***Warning- spousal abuse at the end***

Foolish 7

The early morning sun created a strange hue of red and gold that flickered over her hair and caught the light of her eyes as Elizabeth moved in and out of the filtered rays that came through the light silk curtains. Her mind was filled with thoughts, thoughts of the past, thoughts of the present as she passed the ivory handled hairbrush through her thick, dark hair. She was up, and had been up long before the arrival of her maid after a most restless night when she had finally closed her eyes to the same thoughts that had awakened her. Stopping to rest the hairbrush upon the vanity, she thought about her four-year marriage. How clearly she seemed to recall the look upon her father's face as he stared her out of countenance when, so long ago it seemed now, she had followed him into his study after a two month stay with the Gardiners in London, and imparted to him the significance of the arrival of a man whom he had only met once before and with whom she herself had only had a mere six weeks acquaintance. He had been absolutely incredulous at first.

"What? A proposal of marriage! And you have agreed? To be sure Elizabeth, he is very rich but we barely know the man! An acquaintance of what? five or six weeks? It is absurd, consider what you are about dear child, a marriage is for life! You will be very rich and you will have many fine things, but will they make you happy?" Mr. Bennet paced the floor unhappily, his distress at her decision plain to see. "I know that I have done you wrong Elizabeth. That I have done all my children wrong by not making adequate provisions for when I am gone. But please, please consider what you are doing!"

"He is a good man papa and he has been very kind and very affectionate to me and…and I know, it seems like the work of a moment but…but…" She stopped there as if she were searching for some coherent thought and then her father watched in complete surprise as her countenance fell and she broke down sobbing, covering her face with her hands. The moment seemed long to Mr. Bennet as he held his daughter as he used to do when she was a small child, coming to cry to him over some miserable occurrence. Always he had been there to soothe and cajole, to bribe and to humour her into happiness. But at this moment he did not know what else he could do except keep his arms around her and rub her arms as he waited for her to quieten and come back to herself.

"Lizzy" He said gently, "my child, what is this? Surely, if you truly loved this man, he would not be deserving of tears at such a time." His words were greeted by an audible sigh as she had moved away from him.

"My dear child" he continued, "are you sure you wish to marry this man? I know your disposition Lizzy; your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. Let me not have the grief of seeing you unhappy about your chosen partner. For my sake, if not your own, let him who you choose be one whom you can esteem and respect as well as love."

"Oh papa!" She cried. "I know I do not love him as I ought, as I should! But I do care for him and with him I am made happier. He helps me to see the possibilities of the future. I feel certain I can build a life with him. It has all been such a whirlwind. I fear it is rushed; it is very rushed. But I am afraid papa. What if I say no and then no one else comes? At least with Eric, who makes me laugh and is a good humoured man, and is widely respected, I feel I can live a contented life and perhaps grow to love him as well as I ever thought I should." Here she gave a sort of hysterical half sob which seemed mingled with laughter.

With no further explanation and seeing his daughter returning to her normal good humour, Mr. Bennet stroked her hair in resignation.

"Well, if nothing else, Your Mr. Faulkner seems a very congenial man. From the little time he has spent with us yesterday, he reminded one somewhat of George Wickham, decidedly good at making love to us all at the same time."

"He is nothing like George Wickham!" Her abruptness of manner as she pulled back, her eyes laced with anger, surprised him. "Mr. Wickham deserves no commendation and no credit for the man he pretends to be. Eric is very different. He works hard for all he has achieved. Yes, his life revolves around the world of business and trade, but so does uncle Gardiner's. Theirs, as uncle loves to say, is the wave of the new world order. Eric is a good man papa…I know he is not perfect, but for me, he represents an opportunity… when…when others have been lost to me. His is the option that presents itself, and I would take it."

"Your speech savours strongly of something Elizabeth, I daresay, something of regret. I ask again, are you certain you wish to marry this man?"

Her gaze dropped to floor and her father lifted her chin as he quietly surveyed her face for a long moment, as she said quietly, avoiding his searching eyes. "Indeed, I do, I do wish it." The sadness in her voice struck him deep.

"Elizabeth, you suffer and have been suffering these few months past. I know it as sure as I know myself. It is hard to see one's child bear their own counsel in such a way, but I cannot force your confidence. If this man will make you happy then, my dear, I will not bar your way. I will give him my consent, though you do not need it and I know my agreement to this marriage is necessary to your own peace of mind. Regardless of what this Eric Faulkner is, however, I know that you, dear child, will be a credit to his name. Let us hope he recognises your worth, if he has not already done so."

Her mother, of course, was delirious with excitement, it mattered not that her son-in-law was a man of trade by birth as well as by profession. It mattered however, that he was rich, and for her daughter's sake, that he was young and quite handsome. He had everything to recommend him and she was quite pleased to accept him. In the end, it was all done with a rapidity and ease that even Elizabeth could not have predicted and within six weeks of gaining her parents' approval, after a previous six weeks of meeting with and being courted by the man, she became a married woman. If her wedding night was not the one she had anticipated, if the man who kissed her and made himself one with her was not the one she had imagined, as the silent tears rolled down her cheeks under the cover of darkness, no one knew but herself.

The present realities of her circumstances struck home sharply as Elizabeth confronted her reflection in the mirror. She gave a deep sigh as she contemplated how complex her life had become. When there was no Fitzwilliam Darcy to be an active part of it, when he was a mere thought, a distant memory, she had been at ease, at least content, if not blissful with happiness. But now he was there, as real as her memories and life suddenly was a whirlwind of tumultuous emotions.

"You were wrong papa; it is I who have not been a credit to his name" she said softly, as she thought of her husband. "I have hurt him, all because I could not find it in my heart to put away another. All because I chose to forget all else in the opportunity to love the man whom I actually do love." Her vision clouded with tears as she remembered how it felt to be finally in the arms of the man who came first within her heart. She loved him because he loved her and once she had started, she could not stop and a perverse side within her chose not to regret it. That night seemed so long ago now, but its effects remained, she thought, as she passed her hand protectively over her belly. She had tried to feel regret for that one night but genuine regret never came as she looked back at what had the dubious distinction of bringing her closer than ever to one man, while distancing herself from the other. That other being her husband. She remembered the evening three weeks ago when he took her to bed. She had fallen asleep in the back garden and had been dreaming of Darcy and when she had awakened in a haze of dream and reality, her husband was standing before her. When he took her by the hand and led her to their rooms, she had gone in silent acquiescence but there had been a riot of conflict building inside her. The proximity of her husband felt too close, too overpowering, as if her very breath were being cut off from inside her and she was struck by an unfamiliar nervousness and a sense of engaging in an act of unfaithfulness which was ludicrous for he was her husband. Try as she would however, she could not seem to control the tenseness that overtook her whole body when she felt his lips about her and his hands on her. The copulating act with him had felt unsavoury and unwelcome as she could not relax and submit herself totally to his will. She could not seem to control the involuntary stiffening of her form as she unconsciously attempted to bar him entry and she was unsure if he knew it. His actions at the time suggested that he did not. His look afterwards suggested that he did. He had not touched her since and for that she was very grateful except that an unspoken dread seemed to have settled in her bosom. Would that she could go back to six weeks before! Before that dreadful ball, before the spectre of Fitzwilliam Darcy had not taken root between them. A spectre that now, since the night before, had become very real to them both.

Her wave of misery was compounded by a wave of nausea as well as dizziness, and she held her arms outstretched to grasp either end of the vanity drawing her head down, letting the coolness of the furniture calm and comfort her. It was not magic to know what was happening, her body was speaking to her in a language that only she understood. At first, when the idea occurred to her, she felt some alarm and anxiety at the possibility that a man, who was not her husband, had spent himself multiple times within her. Then, a little over a week after that fateful night, she bled, but only a small, unusual amount. Her normal courses, by which she could create a calendar, so regular were they, never came. Then recently came the dizziness and her previous alarm turned into a secret joy as she knew and felt with every fiber of her being, that she carried Fitzwilliam Darcy's child. She convinced herself it would all turn out well, she had convinced herself her husband would never know anything but that they would finally have a child to love, a son. Something told her she would have a son, to champion her for the rest of her days.

It had all been a wishful fancy for now, everything was thrown into an uncertain chaos and she knew not what the future held. Even now, Eric did not know that there was a child. What would he think? How would he react? Were the thoughts that occupied her mind over her restless night.

Her husband, she knew, had come up very late. She heard him enter his room and felt a pang of compassion as he quietly went about his business. It was clear that, despite his anger and obvious disappointment, he was trying his best to not disturb her. She heard him curse softly at the sound of something falling. More likely he moved about in the dark. How did it all come to this? She wondered. She cared about this man, she had made a commitment to be his wife, to support and aid him. How could she have failed him so very badly?

During her first year of marriage, she had focused most of her energy to forgetting one man and learning to place all her affections on another and, being also swept away by the thrills of the newly married, she had in fact succeeded to a large extent. Their second year of marriage was a hopeful year for her as, together with her husband, who had declared his idea of relinquishing all that was bachelor about him, including his comfortable rooms on another part of Harley street, they set about to locate a house to let in the fashionable parts of the city. It had been an exciting time, viewing different houses and seeing all that the various squares had to offer, with their adjacent parks and tree lined avenues. A far cry from Cheapside, she sometimes told herself, her eyes bright with animation as she and Eric would enter into hot debates about the merits of this house versus that. Debates that he would sometimes use dubious methods to gain her acquiescence, otherwise known as whisking her off to the bedroom. She could never quite understand however, his antipathy towards the more established areas, where the occupants were members of the nobility and upper gentry, they were also mostly very rich. But they too were rich. For her part, she never felt any unease to move in either circle. But she had, by the end of their second year together, experienced two very separate types of disappointment. Firstly, there was no child and she longed for one. Mainly to add to the joys of experiencing motherhood as she already had, in being an aunt to Jane's then two year old boy. But also, she wanted to fill her days around the care of a child, fearing in her own way to centre her life around her husband and solely around her husband.

Her other disappointment rested around that same man, as his character began to unfold around her. It was a risk, she acknowledged to herself, to have committed herself without fully appreciating the character of the man she had married. It did not help either that, unknown to him, his wife held him up against the ideals of another. Her husband was no simple Lothario, he was a complex man with an almost impossible loathing for the upper classes. The irony of it was that their very existence was channeled into him having relations with those he professed to despise. One the face of it, he would smile and take each implied insult on the cuff but in truth he chafed and it had only been to herself that he had let known his secret feelings, his fears that, no matter how hard he worked, nor how rich he was, he would never be fully accepted in his place in society for not having been born a gentleman. His fingers were too red with trade he once decried. She had tried, in her own way, to shift his perspective and once he had reacted very angrily to her notion that "class distinctions was not something that can be fixed or changed in a lifetime and would it not be best to simply accept that and make the best of life as it stood?"

"You do not understand Elizabeth. Your life has been too sheltered, too naïve, too ignorant of the business of men for you to understand how easily men drag others down claiming such an advantage as a birthright. You have been gentry all your life you know nothing else! The noblesse oblige!" He said with no little disgust "They do nothing and yet reap the rewards of the merchants of this land and then have the boldness to impugn us, call us Cits, disparage our wealth, question our character, our morality, our integrity. All from their lofty perches, which society holds high, never mind that it's been lifted on the stink of their own actions. Where their women change lovers like petticoats and their men leave servants with big bellies. I hate the lot of them and the more harm I can do them by feeding off their vulgar proclivities, the better it is in the long term, because it means that I am breaking them down from the inside. No, you do not understand Elizabeth and perhaps you are too much of the ruling upper classes to actually ever understand."

His inflexible views vexed her and his obsessive drive to undermine the social order irked her beyond mere annoyance, especially when sometimes she would observe him flirting and laughing with the wives of those he railed against. He was her husband however, and she was the gentry wife whom he had, not only desired, but had professed to love as well. So, for the sake of all that she knew he could be, she supported him as best she could, even if he was right in his assumption that, fundamentally, she really could not understand him after all.

After her maid left the room Elizabeth knew she could delay the inevitable no longer. Just as she had heard him come to bed late the night before, she had also heard him leave his chambers early. No doubt he would be at breakfast at his customary early hour. Drawing a breath, she steeled herself for what she knew would come. She must face her husband to know what fate, directed by his hands, was for her. Her courage rose as she strengthened her resolve and went down to breakfast.

He was, as expected, already seated and in the midst of breakfast. She greeted him as she went to the silver samovar at the side table to fill the tea pot with hot water, feeling his eyes on her as she waited, for what felt an eternity, for the small pot to be filled. Her senses were on high alert however, and she heard the soft murmur dismissing the attending servants, then she heard the light scrape of a chair against the marble floor. She tensed as she felt him come to stand next to her, his breath warm at the back of her neck, setting her pores on a raised edge.

His voice broke the silence with ominous calmness "you will not see him again."

"What?" In her confusion, she turned sharply, spilling the tea on her morning dress. Wordlessly, he picked up a napkin from the table and wiped at the wetness at the front of her gown, at her bosom, making her flush in mortification. His touch was not gentle to her sensibilities but disdainful and controlling.

"You will never see him, correspond with him, write to him in any way or message him in any fashion." He punctuated every point with a press of his hand against her body giving her a sense of violation.

"I refuse to carry the title of a cuckolder husband. I will not be made a fool of Elizabeth and I will not suffer you to have any connexion with this man. This Fitzwilliam Darcy. I am warning you this one time, you are my wife, whether you choose to remember that or not. If you have ever cared about me at all, you will sever all ties with this man."

Standing so very close to him was unnerving, his eyes piercing hers like a challenge and she rose to meet it as she replied coldly "I have done nothing further to merit this warning Eric. I have neither seen nor spoken to him since that night." Her expression softened however, as her hand rose to his cheek "It was just that one night Eric. Can you not find it in your heart to forgive me this one transgression? Have I not been a good and faithful wife to you before this?"

He lightly side-stepped her touch and ignored her pleading tone, his next words showing the intense distraction of his mind.

"Do you love him?"

"What?"

"I know you Elizabeth, you would not have given yourself to this man, had you no feelings for him. Do you love him?"

"Why would you ask me this? Of what use can it be to know such a thing?"

"I ask you again Elizabeth, it is a simple question a yes or no answer would clearly suffice. Do. You. Love. Him?"

"Eric, why do you do this? He…he is not a man who was unknown to me. I have known him for some years and there was once a time when we meant much to each other. But of what use is it to rehash old feelings now? Please Eric, cannot we move beyond this?"

He said nothing, only looked a her, until finally, with a sigh of resignation, Elizabeth turned away as she quietly said, "yes". In looking away however, she missed the stricken look that passed over her husband's countenance and when next she looked, he was all coldness and distance.

"I am afraid we will not be able to host your sister Lydia in town this year, because after next Thursday's dinner party, you will have been unexpectedly called to Reginald Park to attend to some matters there. Do you understand me?"

The silence stretched, until she gave a barely perceptible nod in agreement.

"And what of you, will you continue in town?"

"Yes." He offered no other explanation.

"So, I am to be banished to the country then, and I am to stay there until summoned to attend you at your pleasure?"

"Certainly not at any other man's" he said cuttingly. He turned away and she could see that he struggled to contain some great emotion.

"Eric" she said gently, touching his arm which he, with great violence, brushed off.

Without another word he went back to the table and picked up the newsprint that was left there, then made to leave the room but she arrested him. It was now or never she thought to herself, as she plunged headlong into the mire of messy emotions.

"Eric, there is something else, something you should know. I think…I think I am with child."

His body froze mid-stride and then she saw him somewhat convulse and bend over. Her concern overcame whatever anxiousness she had felt for herself as she rushed to assist him, but then she realized he was bent over in a weird contorted sort of laughter.

"Ahhh…ahhh" he groaned loudly in mocking derision. "This is rich! So, I am to raise another man's son as my own! I am to have some ancient family-ed bastard as my heir?"

"We don't know that; it could be our child!" Elizabeth protested.

"Don't we know that Elizabeth? Do not we know that?! How long have we been trying? Almost three years and suddenly you spend a night fucking another man." She winced visibly at his vulgarity as if he had slapped her. "Suddenly you become pregnant and then would have me think that this child would be mine? Do you think you married a court jester or a circus clown? Do you mistake me for some sort of Punch character to be puppeted around to your way of thinking! Of course, it is his child! But you know what, I think I should be grateful to the man! For how else could I have expected to gain an heir? Clearly, I am at fault. I should seek his blessings and tell him how exceedingly grateful I am that he should have tupped my wife so effectively! And I should let him know how well his son would do with my name! Yes, this is a sort of justice after all, that I should rear Fitzwilliam Darcy's son as my own. That I should raise his upper- gentryd son in my own tradesman's image. That would indeed be justice. What do you think my love? Do you think I should let him know about all that he is so clearly lacking in his own life?"

He came towards her and brushed the hair back from her temples. His voice was gentle but there was a new hardness in him that she did not recognize.

"Do you think dearest Elizabeth that I should inform Mr. Darcy about all the things he values so much that would be in my safe-keeping. That my wife will be happily warming my bed while his child will be growing in her belly?" He pulled her against him and ran his hands down her body. "How pleased should he be, do you think, to know that you are mine and would never be his? That whatever is the outcome of your union, will be mine and not his? Because, dearest Elizabeth, know this, I will never be granting you a divorce. You will never leave me, and he shall never have you!"

At this last, a burst of new madness seemed to take possession of him as he grabbed her arm and led her roughly towards the door.

"Eric! No! Where are you taking me?" She pulled at him trying to extricate herself which seemed to only tighten his grip as his fingers welded themselves into her flesh. "You are hurting me!" she cried, tears now beginning to fall. "Eric no! Please stop! Think of what you are doing!"

They had reached the hallway and he released her forward in a very violent move. The butler, who had been standing close by, almost as if he had been awaiting their removal from the breakfast parlour, moved instinctively from his position to catch Elizabeth before she fell, unwilling to step away as she looked towards him, fear written on her face.

"Leave her be!" Eric shouted, at which Thomas the footman emerged with trepidation from another room. In a show of defiance, Percival helped his mistress up as she got hold of the railing of the staircase to steady herself and regain her composure. His move seemed to rouse Faulkner to a new level of anger. "I said leave her be man!" He grabbed hold of Percival and forcefully pushed him aside not seeming to care at all about what he did. Then he grabbed ahold of Elizabeth again, half dragging, half pulling her up the staircase, her pleas for him to stop deaf to his ears. Thomas, breathing hard, had a look of horror on his face as he watched them go up the staircase made a move to follow but he was staid by Percival's hand on his shoulder.

"Thomas, no. Are you insane? You get into the midst of that and what would you do? Beat your master to save your mistress? No son, it is far likely you will do more harm than good by intervening."

"But, he will hurt her!"

"He will not hurt her, at least not to any visible eyes. Mr. Faulkner is many things, but a beater of women is not one of them." He then started visibly at the sound of the master's chambers door being slammed shut. Then, as suddenly as the commotion started, the area below became eerily quiet. Percival looked up again at the master's chambers and then slowly, released a low, long sigh. "Come along Thomas, there is naught much else we can do here." Slowly, reluctantly, they both turned to walk away. Both trying to not think of what was happening in the bedroom upstairs.

"Eric please!" Elizabeth cried but her voice was stopped as he turned from the locked door and, without warning, reached to grab her again and held her hands fast to her side as he pressed his lips against hers. She struggled for release, but his hold only became firmer, pressing her tight against his body as his lips attempted to plunder her own. In her upset Elizabeth head-butted him and he looked down in some bemusement at the blood on his shirtsleeves as he had instinctively wiped the spot on his lips. She scrambled away from him, wild with fear and, grabbing a hairbrush from his dressing table, held it in front of her like a sword.

He scoffed in derision "come now Elizabeth, no need for all this excitement. If I wish to have the pleasure of my wife! I will bloody hell take it. Show me what you did with him. SHOW ME!" He shouted as he slapped the brush from her hand and forcibly pushed her up against the door, pinning her against it. She shut her eyes tight, a sob escaping her as his fingers ranged over her body, touching her most intimate places. A part of her was locked in disbelief. Who was this man? Where was all his accustomed gentleness? This man was not her husband, he was a stranger and the idea gave her a fresh terror as she suddenly felt she could not predict his behaviour. She winced as she felt the scrape of his teeth against her neck while his hand squeezed her breast painfully and all she could seem to do was shut her eyes tighter as the tears flowed silently and fast down her face. She wanted to scream, to bawl. She wanted to claw at him, but all her body seemed capable of doing was to stay rooted to the spot. Roughly she was picked up and tossed onto the bed, her knee connecting painfully against one of the bed posts. His hands were feeling, grabbing about her dress and then suddenly, uttering a curse he ripped it down the middle.

"Eric, no!" Elizabeth found her voice again, but it was a piteous plea as, soon after, he ripped her stays, and then her other undergarments until she lay there weeping, attempting in vain to cover her nakedness.

He passed his hand possessively over her body, forcing her legs apart. "Do not fight me!" He cried and then shouted louder as he loomed his now naked body over hers, pressing his weight onto her as she tried to buck him off her. "Show me what you did with him!" His madness whipped to a frenzy as, without warning, he savagely entered her. The pain to her was almost unbearable and she writhed under him, twisting this way and that, in vain to escape the pounding pressure of his thrusts as well as his invading tongue as his mouth clamped over hers, stopping her cries. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, as she remembered the child within her, she stopped her frantic, fighting motions and froze her body under his, laying numb and lifeless, allowing him to have his way with her.

When he had finished, he rolled away from her immediately and a gloomy, shocked sort of silence settled in the room bereft of sobs and cries with only the slight shaking of the bed as her body trembled uncontrollably.

"Elizabeth…are you...Did I…?" He voice was curiously unsure, uncertain as he reached for her.

"Do not touch me." The coldness of her voice pierced the silence stopped his hand in an instant.

"My love, I am sorry, I do not know what happened…I was overcome." Again, he reached for her.

"Do not touch me." She said again, wincing under the barest touch as he did. He paused and then pulled back, until finally, in a moment of silence, as his eyes scanned her face, he seemed to recall all that drove him to that state and coldly withdrew "as you wish". After which, as it was still barely noon, he got up, dressed himself in an unhurried manner, scarcely acknowledging her presence, and, a short while later, shut the door behind him as he left the room.

As she lay there, naked and abused on her husband's bed, the uncertainty of her future hit Elizabeth with full force, unconsciously she covered her belly with a pillow, pulling another to her face as she succumbed to a fresh bout of new tears. If this was the future that life held for her, how would she ever bear it.