had thought that speaking to her of the matter immediately was the right thing to do. After all, disguise of every sort was his abhorrence. The idea that he could go to the Opera and pretend that all was well without speaking his mind was distasteful. Yet what had it brought him? A night of pretending all was well anyway.

But in doing so, he had upset his wife on her birthday. Should it matter if she was in the wrong or not?

Darcy could only conclude his principles were sound, his parents had instilled them in him in a very young age, but his actions were not. His pride and his conceit that his feelings, his needs, should be foremost had meant he had not considered his wife’s feelings or needs.

He could not help but think similarly of Ramsgate. If he had not wished for some respite from his sister – he loved her dearly but the responsibility of an estate and a young sister was something he had never been prepared for at such a young age. He would never shy away from his responsibilities but he had welcomed the idea of her having a holiday from himself. Mrs Younge had suggested it and he had agreed readily, thinking of days available to him to read and visit his club.

And his inability to admit any of this out loud had prevented him from asking any of his numerous relatives if they would bear some of his burden.

Darcy ran his hand through his hair, and then realised where he was and desisted. His eyes flickered around the box and he realised that none of his companions had seen him. His gaze landed on Catherine for a moment longer than the others.

He had thought that things were improving, and he now had to admit to himself that it was solely he who had damaged the relationship, hopefully not beyond repair.

He had never been taught to correct his temper, or to explain himself, but he should try.

“Darcy.”

Darcy turned during the break to Fitzwilliam, who with a nod of his head appeared to wish to speak to him outside of the box. Darcy hoped it was not going to be another comment on his behaviour, he had had enough lectures about his behaviour today.

“I have had a letter from Colonel Forster,” said Fitzwilliam.

Darcy stiffened. Wickham. It could only be about that reprobate.

“They are to go to Brighton. His wife wishes to take Lydia Bennet with them.”

Mr Bennet would not let her go, thought Darcy. He may have been a careless parent prior to his daughter’s marriage but he would be the worst kind of man, for he was not dim-witted, to be careless after it.

“Apparently Mrs Bennet is putting up a great fuss over the matter.”

It suddenly struck Darcy how strange the matter was. Why would Colonel Forster be writing about such intimate family details to Fitzwilliam?

His cousin smiled, “I have encouraged a friendship; after all I am in the regulars, I may be of some use to the Colonel if he ever wants to further his career into the real army. I thought it would be a good way of keeping an eye on Wickham. Although after I suggested a complete audit of his men, and Wickham’s debts and dalliances came to light, I think Forster has had more than an eye on Wickham. He is merely writing of the trials of a militia Colonel. I also expect that he thinks you must complain about your mother-in-law to me.”

Darcy sighed. No matter how crude his mother-in-law was, Darcy would not stoop to the level of complaining about her so publicly.

An internal voice prompted him that he had no reason to complain as while he realised he could not break the connection entirely without arousing talk, he had no intention of soliciting the society of his mother-in-law. Her actions could not harm him if he did not see them, or hear about them.

“Why has Mr Bennet not written to me?” said Darcy. He admitted he had no experience as a son-in-law but was this not part of the requirements, to provide support. Monetary and Moral.

The Colonel merely shrugged. The resumption of the Opera interrupted them, and Darcy was forced to muse on the subject through the next act.

The act had not afforded him much time to think; he had been distracted by the opera, and in a lesser sense by the opera dancers. Not in the way that he suspected the majority of the males in the audience had been, but simply because he was shocked at their attire.

He wondered if he had never thought on this before because he had never been a husband before.

“Mr Darcy,” he turned to see Elizabeth Bennet smiling at him, in that way she so often did, which belied the fact her sharp mind was probably attributing to him the worst of vices.

“Miss Elizabeth, I hope you are enjoying the Opera.”

“It was good of you to bring us.”

Her emphasis on the word ‘good’ stung him. He had not wanted pity or scorn, and he had not wanted, nor felt he deserved gratitude. If she had known how he had spoken to her sister some hours before, or of his cold treatment – his implacable pride, she would not say he was good.

“It is a pleasure, it will always be a pleasure,” Darcy noticed that Catherine appeared to be raising an eyebrow at him, an attitude he had not known she could adopt. He had forgotten that earlier she had thought him admiring her sister. Darcy turned away in agitation, knowing that Elizabeth Bennet would think him rude, but not sure what he was supposed to do. This is why he did not like to make light conversation.

“Mrs Darcy,” the salutation made Darcy turn himself back to the party.

Sir John had entered all smiles, accepting Catherine’s hand and bowing over it, kissing it in that graceful way he had that seemed completely unrehearsed. As if he had not practiced that movement many times over with many different ladies.

“I apologise that I have been unable to pay my respects earlier, but I was trapped in my box by an Aunt.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed as he accepted Sir John’s handshake, “The dreaded aunt.”

Catherine at this point introduced everybody, before accepting Sir John’s apology and moving seats so that Sir John could sit next to her.

She should have manoeuvred it so that Sir John would sit next to one of her sisters, thought Darcy. Or one of the sisters should have done so. Perhaps he was tainted by experience from the Bingley sisters. He could only think that Mrs Bennet would certainly have ensured the single gentleman was next to the single lady.

Although since Miss Bennet and Bingley were still huddled in conversation, it was likely she thought one couple was enough, considering she knew his views on the subject. If he had thought much upon it earlier on in the evening, he would have thought that her allowing Bingley and her sister to have uninterrupted conversation was another insult directed at himself.

It would have been a thought beneath him, because it was not as if he had done anything to prevent it.

Bingley was one of his oldest friends and he deserved happiness. It had taken the removal of his own happiness to convince Darcy of this, and even then it had taken some time.

If Jane Bennet made Bingley happy, then Darcy would have to accept it. Though how Bingley could accept a woman who appeared to be even less capable than Darcy than showing her emotions (for himself, he preferred reserve but Bingley was not he) and seemed easily swayed he did not know.

Even if Miss Bennet accepted him for purely monetary reasons (and there was no reason to do so now the Bennets already had their wealthy son-in-law) that was no reason that they might not be happy. Bingley would always have the comfort that he walked into the situation with his eyes and heart open. It would be his choice.

Laughter made him shake out of his reverie. His cousin was now solely in charge of entertaining Miss Elizabeth. But it was not she who was laughing.

Sir John appeared to be telling some tall tale that had Catherine enthralled. His tale was attracting the attention of Miss Bennet, who had a small smile on her face, and even the Colonel seemed to realise his moment of wooing the ladies must be handed over to a far greater expert.

Now that he was paying attention, Darcy remembered this story. He had heard Sir John tell it in Whites one day; he would not have been surprised to hear new details. Stories tended to be embellished, but it was unchanged, and Darcy found that surprisingly honourable.

This thought faltered when glancing away he happened to see his cousin Snitterton in a nearby box. He had been so ensconced in his own thoughts he had not noticed him before.

Snitterton had a hard look on his face and was staring at Sir John. Then he inclined his head and said something to a neighbour. Darcy kept looking, and Snitterton noticed him looking and nodded his head in greeting before his eyes flicked between Sir John, Catherine, and himself.

The gaze was speculative and Darcy did not like it at all.

Chapter Fourteen ~ Introspection

Kitty pulled off her gloves as she entered the house. It was interesting that the townhouse was feeling more and more like her own house. But she didn’t treat it like Longbourn. In Hertfordshire she would have just walked in, not thinking about whether the servants were doing their work, or indeed what sort of work they should be doing, nor whether they were happy and healthy.

Mrs Wilson and Mrs Reynolds had been kind to her and it would have been easy for Kitty to let things go on as they had gone on before. After all, many dead Darcy women could not be wrong. It would also have been easy for both of those worthy women to ignore any of Kitty’s suggestions and requests for change. She was a young lady from the country, and they had been running both of Darcy’s houses for years, even before Lady Anne passed away.

Perhaps it was because Kitty was willing to listen to their opinions before insisting on any change, or because the ideas had merit, or merely because they felt sorry for her – but whatever the reason the house (and Pemberley) was beginning to feel more like home. The house itself that was, not necessarily the occupants.

She’d been out riding that morning. A particularly docile mare, but Kitty had clutched the mane and must have looked terrified anyway. Sir John had offered to teach her to ride, had found a suitable horse, and had been infinitely patient, even though it had been so early. A groomsman had come with her, of course.

She had been glad to escape the house and the atmosphere of the household. If she could only have the house without the husband! She did not think she had exchanged more than two words with Darcy over the last week. This was an exaggeration, but the truth was not far off. Kitty had felt all the fears of the previous months fall back on her shoulders, but this time she did not even have the hope that effort on her part would solve the problems. She had tried that and it had failed.

The only thing that had raised a smile had been Sir John christening her slow-witted mare Daffodil because of that word’s deeply special significance. Some light-hearted teasing had revealed the significance was that they were the flowers Kitty was trampling all over as she tried to control her mare. It was not terribly funny, but it had made her laugh – and continue to trample them.

Sir John was so kind to her that Kitty often thought she did not deserve it; nor did she deserve Georgiana’s friendship; nor the housekeeper’s trust. She had tried with Darcy and those efforts had exhausted her with little response; giving up after one attempt was indicative of a weak character, she knew that, but she had never had much patience, and all of her reserves seemed to have been used up trying to convince others that all was well.

Kitty shook herself out of her reverie and focused on the fact there were letters lying on the tray on the table sitting in the entrance hall. Thinking they were letters for her, Kitty crossed to the table and picked the letters up.

She realised her mistake immediately, these were letters left by her husband to be posted. However as she placed them back on the tray she could not help but notice the second letter, under the first directed to Darcy’s steward, addressed to her father. What was Darcy writing to her father about?

A sudden thought gripped her. She had not been in society long but she had learned some things about morality of the upper ten thousand.

She had not thought that Darcy would agree with that sort of London morality. The sort that had difficult wives suddenly feel the need to spend long stretches at the country seat, or need to look after their ailing parents permanently, no matter how hale and hearty those parents really were.

Of course she was not stupid; she knew often these arrangements were mutual. She could only base her feelings on her observation and experience of her own relationships and those around her. Sometimes a relationship ended for trivial or serious reasons and while it was easy to sever a friendship with Miss Smith, it was impossible to sever a marriage.

She wondered if that was an option whether Uncle Phillips, or indeed even her own father would have taken it? And they could not avail themselves of the options available to the ton; the options of the very rich.

Kitty mused on this as she went to change her gown.

Georgiana had managed to get her sheet music in a muddle and they had spread it all over the floor of the drawing room in an attempt to get it in some order. She normally numbered the pages, if not already done so, immediately but Georgiana had apparently been distracted from doing so for this particular set.

“Oh what a mess,” sighed Georgiana.

“I’m afraid I’m no help beyond helping you place it all out; I cannot read music at all well,” said Kitty her place on the floor. “And never mind the mess; we are not expecting anyone for dinner.”

“I still should have done this in my room,” Georgiana fretted.

As if to confirm her sister-in-law’s fears, the door to the drawing room opened to reveal Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“My dear cousins, I was told to inform you that I would be taking pot luck with you tonight, I hope I’m not making your table uneven, Kitty?”

“We are already uneven, in terms of too few men,” replied Kitty.

“It is a pity then that Sir John would not come, then you would have had too many!” replied the Colonel jovially.

“He would not come?” said Georgiana, looking up puzzled from her papers.

Kitty felt that the Colonel was giving her some sort of searching look, before turning back to his cousin.

“My powers of persuasion are clearly rusty.”

“And he was afraid of what our dinner might be,” prompted Kitty.

The conversation turned away from Sir John, as the Colonel, acting quite unlike most gentlemen, happily joined his cousin on the floor to sort out her music. Kitty was glad not to be the focus of discussion as she tried to think why the Colonel would have particularly looked at her before answering. Was it that it would have looked too particular for him to be teaching her to ride in the morning and dining with in the evening?

It seemed too ridiculous to think that could be the case. If it was, Kitty was being too particular with any number of people that she saw in the park in the afternoon and then saw in the evening, or whom she visited with in the morning and then attended balls with in the evening.

Of course it was different when it was a young man, but Sir John was hardly any young man. He was a family friend.

However Kitty could not get that letter from the hall out of her mind.

It was still in her mind after dinner, and as Georgiana played the restored piece, asking her audience most earnestly to tell her if parts sounded out of order – a monumental task for anyone in the room except possibly Mrs Annesley – Kitty poured a cup of coffee for Darcy.

It was a good cover as any; bringing him a cup of coffee.

He seemed to be intently watching the piano, which Kitty was rather sure was actually his way of being able to think without being interrupted.

However interrupting was what she was good at.

“Coffee?”

Darcy looked up, startled, but accepted the cup. Kitty noted he looked surprised and wondered if he was surprised that she was being nice to him, or surprised that his farouche wife would know how to think of others.

Normally she would have attributed his expression to the latter, but surely as she grew to know the workings of the household and everyone in it, he must know her better? Not that this had been evident last week on her birthday, but surely he must?

Kitty took a seat beside him, “I wish to ask you something?”

Now Darcy looked suspicious, and Kitty wondered if bringing him coffee had been a mistake, perhaps it now looked like a bribe.

“I happened to notice that you wrote to my father today, I hope nothing is serious?”

“I was merely responding to a letter of his regarding some business.”

An answer that was an answer but answered nothing!

“May I read this letter? Papa is such a terrible correspondent, I’m sure that is where I get it from, that if he took the trouble to write a letter of business he would save himself the trouble of a second letter with family news.”

“No, he did not write any family news, since his letter was in response to mine.”

Kitty blinked. Now she was back at wondering what her husband would have to write about to her father. It could not be advice about running an estate or –

“May I know why you wrote?”

“It is nothing for you to know,” was Darcy’s response.

Kitty sensed an annoyed edge to his tone. Clearly he was not used to being open about his actions, or being asked to be so.

Naturally, this left Kitty wanting to know what the mysterious correspondence was about. Kitty had always been curious. Not as much as Lydia or Lizzy, but like her sisters she sensed some prevarication and she must unearth it. She was , however, unlike her elder sister in that boundaries of propriety did not restrain her and unlike her younger sister able to be more subtle in her inquiries. Lizzy would sense this was a matter for gentlemen, not ladies, and not inquire, and Lydia would search Mr Darcy’s desk.

Kitty would do neither.

She was not sure what she would do – for her mother would be unlikely to know and she could hardly request Lydia to search through her father’s desk. And a letter to the ladies of Longbourn would take some time to return, since both the regular correspondents of the household were now in London.

Thoughts of letters reminded her that she had not had a letter from her mother since a brief note for her birthday. It was not to be expected that Lydia would write to her, for Lydia had always thought herself above writing. Not that Kitty would enjoy a letter from either her mother or her sister at the moment. Mrs Bennet’s last letter had bewailed the rumour that the regiment was to leave Meryton for the summer. The summer was still some months away – although creeping closer everyday and for Mrs Bennet time usually contracted when it was going to result in losing something that brought her much valuable gossip.

Lydia was apparently quite devastated. Kitty could not think the rest of the household shared her mother and sister’s thoughts. Her father would no doubt breathe easier knowing that Wickham was no longer in the village.

Wickham.

Kitty turned to the gentleman sitting beside her. “Is it about Wickham?” She spoke softly, not wishing Georgiana to hear her words.

Darcy started. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your letters. To my father.”

Darcy’s silence rather confirmed that Kitty was right.

“You do not need to be silent on my behalf.” There seemed to be nothing more to say on the matter, but Kitty could not help adding, even though it probably would be wiser to remain silent. “You must be glad that the regiment is leaving Meryton, that Wickham cannot cause any more trouble –“

This drew no response so Kitty soldiered on.

“That he cannot say anything about Georgiana.”

This of course brought a reaction, just like Kitty thought it might. She might have supposed he would be angry but he looked more confused than anything. “Did Georgiana confide in you? I hope to God you did not do so in her – “

“No, she had said nothing to me, and I would not spoil her view of the world so by speaking of that to her.”

“You do not mind spoiling the world for your sisters – “

“It was already long before! And Lizzy rather delights in being able to think ill of the world; it confirms all her worst feelings.”

Darcy gave a rueful smile, which seemed rather out of place to Kitty, “Then who told you? It could not have been Fitzwilliam?”

“I remembered what you said.”

“When?”

“When – “ Kitty could not go on. It was too painful to think any more on the issue and she hoped that he would understand her from this inability. But it was not to be the case.

“I did not catch that?”

Kitty took a deep breath, “At the riverbank.”

“I do not remember saying anything – “

Kitty turned her head away, “I do not expect you to remember.” And she didn’t.

It was unlikely that those moments would be emblazoned on his mind, popping up at the most inconvenient moments after being lost for so long. The moment of horrified realisation for him would be some other time, perhaps that conversation that had happened silently between papa and him as she’d looked on lost. Or maybe some moment earlier in the carriage – when something that made him realise his fate.

“I am sure I did not say my sister’s name.”

“Your sister spoke of her holiday to Ramsgate and Wickham mentioned – “

Kitty wished this conversation was not so broken up, nor that it was taking place with an audience no matter how oblivious they were. But she never thought of consequences.

Darcy appeared to be considering what his response was going to be and it was enough of a pause for Kitty to not wish to hear it.

There was nothing that he could say; there was little anyone could say and Darcy did have an innate ability to say the wrong thing with regards to her. He could just as easily rebuke her for prying into his affairs, and follow it up with a demand for silence, as he could sympathetically turn the conversation to happier thoughts. Kitty was not sure she could bear either; she should not have spoken.

Without thinking of how it might look to others, with a hurried apology she fled the room.

The morning brought her some comfort, but it did not relieve the nagging doubt that it was now her fault that any steps forward in the creation of some sort of marital felicity had been reversed.

This would not matter if she did not mind having a marriage that primarily existed of her living with many dogs while her husband lost thousands of pounds on women, wine and games. The thought of Darcy surrounded by light-skirts, drinking bad wine and betting on cockroaches, momentarily diverted her.

She did not want that life. Nor did she want her parent’s marriage. But she couldn’t have the alternative. Yet she wasn’t sure she wanted that either.

Meryton saw little of love matches. Well true love matches, or what was considered true – the sort of love found in books and novels. Meryton instead saw those who married for pecuniary reasons, for filial reasons, for adventurous reasons and even those that appeared love matches never lived up to their novel counterparts.

For instance, Kitty could only assume Colonel Forster and Mrs Forster had a love match, yet she was content with chasing officers around and him to watch her. There was no deep connection.

The only couple that could have come close to this was several years ago, a young lady that had been more of a friend to Lizzy than Kitty, had married the grandson of a local gentry family. This couple had stared at each other at events, had only danced with each other, had been spied walking through the environs of Mertyon together. They shopped together, they visited together, they spoke together – Kitty could only guess at what else they could not be parted from each other while doing.

It had been romantic at the start, the younger ladies watching on and sighing while clutching their circular library novels, then it had just begun to grate. It had been difficult to talk to Miss Hughes without Mr Masters present before their marriage – afterwards it had been impossible. This was always going to affect her friendships – and his. But they had no need of anyone but each other.

Yet Kitty could not but help wonder what happened when that haze of love wore off, or when something happened to one or the other. They would have no one but each other.

Then the Masters moved away and Kitty could not observe any longer, and novels rarely examined what happened after the joyous marriages.

These musings did not answer the question of what marriage Kitty did want, and she wasn’t sure she did have an answer.

Respect? Friendship? Companionship? Laughter? Freedom? Love?

Was this possible with her current circumstances? And if it wasn’t, how much was she willing to risk to make it happen?

Chapter Fifteen ~ Wearing the Horns

“What do you think, Darcy?”

Darcy looked up at his friend’s question. He’d been re-reading Mr Bennet’s letter, as well as trying to make sense of an express packet his steward had sent him regarding Pemberley’s tenants and farms. When Bingley had interrupted him so early in the morning, pacing up and down in Darcy’s study but not saying anything, Darcy had assumed it was some matter Bingley needed to mull over before speaking, something that would take hours.

“Darcy!” Bingley chastised.

“I’m sorry, Bingley, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That was obvious!” Bingley flopped down in the chair opposite Darcy’s desk. “Jane! Jane! Darcy.”

“I assume you are referring to Miss Bennet.”

Bingley smiled. The most genuine smile Darcy had seen on him in some time. “Of course. She is an angel, Darcy.”

“You’ve said so before.”

“Well it’s no less true now than before.”

Darcy paused before speaking, “I rather thought that her halo had been tarnished…”

Bingley stopped smiling, and Darcy was sorry to cause his friend pain, but was more surprised at the lack of pain he felt when referring to something that only a month before had been characterised as the worst events of his life.

“Well, I could hardly blame her – “ Bingley stopped. “And we have spoken.”

“I do not expect you to divulge your private conversations, Bingley. Except I feel I must say that I’m not sure you should have been having private conversations with her.”

“We were not alone; merely not overhead. But we have spoken, and she regrets her judgements and I believe – no, I know – that she realises that she should have trusted more in me - that I could not hold someone so worthless in such high regard.”

“I am glad of it, but I do not see the problem.”

“I wish to marry her, Darcy.”

“Then speaking to me seems not to advance that cause, you would be better to speak to Miss Bennet herself, or her father.”

“You are not going to stop me?”

“I do not believe I could stop you.”

“No. I believe you might have once been able to persuade me, but circumstances have changed. It was not for your permission that I wanted to speak to you, it was for your advice.”

“Well I can’t in conscience tell you that Miss Bennet is the best match you might ever make – “

“That would be your sister?”

Darcy jerked in shock at this comment, he had not realised Bingley to be quite so perceptive. This was the second time in as many days he had been shocked at someone’s perceptiveness. “I confess I did have some – hope, let us say – in that direction but I would have only wanted your happiness.”

“And Miss Bennet makes me happy.”

Darcy couldn’t say that Bingley must marry her then, because a dozen other girls might make Bingley equally as happy but bring better circumstances, but he had wanted Bingley to be his brother-in-law and this would certainly make that the case. He waited for Bingley to continue.

“I only wanted your advice with regards to what should I say to Mr Bennet.”

“Miss Bennet may give you better advice on that ground.”

“I have not asked her to marry me yet; I thought under the circumstances I should ask Mr Bennet first.”

“Whatever for?”

“He may be wary of rich young gentlemen,” smiled Bingley, “I would not wish to disappoint Jane with something I could not provide.”

Darcy could not help but approve of the changes wrought in Bingley – caused by his love of Miss Bennet, or from the pain of their separation, or the observation of his own situation. Bingley was no longer the childish young man that would be at the beck and call of his friends; he had his own opinions and he stuck with them.

“My only advice is: do not let Mrs Bennet know why you are there.”

Bingley laughed before standing, “Then I must go to Hertfordshire, but first is Kitty at home? I should speak to her before I leave and thank her for her continued faith in me.”

Darcy looked at the clock on the mantle, “She was riding in the park this morning, she may not yet be home.”

“I did not think she rode?”

“Sir John is teaching her.”

Bingley looked curious, “Sir John?”

“Yes, I do not have the patience to teach young ladies to ride.”

“Have you tried?” Bingley looked as if he was attempting to picture Darcy the instructor.

“No,” said Darcy and before Bingley could ask any more questions he added, “She did not ask me to teach her.”

Darcy poured himself a drink after his friend’s departure and wondered whether he should have put a stop to the riding lessons. Or at least offered to teach Catherine himself. He was quite sure he was capable of teaching her to ride. It could not be complicated. He certainly could find the time to do so.

It was just that he found he did not want to upset the fragile balance his household had descended into.

He had promised to himself that he would try, and speak to his wife and apologise even. But Catherine had appeared to have forgotten all about it. Of course they did not sit and chat, but she had no problems speaking to him about the household matters, about Georgiana and so forth.

Georgiana often pretended things were all right when they were really not – he had learnt that after Ramsgate, when it had only been the coming of Mrs Annesley that had brought forth all of Georgiana’s fears of being sent away permanently from her home. So Darcy was not unaware that his wife might still be harbouring ill-feelings towards him, but he did not wish to question her. He had proven, countless times before, that he was ill-equipped to rationally discuss anything with her. It was not her fault, it was his. He was incapable of phrasing himself in such a way that did not insult her. Indeed, when she had confided in him that she had figured out that Wickham’s previous villainies had involved Georgiana he had said very little, but his outward shock that she should have come to the right conclusion with so little evidence had apparently been misread as anger and upset her. He did not even apparently need to speak to upset his wife.

No, it was better that he show himself changed through his actions now, than to drag up any old grievances; to show that he had now thought about his behaviour properly and resigned himself to his situation.

But perhaps he should speak to her. Darcy did not like being indecisive; he distracted himself with another drink. He should make a decision and stick to it – but which should it be? Leave things be or talk about his feelings?

This feeling was supported by a visit from his aunt; Lady Matlock, that was.

“Nephew,” Lady Matlock crossed the room and offered her hand to Darcy, and then her cheek.

“Aunt,” said Darcy, greeting her as she intended him to; “How are you?”

“Very well,” she replied before taking the seat he offered to her.

“I’m glad. Something to drink?”

“No, not for me. Now I expect you know why I’m here?”

Darcy didn’t, but he knew better than to ask his aunt, her questions tended to be rhetorical.

“Your wife, sir.”

“Catherine?”

“Yes.”

Darcy could not think of anything that his wife had done that would require his aunt to come and speak to him in such a formal manner. “What about her?”

“I expect you realise she has not been visiting with me recently? She had been visiting on her own?”

His aunt’s tone rather suggested that she thought that Darcy didn’t realise, but he did. He had, unlike previous years where he had only attended the barest minimum of events, this season attended as many as he had been invited to.

Well perhaps Darcy had not attended all of them, and attending was not the same as participating. While he made the effort to put in an appearance for the sake of his reputation and in the hope that exposure would lessen the circulating gossip, he did not think that anyone would expect his marriage to turn him into a man who enjoyed dancing and all other trivial delights.

Even if he was a man in love he would hardly expose himself to ridicule by hanging on to his wife’s every word and follow her about like a mooncalf. At the beginning there had been some expectation that he would, but that had died away.

So he went to the balls and the musical evenings and the card parties, he spoke to his particular friends, was happily introduced to people who might become particular friends or who might not, did his duty by dancing with his wife at least once, taking her down to supper when it was required and of course lamented the fact he was not an inveterate gambler so that he could not escape to the card room. All in all how he had behaved before he was married, except then it had been some eligible female he had danced with and escorted to supper, or no one at all.

He had noticed Catherine’s sociable behaviour before, and it did not wilt now under the scrutiny of the ton; she claimed her friends from Derbyshire and continued from there. Darcy had noticed this and congratulated himself on taking his wife to Pemberley. It was perhaps the first of the hopefully long line of correct things he had done in his marriage. There she had made friends, acceptable friends at that and perhaps some unacceptable ones, Darcy did not know the majority of the ladies at Lambton after all, but she would not see them in London so it hardly mattered.

“Catherine has made many acquaintances in London; you have introduced her to all that she should meet, of course she would visit on her own. I would not have thought you would not wish to be constantly visiting, Aunt?”

Lady Matlock gave a little sniff. “No, but I know my duty, Darcy. It is my duty to ensure your wife has the correct place in the world. The place of a Darcy.”

Darcy was confused, “But you have done so, Aunt.”

“Have I? Reputations are so precarious. Positions in our world, so precarious. I would not like to think that one word, or one action, from your wife could cause it all to crash down but there it is, Darcy.”

“I think my reputation and position is secure, Aunt. What do you suppose she might do or say? I do hope that you are not giving any credence to Aunt Catherine’s continued lamentations. My mother did not wish for me to marry Anne.”

“She would not have wished you to marry a poor country chit either,r Darcy.”

That stung. Darcy had not wished to think of what either of his parents would have said about his marriage. He liked to think his father would have understood why Darcy had felt compelled, and even felt guilty himself at his part in Wickham’s capacity to create havoc across the country. However his mother’s reaction was less certain. He could only hope that she would have seen his son’s honour before everything else.

His aunt carried on as if there could be no reaction to her statement. “And it is not a case of might. It is a case of doing. Are the people that she is meeting and visiting with acceptable?”

“She met them in my company,” Darcy was beginning to feel that this was not just another attack from his family on his abilities as a husband but also an attack on his own morality.

“Darcy, you forget that I am your aunt. I have known you since you were a baby. You do not like crowds and crushes. You spend your time circling the dancers, or staring at the piano. I do not expect you remember half the names of the people that Catherine has been introduced to. Not that she is to be entirely blamed for that; the curiosity of society is what it is, and of course a young lady from Hertfordshire would wish for more lively company than the sort of people that we would associate with, but this is why she needs guidance. I cannot but feel that she has rejected mine.” Lady Matlock looked disapproving.

“I can only say that if she has been rude to you, Aunt, I cannot think that it was consciously done.”

Though Darcy remembered Catherine’s reluctance and petulant tone when they had been in London before Pemberley; he had thought then that she might not like his aunt. He had attributed it to her inability to see true respectability. But it might have been that she simply did not like his aunt, or had been frightened by her. He should have done something about it then.

“No she has not been rude to me, she is very polite. I must own I had been surprised by that, but she does have pretty manners. I did think her very shy, but I cannot think her shy now.”

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, aunt.”

“What shall you do about it?”

Darcy, who had been standing in front of his desk and leaning against it quite unconsciously, felt himself tense up, his fingers curling over the edge of the desk. It was one thing for his cousin to comment on his behaviour and insist he rectify it or for his uncle to chide him, but it was grating for it to come from his aunt.

“I shall speak to Catherine.” Apparently the decision had been made for him. He could no longer dither about.

“About?”

“To reassure myself that she is associating with those who I should wish her to associate with,” replied Darcy.

“Darcy, you are a fool.”

Darcy blinked, “I beg your pardon.”

“I had thought I would not have to speak so openly about this, but I see Snitterton was right.”

“My cousin? What has my cousin to do with this? Has he been telling tales to you about my wife?”

“So you do know.”

Darcy was baffled; “I beg you would not speak in circles. The time for frankness is certainly now.”

“My dear boy did speak to me about Catherine’s behaviour – “

“I hope you have informed him, or will inform him, that the behaviour of any of my household is not a subject of gossip even within the family.”

Lady Matlock’s mouth tightened and red spots grew on her cheeks. “Darcy, I will not have you speak that way about my son. He thinks only of you.”

“Then why did he not talk to me himself?”

Darcy had not believed Fitzwilliam when he had said that his brother had deeply held suspicions about Kitty. He had not even believed it when he had seen with his own eyes and heard with his own ears, Snittertons’ comments that were vague enough to be ignored but still held some reproof. He had merely thought that his cousin was behaving as he normally did, like a conceited popinjay.

Darcy was only angry now that he had let Snitterton’s actions lead him to have some doubts about Catherine’s behaviour. If Snitterton had had any true concerns he should have brought them to Darcy himself. It was what a gentleman would do. It was what Fitzwilliam had done.

Again Darcy was struck by the difference between the brothers. Fitzwilliam was all honour and his brother hid behind his mother.

“I suspect he thought what he had to say would come better from me.”

“And why pray tell?”

“Because you would not strike a woman.”

“Why would I strike Snit?” Darcy rarely struck another man out of anger – he hardly counted Wickham who was more vermin than man. It was inconceivable that he would hit his cousin, though perhaps this was untrue as he was feeling more and more uncharitable towards that man.

“I wish you would not use Richard’s appalling name for his brother. It is demeaning. And I think that you would have hit him – any man would, I believe, to the messenger informing him that he is being – or very soon will be – cuckolded.”

Darcy was dumbstruck.

“Yes, Darcy. You cannot be that much of a fool. You must do something or you will find one morning that your wife has fled with Sir John MacDonald.”

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