“The law is an ass, as someone once observed.” Elizabeth reached across the small table, covering his hand with hers. “Tell me what threatens us. I am your wife, and whatever burden you carry, I would share it.”
Darcy regarded their joined hands, something shifting behind his eyes—a struggle she could sense but not interpret.He seemed poised to let the gates open, to trust her with what weighed on him.
But, as if reaching a boundary he dared not cross, his expression smoothed into that studied blankness. “Elizabeth, I do not wish to burden you.”
“Whatever burden you carry, I would share it. That is what marriage means, does it not? Partnership rather than isolation?”
His fingers curled around hers, gripping perhaps more tightly than he intended. “You are too good.”
“I am precisely as good as the situation requires.” She softened the words with a small smile, though something prickled beneath her breastbone.Too good.It was what one said to a child who asked inconvenient questions, and she filed the deflection away for later examination. “Now tell me, what is Lady Amelia’s family truly after?”
Darcy was silent, and Elizabeth’s mind spun, assembling the fragments she had gathered over the past weeks. Lady Amelia, the brilliant, unconventional aristocrat who had written scandalous essays under her own name and possibly even more scandalous novels, perhaps unpublished.
And then there was Little Thomas’s father—the same man who had once charmed Elizabeth herself. Had he remained entangled with Lady Amelia until the end?
A flush crept up her cheeks, and she busied herself with her napkin before tasting the white soup. Darcy must never learn of that kiss in the Cheapside alley; his love would sour, and she would find herself banished from Pemberley, her family disgraced, and—worst of all—Little Tom lost to her, for she had already begun to think of him as her own.
“Are you unwell?” Darcy asked, his brow creased. “Is the fire too hot? I can have it banked.”
“The soup is warm,” she deflected. “But very savory. Cook has outdone herself.”
“Yes.” His gaze remained fixed on her flushed cheeks rather than the food before him. The awkwardness of their early days had returned, and Elizabeth realized she had pushed into areas he preferred to keep private.
“My apologies.” Elizabeth studied her salad as if searching for imaginary snails. “I merely offer my support as your wife. I am not inquiring out of idle curiosity, but whatever affects this family, including Little Tom, also affects me.”
“I do not mean—” He stopped and tugged at his collar. “ Only there are things that require time to explain properly. And I am not… I do not yet have…”
Elizabeth’s expression softened. “You carry everything alone, as though sharing the burden would diminish you.”
She saw him swallow, his face drawn as though the weight of the world had settled there, and she knew she was not mistaken. He had carried burdens alone for so long, trusting no one to share them.
Darcy’s expression softened. “You have every right to ask. Thomas is your concern now as much as mine. Your questions are not troubles—they are evidence that you care.”
“I care a great deal.” She met his eyes. “About Thomas and this family we are building. And about you.”
His expression shifted—a vulnerability she had seldom seen.
“My apologies.” Elizabeth studied her salad as if searching for imaginary snails. “I merely offer my support as your wife. I am not inquiring out of idle curiosity, but whatever affects this family, including Little Tom, also affects me.”
“Trust me, Elizabeth. I am well aware of your care for him, and am heartened by your concern.” His voice brightened. “Tell me of Thomas’s progress with Harley. I confess I missed the demonstration of sitting on command.”
Elizabeth laughed, grateful for the change in subject. “The demonstration was singular, I assure you. Harley satwith perfect dignity for approximately three seconds before attempting to consume Thomas’s shoe. Thomas was delighted.” She took another spoonful of soup, finding her appetite had returned now that the conversation had eased. “We have also discovered that Sidney the snail has produced a family of some twelve offspring, and that Thomas intends to name each of them.”
“Heaven preserve us.”
“I believe he has already settled on Juju for Junior, Two for the second one, and—rather inexplicably—Mags.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched. “Mags?”
“Hannah’s influence, I suspect. She names everything. The spiders in the nursery corridor have been christened Sir Reginald and Lady Prudence, and there is apparently a particularly fat beetle called Archbishop Canter. There may also be a Paxton, a millipede of note.”
The twitch became an actual smile—that rare, unguarded expression that transformed his severe features with boyish delight.
“Hannah is a treasure,” Darcy admitted. “Georgiana claims she is the only servant who can make Thomas laugh without trying.”
“She talks to him as though he were a reasonable person rather than a child. He finds this enormously flattering.”
“As would anyone.” Darcy’s thumb traced a small circle on the back of her hand, the gesture unconscious, as though he had forgotten he was touching her. “And Clarice? Does she suit you?”
