Page 127 of Obligation and Redemption

Happy is the man who finds a true friend, and far happier is he who finds that true friend in his wife.

Franz Schubert

Over the next fortnight, Darcy and Elizabeth each found that their new understanding had its advantages.

The time spent together had become a source of pleasure and joy.

Although the Darcys did not share a room or a bed, they would meet in their joined sitting room to blithely while away the evening.

After the couple had taken their beginning steps towards a shared intimacy with their first kiss, Darcy was careful not to impose himself upon Elizabeth, fearful that she might feel uneasy or even possibly fear him.

He could never quite forget the look upon her countenance on that horrid day in her bedroom at Longbourn, and Darcy would deny himself for as long as was needed, so that she might develop a true trust in him and possibly even invite him to herself.

Darcy would delight in their kisses and suspected that his wife did as well, as she willingly welcomed him. And indeed it was so.

Elizabeth could never have imagined the delight she experienced in her husband’s strong arms. When they were close, she would breathe in deeply his manly scents of citrus and sandalwood.

His kisses were always tender, but never fervent, and she marvelled at their growing mutual affection, as he seemed to long for her pleasure more than his own.

She often caught Darcy gazing upon her in a way that left her without doubt as to his regard, so different than in months past.

Evenings were often spent before the hearth, with each taking turns reading aloud to the other.

This first occurred when Elizabeth had picked up Darcy’s book out of curiosity and began reading where her husband’s marker was left.

When he joined her and she apologised, meaning to return his tome to him, he resisted and instead suggested that he read to her as an alternative.

In this way, they had begun a nightly routine of sharing a book and then reflecting on what they had read.

Elizabeth found their conversations stimulating and insightful, while Darcy found them captivating.

Elizabeth had always cherished these activities with her father, but she had fully expected that her marriage could never provide the gratification found in the sharing of thoughts and ideas with another, when equally valued.

Her father had respected her opinion and enjoyed discussions with her about the mundane and peculiar alike.

Surely Darcy could not value her observations, she had once thought.

Up until a month ago, Elizabeth had held no hope that her husband might contribute to improving her mind in this way, so she was astonished when she began to savour her husband’s company just as she had her father’s.

Darcy’s insights challenged her to reconsider her previous suppositions, while her input obviously caused him to weigh his own presumptions.

Darcy had never encountered a woman who took pleasure in discussing topics usually resigned to men’s clubs or billiards rooms. Not only did Elizabeth enjoy a discourse on issues in which women rarely held an interest, but she also verbalised her own opinions with vigour and acumen.

She did not agree with him in order to gain his favour, quite the opposite; she often countered his views, causing him to rethink his long-held perspectives, despite having been challenged by highly educated men in the past. He had long seen that his preconceived ideas about his wife’s having little to offer him, aside from a pleasing figure, had no basis in reality.

She stimulated his mind, perhaps even more than his salacity.

Usually his pride was bound up in his ability to hold his own in an argument, but she shared her opinions with such sweetness and wit that he could not help but concede to her sentiments.

Darcy found his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, a worthy adversary when rebutting a point of contention, but Darcy never enjoyed the sport as much as he did with his wife.

His wife . She was his. He now saw that without meaning to, he had managed to marry a woman most conducive to sharing his life in contented companionship and delight.

One evening, Darcy was reflecting upon his good fortune as he listened to Elizabeth read from Poems by William Wordsworth.

Her voice was enchanting and took him to the meadows about which she read, and he had begun to anticipate many years spent enjoying such harmonious evenings.

A puppy sat at her side, keeping her warm, as she read aloud.

Darcy had purchased for his wife a new companion, a pure bred spaniel whom she called Charlie, much to Darcy’s amusement.

He had thoughtfully considered that although the dog was a hunter, when grown he would keep his wife entertained on her long walks.

A footman knocked on the sitting room door, and when Darcy gave an answering, “Enter,” he came in with the mail atop a silver salver, which had been delayed that day due to an earlier downpour.

Darcy took the mail off the tray and dismissed his servant.

“Elizabeth, you have a letter from Longbourn and one from Hunsford. Shall we take a break from our poetry and read our correspondence?” Darcy had noticed that he himself had an express added to the small pile and wanted to read it forthwith, fearing that it might portend ill tidings.

“If you do not mind taking a break from the idylls of Wordsworth,” replied Elizabeth with a smile.

“I do not mind; however, I would hope to return to our reading.”

“Of course, if you wish.” Elizabeth was happy to consider spending the remainder of the evening in that way.

Darcy arose from the settée by the fire, which he had been sharing with Elizabeth, in order to move close to the lamplight, while she remained where she had been reading.

He opened his letter in concealed agitation, not knowing what to expect, and noted the brevity of the communication and that all too familiar script.

Darcy could not have anticipated the application. He glanced up to see Elizabeth’s gaze resting upon him. She looked troubled by his countenance, so he attempted to school himself to have a placid and unconcerned look about him.

“Darcy, I do hope your expression is not indicative of something amiss. You appear as though you have received disturbing news. ”

Darcy’s breaths came quickly as he realised the impact the letter in his hand had on his sensibilities.

His affections for Elizabeth had grown over the past two months, and it pained him to consider what tidings were in store for him.

Rather than respond to her remark, he walked over to gaze out of the window, so his thoughts could run their natural course without an audience.

Elizabeth had noticed that his letter was written in a decidedly feminine script, and she was curious as to the authoress.

She was unaccustomed to these feelings of jealousy, but she experienced a pang of uncertainty when she saw him read the letter with avid dedication, leaving her to recall that they had never shared such devotion in writing while he was away.

She hoped that the letter was from his sister, as she knew that he loved Georgiana dearly, but heard little from her – so seldom, in fact, that Elizabeth had never seen a letter from her to recognise her handwriting.

While Elizabeth was contemplating her reaction to his letter, Darcy’s tempestuous thoughts overcame his ability to think clearly.

Wickham! Blast him! To distract Elizabeth from her inquiring looks, Darcy said as he left the room, “It looks as though I have some matters of business which need my attention. Please excuse me.” He was unskilled at lying, so he hoped that what he had said was close enough to the truth to elude her curiosity.

When Darcy reached his study, he poured himself a brandy into a crystal snifter and held it up to his lips for a moment before taking a large gulp. He set the glass down as the fire burned down his throat.

He began pacing as he considered his plan.

He could leave for town tomorrow at dawn and arrive by the following evening, if he travelled with just his valet and minimised the stops.

The days were longer even than just two weeks ago, so in the event that the rain had passed, his plans would have him at his London residence by this time two days hence.

Easter was coming up within the following fortnight, and he had considered taking Elizabeth with him on his annual journey to Rosings, the home of Lady Catherine.

He had not yet communicated his expectations to her, in case he changed his mind.

Elizabeth’s sister resided at the parsonage which abutted his aunt’s estate, so he thought she might like to have time to visit there, but he dreaded his aunt’s manners and doubtless condescension towards his wife, should he bring her with him.

The timing of the letter could not have been worse if he intended to take Elizabeth.

Perhaps he should go without her and make the trip to Kent as he usually did, with just his cousin, Fitzwilliam, to accompany him.

He hoped to have the concerns to which the express alluded promptly resolved, so he could appease his aunt by arriving at Rosings the Monday before Easter and staying the week through, before returning to Pemberley – assuming of course that the letter did not portend anything injurious which would require his staying in town for longer.