Chapter Six
Elizabeth
12th March 1813
W inter gradually yielded to spring, and as the frosts retreated, Elizabeth found herself revitalised—not by the season alone but by the impending arrival of her sister Jane. Now that Hartley House was renovated, her sister and Charles would relocate north – though they would retain Netherfield for when they visited Hertfordshire.
Knowing her sister was soon to be nearby had delighted Elizabeth and she could hardly wait to have Jane in her life again.
Pemberley, grand as it was, had begun to feel less like a prison and more like a tolerable refuge. The subtle changes in Mr Darcy contributed to this unexpected shift. Where once his manner had been characterised by icy detachment, now there was something gentler—fewer barbed remarks, a tone less cutting, and even the occasional unguarded smile. It was a gradual transformation, so measured that Elizabeth could not determine whether to attribute it to Charles’s steadying influence, Georgiana’s unwavering good cheer, or their own unspoken truce after the confrontation over the withheld letters.
Though she would not yet dare to call him a friend, civility had replaced hostility, and their exchanges, once fraught with tension, now held an air of cautious ease. Elizabeth found that this tenuous accord, fragile though it was, made life at Pemberley more endurable. She could, for the first time, envision a life here in the North, if not with contentment, then at least without despair. However, the matter of how they had found themselves in this barely tolerable situation had not been discussed. Elizabeth had considered raising the matter with Mr Darcy, but he seemed entirely without shame regarding the incident, and she decided that rather than risk the tenuous peace, she would not enquire further.
The three of them—Elizabeth, Mr Darcy, and Georgiana—had established a habit of taking breakfast together most mornings. These moments, though often subdued, were generally pleasant and seemed to bring Georgiana a sense of comfort. Afterwards, Elizabeth would frequently call on Jane at Hartley House, where her sister’s radiant good humour provided solace.
One such morning, as Elizabeth was considering whether to make the journey to Hartley House, Mr Darcy unexpectedly cleared his throat. His tone, when he spoke, held a note of hesitation she had not heard before.
“Would you care for a carriage ride?” he asked, his gaze steady but lacking its usual sharpness. “Now that the snow has thawed, it would be an excellent opportunity to acquaint yourself with the surrounding countryside. I understand you are fond of the outdoors.”
Elizabeth blinked in surprise, her teacup pausing halfway to her lips. She glanced at Georgiana, who offered an encouraging smile, her expression betraying her delight at what was undoubtedly her own suggestion. Reluctant to disappoint the younger woman, Elizabeth inclined her head with composed politeness.
“A carriage ride sounds most agreeable,” she replied.
From that day, weekly carriage rides—always on a Wednesday as Mr Darcy preferred predictability, had become a part of their routine. The excursions provided Elizabeth with breathtaking views of Derbyshire’s rolling hills, now adorned with snowdrops and daffodils, their blooms heralding spring’s arrival. Yet inside the carriage, the atmosphere was subdued. Conversation was sparse, limited to brief remarks on the scenery or the imminent arrival of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Despite their quiet nature, these rides formed a tentative ritual, a small yet significant step towards a more harmonious existence.
On one such outing, Mr Darcy broke the silence, his voice uncharacteristically heavy.
“I must apologise, Elizabeth. I find myself unequal to a long excursion today.” He leaned back against the seat with a weary sigh, his expression as aloof as ever but tinged with genuine fatigue.
Elizabeth regarded him coolly. “We can always venture further next time,” she replied, her tone measured. She recognised his efforts to be more accommodating towards her, though she suspected his motivations were rooted in Georgiana’s happiness rather than concern for her own. Still, his continued reticence on the subject of his past indiscretion grated on her. If he truly cared for her well-being, surely he would have addressed the matter.
As they returned to the estate, the sight that greeted them made Mr Darcy freeze in mid-step. Following his gaze, Elizabeth felt her stomach drop. A grand carriage bearing the unmistakable crest of the de Bourghs was stationed before the house. Lady Catherine had announced her visit some while ago but Elizabeth thought they had another fortnight of respite before she would show. This appeared not to be the case.
“Lady Catherine,” Mr Darcy muttered under his breath. His brow furrowed as he turned to Elizabeth. “Perhaps you should retire to the library,” he suggested, his tone cautious.
Elizabeth straightened her spine. “No,” she said firmly. “I am the mistress here. I shall greet her.”
Mr Darcy cast her a wary glance but nodded, offering his arm as they approached the house. Inside, Lady Catherine’s imperious voice reverberated through the halls, as grating as Elizabeth remembered from her visit to Rosings Park, in what felt like a lifetime ago.
Steeling herself, Elizabeth entered the foyer to find Lady Catherine not only comfortably ensconced but flanked by her personal retinue and what appeared to be half of her household staff.
“Good afternoon, Aunt Catherine,” Mr Darcy said, his tone clipped yet polite. “What brings you to Pemberley ahead of schedule?”
Lady Catherine turned, her expression alight with forced cheer. “Why, it is never too early to visit my dear nephew and his charming wife!”
Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by the unexpected civility. Lady Catherine had never before referred to her with anything resembling warmth. Beside her, Mr Darcy stiffened, his frown deepening as if sensing the disingenuousness of her tone.
“Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth curtseyed. “We were not expecting you for another fortnight, I am afraid that the guest rooms are not prepared.”
“Ah, a surprise is always the most delightful of visits,” Lady Catherine replied with a wide, self-satisfied smile. “Besides, Rosings is undergoing repairs, and the noise was insupportable. Naturally, I knew you would welcome me, so I brought extra staff to ease the burden of my stay.”
Mr Darcy’s jaw tightened, and Elizabeth saw him draw a slow, steadying breath.
“You need not have troubled yourself with additional staff, Aunt Catherine,” Mr Darcy said, his voice carefully controlled.
“Nonsense! I knew you would not be prepared for my early arrival, so I thought it best to ensure all would be managed smoothly,” Lady Catherine said, waving a hand dismissively. “Now, show me around! It has been an age since I last visited Pemberley.”
“Aunt, my wife and I have just returned from an outing, and we are fatigued,” Mr Darcy said, sidestepping her attempt to link arms with him. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers so you may rest after your journey.”
Lady Catherine hesitated, her smile faltering for the briefest moment before she nodded. “Very well. Tea in the drawing room afterwards, then?”
“I am sure you will wish to refresh yourself first,” Mr Darcy replied smoothly, already guiding her towards the staircase.
Elizabeth met his gaze briefly, understanding his unspoken relief at her reprieve. She returned his slight nod with one of her own before retreating to the library, eager to escape what promised to be a trying visit.
***
Elizabeth had decided to escape Lady Catherine’s presence for a time in the only place that brought her true peace—Pemberley’s splendid library. The warm scent of leather and polished oak enveloped Elizabeth, offering a brief refuge from the chill beyond the thick stone walls of the grand house. She selected a book from the shelf and settled into a high-backed chair by the window, where a faint golden light filtered through, softening the room’s edges. The title, The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne , suggested a treatise on Scottish architecture, but Elizabeth knew from Georgiana’s eager recommendation that it was a novel—a tale of chivalry and dark romance. She had just begun to lose herself in its opening words when the stillness of the library was disrupted by voices from the hall.
“I have already told you, Aunt,” came Mr Darcy’s voice, strained yet hushed, as though he wished to contain the discussion but could not quite manage the restraint.
Lady Catherine’s tone was imperious, brimming with an authority she evidently expected would not be questioned. “No, Fitzwilliam, you shall listen to reason. If this marriage is to mean anything to anyone, you must secure an heir. You have been married almost five months and as of yet, there is no child.”
Elizabeth froze, book in hand, unwilling to intrude yet arrested by the nature of their conversation.
“Aunt Catherine,” Mr Darcy replied, his voice taut, “you seem to forget that this arrangement was made solely to quell the rumours you yourself deemed so ruinous to the family name.”
“Indeed,” Lady Catherine pressed on, “and I had no choice, considering how thoroughly those rumours had taken root. But you cannot deny that securing the family’s respectability once and for all depends upon the future.”
There was a pause, followed by a heavy sigh from Mr Darcy, the sound of a man summoning patience. “Respectability? You ensured only the survival of a lie, for I was nowhere near that wretched inn. Yet rather than defend my character, you assumed guilt and rushed to arrange a union that… well, that would hardly foster any genuine affection, would it?”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Mr Darcy had not been at the inn? Could it be that he too was an innocent party in this situation they had found themselves in?
Lady Catherine’s voice sliced through the tension. “Innocence and guilt matter little, nephew, once the damage is done. The mere suspicion would have brought the family name to ruin. Whatever the truth may be, it is concealed now—preserved by marriage, and soon, I hope, by a child to secure it.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. Each word she overheard painted a starkly different picture from the one she had long accepted. Her gaze drifted from the pages of her book to the window, though her thoughts were far from the landscape beyond. She had believed him guilty of this supposed indiscretion, yet here was evidence of another reality entirely. She had another thought, she had assumed him guilty, what if he held similar thoughts and held her responsible for trapping him in an unwanted marriage? It would certainly explain his animosity towards her.
Mr Darcy’s tone softened, but there was an undercurrent of bitterness. “A charming tale for Derbyshire—that I was so ensnared by some lapse of virtue that I had no choice but to marry the woman who put me in this position and must now produce a child to finalise the fiction.”
Lady Catherine’s sigh was sharp, almost exasperated. “This is not about tales, Fitzwilliam, but about family honour. Whether you think me unfeeling or not, I did what was necessary.”
A soft, unbidden exhale escaped Elizabeth’s lips. The sound was quiet, but enough to draw Mr Darcy’s attention. His gaze flicked to the doorway, where their eyes met through the half-open door.
She saw the shock flicker across his features as he registered her presence. The expression he wore was one she had never before seen—vulnerable, almost pleading, yet tinged with the same quiet outrage that mirrored her own. In that silent exchange, she understood that her assumption was correct—he, too, had believed her complicit in an imagined indiscretion.
In those few shared moments, Elizabeth’s world shifted—and Mr Darcy’s as well. Each had misjudged the other, each had assumed the other guilty of drawing them into this entanglement. Now, faced with the truth, they stood irrevocably altered.