Lydia and Kitty proved no less troublesome. Their animated discussions of eligible gentlemen they hoped to encounter at Matlock carried to neighbouring tables at every meal. They speculated loudly about which officers might be stationed nearby, whether the Earl’s household included any unmarried sons beyond Darcy’s cousins, and what sort of entertainments might be arranged during their stay.
“I do hope there will be dancing,” Lydia declared at one coaching inn, her voice ringing enthusiastically. “Lizzy’s marriage has put us all in the way of meeting gentlemen of consequence. We must make the most of such opportunities!”
These drew more stares and whispers. Darcy focused on his meal and said nothing.
Elizabeth said nothing either, although her knuckles had gone white where she gripped her fork.
Watching her endure her family’s thoughtless indiscretions whilst maintaining dignity stirred something close to protective fury within him. But what could he do? Rebuking Mrs Bennet would mortify Elizabeth further. Silencing Lydia and Kitty would only earn their resentment and mark him as an overbearing husband.
The only respite came from Jane and Mary, who at least demonstrated some awareness of appropriate public conduct. And from Mr Bennet, who remained pleasantly absorbed inwhatever book he had brought for the journey, offering only the occasional dry observation when directly addressed.
At each stop, Darcy made his way to Elizabeth, offering his hand to help her descend from the carriage. He asked after her comfort and ensured she wanted for nothing.
She accepted his attentions with unfailing courtesy, thanking him appropriately and responding to his enquiries with answers that revealed nothing of substance.
Polite words delivered in a pleasant tone, accompanied by smiles that never reached her eyes. She might have been addressing a helpful stranger rather than the man to whom she was bound for life.
Distraction came in the form of letters forwarded to the various inns by his steward at Pemberley, amongst others. At the second posting inn, a letter from Bingley had awaited him—filled with effusive congratulations, three pages of genuine delight, and a single question so blunt it took Darcy by surprise.Are you contented?Darcy had folded it away unfinished. He lacked the equanimity required to respond.
After a few days of travel, Elizabeth’s pattern made one thing clear. She was maintaining distance deliberately. She was too well-bred for rudeness, but maintained a reserve that permitted interaction whilst preventing intimacy.
Darcy recognised the strategy because he had employed it himself countless times. The art of being present whilst remaining fundamentally inaccessible. Of fulfilling social obligations without surrendering anything personal. He hadperfected this dance during years navigating London society, deflecting unwanted attentions.
Now his own wife wielded the same techniques against him, and he had no notion how to counter them.
Perhaps this was her way of protecting herself from a marriage she did not choose freely. If so, then it was best to leave her be. He would not counter her defences at all. Attempting to breach them would only rouse suspicion that he intended to diminish and transform her into some pale echo of the vibrant woman she had been.
Many marriages functioned on the basis of maintained distance. His aunt and uncle’s union was by all accounts a love match, yet they still maintained distinct lives. Lady Matlock had her charitable work and correspondence, Lord Matlock his estate management and political interests, and they seemed perfectly content with this arrangement.
That could be his fate with Elizabeth. Or worse, a lifetime of affection that never deepened beyond cordial regard.
If given the opportunity, he would opt for the former. Why did this bother him so?
He had never imagined a marriage of great passion. He’d expected, at best, a comfortable partnership with someone of suitable background and compatible temperament. Why should Elizabeth’s determined reserve disturb him when it merely represented the reality of most genteel unions?
Yet it did disturb him. The Elizabeth he had met at that garden party was quick-witted and animated by true feelingrather than mere performance. That woman seemed to have vanished and in her place remained this individual who seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length.
He had told himself, during those agonising deliberations in Ireland, that respect and compatibility formed sufficient foundation for marriage. That affection might develop with proximity and shared experience. Now he began to wonder whether he had been absurdly optimistic. How could affection develop when one party refused to lower her guard?
Yet was he not refusing in equal measure? Darcy examined this uncomfortable thought as the miles rolled past. He offered assistance but not vulnerability. And he hadn’t particularly gone out of his way to grant her a closer glimpse into his inner life.
Small wonder she treated him with the same courtesy one might extend to any polite acquaintance. He had given her no reason to do otherwise.
As Matlock drew nearer, Darcy’s thoughts turned increasingly towards what awaited them. His family would be assembling judgment even before the carriages halted. Lady Catherine would sniff disapproval at his hasty marriage to an unknown gentleman’s daughter and make cutting observations about Elizabeth’s family and connections.
His uncle would assess Elizabeth with the calculating eye of one accustomed to evaluating social advantage, although his assessment would be tempered by kindness. His aunt would be kind, seeking evidence of his wife’s suitability while hoping for the best.
And Georgiana. What would she make of all this? His sister deserved better than to be presented with a sudden sister-in-law acquired through circumstances bordering on farcical. She would be polite, naturally, but she would also be bewildered and possibly hurt that he had not confided in her before taking so momentous a step.
He owed them all explanations beyond the hasty letter he’d sent off while in Ireland. However, explaining would require admitting that somewhere between their first conversation and the hasty ceremony, he had ceased viewing marriage to Elizabeth as an obligation and begun seeing it as a possibility.
She had captivated him in ways he had not anticipated. And given certain circumstances, such as time for proper courtship, he might have chosen her freely.
And he was not prepared to expose that particular vulnerability to his family’s examination. Nor, evidently, to Elizabeth herself, who gave no indication of welcoming such a confession.
The final inn before their arrival at Matlock loomed ahead. This stop proceeded much as the others. Mrs Bennet’s loud pronouncements drew attention, Lydia and Kitty’s unseemly enthusiasm marked them as provincial.
“We shall reach Matlock by afternoon tomorrow,” he informed Elizabeth as they stood in the inn yard whilst ostlers saw to the horses. “I should prepare you. My family will naturally be curious about our marriage. They may ask questions that feel intrusive.”
