Nameless by Julie Cooper

Chapter Fifteen

It was late before Mr Darcy retired for the evening. He had departed Pemberley in the company of Mr Williams, Clara said, after the doctor told him Mrs de Bourgh, though alive, would be hideously scarred for life. The young maid was obviously agog with the excitement and drama, hoping I would speculate. She was, of course, disappointed. I took a tray in my room rather than eat alone downstairs.

I waited in his chamber, in his bed, unwilling to take a chance that I would fall asleep in mine, and he fail to wake me. But I was restless, and the book I brought failed to engage my attention. Seeing miniatures upon the chest beside his bed, I moved in closer to examine them. I recognised his father and mother from their portraits in the gallery, though they were both much younger in these images. There was another of Georgiana, painted when she was very young, but still resembling her enough that I was certain of her identity. I certainly never expected to see anything of interest when I opened the chest’s top drawer; I was merely bored, curious, and idly wondering whether he perhaps kept a book in there more appealing than my own.

I saw a ring of keys, but I did not pay any real attention to them. For there in the drawer was my handkerchief, the one I had given him when he’d departed Rosings. I touched it gently; the lock of hair was still within its folds.

I had been so certain that it had been a foolish notion on my part; it touched me that he kept it still, and kept it here, near miniatures of his family. I knew he cared for and about me, but this gesture seemed like something…well, something a true lover might do. One who wanted more than just a convenient bride.

Of course, by the time he entered the room at last, I was the furthest thing from sleepy, my thoughts chaotic and even anxious. I wanted a chance for us, peace for us, even, perhaps, love between us. I wondered if de Bourgh’s machinations would keep us from ever achieving it.

I waited to speak until he blew out the candles and climbed into the large bed. For a long while, we lay upon our separate sides, neither saying anything. I wanted him to take the lead, to reach for me, to turn to me, to talk to me—and began to feel, even, some annoyance when he made no effort to do so.

I reined in my impatience. As I considered his feelings, I realised it had only been several hours since his dead wife’s lover—the man who had taken ruthless advantage of his young sister and who had ruined mine—taunted him with her disloyalty. His marriage to Anne de Bourgh had been unhappy; my suspicions of his essential aloneness had been validated beyond reason. What had he done, those many years, trapped in a hideously dishonourable wedlock, when his problems and difficulties seemed insurmountable? The thought of him lying here just like this, isolated and friendless, pierced me.

I scooted over to his side of the bed, somewhat gratified when he immediately put his arm out to wrap around my shoulders, pulling me in close. He was still silent, so for a time, I simply listened to his heartbeat, wondering what he was thinking and how to encourage him to tell me.

And at last, he did. “I am certain you find me pathetic.”

I propped myself up upon his chest, trying to see his eyes in the firelight. “Of all the many adjectives I could use to describe you, dear husband, ‘pathetic’ is the last one which comes to mind.”

I could almost feel his rejection of my sentiments; if he found himself pathetic, nothing I could say would convince him otherwise. I had no experience with such enormous betrayal as this. All I knew to do was be here for him now, touching him, reminding him he was no longer alone. I dropped a kiss to his chest, and he sighed.

“There was some truth in her accusations,” he said at last. “I never did love Anne. I almost believe that lack of feeling was what attracted her to me in the first place, beyond my family and fortune—my fundamental disinterest, when she was accustomed to conquering men so easily. I want you, of all people, to know that I did try, however. Before I knew it was hopeless, I did everything in my power to earn her respect and affection.”

He spoke tonelessly, some of that remembered hopelessness filtering through his words. “When did you come to know it was doomed?” I asked softly.

He sighed, looking unutterably weary in the fire’s dim glow. “It was doomed before the marriage was a day old, but I did not learn that until much later. I have never much enjoyed the Season, and once married, I managed to cut my time in London more each year, while she loved it and stayed for every invitation. I knew I was dull. I knew she loved the glittering excitement of the ton. I knew we had different ideas on almost every aspect of life. I did not realise we had different ideas on fidelity, however.”

“She had other lovers, besides Wickham then?”

“Her first was at our wedding breakfast, or so she said. I remained oblivious for far too long. She managed, oddly enough, to be both discreet and debauched. Her other affairs, by and large, took place in town with men of stellar reputation who had nearly as much to lose as she did if they were caught. When she had the idea for that blasted cottage I stupidly thought…”

“Thorncroft?” I asked.

He glanced at me sharply, but did not ask how I knew of it. “Yes. I thought it a retreat for us. I thought she was trying, as I was. She knew it was what I believed, and encouraged me to believe it. But it was merely a new place for her trysts, though I did not understand it then. I…I was too proud to acknowledge what was happening—that our marriage was an utter and complete disaster, and that I was repulsed by my own wife in every possible sense. Ignoring her was my quiet revenge, for she loved drama and attention above all things.”

“I am surprised you did not repudiate her.”

“I considered it, many times. For pride’s sake, I never did. The world would have blamed me. She was the charming one with a thousand friends, invited everywhere, with a gift for saying exactly the right thing at the right time. And then there were the rumours that I beat her.”

“Wickham divulged that. She started those rumours.”

“I was certain she had, which is ironic because…well, it does not matter. The truth was, she was adored by almost everyone—I could just hear the gossip. I would be thought the jealous gudgeon and cruel abandoner, while she would have dined out on the scandal for years as its innocent victim. To be quite honest, I did not wish to give her the victory. Of course, some of my reasoning had to do with my sister. Georgie adored her, and after all, I had brought myself to marry her in part for Georgie’s sake.”

I did not comment upon what seemed to me to be bizarre logic—to tie oneself to someone for life, solely so that one’s nearly grown sister might be a greater social success? When said sister was an heiress of immense fortune? But his revelations were not finished.

“One summer, as the Bingleys visited, Anne took it into her head that Georgiana ought to marry Bingley. It was an idea I had cherished myself, in the past, and one which his sisters wholeheartedly promoted. However, I had never seen any sign that Georgie held an affection for him beyond a friendly acquaintance. I thought it unlikely to succeed.”

“Obviously she proved you wrong.”

“Yes. She was a genius at persuasion, and of course, my sister wanted to marry. She was very shy, and Anne very convincing. Soon Georgie was determined to marry him, and probably thought it all her own idea.”

“I assume she had your approval for the match.”

“Yes. I still thought Bingley would be a good husband to her. I was the only one on earth who could have talked her out of it, but I did not try. I allowed Anne to use her wiles and machinations to arrange it, because I thought I knew best.”

I was amazed at the intensity of bitterness in his expression. “Perhaps, in this case, you did,” I said.

He sighed, a hopeless sound. “Once Georgiana was safely wed to Bingley, Anne seduced him.”

I reared up in shock. “What? No!”

“I met them returning from the direction of Thorncroft, Bingley looking as guilty as the devil and Anne grinning at me, as if she were a naughty child who had stolen a sweet. I simply knew. Beyond any doubt. And from that point, there was nothing left but hatred between us, and she had an unmatched weapon at her disposal—the threat to destroy my sister.”

“Poor Georgiana,” I whispered. “Does she know of it?”

“I certainly did not tell her, and I doubt Anne did either—it was such a fine means of restraining me. But of course, you can see she is not happy. Bingley regretted it, I think, immediately. But he tries to pretend, to me and to himself, that it never actually happened.”

“You must despise him! Such betrayal!”

“No, not really. Anne was a very capable seductress. She had the intelligence to run an empire, and yet used it only for petty manipulations and sordidness. He is not a complex man; he was putty in her hands.”

“You cannot hold him blameless?”

“Not precisely, no, and yet, I judge him faithful to Georgiana now. He was never profligate, and I believe he was completely unprepared for Anne’s seduction. He is just so easily led. I have unwittingly encouraged his dependence upon others for too long, and practically handed Anne a subject vulnerable to her schemes.”

“I think you are too kind,” I said. “He is a man grown, and ought to be able to tell right from wrong by now.”

He hesitated, and then rolled onto his side, rolling me off his chest so that he could see my eyes in the reflected firelight. “When we were all together at Netherfield… I observed Bingley’s behaviour attentively, and I perceived his partiality for your sister went beyond what I had ever before witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open and engaging, but, I believed, without any symptom of particular regard. I came to the conclusion that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. I shared my conclusions with Bingley and, since he had already drawn too much attention to his preference for her, I encouraged him to leave immediately. Later, I knew that she was in London, and I hid the knowledge from him as I knew he was still partial to her. Had I encouraged him to be open and honest, or better still, stayed out of it entirely, he could have learnt whatever he needed to know.” He brushed a stray lock out of my eyes. “I misjudged your sister. At the time, I thought her willing to accept any marriage encouraged by your mother, whether or not she held any feeling for him. I have known her many years now, through Tilney, and I consider him the most fortunate of men. I apologise to you, because I never can say it to her. She is all that is good. I ought never to have interfered so profoundly.”

A flash of the decade-old anger sparked, but without fuel it quickly died. Had I not decided that Mr Tilney was the better match, even before knowing of Mr Bingley’s perfidy?

Before I could speak, however, he continued. “I wish to know how grave an injustice I inflicted. Was her heart touched? Did I hurt her, as well as my friend, with my officious meddling?”

I opened my mouth to speak the truth, but it was a different truth than my twenty-year-old self could ever have uttered. “It was wrong of you to meddle, and it is unfortunate that Mr Bingley did not have the confidence to make his own decisions,” I said. “But I can safely say that Jane loves Mr Tilney with a fervent affection that Mr Bingley never could have inspired. Please do not add this regret to any others you have, dearest.”

He smoothed the furrow in my forehead with his thumb. “You are very good.”

“I am very angry at Mr Bingley,” I said. “You did tell him of my parents’ death, and he could have intervened, had his attachment been a strong one. And if it is wrong to speak ill of the dead, brand me a sinner. Anne de Bourgh was despicable. I understand why she was drawn to Mr Wickham—they share a common depraved character.”

“I learned, after my marriage, of their connexion. It is not a close one—their mothers are second cousins. But they were intimate friends. He stayed with Anne’s family while he was attempting to force Georgiana’s elopement. Mrs Younge, Georgiana’s companion at the time, was another maternal cousin. The clues were there, had I investigated. Sadly, I did not look at anything beyond her parents and her fortune, both of which had the world’s respect.”

The bitterness was back in his speech, but I could not really blame him. “Do you believe she purposely pushed Bingley and Georgiana together as some sort of chess move, to further entrap you?”

I felt his shrug. “My pride has been the worst of my weaknesses. I expected a…a role of her, and she performed it. I do not believe she truly feared reprisal for many years, so confident was she in her performance, and then, later, of my willingness to protect the Darcy name at all costs. Georgiana’s situation was an added safeguard. Her hatred of me knew no bounds.”

“But why?”

He sighed. “At times, I tell myself Anne would have hated whomever she married. She sought to do whatever she wished, whenever she wished it, and could never submit to the authority of a husband. However, it seemed the less I attempted to influence her, the more outrageous and harmful her behaviour. It was as if she craved discipline yet despised it. She collected people, as though they were artwork or chess sets, and admired or promoted them…then purged them from her life when no longer useful to her. I finally came to the conclusion that, to her, other people were not truly…real. They did not exist the way you and I exist to each other; her centre of attention was always fixed upon herself.”

“What of her mother, then? She must have loved her.”

“Her mother was endlessly useful to her, so she was never likely to be rejected. What is more, Mrs de Bourgh yearned for Anne’s approval, and knew all the best ways to earn it. I feared she would be distraught at her daughter’s death. I feared she would try to–to harm herself. I could not have predicted today’s actions, but I am unsurprised she did something.”

I wondered whether he would believe me if I shared my conviction that the events of today only proved Mrs de Bourgh’s utter commitment to his destruction. “I say she must still be moved to Ramsgate, as you informed her before she launched herself into the glass,” I said. “This bizarre…er, accident, is proof that her health is adversely affected by living at Pemberley, the site of her daughter’s death.”

It was his turn to present a furrowed brow. “I shudder to think of her next actions,” was his reply.

I said nothing of my fears of her deeper plotting. He was accustomed to thinking of Mrs de Bourgh as a harmless appendage to her daughter—since that had been her role most all the years he had known her. He might think her noisy, and he already thought her maddened. However, I would not hesitate to remind him of what she had already done. “She brought George Wickham into this house and abandoned me alone with him.”

His jaw tensed. “How could I have underestimated her instability? The moment I arrived, Mrs Reynolds informed me of Wickham’s presence at Pemberley. She said that Mrs de Bourgh told her only moments before, and with seemingly great apprehension.”

“She saw you arrive, no doubt. Which means she could just have easily sent a maid in, except that she knew he was there to threaten me. She knew I thought it was one of the neighbours calling. She knew I was horrified to see him instead. She smiled at my distress.” I would not yield on this point. If he were going to allow her to remain here, he must at least admit my right to feel troubled by it.

But he was swift to agree. “No, no, I did not mean to suggest that she could live with us any longer. As soon as she is healed enough to travel, she must leave,” he said firmly. “I was only wondering why she revealed his presence to Reynolds, rather than allowing Wickham to proceed unhindered. Mrs Reynolds told me this afternoon that others have witnessed her speaking to you disrespectfully, treating you ill. I would have confronted and removed her sooner had I known, my darling. I am so sorry.”

“My guess is that she hoped Wickham would act in a compromising manner, with or without my permission.” Something eased within me at this evidence that he would take my distress seriously, that he would even take responsibility for something he could not have known. “I did not want to tell you how bad things were. I did not want to begin our marriage with contention. Mrs de Bourgh is grieving, and to eject her from Pemberley over a few mild confrontations would have made me—and you with me—appear cruel to the neighbourhood.”

He shrugged. “I have lived for years attempting to appear the ideal, and I have given it up. The list of names whose opinions truly matter is very short, and yours is at the top of it.” He touched my cheek, tenderly stroking. “Promise you will tell me if anyone abuses or insults you. It is not to be borne. All the footmen have been given instructions to eject Wickham from the premises on sight. Richard and I hired more men today, to keep watch. I do not want him stealing onto the grounds again.”

I only nodded. I thought of asking him, then, how Anne had died, or even his reasons for going to London. I believed he would answer me truthfully. But the fact was, she had abused him throughout their married life. While I had determined he was incapable of murder, I had also discovered that I might be. And most of all, I no longer felt like discussing her, or any other conflict, especially within the bed we shared together.

“Do you know what I wish?” I asked him.

He appeared slightly wary in the firelight. “What do you wish? If it is within my power, I will see it done.”

“It is very much in your power,” I replied. “I wish you to kiss me now, and hold me, and make this day…go away.”

Something in his expression changed, his intensity sharpening, his weariness fleeing. “I can do that,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.

A frisson of answering excitement shivered through me. Our earlier encounter was a flaring conflagration. This was a slow, simmering burn that heated as it built, a spark he nourished and nurtured until it kindled into a blaze.

And, as promised, the trials of the day were consumed by its flame.