Elizabeth was still agreeable. She said the correct words and did the right actions, but her manner seemed changed. Her voice was not quick, there was no tenderness in her look. It was all correct, and yet everything about her manner felt wrong.
Would she be happier in Hertfordshire with her family than here with him?
Darcy put down his coffee cup with more force than necessary. “Elizabeth, did we not agree to be friends?” he asked in a rush.
Her pretty mouth fell open. “Of course.”
“And friends must trust one another enough to be honest with each other, yes? To say anything, admit anything, even if it hurts?”
She sputtered for a moment before saying, “I do not understand you.”
He knew her well enough to see the tightening around her eyes, thesmall tug of the corner of her mouth. She was displeased. “You have been unhappy with me since I came back?—”
“Withyou?” she cried.
This gave him pause. She did not deny being unhappy, but she was surprised he suggested she was disappointed with him. “Yes, with me.”
“I am perfectly happy with you,” she said, leaning toward him across the table, “and we are friends. The dearest of friends.”
“Then why do you not talk with me as you did before? You spoke more with me when we argued in Ramsgate as near-strangers than you do now.”
“Would you like me to argue with you?” she asked in wide-eyed surprise.
He would prefer that to the distance between them. “No. Instead, you can tell me why do you not eat. Why do you look like you have not slept in days?”
Somehow, more colour leached from her face. “I have been only a little unwell this week. I promise I am not unhappy with you.”
He thought she meant it that she was not displeased with him, but it still felt like she was deceiving him. Were his feelings incorrect, or was something wrong?
“You say you are not unhappy with me, with being married to me, that nothing has changed since I left?” She nodded. “But will you not tell me what is actually wrong?”
“Darcy, nothing is wrong,” she said in a high pitch.
He threw her a sceptical look, then came round the table and held out a hand to help Elizabeth to her feet. He waited and met her eye as she stood, then dropped her hand and put both of his on her waist before waiting again to watch her reaction. She did not pull away, but did not embrace him either. Two weeks ago, she would have at least hugged him.
Darcy bent his head, keeping a watchful eye on her face before he pressed his lips to hers. She kept her arms at her sides while he kissed her softly. It was neither cold nor warm. She did not kiss him back, and neither did she stop him. She quietly endured his kiss, and it was a shadow of other times she had embraced him.
He pulled back sharply, staring hard into her eyes. “I can feel the distance between us.”
She did not deny it, but said nothing.
“Something has happened between the morning I left for Pemberley and the evening I returned. You assure me I have done nothing to displease you?—”
“You have not!”
“Then what am I to surmise, madam? My wife avoids my conversation and affection and does not explain why. You scarcely eat and your mind is elsewhere. Either I have displeased you and you will not admit it, or something else has distressed you and you will not admit. Regardless, you keep the truth from me.”
He left from the room, and Elizabeth did not call after him to stay.
He had entered his marriage reluctantly, having only an attraction and grudging respect for her, but since they married, he had thought it possible love would come with time. His feelings had come upon him rather suddenly, but they were genuine. But Elizabeth had not shown him a sliver of the warmth or even the confidence she did two weeks ago.
Since he returned, love between them felt impossible.
Elizabeth’s stomachheaved as she took out the cash box in Darcy’s library. She felt like a thief, but being a liar who got herself entangled with an extortionist felt more shameful. The consequences of the truth coming out terrified her. She had given money to Georgiana in defiance of Darcy’s better knowledge and their agreement not to. She had let her into the house where she could steal. She had allowed Wickham to extort her.
And she then omitted to tell Darcy the truth every time he asked what was wrong. That was worse, surely that was worse than all the rest.
Darcy was so honest, so upright, and he would hate her for all of it, but especially that. And now she was taking so much money from their household expenses, but how else could she get another twenty-five pounds? She would borrow from no one. Adding debt to Darcy’sname would do him further injury when all she wanted was to protect him.
