“Yours shall improve as well,” Wilhelmina assured her. “You and Mr Darcy need time to discover each other properly. The foundation of respect and shared values already exists. The rest will follow.”
Easy to say and harder to believe. But Elizabeth appreciated the effort nonetheless.
When Wilhelmina finally departed, embracing Elizabeth with fierce affection and whispering wishes for happiness, Elizabeth was left alone with the silence and her tangled mind.
She crossed to the window, gazing out at the darkened gardens. Tomorrow she would leave Ireland as a married woman, bound for a great house full of people who would likely judge, assess and find her wanting in a thousand subtle ways. She would meet Fitzwilliam’s sister, his formidable aunt and uncle, and navigate their expectations while still fumbling to understand her own husband.
And through it all, she would smile and nod and play the part of the contented bride, because what alternative existed?
Happiness. That was what everyone wished for her: Wilhelmina, Jane, even Fitzwilliam himself, in his own reserved way. They all wanted her to be happy.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and allowed herself a moment of brutal honesty.
Happiness seemed a distant prospect. Survival felt more immediately relevant.
Perhaps, with time and the grace Wilhelmina believed possible, they might build something tolerable from this hasty union. And affection would develop where now existed only wary courtesy.
Hopefully, she would learn to voice her concerns before they calcified into resentment. And Fitzwilliam would prove willing to hear her when she finally gathered courage to speak.
But tonight, on the eve of her departure from everything familiar, she could not summon optimism. Tonight, she could only acknowledge the truth of her situation and steel herself to face whatever came next.
The gardens below remained dark and still, offering no answers. Elizabeth straightened, squaring her shoulders.
She was Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy now, for better or worse.
Time would reveal which it would prove to be.
Chapter Nine
Darcy
Thank you, but I believe I shall ride with my family. There are matters I must attend to before we all depart tomorrow.
Her words echoed in his mind as the carriage rumbled on. It was a sensible point, but also unusual given that she was now his wife and might reasonably be expected to prefer his company to that of her relations.
He shifted against the leather seat, watching the countryside blur past the window. She sought familiarity, that was all. The comfort of her sisters’ chatter and her mother’s familiar complaints. One could hardly fault her for desiring such solace amidst so much upheaval.
She had married a stranger, after all. Was it any wonder she clung to what remained constant?
Still. The sting lingered.
He had hoped that their marriage might begin with at least a semblance of partnership. That they might face this journey together. Instead, his wife had retreated into the safety of her family circle, leaving him to travel in isolation whilst she laughed, conversed and existed in a space he could not occupy.
Stop being maudlin,he chided himself.Give her time. She will adjust.
The journey progressed in stages marked by inn stops and fresh horses. At each halt, Darcy descended from his carriage to ensure the Bennet party required nothing, offering assistance and performing the duties expected of a husband and son-in-law.
Mrs Bennet received his attentions with effusive gratitude. She spoke constantly of Matlock, of the Earl’s consequence and how advantageous the connection would prove for her other daughters. At one particularly unfortunate inn, her voice pitched to ensure the entire world appreciated her good fortune.
“Approaching ten thousand a year, I believe! Though some say it is closer to twelve. And Elizabeth is now mistress of Pemberley, such a grand estate! I have heard it rivals Chatsworth in magnificence.”
A merchant near the fire smirked and two young gentlemen exchanged knowing glances. Even the innkeeper’s expression held a quality Darcy found distinctly uncomfortable.
Elizabeth’s face had gone pale, then flushed crimson. She stared fixedly at her teacup as Mrs Bennet continued her oblivious enumeration of the family’s good fortune.
Darcy had considered intervening and firmly requesting that Mrs Bennet moderate her volume and discretion. Yet what possible words could achieve this without causing offence? Without humiliating Elizabeth before her own mother and creating precisely the sort of family discord that would make their already tenuous situation intolerable?
So he remained silent, enduring the mortification and mentally cataloguing this as yet another reason why long visits with his new in-laws would require deliberate management.
