A note from Darcy House to Matlock House almost preserved privacy for another day. But Madame Walters and her entourage showed up precisely at eleven in the morning at Darcy House, and neither husband nor wife stood presentable for their arrival.
After asking his staff to show them to the downstairs parlor, Mr. Darcy addressed his wife snuggled sleepily in his bedsheets.
“Did you send word last night you needed your frock replaced?” he asked, half meaning a jest, and half worried she had taken such a step in the brief moments they had parted the previous evening.
“Mmm?” she answered, though when her husband did not come to playfully wake her up, Elizabeth Darcy blinked a few times and sat up to find him in the room barely familiar to her. “Did I send what?”
“Last evening, I sent word to my aunt and uncle asking that we would not be disturbed today. Did you send a note elsewhere? Your dressmaker is here.”
“Madame Walters!” Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. Then peeked out and wrinkled her nose, choosing to ignore the openness her husband held about mornings they woke up next to each other to see to his basic needs. That would be one incentive to see her rooms renovated as soon as possible. Looking around, she tried to spy her robe so that she could leave for her barely used boudoir, but finding none, she remembered the connecting door. “I forgot they were coming today! It was all arranged yesterday!”
“Can you rearrange it?” he called out as Elizabeth dashed for the door, naked as the day she was born.
“They're already here! I could lose her favor!” she shouted back, before the connecting door slammed shut between them.
Mr. Darcy shrugged as his man came into the room.
“Have you ever heard of worrying about a shopkeeper not wanting your custom? Aside from problems of no payment,” Mr. Darcy asked, beginning an uncomfortable new trend of asking his bachelor valet for insight into questions that arose from his discourse with Mrs. Darcy.
“No, sir, I cannot say that I have,” was all Mr. Bollins would answer as he saw to his duties. Mr. Darcy was pensive while his man prepared him for the day.
“I thought I would understand more since I've raised Georgiana. But I'm afraid I don't understand half of the problems Mrs. Darcy shares with me. This morning,” Fitzwilliam paused as his man tied his shirt near his Adam's apple. “This morning,” he repeated before continuing, “she worried about losing her dressmaker! Imagine that, a dressmaker not taking a Darcy's call! I'm sure she was mistaken as to the threat to her reputation.” Mr. Darcy nodded to the right to signal he wished to wear his blue coat over the brown.
After his vest and cravat, Mr. Darcy cooperated with Mr. Bollins to shrug on his coat and then stood dutifully in front of the full-length mirror to inspect his overall attire. Before he was married, Mr. Darcy took great stock in how he looked, knowing from a young age the expectations of his station in life required a certain amount of his appearance mattering to others more than himself. Now that he had won Elizabeth's hand, he inspected his reflection with only her good opinion in mind, and she had long complimented him in dark blue. He might never wear brown again unless her favor changed.
“Have we made an appointment with my tailor?” Mr. Darcy asked his man, the one who normally handled such matters for him.
“Yes, sir.”
“When?”
“Day after next,” Mr. Bollins answered as he continued to collect the clothing around the room. With a slight twist in his lips expressing dismay, he gingerly lifted a chemise belonging to Mrs. Darcy to place into a pile for her maid. Spying his man's work in the mirror, Mr. Darcy spun around and experienced a sudden, irrational surge of jealousy in his heart.
“Leave it!”
“Sir?”
“In the future, leave Mrs. Darcy's belongings alone and only concern yourself with me!”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Bollins said, bowing slightly. As his valet backed away from him, Mr. Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and closed his eyes.
“Bollins!” he called, not looking, but his man had not left so he had merely shouted unnecessarily.
“Sir?”
“Forgive me, you were only fulfilling your duties. But unless you absolutely must tidy up to perform your duties, you should not have to concern yourself with Mrs. Darcy's attire. The maids, or her lady's maid, can see to collecting her items for laundering. Just because I have married shouldn't cause you more work.” Mr. Darcy attempted to smooth over his irrational display of emotion with an excuse to protect Mr. Bollins from additional labor.
“As you wish, sir. I am happy to leave the realm of the Mistress to those better suited to see to her needs,” Mr. Bollins said, a statement that could easily apply to more than just the discarded clothing left behind after a night in the marriage bed.
“Please see if my tailor can come today,” Mr. Darcy said, leaving the subject entirely alone as he selected a pair of cuff links for the day. As Mr. Darcy pointed to them, Mr. Bollins dutifully walked over, to add the last item to complete his employer's attire until it was time to dress for dinner. “I wish to have a few items refreshed and my aunt shall have me flogged if I do not have a suit made for the Twelfth Night Ball.”
“And if he cannot come today, are we keeping the appointment for two days' hence?” Mr. Bollins asked.
Mr. Darcy smirked. “Tell him I am indisposed and this is the only time I can meet.”
Mr. Bollins left, with his numerous orders in mind, while Mr. Darcy followed him out. On the landing, he paused and listened carefully, only to find there were no voices below stairs. Instead, the muffled conversation came from his wife's room. Walking down the hall, he paused for a moment, perplexed on whether he should knock or simply enter the room. Finding the lack of protocol irritating, he turned the handle and permitted himself entry.
He immediately regretted intruding on his wife's privacy.
“Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth startled as she saw him open the door and enter over the heads of her dressmaker and the woman's assistant. She had moved her arms to cover her partially exposed stays as a bolt of Prussian blue silk draped over her other shoulder. Elizabeth's sudden movement caught Gwyn off guard, and she accidentally poked her mistress with a pin.
"Ow!" Elizabeth exclaimed, but quickly smiled down at her maid to express she did not fault the young woman. Then her ire turned back to her husband. “Why are you here? You're ruining the surprise!”
Madame Walters and her attendant turned around to stare at Mr. Darcy as being entirely unwanted and unexpected. When he could offer no immediate explanation, Madame Walters turned back around and continued the conversation she had been holding prior to Mr. Darcy’s appearance.
“As I said, your hemming is impeccable, and if you ever need a position in the future, do contact me. So long as you are leaving with a reference, of course." Madame Walters complimented Mrs. Darcy's maid, and also respected her employer.
“Thank you, Ma'am, I am quite content where I am,” Gwyn answered, holding the silk up and looking at Elizabeth as her employer continued to glare at her husband.
“Did you need me?” she asked Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Darcy shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot-to-foot.
“No, only that I will have my tailor come today as well, to match your plans.” He bowed slightly, catching the shabby nature of the carpet under his feet. When he rose, he looked around displeased to see the state of his mother's old suite, now his wife's domain. He had not stepped foot in here since her passing, and felt incredibly ashamed that there had been no preparations prior to Mrs. Darcy's arrival.
Madame Walters whispered to her client, and Elizabeth called out to her husband as his hand reached the door.
“I have a number of gowns to be fitted for, I'm afraid I shan't be free until just before supper!”
Mr. Darcy tensed his shoulders, disliking the reversed roles he heard between his wife and this dressmaker. Still, he would never correct his wife in front of others, so he merely nodded and took his leave.
When he returned to his study, he did not find joy in the reminders of their lovemaking the previous day. Overwhelmed by the irrational feeling of abandonment, that he acknowledged in his mind was wholly unfair as his wife was merely fulfilling the duties and obligations of their station in life, he slumped into his chair. Further demoralized by the stack of work he needed to redo thanks to the spilling of ink, he sighed. A small reminder of his wife's diminutive hand pressed against his desk top as an imprint of three of her fingers and half of her palm marred a piece of parchment. He laid his hand over top and closed his eyes, feeling his lust for her rise as someone knocked on his study door.
“Yes, come in,” he called, sliding his chair forward and busying himself with lifting the ruined papers. The one with Elizabeth's partial handprint he set aside to keep in his desk. Mr. Bollins walked in, a grim expression on his face.
“Forgive me, sir, but we have heard back from your tailor.”
“And? When will he arrive?” Mr. Darcy asked, as though it were a foregone conclusion.
“I'm afraid he cannot come today, as there is a previous appointment, but he can change your appointment in two days' time to come here.”
“Previous appointment? Can he not allow his assistant to handle such a matter?”
Mr. Bollins stood like a scared rabbit, unaccustomed to seeing his employer so passionate in his discourse.
“Never mind, find me a new tailor.”
“Sir?”
“Surely there is a tailor in all of London who can come today.”
Mr. Bollins held his breath as not to sigh and slightly bowed to dismiss himself. Finding a tailor of the caliber Mr. Darcy required so close to the festivities of Twelfth Night would be a tall order, and he didn't want any further assignments.
After Bollins left, Mr. Darcy stood to pour himself a drink, then gazed at the amber liquid in a moment of crisis. He was not a man who drank before breaking his fast! And his wife, she must be famished! Shaking his head at his petulant, selfish desires, he called for Mrs. Abbott.
Once she arrived, he gave directions for trays to be taken to Mrs. Darcy's room.
“Already done, sir. Mrs. Darcy's lady's maid sent a request down a quarter hour ago.”
“Good, that is good. I should like a tray brought here for me.”
Mrs. Abbott began to tell him food was waiting in the dining room, but she stopped herself. The master's erratic behavior was well spread through the staff, ever since last spring. Mrs. Abbott's experience granted her the wisdom to note he was a a young man in love, but without parents to guide him, the strong feelings of a new marriage challenged Mr. Darcy thoroughly.
“Yes, sir, I shall have a tray brought here for you. Would you like me to request Mr. Harlow to come to you?”
“Harlow is here?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir, to discuss the spring plantings at Pemberley. He arrived yesterday.”
"Well, why didn't he make his presence known?"
Mrs. Abbott tucked her bottom lip under her top. She refused to explain further in hopes that her employer would grasp that the addition of Mrs. Darcy to the household had brought about a great deal of changes for the staff, especially in learning how to anticipate and respect their privacy.
“Mrs. Abbott?” Mr. Darcy prodded his longtime housekeeper for an answer.
“I believe he came to your study yesterday afternoon and determined his interview was best done at another time,” she explained.
Darcy's face turned red with embarrassment. He needed to learn when his staff was trying to express matters without direct explanation.
“Tell him I shall be ready for him in one hour,” Mr. Darcy said, letting the subject drop.
Alone once more in his study, he reconsidered his plan for a drink and took a healthy sip. Priding himself to be a man of good regulation, the unpredictable nature of his feelings with Elizabeth and desires to love her warred with his sense of propriety.
He considered for a moment if it was too late to arrange a wedding trip for them both, rather ridiculous a whole month into their marriage, but perhaps necessary for them to find their footing. He closed his eyes and saw the image of his wife's form, alluringly half-covered by that delicate dark blue silk, and licked his lips. When his lustful ruminations were interrupted yet again, this time by the arrival of the tray he requested, he resolved to push all thoughts of his wife aside.
He silently vowed to learn to control his heart lest it drive him mad from love! Marrying Elizabeth was meant to satisfy the unending distraction the woman had given him since last autumn, not compound its power! Finishing his drink, he set himself to rewriting the ruined letters from yesterday, tucking the handprint of his wife into his top drawer. He would conquer this.