“Are you certain you are well?”
“Quite well. Thank you for your concern.”
Georgiana withdrew reluctantly, glancing back once before disappearing down the corridor. Elizabeth remained motionless in the hallway, staring at the closed door that concealed the room she would share with Fitzwilliam.
All of a sudden she felt very faint.
Chapter Eleven
Darcy
“Ishall sleep elsewhere.”
The words were blurted out before Darcy had fully considered their delivery. He stood in the middle of what was meant to be their shared bedchamber, hands clasped behind his back.
Elizabeth went very still at his pronouncement.
“There are guest chambers aplenty,” he continued. “I will have my belongings moved. I would not wish to impose upon you when we are both still adjusting to circumstances.”
One could have heard a needle drop, so quiet was the room. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a distinct quality of what he identified as apprehension.
“Your family will notice.”
He turned to face her properly. “I beg your pardon?”
“If we occupy separate chambers, your aunt and uncle will observe it. They will believe we are at odds.” She faltered, colour rising in her cheeks. “It will reflect poorly. On me, particularly.”
“Their opinions are inconsequential.”
“Are they?” Elizabeth met his gaze directly now, and he saw a plea for understanding there. “I am already the unknown brideacquired through irregular circumstances. If we cannot even share rooms as married couples are meant to do, what will they conclude?”
“No one would presume that.”
“Everyone would presume precisely that. A marriage so hastily contracted, a wife so wholly unsuited to your station…separate chambers would be interpreted as proof that you regret the alliance. And I will be the one judged wanting.”
The beginnings of a megrim sprang up behind his eyes. The conversation had veered far from his intended course. He had meant to offer her comfort and relieve the obvious distress her realisation about shared chambers had caused. Instead, he seemed to be causing fresh anxiety.
“I assure you, my purpose is merely to afford you comfort. There is no other expectation or demand.” The words felt inadequate, unable to convey the complicated tangle of consideration and his own uncomfortable awareness of her proximity. “We have both been thrust into this situation with insufficient time to accustom ourselves. I thought perhaps—”
“I know what you thought. And I appreciate the consideration. But I cannot accept separate chambers. Whatever my personal apprehensions, we must present a united front.”
He wanted to argue that her comfort mattered more than appearances. His family could form whatever opinions they wished; he cared nothing for their judgment. But the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her fingers continued worrying at her gown, suggested an objection he would not win.
“Very well,” he conceded. “If you prefer it thus.”
“I do not prefer it. But it is necessary.”
Another silence, this one heavier than the last. Darcy searched for words that might ease the awkwardness, might bridge the chasm that seemed to widen with each exchange. Before he located such words, Elizabeth spoke again.
“What should I wear this evening?”
The abrupt topic shift caught him off guard. “I beg your pardon?”
“To dinner. I have not met Lady Catherine. I do not know what manner of formality your family expects.” She gestured helplessly towards the wardrobe where her modest collection of gowns presumably resided. “I do not wish to appear inappropriate or provincial.”
“You will look beautiful whatever you choose.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and mortification swept over him. Too intimate. She had just made clear her discomfort with their forced proximity, and now he had compounded it with unwanted familiarity.
