Page 42 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)

HAPPY WAS THE DAY

T he love that Jane had for Bingley—and Bingley for Jane—produced an air of romance that was almost palpable.

Elizabeth had never known anything so potent, so pervasive.

Everywhere she looked, people were smiling and hugging, husbands and wives stood arm in arm, and parents gazed fondly at their children.

Even Miss Bingley smiled and behaved kindly, coming to Elizabeth and enquiring solicitously of the accommodations and saying she hoped they had time later to sit together and have a gossip.

Her husband was not unaffected by it. He had resumed his habit of staring at her, watching her as she moved about the drawing room both before and after the delicious multi-course dinner at which she had talked too much, eaten too immoderately, and smiled until her face hurt.

Even so, she did not feel she had displeased him.

Several times she caught him with the faint hint of a smile on his own countenance, and at length, she decided she would risk going to him.

Darcy had just finished a conversation with a gentleman and a lady she knew not, although she presumed them to be married by how they stood together.

They had walked off, and he remained by the mantel, an empty glass in his hand.

She took a glass of wine with her so that if he seemed to wish her gone, she could use the excuse of bringing him a drink, then decamp.

“You seem to be in need of another,” she said with a cautious smile as she approached him.

He thanked her and took the goblet from her. She took his empty glass and handed it to a passing servant.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he enquired.

“Yes, I am. Very much so.”

“I had forgotten… You seem much more yourself here. Happier…as you always were before.”

“I am happy to be home, um, in my parents’ home, I meant to say.”

“I understand. Things in our home have been, um, not easy so far,” he said quietly. “You cannot know how sorry I am about that.”

Elizabeth dropped her gaze to look at her own wine, taking care to speak lightly. “It is hardly your fault. I am the one who?—”

“No, no,” he said, sounding forceful. “It was me, and it is high time I owned my share of it. I have no wish to injure your good health by speaking of it now, but perhaps once we are returned to London, we may have a long-overdue talk?”

Her father was moving towards them, and privately Elizabeth groaned, thinking that her father’s undoubtedly forced attempt to be sociable had never been more ill-timed.

Darcy leant over her, murmuring into her ear, “I have been horrid, resentful and absurd, but nevertheless, I remain ardently in love with you. ”

His words made her heart leap, and there was just enough time for a faint smile as her father joined them, saying, “Well, Mr Darcy, I believe you will remain my favourite son-in-law, but young Bingley here will do well enough, eh?”

She had not a moment alone with Darcy until much later in the evening, and even that was only a dance.

As might have been expected, given any event that Bingley hosted, cries for dancing went up.

Bingley was flushed red by then, and inebriated as much on felicity as wine, and stood on a chair to announce, “We will have some dancing if my dear sisters will oblige us with the music. Alas, I must inform you men now that I intend to have all the dances with my bride for myself and fie on the lot of you!”

There were cheers and jeers in response to his proclamation, and in the midst of that, Darcy asked her if she would dance with him.

It was wonderful, but too short, and soon enough she was off with others, even Mr Hurst who for once appeared sober.

Bingley’s sister Louisa had insisted that Bingley ask Mr Hurst to stand up with him at the wedding, and it seemed the gentleman would take his duty seriously.

She had danced four dances when her fatigue caught up with her, and she moved to sit among the matrons, all of whom seemed wholly persuaded that she was with child.

Needless to say, she could not tell them how impossible that was and so only smiled and blushed as might be appropriate.

It was a relief when Lydia tossed herself petulantly into the seat beside her, with an evident wish to tell her elder sister how unspeakably, horrifyingly dull Meryton had become and about the grave injustice that had been perpetrated upon her.

“Someone told Papa they thought Brighton was too dangerous for a young lady to be unsupervised. The very notion! I would have been surrounded by militia officers! What danger could possibly befall a young lady surrounded by officers?”

Elizabeth smothered a laugh. “I daresay the dangers posed by the officers themselves.”

Lydia huffed and rolled her eyes and tossed her hair and in other words did everything petulant sixteen-year-olds did when confronted with truths they wished untrue. “Those officers are as dangerous as kittens.”

“But it would not be only those we know; those unknown to us may be of an entirely different stamp.”

“I shall never know, shall I? No, somehow Maria Lucas got to go in my place, and she writes to me every day to boast about all the parties and balls she is attending.” Then Lydia began to cry. “It is so unfair!”

From this proceeded a torrent of woe. Lydia disliked being the youngest sister, disliked being sixteen, wished she lived any place but Hertfordshire which was surely the most stupid and dull of any county in England.

Other sixteen-year-olds in other counties were living far better, with much more freedom, than she, it seemed—to say nothing of those permitted to go to London!

It required a great deal of time for Elizabeth to persuade her that no, a young lady of sixteen ought not to be set loose on an encampment of soldiers and that with sisters married to gentlemen of higher circles, she might expect better for herself as well.

“Just imagine the parties and balls in London that Jane and I might take you to,” Elizabeth told her consolingly.

“I would not be in the least surprised if you found yourself an earl!”

Lydia sniffed but looked a little bit interested. “But no one in London is out until they are eighteen!”

“That is because they do not wish to be married before that,” Elizabeth said patiently.

“And surely you would not either. Look how quickly our mama had Jane! Not even nine months after her marriage! And then pregnant with me just as quickly. Mama went from attending balls to tending babies in the blink of an eye!”

Lydia’s nose wrinkled. “Babies quite turn my stomach.”

“I know.” Elizabeth patted her sister’s arm consolingly. “So it is best to wait to marry until you might be able to countenance your own.”

She climbed the stairs to go to bed well over an hour after her husband had told her he intended to go up.

It was exceedingly late, so late that she avoided seeing the time on any of the clocks.

She was to be wakened early the next morning, to be taken to Longbourn to help Jane dress, and reasoned it was best not to anticipate her lack of sleep.

She paused outside the bedchamber door, unsure how to act.

Carefree and nonchalant? Or in a manner which acknowledged the oddity of the circumstances?

Peculiar as their marriage was, she had never seen her husband in any state of undress.

And he had been kind to her earlier, even telling her he loved her.

What did it mean? Was it true? Would he be awaiting her?

Her heart pounded as she pushed open the door. Within, she found the room lit by several lamps, and yet despite the brightness, Darcy was asleep. In a chair.

His valet had obviously attended him, for he was clad in a nightshirt and dressing gown.

There were two leather armchairs by the fireplace, and he had pushed them together in a sort of makeshift bed.

The chairs did not appear very comfortable for sitting, much less as a bed, but Darcy appeared deeply asleep and did not stir when she entered.

She went into the adjoining dressing room where Beauregard awaited to put her into her own sleeping attire.

When that was finished, Beauregard retired, and Elizabeth re-entered the room where Darcy had shifted on the chairs, into what appeared to be an even more uncomfortable position.

He stirred as she entered the room but seemed to remain asleep, his head lolling off the side of the chair in a way that would surely produce a painful neck.

Indecision warred within her. Ought she to wake him and tell him to come to the bed? They were married, after all. It was hardly shocking to sleep in a bed with one’s husband.

But perhaps he did not wish it. No matter his earlier kindness, the fact that he would sleep on two chairs might bespeak his dislike of the idea of sleeping beside her. But he did say he still loved me , she reminded herself. And we laughed and spoke amiably while we danced.

He startled when she laid her hand against his arm, then sleepily pulled himself into a more upright position. “Are you well? Have you taken ill?”

“No, I am not unwell…but I fear you might be if you sleep the entire night in such a state.”

“I can sleep anywhere,” he told her, adjusting his position on the chairs and closing his eyes. “You need not worry about me.”

She joined her hands together in front of her, studying him for a moment. She was about to turn and leave him to his discomfort when he added,

“I did not wish to presume you would be easy with the arrangement.”

“I would not say I am easy with it. I have never shared a bed with anyone but Jane before, after all, and that only when we stay with the Gardiners. But we are married, and I daresay there is nothing amiss in the idea. ”

He opened his eyes again, and she found her heart giving a little lurch. When he looked at her so seriously, with such darkly intent eyes, it was impossible not to recognise how handsome he was.

“But I leave it to you,” she added hurriedly. “I am not opposed to both of us sleeping in the bed.”

With that she turned and went to the bed. Feeling very awkward, she removed her own dressing gown and draped it over the footboard; then she extinguished the lamp on the bedside table and climbed into the bed, quickly pulling up the coverlets over her and closing her eyes.

From across the room, she heard the sound of a chair being moved. A few seconds later, another lamp was extinguished and she felt the coverlets being moved, and another weight settled into the mattress.

She bit her lip to hide the small smile which threatened. It felt like a victory.

Perhaps all is not lost for us.