Page 37 of Elizabeth’s Refuge (Mr. Underwood’s Elizabeth & Darcy Stories #16)
“So what do you think of my husband?” Lydia said after they had been waiting nearly two hours for a return of the message sent to Lord Lachglass. Her voice was slightly angry. “A fine man is he not?”
“He seems so to me,” Darcy said.
Lydia stared at him, judging, and then she nodded. “And you, Lizzy?”
“I like him. And he likes you, and you are happy, that is what is important… He is… more than I expected for you.”
Lydia laughed. “I am fortunate, he was always the kindest — he married me when I was still full of Wickham’s child, because he had come to love me, and he did not want my child to be born into the world illegitimate.
Do you understand? That is the sort of man he is.
That is my husband — then Mama .” Lydia growled.
“I nearly clawed her eyes out that day. When she came to visit us when we were in Newcastle, after Fanny was born. She saw how we lived, still then just one room, but even smaller. And we could barely afford that one room — there are so many costs for the mess that every officer is obligated to pay. I do not think it is at all fair to the poorer sort of officers; one of those ways that the quality sort try to make the lives of others unpleasant. Expecting everyone, whether they have family wealth or not, to contribute the same to the mess. It is like what Lord Lachglass has done.”
“Not too like,” Elizabeth replied.
“I nearly clawed Mama’s eyes out when she said I should have married someone who had some connections and consequence, and who could help her.
Or she even suggested, she even suggested—” Lydia growled.
“She suggested I ought to have sold myself as the mistress of some rich man — I would never, never, ever do such an intimate thing. The conjugal embrace with a man who I did not like, and like for himself — do not look at me that way. I am no hypocrite, I think women should be as free before they marry as men are, and I do not condemn myself for the fun I had with Mr. Wickham, or others, or with my dear Johnny before the church sanctified us. Not at all. It is imprudent for women because children are a chance, and I fancy that is the real reason the church claims it wrong and evil. Trying to scare girls with hellfire from doing things that feel very good, but are imprudent. The purpose is to make life easier for the parents who pay the tithes to the vicar, not to help women avoid sin. It is my firm opinion that girls just want to enjoy themselves.”
“Certainly not every girl,” Elizabeth replied.
Lydia laughed. “Not Mary.”
Elizabeth laughed too. “Mary is happy in her way — she sends me and Darcy a great many letters upon all the books and lectures she has explored since we gave her the money to attend them freely in London. I believe she wants me to know that she uses her time well.”
“If that is her notion of using the time well — but as Mary is happy, I’ll not think ill of her for it, though her notion of enjoyment and mine are decidedly different.”
The messenger sent to Lord Lachglass returned on a sweating horse. A groom took the horse and led it to water as the messenger handed the letter to Mr. Darcy.
Darcy read the letter several times, and then a thin smile crossed his face. “He has agreed to meet us on his lands, out of sight of his house, in the middle of the game forest.”
“Ah.” Elizabeth said, “As we expected.”
“He demands that you enter his power completely though, or else he will not release your mother or sister — he thinks tomorrow shall be a transfer of prisoners.”
Elizabeth’s stomach was flipping with fear. But she took in a deep breath. She had faced Lord Lachglass, and she had faced Mr. Blight once before. Tomorrow she would face them again.
Darcy gripped her hand fearfully, and though his face was stiff, she could see he was frightened too.
They did not say anything; there was nothing further for them to plan. Tomorrow would come, and what fate declared would happen, would happen.
Her heart beat heavy.
After some time Darcy stood to take a turn around the streets, and Elizabeth pulled her feet up onto the wicker chair she sat on and wrapped her arms around her legs.
As Darcy walked down the street, the beggar with the bulbous nose came out to him, stooped, and he extended his hand out pitiably, pointing to his throat helplessly.
Darcy handed him something and then walked on.
The beggar looked at what Darcy had given him, and the dying light of the sun caught a glow of something that was not happiness on his face. He then shuffled away, staying stooped the entire way, and disappeared from Elizabeth’s sight.
That night, in bed, the two of them clung tightly and passionately to each other. There was an intensity to how they came together that Elizabeth had never felt before, for she feared the morrow.
They made the time run with love, though they could not make it stop.
And it was only when the night was darkest, during the hour before dawn, that they fell fitfully to sleep in each other’s arms.