"Should we have stayed home so you can rest?" Mr. Darcy asked his wife as they bobbed in time with the ruts in the streets towards Berkeley Square.
Elizabeth smiled sweetly at her husband. The jewels on her wrist jingled every time the carriage jostled them. “But I rested all afternoon at your aunt and uncle's. I am quite well.”
“Yet you cannot travel to Pemberley,” he said, with a slight irritation to his voice.
Elizabeth said nothing, as that was often the easiest way to keep a ruse. She had not anticipated that Lady Matlock would be clairvoyant of the immediate future that she actually had to pretend to suffer her courses. The Countess was unnervingly accurate that his uncle and cousin barely placated the anger Mr. Darcy felt, once sober, after the Castlereagh's dinner.
At first, he had wanted to call out Lord Ravensdale, and when his cooler conscience prevailed, next ordered that he and his wife would quit Town altogether. By the time Elizabeth arrived back at Darcy House to prepare for a dinner at Lord and Lady Jersey's town home, her husband was eager for them to pack their bags immediately. She disappointed him privately with her news, and the effect doubled later when Lord Matlock explained the evening's plans. Colonel Fitzwilliam slightly cheered his cousin as he offered to go as well.
“Why can't Mrs. Darcy travel to Pemberley?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, as he had chosen to ride with the Darcys to 38 Berkeley Square.
Elizabeth used her best acting skills to look at her husband angrily, though the dimness of the ride allowed him to ignore her censure. Still, she remained frowning by design to keep from laughing.
How was she supposed to feel embarrassed about her womanly functions being discussed when they had it all wrong? The absolute farce of the situation, two men tacitly talking around a natural process to preserve her delicacy, made her want to laugh. A light flutter in her stomach reminded her of the realization she had with Lady Matlock that morning, the possibility of carrying Fitzwilliam's son drove her to such distraction, she almost missed her husband's lackluster explanation.
“Mrs. Darcy wishes to stay in Town through the festive season,” he said, dryly.
Dropping her hand to the space between them, she dared to allow it to rest against his thigh, but her husband cleared his throat and adjusted his weight on the next turn to slide slightly away from her.
“That's right! You've never had a proper Twelfth Night! It's my favorite night of the year!” The Colonel began to explain to Elizabeth all that would happen on the following night, including the drawing of roles by slips of paper.
“I thought we ate a cake? The only time I've participated in the evening at my aunt's, there was a cake. My Aunt Phillips found the pea, and Sir William Lucas the bean,” she explained, mostly for her husband's benefit as Colonel Fitzwilliam scarcely knew the pair. “My sister Kitty was convinced that Aunt Phillips cheated somehow, since it was her party,” Elizabeth said, happy the previous topic had been dropped.
“We use cards now, and you will have to play your lines well. No one cares to break a tooth on a bean!” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, jovially.
As they arrived at the Jersey Residence, Elizabeth wondered what to do, but her husband gently held her back so that the Colonel could descend first. His military rank and position as the son of an earl outranked the civilian Darcy name and grandson of an earl. Unlike the Castlereaghs, they were there early for the dinner and Elizabeth clung to her husband's arm in the front parlor as they awaited more arrivals.
“I should have ridden with my parents,” the Colonel whispered to them conspiratorially, as more than a half hour passed without any offer of refreshments. “Then I could have arrived with the important people,” he finished, elbowing Darcy in his ribs. For his part, Mr. Darcy stood stoically next to his wife, without speaking much.
Finding she could make conversation with the Colonel as easily as she had in Kent, Mrs. Darcy ignored a few of the stares in her direction as they laughed and talked more about the excitement tomorrow's ball at the Fitzwilliam home would provide.
Lady Jersey herself, approached the Darcys and the Colonel with a duo of a younger woman and an older woman, likely a mother-daughter pair by their resemblance. Both gentlemen bowed low and Elizabeth bobbed her curtsy to her ladyship.
“My, the Colonel and Mr. Darcy in the same room. Colonel, you will know my sister, Miss Emily Harriet Wellesley-Pole, and her mother, Mrs. Wellesley-Pole,” Lady Jersey introduced the two women indirectly to Elizabeth.
Darcy leaned over to whisper in his wife's ear. “She is Wellington's niece,” he managed before Lady Jersey called out his rudeness.
“Come, no whispers now. Especially amongst the married. We shall think you are saying cruel things about all of us,” Lady Jersey batted her eyes at Mr. Darcy, and the overt flirtation stunned his wife. Her experiences of such unwanted interactions towards her husband were from Caroline Bingley, and she did not think that Miss Bingley represented the common behavior of all ladies in London.
Mr. Darcy broke his linked arm to his wife and gently reached out for Lady Jersey's hand. He bowed low and kissed over the white gloves. “Never Madam, could I say a cruel word about you or any of your guests,” he said.
Elizabeth's jaw dropped in shock, but she quickly recovered when Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired as to where Miss Wellesley-Pole would be sitting at dinner.
“I placed her next to Mrs. Darcy, with you on her left, Colonel," Lady Jersey said, smiling, before leaning forward to make a private word to Mr. Darcy that Elizabeth could not quite make out as too many guests had arrived. The parlor was suddenly very full, and getting louder by the second as everyone strove to have a conversation or two with whom they could before submitting themselves to Lady Jersey’s seating plan.
“I believe I am sitting on your other side, Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Wellesley-Pole said.
Considering the matronly woman beside her, Elizabeth saw that Mrs. Wellesley-Pole’s eyes were kind, and she thanked her for the information. When she turned her head to say something to her husband, Mrs. Darcy found that Mr. Darcy had been led away by Lady Jersey. She thought to go after him, but the Colonel offered his arm to Miss Wellesley-Pole to escort her into the dining room as the lines began to form by precedence. Standing on her tiptoes, Elizabeth could barely make out her husband further up in the line, with his arm on a woman she did not recognize.
“With our lack of gentlemen, I fear we will be walking ourselves into dinner,” Mrs. Wellesley-Pole said, and Elizabeth gave a hollow laugh as a way to conceal her true feelings. She had brought her gentleman with her to dinner and did not understand these manners that constantly dictated for a husband and wife to separate!
But as she resolved to disallow panic or anxieties to rule her thoughts a second evening in a row, Elizabeth inhaled deeply and reminded herself that she was Mrs. Darcy. How could she not realize that more than a few women might object to her merely on grounds that she took such a handsome specimen off the marriage market?
“Do you live here in Berkeley Square as well?” Elizabeth braved a question of Mrs. Wellesley-Pole and the older woman shook her head.
She touched the side of her nose and winked. “No one can fault you, being newly married and all. My home is next door to yours, in Grosvenor Square.”
Elizabeth gasped, and apologized for being so rude. But Mrs. Wellesley-Pole shook her head as it was their turn to enter the dining room.
The largest table Elizabeth had ever seen in her life stood filled with scores of couples, and hundreds of pieces of silver and flatware. Sixteen bouquets of roses aligned in tall silver vases, thus sectioning off the long banquet table into realms of influence. At the far end, Lady Jersey sat at the head of the table, and Elizabeth soon spied her husband, Fitzwilliam, nary three chairs down. Mrs. Wellesley-Pole followed her companion’s gaze. Without prompting, she began an explanation.
“Sarah prefers to have the military men sit with her husband, while she enjoys the company of those who are always available for her beck and call.”
Elizabeth gave her neighbor a look of disbelief, as two footmen assisted them into chairs near the middle of the table. After she sat down, the sight line to her husband on the opposite side of the table and closer to Lady Jersey was entirely blocked by one of the flower arrangements.
An unpleasant taste of bitterness pooled at the back of her mouth as Elizabeth wished to ask her new friend if her husband was one of the men who answered Lady Jersey's call. Before she could make up her mind whether or not to ask, Mrs. Wellesley-Pole became engaged in conversation with the patron sitting to her right. Mrs. Darcy could not see the man's face, but he gave the impression of being very elegant in manners. She also spied flashes of silks and designs from another country, putting the mundane patterns of London to shame. Regardless, the opportunity passed her by.
Dinner became entirely dull for Elizabeth when she realized that on her left, Miss Wellesley-Pole planned to monopolize Colonel Fitzwilliam's time for the entire dinner, and on her right, her mother showed little interest in talking to the new and entirely forgettable Mrs. Darcy. Without someone to speak to, Elizabeth chiefly occupied her time tasting as many dishes as were within her reach. She played a game with herself where she attempted to figure out individual ingredients. Every few bites, she discovered a new favorite, and made a mental note so that she might ask them to be made at Darcy House or Pemberley. Thankfully, this visit to London she would not be expected to host any gatherings, but even Lady Matlock had impressed upon her that the expectation would arise far sooner than she desired.
By the third course, Elizabeth wished she had agreed with the modiste about a looser waistline on the new frock she wore. As such, she desperately dreaded serving a single item to her plate, but realized in doing so, she would appear incredibly rude. And so, with a resolution of taking the smallest portion of a partridge pudding and stewed mushrooms in what she hoped would be the last course of food, she inadvertently drained her wine glass. Twice.
“It is not wise to eat so much,” Miss Wellesley-Pole said sweetly, offering her unsolicited advice as the sole piece of speech she directed at Mrs. Darcy.
However, Elizabeth could not disagree with her and sat in a digestive discomfort of the acutest kind from her folly. Such a position did not grant her the patience to play a game of wits with the woman, even if she was the niece of an earl.
“It is even less wise to bear one's particular intentions towards a bachelor at a lengthy dinner.” Elizabeth smirked as she held up her glass for the footman to refill a third time.
To her surprise, Mrs. Wellesley-Pole interrupted her conversation with the interesting fellow next to her, and apologized to Mrs. Darcy. “My daughter is not herself, a circumstance I believe where you may share some empathy. Her younger sister, Priscilla, married Lady Jersey's brother last summer.”
“Surely there cannot be a reason why Lord Burghesh preferred the younger sister over the elder,” Elizabeth said, in a neutral enough tone that she did not sound sarcastic, and allowed the statement to mean whichever placated Mrs. Wellesley-Pole’s sensibilities.
Mrs. Wellesley-Pole held her wine glass up high, and dared to clink the side of it with her spoon. A hush fell over the tables as a footman assisted her ladyship up from her chair.
“My good friends, the Jerseys, must excuse me for momentarily taking advantage of their generous hospitality to raise a glass and offer a toast. For my dear friend and neighbor, Mr. Darcy, a hearty congratulation on his marriage to his secret country rose, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.”
Elizabeth turned a deep shade of red as Mr. Darcy's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, was the loudest voice to shout “Hear, hear!”
Lady Jersey, fuming at the end of the table, signalled that was the end of the meal, and more than a few couples rose from their chairs without participating in the toast to the Darcys. When Elizabeth stood, she realized she depserately required a small amount of privacy, and she looked for one ally she could count on: Lady Matlock.
Practically tripping as she rushed over to her ladyship's side, Elizabeth stood obediently silent next to her until Lady Matlock acknowledged her presence. Again standing on her tiptoes, as she was much shorter than the grand ladies of the Ton and wished she had been blessed with the height of her sister, Jane, she spoke quietly to her aunt by marriage.
“Is there a room for the privacy of ladies?” she asked.
Lady Matlock chuckled. “I don't believe your husband is even looking this way,” the grand lady said, dismissing the need to increase the ruse.
“No, I need the moment of privacy,” she explained, trying to express this had nothing to do with convincing Fitzwilliam she had her courses. “I ate more than I ought,” she said, wincing.
Lady Matlock's eyes widened at the admission of such a novice mistake, but inconspicuously using a room privately was far less egregious than leaving early or experiencing a different outcome.
“This way, there is a fainting room on the other side of the ballroom,” Lady Matlock said as the two sexes began to disperse. The ladies were to follow Lady Jersey back into the front parlor, for card games and conversation, while the men were being led by Lord Jersey to his library.
The servants of the Jersey residence recognized Lady Matlock, so there was no hindrance to their flight for isolation. While alone, Lady Matlock gently scolded Elizabeth until she learned that Mrs. Darcy overindulged because no one held conversation with her during dinner. At home, Lizzy Bennet would have talked so much during dinner that she scarcely found time to eat. But as Mrs. Darcy, scorned and shunned by the fairest in London, she would have to practice at managing her plate better.
Their entrance into the parlor was noted, and to her eternal gratitude, Elizabeth was spared any further embarrassment. Lady Matlock thanked Elizabeth for her quick thinking and repairing her costume near Lady Jersey's earshot, which prevented any scrutiny on the young newlywed.
“I was so careless, you know how careless I can be, Sarah,” Lady Matlock said to enjoy a tease from her friend. “I might have ripped out the entire hem.” Lady Matlock remained vague, and then promptly sat before Lady Jersey could inspect her costume carefully. “Mrs. Darcy, won't you join us?” she asked, gesturing to a chair within the circle of where Lady Jersey sat.
“I believe Miss Wellesley-Pole was just going to take that seat,” Lady Jersey said, “I'm sure you don't mind, Mrs. Darcy?”
The last thing Elizabeth wanted was to sit for an hour or longer with the harpy of Almack's. But, she caught Lady Matlock's gaze imploring her to not give up, and brazenly took the seat. “I believe Miss Wellesley-Pole is speaking with her mother, just over there,” Elizabeth observed, making a note to send a personal letter of gratitude to her newly discovered neighbor. From the looks of it, it was the daughter who was scolding her mother, not the other way around.
Lady Jersey frowned and leaned over to the woman next to her on the sofa. After a small exchange between them, the woman Elizabeth did not know rose to walk over to the mother and daughter pair, but Elizabeth turned back around and did not watch for the scene that might result. Instead, she smiled pleasantly, and listened as Lady Matlock discussed the remodeling she planned for her town home over the spring months before the Season properly opened.
“We are in the throes of preparing for tomorrow, and a week after the ball I hope to begin the construction,” she said, pleased.
“You are modifying three rooms on one floor?” Lady Jersey asked, questioning the scope of the work. “I could never withstand such a disruption. I need everything to be just so, and find without my house in order, my world is without order,” she said forcefully. Elizabeth realized how Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Jersey were such fast friends: they gave their opinions so decidedly.
Lady Matlock chuckled nervously. “I planned to do even more! Include the library, but my husband categorically refused. So that will have to wait until he next travels to Jamaica.”
Elizabeth wanted to join the conversation and ask more about Lord Matlock traveling to the islands, but she had not been addressed, so she sat and waited. Lady Matlock kept giving her glances, as she steered the conversation to more topics beyond household remodeling to include a recent novel she read and the schedule at the Theatre Royal. But as the newest acquaintance to most there, Elizabeth turned her thoughts inwards and made a list of at least a dozen topics she wanted to ask her husband. Did he ever travel with his Uncle? Was there a need, was there Darcy property in Jamaica? Did they need to remodel any of the homes he owned? They owned? How many houses were there?
“I believe we have bored Mrs. Darcy,” Lady Jersey sneered, arresting Elizabeth out of her thoughts. “I asked you if you played cribbage or preferred a table with stakes?”
“Cribbage is one of my favorite games,” Elizabeth replied, and Lady Matlock sighed. Elizabeth realized in an instant she had chosen incorrectly.
“Ah, then you will be happy to play with your neighbor, Mrs. Wellesley-Pole. The cribbage table is being set up over there,” Lady Jersey pointed down to the opposite end of the room, furthest from the fire. “Do ask Miss Wellesley-Pole to join us here. She can borrow my fish.”
Summarily dismissed, Elizabeth tried to not feel the shame of letting Lady Matlock down, but she was cheered to see Mrs. Wellesley-Pole, though the woman appeared sad.
“I wonder if you would mind us forgoing a game?” Mrs. Wellesley-Pole asked. “I am suffering from the most frightful headache.”
Elizabeth expressed compassion for the mother, and then waved to the nearest footman.
“Could a cup of tea and headache powders be brought to Mrs. Wellesley-Pole?” Elizabeth asked, earnestly.
“I shall ask my Mistress,” the footman began, before Elizabeth interrupted him.
“And if she refuses, you would have Mrs. Wellesley-Pole sit here and suffer? How cruel,” she said, and the footman sniffed. He walked away, and said something to Lady Jersey and the woman promptly shook her head, but the footman slipped out the back door of the parlor, regardless.
“You are very kind,” Mrs. Wellesley-Pole said, “but I should have my carriage recalled. Lady Jersey would like nothing more than for me to leave early.”
“Then you must not!” Elizabeth said, with a laugh. “I do my best to never do that which others demand of me,” she said, flippantly.
Another group of ladies walked by in close confidence and nodded a courtesy to Mrs. Wellesley-Pole, but ignored Elizabeth entirely. Mrs. Wellesley-Pole waited until they passed before she said more.
“I confess I know quite a bit about you, and believe you are not boasting, but speaking truth,” she said. When Mrs. Darcy raised her eyebrow for an explanation, Mrs. Wellesley-Pole rubbed her hands together as their side of the room was quite cold. “My housekeeper is Mrs. Abbott's sister.”
Before Elizabeth could reply, a tray with tea for both ladies and a small pouch of headache powders arrived by a young maid. The gentlemen had begun to stream in, at least the single gentlemen had, and the added noise distracted Lady Jersey to where she no longer worried about inflicting misery on those she disapproved of.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, as she stood and offered to pour for Mrs. Wellesley-Pole. Before she resumed her seat at the small table near the window, she looked up for her husband, but he had not arrived. Another bright face did appear, and she watched as he became delayed by the high stakes table, before gallantly walking around the room to greet others.
Finally, he accomplished his aims, and bowed low at the cribbage table where the two neighbors sat enjoying a cup of tea and pleasant conversation.
“I am to ask if you would like to return home? I have been sent by your husband.”
“Oh, how convenient for him to have a Colonel in the army to send for his messages, don't you think so, Mrs. Wellesley-Pole?”
“Indeed. I shall have to find a Major General to stay in fashion,” Mrs. Wellesley-Pole quipped, and the two ladies laughed at poor Colonel Fitzwilliam's expense.
Tensing his jaw, Richard looked intently at Elizabeth. “He did not officially send me, but as I saw he was unlikely to leave the study anytime soon, I thought it best to offer my services.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, willing herself to be anywhere but the place she was in. She trusted Colonel Fitzwilliam. Even though he teased and taunted any opportunity he found, when any lady was in distress, his attentions were quite honorable.
“Colonel, you are the best among men. My daughter has chosen to spend the evening here. Why don't I take Lady, excuse me, Mrs. Darcy, home in my carriage? It is no trouble to stop one house before my own,” Mrs. Wellesley-Pole said, finishing her cup of tea.
“You would not mind?” Mrs. Darcy asked, feeling relieved that she could go home almost under her own devices.
“Certainly not, now allow me to go have my carriage called,” she said, rising from the table, leaving the Colonel and Mrs. Darcy alone.
Richard took the seat newly vacated, and leaned in closely so that Elizabeth could ask more details about the new arrangements.
“Why can't Fitzwilliam come himself?”
“He is in his cups, and playing billiards with Lord Hastings and my father.”
Elizabeth flinched and perched her chin upon her pressed fingers. “Surely he can play one game and then come to me?”
Richard shook his head.
“I mentioned you and he barely responded. My cousin can be a right fool when he's forced into these situations and gets upset, but cannot order and shout people around,” Richard explained, but stopped as Miss Wellesley-Pole made a surprise departure from the gambling tables to make a round in the room.
“Colonel, I thought you'd come back? Since you left, my luck has been entirely rotten,” she said, with a slight pout.
Richard quickly stood up, turned to reach for Elizabeth's hand, bent over to kiss it in deference to her, and as he rose he winked so that only she could see it.
“My lady, I am at your disposal. As I know my cousin Lizzy is in the best hands,” he said, just as Mrs. Wellesley-Pole timed her return to follow after Richard began to lead her daughter away.
Safe with Mrs. Wellesley-Pole, Elizabeth expected the Colonel would relay the changes of travel to his mother. Her mind raced through the utter failures two nights in a row, a seeming loss of her husband's care and affections, and threatened to end her composure at any moment. But, to her surprise, Mrs. Wellesley-Pole grasped her hand with a strong grip and squeezed to distract her back into the present moment. With their cloaks waiting for them, the two boarded the carriage to leave Berkeley Square.
“I do believe that is the easiest escape I have ever accomplished from the Jersey Residence,” Mrs. Wellesley-Pole said, as soon as the wheels rolled away. And for the rest of the carriage ride home, she talked on and on about how droll everything had been since her daughter married Lady Jersey's brother, and now Emily Harriet seemed keen to have Lady Jersey find her a match as well.
“My family held three weddings this year,” Elizabeth offered in solidarity when Mrs. Wellesley-Pole complained about the expense of her daughter Priscilla marrying Lord Burgesh. “May I ask a slightly impertinent question?”
“My dear, I should hope we are fast enough friends by now that you could ask me anything,” Mrs. Wellesley-Pole said, laughing. “You do not know how rare it is to find a young woman your age considerate of the needs of others over their own.”
“Yes, well,” Elizabeth said, unsure how to accept the compliment. “I only meant to ask about Mr. Wellesley-Pole. Was he there tonight?”
“My William? No, dear boy has caught the nastiest cold as we traveled back from Ireland. He is impossible, of course, believing himself gravely ill. But the moment he has a new charge, you'll see, he will be unstoppable once more. All the Wellesley men are exhausting,” she said, and watched as her information confused her younger companion. “But why do you ask, my dear?”
“No reason,” she said, too quickly. And she was spared any further needling because they had arrived in Grosvenor Square. Elizabeth thanked her fellow escapee and ducked under the umbrella held by a Darcy footman as a light rain had begun to fall.
“Thank you, Jack,” she said, welcoming the staff's attention to her unexpected arrival.
“My pleasure, Ma'am.”