Page 3 of The Winter of Our Discontent
“I wish for you to succeed as Mistress of Pemberley because I do not want to be subjected to the ridicule of my friends, neighbours, tenants, or servants. There may be preferences, explanations, requests, and history that must bedivulged to you if you are to have the smallest hope of success. I would prefer these communications to be written between us.”
“Written, sir?” I strove not to sound as appalled as I felt at this frigid directive.
“I believe words can be more carefully chosen this way. In speaking directly to you, a person I cannot look upon…impartially, I risk speaking heatedly and being overheard.”
I kept my eyes lowered as I listened, and managed—barely—to reply without betraying my severe misgivings. “Very well,” I said gravely.
“After tonight, we will never speak of the travesty of this union. I never want mentioned the circumstances. For the sake of explanation, we met while I was visiting Mr Bingley at Netherfield. You are a gentleman’s daughter from Hertfordshire. We married by inclination alone, as your connexions and dowry were not a consideration.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“I have nothingbutquestions, but for now, let me rightly understand. Polite conversation, such as we conducted tonight is acceptable?”
“We will be civil, and that includes public conversation, yes.”
“Topics upon which I am free to approach you would be arrangements for travel and the like?”
“Practical matters, yes. Anything of a personal nature, or an enquiry related to how we are to coexist must be written down. You may give your notes to your maid, and she will pass them to my valet.”
“Does he know of the circumstance?”
“He does.” Here, he paused and looked sharply at me. “You have not shared our circumstance with your maid, have you?”
“I have not. I only explained to her the situation regarding my clothing.”
“Of what situation are you speaking?”
“Only that I have no trousseau, nor am I in possession of the kind of wardrobe one would expect of Mrs Darcy.”
“What exactly did you say to her?”
“I told her my father is a gentleman from a small estate in Hertfordshire, that I did not come to this marriage with a trousseau, and that we will make do with what I have for now.”
He stared at me. “You were not given wedding clothes?”
“No, I was not. I hope to add a few items when we reach Derbyshire, but I would first have to ask your forbearance on the matter of my pin money.”
His face assumed a look of repressed fury, and thinking to forestall any objection he was about to voice, I said, “I ask only that you advance what you would give me on the quarter day. I do not ask for anything extra but a loan against my first allowance.”
“Did your father give you nothing?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Not even a kiss. My father—a man I loved, and a man with whom I had shared so many happy moments—had bluntly told me he could not look at me without revulsion. He assured me his shame was for hisownfailures, and given how he would pay the ultimate price of never seeing me again, I must forgive him for hating the sight of me. I swallowed and slanted my eyes down to the table before me. Oh, how that memory stung!
“I see,” Mr Darcy said. He had been standing for thisconference, and now he began to pace the length of the room. He turned abruptly. “The matter of our conjugal situation is this: I will eventually want an heir, and I will, when my feelings of dismay abate sufficiently to allow me to do so, approach you inthat way.I do not expect to be refused.”
“Very well, sir.”
He stared at me as though revolted by my composure, but really, what had he expected? I knew he would lie with me and was resigned to the fact. Whether it took place that night or a year on did not alter the requirement of submission placed upon me.
After pacing furiously for another moment, he abruptly stopped and barked, “Will that be all, madam?”
I did not look up at him incredulously, nor did I bristle with indignation, much less protest against his unreasonable decree. Benumbed by shock as I was, I could not repress impulses of resistance and self-defence, for I had no will to fight.
“What time would you like to depart?” I asked.
