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Chapter 6
“You could never drive me away unless it was your most earnest wish,” Richard replied breathily as he caressed Mary’s cheek with one hand.
Mary sighed with contentment, her eyes closing as she leaned into his touch. Upon opening her eyes, she was surprised by the intensity of Richard’s gaze. His blue eyes were fixed upon her with a look of complete ardor. Mary grew alarmed, but did not make to protest as Richard slowly bent his head to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. The kiss soon grew from a tentative peck to a passionate assault upon her mouth that stole her breath away. They parted after what seemed like several minutes, each panting heavily from the exertion. Mary and Richard regarded each other thoughtfully, an unspoken invitation and acceptance passing between them.
Mary woke with a start, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. She slid quickly from her bed and stumbled towards her nightstand. Mary washed her face with cool water, regarding her reflection carefully in the mirror as she wondered what had become of her. For the second time that night, Mary had woken herself from dreams of Fitzwilliam that had grown steadily more intense. They all had begun the same, a version of her encounter with Fitzwilliam the evening earlier. Yet they all ended differently growing from a chaste kiss on the cheek to more carnal expressions of affection. Mary was quite surprised by her ability to conjure such vivid dreams.
After drying her face, Mary pulled her comforter off of her bed and pulled it around her shoulders as she made her way over to the window. Dawn was just arriving and the faint orange yellow light of the sun made the snow covered ground shimmer. Mary observed the thick blanket of white with some trepidation. She had looked forward to an early morning walk to collect herself before facing the rest of the household and the consequences of her behavior. However, her plans were somewhat dashed by the sight of a good two feet of snow covering the ground.
Mary turned from the window and sat before the fire, tucking her legs beneath her and drawing her blanket tight. She could not help but wonder what sage advice her father would have for her in her present situation. Lord Farthington had rarely spoken to her about matters of the heart or how to deal with gentleman admirers beyond the Biblical instruction he gave. She knew from Proverbs that the fear of the Lord was a valuable feature of a virtuous woman, more so than beauty or charm. She had listened dutifully to exhortations on modesty and obedience and had studied diligently the stories of women of virtue in the Bible. Beyond these moral lessons, the only other instruction he had given her was of an academic and artistic nature as he valued the development of talents and intellect as highly as the development of a strong moral core. Myths of antiquity provided little insight on proper behavior as the exploits of the gods and goddesses of Greek lore were anything but moral. Mary now wondered at her father’s lack of instruction on these matters.
While Lord Farthington had been remiss on instructing his daughter in matters of the heart, he was careful to shelter her from anything he presumed harmful, including the few would be suitors she had in New Sussex. Her beauty and fortune had won her the admiration of a few young men on the island. Sometimes after returning home from church or from the rare social function she was permitted to attend, flowers and trinkets from her admirers along with the occasional note would await her. Her governess would always intercept these items on instructions from Lord Farthington. Thus, Mary was hardly aware at her suitor’s failed attempts at courtship, receiving their attentions to her at church and about town with kind indifference. Now Mary found herself responding to a certain male’s attentions with anything but indifference. She found her new situation quite frustrating.
Mary could not reconcile Elizabeth’s account of Fitzwilliam with her own perception of the man. Elizabeth had warned her of the Colonel’s flirtatious manner and ability to render any lady thoroughly besotted while his heart remained untouched. His teasing and forward behavior throughout most of their acquaintance had lent much credence to Elizabeth’s characterization. Yet, his behavior on Sunday had mirrored his behavior when they had first met, renewing her growing affection for him. Rather than the rake who found pleasure in vexing her, Fitzwilliam was protective, gentle and kind. Mary shut her eyes and smiled despite herself at the memory of the touch of his hand upon her cheek and the sound of her Christian name on his tongue. While those actions could also be attributed to a rogue, the look in his eyes could not. Mary had seen a depth of emotion and feeling in his look that made her tremble. Perhaps Elizabeth did not really understand Fitzwilliam either. Maybe Fitzwilliam was a good man who genuinely cared for her.
Mary’s contemplations were interrupted by a light knock at the door. Mary was pleased to find April at the door along with two housemaids with buckets of hot water for her morning bath. Mary greeted her with a smile ready to begin her day.
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Darcy woke up in a foul mood. He spent a sleepless night in an unfamiliar bed; his own. Darcy rarely slept in his bed, the piece of furniture functioning more as decoration than a place to sleep. In addition to his weariness, anger over Elizabeth’s actions compounded his ill temper. When he first attempted to enter her room and found he door locked, he was immediately stricken with worry, having assumed that Elizabeth was ill. However, her maid reported that her mistress did not report any ailment when she attended to her. Darcy could only assume that Elizabeth was angry with him, but Darcy was at a loss for the cause. He reviewed his behavior toward her with care and found it to be blameless. What vexed him the most was that he and his wife had long since made a promise to one another to not let the sun set on their anger and to readily relate to one another their displeasure.
Darcy entered the breakfast room and was pleased to see that Elizabeth was there breakfasting alone.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” Darcy began as he entered the room. “I hope that your evening was a pleasant one.”
“Yes, thank you,” Elizabeth replied in a low tone, her eyes fixed on the plate in front of her. Darcy could tell from this action that something was seriously the matter. Normally when Elizabeth was merely angry with him, her ire could be read in the fire in her eyes and the defiant set of her shoulders when she faced him. Darcy found that the resentment he had harbored when he woke up began to fade as he became sincerely concerned for his wife. An angry Lizzy he could handle, but a Lizzy in pain was another matter.
“I am surprised to hear that seeing as I found your door locked last night. As your maid did not report any ailment to me, I can only assume that something else was troubling you.”
Elizabeth took a sip from her cup of tea, her features schooled to be indifferent.
Darcy sighed, before pulling out a chair and seating himself beside his wife, “Elizabeth, won’t you tell me what is troubling you so? I cannot repair the situation if I do not know what is bothering you.”
At this final sentence, Elizabeth turned to look at him, her eyes showing some of the fire he was more accustomed to, but her voice betraying a deeper hurt. “I fear that you are well aware of the cause of my ‘trouble,’ William. In fact, it is of your creation.”
Darcy replied with a look of confusion. “I am sorry, Elizabeth, but I do not understand your meaning. I cannot think of anything in particular that would have upset you so. If you would simply tell me what I have done...”
“William, tell me plainly. Why won’t you allow Fitzwilliam to court Mary?” Elizabeth turned to look at her husband fully, her eyes wide and questioning.
“I have not forbid him from courting Mary. He has never come to me seeking permission.” Darcy replied, taken aback.
Elizabeth set her tea cup firmly on the table. “However, you have clearly told him of your disapproval of his choice which has all the strength of forbidding him from courting her!”
“So this has been the source of your discontent?” Darcy replied as he quit his seat and paced to the other side of the room. “I am surprised, madam, that you have such strong objections to a conversation that did not concern you.”
“I beg to differ, Mr. Darcy. The conversation is of my concern as it affects the happiness of a dear cousin and friend and that of a sweet and completely suitable young woman who is my charge,” Elizabeth replied passionately as she quit her seat to stand before her husband, her eyes flashing angrily.
“Good morning,” Colonel Fitzwilliam greeted brightly as he entered the breakfast room. His smile faded as he observed the scene before him. “I seem to have come for breakfast at an inopportune time. If you will excuse me.”
Darcy raised his hand to halt his cousin’s retreat. “Please, Fitzwilliam, do sit and enjoy your breakfast. Mrs. Darcy and I will continue our conversation in my study.”
Fitzwilliam watched them depart with some concern before being distracted by the lovely smell of fresh bacon wafting from the sideboard.
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As soon as they entered the library, Darcy shut the door firmly behind them and bid his wife to be seated. Elizabeth gave him a withering look before planting herself in the offered chair and folding her hands in her lap as if waiting to be answered. Elizabeth steeled herself for the confrontation that she knew would have to take place.
“May I ask how you have come to the conclusion that I forbade Richard from seeking Mary’s hand?”
“It is not as if I simply imagined this situation,” Elizabeth replied passionately, “Richard told me that you have pronounced the prospect of their union to be ‘beyond the bounds of reason.’ Were those not your words or did Richard tell me a fiction?”
“Yes, those were my words. I am not ashamed to claim them.”
Elizabeth stared at her husband aghast. “You may not be ashamed to claim them, Mr. Darcy, but I am ashamed that you spoke them,” Elizabeth replied as she rose to face her husband, her voice wavering slightly. “William, how can you stand by such words given our history? Did you not once consider our union to be unreasonable?”
“This is not the same!” Darcy replied with a raised voice as he turned away from his wife. “Why do you and Fitzwilliam persist in making that comparison? You are a gentleman’s daughter and I am a gentleman’s son. In essentials we are the same. That is not the case for Miss Farthington. No matter how dear she may now be to us, there is no way of denying that she is…”
“That she is what?” Elizabeth replied angrily as she walked around her husband so that she faced him once again. “That she is black? That her mother and her father where slaves?”
Darcy looked at her dumbfounded, surprised by her passion.
“Mr. Darcy, no matter how much you wish to deny it, our situations are essentially the same. I was not able to choose the family into which I was born. And while my family was reprehensible to you at one point, my family did not change who I was nor did our lowly status prevent us from being essentially good and honest people. Neither were you able to choose to be born into a life of power and privilege. Your position in life is simply an act of providence. Your wealth, your family prestige, your Cambridge education does not make you any better of a person than the lowly merchant or stable hand…”
“Elizabeth, I think you have said enough…”
“I do not think that I have. Could Mary choose her parents or her race? Would she be more sweet or more dear to us if she were born a Darcy or a Fitzwilliam? Would she be any better in the essentials?” Elizabeth demanded as she faced him. “Would you have loved me less if I were born a haberdasher’s daughter rather than that of a country gentleman?”
“Of course not, Elizabeth,” Darcy replied. “But we must be reasonable and think about what is best for Mary and our family. Mary must not marry Fitzwilliam; she simply cannot. We must be realistic.”
Elizabeth looked up at her husband in disbelief. “I knew that you had your pride, Mr. Darcy. But I did not know that you were a bigot as well.”
“Is that what you think of me?” Darcy replied in a low tone, his hurt evident in his features. “I did not think that you could regard me so meanly, Elizabeth.” Darcy sat down heavily in his chair.
“William, I did not mean…”
“No, please stop,” Darcy cut off her reply, his normal tone recovered. “Perhaps your assessment of me is not so off the mark, Mrs. Darcy. However I believe you may be forming your opinion out of misinformation, or rather from a lack of information. Please, sit down and allow me to better explain myself. Then, perhaps by the end of my tale you may think better of me.”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement before taking a seat opposite her husband. Darcy regarded her silently for a few moments, his eyes saddened by their exchange. Taking a deep calming breath, he began his explanation.
“As you are aware, Miss Farthington was very distressed after leaving church yesterday morning. But, you may not be aware of the cause of her distress. After the service, Parson Geoffries told me that it was his desire and that of several members of the congregation, that Mary not sit in the front pew with us during services. He found it highly improper for a ‘negress’ to sit up front and thought her better suited to sit with the servants. I, understandably, was very displeased by this and told Parson Geoffries so. I made it clear to him that if he could not treat Mary as a Darcy and would not speak to his parishioners about proper Christian conduct regarding her, that he should seek another position.
“Unbeknownst to me, Mary overheard our entire conversation and was quite distraught. Fitzwilliam was somehow there to console her and once we were home confronted me about the situation. We disagreed over how it should be handled and then found ourselves in the very conversation that has upset you so. Fitzwilliam admitted that he loved Mary and intend to seek her hand. I freely admit that my response was meant to discourage him from seeking her hand. It was my intent to demonstrate how their different social status would impact their life together. My language and tone, in hindsight, may have been overly strong. However, I did not speak so out of any dislike of Miss Farthington nor from some bigotry regarding her heritage. I acted as I saw fit to protect her and to protect Fitzwilliam.”
“To protect them?”
“Yes, to protect them from society, from our family, from a life of pain and scorn. No matter how we feel about Mary, society will look on their union with derision. They will be shunned from society and cut off from our family. Their children also will be unable to escape censure and would never be received by the ton,” Darcy rose from his seat and began to pace.
“I should hope that they would always be welcome at Pemberley,” Elizabeth replied.
“Of course they would be, Elizabeth. However, you must understand that Mary and Richard would be in a situation very different from ours. My family and the ton could forget the source of their displeasure when your charm and wit was displayed before them. However, Mary cannot conceal what they find offensive; they merely have to look at her to discover it.
“As long as it is in my power, I will not let Mary face such unnecessary pain,” Darcy paused as he poured himself a glass of brandy, finding he needed its soothing effect despite the early hour. “Remember the censure you received when our engagement was announced? I remember it clearly. Even with your wit and strength, it sometimes reduced you to tears. Now consider yourself in Mary’s place but facing venom three times as potent as what you endured. How would you fare if you had Mary’s gentle temperament? She does not have your strength, Elizabeth. She is far too sweet and her heart is easily wounded. You have seen this for yourself. What happened with the parson is just a small taste of what she may face.”
“William, she may not need such protection. You cannot shelter her from every ill word or purpose.”
“Yet, it is my duty to protect her,” Darcy replied, voice slightly raised. “I promised to protect her as her father strove to do during his life and I intend to keep that promise.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, absorbing what had passed between them. Elizabeth regarded her husband thoughtfully, acknowledging the truth of his words as she remembered their engagement and first year of marriage. She again saw her husband as the honorable and caring man with whom she had fallen in love. She began to regret some of her harsh words. Elizabeth smiled remorsefully at her husband, tears forming in her eyes.
“You are right, William. It is your duty to protect her. Yet, should we deny those we care for their chance at happiness? I am sure that they will face difficulties, yet love is worth fighting for…I know that we were worth fighting for.”
At this, Darcy rose from his seat and wrapped his wife in a warm embrace, stroking her hair.
“Shhh, my love,” Darcy comforted her, “Come now, you know that I cannot stand to see you cry. Our love was worth fighting for. I would face a thousand Lady Catherines all in high dudgeon to be with you.”
“Would not Richard do the same for the woman he loved?”
Darcy loosened his hold on her and looked down at his wife. Her face betrayed both the strength of her emotions on the subject and her determination to plead her case with success. He could not deny the truth of her arguments yet he was reluctant to put aside his concerns on the matter.
“I will think on what you have said,” Darcy replied after a few moments. “Right now that is all I can promise.”
“That is enough,” Elizabeth replied as she stepped closer to him to resume the closeness of their embrace. Darcy kissed the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender.
“I was in misery without you last night,” Darcy whispered into her hair after several long moments. “I can never sleep without you by my side.”
“You do look worse for the wear, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth replied as she turned her head to look up at him, smiling impishly. “I wonder what can be done to improve your spirits.”
Darcy grinned his reply before kissing her deeply on the mouth.
“Never shut me out again,” Darcy breathed as they parted.
“I promise, my love,” Elizabeth replied as she kissed him again. “I will try not to assume the worse in the future.”
“Now, that will never do, Mrs. Darcy,” Darcy replied as he looked down at her roguishly.
“Why not?”
“If you did not jump to conclusions, my Lizzy, we would have less opportunity to reconcile, and that would be a pity.”
“Yes, quite a pity,” Elizabeth replied as their lips met again.
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Fitzwilliam was disappointed to have missed seeing Mary at breakfast. His interview with Elizabeth the night before gave him a reason to hope yet also unearthed doubts that he had not previously considered. He despaired that he had been too forward with Mary, forgetting himself after the stress of the day. He remembered the look on her face before she fled with some pain. It was a look of both alarm and questioning. While Elizabeth did not censure him for his action, perhaps Mary did. As soon as he finished breakfasting with Georgiana, Fitzwilliam began roaming the halls of Pemberley in search of Mary. He was surprised to find her alone in the solarium rather than absconded in the library or visiting Master William in the nursery as was her habit. He entered the room quietly, enjoying the sight of Mary walking among the plants and flowers, her head bent in thought and her fingers running absently over the foliage as she passed. He wondered what occupied her mind and secretly hoped it was thoughts of him.
As if sensing his presence, Mary looked up from her contemplation and turned towards him, her face absent of the smile Fitzwilliam had hoped to receive.
“Good morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Mary greeted him.
“Good morning, Miss Farthington,” Fitzwilliam replied, crestfallen by her return to formality. “You are looking very well this morning. I trust that you rested well.”
Mary smiled slightly, “In truth, I found that my rest was much disturbed, but I thank you for the compliment. I hope your night was more restful, Fitzwilliam.”
Fitzwilliam suppressed his smile, “I too found my sleep much disturbed last night. I hope that yours was disturbed by dreams as pleasant as mine.”
Mary started at this, turning from him and proceeding with her walk about the solarium. Fitzwilliam silently cursed himself for his comment, recollecting his primary purpose for seeking Mary out.
“Miss Farthington, may I join you in taking a turn?”
“Yes, you are very welcome,” Mary replied avoiding his gaze.
Fitzwilliam thanked her for the courtesy and offered his arm to her. Mary glanced at his arm and then up at him as if she were unsure before taking it. They walked silently for a few moments, each unsure what to say to the other. Growing uneasy of the silence, Fitzwilliam ventured to begin some sort of conversation.
“How did you find the prospect of a snow covered Pemberley this morning, Miss Farthington?”
“Well, the view from my rooms was quite lovely this morning, although I fear so much snow has quite ruined my plans for the morning. I had hoped to take a walk this morning, but the sight of so much snow frightened me away. Does it always snow so much in England?”
“Well, Derbyshire winters do have their share of snow. However, I would rank last night’s precipitation as being heavier than usual.”
“I suppose that is some comfort then. I fear that I shall never grow accustomed to this weather.”
Silence descended upon them again as they completed one circuit around the room. Fitzwilliam took the opportunity to savor the closeness of her, memorizing the feel of her hand pressed against his arm, the smell of her hair scented with rosewater and the slight downward curve of her lips as a slight frown graced her features. He found himself slightly saddened by her reception of him. While she was polite and obliging, he could tell that she was disturbed in someway. He sighed in disappointment, thinking that perhaps she found his actions from the other night objectionable. Not one to allow himself to suffer needlessly in torment, he stopped their progression around the room and turned toward her with a look of sincere regret.
“Miss Farthington, you must allow me to apologize if my behavior last night offended you in anyway. Indeed, it was not my intention to cause you any distress. My behavior was presumptuous and forward and I must beg your forgiveness if it was indeed unwelcome.”
“There is no need for your apology, Fitzwilliam. Last evening we were both not ourselves,” Mary replied, smiling weakly as she quickly averted her gaze.
“Were my attentions to you unwelcome?” Fitzwilliam asked, almost pleadingly, as he took one of her hands into his.
“No.” Her reply was nearly inaudible as she bent her head to study her hand in his. Fitzwilliam allowed the smile he had earlier fought to suppress to overtake his features. Mary’s terse reply was all the encouragement he needed.
“Mary,” her head shot up to meet his gaze at the use of her name, “nearly as soon as I met you, you have impressed me as a woman of many accomplishments whose gentle spirit and kind heart have set your apart from all others. Your beauty and grace only add to your charms…”
“Fitzwilliam, I...” Mary interrupted, turning her gaze towards their intertwined hands once more.
“Please, Mary,” Fitzwilliam stopped her reply. “I do not presume to now ask you the one question that has long been my heart’s desire. I merely beg of you a simple favor. While this may appear to be an odd request from one who shares the same dwelling as yourself, I ask your indulgence nonetheless. Will you permit me to call upon you at your leisure? All I desire is the opportunity to win your affection and to convince you of the violence of mine.”
Fitzwilliam waited for her response, unconsciously holding his breath as he watched her. Mary continued to study their joined hands for several moments, her face indiscernible, before she whispered her consent. Fitzwilliam smiled broadly before gently raising her chin with his free hand, bidding her to meet his gaze.
“I am sorry, I am afraid that I did not quite hear. Would you remind repeating that, Mary?” he questioned teasingly.
“Yes, Fitzwilliam,” Mary smiled up at him. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”
Delight and relief flooded Fitzwilliam’s face at her reply. The only thing that would have made him happier at that moment would have been if she had agreed to marry him. However, he was more than content for now.
“Mary, you do not know how happy you have made me,” Fitzwilliam replied as he moved his hand from her chin to caress her cheek. He smiled as she instinctively moved into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. His look became more intense as he rubbed his thumb gently over her lips. Mary responded by parting her lips slightly, closing her eyes on a sigh. Fitzwilliam decided to complete the happy task he had set out to complete last night, bending his head towards hers to claim her lips in a gentle kiss. Her response was tentative and shy, confirming his suspicions that she had never been kissed. Fearful of frightening her away, he forced himself to move from her lips to gently kiss her upon each closed eyelid before ending with a soft peck upon her forehead. He pulled away from her to regard the impact of his touch on her. She gazed up at him with a look of both embarrassment and delight.
“Now that you have taken to addressing me so informally, may I call you by your first name as well, sir?”
“Yes, by all means, Mary,” he laughed, humored by her formal reply after such an interaction.
“Then I shall call you Richard when we are as we are now. Richard is so much easier than Fitzwilliam.”
Fitzwilliam laughed again, before bringing her hands up to his lips to kiss. “Yes, I suppose it is. Yet you must admit, madam that Farthington is quite a mouthful as well.”
Mary laughed and then gasped as Richard turned her hands over to bestow a kiss in the palm of each. Mary laughed again as she pulled herself out of his grasp and continued to walk around the solarium. Fitzwilliam stood watching her for several moments, overwhelmed with joy at her reception of him. He knew now that she was far from indifferent and began to hope that in time her admiration would grow in fervor to match his own. He could only hope that Elizabeth was having as much success in convincing Darcy to allow him Mary’s hand.