“That is, I merely meant—you need not concern yourself overly with—” He was making it worse. “I shall dress elsewhere. In my cousin’s chambers, perhaps. That should afford you privacy for your preparations.”
He fled. There was no other dignified term for his hasty departure. He left the room at a fast pace, closing the door more firmly than strictly necessary.
In the corridor, he paused to collect himself. His heart hammered with a loud intensity. She had asked a practical question about attire, and he had responded like some callow youth composing bad poetry. Beautiful. What possessed him to use such a word?
But it was accurate. She was beautiful, perhaps not in the conventional manner that drew notice at balls and assemblies, but in a more subtle way that revealed itself through expression and animation. When she spoke to him, when indignation or amusement flickered over her face, she became quite striking indeed.
None of which he should be thinking about whilst she prepared for dinner in distressed solitude.
Darcy located Arthur’s chambers and explained his need for temporary use of the space. His cousin raised an eyebrow but refrained from questions, merely directing him towards the dressing area where Thom could assist.
As he changed into his evening outfit, Darcy’s thoughts circled relentlessly around Elizabeth’s anxieties. She feared his family’s judgment. She was worried about appearing inadequate before relations who might have reason to view her with suspicion. He had not fully considered how these expectations would weigh upon her.
At Pemberley, matters might improve. There she would be mistress, beyond the immediate scrutiny of aunts and uncles.She could establish her own household rhythms and make decisions without constantly second-guessing whether they met aristocratic standards.
But would she even wish to go to Pemberley?
From the look of things, she had not yet accepted the permanence of their union. Perhaps she harboured hopes of dissolving the marriage once sufficient time had passed, once the scandal might be weathered with less damage than an immediate separation would cause.
He hoped that was not the case.
He had entered this marriage viewing it as a path to blissful possibility. For a while, he’d begun to imagine a future where they might build a pleasant bond. But Elizabeth viewed it as a burden to be endured rather than a foundation to be developed.
Even her insistence on shared chambers arose not from any desire for his company, but from dread of his relations’ disapproval.
This was also what he had feared when he resolved to give her space. That distance would calcify into permanent separation, and they would become one of those couples who inhabited the same house whilst living essentially separate lives.
Yet what alternative existed? Press for intimacy she did not desire? Demand she pretend affection where none existed? That path led only to resentment and misery.
No. He must continue as planned. Give her time and demonstrate through patience and consideration that he meant her no harm.
Even if it hurt to know she was sharing chambers only because refusing would displease his relations.
Thom finished with his waistcoat, standing back to assess his work with a critical eye. “Will that do, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He glanced at his reflection, the image of a gentleman heading to dinner. Nothing in his appearance suggested the turmoil beneath.
He made his way downstairs where voices indicated the others had already gathered. The drawing room doors stood open, revealing his family arranged in their customary positions. There, seated beside Georgiana, was Lady Catherine.
Splendid. The evening promised to be delightful.
Lady Catherine rose as he entered, her expression conveying her displeasure. “Darcy. I understand congratulations are in order. Naturally, I am astonished that you would contract such an alliance without consulting us first.”
“Good evening, Aunt. I hope your journey was comfortable.”
“Do not deflect, Fitzwilliam. You have married a woman of whom we know nothing, under circumstances that can only be described as precipitous.” She drew herself up to her full, considerable height. “I demand an explanation.”
“I shall be happy to provide one. After dinner, perhaps, when we might speak privately.”
“After?” Lady Catherine sputtered, spots of angry red appearing high on her cheekbones. “This matter cannot wait!”
“Good evening, Mr Darcy!” Mrs Bennet’s voice cut loudly across his aunt’s objection. Elizabeth’s mother had entered with the rest of the Bennets, and she advanced upon him with great enthusiasm. “And Lady Catherine, what an honour to make your acquaintance! I have heard so much about you. Such consequence, such connections! Elizabeth is truly fortunate to have married into such an illustrious family.”
Lady Catherine’s expression suggested she had just encountered something unpleasant on the sole of her shoe. “Indeed.”
The single word dripped with disdain so profound it should have been impossible to misinterpret. Yet Mrs Bennet either failed to notice or deliberately chose to ignore the insult, pressing forward with the sort of determined cheerfulness that recognised no obstacle.
“And this magnificent estate! Why, I was just saying to my daughters, was I not girls, that Matlock quite rivals anything we might see in Hertfordshire. Though naturally Pemberley must be even finer, and Elizabeth will be mistress there. Such an excellent arrangement!”
