Chapter 12 #3
Darcy shuffled more papers and drew out another. “I would not want you to use household money for your personal expenditures.”
She read, “‘Elizabeth Darcy shall receive two hundred per annum for pin money.’ How can you afford that?” It was twice what her father had spent on each of his daughters, including room and board and any other expenses.
He only smiled. The answer was surely the same as the answer to her last question.
“You should also know that I will invest the interest off my mother’s settlement until the courts say what must be done with it.
Until now, it had all been spent on Georgiana’s maintenance.
Although, from what my lawyer says, Wickham would not have much of a case if he sues me.
So, your jointure and pin money and anything left for children could increase. ”
“Increase?” she repeated in a whisper. “Darcy, I do not need this much as it is.”
“You need spending money and provisions in case you outlive me, and for any children as well. The lawyers say it is unnecessary to put it on paper since you cannot sign it. A man cannot grant anything to his wife since we are, under the law, the same person. To enter into an agreement with you now, after you are married, would suppose you have a separate legal existence from mine. So it is not truly a settlement, but an elaborate will and a great deal of promises.”
Elizabeth dashed away a few tears. He wanted to be held accountable, not that he had reason not to be trusted.
“Why are you crying?” he asked when he looked up from neatly piling the papers.
Elizabeth looked at him, her vision a little blurry from the tears. A rush of appreciation came over her. She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek into his chest and holding him tight. He gave a gasp of surprise but did not step away. “Because you have chosen to take care of me.”
He held himself still before he carefully wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her in closer. “You need not thank me for doing what is right.”
“I do.” She could have been left entirely unprotected if she had fled London with a man who did not have Darcy’s integrity, or if she had married a man as indolent as her father. “I do not think you realise how generous and decent you are.”
“Taking care of my wife is not a virtue,” he insisted.
“Just let me thank you.”
In the silence that followed, she realised she was still hugging him.
His hands were clasped around her lower back and her arms wound around his neck.
She dared not lift her head to look into his eyes.
He might look at her with warm regard, or with disgust at her emotional display.
She was not brave enough to face the latter.
She felt his breath on her hair and realised his mouth would be close to hers if she looked up.
What would it be like to kiss him?
“You are welcome,” he said roughly, “to that and anything else that will make you happy.”
He dropped his hands, and when he stepped away, she saw how flushed he was. Darcy probably had few people in his life to embrace him, and certainly fewer now that he was estranged from his sister. Her hug might have embarrassed him, and to save him any further mortification, she moved to leave.
“Where are you going?” he asked hurriedly.
Would he think she was fleeing him because she had hugged him? The entire morning was filled with awkwardness, but she still wanted to be near him. His company answered for her happiness far more than she had ever thought it could a few weeks ago.
“Just to write in my journal. I have been lax this week, since every day of meeting people was about the same.” Perhaps she also had less of a need since she was now speaking more with Darcy.
“Where do you write, since you do not have a room here like my father’s room at Pemberley?”
“Wherever there is a table and a quiet place. I have taken a liking to the small bedroom in the front of the house at this time of day.”
A forlorn look crossed his face. “That was always my sister’s room when she visited me.”
Why was she always settling into rooms that had been particular favourites of Darcy’s family? “Would you like me to avoid it?”
“No, not at all.” He seemed to mean it, but the mention of Georgiana and the reminder of how she had defied her family, and common sense, weighed on him. She felt for him and wished she knew what to do to comfort him. When she brought Georgiana home from Wickham, that would gladden him.
Thinking he must wish to be alone and drop the subject, she gave a sad smile to acknowledge his feelings and moved to the door.
“You can write here,” he called after her.
“If I am reading or writing in the library, I mean. I do not mind your quiet company, if I am at work on something. This collection is rather small compared to Pemberley, but you ought to sit here whenever you like. I promised the library was open to you. Unless you need privacy to record your thoughts?”
His thoughts were rather disordered. Was he just ill at ease with the mention of his sister?
Or was he nervous around her because of the way she had embraced him?
She did not know whether to be charmed by that or distressed that she had distressed him.
Flutters danced in her stomach at him wanting her company.
“I am not recording secret thoughts,” she said, smiling. “Just an accounting of my day, where I went, what I wore, what I spent, whom I saw.”
“How you felt?”
“Yes.” Her voice shook a little. She always made some reflections about what she felt, her impressions, her hopes.
What would she record about today? That she embraced her husband for the first time, felt rather overcome by both his kindness and the feel of his arms around her?
That being that close to him made her wonder about kissing him?
“I hate to think what you recorded the day you met me,” he said, grinning.
She laughed, enjoying his ability to laugh at himself.
She guessed he allowed few people to laugh at him.
“I am afraid it was not a favourable accounting of you. I think that entry reads something like, ‘Attended a benefit concert with my sisters, saw Miss Darcy and met her rude brother, wore my yellow satin with short sleeves, was called tolerable by a handsome but disagreeably proud man who dislikes my family.’”
He laughed a little as he bent his head, his cheeks slightly pink, and she grinned at provoking him.
He was less proud and disagreeable than he had been, and she was glad he did not seem offended.
She went to retrieve her journal when he called after her, “That entry was more favourable to me than you think.”
“You mean because I did not call you worse? There are other words I might have used.”
“No, because you called me handsome.”
She blushed and tried not to run from the room. Darcy was handsome and was even more so because he did not carry himself with the assurance of a man who knew every female head would turn toward him. It must have been the hug and notions about kissing him that made her admit it.
Darcy would be the only man she would kiss for the rest of her life.
The only man to take to her bed—and she had hugged him for the first time today.
He might not be inclined to hurry them along, but she would offer herself at some point.
Maybe he was not in a hurry since his feelings were not engaged, and they might never be.
That was a disappointing thought. She thought highly of Darcy—she greatly esteemed him. Now she wondered if the adage of love coming after marriage could be true. It felt it could be. It no longer felt impossible. He clearly liked her and respected her.
But could his feelings for her ever lead to a stronger affection? She envisioned his arms wound around her again, holding her even more tightly against him, whispering some nothings of affection into her ear before pressing his lips to hers.