Page 27 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)
HARDLY A WALK IN THE PARK
E lizabeth awoke—in the most luxurious bedchamber she had ever inhabited—and wondered what might come next.
Her wedding day had been…strange, to say the least. Darcy had been very clear that he had no wish to speak to her, or speak of the argument between them, and had absented himself from her immediately on their arrival in London.
Georgiana, who had not been permitted to come to Hertfordshire for the wedding, had also been sent off for the se’nnight following.
The result was a house with all the vigour of a tomb.
She felt, at once, a pang for the bustle of Longbourn.
There were no breakfast smells, no maids, no sounds of conversation; in short, there was no sign that one other soul occupied the house alongside her.
Perhaps no one did. Perhaps Darcy was so disgusted by his fate that he had deposited her here and gone off to Pemberley.
No matter, that. She was not about to languish in misery.
It was done; she was married to a man who despised her.
There was nothing for it but to move ahead and do what she could to remedy things between them.
Right now, he wished her to leave off and so she would, but in time, she hoped, there would be more active efforts at reconciliation.
Having been long accustomed to shifting for herself in the morning, Elizabeth dressed herself, and did her hair in a neat but simple style.
A vigorous ramble through the countryside was out of the question of course, but Hyde Park was very near, and she decided she ought to take advantage of that fact as best she could.
She had always enjoyed the spectacle of Hyde Park; the fine ladies and gentlemen walking the paths, the high-sprung curricles on Rotten Row, even the little flower girls hawking posies.
It was early in the day, perhaps too early for those of the ton to bestir, but she was confident she would find some form of novelty or diversion.
The park was very quiet, much more quiet than Elizabeth had ever seen it in her few times visiting. Most of those walking about seemed to be servants or tradespeople, but the sun was warm and the air was fresh. Soon enough, she felt her cares easing and her optimism restored.
It was nothing short of a complete shock to see Miss Anne de Bourgh approaching on the path.
Miss de Bourgh was with Mrs Jenkinson who appeared anxious and distressed—but that lady always appeared thus, so Elizabeth did not think much of it.
She was well-prepared to simply nod and walk past, but it was not to be.
“Mrs Darcy,” Miss de Bourgh said, coming to a halt directly in front of her. “How do you do?”
She sounded very civil and agreeable, and Elizabeth cautiously smiled. “I am very well, and you?”
“I am in excellent health this morning.” Miss de Bourgh gave her a tight-lipped smile; it seemed the only sort she was capable of. “How are you finding married life?”
Abruptly Elizabeth realised how strange it might appear, a new bride on the very day after her wedding, walking alone in the park.
“Delightful,” she said. “Alas, I find I am as yet unable to break my country custom of a morning walk, so here I am. I can only hope my dear husband will not miss me too desperately.”
Miss de Bourgh only stared blankly in response, then with her mother’s hauteur said, “Pray walk with me for a little while.” She gestured with her walking stick towards the path Elizabeth had only just travelled.
“Would that I could! I am due back home shortly.” It was not precisely true, but she was reluctant to begin a discourse with the lady who had once wished, reportedly, to make her burn in Hell.
“But you must!” Miss de Bourgh stepped closer. “It grieves me to remember the past and to contemplate the effects on my dear cousin and his wife. I do not know if it is possible to rectify matters at this juncture, but I would at least like to try.”
She seemed earnest and Elizabeth, against all inclination, found herself softening a little.
After all, had she herself not done things she regretted in anger?
Perhaps Miss de Bourgh was eager to make amends for her loss of countenance.
Just the same, it could not hurt anything to merely walk with the lady a short while.
Elizabeth nodded, then turned round, and the two ladies set off with Mrs Jenkinson trailing behind them.
Miss de Bourgh began with a number of compliments to Elizabeth—how lovely she looked, how delightful her wedding had reportedly been, and Saye’s opinion that Longbourn was so very charming.
The last made Elizabeth look sharply at her—her family had been as well-behaved as they ever were, but she did not doubt Saye had noted their eccentricities—but Miss de Bourgh wore an enormous poke bonnet, making it impossible to see her face.
“Have you made many plans for redecorating Pemberley?” Miss de Bourgh asked.
“Being that I have not, as yet, seen Pemberley, no I have not. I am sure it is lovely as it is.”
With this Miss de Bourgh was ignited, rattling away about the perfections of Pemberley.
It was increasingly odd, hearing her speaking so volubly; it was so out of character that it could only bring uneasiness.
Elizabeth had just resolved to excuse herself from Miss de Bourgh when Mrs Jenkinson interjected.
“Miss de Bourgh, forgive me, but you have walked a good deal already. Perhaps Mrs Darcy would like to return to the house with us and enjoy some breakfast?”
“Oh no, I could not,” Elizabeth replied immediately. “I must return home. Likely I have lingered too long already.”
“But I have yet more I wish to speak of to you,” said Miss de Bourgh, sounding very much like a spoilt child. “You must come with us and then the carriage will take you back. I know enough of my cousin’s habits to know he will not awaken for another hour, at least!”
And be none too desirous of seeing me when he does. With a sigh, Elizabeth cast a glance towards the gate that would take her directly back to Darcy House.
But in truth, she had not much to return to.
A silent house and an unhappy husband. Perhaps a healing of the breach in Darcy’s family would teach him to forgive her as well.
Having an endless reminder of the circumstances of their union would do neither of them any good.
Amicability with his relations must surely show him she was not vicious or cruel?
Against every inclination, Elizabeth smiled and said, “As you wish.”
It did not appear that anyone in the Matlock town house was awake when they arrived.
As if Miss de Bourgh had heard Elizabeth’s unspoken question, she said, “My aunt and mother take trays in their bedchambers, and Lord Matlock does not eat before the noon hour. We very nearly have the place to ourselves!” She gave a peculiarly girlish giggle.
“I hope I do not put anyone to any trouble?” Elizabeth said.
“Not a bit. Jenkinson has gone to get us breakfast,” Miss de Bourgh assured her.
Why would Jenkinson fetch their breakfast?
Again Miss de Bourgh answered the unspoken query. “I am on a very particular dietary regimen,” she explained. “Jenkinson must oversee my meals so that I do not eat anything that will result in imbalance.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said, wondering what she might be in for.
Mrs Jenkinson arrived quickly with a simple breakfast that appeared as commonplace as any Elizabeth had ever seen.
There was a delightful selection of berries, piled high and drizzled with honey, as well as toast and marmalade and drinking chocolate.
The berries, Miss de Bourgh informed her, were from a small greenhouse within the courtyard and were as fresh as fresh could be.
It was not as varied as some tables were, but it was as much as Elizabeth ever took.
Indeed a piece of buttered toast and a few of the berries more than satisfied her.
Miss de Bourgh— Anne , for they had decided that as they were cousins now, they could forgo formal names—was eager for Elizabeth to eat, urging her repeatedly to take more and more, but at length, Elizabeth cried off.
“I really must return home,” she said. “But this has been delightful and I thank you.”
Anne rose and kissed her cheek as she left. “I hope such pleasures as this can be oft repeated. Perhaps tomorrow? Do you always walk in the mornings?”
Flattered by her condescension, Elizabeth agreed that she generally did.
She spent the remainder of her day writing letters to any person who she felt might wish for one from her, but only with Jane could she be honest. She was in the midst of telling her about the terrible, long journey from Longbourn to London when a stomach-ache seized her.
She leant back in the chair, her hand pressed against her abdomen until it waned.
Looking at her letter, she realised that it did her no good, writing out her distress, and so rose to go burn the letter in the fireplace.
She never made it to the fireplace. An intense urge to vomit struck her as soon as she stood, and she was barely able to pull her chamber pot from its hiding place before emptying herself into it, a fine sheen of cold perspiration breaking out all over her when she did.
It did little, alas, to ease the sharp pain in her stomach.
She remained huddled over the chamber pot for a little while until she was very certain the pains had passed.
Then she rose, shakily, to her feet and stood for a moment, trying to be sure the episode would not repeat itself.
She wondered, briefly, if something from the evening prior had disagreed with her?
She had taken only some soup that Mrs Hobbs brought up, distress always dampening her appetite.
Maybe that is the trouble , she thought. You have eaten too little.
A maid came to remove the chamber pot, nodding and smiling to Elizabeth’s apologies and assuring her it was nothing to be dismayed by. Then she brought a pot of tea and left her.
There was a knock on the door only moments later.
“C-come—” The word emerged in a choked grumble and she paused, clearing her throat and licking her lips. Her mouth felt thick and dry, but she managed to usher an invitation to whomever to come in.
It was her husband. He did not look her in the eye, instead training his gaze at the floor by his feet. “Lady Matlock thought it best if we were to take a se’nnight to ourselves to grow accustomed to being married. It is what most couples would do after their marriage.”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling very heavy-headed and clumsy. Then she realised he was not looking at her and spoke. “That seems reasonable.”
“You will need a ladies’ maid. Mrs Hobbs can secure interviews with some if you would like.”
“I would appreciate that.”
He raised his eyes then, his brow furrowing as he beheld her. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
“You look very pale.” He took a step towards her. “Almost greyish.”
“Forgive me.” She lightly patted her cheeks with her hands, then pinched them, pressing her lips together to make them colour as well. “Better?”
Evidently it was not, for he still wore the same look of… Well, she might have liked to call it concern, but in truth it seemed like disgusted bafflement.
“Perhaps you ought to remain in your bedchamber,” he said. “Get some rest.”
Was it an order? It sounded like one, but she had come to know that was just how he was accustomed to speaking. In any case, she was not about to challenge him on it, particularly not when she was feeling so muddled, and thus merely nodded.