The afternoon of April sixteenth brought all to a head and was the beginning of one of the worst weeks of Darcy’s long life.
Lizzy’s increasingly surly attitude was seriously disturbing Darcy, even to the point of not being able to comfort her during their lovemaking. Despite his improved intuitiveness and ability to communicate intimately, he was at a loss as to what was causing his wife’s distress. This pained him tremendously. He had considered the possibility that she might be with child as a cause. He was aware that she was late on her monthly cycle and had thoroughly searched the medical text for pregnancy symptoms, but nothing was said of irritation as a sign. Whatever the case, he determined to devote the evening after dinner to lovingly and patiently encouraging her to open up to him.
Lizzy, in the meantime, was privately also grievously disquieted with her persistent vexation, but she could not seem to control her emotions. That morning as her amazing, tender, sensual, and gorgeous husband had nuzzled her neck, stroked her body, and whispered his love and devotion, she had felt only irritation, and for the first time ever since their wedding night, she did not reach fulfillment. Later, when alone in her dressing room, she had broken into sobs that she could not halt. She, too, had wondered if she might be pregnant and had also perused the text. Unfortunately, if she was with child, it was far too early to be verified and she could not blame her mood on a possibility.
Darcy and his steward were secreted in his study all afternoon dealing with one of Darcy’s more complicated and sensitive investments with a German steel manufacturer. When his wife burst into the room unannounced, it was not a mere irritation but an astoundingly rude, deleterious interruption and a heinous breach of propriety.
“William,” she snapped, “what is the meaning of you ordering the stables not to allow me to take the curricle out today?
“Mr. Keith, will you please excuse us for a moment?”
Lizzy glared at her husband, realizing on some level that she was utterly wrong but not able to stop her fury. “Well?” she demanded once the door shut behind the steward.
“Mrs. Darcy, may I remind you that when I am in my study with my steward, I am not to be disturbed unless it is a matter of extreme import which,” he raised his deceptively serene tone mildly to halt her retort, “this most decidedly is not. However, as the damage has already been done, I will answer your misplaced and rude inquiry.” He paused and took a deep breath to calm his anger, his countenance dour. “The roads are washed out and muddy, and a storm is expected to arrive this afternoon. It is not safe for you to be out, alone or otherwise.”
“But… ”
“There is nothing further to discuss, Elizabeth. I am sorry for the inconvenience but it cannot be helped.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she turned away. Darcy sighed, feeling most of his anger fading, and approached her, touching her arm lightly. “My love, I know you are tired of being cooped up. I assure you the pleasant Derbyshire weather is coming soon. Tonight we must talk about whatever is bothering you. However, right now it is essential that I finish my business with Mr. Keith. I beg of you, please do not barge in here in this manner again. It is unseemly.”
She whirled on him, her face enraged, causing him to retreat a step in shock. “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, for being such a nuisance. I will bow to the Master’s demands and trouble you no more.” She stalked out of the room, slammed the door, and marched up to her bedchamber, a room in which she had spent less than an hour during her entire four-plus months at Pemberley. Darcy did not see her for the remainder of the night. His exasperation at the entire episode was intense, yet little did he know that their misfortunes were just beginning.
Chapter Seventeen
Conflict and Calamity
LIZZY DID NOT DINE with Darcy and Georgiana that evening. A maid informed them that the Mistress was not feeling well and had requested a tray in her chambers. Darcy maintained his mask of serenity in front of his sister, who suspected nothing, but inside he seethed. Throughout the remainder of that wretched afternoon, as he forced himself to focus on the business at hand with Mr. Keith, Darcy had vacillated between boiling anger and nauseating heartache. Somehow he had managed to conclude the arrangements with the steel company in Germany, but he would be hard pressed to articulate how it had transpired. The details had taken so long that Darcy had barely enough time to dress for dinner, so he was unaware of his wife changing residence to her unused bedchamber.
Therefore, when he ascended the staircase immediately after dinner, apologizing to his sister for an aborted evening, he was further shocked to discover his wife absent. He had determined to talk to her, swallowing his ire as best he could—which actually was not too difficult, as his love for her and concern for her well-being were consuming his thoughts.
Initially, upon not finding her in their chambers, he was flooded with panic. Where could she be? A storm had struck, as he had predicted, and his worst fear was that she had decided to take a walk. He dashed from the room, encountering Marguerite in the hallway, who informed him of Mrs. Darcy’s whereabouts. Darcy was thunderstruck and numbly murmured a thank you as he returned to their rooms.
It would require paragraph upon paragraph to list the emotions that assaulted poor Mr. Darcy throughout that evening and night. Mechanically he went through the motions of bathing and shaving and preparing for bed. He wandered about the room, ignoring their warm and inviting bed with the covers turned down in anticipation, until he could take it no more and, in a fit of rage, violently closed the bed curtains on the sight and stalked into their sitting room where he remained.
Once there, he spent the hours pacing and muttering. He vainly attempted to read and write in his journal and attend to correspondence, paced some more, prayed, and drank several glasses of brandy. He walked down the hallway to her door at least a dozen times and knocked twice, but received no answer either time, which vexed him further. Finally, the combined effects of alcohol and sheer exhaustion, both mental and physical, caused him to fall asleep in the chaise around two in the morning.
As for Lizzy, her childish and unfathomable temper tantrum of earlier had left her weary beyond belief and ill. She called for a tray but could not eat. By the time her husband found her missing from their chambers, most of her irritability had evaporated, leaving only profound shame in its wake. She was utterly mortified at her actions. She continued to experience a lingering pique that she could not account for, but mostly she was heartsick. She paced about the unfamiliar and poorly decorated room, wanting nothing more than to be in Darcy’s arms, but she was too embarrassed to approach him.
She suspected and hoped he would come to her after dinner. When he did not, she became freshly rankled for a spell but finally buried her foolishness and pride. She peeked into their bedchamber, but her timing was unfortunate. At that precise moment, Darcy was knocking on her door and she was viewing a dark bedchamber with drawn bed curtains. Darcy assumed she was refusing to answer, and she assumed he had peacefully gone to sleep without her. Their erroneous assumptions brought on a renewed rush of acrimony.
Lizzy raged, paced, and sobbed until she was literally sick. Weak and trembling, feverish and cramping, she crawled into the cold bed and fell into a troubled sleep. Therefore, she did not hear her husband’s second knock.