Chapter 8

It was afternoon before Mrs. Tyrone awakened to a room filled with sun and the familiar smell of paint. From beneath her soft duvet, she observed her husband at the window, immersed in his latest work. His graceful movements were always a joy for her to watch – and although he expressed a great reluctance to dance, Mrs. Tyrone thought her husband would dance rather well if only he would imagine himself in front of a canvas rather than a partner. A quiet, inadvertent cough from her was all it took to break his concentration.

“Annie? Annie my dear, are you awake?” he said over his shoulder. In a moment, he had dispensed with the brushes and was sitting on the bed, at her side.

Mrs Tyrone stretched, smiling sleepily “Indeed, I am trying.” She looked up at him. “Have I slept away the entire day?”

“Not completely. However, it is afternoon,” her husband attempted a stern countenance, but failed miserably.

“Oh dear. I am a lazy thing, am I not?”She tried to look guilty, but failed in her attempt at repentance.

“Yes, I have always thought so.” His hand brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, and she laughed, catching her hand in his, “but to be fair, you came to bed very late. How was your conversation with Georgiana?”

Her countenance grew thoughtful as she turned his hand in hers. “She is delightful, but very guarded and shy, with a touch of sadness about her. And I wonder that I am somewhat to blame for that. Perhaps if I had been able to be with her.....”

“You must never regret what you did, Annie.”

“Oh no, no. I regret nothing,” her voice was quietly fierce.

“I do not think you had many options, not from what I knew of the situation. Neither was there much you could do four years later,” His fingers intertwined with hers, and she felt their light pressure on her own. His touch always soothed her. “And is it not more useful for us to expend our energies on the present, so that we may enjoy the future?”

Mrs. Tyrone nodded, turning to face her husband as he sat next to her, taking her face in his hands. His hands were strong; his long fingers enveloped her face in their warmth. His lips, when they met hers were also warm and full of passion, drawing the sadness out of her. After a while she rested her cheek against his chest, sighing, “How could I regret anything that brought me to you? You always make me feel better.”

“I consider it to be my chief occupation,” his mock solemnity lightening the mood and making her smile again.

“More important than your work?” she asked, raising her head.

“My work allows me the freedom to be with you. Have you not realized this?”

His tone surprised her, “You are quite serious!” she said, drawing back to obtain a better view of his face.

“Of course I am. While it is true that I love to paint, it is the freedom of being able to be with you whenever I want that enhances my enjoyment of my profession.”

“Oh, my dearest,” she said, cupping his face in her hands. As they kissed again, he wrapped his arms around her, and held her to him. Finally, he released her and she sat for a long moment, enjoying the warmth and safety of being near him, and the sight of his dear, handsome face. “I cannot imagine being apart from you,” she said at last.

And neither would I wish to be parted from you.” he said, quietly, as his hand stroked the side of her face.

She picked up her handkerchief, and rubbed at a spot of paint on his cheek, and he smiled, happy to be cared for by his wife.

Finished, she said, “Now you are presentable. Will you come back to bed my dearest?” And she patted the duvet next to her on the bed.

*****

Some time later, now dressed and out of bed, Mrs. Tyrone stood at the window, next to her husband’s easel.

“So what do you think of Rosings, my dear?” she asked, smiling in anticipation of his critical response.

“Dreadful, really. The chimney piece is horrible. There is very little taste and refinement, with the exception of the sitting room downstairs. The gardens are good, however.” He said, coming to stand behind her, his arms encircling her waist.

She nodded. “That is Anne’s doing. She has an excellent eye. I wonder where it comes from?”

“Her mother perhaps?”

“I do not think so. Poor Catherine – she had quite a lot of energy, and determination, but not the best of taste. “

“Do you miss your sister?” he asked.

“I am sorry she is gone. But she would not admit my society after our marriage. It was her choice.”

“Have I cost you too much in terms of your family?”

She turned to him and put her hands on his arms.

“You must never think that. Never.” She stood on her toes and kissed him fiercely.

“Thank you,“ he said, quietly. He held her for a moment, and then said, “Would you like to see what I have been doing while you were sleeping?” He spoke into her hair.

“Of course.”

He released her with a kiss and went to a nearby table to pick up a pile of drawing paper, saying as he crossed to the bed, “Despite the horrible decoration, this is a perfect room from which to work. I have an excellent view of the gardens, the light is good, and I see many comings and goings,.” he said, handing the pile of papers to her as she sat on the bed.

“Hmm….this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet with my son” she said, her finger tracing the outline of Darcy’s form on the page. “Interesting.”

“Yes,” he sat down next to her. “They seem to have a great awareness of each other. When they are both in the same room, there is always a connection. Either he watches her, or she him, or they sit together and talk. When they talk, the rest of the room is of little importance. Your son especially is engaged in a way with Miss Elizabeth that is different from his other interactions. I believe Miss Elizabeth to be more discreet, but her attention is held by him as well.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes. You see, I sketched them last night, and again this morning as they were walking. I have the feeling that they walk together frequently – they share a very natural rhythm of movement between them.”

“Fascinating.” She looked through the drawings again, “So you are telling me that Fitzwilliam has an attachment to this young woman? Most interesting. Perhaps I shall talk to Miss Elizabeth.”

He shook his head, and took the drawings out of her hands “Attachment might be too strong a word, my dear – I said only that they seem to have a strong awareness. Please do not scare the girl.”

She patted him on the side of the face, “I do not think she scares easily, and I trust your powers of observation. But tell me, what did you think of my son?”

“He is good company when he wishes to be. I have been most pleasantly surprised.”

“You were expecting him to be unpleasant?” She sat back a little, to better observe his expression.

“No, not at all. We have not spoken of him much, have we? I have sketched his character more from what Richard and his mother have said, and I have been prejudiced from his refusal to speak to you last year, or to allow you access to your own child.” His voice grew almost angry, as he remembered the horrible time almost exactly one year ago.

Mrs Tyrone put her hand on her husband’s arm. “I feel he is trying to make amends, something that is not so easy for a Fitzwilliam to do. My father, brother, even my sister Catherine, would never admit to a flaw in their judgement. Perhaps the Earl is trying to make amends in his own way – by having you paint his portrait,” She rolled her eyes at him, “Of course he would never invite you into his home if you were not considered to be one of the most accomplished artists of the day. But I am changing the subject – what did Richard and his mother say to influence you?”

He smiled, “Do not be uneasy, it was not anything terrible. You know how Richard and his mother are. Sometimes it is more than a little difficult to know what is true and what has been embellished. And I gather they both derive enjoyment from these embellishments,” to which she nodded, catching his eye. He took her hand again “Rather, I had an impression of a rather stiff character. I suppose I was predisposed to dislike him – when I worried about how you would be received by him recently.”

“But it was fine, it was absolutely fine.”

“But it has not been so fine before this. You have not been permitted to see your own daughter since our marriage. Why this change?”

She rose from her seat on the bed, and paced the room, “I do not know, it is a puzzle. There is something very different about him now. I noticed it even in London, last month. In comparison, when I had that very brief, but disastrous interview with him last year, he was so angry. Of course, it was right after he discovered Georgiana in Ramsgate. I wonder, however who he was angry with – Wickham, certainly, but Georgiana? Myself? Perhaps himself most of all. I do not know. He was barely civil. I do not know what I would have done without Richard.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“My poor dear, I was so worried for you. Should you not tell Darcy and Richard about....,”

She turned to him, shaking her head, “No, no and I am determined he shall not know. What good would it do? You must promise me you will not tell Richard, and certainly not Fitzwilliam.”

He rose and went to her, his arms around her, “Of course not, my dearest. Not unless I see that keeping quiet will do you harm. My first concern is always you, Annie. I will not see you suffer again so needlessly. Perhaps I could understand it when your children were younger, and more vulnerable. But they are both older and well insulated. You are not so well insulated.”

“I have you,” she said, grateful for him.

“Exactly, you have me. And I believe I have been promised at the very least, another kiss,” and with that, he bent down to receive what he had been promised.

******

Elizabeth dangled her feet from the high garden bench, her thoughts occupied more pleasantly in recollection of her encounter with Darcy in the wood earlier that day. Such encounters were becoming commonplace, and perhaps they should just arrange to meet in the great entrance hall of Rosings in the mornings. But no, she thought - there was something to be said for the pleasure she received from that moment of surprise when they met, and his unguarded smile when he saw her. Elizabeth sighed involuntarily. And then there was that moment before they entered Rosings Park when he lifted her hand off his arm and kissed her wrist, right on the pulse. She smiled at the thought of his kiss.

And there was more to the story of Darcy’s mother, Elizabeth thought. At that moment, the subject of her thoughts was standing in the courtyard, holding her husband’s hand and his gaze.  She looked a little flushed, her cheeks were pink. Mr Tyrone whispered something in her ear, and she smiled. He turned and kissed her on the mouth – it was passionate and quick, and Elizabeth felt an unexpected rush of longing – and a little bit of embarrassment at the sight, as though she was intruding on something private. She looked down into her lap, to calm the flush she felt in her cheek.

Across the courtyard, Mrs. Tyrone watched Elizabeth Bennet.

“Annie,” her husband said, in a warning tone. “Be gentle with Miss Bennet. We do not know for sure .........”

“Of course, my dear. But I am so curious. How do they know each other? But I promise I will behave myself.”

“Very well, then I will leave you. I have some letters I must read. Have a pleasant walk, Annie,” he said, catching her about the waist to kiss her.

As her husband entered the house, Mrs. Tyrone moved toward Elizabeth Bennet. She wondered whether this young woman could provide some insight into the changes she had observed in her son.

******

“Ah, Miss Elizabeth. I understand you are fond of walking. Would you care to accompany me? I should very much like to see the park.”

Elizabeth had no reason to refuse, and, truth be told, she was curious about Mrs. Tyrone.

They strolled for a while, commenting about the beauty of the park, its wildness. Mrs. Tyrone was an excellent companion, and Elizabeth found her very pleasant company. She asked Elizabeth about her family, her sisters. It was an easy conversation, and Elizabeth found herself talking about her sisters and Longbourn in some detail. Just as Elizabeth was enjoying the pace, relaxing in the company of Darcy’s mother, that lady enquired,

“You seem to be well acquainted with my son. How long have you known him?” Mrs. Tyrone’s tone was light, conversational, interested.

At least this was a simple enough question, and Elizabeth tried to adopt a neutral, conversational tone in response. “Not quite a year. I first met him when he accompanied his friend, Mr. Bingley to a neighbouring estate in Hertfordshire. We were in each other’s company fairly often for a few months last autumn. We met again around Easter. Charlotte – Mrs. Collins is my good friend and I had promised to visit her as she was newly married to Lady Catherine’s parson. Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were visiting Lady Catherine at the same time.”

They took a few more steps before Mrs. Tyrone spoke again, “Ah yes, the yearly duty visit. You seem to be good friends, for which I am glad. I do not think he is always the easiest person to befriend.”

Elizabeth smiled remembering the ball at Netherfield, and her dance and discussion with Darcy.

“You find that amusing?” Mrs Tyrone stopped to look at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head in an effort to recover her composure, “In a way, we once had a similar discussion – perhaps it was more of a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?”

“Yes, my initial impression of Mr. Darcy was not so favourable.” Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow warm, and she looked away.

Mrs. Tyrone stopped on the path, and motioned to a nearby seat. “Come, let us sit,”

When they were seated, she enquired of Elizabeth, “Now please, tell me how your first impression of my son was not very favourable?” It was not a command, as Lady Catherine would have done, Mrs. Tyrone merely asked, as though it was vitally important for her to understand Elizabeth’s explanation. Elizabeth thought she recognized a similar level of attention directed toward herself when she and Darcy were together. It was both comforting and disconcerting at the same time.

Elizabeth looked down into her lap, bit her lip and continued, “Misunderstandings on both our parts, extreme pride on Mr. Darcy’s and vanity on my own, hearing only those things I wanted to hear from others.”

Mrs. Tyrone’s countenance registered surprise, “Am I to understand that you wished to think ill of my son?”

Elizabeth paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, “It seems such a long time ago. And it is all so silly now, but he seemed the most disagreeable, proud man, and I mistook his interest in me. He was disdainful of my family, and I thought he was highly critical of me. He seemed to think he knew what was best for many, myself included without even considering our wishes.” She felt her cheeks grow warm as she continued. “I was happy to think ill of him, and happy to hear others speak ill of him.”

Mrs Tyrone merely nodded, as if in agreement, and Elizabeth continued:

“You see, when we first met, he insulted me inadvertently without even knowing what he did, I am convinced of that now. And from then on, I took everything else he said and did toward me as disapproval.”

“How did he insult you?” Mrs Tyrone was fascinated. Darcy had always been so well-mannered, especially around young women unknown to him. This was unusual, to say the least.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. Darcy’s mother was extremely skilled at interrogation. She was rational, logical, and persistent, but never judgmental. Elizabeth continued, “It was before I knew him, really – we were at a country dance and he did not want to dance with me, because his friend was dancing with the only pretty girl in the room – my sister Jane of course. “

Mrs Tyrone smiled and clapped her hands, “Of course! It makes perfect sense! What woman wishes to be told she is not pretty enough to dance with a young man? It was very ill mannered of my son, was it not?”

Elizabeth nodded, becoming more comfortable with Mrs Tyrone again. “It was hurtful. And at the time, we had neither heard of nor seen Mr. Darcy before. From then on, I thought him always critical of me, and I so I saw only displeasure and criticism where there was interest. ”

It was Mrs Tyrone’s turn to sit for a moment, considering Elizabeth’s words. Finally, she nodded, saying “Yes, I can see him behaving in such a manner, it is completely plausible. And your reaction is perfectly understandable.” She paused again, as if to think, and then turned to Elizabeth and said, “But how did you learn the truth?”

Elizabeth felt a little breathless – she knew she should extract herself from the conversation, but she could not see her way out of it, so she continued, “Mr Darcy was kind enough to explain it to me, himself.”

“How could that be? It would not appear to be a normal conversation between acquaintances. Clearly you could not have been friends at this point.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, saying, “It was after another, another disagreement. A very serious disagreement.” There, she hoped that would be enough for Darcy’s mother.

“I still do not quite understand, how you went from dislike on your part to being very good friends.”

“I am not sure that I understand this myself. I believe that it was the fact that Mr. Darcy made a very good effort to clarify some misperceptions on my part, and this enabled us to become friends, once the unfortunate deaths of Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins afforded an opportunity for us to meet again” She turned to Mrs. Tyrone. “And when we met again, it was very different....I believe that we were both willing to give the other another chance. I have been very thankful for the opportunity.”

“If you were not friends, and you had a serious disagreement, what motivated my son to explain further? I still do not understand.”

Mrs. Tyrone’s logic was impeccable. Elizabeth’s friendship with her son made no sense, especially given Darcy’s pride. Elizabeth made a rash decision – she felt she could trust Darcy’s mother, and she felt a great deal of curiosity about Mrs. Tyrone’s reaction. She took a breath and said.

“It was after I refused his offer.”

“Offer?” Mrs Tyrone’s voice registered surprise.

Elizabeth nodded, “Yes, an offer of marriage.” She was oddly relieved to have told someone other than Jane. She had not thought through Darcy’s reaction, however. What would he say? Would he be angry with her? Elizabeth found her concentration disrupted by Mrs. Tyrone’s incredulous tone.

“My son proposed to you. And you refused him?”

Elizabeth coloured and looked away. Perhaps it had been a bad idea after all. “Truthfully, I do not ... I do not think I should say any more...”

Mrs Tyrone was insistent, “But you must continue. This is astonishing. Absolutely. That you would refuse him. My son was – is - a good match for you. He is indeed a good match for any woman. It would not seem prudent for you to have refused him, unless of course you had your own means or other suitors. You told me your family is not terribly wealthy, so you must have had other suitors.”

“No, none of us have suitors. Our estate is a small one, entailed upon the male line. My cousin, the late Mr. Collins was next in line to inherit – now I do not know what will happen.” She smiled wryly at Mrs Tyrone. “In fact, Mr Darcy was the second young man I refused in the space of about six months. The first was my cousin, the late Mr. Collins.”

“Indeed? You refused not one, but two eligible men in less than a year?”

“Mr Collins was foolish, he was not a man I could respect. I could not respect myself had I married him. I refused Mr Darcy because I did not like him – not at the time, and my perception of him was that he was arrogant and proud, and selfish, and I could not respect him, either.”

“Amazing.”

“Mrs. Tyrone.” Elizabeth shook her head and spoke in a distinct, quiet tone. “Had I wanted to make a good match, I would have just accepted Mr. Darcy in April, and saved us all a great deal of trouble. But despite all of the material advantages, I could not respect myself if I could not respect my husband.”

“And now?”

“And now, my opinion of him is very different. But I am not quite ready....I do not know exactly what I want, and neither am I certain of Mr. Darcy's wishes.”

“Really, Miss Elizabeth?  Are you really so unsure?  Be that as it may, you may well be a good match for Darcy. Your sister, Jane is very pretty, to be sure, but I believe you have something that Darcy values even more. Although I see that it must be discovered rather than observed.”

When Elizabeth did not respond, Mrs Tyrone continued “I believe that my son needs someone who will stand up to him, someone who is strong enough to disagree with him. You have more than beauty, Miss Elizabeth, and perhaps that is what draws him to you.”

“I do not know, Mrs Tyrone. Again I must tell you that I am quite simply unsure at this time."

Mrs Tyrone waved her hand, “I have no intent to cause distress to you – please, do not feel you have to continue. I am merely surprised.”

“Then perhaps you do not know your son very well, Mrs. Tyrone. I admit that I am still learning about him. ”

Mrs Tyrone nodded gravely, “You may be correct, Miss Elizabeth. I thought that I once knew him very well, but I have seen some changes – well, he is very different from last year,” she paused, “I appreciate your candour, Miss Elizabeth. I have not had much contact with my son at all since the death of his father.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“Yes, but well, there were ....circumstances. A great many circumstances,” She paused, catching Elizabeth’s eye, and said, “Shall we return? You have been most helpful, Miss Elizabeth. I hope I have not been too intrusive.”

Elizabeth shook her head, “Not at all.”

They began their return to the house. Halfway there, Elizabeth paused for a moment, and Mrs Tyrone stopped, sensing a question.

“The changes. Are they improvements?” Elizabeth asked her companion.

“The changes?” Mrs Tyrone repeated. “In Fitzwilliam? Why yes, I think they are improvements. Very much so."


Elizabeth smiled, and started to walk again, and stopped. Mrs Tyrone smiled, patiently, waiting for Elizabeth to speak.

"What exactly has Mr. Darcy told you of me.?" she asked, looking at her companion.

"Very little, actually. Almost nothing, in fact. He has always been very private, and I think he felt some cause for some caution on his part."

Elizabeth nodded, this last piece of intelligence was very much in line with her perception of Darcy, and she felt a great deal of relief. "I will tell him of our discussion."

"Of course."

They resumed their progress until they reached the entrance to the house, parting in the hallway. Mrs. Tyrone climbed the stairs again to her room, her mind full of what Miss Elizabeth had revealed. It did seem that Fitzwilliam had changed for the better. When he was a child, she always worried about his pride and his selfishness. He had been a good child, considerate, obedient and a joy to be around. Still, he had learned to stay within his family, and his mother had worried about how this would affect him as he grew into adulthood. Too many people of her acquaintance had stayed within a very limited social circle, very often to their detriment.

Elizabeth walked through the dark hall, seeking Darcy – perhaps he was in the library. She must tell him about her discussion with his mother. She hoped he would not be angry with her. And at the same time, she hoped she could learn more about the circumstances surrounding his mother’s departure from the family.. Every day seemed to bring more questions. She opened the library door, and was rewarded by the sight of Darcy, sitting at the library table looking out of the window, his handsome face relaxed. He turned at the sound of the door opening, rising immediately, and at the sight of Elizabeth he smiled another of his rare smiles – which were not so rare after all, Elizabeth thought. She stepped inside the door, and taking a deep breath, walked over to where Darcy stood.

© EDot 2004 -2008