Fitzwilliam bowed as Elizabeth turned to go. Darcy could not help but watch her as she walked gracefully from the room. Once she had gone, he turned to Fitzwilliam. “Well, shall we go to the study where it is more comfortable?”
His cousin heartily agreed. Once there, Darcy poured two glasses of brandy, handing one to Fitzwilliam, and they settled in near the crackling fire in the hearth. “Well?” Darcy asked.
“Well, what?” Fitzwilliam asked.
“I have known you all your life, Fitzwilliam. Are you going to pretend I do not know when something is not right with you?” Darcy persisted. “You do not care for my bride. Why?”
Fitzwilliam shifted uncomfortably. “The problem is not that I do not care for her, but rather that I do not know her.” He pinned Darcy with a severe stare. “Neither do you, if we are being honest. You’ve been married to her for little more than a month, after no courtship at all.”
“One cannot truly know another person after so little time, it is true. And I confess I was deeply apprehensive when we first wed. I had intended to be very careful in my selection of a partner in life. But the accident that led to my compromising Elizabeth was far more my fault than hers. I could not do otherwise than to marry her.”
“Precisely,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, his voice hard. “You felt you could not do otherwise than to marry her, whatever your own plans and inclinations may have been.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“If I understand correctly, you were walking in a wood, in a place new to you, but which your present wife knew well. Perfectly innocently, you came out of the woods together and were seen by a neighbour, thus leading to the potential ruin of her reputation. And, one must say, you are a man with ten thousand a year, Darcy.”
“That is all perfectly true,” Darcy said warily. “What is your point?”
His cousin expelled a breath. “Is it so certain that this was entirely an accident? I wonder if she may have had designs on your fortune,” he said, flat and brutal. “Much as Wickham had designs on Georgiana’s dowry.”
Darcy felt as though the air had been driven from his lungs, fully unprepared for this affront. Anger welled up in his chest, but he took a steadying breath before he spoke. “I disagree. The circumstances of our compromise and Georgiana’s elopement could not be more different.”
“I do not mean to bring your judgment into question, Darcy. But it is an inescapable thought that she may have heard of your wealth and orchestrated your accidental meeting.” He laughed bitterly, with such evident pain that it brought back all the sleepless nights and hopeless anguish after they had learned that Georgiana was irrevocably in Wickham’s power. “Though I suppose there is not much that could be done about it now, short of divorce.”
Darcy leaned forward in his chair. “I want you to listen to me carefully. Fitzwilliam,” he began, his voice coldly controlled. “We will hear no more of this. I know that you have only just met Elizabeth. But she is my wife, and you will afford her the respect she deserves. You may not trust her yet, but trust me when I sayshe had no hand in our compromise. It was an accident, and that is the end of it.”
“Very well. I will trust you. Had I not been concerned for your well-being, I would never have said a word.”
Darcy sat back. “I assure you, I am well.” Even after so heated a conversation, thinking of his wife brought a smile to his face. “Perhaps even more than well.”
Fitzwilliam’s face lightened into something closer to the cheerful expression it customarily wore. “I am sorry to have cast doubt, and sorrier still that you have been forced to bear up under our aunt’s visit as you’ve been trying to settle in with your bride. I assume it has put considerable pressure on Mrs Darcy?”
“On the contrary. Elizabeth is managing excellently. She has even willingly subjected herself to lessons with Lady Catherine.”
Fitzwilliam gave a surprised laugh. “Lessons? Whatever would our aunt have to teach her? How to be cantankerous? Or condescending?” He took a sip of brandy. “Do you think it wise to allow our aunt to teach her? Your wife may have started as a sweet girl, but she could end up just as hard and unforgiving as our aunt.”
“I have no fear of that. Elizabeth is unlike anyone I have ever known. Sheissweet, but she is also clever and strong-willed. You will soon see that she holds her own with Aunt Catherine. It is extraordinary to watch. She is so kind, while still refusing to be cowed by our obstreperous aunt.”
Fitzwilliam searched his face in silence for a long moment. At last, he spoke. “If I did not know you better, I would say you are falling in love with your accidental wife.”
Darcy tried to keep his emotions from showing on his face. “I cannot deny that I have come to admire her. She is quite extraordinary.”
“Yes, you said that,” he replied dryly. His cousin steepled his fingers under his chin and watched him. Darcy squirmed under his scrutiny. “And you defend her quite passionately. Would it really be so bad to admit that you have fallen in love with her?”
Darcy gave a frustrated sigh. “No, I suppose not. There are worse things that could happen than for a husband to be in love with his wife. But there is little reason to believe she feels the same. I know only too well that Elizabeth dreamed of marrying for love. Our wedding, which some ladies might have viewed as such a triumph, was a bitter disappointment for her. It is ironic, is it not? My father pressed me over and over again not to choose a bride because of outward appearance but for her fortune and connections. Elizabeth has neither wealth nor position in society. However, her very amiable qualities are more important than anything else my father would have had me look for in a wife.”
“It was bound to happen, Darcy, especially when there are fainting wives and husbands who carry them about.”
Darcy looked at his cousin reproachfully.
“Yes, I was not in the house for five minutes before hearing whispers of it. Nor did it come as a surprise, for Anne mentioned the incident in her last letter to me. I believe she has quite the romantic streak, for being so plain.”
“She is not plain. She is ill,” Darcy came to their cousin’s defence. He did not much care for criticising poor Anne inabsentia, and still less for the idea that he and Elizabeth were the talk of the staff.
“Do not look so serious, Darcy. I was only teasing you. You are right in one respect, you know. There are much worse fates than being in love with one’s wife.” He shook his head. “I only hope I might find that same affection in the poor unfortunate woman who shall be obligated to put up with me all the rest of her days.”
“The woman who marries you will be very fortunate indeed,” Darcy told him sincerely. The woman who would one day wed his cousin would not come into much money, for Fitzwilliam was the second son, but she would gain a husband of unparalleled bravery and loyalty.
