“Yes. Not a hair out of place.” He tugged her curl again and then secured her arm in his. “Shall we, future Lady de Bourgh? Grandmother will be glad to surrender the appellation once more.”
The rest of the evening was a blur. Lady de Bourgh’s excited exclamations mingled with well-wishes from other guests. By the time they returned home, Charlotte was exhausted. Sir Andrew kissed her forehead and bid her goodnight. She fell asleep smiling.
The next day, Elizabeth called for tea and noted the ring on Charlotte’s finger. With very little prodding, Charlotte told all, and Elizabeth squealed excitedly, throwing her arms around her best friend. “I am so very pleased for you, Charlotte!” Elizabeth cried. “And marrying for love, too! I thought you declared that you were not romantic.”
Elizabeth’s wink softened her words, and Charlotte grinned. “One must never be romantic when one’s prospects are as dismal as mine were,” she informed her friend. “Now, I am perfectly free to be as romantic as I please!”
Sir Andrew left to stay in a hotel; Amelia declared it to be most improper for an engaged man to stay beneath the same roof as his betrothed.
With a promise to go to Meryton with settlement papers as soon as possible, Sir Andrew departed. Having waited long enough to find his bride, he wished to be married as soon as possible. Charlotte could hardly wait. Lingering guilt at hergood fortune when her dear friend had made a marriage of practicality prevented her complete happiness, but she put it from her mind, certain that Elizabeth would soon find the same joy that she felt.
Chapter Thirty-Four
June 19, 1812
London
Elizabeth
Charlotte’s engagement breathed new life into Elizabeth. Her profound joy at her friend’s good fortune at having found love pushed Mrs. Darcy to further investigate her husband’s laudable qualities.
The next two weeks were filled with engagements, giving her ample opportunity to do so, and she enjoyed most of them. In between soirees and card parties, Darcy took her to the theater and the museum. Georgiana accompanied them, and they were a happy party. With each passing day, Elizabeth found something else to admire about her husband. He still behaved with commanding carelessness occasionally, but his admirable qualities far outweighed his poorer ones.
On one such outing, they had the displeasure of encountering Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst again. Both fawned over Georgiana and Mr. Darcy while steadily ignoring Elizabeth. She would not have minded, except her husband did nothing to defend her once again. Feeling hurt, she asked him about it late that night when they were alone in their sitting room.
“Why did you leave me to Miss Bingley’s barbs?” she asked. Her evident distress diverted his attention from his book to her, and he closed the volume, setting it aside on the table in front of the settee.
“I do not know what you mean,” he asked, seeming genuinely perplexed.
“They—she and Mrs. Hurst—ignored me completely. When they did refer to me, it was to mention my country manners or imply that I am out of my depth in town. Yet, you said nothing.”
He frowned. “Their words mean little, for they are not true. I saw no need to say anything.”
“Your silence implied your agreement with what they say.” Elizabeth struggled to speak patiently. “Surely, you see it!”
“I do not.” He fell silent, and Elizabeth did not speak. She could see that he seriously considered his words. His gaze was far away as he stared at the rug in front of him.
Finally, he spoke. “You say that when I say nothing in protest, Miss Bingley believes I am of an accord with her. I have never considered it to be so; I openly agree when I am of the same opinion and keep silent when I am not. My father taught me that confrontation and contention do not produce fruitful results, and so I have sought to avoid both. Does this idea extend to other situations? How many have considered my thoughts aligned with their own in similar circumstances?”
Elizabeth watched him, amazed that he had never seen it. “You are not blind to social niceties, though I believe I can comprehend where you erred. You once said you cannot catchthe tone of conversation, nor express interest in concerns, with those you associate with. It is possible that this deficiency—pardon my calling it such—also extends to this…problem.”
“How am I to learn?” He seemed rather perplexed, and Elizabeth smiled.
“Practice, my dear husband,” she replied, tapping his hand with her finger to emphasize her point. “Ladies are taught to sling subtle barbs and insults when socializing. It is a fine art, and one that I abhor. A good place to begin would be to counter comments about me with genuine compliments.”
“Has this happened more than on just this occasion?” His genuine supplication and distress on her behalf warmed her heart.
“Yes,” she replied honestly. “And I was hurt when you did not defend me.”
He closed his eyes, concentrating. “Mrs. Timmons,” he said, opening them. “I knew she probed for information, but I could not comprehend her meaning.”
“She implied that I had entrapped you.” Elizabeth smiled at the memory now; it had lost its sting weeks ago.
He frowned again. “You were not there.”
“I was. You were looking for me, and I had taken a seat near a window. That conversation was but ten feet away.”
He turned and looked at her, taking her hand in his and holding it in his lap. “Forgive me for not seeing the insult and mitigating it.”
