Suddenly kissing him seemed like a very good idea. I was not sure what constituted preface, but I felt kissing must be part of it. Standing up upon the tips of my toes, I pulled his lips down to meet mine. He tensed then pushed me away—gently—but it was still a push. A rejection. Now my cheeks flamed.
"Elizabeth—."
But I would never find out what he had intended to say because my stomach chose that moment to twist painfully. I raced behind my dressing screen and retched into the chamberpot hidden there. Much to my mortification, Mr. Darcy followed me. He knelt beside me, stroking my back comfortingly as I finished casting up my accounts.
"Oh God, what you must think of me," I said, still leaning over the chamber pot. There could be nothing else in my stomach to heave, but I did not wish to rise. I did not wish to face him.
Mr. Darcy made no comment, instead he assisted me to my feet. Once we were both standing he gingerly dabbed my chin with a handkerchief (where in heavens had the man stowed a handkerchief?) whilst I made my embarrassment complete by bursting into tears.
"I've made a fool of myself again," I cried, "Now you will think I am one of those pathetic females who is always having vapors and sniveling."
Without reply, he led me from the dressing room to the bedchamber. He pulled back the counterpane and nudged me into bed. When I was situated to his satisfaction he turned and left, exiting by way of the adjoining door.
His abrupt departure was so well aligned with my understanding of him I was surprised when he returned carrying a glass of water.
"Drink," he commanded.
I took a sip.
"All of it."
Grateful as I was to him for . . . well, everything, my gratitude did not prevent me from casting a glare at him for his overbearing tone. I did, however, continue to drink as my throat was rather raw and the water soothing.
"Goodnight, Elizabeth," he said when I handed him back the empty glass.
"Goodnight," I whispered. I knew I should say more. I should at least thank him, but I was barely holding back tears and I did not want to risk bawling in front of him again.
He stepped away as if to leave, but then halted.
"It is not easy for me," he said.
"Polite conversation," he explained, anticipating my question. "If all participants keep to the expected script I can manage, but the practice itself seems absurd to me. I find social interaction in general to be exhausting and sometimes, after I have been forced to attend to a great many trivial conversations with a great many people not well known to me. . . ." he trailed off as if he did not know how to further explain.
"You do not wish to converse," I provided.
He nodded and then he turned to leave.
"Darcy!"
Pausing at the door, he glanced back at me.
"Thank you," I said. I was thanking him for explaining his taciturnity, for putting me to bed—I could only hope he understood for I had not the words to express it all at that moment.
He smiled. A tight half-smile, not quite a true smile, but a smile all the same. Then he stepped through the adjoining entryway and closed the door.
Four
4thDecember, 1811
Morning
I have lost my husband.
Presumably he will return, though if after last night he has decided to mislay himself I could hardly blame him. The thought of having such a wife could drive anyone to desertion. He left before taking his breakfast and without taking any traveling trunks or baggage of any kind (and yes, I did interview his valet concerning this subject) so I can assume he will return before the day is over as he does not seem the type to go above a day without a clean change of clothes.
I wanted to apologize for my abominable behavior last night (the attempted kiss—the vomiting, oh I still cringe to think of it) but it seems my apology will have to wait. I do hope he returns soon. I am determined to show him how proper I can truly be.
I have lost my sister-in-law as well, but I am not so terribly worried about that.
