Page 35 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)

RENDERED RIDICULOUS

A quarter of an hour later, Darcy entered Matlock House, familiar enough that the butler had no qualms in permitting him to show himself to the drawing room.

Therein he found Fitzwilliam reading a newspaper at a table in the corner while Lady Catherine and her daughter sat doing who knew what.

Nothing, from the look of it, not even a book between them.

Darcy gave his aunt a perfunctory bow before going directly to where Anne sat, an almost colourless blot against a vermilion settee. “What are you about?” he demanded, standing over his cousin.

Anne was unperturbed by his looming, silently looking up at him with the faint sneer that seemed so often her natural expression.

It was Lady Catherine who said, “Darcy, I daresay the question is, what are you about?”

“I am speaking of my cousin’s attempts to ingratiate herself with my wife,” he spat. “I will not have it. ”

From the corner of his eye, he observed that Fitzwilliam had set down his newspaper and appeared poised to intervene. “Elizabeth and Anne had breakfast here this morning, as has become their custom.”

“Custom?” Darcy stared Anne in the eyes. “How often?”

“I wished to befriend her,” Anne replied coolly. “She ought to be honoured by my condescension.”

“It is an honour I am glad for her to forgo,” he retorted. “Leave her alone.”

“If Elizabeth wishes me to leave her alone,” said Anne, “then let her say it to me herself.”

“Elizabeth is my wife, and it is to me to protect her.”

“Protect her!” Lady Catherine laughed, but it sounded forced. “Darcy, you of all people know that Anne’s health is far too indifferent?—”

“My bruised ribs beg to differ,” he shot back at his aunt. No longer did he wish to hear of Anne’s sickliness, not when she had so viciously injured him , a man who stood nearly a foot taller than herself, and weighed likely three stone more.

“We both know what it is you really want, Darcy,” Anne said with a little sneer.

“What are you speaking of?”

“Do you deny that you released her?”

“In fact, neither of us released the other,” he retorted. “It was an argument, nothing more.”

“I think we both know it was a great deal more,” Anne replied, looking triumphant.

“This seems to have got out of hand,” Fitzwilliam said. “Tempers are high and perhaps?—”

“Allow me to be perfectly plain,” Darcy said through clenched teeth, his furious gaze steady on Anne. “I love my wife and am delighted to be married to her. Furthermore, even if I was not married to Elizabeth, I would not be married to you.”

Anne rose from her seat then, looking like a snake uncoiling itself from a nap. “You deserve to be publicly disgraced.”

With that, she swept from the room. Lady Catherine rose to follow her daughter but paused to scowl at him.

“You ought to consider better how that upstart wife of yours could benefit from being the particular friend of Miss Anne de Bourgh. The Marquess of Normanby paid her a great deal of attention at Lady Cockfoster’s dinner, and I should not be at all surprised if he made her an offer. ” With that, she too left the room.

Darcy exhaled noisily and then walked over to join Fitzwilliam, who grinned and said, “Anne is getting ever more peculiar with age, do you not think so?”

“More vexing to be sure.”

“Interesting that she said she thought you ought to be publicly disgraced. I think it was Anne who began the rumours after that scene outside White’s.”

“She began the rumours? How do you know? The streets were busy that day, White’s was full?—”

“The tattle began that you two were lovers and had had an argument. Saye overheard Anne telling Jenkinson some story of a ladies’ saloon, however…

evidently she had done a bit of redirection of those rumours to suggest Elizabeth was with child and you refused to be honourable…

because you had always been in love with her .

Jenkinson, of course, nodded along and agreed with everything. ”

Darcy made a sound of disgust.

“And of course Jenkinson has sisters or cousins in every good house in London,” Fitzwilliam informed him. “She could spread a rumour faster than the newspapers could ever manage.”

“I had not realised that.” Darcy pondered the meaning of that. “Well, her stratagem surely failed. We are married, Elizabeth and I, unless Anne begins to tell people I have a mistress?—”

“That would hardly disgrace you. Indeed, it would make some people like you better.” Fitzwilliam laughed.

“You do not think she has some scheme to hurt Elizabeth in some way?” Darcy asked. “She said she would in Kent.”

“Idle threats,” said Fitzwilliam.“Indeed, I think Anne, in some ways, likes Elizabeth? Unfortunately, I think it is you who has earned the attention of her blackened heart.”

The door opened, admitting Lord Matlock, who nodded to the younger men and took a seat near his nephew. “Who has a blackened heart?”

“No one,” Darcy said quickly. “We were speaking of Anne’s continued dismay at my marriage.”

Lord Matlock gestured to his son to pass the newspaper along to him.

“Anne would have done perfectly well in the marriage mart had only she been educated as a proper young woman, rather than as an invalid. And had my sister not spoilt her so! She and Catherine seem to think that her fortune should allow her to do anything she wishes.”

“She does have a dreadfully inflated sense of what is due to her,” Fitzwilliam mused.

“They believe her holdings ought to be sufficient to warm a man’s blood, but I tell you—a fellow likes to have a wife who can sing to him or host a proper dinner party. And speaking of that—will you remain and dine with us, Darcy?”

“No, thank you,” Darcy replied. “I only wished to come speak to Anne. ”

“Come bellow at Anne is more like it,” Fitzwilliam said. “Stay, Darcy; you need not fear you will see the de Bourgh ladies round the table. Anne is due at some downtrodden earl’s house to dine this evening.”

Darcy considered a moment. It was only to be a family dinner at Darcy House this evening, and he had no doubt Elizabeth would have already arranged trays for herself and perhaps Georgiana as well.

When not in company, he and his wife did not dine together, something he hoped they could soon change.

“I will send my wife a note,” he said. “And see what she wishes to do.”

Elizabeth did not wish to join them but urged Darcy to remain with his relations for dinner, offering to send Georgiana to them as well. She herself was, she told him, feeling a return of her stomach-ache and would like to be quiet in her bedchamber for the evening.

Darcy and Georgiana both enjoyed themselves at dinner which was followed by a short exhibition by Georgiana at the pianoforte. Darcy watched her and clapped but secretly thought it would have been much better had Elizabeth been able to join them too.

“It was a lovely night, was it not?” Georgiana asked him as they arrived at home. “I do wish Elizabeth might have come with us.”

“As do I,” he said as they entered the front door.

They were met by the butler, who had a worried crease between his brows.

“What is it, Hamilton? A problem in the house?”

“I cannot imagine,” Georgiana said with a little shrug .

“It is Mrs Darcy, sir,” was all that Hamilton could utter before Darcy tore off.

As he ascended the stairs, he heard the sounds of commotion coming from the direction of her bedchamber.

He nearly ran the rest of the way, and had just raised his arm to knock at the door, when it was flung open and a young maid dashed by him.

He scarcely saw her; one step into the room told him there was a grave problem indeed.

Elizabeth, pale and miserable, had been put to bed. She had the ghostly-grey pallor he had seen before, and her eyes looked huge and dark. Mrs Hobbs leant over her while another maid scrubbed at the carpet to the side. He knew not what she scrubbed, but he could not imagine it was anything good.

He took two more steps into the room. “What is happening here?”

Mrs Hobbs glanced towards him. “Mrs Darcy has taken ill, sir.”

In a voice almost too faint to be heard, Elizabeth said, “No matter…just a-a headache.”

“It is not just a headache, ma’am,” said Mrs Hobbs with a maternal sternness. To Darcy, she said, in a very low voice, “We have sent for Dr Andrews. We found her on the floor, unable to stand, almost unable to breathe.”

“Oh,” was all he could say, an inane utterance, but his mouth had gone dry and he felt very cold all over.

Approaching her bed slowly, he tentatively perched on the corner.

She looked unspeakably frail, greyish, and hollow-eyed.

She had seemed well this afternoon, had she not?

How had it come to pass that mere hours later she was prostrate on the floor, unable to move or breathe?

The maid near them finished her work, took up her bucket and brush, and quit the room. Mrs Hobbs finished her ablutions and said she would be back in minutes, as soon as the physician arrived, and then she too departed.

And Darcy was left with his ailing wife.

He had no idea what to say to her. How dire was this situation?

Everything seemed so stupid suddenly, the manner in which he had stamped about, slave to his own wounded pride.

What if she died? She was certainly a sorry sight, lying so very still with her eyes closed.

What if she never knew how sorry he was?

“Forgive me,” she said quietly without opening her eyes. “I did not mean to cause such fuss.”

“You need not feel sorry,” he said, appalled that she should imagine him unhappy with the ‘fuss’. “I am dreadfully sorry you are so ill.” He slid nearer to her, and she opened her eyes; he was pleased she did not pull away. “You have been ill rather often since…since…we married.”

“It may be all one illness that I cannot be rid of.” She forced a smile. “There is no fever, so it cannot be anything too alarming.”

“From where I stand now, it is alarming indeed,” he said softly.

She only nodded in reply, and they sat in silence for several long minutes. Her hand was pressed to the coverlet directly over her stomach, and he saw her press a little.

“Are you in pain?” he asked anxiously. “Shall I summon… No. I shall care for you myself.”

Somehow she gave a little exhale that sounded like amusement. “No, no. If I need someone, I shall send for Beauregard. You need not sit here with me.”

“Yes, I do need to sit here,” he said. “I am your husband. In sickness and in health, remember?”

Again she made the little gasp of a laugh. “I daresay we would both like to forget that day, but yes, I know the vows I made.”

“So do I.” He slid a few inches more in her direction. He took her hand, nearly exclaiming at the coldness of it. “Speaking of that, I wanted to tell you that I?—”

He was interrupted by a perfunctory knock and then Mrs Hobbs entered with Dr Andrews directly behind her. Dr Andrews greeted him with all due deference and civility and then with just as much civility dismissed him from the room.

Darcy paced the hall, hearing the murmurings from within but unable to make any of it out. The vision of her could not be dispelled from his mind, stimulating thoughts of the worst possible outcome.

Dr Andrews emerged after having been with her for about half an hour. He nearly collided with Darcy, standing there. “Oh! Beg your pardon, sir.”

“What is it?” Darcy asked anxiously. “What ails my wife?”

The doctor asked if there was some place he could speak to Darcy in quiet, and Darcy invited him to come to his study. His stomach did quivering flips the entire way, and he clenched his jaw against his own trembling fear for her.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the doctor rendered his diagnosis. “Nerves. New wives often have them.”

“Nerves?” Darcy looked at him, relief coursing through him even as doubt assailed. “Are you certain? She is not truly the nervous sort.”

“I am quite certain.”

She was once not the nervous sort, but had lately been forced to marry a man who treated her worse than the boot scraper he used to remove the horse manure from his shoes. So perhaps her anxieties were more heightened than usual .

Dr Andrews looked at him very seriously. “Mrs Darcy tells me unequivocally that she is not with child. Is that so?”

Mutely, Darcy nodded.

“Then it must be nerves. Nothing else would explain it. She will soon become accustomed to being your wife, sir, and then I do not doubt she will be well.”

“You are certain?” Darcy asked. “I would not like to lose—” He choked on the last syllable and stopped, fearful of losing his dignity.

“She is resting now,” Dr Andrews said. “And I do not doubt you will find her significantly improved when she wakes.”