“She does,” she admitted, her voice breathless.
“If you are concerned about having to convince everyone we married for affection, we can ignore Fitzwilliam’s advice and go to town next year.”
He mistook her trembling tone. What would Darcy think if he knew what a state she was in to see him in such an amiable light? He had never once mentioned wanting to have any affection for her, but now she wondered if it was possible. “You mistake me. I am just reluctant to get into a carriage again so soon.”
Darcy laughed. Its charming sound caught her by surprise. “My carriage will be more comfortable than the post-chaise from Scotland. We can take our time. And no mail coach,” he added.
“Never again,” she said unequivocally.
“We can stay in town for two months and then visit your family for Christmas.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. “You would go to Longbourn for a month?”
This time, he did not hide his feelings. He shrugged and sighed. “I would spend Christmas with my wife, and she will probably be sick to death of whispers about Georgiana and town talk about her. I will be tired of proving that my family name is not in disgrace. And we owe your parents a wedding visit after I allegedly stole you from your friends to elope.”
“I will not make you out to be the villain when you meet my father.” Elizabeth was tempted to put her arms around him and thank him for his forbearance, but she was uncertain how he would react. Instead, she told him to find Colonel Fitzwilliam and tell him they would go up to town.
At least if she went to London to face her severest critics, Darcy would not be one of them.
Darcy had only ever beenon the visiting side of a civil wedding call. He made formal calls on newly married friends to meet their brides and be welcomed into the couple’s new social circle. It was a fifteen-minute politeness, all the correct things said and done, and then interactions with his friend proceeded as always but with the addition of the new wife to his acquaintance. His invitations were addressed to both and their invitations came from the lady rather than the friend.
But since coming to town, Darcy was now on the groom’s side of this social custom, and it repeated itself all afternoon, every afternoon, for five days in a row. He was sick of enduring the same chat day in and day out. It seemed like every person he had ever left a card for or touched his hat to paraded into his drawing room for a look at the new Mrs Darcy.
For the next two months, he and Elizabeth would have to return these visits and invitations. He must attend so many dinners and shemust open so many balls. He could only hope the incessant questioning would end long before then.
To her credit, she had remained cheerful and polite throughout every investigation into her person, her family, her accomplishments, and her character. She remembered that, although she had answered the same question a dozen times, the person asking had only ever asked her once.
Darcy considered printing the answers on a card to hand out when people entered the room. She was twenty, had four sisters, her father had two thousand a year, she could neither draw nor ride, she could sing and play, she had no fortune, she had uncles in trade, she did not winter in town, she found Pemberley delightful.
He saw in her eyes that her patience was tried only when guests asked about Georgiana’s elopement with a scoundrel. Although she remained calm, they were now enduring a visit that he feared would never end. His friend Bingley had called to wish him well, but he had brought his sisters with him, and they did not have their brother’s liberal heart.
“I can, of course, see why Mr Darcy would appeal to you,” said Miss Bingley to Elizabeth with a fawning smile in his direction, “but it is a shame that Miss Darcy threw herself away on such a man as George Wickham. What an indignity!”
“It is not what we wanted for her,” Elizabeth agreed.
“It is no surpriseheturned out how he did, considering his descent, but her choice was a shock to us all.” She gave Elizabeth a long look. “Although Mr Darcy’s sudden alliance was also a surprise.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “I thought Mr Wickham was the son of the late Mr Darcy’s steward?”
Miss Bingley shared a knowing look with her sister. “Mr Darcy’s marriage shocked his closest friends, such as myself, but at least you are the daughter of a gentleman. And I daresay Mr Darcy must have found you rather pretty to have thrown—to have taken you as a wife. But Mrs Wickham’s marriage has lowered herself incredibly. I would not acknowledge her on the street with such a husband. No one will.”
“I agree there are many crimes to lie at Mr Wickham’s feet, but not being the son of a steward.”
“Mrs Darcy,” Miss Bingley cried. “You have not moved in such circles as mine and Mr Darcy’s. I assure you, George Wickham’s descent is a crime.”
Darcy was leaning against the mantelpiece with Bingley and shared a look with Elizabeth. Wickham’s crimes were vices that tended along the lines of engaging prostitutes, seducing innocent women, knowingly spreading disease, stumbling drunk in the street, and borrowing money he knew he would never repay.
“Have you known Mr Darcy for a long time?” Elizabeth asked. He heard this question often. It was her way of shifting attention from her perceived faults to learn how close the guest was to him.
“Far longer than you,” Miss Bingley said. “I know your husband quite well. Of course, in time you will know him as I do. Charles has been friends with him for two years, and I met him not long after their friendship was formed.”
What a contrast to how Bingley had entered the room. His friend had congratulated him, shook his hand, made no mention of Georgiana, and asked a few questions of Elizabeth after wishing her very happy. His was one of the most civil greetings he had this week. All of his friends were polite, of course. But at one point most had taken him aside to mutter something about Georgiana’s imprudent marriage, or to ask him if he had lost his senses to marry such a woman a week after meeting her.
She is pretty—but. She is amiable—but. She is witty—but. Too poor, too unconnected, too unsophisticated for town.
They would come around as she became generally approved of and did nothing outrageous. He would appear to be happy with her and give people no reason to talk. But someone was sure to ask him at some point if he actually was happy.
So what would his answer be? He was content and reconciled. He was fortunate Elizabeth had warmth and intelligence. He thought he could be happy. But unless his wife had the same hopeful confidence for their life together, how deep could his happiness truly be?
