Page 107 of The Widower of Pemberley

Mr. Bingley laughingly discounted having read any of the plays more than once.

He sat next to Jane and took the office that Elizabeth had planned to occupy herself with, of giving her sister a minute description of the decorations, the costumes of the actors, thearrangement of the stage and the actors, and how crowded the seats below were.

When the actors stepped out and began to speak, Jane lost little from not being able to see them, for this was a fine troupe, and the voices brought additional emotion and shades of meaning to the play.

Elizabeth sobbed at the scene where Macduff learned of the deaths of his wife and children.

Darcy gripped Elizabeth’s hand and then held it tight against his heart as Macduff spoke:

He has no children. All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam at one fell swoop?

Her husband’s face was covered with tears that glimmered in the dim lamplight.

Macduff’s killing of Macbeth had a hollowness to Elizabeth. It was a thing of revenge; and vengeance was never worth the loss of the thing that must be avenged.

That was what Elizabeth said as soon as the play ended.

Darcy had wiped his eyes, and they now looked clear, with only a hint of redness around the edges.

“Yes,” he replied. “Times are when duty might force a man to do that which will cost him such things that are most precious to him. I pray to God that I never need to face such a choice as Macduff.”

“Lord!” Mr. Bingley exclaimed. “It is merely a play. Do not take it so much to heart.”

“I never, never,” Darcy said, “experienced that scene properly until now when I saw it as a father. Was it not written shortly after Shakespeare’s son had died?”

“I think it had been some years,” Elizabeth replied. “Perhaps ten or so.”

“That must have helped him know how to write the man—no, Shakespeare is the glory of the language because he can write any form of person, whether from his own experience or not, and make us understand them.”

Mr. Gardiner nodded. “I had much the same experience of rereading old favourites after Beth was born and understanding them in a wholly new way.”

When they reached home, they looked in on Emily peacefully sleeping.

Elizabeth kissed Darcy as soon as they entered their suite. “Thank you, thank you for thinking of the play.”

Darcy kissed her back and then whispered, “I saw the poster and thought it would make you happy to watch.”

“Very much. You always make me happy. So very happy to be with you.”

Rather than continuing to kiss her as she had expected, Darcy paused.

“What is it?” Elizabeth had noticed that on occasion he hesitated or acted in a strange manner when she made verbal expressions of affection towards him.

“I only…” Darcy pulled her against him and hugged her tightly. “It is only now, after these few months together, that I am beginning, deep in my soul, to truly believe that I make you happier.”

“I am happy. And week by week, as we have come to know each other better, I have become even happier.”

“I know. Only, at first I expected that you would come to despise me the better you knew me.”

She pressed her hand to his cheek and softly kissed him, enjoying the closeness and the taste of her husband’s lips.

“But you truly do not despise me?” Darcy said.

Elizabeth laughed. “Quite the opposite…I…” She felt choked. She could not say aloud to him all that he had come to mean to her. But she should, even if she was frightened that he could not return the sentiment.

“I admire and love you.” Darcy spoke before her.

He lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “I love you. I think I have been slowly falling in love with you since the first time I saw you.”