Mr. Darcy’s Twelfth Night – Chapter 3
Private coaches and wagon loads of goods clogged the roads on the way to London. The carriage trip alone with her husband felt exhilarating for the first hour. The happy couple learned such an intimate space provided the perfect romantic influence none could begrudge the newly married.
When they passed a mile marker Elizabeth recognized as the halfway point between her home and her many trips to London to see her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, she sat up straighter and grinned at her husband. Mr. Darcy kissed her temple and inquired as to her mood.
“What excites you, Mrs. Darcy? It cannot be my conversation as we have enjoyed little talking,” he said, referencing their preference to kiss over converse. He reached down to hold her hand.
“Do not sell yourself false, sir. I find my happiness comes in equal measure from riding alone with you and spying the halfway mark to our destination.” Elizabeth laughed and gently ran her fingers along her husband’s thigh.
Mr. Darcy grimaced. Elizabeth froze. But he reached down to gently rub the palm of her hand to reassure his love. “No, your touch is exquisite,” he managed after a breath. “I’m afraid your attentions, Madam, stir passions in my chest that are so foreign, yet so welcome, I am often still taken aback.” He sighed as he leaned his head against hers to stare out the window with her. “Also, I’m afraid your halfway marker may have to change.”
“We are halfway to London!”
Mr. Darcy nodded.
“To Cheapside, I concur. How often have you seen fit to travel greatly outside of your aunt and uncle’s neighborhood?” Darcy asked and Elizabeth frowned. “Ha, that is what I feared. I’m afraid you shall find it will take us nearly an additional hour or more to navigate the narrow, congested streets of the city side where we live. Mostly owing to construction,” he added, with a frown.
Elizabeth sighed and rested her head against her husband’s shoulder. “If that is to be the case, may I humbly request we stop at another inn before arriving at your, our home?” Elizabeth remembered to correct her speech.
For more than a year of their acquaintance, she had no reason to think of Mr. Darcy in terms of his homes and possessions. Unlike certain other ladies of his sphere, Elizabeth Bennet had held no anticipations of catching his eye.
But now her husband’s greatest joy seemed to be for her to feel all that was his also belonged to her. Without hesitation, such a meager request of an additional stop was easily managed.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he began leaning forward to gently kiss her neck just below her hairline, sending a shiver down his wife’s spine. “I believe you will find you need only to ask, and I shall find a way to accommodate.”
Elizabeth Darcy pulled a long face as an expression of being impressed with her new station in life, while Mr. Darcy picked up his cane from the small iron loop that held it in place against the door.
He quickly tapped three times on the roof above them. Like so many trips he had traveled alone or with his sister, Georgiana, the Darcy carriage slowed to a stop. Elizabeth took note of the signal, wondering if some stick remained if a lady were using the conveyance alone?
Mr. Darcy opened the window to give new instructions to the driver. The cold air rushing into the cabin caused Elizabeth to reach for the coach blanket they had cast to the opposite bench.
The ever-loyal Darcy staff readily agreed to their Master’s request. The quarter-post was untied and a young footman rode ahead to the next inn to make arrangements. The couple was soon again on their way to the first place Elizabeth could identify as her new home.
Her husband had not misled her as to the number of hours it took to reach Grosvenor Square in Mayfair. And he was likewise happy they had made an additional rest on their half day’s journey.
The hustle and bustle of the festive season attracted more to the city center than would ordinarily bloat the streets and walkways in just a month’s time. Then, the numbers would swell again once Parliament was in session, her husband explained, closer to Easter.
Mrs. Darcy sat highly amused in observing the drastic change in the attire of the pedestrians as the coach traveled. At first, she had recognized the men and women running between the warehouses, wharves, and shops as a mixture of working men and women and the mercantile class like her relations in finer threads.
But as they put more blocks of buildings between themselves and Cheapside, not even the footmen attending to their employers’ needs wore a shabby scrap of cloth. The transformation had come on suddenly. She had not realized she had been holding her breath until she gasped when the carriage took one last right turn, then slowed to a stop.
An elaborate set of steps carried by the footmen was placed to line up directly with the door. After Mr. Darcy descended, he turned around to put out a hand for his lovely wife. Elizabeth walked down in grand fashion, on full display to all of the staff assembled in the front yard before the gate, and for the many faces taking their peek from the windows above.
Her cheeks reddened as heads bowed when she walked by and she focused upon the bright red door with the golden lion’s head knocker to keep her wits about her.
But the Darcys never needed to knock on their own front door. The entryway opened on its own accord and in keeping with tradition, Fitzwilliam Darcy whisked his lady off of her feet to step over the threshold.
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth exclaimed, happy she thought to call him by his proper name in front of the staff. During the carriage ride, there had been many breathless ‘Elizabeths’ and
‘Fitzwilliams’ whispered sweetly between them, but now that they were out in public, their polite monikers must be used.
“I should not wish to anger my ancestors. Or yours.”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth looped her arms around her husband’s neck as he spun them a full circle in the grand marble foyer. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the largest crystal chandelier she’d ever seen hanging high above her head.
Rainbows twinkled across the high walls from the daylight spilling in from the oeil de boeuf over the door. She closed her eyes and pressed her head closer to Mr. Darcy. She wished to remember this moment for as long as she lived and couldn’t wait to share it with Jane in a letter.
“I should not like to anger any more of your ancestors or relatives,” she added, laughing, then hastily stopped as she realized she should not have shared out loud that she had angered one of his family members.
Regarding relatives—pesky possessions one has—a pair of the grooms ruined the fun of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. The parlor doors opened and Lord and Lady Matlock stood with smiles upon their faces as they caught Mr. and Mrs. Darcy mid-kiss.
“Congratulations, again, my boy!” Lord Matlock boasted proudly, startling the Darcys.
The couple hastily ended their kiss. Mr. Darcy gently let his bride down to the ground to stand upon her own two feet, to their equal dismay.
“I do not recall sending any invitations out, especially for this day, the day I bring my bride to her home,” Mr. Darcy said sourly, while his aunt and uncle chuckled.
Elizabeth looked confused because Fitzwilliam appeared to have genuinely enjoyed the company of Lord and Lady Matlock at their wedding nearly a month prior, but currently, her husband stood looking rather vexed. Taking a deep breath, she decided it was her responsibility, as a new mistress of the home, to smooth over any awkwardness.
“But we would be happy to entertain at another time,” Elizabeth said, brightly attracting the notice of Lady Matlock.
The grand woman, exasperated with waiting for the Darcys to enter the parlor properly, huffed and puffed in slight annoyance as she walked out of the room to come closer to her nephew and newest niece.
“Bravo! I knew I should like you, that was a superb compromise, Mrs. Darcy.” Lady Matlock made direct eye contact with Elizabeth as she used her new married name. It was a great sign of respect between the two women. “But unfortunately, there is no time. I need you to please see to your personal needs and then we must be off. We have an appointment in just one hour, an appointment that was very difficult to get I might say, with my modiste. Off you go,” Lady Matlock began to shoo Mrs. Darcy up towards the stairs, but her nephew blocked the way.
“One moment, if you please, Aunt. We have traveled the better part of the day. My wife needs to rest.” Mr. Darcy said, and Lady Matlock gasped at her nephew’s stupidity.
“She’s barely into her second decade, Darcy! Do not insult the girl with this insistence that she rest. I spy plenty of energy about her,” Lady Matlock said, inspecting Elizabeth for any signs of weariness.
The former Bennet woman stifled a giggle. More than once her husband’s protectiveness had clashed with her sense of independence.
Lord Matlock, finishing his drink in the parlor and tired of being alone in the one proper room for these discussions, joined the fray in the foyer.
“Mathilde,” he said in a low voice as most of the servants had scattered to see to their duties, “they have just married. I don’t believe my nephew meant any insult when he suggested his wife rest.”
Another flush of embarrassment rose to Elizabeth Darcy’s cheeks at the insinuation that she might go above stairs to rest, without any sleep, especially by these two near-perfect strangers.
Unfortunately, for Lady Matlock, there was no time for such delicacies.
“William,” Lady Matlock scolded back.
For a moment Elizabeth was confused as to whom Lady Matlock was speaking. But it would appear that while her husband was named Fitzwilliam, Lord Matlock’s Christian name was the proper William.
Elizabeth could not hold back her giggle this time as she realized that meant his full Christian name was William Fitzwilliam, but she covered her mouth with her hand. Her husband gently touched the small of her back, and Mrs. Darcy inhaled to steady her behavior.
Lady Matlock turned around to take her husband to task. “They have been married for more than a month, and while I don’t believe the bloom has gone, surely they can sustain one afternoon apart while I help Mrs. Darcy take her place in society. Darcy should thank me!”
After giving her husband a stone-faced look of annoyance, she smiled when she turned towards her new niece. “There is less than one week’s time to our Twelfth Night Ball. Practically all of any consequence and residing in Town will be there. I cannot have you miss it. To do so would be a miscalculation of egregious proportions for your family’s social standing.”
Elizabeth found herself nodding at every word Lady Matlock said, while her husband closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose because the argument was not going his way.
She also felt quite elated; she’d always wished to go to a Twelfth Night Ball! But she and Jane had never attended because those evenings were rowdy and wholly unsuitable for maidens.
Without waiting for her husband’s input, Elizabeth spoke up for herself. “If your ladyship would grant me a quarter-hour, I shall refresh my dress and return to you for our errand.” Lady Matlock seemed satisfied and Lord Matlock led his wife back into the parlor.
Mr. Darcy turned to his wife. “Elizabeth, you do not have to placate their whims,” he began.
Elizabeth stood upon her tiptoes to gently kiss her husband’s lips. “And embarrass you? I should rather shop for hundreds of gowns after traveling half the day than risk gossip of the meanest kind about the Darcy family.”
Personal pride prickled at Elizabeth’s heart, as she felt the first moment of understanding her new value in her married state.
When her husband could not disagree with her, she winked at him and motioned for Gwyn, who had appeared in the hallway behind the stairs.
“But I have not yet given you a proper tour of our home!” Mr. Darcy called out, watching his wife’s backside most appreciatively as she climbed the stairs at double the pace of what could be considered ladylike.
“I shall close my eyes!” she called back, laughing, as she and her maid disappeared down the upstairs hall.
Mr. Darcy frowned, then sighed.
“Is all well, sir?” the kind housekeeper, Mrs. Abbott, asked her employer, giving a small indication that perhaps she disagreed with the new changes to the household.
“No, Mrs. Abbott,” Mr. Darcy responded, forgetting himself, then immediately changing his answer. “I meant to say yes, Mrs. Abbott, all is well. I am just a bachelor no more,” was the only explanation Mr. Darcy would give, before smiling like a schoolboy and abandoning his aunt and uncle to chase his wife above stairs.
You have been reading Mr. Darcy's Twelfth Night...
They said “I do” at Netherfield. London society said “You shouldn’t have.”
Elizabeth and Darcy’s double wedding with the Bingleys should have been their happy ending. Instead, it launched them into London’s glittering gauntlet, where every misstep was judged and every inadequacy magnified.
For Elizabeth, the ton made it abundantly clear: she lacked the breeding to be Mrs. Darcy.
For Darcy, every slight against his wife was a knife to the heart.
She thought he was ashamed of her. He thought she didn’t want him. Neither could see that their silence was the real enemy.
What Elizabeth didn’t know: Darcy was convinced he was failing her. Every criticism she endured felt like his failure to protect. When the gulf between them threatens to become unbridgeable, he realizes he’d been so focused on shielding her from society that he’d forgotten to simply be her husband.
Could Our Dear Couple find the courage to be vulnerable enough, honest enough, brave enough to truly choose each other again?
