Page 27 of Compromise & Consequence
Danvers looked around and spotted the solitary trunk and nothing more.
“I have but three. Mr. Darcy was very strict with what I could or could not bring with me.”
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she refused to back down when she had done nothing wrong.
“He must mean for you to purchase new dresses for your trousseau. He’s very generous in that way. Miss Darcy never wants for anything and I’m sure, as his wife, you’ll be treated just as well as his sister.”
“One can hope.”
After she had washed her face and fixed her hair, she asked a footman to direct her to Mr. Darcy’s study. Upon entering the room, she found him seated at his desk, a small leather bag before him, which he pushed forward saying in a gruff voice, “Here. Take this.”
She approached the desk with the inherent knowledge the pouch was filled with money. Daring to entice his fury, she opened the bag, dumping out coins and a wad of banknotes, quickly extracting five ten-pound notes from the pile. She turned to leave and seek out the dining room when he stopped her.
“Madam, I insist you take all the money I have provided.”
Slowly she turned and faced him.
“Why?”
“The amount you have will not buy near enough what you require.”
“You knew that when you drafted the settlement, Mr. Darcy. There was no error in what was faithfully transcribed by your solicitor. This is what I am entitled to, according to the contract. I will not receive another penny from you until” – she glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room – “seven forty p.m., December 3, 1812.”
She pivoted on her heel and made for her bedchamber, asking a footman to have Mrs. Whittaker send a tray to her room. She could not bear to sit across from her husband and try to eat. There was a very good chance her food would make a reappearance before she quit the table.
***
Darcy stared at the back of his wife as she left in a flurry of wrinkled skirts, then down at the pile of remaining money scattered about the top of his desk. They may as well have been thirty pieces of silver, his soul felt so dark. His betrayal of her trust and his good manners cut deep. How had he let things get so far undone? He was also deeply ashamed of the swollen bruise that had formed on one side of her face where she’d struck his knee. If he had been acting the gentleman, she would have faced forward for the carriage ride. He had always given up the seat for any other lady who rode with him, yet his wife, his very own wife, he’d forced her to sit in the position of a servant.
At the very least, he should have caught her.
He put the coins and banknotes back into the bag and locked it in his strongbox before making his way to the private family parlor to have a solitary meal. All too soon he was wrapped in his favorite robe, standing at the door between his bedroom and Elizabeth’s. Dare he knock on the door and enter? He wasdangerously attracted to her and compromise or no, he would love nothing better than to sink into her warm softness… but, he still did not know if she was in league with Wickham and would remain in the dark until Richard made the promised trip to Meryton.
He turned from the door and threw himself into the chair by the fireplace, staring into the dying flames. Had he misread his wife’s intentions during his time in Hertfordshire? He had automatically assumed she set out to capture him with her wit and vivacity, but given the abrupt coldness he experienced when she took his measly fifty pounds, declaring she would not accept another penny from him until exactly one year from the date and time… it gave him pause. He was unused to her fine eyes flashing fire at him and deeply regretted how their life venture had begun with such discord – mostly by his hand.
His self-loathing grew when his wife appeared at the breakfast table the next morning wearing the same dress. He knew full well she was driving her point home. Did she know this very gown haunted his dreams? The first time he’d seen her in the ivory creation with an opaque overlay which rippled and shimmered with every movement of her body, was in the receiving line at Bingley’s ball. Keeping to the shadows, he’d been struck dumb by her innate grace and beauty. It was why he sought her out for a dance when he’d sworn not to show any preference and planned to escape to London the next morning before he did something stupid like proposing a courtship.
The second occasion was at their wedding, by his command. Even though the gown had visible wrinkles and permanent stains on the hem she remained beautiful, which at the time had infuriated him. He wanted her to be humbled, yet she held her head high and stared him in the eye. He also heard her stumble over the word obey in her vows. No matter, she had said it, andhe’d been strangely pleased.
And now today. After almost two full days of wear, nothing would ever get the creases out. Yet, his wife wore that damnable dress as though she were a queen and it was made from spun silk, not something that should be relegated to the rag bin. By following his orders, his pettiness was out there for all to see. Because ofhispride, Mrs. Darcy wore a torn, wrinkled, dirty ball gown and would again tomorrow because he had not allowed her to bring trunks filled with her clothing. It would not do; she must be made to see reason.
He filled his plate and took his seat. Normally, the breakfast room cheered him with its décor of cream and hints of soft yellow – his mother’s color scheme – however, his mind was weighed down with all that had happened in one short week. Elizabeth moved past him and he smelled something distinctively malodorous. Of his wife, he knew her body was clean. He was achingly aware she had requested a bath before retiring the night previous. The offense came from the very dress she wore. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the footman wrinkle his nose before smoothing his features back into a picture of stoic calm.
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” his wife said cheerfully before taking up a plate. It appeared she was not affected by the smell in any way.
“Mrs. Darcy. I implore you to seek a modiste this very day. You are in dire need of a wardrobe befitting my wife.”
“Jeremy,” Elizabeth called the footman by name, which surprised him. “Would you be so kind as to afford Mr. Darcy and me some privacy? You may return in ten minutes.”
The footman gave her a polite bow and left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Who do you think you are to dismiss my servants?” he asked without thought.
“Are they notourservants?” She dared to arch an eyebrow at him. “After your response when we first arrived, I assumed you did not want our private business to be paraded in front of servants.”
He had to admit she was correct.
“Thank you. I am surprised you would understand the need for discretion,” he acceded with a regal nod.
