Felicity in Marriage

  Felicity in Marriage

  Aria Benedict

  Contents

  Copyright

  For Better, For Worse

  A Moment Alone

  Lizzy’s News

  The Missing Bonnet

  A Letter to Mother

  The Last Miss Darcy

  Copyright © 2017 by Aria Benedict

  Photographic reproduction of Frederick Morgan’s Off for the Honeymoon courtesy Wikimedia Commons. This artwork is considered public domain in the United States.

  Ornamental elements on cover designed by Gluiki / Freepik. For this and other vectors and illustrations visit freepik.com.

  For Better, For Worse

  Fitzwilliam Darcy had never expected his marriage to be without its challenges. Conflict was part of any relationship, and a union of two souls as opinionated and stubborn as Elizabeth and himself was bound to be rife with it. He had, however, hoped they might make it through a week of marriage before the first disagreement arose.

  This hope had been thoroughly dashed. Not quite three days wed and they were already having the worst sort of row—a silent one. He was not even certain what he had done to raise her ire, but her jaw had set, her eyes had flared, and their fledgling marriage had become a battle—a battle he was fairly certain he was losing.

  “Apparently I have somehow offended you.”

  Darcy winced, immediately realizing he had spoken wrongly. Elizabeth, whose gaze had been fixed at the limited view allowed by the carriage window, turned to him. Her withering glare was of such intensity he feared it might blind him if he held her stare too long.

  “I cannot fault your observational prowess, Mr. Darcy,” she replied calmly. He found this display of serenity more frightening than if she had answered with fury. She returned her gaze to the carriage window as if the conversation were over.

  “Yet it seems you can find many other faults with me, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Not many. Just one in particular.”

  “Which is?”

  She cast her eyes heavenward and then to the side in that universal gesture of irritation, but remained silent.

  Feeling himself grow angry, Darcy drew a deep breath and released it slowly. This exercise did not have the immediate calming effect he desired, however after a few moments he felt his anger restrained enough to speak.

  “You must tell me what I have done if I am to have any idea what I should apologize for,” he pressed. The flash of her eyes told him he, once again, had not kept irritation from his voice. He could not endure her heated gaze this time; he glanced away and felt a coward. What had he been thinking marrying a lady with such dangerous eyes?

  “You are much praised for your intellect, thus I cannot believe you to be ignorant of such an obvious offense.”

  “I assure you, I am. I would have to be a very stupid fellow indeed to intentionally offend you. You cannot think I desire to upset you. Explain, Elizabeth.”

  Issuing a command when she was already wroth with him was perhaps foolhardy, but he wanted to elicit more than barbed comments and sharp looks from her.

  Lizzy crossed her arms and pursed her lips, her face becoming pinched and contorted as if she had tasted something terribly bitter. She was aware she did not make for an attractive sight when she seethed like this, yet she could not calm herself. If his earlier behavior had been slightly irritating, his cluelessness now was infuriating.

  She now had that uncomfortable, foolish feeling one gets when one realizes the object of one’s anger has been completely ignorant of it. It had taken the man nearly a full day to realize she was upset. What a waste of energy her vexation had been! She might have allayed her feelings had she expressed them at the time of the incident. If she voiced it now, she feared it might not sound like such a great offense and she would feel silly.

  She sighed, she supposed she should just come out with it. Today they would reach Pemberley. Today she would become mistress of her own home and be introduced to all the servants. Better not to do it angry. She did not want this disagreement to sully the pride she felt at being introduced as the new Mrs. Darcy nor his joy in making the introduction.

  “You were very rude to Mr. and Mrs. Grange.”

  “Who?”

  “Precisely,” Lizzy replied, some of her earlier anger returning.

  “Are you speaking of the couple at the inn, the bothersome people who invited us to dine with them?”

  “They were very pleasant people. I suppose you did not wish to have supper with them because he was a mere solicitor.” Like my uncle, she thought.

  “My refusal had nothing to do with his profession. I simply wished for some peace and I could tell his wife was likely to prattle.”

  Like my mother, thought Lizzy. It was not fair of her, she knew, to keep suspecting him of snobbery when he had behaved so well the weeks leading up to their wedding even under strenuous circumstances. She knew he had suffered and he had done all he could to hide his suffering. Yet the fact remained: he had suffered because he felt her relation an affliction to be suffered through.

  She would not argue that they were embarrassing, uncouth at times, yet she had learned to endure them with amusement instead of condescension. He thought his silent suffering noble, proof of his love for her. Now she worried it would always be a sore spot between them. Every sign of incivility on his part would remind her of it, and it would eat at her and destroy their relationship.

  “They were very kind and you were horribly uncivil. I have never been so embarrassed.”

  “That is saying a great deal considering your mother,” he said in an undertone.

  Her resolution to behave calmly evaporated. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,”

  “You said something.” She had distinctly heard the word ‘mother’.

  “I should not have said it and repeating it will not help matters.”

  There, that was another irking thing about him: He could be so reasonable when she wanted to argue with him. How dare he look so calm? Moments ago she had held the advantage, now she felt it shifting.

  “I cannot wait get out of this carriage so I may never see you again,” she mumbled irritably. Instantly she regretted her words and hoped desperately she had spoken too quietly for him to properly hear.

  “You are aware we are married, I hope.” His tone was dry, but she could see the hurt held in his features.

  “Yes, but if I remember correctly Pemberley is a very large hall connected to a very large park, I shan’t have any trouble hiding from you at all.” The words had escaped her lips seemingly out of her control—half teasing, half earnest.

  For a moment all that was heard was the clop, clop, clop of the horse’s hooves as they made their way down the road. Then Lizzy erupted in laughter.

  Darcy stared at her, mystified.

  “Forgive me, I am behaving so ridiculously,” she said through her laughter.

  Taking her mirth as something of a reprieve, Darcy pushed himself from the rear-facing side of the carriage to the place on the bench next to her. He took her hand. When they had first set out they had marveled at their new found freedom to clasp hands without scolding from others.

  “No, Elizabeth, forgive me. I should have been more receptive to Mr. Grange’s offer. I had not intended to embarrass you. I am accustomed to my off-putting demeanor keeping people at bay. I was annoyed with them for their attention, annoyed with you for engaging them in conversation. It was unfair of me. I should not hold your affability against you.”

  Darcy had spoken with the intention of making her feel better, thus he was quite surprised when his wife promptly broke down in tears.

  “I will write a letter of apology to the Granges. I will i
nvite them to Pemberley if you so desire,” said Darcy, panicking.

  “Oh, I don’t care about the dratted Granges! I am so frightened.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of you—of me. I should have realized your discomfort, yet I did not. I felt only annoyance at your reticence, never once considering how you might be feeling. I am an awful wife.”

  “No. You were right from the beginning to give me the blame. I am the curmudgeon. I must be the one to alter.”

  “I cannot allow you to claim all culpability. I should not resent you for your nature.”

  “You can, however, be displeased by my behavior. I cannot promise not to offend you but I will always beg your forgiveness. A small consolation perhaps, but you did vow to put up with me for better and for worse.”

  “I am sorry for being so . . . so—.”

  “Utterly terrifying?” provided Darcy.

  “I terrify you?” Lizzy asked with a mischievous grin.

  “Only when I do not know how to soothe your fears.”

  “Not when I am livid and sniping at you cruelly?”

  “Perhaps a little then as well.”

  “And yet you must love me for better or worse?”

  “Forever and always, through anger and good humor, for better, for worse.”

  A Moment Alone

  Lizzy tramped down the path at a brisk pace. It was just after noon and the harsh cold so typical of late winter chilled her through the wool cloak she had donned before setting out. Though she generally enjoyed long walks, the icy breeze that cut through the bare trees caused her to regret her decision not to take the carriage.

  Another dusting of snow had fallen in the night making Pemberley’s woods eerily quiet except for the scraping of branches in the sudden gusts of wind. Lizzy would have been grateful for the snapping of a twig which broke the strange silence had she been the one to trod upon the offending limb. But the noise had originated behind her. She was being followed. She had overheard some of the servants trying to frighten each other with tales of specters who haunted the wooded paths of Pemberley, but she did not believe such nonsense. Nevertheless, she hastened her already quick stride.

  The smell of the chicken in the basket she carried was attracting the attention of a fox or some other hungry creature, she told herself. Dry leaves rustled as the creature that shadowed her moved through the frozen forest. Either it was a small animal without much in the way of stealth or it was a very large animal indeed. Giving in to her feelings of alarm, Lizzy whipped around and found . . . nothing. The path behind her was clear and she could discern no movement at its fringes. She let out a forced laugh at her own foolish imagination. Then a pair of strong hands seized her around her waist from behind.

  Before she could even manage a scream she was turned around and pulled tightly into her husband’s embrace. “Fitzwilliam, oh—.” A noise between a gasp and a giggle caught in her throat as her husband s kissed her thoroughly.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Mr. Darcy said when he released his breathless wife.

  Lizzy threw him an arch grin. “Oh, you didn’t? Perhaps you were lying in wait for someone else behind that tree.”

  “I did not think you would be so easily frightened, Mrs. Darcy.” Though they were just over three months wed, he still took great pleasure in calling her ‘Mrs. Darcy’, probably owing to the fact the change in her appellation felt like a hard-won accomplishment.

  “Yes, I suppose there couldn’t be anything more frightening than your manners and I endure those most valiantly, it is true. I can see where you have gotten the idea I am fearless.”

  Darcy demanded another kiss in payment for her teasing at his expense. Lizzy was most willing to submit to the fine. The kiss went from tender to intense. Her gloved hands clutched at the lapels of his great coat, as his hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, freeing some strands from the confines of her bonnet.

  “You are going to make me drop my basket,” she scolded without severity.

  “Drop it,” he commanded as he leaned down in an attempt to capture her lips once more.

  Lizzy deftly avoided his kiss, though she wished she might indulge.

  “I cannot,” she replied laughingly.

  With greater seriousness she added, “I am going to visit the Fullers.”

  “Yes, of course.” Darcy stepped away regretfully. His tenants, the Fullers, had recently suffered a fire which had destroyed a good portion of their home. The damage had been repaired, but Mr. Fuller had been injured while battling the flames. His injuries would take some weeks to heal, and until then, the family would be dependent on the charity of others for food and other necessities.

  “You have unmade my hair, and now you must play lady’s maid for me.” Lizzy turned to allow her husband to attend to her hair.

  Darcy had become quite adept at undoing her coiffures, but had not yet mastered the art of fixing them. He removed his gloves and inexpertly tucked her hair back into her bonnet. The result was by no means as neat as her maid had done it, but it was unlikely poor Mrs. Fuller would notice her dishevelment.

  He held her away from himself, exaggeratingly looking her over. “You are in fine fettle,” he said.

  Lizzy sidestepped him before he could pull her back into his embrace. They could easily begin kissing again if they let themselves get carried away.

  “I shall come back as quickly as I can. Will you be waiting for me at home?”

  “Yes. Unless you wish for me to come with you and carry your basket?”

  “No, I suspect you’ve been walking for quite some time. Go home and get warm.”

  Though the sudden crease in his brow hinted he would like to argue, he nodded agreeably, for which Lizzy was thankful. She knew he did not like her to walk alone, even on the safe paths between the house and the village, but he had agreed upon their marriage not to stifle her independence. An agreement he always kept to, though sometimes reluctantly.

  With a parting kiss they went off in opposite directions.

  ***

  An hour later, Lizzy was back on the path headed home. Her pace was just as brisk as before, but this time it was anticipation that fueled her rather than the chill. She had made certain to keep her afternoon free and she knew her husband had done the same. It was the first time since their marriage they would have the house completely to themselves—or at least as close to themselves as they could ever have a house that needed an army of servants to function—and they planned to take full advantage of it.

  Pemberley had seen a seemingly endless stream of visitors of late. Just nine days after their wedding both of her husband’s paternal uncles arrived, their wives and children in tow. All of that party were sensible, agreeable people of good conversation so entertaining them was no strain, and Lizzy felt no resentment of their coming even if she would have preferred them to have delayed their visit a little longer.

  Then the Gardiners came at Christmas. She had been glad to see her husband’s liking of them was still present and though their visit went superbly, she wished in retrospect she had not invited them at a time so immediately following her wedding.

  Next to inhabit Pemberley’s guest wing was Fitzwilliam’s great aunt who had traveled to Derbyshire—without prior notice—to “get a look at the new Darcy bride”. Lizzy could not be certain whether the lady was impressed or disappointed by her appearance for she was gruff and sullen when she was upset and only slightly less so when she was pleased. Despite this, Lizzy liked her immensely. Even if she would have preferred her to have put off her visit for another few months.

  It was the arrival of Fitzwilliam’s maternal uncle which Lizzy had dreaded the most, yet his visit had turned out to be the most enjoyable. Given the behavior of the earl’s sister, Lady Catherine, Lizzy feared Lord and Lady Chesterfield might not be inclined to accept her. She could not have been more wrong. They did not possess the haughtiness often associated with those of the peerage, the earl was as amiable
and eager to be pleased as Mr. Bingley and Lady Chesterfield as sweet-tempered as Jane.

  The only relative who had spared them was Lady Catherine. Despite the olive branch Lizzy had persuaded Darcy to offer her, his aunt had chosen not to honor them with a visit. Well, if she was still indignant for the shades of Pemberley, so be it, Lizzy had thought. They hardly needed any more visitors.

  Georgiana, of course, had been there all the while, and, as Pemberley was her home as well, was by no means a visitor. Yet, though Lizzy already loved Georgiana just as much as her own sisters and liked her quite a bit better than a few of them, she was pleased when her sister-in-law announced she would go with Lord and Lady Chesterfield when they left for London.

  Lizzy selfishly wanted her husband all to herself to delight in his conversation . . . and other attentions. She was looking forward to being able to be disgustingly in love the way only newlyweds can be, without fear of neglecting her guests or offending their sensibilities.

  They had been alone at night, of course. Yet it never seem enough time. Though she knew they would have their whole lives to become tired of each other she could not convince herself of it. It was all so exhilarating—yet frustrating.

  Their solitude held the promise of evenings spent in the library, Fitzwilliam reading aloud in his favorite chair before the fire, her head against his chest as she curled in his lap like a most contented cat. In spring they would take long walks and he would show her all his favorite pathways and childhood haunts, and if her hair was tousled when she returned, there would be no one but Mrs. Reynolds to note it and she was far too discrete to even look abashed.

  It was with this happy picture in her mind that Lizzy approached the house. The butler was not at his post when she entered nor was Mrs. Reynolds. Something must have happened with one of the servants. Lizzy wondered if should seek them out and determine what was amiss, but dismissed the thought. Mrs. Reynolds would alert her if she thought it necessary and would not thank her for interference otherwise.