“Your family was perfectly cordial. They were kind. All of them, barring Lady Catherine, whose disapproval was at least expressed rather than hidden beneath false courtesy. And what did they receive in return? Every word from our side of the table confirming their worst assumptions about the family into which you have allied yourself.”
“In actuality, I was more upset at myself for bringing you into a situation where you would face any extra scrutiny.”
She stared at him, her prepared arguments dissolving in the face of his unexpected respect. He was not furious at her family, as she had assumed. “You were not repelled by them?”
Fitzwilliam paused momentarily. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. “Your mother is effusive. Her enthusiasm exceeds what my family considers appropriate for mixed company. Your younger sisters lack the reserve that formal occasions demand. But repelled? No. That is not what I felt.”
“Then what did you feel?”
He moved towards a chair sinking into it with the heaviness of exhaustion that suggested the evening had cost him as much as it had cost her.
“Helplessness. The grinding awareness that every moment I said nothing, you suffered, and I could offer no remedy without making matters worse. Every intervention I considered,be it with your mother, sister or Lady Catherine, would have increased rather than decreased your mortification.”
Elizabeth’s legs felt suddenly unsteady as her mind worked to reconcile this new understanding with her earlier certainty. “I felt that you were ashamed of us. And of me, by extension.”
“Never of you.” The conviction in his voice left no room for doubt. “You have nothing for which to be ashamed.”
“Thank you for saying that,” she said, pleased by the compliment. “My family’s manners may differ from what you’ve known, but beneath it all lies true worth. My mother’s enthusiasm extends from maternal devotion rather than mercenary calculation. My sisters’ lack of polish reflects insufficient guidance rather than a fundamental deficiency. They are also kind. Deeply kind in ways that matter more than polished manners.”
“That indeed appears to be the case.”
“I am not asking you to embrace their manner of being. But I need you to understand they are more than their surface flaws. They embarrass me sometimes, certainly. Yet I would not trade them for all the polished aristocrats in England.”
“I understand, Elizabeth. I apologise for allowing you to believe I judged them, and by extension you, with contempt rather than concern.”
Fitzwilliam had offered explanation rather than dismissal. That was more than she had anticipated when she launched her accusations.
“I appreciate your candour. And I apologise for assuming the worst of your thoughts. I should have asked.”
“You had cause for your assumptions, and I gave you little reason to believe otherwise. We have barely spoken since our wedding. Small wonder you interpreted my silence through the lens of suspicion at first.”
“It appears there’s room for improvement on both our parts,” she replied, smiling. “I am certain we’ll learn to navigate that better as time passes.”
She wetted her lips but said nothing.
“Regarding our sleeping arrangements…” he began to say.
Her spine straightened, wariness entering her expression.
“I want you to understand there are no expectations,” he continued. “No pressure for intimacy until you are ready. If you are ever ready.”
The promise relieved an anxiety that had been brewing within since Lady Matlock had announced their shared chambers. She had not realised how much she needed that assurance until he offered it. The tension bled from her shoulders. “Thank you. I appreciate that assurance.”
“It is not mere assurance. It is a promise.”
Their gazes held for a moment before she looked away, aware that she was blushing. “I should prepare for bed. If you would excuse me?”
He departed then, granting her privacy whilst she changed. Elizabeth moved behind the ornate folding screen that stood in the corner and transformed from Mrs Darcy who had endured dinner to Elizabeth who must now sleep beside her husband.
Her fingers fumbled with buttons and ties as she removed her dinner gown, the elaborate construction that had taken her maid considerable time to arrange now becoming an obstacle to simple undressing.
She took her time braiding her hair as her mind raced through everything that had transpired since they arrived at Matlock.
Her husband’s relatives were good people, for all their status and dedicated adherence to social forms. She wanted them to think well of her and to prove herself worthy of the position into which circumstances had thrust her.
Instead, she had sat paralysed as her own family comprehensively demonstrated every reason why she was unsuited to their sphere. However, they would have to accept her in entirety for who she was. And accept her family as well. There was no other way around it.
Her conversation with Fitzwilliam tonight further suggested that their marriage might not be the comprehensive disaster she had feared during the course of the return trip to England.
