Page 4 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
ELIZABETH DARCY, LONDON
A footman pulled out my chair as Mr Darcy did not choose to do so.
We sat in a stately silence punctuated only by the sounds of silver, china, crystal, and footsteps.
I never liked awkward silences, but as I had no wish to hear the sound of my own voice, I did not feel particularly averse to holding my tongue.
Mr Darcy cleared his throat, and though I looked up to hear what he might say, he looked away and went back to his meal.
When the soup was cleared away, I realised that for the sake of the servants alone, I should make an attempt at civil discourse.
I meant to be as good at being Mrs Darcy as possible, regardless of the insurmountable odds, and part of being a good mistress was to ensure that my husband and his new wife did not feature in gossip below stairs.
A sip of wine lubricated my throat, then I spoke. “Do you anticipate more rain for our journey tomorrow?”
After half a second of hesitation, he replied. “We should expect wet roads all the way to Pemberley. My steward writes the harvest has been hampered by days of unrelenting rain. ”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
He did not reply, and instead, covertly glanced over at me as I ate.
Who could blame a man for wishing to satisfy himself that his wife could chew with her mouth closed and manage her cutlery?
I also peeked at Mr Darcy and determined his table manners were, much like his house, rather too elegant to be congenial.
“What are the fields yielding at the estate this year?” I asked, determined to revive some semblance of dinner conversation.
He spoke five entire sentences then. With half my mind committing to memory that Pemberley grew barley and rye rotated with peas, I reflected dazedly that this was the third time I had ever seen Mr Darcy. He finished his explanation, and I felt my duty to conversation fulfilled.
Dismissing the footmen after the cheeseboard was laid, Mr Darcy stood and said, “I have several things I wish to say to you, and I would as soon say them now. Then, I suggest we retire early, as the journey north is long and tiring.”
“Very well, sir.”
“I am bitterly disappointed by the manner in which I have married. The resentment I feel is, for the time being, unconquerable. The possibility exists that these feelings will soften over time, though I am far from optimistic. In spite of all this, I intend to uphold my end of this covenant with civil behaviour, provided that you, madam, are respectable and civil in return.”
“I see.”
“I wish for you to succeed as Mistress of Pemberley because I do not want to be subjected to the ridicule of my friends, neighbours, tenants, or servants. There may be preferences, explanations, requests, and history that must be divulged to you if you are to have the smallest hope of success. I would prefer these communications to be written between us.”
“Written, sir?” I strove not to sound as appalled as I felt at this frigid directive.
“I believe words can be more carefully chosen this way. In speaking directly to you, a person I cannot look upon…impartially, I risk speaking heatedly and being overheard.”
I kept my eyes lowered as I listened, and managed—barely—to reply without betraying my severe misgivings. “Very well,” I said gravely.
“After tonight, we will never speak of the travesty of this union. I never want mentioned the circumstances. For the sake of explanation, we met while I was visiting Mr Bingley at Netherfield. You are a gentleman’s daughter from Hertfordshire.
We married by inclination alone, as your connexions and dowry were not a consideration. ”
“Very well, sir.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“I have nothing but questions, but for now, let me rightly understand. Polite conversation, such as we conducted tonight is acceptable?”
“We will be civil, and that includes public conversation, yes.”
“Topics upon which I am free to approach you would be arrangements for travel and the like?”
“Practical matters, yes. Anything of a personal nature, or an enquiry related to how we are to coexist must be written down. You may give your notes to your maid, and she will pass them to my valet.”
“Does he know of the circumstance?”
“He does.” Here, he paused and looked sharply at me. “ You have not shared our circumstance with your maid, have you?”
“I have not. I only explained to her the situation regarding my clothing.”
“Of what situation are you speaking?”
“Only that I have no trousseau, nor am I in possession of the kind of wardrobe one would expect of Mrs Darcy.”
“What exactly did you say to her?”
“I told her my father is a gentleman from a small estate in Hertfordshire, that I did not come to this marriage with a trousseau, and that we will make do with what I have for now.”
He stared at me. “You were not given wedding clothes?”
“No, I was not. I hope to add a few items when we reach Derbyshire, but I would first have to ask your forbearance on the matter of my pin money.”
His face assumed a look of repressed fury, and thinking to forestall any objection he was about to voice, I said, “I ask only that you advance what you would give me on the quarter day. I do not ask for anything extra but a loan against my first allowance.”
“Did your father give you nothing?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Not even a kiss . My father—a man I loved, and a man with whom I had shared so many happy moments—had bluntly told me he could not look at me without revulsion.
He assured me his shame was for his own failures, and given how he would pay the ultimate price of never seeing me again, I must forgive him for hating the sight of me.
I swallowed and slanted my eyes down to the table before me. Oh, how that memory stung!
“I see,” Mr Darcy said. He had been standing for this conference, and now he began to pace the length of the room.
He turned abruptly. “The matter of our conjugal situation is this: I will eventually want an heir, and I will, when my feelings of dismay abate sufficiently to allow me to do so, approach you in that way. I do not expect to be refused.”
“Very well, sir.”
He stared at me as though revolted by my composure, but really, what had he expected? I knew he would lie with me and was resigned to the fact. Whether it took place that night or a year on did not alter the requirement of submission placed upon me.
After pacing furiously for another moment, he abruptly stopped and barked, “Will that be all, madam?”
I did not look up at him incredulously, nor did I bristle with indignation, much less protest against his unreasonable decree. Benumbed by shock as I was, I could not repress impulses of resistance and self-defence, for I had no will to fight.
“What time would you like to depart?” I asked.
“Shortly after sunrise,” he said, before dismissing me with a crisp, impatient bow.