Chapter Text
Elizabeth Bennet had few expectations when she arrived at Thornfield to become Miss Georgiana Darcy's governess, but discovering Mr. Darcy's secret wife in the attic had not been among them.
Although calling it an attic was not entirely fair. The rooms occupied the western corner of the house and were larger than the whole of Longbourn's upper floor. Still, they were undeniably upstairs, and the woman residing in them was undeniably Mrs. Darcy.
Elizabeth thought she had borne the revelation remarkably well, though being frozen in shock likely helped.
Mrs. Reynolds, meanwhile, appeared wholly unaware that she had dropped this particular piece of information into conversation with all the carelessness of a woman discussing the weather. "Mrs. Darcy enjoys the gardens best in the spring," she had said pleasantly. "Though the physicians recommend she not exert herself."
Elizabeth had stopped walking. "The physicians?"
"Yes, miss. Her health has been poor these several years."
Elizabeth stared. Mrs. Reynolds stared back. There followed one of those dreadful silences in which both parties assume the other possesses knowledge they do not.
"Oh," Elizabeth managed at last.
Mrs. Reynolds smiled kindly. "Mr. Darcy has spared no expense in her care."
"I am sure."
And she was. That, irritatingly, was the problem. For even through the fog of confusion, she could not imagine Mr. Darcy neglecting anyone dependent upon him, least of all his wife.
His wife. Elizabeth repeated the words silently, testing them for sense. They refused to acquire any.
She found him half an hour later in the portrait gallery. He turned at her approach, his expression warming in a manner she was becoming alarmingly accustomed to.
"Miss Bennet. I had hoped to find you again."
"Mr. Darcy."
Something in her voice must have betrayed her, for his smile faded slightly. "Is something amiss?"
Elizabeth folded her hands tightly together. She had rehearsed several openings while crossing the gallery and all had deserted her. Perhaps simplicity was the best option. "You have a wife."
Mr. Darcy went very still. "Yes."
She waited, but he did not seem inclined to elaborate.
"That," she said at last, "is a rather extraordinary thing to neglect mentioning."
A faint flush appeared in his cheeks. She had never seen him discomposed before. "I believed you knew," he said finally.
"And how, exactly, do you suppose I was to have learned?"
Mr. Darcy opened his mouth, then closed it, considering. For a moment, they stood in mortified silence. Then he said wearily, "Her name is Anne. My mother and aunt wished for the match-- she is my cousin, you see, and they thought it fitting. Anne and I were married shortly before my father's death. Some years later, she became unwell."
Elizabeth shifted uneasily, her indignation replaced with something harder to define.
"The physicians recommended an asylum. I could not allow it."
Elizabeth looked at him then-- really looked. The strain around his eyes. The tightness of his mouth. The air of gravity that rarely lifted. And suddenly she could picture it: this serious, stubborn man refusing every easy solution because it was not the moral one.
"She has nurses," he said. "Companions she trusts. The rooms are comfortable. Georgiana spends much time with her."
Elizabeth's heart softened despite herself. Of course he had done all of that. Of course he had. It was precisely what she would have expected from him.
She exhaled slowly. "Mr. Darcy."
"Yes?"
"I think your conduct does you great credit."
Relief flooded his face.
Then she added, "I also think that discovering your wife by accident is an experience I should not care to repeat."
To his credit, he looked appropriately chastened. "You are quite right."
"Really, sir. There are some particulars one hopes to learn about a gentleman before beginning to admire him."
"And a wife is chief among them?"
"I should place her very near the top of the list."
For the first time since she had met him, Mr. Darcy laughed outright. The sound startled them both.
Elizabeth found that she liked that laugh. She very much hoped she would hear it again.
Which, given the circumstances, was perhaps the most bewildering discovery of all.