Chapter Four
The following ten days were distinctly odd. The countess was indisposed for two more of them, but no longer required Dawson to remain strictly at her bedside; in fact, she rather seemed to wish for a cavalcade of servants to adjust the curtains, freshen her teacup, plump her pillows, and listen to her complaints. Thankfully, none of them were me.
When she did return to the breakfast room, she favoured me with her considered opinion that her beloved nephew had departed because I was too dull to entertain such an impressive gentleman in her absence. Had I any conversation, wit, or intellect, he would have remained until she could take up her duties as hostess again.
I did not respond, of course, to her foolish allegations, but I pondered them. For all she knew, she was correct—the person I displayed to her was a ghost of myself, a shadow girl who had all the cleverness of wall papers or a piece of furniture adorning her parlour, and who could occasionally be useful in fetching her things and nodding agreement.
Was that who Mr Darcy had seen? As I re-examined our conversations, I had not revealed overmuch. I was too accustomed to hiding everything that was important. Had he proposed marriage to the Maiden Spinster or to the Shadow Girl? Or had he remembered—fondly, perhaps—the girl from Longbourn, and this was an attempt at recapturing his youth? I smiled to myself at that thought, for he had not much cared for the ‘tolerable’ old me, even if he now regretted stating those feelings publicly.
For that matter, who had I agreed to wed? Was I marrying the tall, handsome, wealthy Londoner, the novelty of Hertfordshire? I covered another smile; in those days, I had not much cared for him, either. But how was he changed, really? I barely knew him.
As one day turned into another, the whole interlude seemed ever more fantastic. I wondered, even, whether it had really happened, or if I had finally slipped from sanity beneath the weight of my boredom and loneliness, fabricating the whole proposal in my mind.
And yet, there had been that kiss. I could not have manufactured it, for I had never experienced anything like it. In that moment, I had understood him, and he had understood me. But nothing else was at all clear, and after a week of nearly crippling uncertainty, I managed to thrust most thoughts of him and marriage and the future from my mind.
Which was why I was almost surprised when he was announced on the eleventh day after his departure. And he had brought a guest with him—my brother Tilney.
Mr Tilney was a tall bear of a man, almost Mr Darcy’s height, with a pleasing countenance and intelligent, lively nature. He had chestnut hair—thinning a bit at the top now—and a genuine, kindly smile. I rushed to him and he hugged me, lifting me off the ground. When he set me back upon my feet, he promptly picked me up again. “The first was from Janey, and this is from me,” he exclaimed, as I laughed. “Now, please tell me—what is this I hear about weddings? And to this great oaf—” he smiled at a dour-looking Mr Darcy. “If you are not happy in Kent, come to us, darling girl. We shall stack a couple of children atop each other and clear a path for you. No need for desperate measures, what?”
As his voice was a booming one, there was no question that half the household heard his words. Especially the half containing the countess.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she said, in awful tones. “What is this? This person—” she looked disapprovingly at my brother—“cannot be serious.”
“He is very serious, my lady,” Mr Darcy said immediately. “We are to be wed, and at once. Your son will ensure the quick replacement of your companion. I have his word on it.”
The dowager countess was not pacified. “While a capable female and not utterly stupid, she is overreaching,” she said frostily. And then she added, though it came out in a hiss that I hoped Mr Tilney did not hear, “Make use of her if you will, but there is no need to throw yourself away. Your grief makes you foolish!”
I had done my best to look upon her as a fellow sufferer, though a wealthier one. Of course, I had never allowed her to see me in the same way—but that, too, was her fault. She wanted only the Shadow Girl, or even less. I ceased feeling guilt for abandoning her without notice.
Mr Darcy leant close to her and spoke in a low tone. I could not hear what he said, but two spots of colour flared bright enough to burn through her face powder.
“Are you packed?” he asked, straightening to look directly at me, dismissing the countess as if she had left the room.
“I am not. I did not know when I would be leaving.”
Mr Tilney was looking between the two of us, clearly a little confused. Possibly having missed the slur delivered by the countess, he wondered why we spoke so quickly of departure. Perhaps they had planned upon staying at least overnight.
“I shall take care of it quickly,” I said with some urgency, for I would not happily stay another minute. With a quick curtsey, I hurried up the stairs, hearing Mr Darcy’s low-voiced murmurs, probably explaining to Mr Tilney, and the higher pitched ones of the countess, probably protesting.
When I was in my own room, I pulled out my trunk and began hastily tossing things into it. But moments later, Dawson joined me. She did not say a word, only began efficiently folding and rolling my gowns and shawls in far better style than I ever had. I slowed my own pace, checking my wild hurry. Mr Darcy would not leave me here if I took an extra thirty minutes to do the job correctly.
After a few minutes of work, I said, “I am sorry, Dawson, to leave without any notice. If you ever wish a position at Pemberley, in Derbyshire, I hope you will remember me. And I would always give you a character, no matter how long in the future you asked for one.”
She gave me her grim smile. “I’d think you a fool if you spurned an offer from him. I heard what she said, madam, but I do not believe she would have allowed it. She let her temper get the best of her, is all it was. You’re the best of the women she’s had here. I know she hates to lose you.”
Dawson had never called me ‘madam’ before this; my new status had merited something already. “I thank you,” was my only reply, and we returned to packing.
The trunk was almost full when the countess entered, unannounced. She had never entered my room before, and looked fully annoyed at seeing her woman helping me. “My plum-coloured day-dress needs pressing, Dawson,” she ordered frigidly. Dawson departed hastily, not daring another word.
“Well,” she said, in a voice full of disgust and displeasure. “You are a sly one. Play host to a fellow who is grieving, allow you freedom to run about unchecked on my property, and you take full advantage. Clever.”
I found it unnecessary to answer her accusations, remaining silent.
“It was a lucky thing for you I had the grippe, I suppose. I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why you should betray my hospitality with your arts and allurements, even while I lay nearly dying.”
“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer,” I retorted.
Her eyes narrowed. “You ought to know already that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. His grief has disordered his mind! You have drawn him in! How can you be so lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy, giving him no time to mourn?”