Mary Simonsen - A Wife for Mr Darcy

Darcy was pouring himself a brandy when the door creaked open, and Antony, Lord Fitzwilliam, the hero of the day, stepped in.

“There you are, Darcy. I see you have helped yourself to the brandy. If you would pour me half of what you have, I would appreciate it,” and he sank into the leather sofa recently vacated by Elizabeth and started to rub his toes through his shoes. “Did you know that as you get older, your feet flatten out, and you can no longer fit in your old shoes? As a result, my feet are killing me, but I dare not take them off as I will not get them back on. I look ridiculous enough without walking around unshod.”

“Those shoes must be ten years old if they are a day,” Darcy said, laughing.

“They are older than that. They are from my days as a bachelor. I have kept almost everything from the time before I was dragged off in chains to serve my sentence with Eleanor.”

“Madame Konig is charming,” Darcy quickly said. He wanted to distract Antony from his wife, a subject that often brought him low. “I did not have a chance to talk to her myself; the line was too long. But from what I overheard, I would imagine that she is very pleasant company.”

“She is more than pleasant. She is kind, and my girls adore her. And if you have any worries as to where she will be sleeping while at Netherfield, Antonia will be with the girls in a room on the second floor, while I will lay my head on a pillow in a room on the first floor. No romantic interludes are planned.”

“I didn’t think there would be. You are always at your best when you are with your children.”

“Thank you for that and for your kind words about Antonia. She always puts a smile on my face. How can you not love someone who says zis, zat, and zee other zing? It is adorable. And speaking of adorable, if I may judge from the smile on Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s face, you have some good news to share.”

“I do. We are unofficially engaged, but…” and Darcy stood up and started to pace. “Antony, this is a whole new experience for me. The only women with whom I may claim a relationship were both widows and five years older than I was. I met Christina Caxton in France when I was twenty years old, and I was the one who knew nothing. But that is not the case with Elizabeth. I think I may have frightened her by my advances. It is not that I mean to overpower her, but it is bloody difficult to go backward. I am a man of the world, and I cannot pretend to not want things that I do want. I have to tell you that I am on the point of exploding, and holding her hand while dancing does not satisfy.”

“Move up the wedding date,” Antony said, stating the obvious. “You have the wherewithal and connections to buy a special license, so you may marry her the same day Bingley marries Miss Bennet.”

“Elizabeth wants a courtship.”

“Oh, that is too bad. Because if your courtship of Miss Montford is any indicator of your talent in that area, Elizabeth will be disappointed.”

Darcy rolled his eyes, but then he had to laugh. Had there ever been a worse suitor than he had been with Letitia Montford?

“But it was so different with Letitia. In all the time I was calling on her, I never once pictured myself actually kissing her.”

“I had the same thing with Eleanor, except we were married.”

“So what do you suggest I do to satisfy Elizabeth’s need for a courtship?”

“Flowers always work. Jewelry is nice, but in Miss Elizabeth’s case, simple is better, and you must resign yourself to authoring love letters. It is the most personal thing you can do for a lady before you are married, and although you may write about how much you desire her, in most cases, less is more. You do not want to frighten her. It is a bad start to a marriage when you have to pry your spouse’s fingers, one at a time, from the bedpost on your wedding night. Ask Eleanor. Although I very nearly succeeded in holding her off.”

“I still intend to go to London,” Darcy said, shaking his head in amusement at Antony’s comment. “I need to find out if it is known that I am no longer courting Miss Montford. That may determine the length of the engagement.”

“Not necessary. I think it was the day after you left London that Sir John was making the rounds in the dining room at White’s telling everyone that he had practically pushed you out the door because of your ideas regarding the mingling of the classes.”

“Montford is a typical bully,” an annoyed Darcy said. “He was lecturing me on my willingness to befriend people such as Bingley, but as soon as I responded, he backed down. Once he is given his barony, he will be even more obnoxious than he is now. But while Sir John was busy belittling me, was anyone paying attention to what he was saying?”

“One person in particular showed quite a bit of interest. Mr. Jasper Wiggins nearly spit out his steak when he heard Miss Montford was available.”

Darcy broke out into a broad smile. “God bless Jasper Wiggins,” he uttered under his breath. “Antony, how does one go about getting a special license?”

When Darcy returned to the drawing room, he immediately asked Lizzy to dance. He decided that if people had seen them together, it would be less of a surprise to her Meryton neighbors when they became betrothed. As the music began playing, Darcy stated that he would very much like to send her a few gifts as tokens of his affection. Antony was correct as to her preferences: flowers, jewelry, but in moderation as to their size, and love letters.

“I shall write from London, and you can judge for yourself as to whether or not I am successful as a writer of billet doux.”

“I look forward to it, Mr. Darcy,” Lizzy said with a smile, knowing that she had won.

The day after Charlotte’s wedding, Mr. Bingley sent his carriage for Jane and Lizzy so that they might come to Netherfield Park. As expected, as soon as the carriage pulled up, Charles was out the door, while Mr. Darcy waited inside. This was the perfect sketch of the two men’s characters: One wore his heart on his sleeve, while the other kept it tucked away in his coat pocket.

“Everyone is outside,” Charles explained. “Apparently, Mrs. Konig loves the cold weather. She bundled up Amelia, Sophia, and His Lordship, and Mr. Campbell did the same with Darius and Athena. Even little Minerva is out there. She has so many layers of clothes on that she can barely walk, but Georgiana is assisting her.”

“Are you enjoying your guests, Mr. Bingley?” Lizzy asked.

“Mrs. Konig is a delight. I only wish her English was a little better because it is a bit of a challenge to converse with her. As for Lord Fitzwilliam, he could liven up a funeral.”

“I do not think Mrs. Konig has been in the country very long, and her English is better than my French. But that is my own fault because I would not give myself the trouble of practicing.”

After the two couples chatted briefly, Jane and Bingley went to one end of the drawing room, while Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy walked to the other.

“Well, Mr. Darcy, it seems that we are alone again—at least for a while,” and they sat down next to each other on the sofa. Lizzy, who had been expecting a quick kiss, was disappointed when Mr. Darcy did nothing. “Why do you not kiss me, Mr. Darcy? Or is that something you do only in secret in darkened rooms?”

“You want me to kiss you? After saying that you did not want to be alone with me because of my kisses, now you are asking for one? Well, I am not going to kiss you. I want you to know how it feels to want something that you cannot have.” This remark was clearly in retaliation for her demand that they have a courtship.

“I am well acquainted with the feeling of not having what one wants, but it is your choice,” she said, straightening her dress, embarrassed that she had asked a man for a kiss and had been denied, and so she brought up a topic she knew would make him equally uncomfortable—love letters.

“I have not forgotten, but instead of a correspondence, I was going to suggest that you visit your aunt and uncle, and since we will be together in town, letters will be unnecessary.”

“A correspondence? You do not correspond with the woman you love. You write her love letters. Well, actually, others do; you don’t. Oh how you do wiggle out of things you do not want to do,” Lizzy said, pretending to pout.

“All right then, I shall promise to write you letters so passionate that the paper will burn your fingers. However, you must do something as well. You must work on improving your French to the point where you can converse with Mrs. Konig.”

“But I have not studied French in years.”

“And I have written only one love letter.”

“Very well,” Lizzy said, but this time she really was pouting. “You do not have to write me letters.”

Darcy burst out laughing. “If your French really is that bad, Georgie can tutor you.”

“Non, merci. Je suis content de vivre ma vie sans parler d’avoir à parler français.”

“Oh, dear. I see the problem.”

“That was unkind. Accurate. But unkind,” she said, and she gently pushed her shoulder into his. “In all seriousness, it is not just my poor French. We come from such vastly different backgrounds, and you move in a society that is a world apart from my own.”

Darcy went quiet for several minutes. This reminded him of the time he had come to Longbourn to apologize for his unfortunate remarks made at the assembly. It had taken him a long time to find the right words because he was doing something new: apologizing to someone not of his rank.

“Actually, I have given the matter a lot of thought. Falling in love with you has made me rethink everything. All my concerns regarding my Norman heritage or being the grandson of an earl, once scrutinized, seemed unimportant. You asked if the marriage of a Devereaux to a Fitzwilliam caused a hullabaloo. It did. But they married anyway, and the earth continued to spin on its axis.

“I did not realize that by befriending Bingley, I had stepped into a different world—a much more expansive and inclusive world. Two generations ago, Bingley’s grandfather was a blacksmith in the North of England, and now his grandson has more money than most earls. To live as my father did is to look backward. I want to go forward.

“As to the matter of London society, that too will change, albeit at a much slower pace. But if your concern is rubbing elbows with the ladies of the ton, it will not happen because I do not associate with the Prince of Wales and his followers. Even so, there are enough Caroline Bingleys in society who would enjoy making your life unpleasant. But I do not care about what other people say. Let them throw their best punch. I can take it because I will be with you.”

While waiting in the foyer for the carriage to be brought ’round, Darcy told Elizabeth that he would be leaving for London in the morning.