Page 30 of Under Such Circumstances (Desperately Seeking Elizabeth #1)

THEY BARELY TALKED .

He woke her in the night twice. Both times, he was swollen and stiff against her skin and wished to climb between her thighs and put himself back into her body again, and both times, she acquiesced, though the last time, it hurt because she was sore.

He told her again that he had to leave, that he was going to France, and he said he would write, and then…

When she woke to the bright light of morning spilling through her window, she was alone in her bed.

There was a note, folded up on the bedside table, her name scrawled on it.

My dearest Lizzy, I feel more in love with you than I even thought possible as I compose this, watching you in your sleep.

I have not been the sort of man you deserve in all of this.

I have behaved in ways that are beneath me.

But as I look at you now, knowing that you are my wife, knowing that we are bound together forever, I vow that all of that changes now.

I shall find a way to be the sort of man who is worthy to call myself your husband.

She smoothed out the letter, read it several times, turned it over. She was unsure what it even meant.

The marriage documents were under the letter, folded up and signed.

She smoothed those out, too.

Her body was sore in ways that bespoke some strenuous exercise, and she was unaware of what it was she could have done to move some of the muscles that seemed strained.

There was other soreness, too, the echo of him inside her, which seemed indelible, something that she felt every time she took a step, marking her as his.

Mrs. Richard Fitzwilliam.

It was only that she didn’t really feel married, alone here, secreted away like something to be ashamed of, married in haste and immediately abandoned.

She should have felt joy.

But she only felt that trepidation and wariness creeping back.

She did not keep a carriage here at Weymouth, but when she went downstairs, she discovered that her husband had left one here for her use. This was something, at least, she decided.

But she had crept out in the dead of night to do this deed, and she had promised Jane that she would explain it all when she was able, and she didn’t know what else to do except to return to Gracechurch Street.

When she took off in the carriage, she thought she would simply embark right at the door, march inside and announce herself as married.

But as the carriage continued on and she took stock of her attire—still that pelisse over her sleep clothes—and her hair, slept on and unkempt, she decided that was not the best course of action.

Instead, she had the carriage drop her off out of sight of the house and she went through the alleyways back to the window of the bedchamber she shared with Jane. She climbed back in the window.

Inside, the bed was arranged to look as if pillows made up a sleeping form, and she surmised that Jane had done this to make it look as if she were ill and lying in. They had spoken of it, after all.

This wasn’t right, coming back and pretending as if she had done something shameful. This was all wrong.

Even so, she rang for the maid. Marybelle greeted her cheerily, saying that she was glad that Elizabeth had made such a speedy and complete recovery. Elizabeth demurred, agreeing to whatever it was that Marybelle said as the maid helped her dress and saw to fixing her hair.

Then, Elizabeth joined the rest of the family in the breakfast parlor.

The children were there, for they did not dine separately in the Gardiner household for breakfast or luncheon, and they all chattered about how happy they were that Elizabeth was not ill.

Jane looked her over, questions all over her expression.

Her aunt and uncle, however, only expressed agreement that it was good she was not so ill as Jane had made out, and seemed to pay all of it little mind.

Indeed, it was a normal enough morning, or it must seem so to them.

Everything was different for her, or it should be different, but it was frustratingly not, and she felt a panic open up inside her.

She did not wish to explain what had happened at the breakfast table. It would not do with the children present, she told herself. It was a conversation best kept between adults, and she would undertake it later.

Except, she did not.

She told Jane, because she had sworn that she would, and they spoke together of it. There had been no conversation between Elizabeth and her new husband of where they would live—or where she would live, she supposed, for he was with the army on the continent.

“He is the son of an earl, so he must have something in the way of property,” said Jane. Then, “Oh, but no, you said he does not. This is why he was so insistent he must marry a woman with money, is that not the way of it? Where has he been staying?”

“With his family, I think,” said Elizabeth.

“Well, you must go there,” said Jane. “To his family’s house.”

“I have never been introduced to them, Jane. I’m to turn up there, uninvited, when they won’t be pleased to know of me? How will I even convince them of the truth of it all?”

“You have the documents, proving you’re married,” said Jane. “Besides, didn’t he say that his father got him the special license?”

“I assumed it must have been his father,” said Elizabeth. “Maybe his brother, though, who would have a courtesy title and might be able to get such a thing from the archbishop? I don’t know. But we didn’t speak of it.”

“What did you speak of?”

“There wasn’t actually a lot of talking,” said Elizabeth, feeling her face heat up.

Jane pressed her lips together.

“I have the carriage,” said Elizabeth. “That’s something, some material proof of this.”

“Yes,” said Jane. “He would have told someone he was doing it. There were witnesses, I assume, Lizzy?”

“Yes, it was properly done,” said Elizabeth. “But the witnesses came and left with the clergy who performed the ceremony. I don’t know who they were or if they were connected to the colonel.”

“So, not his friends, then,” said Jane.

“You are coming to the same conclusion I have,” said Elizabeth. “And there’s his letter that he left, which is more some kind of apology than anything.” She had it. She gave it over to her sister to read.

Jane smoothed it out and furrowed her brow and shook her head. “What conclusion are you coming to?”

“That I am a shameful secret,” said Elizabeth. “That he may have told no one of this, that it was some impulsive decision, something he thought to square away before he went off to see to his duties in the army, and that I am his wife in name and officiality only, not his real and true wife.”

“You are his real and true wife.”

“Well, without my husband, I…” Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “I am thinking of simply not telling anyone about it. I had planned to move into Weythorn on my own, and now there is no reason not to do so. When my husband returns, then we can announce it together, and all can be done properly.”

Jane considered this. “Perhaps, I suppose.”

“You are going to the country with the Bingleys, are you not?”

“Why don’t you come with us?” said Jane.

“I cannot. I have not been invited.”

“I shall speak to Charles about that,” said Jane. “If I explain the situation to him—”

“Do not do that!”

“All right, well, even if I do not, I think it can be done. Oh, think of it, Lizzy, it is not too far to the north, and there is talk that it will coincide with a ball given at the home of the Duke of Neithern, and it is a masque, held out on the grounds under the stars, and it will be ever so much fun. You need something diverting after all of this.”

“You are dead set against my living in Weythorn,” said Elizabeth softly.

“I am dead set against you being alone,” said Jane. “Especially right after being married, a woman should not be alone.”

“Well, perhaps that is the allure of Weythorn, though, its relative seclusion. Perhaps all I need is a bit of time to myself, truly. I might like it, a simple sort of living for some time. I can read ever so many books. I can simply relax.” She might like that, after all.

Ever since she had gone with Mr. Wickham across that rickety rope bridge, she had been living in something like a nightmare, but now, she was married and she had a house and she could settle into whatever the new reality of it all was.

Jane only shook her head at her. “We are different, I suppose, my dear Lizzy. You have more comfort in solitude than perhaps I do. It may be that I cannot entirely understand your desires, but if you are certain that is what you wish, then I only want you to be happy.”

“I think it is what I wish,” said Elizabeth.

“I am not sure that concealing the marriage is the best thing to do,” said Jane.

“I am not certain either,” said Elizabeth.

“Lizzy, you have not explained to me why he did it this way,” said Jane. “He came to Weythorn uninvited that one day, and he was very familiar with you, and you…”

Elizabeth looked away.

“Lizzy, you did not!”

Elizabeth didn’t know what it was that Jane was admonishing her over.

Jane reached out and took her hand. “Did he promise you a marriage that never materialized, all the while plying you to allow him liberties? And then, this, finally, you don’t trust it, because he had seemingly deceived you?

This letter, Lizzy, why is he saying he doesn’t deserve you? What has he done?”

“Oh, Jane,” said Elizabeth, sighing. “It is all such a mad and horrid morass at this point.”

“But you did allow him liberties ahead of his finally making you his wife.”

“It is a very difficult thing to explain, I find. I don’t even know where to start.”

“You have been different since you found out about your inheritance and your mother,” said Jane.

“I think you have taken up some idea within yourself that your very nature has been tainted by the sins of your mother, but this is not the case, Elizabeth. You were raised to be a good and upright woman and everyone who loved you wished for you to have that life and that identity. Perhaps your mother sinned, but you needn’t have. ”

Elizabeth shook her head. “That is not why.”

“You likely don’t think it is,” said Jane. “But ever since then, it is as if you are broken inside. Come to the country, Lizzy. Let us get away from that place.”

“What place?”

“Weythorn,” said Jane. “I believe it is ruining you.”

“How could a place ruin me?”

“It is this constant reminder of things that you need to put aside and to never think of again. You are my sister, and I don’t care about anything else. That is the real truth of your identity.”

“Except Jane, it is not the truth,” said Elizabeth. “And I don’t even know the truth. I don’t know where I came from.”

“Why must you meddle into it?” said Jane. “What does it matter, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth shook her head at her, realizing her sister simply couldn’t understand. But not knowing the secrets of her parents’ pasts meant that she felt as if she didn’t quite know who she was. And how was one to exist when one didn’t have an identity?