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“Husband?”
Fitzwilliam Darcy transformed at the expression of this unexpected query; his head perked up from his book and his face held a glow. Elizabeth recalled him again: “Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes, Elizabeth?” He said it, as he so often did, as if he were savouring his newfound right.
“I have been wondering...and you must not pout or any such thing, mind you, by my asking.”
The effect of her light teasing and illusions had him instantly though silently on his guard, as she knew it would. According to her careful plan, Elizabeth arose from her chair opposite him by the fire, and, with the certainty that the library door was closed and they would not be disturbed, walked the few steps to his chair, and sat in his lap. The effect of this action completely undid the reserve of the last, and he returned to the equanimity of a newly married man once more.
“Yes?” he questioned as his finger twirled absently with one of her dark curls.
“You are very reserved.”
“Though I am loathe to do it, I must contradict you. At the moment I am perfectly at my ease.”
“Not now, of course. But much of the time, around others.”
“I am.”
“I cannot help but wondering why?”
“It is, I suppose, my nature to be such. Upbringing and circumstance are perhaps of equal consideration; I cannot give a complete answer.”
Elizabeth smiled at this way of his to be so direct and empirical on so personal a matter. And yet, she felt that she had not got to the heart of it. “But there must be something more, for you are not so around me.”
“But you are special, you are Elizabeth .”
This produced a merry laugh at his bias. “Very true. Let me amend - you are very reserved around anyone who is not me.”
“That is because I trust you implicitly, and your liviness affects me.”
“What of Georgiana? Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
He paused. “Indisputably I trust them. But Fitzwilliam is more gregarious than I, and I would like to think I am affectionate with her, but I do not want to set a false example for Georgiana by encouraging too open a way with others.”
“As I do?”
“No! Elizabeth...I would not have you believe I harbour such feelings about you. I love that you are able to bring Georgiana out of herself. It is something I was never able to accomplish.”
“Perhaps that is because you have never done it yourself. Won’t you let me work my spell on you, Fitzwilliam? Won’t you tell me what the truth is behind your reticence to show yourself around others?”
He was quiet again, and this was something that she appreciated about her husband - his commitment to complete honesty, and that he gave no flippant, easy answers. “I suppose...if I must point to a cause, I might say it is to do with my father.”
This was of some considerable surprise and interest to his wife. “I believed your father to be an open, warm hearted man?”
“He was. Sometimes to a fault.”
She understood instantly. Always him. “You mean Wickham.”
“Unfortunately so.”
“Wickham had an extremely charming way about him that was able to put any at ease." Elizabeth did not say that he need not remind her. "My father could not have known, and any attempt on my part to warn him would have seemed the angry musings of a jealous rival, or so I reasoned at the time. But Wickham and I were in many ways equals, and therefore he could not always be on his guard around me.”
“I remember him mentioning that he was a favorite of your father’s. Was there" (she hesitated) “any favoritism?”
Darcy sighed. “Did my father love him more than his own child, his own first born son? I cannot believe that. Even in my most pained, frustrated moments, I never believed that. My father was extremely devoted, and, I believe, proud of me. But there were times when I felt he favoured Wickham’s more open way. My father being of a more open disposition himself drew a likeness I knew never truly to be there. I felt at times he encouraged me, nay wished me, more like George.”
“While I believe your father was well-intentioned, comparison is an evil. Albeit he may not have intended to sew discord, but all the same, if my father had not shown a blatant partiality for me, there is a risk I may have despised Jane.” She let her eyes twinkle at him.
“Perhaps it was less for the comparison,” he said finally, “for if I felt Wickham deserved the favor I would not have felt any resentment in it’s being bestowed. It was, more so, the pain of knowing my father blind. I vowed to myself very young that I would not be so deceived. I would learn from my father's good-hearted nearsightedness; but more than this, I would not ingratiate myself through false smiles and flattery as I had seen so often done. ”
“Ah, and therein lay your mistake,” said Elizabeth gently. “You equivelated nice manners with falseness, and denied yourself a true part of living. To share joys and pleasantries with others is just as important as the trading of ideas and opinions. To deny these pleasures to others is to deny ourselves the joy in them; it is, if I may say so, dishonesty - for we are presenting only in part.”
He was silent, and she worried that she had disturbed him. “What are you thinking?”
He spoke slowly - “I find you astounding. I believe I understand, and yet it is contrary to all I have ever thought. Forgive me if it makes me quiet; the affects of a revolution, you see.”
“So I have not offended you?”
“No. Your words bring to mind, ‘light under a bushel.’”
“Yes, that is precisely what I mean. Do not live your life measuring yourself by George Wickham, dearest. You are yourself only. Leave him behind.” She lay her hand gently on his cheek, and he smiled up at her in a strange, though worried relief; she knew it was too much in his nature to self-reprimand.
"You have a wonderful, compassionate heart, Fitzwilliam."
“It will take time,” he told her meaningfully.
“No matter," said she. "We have much of that.”