“I understand. I shall endeavour to answer appropriately.”
“Elizabeth.”
“Yes, Mr Darcy?”
Mr Darcy. Not Fitzwilliam. They were married, and she addressed him with the formality of bare acquaintance. The distance embodied in that formal address made more of a statement than any overt hostility could have managed.
He wanted to question what had occurred to create this distance. He wished the real Elizabeth, the lively, sharp-tongued woman who had captivated him at that first meeting, would reemerge from behind this wall of courtesy.
Instead, he said, “Nothing. I merely wished to ensure you were comfortable with our arrival plans.”
“Quite comfortable. Thank you for your consideration.”
She curtseyed, the gesture correct and impersonal, then turned to rejoin her sisters.
He watched her go, frustration warring with reluctant understanding.
This could not continue indefinitely. They could not build any sort of life together if she refused to meet him even halfway. Yet forcing the issue would only drive her further into retreat. He had seen enough of her character to recognise that pressure would produce resistance, not surrender.
So what remained? Give her space, he supposed. More time to adjust to the reality of their union. He nursed the hopethat proximity at Matlock might gradually erode the barriers she had erected.
It was a strategy requiring more forbearance than he currently felt capable of mustering. But what alternative existed? He could not force trust. He could only wait and try not to compound her unease through his own impatience.
It was the only kindness he could offer her now.
Later, lying awake in his solitary room whilst his wife presumably slept in quarters shared with her sisters, Darcy stared at the ceiling and confronted the truth he had been avoiding.
He cared what Elizabeth thought of him and whether she viewed their marriage with resignation or acceptance.
This was not what he had bargained for when he agreed to wed her. He had anticipated awkwardness, certainly. Initial discomfort as they navigated unfamiliar territory. But he had also envisioned gradual closeness, the slow building of what would become affection.
Elizabeth seemed committed to preventing precisely that development.
Very well. If she required distance, he would provide it. There would be no hovering or pressing for a connection she did not desire. He’d let her come to terms with what their marriage could be, rather than forcing her to confront his expectations of what it might become.
There was a chance that, given time and patience, she might come to see that he meant her no harm and their marriage need not be the prison she feared.
He closed his eyes and willed sleep to claim him, knowing it would not come easily. Too much remained unresolved.
How did one bridge a chasm when the other party seemed committed to its preservation?
He had no answer. Only the grim determination to endure whatever came next with as much dignity as circumstances permitted.
Dawn would bring Matlock, his family, and whatever trials awaited. For now, he could only lie in darkness and acknowledge that marriage was proving considerably more complicated than even his most pessimistic projections had suggested.
Chapter Ten
Elizabeth
Matlock House rose ahead, its grey stone catching afternoon light.
Windows multiplied beyond counting, wings extending in both directions from a central block that spoke of generations of wealth and consequence. The approach drive had wound through parkland so artfully arranged it appeared natural, a deception requiring considerable expense and expertise to achieve.
Elizabeth pressed her palm flat against the carriage window, the glass cool beneath her fingers. Beside her, Lydia bounced with excitement while Kitty leant forward for a better view. Their mother had already begun cataloguing observations aloud, her voice carrying the particular quality it acquired when she wished the entire world to appreciate her good fortune.
“Such grandeur! And to think our Lizzy is now mistress of an even finer estate. Yet, I am certain Matlock is very impressive in its own right. The Earl must be immensely wealthy...”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, the house remained precisely as imposing.
