Staff at Darcy House had never experienced the Darcy family entering the home in such dismay. Mr. Darcy, believing himself the aggrieved, had kept his manners and anger under good regulation with his silence. But each passing moment of shunning on the way home had raised Elizabeth's ire.
By the time they left the carriage and entered the foyer, Mr. Darcy's first words directed at his sister became the transgression Mrs. Darcy needed to unleash her pique.
“Shall I call the doctor?”
Georgiana turned around, mortified, and Elizabeth stood between brother and sister in a natural stance of protection to the one younger.
“Unnecessary. She requires a hot bath, a change of clothing, and a tray of refreshments.”
“I would like to hear from my sister,” he requested.
Behind her, Georgiana shook like a leaf rustling in a summer storm. The tension between the couple felt palpable to everyone around them, with even the last shop owner they visited raising an eyebrow. Orphaned most of her cognizant life, with no memories of her mother and father together, witnessing the first argument of the married couple frightened Miss Darcy.
“Fitzwilliam, boot heels break. The shoes were not suited for a day of walking, but in the future I shall help Miss Darcy in procuring her footwear,” Elizabeth said, meaning to comfort both Darcy siblings. But her husband took it as an insult.
“Walking? That is precisely the point, Mrs. Darcy,” he emphasized her married name. “There was not to be any walking today, and it was you who decided to leave the carriage!”
Elizabeth took a step towards her husband, meeting his eye. “Because we would have frozen. Had you not quarreled with your tailor like a spoiled schoolboy you would not have needed to leave us!” she countered, glaring at him the same way she had in Kent. Perhaps she had been wrong to leave the carriage, but the bigger misstep was his, abandoning them both because he had failed to keep the loyalty of a suit maker.
“You mean to blame me?” his voice raised in volume, a passionate reaction that might have frightened another lady, but not Elizabeth.
“If you are set on sending blame around!” she answered back, crossing her arms.
Neither heard the front door as Darcy lectured Elizabeth about comportment in society and how ladies did not take to the streets to walk like common bar maidens. He looked to Georgiana for assistance with his point, when Lady Matlock cleared her throat behind him.
“Nephew, why are you yelling at ladies in your front doorway for all of the neighborhood to hear?” she asked in a soft, but commanding tone, that the color drained from Fitzwilliam's face. He turned around to see his aunt looking most displeased.
“This does not concern you, Aunt.”
“Of course it does! I sent two notes expressly stating you could not keep your lovely English rose hidden away any longer. We must make an appearance at the Stewarts,” she shook her head and closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and clarified for Mrs. Darcy's benefit, “Lord and Lady Castlereagh.”
Mr. Darcy covered his face with his hand in exasperation and walked a number of paces away from the ladies in high agitation. He was outnumbered.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Matlock,” Elizabeth used her proper name as she was distracted by the many implications of the intelligence she heard. “You sent several notes?” she asked, looking over to her husband for an explanation. Instead, Lady Matlock expounded.
“Yes, I have the perfect patronage for you. Lady Castlereagh is simply mad about this idea of Mr. Dance's, her young brother-in-law's music teacher. They plan to form a musical society, forgive me, she says the word a dozen times at every tea and now it has escaped my mind.” Lady Matlock touched her temples as though such a movement would refresh her memory.
“Philharmonic,” Mr. Darcy said, dryly.
“Indeed! A Philharmonic!” Lady Matlock exclaimed. "A brotherhood of musicians working together. And they aim to invite Beethoven to perform here in London!” At this piece of news, Georgiana brightened and took a wobbly step towards her aunt in jubilation, as Beethoven was one of her favorite composers. The misaligned gait caught Lady Matlock's notice, and she instantly spied the broken heel.
“You had read the letters!” Elizabeth accused her husband, building on their earlier disagreement in a way that made Lady Matlock and Georgiana feel as though they attended a tennis match. One moment the atmosphere had been calm, and now it flared hot with anger again.
“It slipped my mind to bring them to you.” Mr. Darcy lamely excused his behavior.
“All of them?” Elizabeth asked, but Darcy ignored the accusation and instead focused on avoiding the social call altogether.
“I'm afraid we are unavailable this evening as Georgiana is injured.” Mr. Darcy's statement earned audible reactions from both Elizabeth and Georgiana. Both ladies attempted to speak at once, then stopped, and Elizabeth allowed Georgiana to speak for herself.
“I am well. I am not a china doll that a small scrape shall break me.” Miss Darcy held up her ungloved hands to show nothing but minor injury to her palms. All scrapes and cuts looked worse when they first happen.
“And were you not waxing philosophically how we must live up to the expectations of our society? If I am not permitted to leave the carriage and walk escorted by a footman, then I do not see how you are able to avoid a dinner invitation by one of the patrons of Almack's.” Mrs. Darcy revealed she knew precisely who Lord and Lady Castlereagh were in the overall Bon Ton.
Lady Matlock seized the opportunity to treat the attendance of the Darcys as a foregone conclusion. “Have you danced at Almack's, Mrs. Darcy?”
Elizabeth blushed. Then she shook her head.
“No, I'm afraid I have never received a voucher, but my Aunt Gardiner explained to my sister Jane and me many aspects of London society. And my uncle's business lends him a few clients in that sphere.” Involuntarily, Elizabeth looked down, immediately reminded of how vastly different her life and Mr. Darcys truly stood, even though they both were members of the untitled gentry. But where Darcy's relations edged him a step up, Elizabeth's extended family connected her in the opposite direction.
Elizabeth's embarrassment, however, did little to thwart Lady Matlock's aims. Much like she had on the day they arrived in London, she commanded Elizabeth above stairs to ready for the dinner. As the three ladies left Mr. Darcy alone in the foyer, a small pang of regret washed over Elizabeth's heart. She turned back around to look at her husband before leaving with her maid, but the man had gone. With a heavy sigh, she agreed for Lady Matlock to oversee Georgiana while she changed her attire.
Accepting the efforts of Gwyn to transform her into a lady of the highest society with one of her new frocks from Madame Walters, Elizabeth's thoughts remained fixed upon her argument with Fitzwilliam. When they both could hear the sounds of Mr. Darcy and his valet taking similar steps in the adjoining suite, Elizabeth found herself rationalizing a small amount of distance might permit them both to cool their tempers.
Her breast filled with hope when she heard her husband knock on the door between their rooms. She nodded for Gwyn to open it, and her husband gallantly strolled in, dressed dashingly in a black coat. Immediately attracted to his person, she smiled and rose, standing before him in an emerald silk, with the modest neckline she preferred. Like their conversations of the past, Fitzwilliam did not look directly at her and spoke.
“I forgot to inquire about your purchases today,” he said, formally.
Elizabeth brightened. "Oh, Mr. Fowler was very helpful. I selected a rosewood set for my bedroom here and another to be sent to Pemberley."
Mr. Darcy gulped.
“You selected two full sets? Made of rosewood?”
Elizabeth blinked.
“Yes,” she stated, carefully, trying to understand Mr. Darcy's intention.
“We discussed replacing a few items here.” His gaze circled the room slowly coming more to life with a new inhabitant and the staff's eager care.
“I changed my mind in the shop.”
“To purchase two sets?” he asked, repeating himself.
“If I have done something incorrectly, sir, please apprise me of the transgression.” Elizabeth's head throbbed with frustration. One moment she didn't spend enough money according to him and members in his family, and the next, she spent too much.
“We had never spoken about replacing everything,” his voice cracked, and suddenly Elizabeth began to understand the true issue.
Moving to his side, she reached out for her husband's hand, but he rebuffed her. Stunned he would insult her thus in front of Gwyn, Elizabeth turned incredulously to look at her maid who took the opportunity to scamper into Mrs. Darcy's dressing room.
“Are you angry that I am replacing your mother's selections or that I have purchased two sets?” she asked directly, pursing her lips. On both reasons she had an explanation to offer, she merely needed to know which one he required.
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood still and refused to answer. Elizabeth began to regret she had ever believed this man had changed. A few weeks he had played the role of a most ardent suitor, and suddenly his heart beat cold. Tears threatened to fall as her breathing became labored from distress.
“I have upset you, Madam, forgive me.” Her husband bowed and retreated from her room, leaving her bereft.
Her mind raced. She had spoken plainly, why could they not resolve such petty small matters between them? Why was he suddenly so distant?
Elizabeth stomped her foot and looked about the room that was utterly foreign to her. Wrapping her arms around herself, she allowed her tears to fall as Gwyn came to her aid.
Accepting a handkerchief, Elizabeth began to speak to the only person who had known her before their marriage, though it was but briefly. And the loss of connection to her Jane and other family members overwhelmed her further.
“I've made such a grave mistake,” she said, feeling powerless to see a correction.
“No, my lady, you'll find your way. The Master is out of sorts,” was the only criticism the maid would give her employer. “You don't worry about him, he'll find a way back to being the handsome gentleman you married. And this day will be forgotten.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, patting her cheeks dry one last time, and watched as Gwyn placed two turquoise encrusted combs into her pinned up hair. The effect clashed with her reddened eyes, and Elizabeth resolved not to cry any further.
“The only problem,” she said, for Gwyn or herself to hear more, she wasn't certain, “is this terrible day is leading to what I fear will be a most terrible night.”