Page 52 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

ELIZABETH DARCY

Jane had questions. They filled her eyes even though she spoke to me of the blandest nothings.

I had questions, too, but I could not even form them.

They sat like a grey mass, heavy on the crown of my head because I did not really have the strength to think.

My sister was at my little escritoire where the tea tray sat, and I lounged on my window seat like an arthritic cat in a square of weak winter sunlight.

Mr Darcy knocked, and Wilson let him in the room.

“How does your sister fare this morning, Miss Bennet?”

His voice, his face—everything had changed. I did not know him anymore, and because I could not understand or trust this alteration, I found his sudden cordiality more exasperating than welcome.

“As you see, Mr Darcy, she is very lazy today.”

He smiled so tenderly at my sister, and she returned to him an expression of such kind regard that I found I was well past annoyed.

I was extremely irritated, in fact. Even Wilson looked at Mr Darcy with a touch of tenderness I did not like.

I was jealous of my Wilson, and I did not want her tending to anyone else.

“Mrs Darcy,” he began. He then glanced awkwardly around the room before reluctantly meeting my eyes. “Elizabeth, Yardley thinks I can safely bring Georgiana home. Might you be comfortable if I leave you for two days together?”

Comfortable? I wish you would go away! “Yes, of course,” I replied with a weak, false smile. “I will be happy to have your sister here again.”

By nightfall, however, I was quite restless and even snapped at my beloved Jane when she did not put my pillows right.

He knew how to do it. He did not sit there looking minutely at my every expression as if he could somehow extract my tender feelings and put them under a magnifying glass.

In the night, I was mortified to discover I could not hold back from asking for my husband.

“Wilson, when is Mr Darcy coming home?” I asked in a detestable whine.

“I expect he will be here by tomorrow evening, ma’am.”

In the morning, Jane perceived my sombre mood as receptive to a commiserating conversation. She never had even a particle of intuition. I did not want to ‘talk’.

“Mr Darcy has been so very attentive to you and so kind to me. I was so frightened to meet him again, but he was everything gracious and so deeply grateful to me for coming. He sent an express by private courier to Uncle Gardiner, you know.”

“You mentioned it, yes.” I stopped my eyes from rolling and refrained from pointing out it was a letter , not a declaration from Parliament.

“My aunt longed to come, but Uncle did not want her to take the risk. Tilly is still so young. ”

“I am glad she did not insist on coming. I would not want to spread this fever to anyone—especially you. But I am too selfish to wish you anywhere else.”

Except I wished she would go away then. I did not want to be harassed by any more of her amazement with respect to my husband’s transformation.

I did not understand it, and in many, many ways, I did not condone it.

He was certainly easier to trust when I knew precisely where I stood with him.

Who did he think he was to be playing the doting husband?

Did he think his offences could be overlooked with a sudden show of kindness?

My mood was still quite dark, but I was powerless against it even though I knew I was being an unreasonable beast.

When my husband returned, he came straight to my room, handing off his coat, hat, and gloves to poor Harrison, whose chest was heaving from having chased after him. Jane had gone to rest, and Wilson was in the dressing room putting away the linens she had brought upstairs.

“Mr Harrison is too old to have to run up the stairs after you, sir.”

Mr Darcy came straight to my side and took my hand in both of his. So fresh from being outside, he brought a welcome waft of cold air with him.

“Do you know, Mrs Darcy, I find I do not care at all about Harrison at present?”

“How was your journey? Did it snow?”

“It just started. How did you fare?”

“If you must know, I am unaccountably cross, sir.”

“Are you?” His eyes lit up in amusement. “Tell me. Come, now. Confess the whole of it.”

The candles had not yet been lit, and we were sitting in the gloom holding hands. I heard Wilson slip out of the dressing room door, no doubt to go for more clean nightgowns.

“I do not know why, but everyone is so kind, and I have the strangest urge to throw my shoes at them.”

“Goodness. Even me?”

Against my will, he had pulled a tiny smile out of me. “Especially you.”

“You must have been happy with me gone for two days, then.”

“I thought I would be, but I was not. I have been peevish and annoyed, having come to find out you are the only person who can make me comfortable in this horrible bed.”

He seemed to find this petulant reply irresistibly charming because he chuckled and said, “You are slouched down in a miserable lump, I see. Might I put you to rights?”

He handled my wretched body in just the right way. Jane was too soft in her touches, and Wilson, though more direct, was not as perfectly firm as Mr Darcy. Yet, he never hurt me, which Mrs Reynolds did whenever she sat me up.

“Thank you, Nurse. That will be all.” I suppose I disguised my feelings of gratitude with flippancy, and to his credit, he seemed to understand me.

“Georgiana is on fire to see you, but I am afraid you might bite her head off tonight. Yardley warned me it is not uncommon for a recuperating patient to be a little irritable.”

“I should be comforted to hear it, but in truth, it is very lowering to be subject to these capricious moods. I promise to be more myself in the morning. But should you not rest or eat? You have been on the road for two days.”

“Would the sound of silver on china annoy you overmuch if I took my dinner on a tray here?”

My heart leapt to think he wished to stay with me, but having just exposed my feelings in such an unflattering manner, I fell shy of encouraging him. Instead, I sighed a little theatrically and said, “You must promise not to slurp.”

“Hmm. I am not sure I can. I have always been a slurper.”

“Have you? I suppose I could overlook it if you would read to me later?”

“Only if I can put my feet on the end of your bed.”

While I playfully objected, he seemed to understand that not only did I want his company, I was as yet too fragile to be vulnerable and too proud to outright ask him to stay.

“I will go and refresh myself and be back shortly then.” As he spoke, he at last released my hand in order to tenderly brush a strand of hair off my forehead.

Thankfully, he had so quickly turned to leave the room, he did not see how such a simple act of his regard had left me teetering on the edge of a truly unladylike fit of tears.