Darcy’s expression became horribly mottled as his eyes twitched and blinked. He quickly closed the distance to where she stood. “Are you suddenly deaf, woman?! Haven’t you heard me yelling for you to open that damn, bloody door?!” The rafters shook as he roared.
Elizabeth drew herself up to meet him face to face, figuratively speaking. She was in actuality short of his height by about ten or twelve inches. They stood chin to chest, glaring in each other’s general vicinity, breathing hard as if both had just arrived at the finish line of a very long and debilitating race. “ Of course I heard you, you great ape! I simply chose to ignore you! ”
He slammed the exquisite, if slightly dented, beaver hat on his head and bellowed, “ Lis is bast strew…! ” Annoyingly, he was screaming in tongues again and took a moment to compose himself, taking long, deep breaths. Finally calmed, he could continue. “This is the last straw, Mrs. Darcy! I can abide your disrespect, your viper tongue, your bad temper no longer. I am leaving you, and may you have joy of the evening.”
“That’s the best gift of the season. In actuality, it is the only gift of the season!” She hissed directly into his waistcoat buttons, spraying saliva everywhere and sounding much more defiant than she felt. “Just see that you don’t return!!”
His eyes narrowed dangerously, and for the first time in their short marriage, Elizabeth thought that perhaps she might have gone a little too far. As he raised his arm, she jumped back, covering her head as if to protect herself from an imminent blow. He was only attempting to wipe his buttons.
“How dare you!” Now he had gone past mere anger into an unknown realm of fury. He turned into a stranger before her very eyes. “How dare you insinuate that I would strike a woman! You really don’t know me at all, do you? You never really did.”
He turned on his heel and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. It banged open again and then closed with a thud. Elizabeth could hear his heavy footsteps going down the stairs and heard him wrench open the foyer door, storming out into the night. She struggled to resist the impulse to run to the window to call him back, so she sat down at her dressing table very quietly, holding onto the edge of the seat cushion. Her heart was pounding furiously. Maybe he’ll turn around and come back. All couples have their little ups and downs, don’t they? If he would come up here and take me in his arms, why, that is all I really want, some assurance that he still loves me.
But what if he meant it? What if he never does come back?
Her blood ran cold. Although not normally one to give in to tears, they ran freely down her cheeks now. When will this nightmare ever end? She tenderly patted her huge stomach and shifted restlessly on the dresser chair, thinking nothing of the tremendous pressure increasing on her bottom and her back. She rose awkwardly and waddled to the window in hopes of seeing him turning in the street, to see him walking back to her, but all was deathly quiet. He was gone already.
It had been a brief hour before this unpleasant encounter with her husband that Lizzy had received the note along with the return of her long-lost locket. Up until then, it had been an idyllic day with all the concern over Fitzwilliam’s whereabouts behind them and then the joy of his happy news. She had actually even forgotten about the locket.
Darcy had made his annual appearance at the Boxing Day breakfast for the staff, passing out their Christmas bonuses—hefty bonuses to compensate for his increasingly irrational behavior. Then the couple exchanged their own special gifts in private and spent the afternoon quietly and happily alone, laughing and talking together.
She was confused at first but overjoyed that the precious item, the only thing she had ever received from her mother, was returned. Wherever did this come from? It had taken her several minutes to understand what was being implied. At first she thought the note was from Jane, but that made little sense. How did Jane get my locket? Her brows beetled in confusion. No, it wasn’t Jane’s stationery, but it was on Bingley stationery.
“Miss Bennet,” the note began.
Miss Bennet? There is only one person so ignorant and pig-headed enough to still call me Miss Bennet. She began to read again,
Miss Bennet,
It appears our darling Darcy misplaced your trinket several months ago when he stayed with me at Netherfield for our private visit, a visit we thoroughly enjoyed alone at my home. It must have fallen from his coat when he removed it, the locket being discovered upstairs in my bedroom. I had intended to return this during my visit with you at Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s home, but I was mysteriously misrepresented to her and had to leave before I could accomplish my mission.
I hope this hasn’t caused you any alarm. I had thought to discard it, but then realized it may have sentimental attachments for you. It obviously has no other value.
Please give Darcy my love and relate to him, for me, how I dearly I look forward to his next visit.
Regards,
Caroline Bingley
Lizzy sat very still, her mind so paralyzed that it was unable to wrap itself around this tidbit of news. Darcy was at her house? No. Fitzwilliam Darcy? Her Fitzwilliam Darcy? When could he have visited? She and Darcy had been in each other’s pockets for months now. The only time he was away from her was when he assisted her father in returning home, and when he went away to assist Charles at Netherfield…
Elizabeth was still clutching one bit of the shredded letter when Darcy entered her dressing room, arrogantly proclaiming that since there remained no footmen at home to carry her downstairs, he would, like his mud hut–dwelling forbearers, provide primitivelike sustenance for his woman—peach tarts, plover’s eggs with mint jelly, fresh fruit, cheese, and toast tips. All that she needed to tell him was how.
He stopped when he saw her furious stare. “Lizzy, whatever is wrong? You look like you’ve fought a ghost!”
It was a terrible argument. Tensions that had been repressed but building were exploding everywhere with horrible accusations and threats, most of which, thankfully, were shrieked in words that were unintelligible. When he finally stormed out, she sat at her dressing table, staring at a gaping hole where there had once been a door handle and lock. Now, like her marriage, the lock and handle lay in shattered pieces upon the floor. She was numb. She clutched her poor little locket to her heart and felt physically ill. She never thought for a moment that he would become so angry that he would actually kick in her door.
Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God! Could he really be having an affair with Caroline? No, this I cannot believe. I will not believe—he is the best of men. I’ll kill him. Oh dear Jesu, maybe he has the right of it, though, the way I treat him, and I look like a sea cow anyway. Who can blame him for finding comfort with another? I wish the baby would come, that it was all finally over. Caressing her stomach, she began to sob, not really noticing that the persistent back pain and occasional kicking, her daily companions for so many months, had finally ceased.
It was a half hour after Darcy’s dramatic exit that those horrible pains returned with a vengeance, the pain her doctor had been dismissing out of hand for the past week, worse now by far. There was also a queer pressure on her bottom, distracting her from her wallowing in abject misery. Moaning, she wiped away tears with a knuckle and quickly sat down, loudly blowing her nose with her delicate Belgian lace handkerchief. It never occurred to her to call for the doctor or even to have mentioned those earlier discomforts to her husband. Of course, now there is no husband to tell. It was the sort of whiney type of reflection that caused her to abruptly renew her wails.