Page 56 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

DARCY

T he pleasure of having my wife beside me in our own home was nearly overwhelming.

Had Miss Bennet not been with us, I would have gladly forgone supper in favour of a quieter, more private evening.

But after the events of the day, I could not in good conscience abandon her to solitude, nor would I have asked it of Elizabeth.

Instead, after a long and rather indulgent bath with Elizabeth, we dressed with haste and joined her sister downstairs. The meal was every bit as well prepared as I have come to expect from my cook, although I scarcely tasted it—my thoughts remained in our bedchambers upstairs.

When Miss Bennet pleaded fatigue and retired early, I accompanied the ladies upstairs. Elizabeth insisted upon a few minutes with her sister, and though I assented, I did so with no small degree of reluctance. After the confrontations and difficulties of the day, I wanted her with me.

At last, she joined me in the sitting room that connected our chambers.

The softness in her smile, the warmth in her eyes—both reflected everything I had missed in the brief hour we had been apart.

Our earlier time in the bath had only deepened the longing between us, and when I drew her into my arms and led her into my chamber, we surrendered once more to the joy of our union—reaffirming our love, our trust, and our devotion throughout the night.

As had become our habit over the past weeks, Elizabeth and I lingered in bed after waking.

Although we were both naturally early risers, these quiet moments—stolen before our servants came to rouse us—had quickly become some of my favourites in our marriage.

I hoped we would carry this practise with us through the years.

Our morning conversations were rarely of great significance, filled instead with simple reflections and idle thoughts.

On this morning, we spoke of the day ahead.

“My aunt is inclined to like you already, but as I have said before, you do not need to fear her.” Elizabeth was nervous about meeting my aunt, but I knew my wife; she would not allow herself to be cowed, even by a countess.

“And I am to be myself, although I am to listen to her on some matters of propriety and comportment, but not all,” she said with a wry grin.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“And I am not to complain when she orders five times the number of dresses I need, nor to tell her that I can remake the gowns so they do not appear the same, nor that I will pick off the excesses of lace that she feels are necessary,” she teased.

“Minx,” I murmured before dipping my head to kiss her.

We lingered there a short time longer, talking and teasing each other, until my valet entered to inform us it was time to dress.

Although we remained cloistered behind the bed curtains, Elizabeth was still not accustomed to having a servant enter our chambers, and I could feel her stiffen slightly at the sound of the door opening.

We rose from bed and reluctantly separated, each going to our dressing chambers to prepare for the day. Soon, we met again as we made our way downstairs for breakfast. Jane was already there, and we again discussed our plans for the coming days.

Before we finished our meal, one of the footmen brought me a note. I opened it reluctantly, seeing from the direction who the sender was.

“Well, my dear, it seems you will be making the acquaintance of more than one of my aunts in the coming days,” I said, holding up the letter in my hand.

“This letter is from Aunt Catherine—Mr. Collins’s esteemed patroness.

She has learnt of our marriage and written to express her outrage.

According to her, she intends to arrive at Darcy House tomorrow and has declared that she and Anne will remain for at least a fortnight—so that Anne may obtain her trousseau.

She claims she will pursue an annulment on my behalf, after which I am to marry Anne without delay. ”

Elizabeth giggled. “Will you allow her to stay?”

“That, my dear, is up to you,” I replied.

“As the mistress of this house, it is your responsibility to decide whom to invite into our home. Obviously, I will not be getting an annulment; even if I wished for one, there are not the grounds for it. I will have Uncle Henry come tomorrow and hope that he will help in heading her off. If you do not wish to offer her a room, she can stay at Matlock House or perhaps open her own home. She has one; she just prefers to stay with others on the rare occasions she comes to London.”

“We will see how she behaves when she comes,” Elizabeth said.

“If she is reasonable, I will have little trouble housing her, but not in the family wing. I believe you mentioned there are guest rooms on the third floor. That is where we will put her, and I will have our servants ensure that all the rooms in our chambers are locked.”

“I will not allow her to harm you, Elizabeth,” I told her. “We have had enough of that already; my aunt will not injure you physically, nor will she be allowed to insult you in your own home.”

“It will be well, Fitzwilliam,” she reassured me. “When does she say she will arrive? ”

I looked back at the letter and gave her the time my aunt mentioned.

“When the countess comes today, we will invite her and your uncle to be here an hour sooner. Given what I have heard from you and my cousin about your aunt, I think we can reasonably expect her to arrive earlier than she said, hoping to catch us off guard. What do you think?” Elizabeth answered, her voice calm and assured.

Ignoring Jane, I stood and moved to kiss her, a quick peck on her lovely lips. “You are brilliant, my love,” I replied, and I grinned when I heard Jane giggle at our display.

Soon enough, my aunt arrived to take Elizabeth and Jane shopping whilst I remained in my study to do some business. I had been occupied for perhaps an hour when Smythe announced a visitor into my office.

I was so surprised to see Bingley enter my study that I remained seated.

Immediately, I realised my error—I had failed to instruct Smythe explicitly that my former friend was no longer welcome at Darcy House.

He lingered in the doorway, clearly awaiting my acknowledgement, and even Smythe, standing just behind him, seemed to sense the sudden tension in the room.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice cool, as I retained my seat behind my desk. “Smythe, remain nearby. Mr. Bingley will not be staying long.”

“I wished to speak with you privately, Darcy,” Bingley said quickly. To my surprise, there was a flicker of what appeared to be genuine remorse on his face—but I felt little inclination to meet it with sympathy.

“What do you want?” I asked curtly. “I told you yesterday we were done. I will no longer acknowledge you, and clearly, I failed in not making your exclusion plain to my servants. Say what you came to say and go.”

“It was all Caroline’s doing,” he said in a rush. “I did not know the extent?— ”

“You knew enough,” I cut in sharply. “Why are you here, Bingley?”

“To beg your forgiveness,” he said, taking a tentative step forward. “Mother’s unexpected arrival and Caroline’s sudden recovery… I was as shocked as anyone. I did not know what they had done, what they were planning?—”

“Even if I could overlook your tacit consent to your sister’s schemes, I cannot—and will not—forgive her,” I replied. “And you, Bingley—” I let out a quiet breath, steadying myself, “—I do not hate you. But I do pity you. You have allowed yourself to be ruled by others for too long.”

He flinched but said nothing.

“Perhaps in a year or two, if you have truly broken free of your sister’s influence, I may be willing to speak with you again. But not now. At present, I want nothing to do with you—not after I spent months searching for my wife, and certainly not after learning all that your sister has done.”

“But—” he began, his voice rising in protest.

“I do not want to hear it, Mr. Bingley,” I said, cutting him off with cold finality. “I meant what I said yesterday: do not approach me in public. I will not acknowledge you.”

I rose to my feet and met his gaze. “And I can only assume that if you are in town, so is your sister. If Miss Bingley dares to approach me—or worse, my wife—I will cut her directly. Should she continue to spread falsehoods, I will ensure society learns the full extent of her own disgrace. Control her, if you can. But know this: I will do whatever is necessary to protect my family. And if your own is ruined in the process, so be it.”

At my nod, Smythe stepped forward, took Bingley by the elbow, and quietly escorted him from the house.

For a moment, I wondered if this was merely the opening volley in a larger battle still to come—but I found I did not care.

Once Elizabeth and my aunt returned, we would speak, and together with Lady Matlock, we would begin her campaign to silence the gossips.

Then, at last, Elizabeth and I might be free to live the happily ever after we had fought so hard to claim.

“I always suspected your association with that Bingley fellow would come to no good,” my aunt declared as we settled with our tea in the drawing room at Darcy House after the ladies’ shopping trip.

“He himself was tolerable enough, I suppose—but that sister of his….” She made a dismissive motion with her hand, and though I could not quite decipher its precise meaning, it was clear she held Miss Bingley in the lowest regard.

“I have already severed the connexion,” I replied.

“I warned Bingley—twice—not to approach me again. Still, I suspect his sister will make some attempt to ingratiate herself with me or some member of my family or, more likely, to cast aspersions on Elizabeth. If she does, I will not hesitate to cut her publicly. What we must determine now is how to handle the gossip she has spread—and what to do with the truths we have uncovered about Miss Bingley herself.”