Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The morning after meeting the Gardiners, Darcy came down to breakfast at the same moment as Elizabeth. She was exact and punctual in her hours, just as he was, and he was glad they ate together. He had come to enjoy the serene time together before they withdrew to their respective employments.
Of course, if they had awoken in the same bed, then ten o’clock would not be the first time he had laid eyes on her since the Gardiners and his cousin left last night.
She put food on her plate, but scarcely touched it.
She had not eaten much the evening before, either.
While he ate and drank his coffee, Elizabeth opened her letters, supplying little comments as he read his own.
However, when he moved on to the newspaper, Elizabeth watched him every time he turned a page.
He felt her studying his reaction as though expecting bad news with each one.
“I will tell you if there is anything alarming,” he said after a while. “But you can simply read it when I am done.”
She looked chastened, more so than his dry comment warranted. “I would be more interested in news from our friends.”
“If there is any, I will share it with you.”
“Your friend Mr Bingley will return to Hertfordshire soon; would you remind him to dance with my sister Jane at the assembly next week?”
She asked this more nervously than was necessary.
He wondered why she did not tease about it, or ask him with a little more confidence.
She was altered around him. Was it because he had not met Jane Bennet yet and she thought he would disapprove?
She should think better of him on that score, given how well their evening with the Gardiners went last night.
He promised to mention it, and she said nothing else. It was uncharacteristic of her. After a while, he asked, “Are you eager to see your Meryton family in December?”
He hoped he sounded easy on the subject. He could tolerate and respect the Bennets for Elizabeth’s sake, but he could become sincerely fond of the Gardiners.
“I will always want to see them,” she said carefully, “but I suspect within a few days I will want some distance.”
“We might stay at…” He picked up Bingley’s letter to check the name of the house. “We might stay at Netherfield with Bingley, for at least part of the time, if your mother will not be insulted. I have Bingley’s assurance that Miss Bingley will be civil.”
She smiled a little. “That is a good idea.”
Elizabeth was still agreeable. She said the correct words and did the right actions, but her manner seemed changed. Her voice was not quick, there was no tenderness in her look. It was all correct, and yet everything about her manner felt wrong.
Would she be happier in Hertfordshire with her family than here with him?
Darcy put down his coffee cup with more force than necessary. “Elizabeth, did we not agree to be friends?” he asked in a rush.
Her pretty mouth fell open. “Of course.”
“And friends must trust one another enough to be honest with each other, yes? To say anything, admit anything, even if it hurts?”
She sputtered for a moment before saying, “I do not understand you.”
He knew her well enough to see the tightening around her eyes, the small tug of the corner of her mouth. She was displeased. “You have been unhappy with me since I came back—”
“With you?” she cried.
This gave him pause. She did not deny being unhappy, but she was surprised he suggested she was disappointed with him. “Yes, with me.”
“I am perfectly happy with you,” she said, leaning toward him across the table, “and we are friends. The dearest of friends.”
“Then why do you not talk with me as you did before? You spoke more with me when we argued in Ramsgate as near-strangers than you do now.”
“Would you like me to argue with you?” she asked in wide-eyed surprise.
He would prefer that to the distance between them. “No. Instead, you can tell me why do you not eat. Why do you look like you have not slept in days?”
Somehow, more colour leached from her face. “I have been only a little unwell this week. I promise I am not unhappy with you.”
He thought she meant it that she was not displeased with him, but it still felt like she was deceiving him. Were his feelings incorrect, or was something wrong?
“You say you are not unhappy with me, with being married to me, that nothing has changed since I left?” She nodded. “But will you not tell me what is actually wrong?”
“Darcy, nothing is wrong,” she said in a high pitch.
He threw her a sceptical look, then came round the table and held out a hand to help Elizabeth to her feet.
He waited and met her eye as she stood, then dropped her hand and put both of his on her waist before waiting again to watch her reaction.
She did not pull away, but did not embrace him either.
Two weeks ago, she would have at least hugged him.
Darcy bent his head, keeping a watchful eye on her face before he pressed his lips to hers.
She kept her arms at her sides while he kissed her softly.
It was neither cold nor warm. She did not kiss him back, and neither did she stop him.
She quietly endured his kiss, and it was a shadow of other times she had embraced him.
He pulled back sharply, staring hard into her eyes. “I can feel the distance between us.”
She did not deny it, but said nothing.
“Something has happened between the morning I left for Pemberley and the evening I returned. You assure me I have done nothing to displease you—”
“You have not!”
“Then what am I to surmise, madam? My wife avoids my conversation and affection and does not explain why. You scarcely eat and your mind is elsewhere. Either I have displeased you and you will not admit it, or something else has distressed you and you will not admit. Regardless, you keep the truth from me.”
He left from the room, and Elizabeth did not call after him to stay.
He had entered his marriage reluctantly, having only an attraction and grudging respect for her, but since they married, he had thought it possible love would come with time.
His feelings had come upon him rather suddenly, but they were genuine.
But Elizabeth had not shown him a sliver of the warmth or even the confidence she did two weeks ago.
Since he returned, love between them felt impossible.
Elizabeth’s stomach heaved as she took out the cash box in Darcy’s library.
She felt like a thief, but being a liar who got herself entangled with an extortionist felt more shameful.
The consequences of the truth coming out terrified her.
She had given money to Georgiana in defiance of Darcy’s better knowledge and their agreement not to.
She had let her into the house where she could steal. She had allowed Wickham to extort her.
And she then omitted to tell Darcy the truth every time he asked what was wrong. That was worse, surely that was worse than all the rest.
Darcy was so honest, so upright, and he would hate her for all of it, but especially that.
And now she was taking so much money from their household expenses, but how else could she get another twenty-five pounds?
She would borrow from no one. Adding debt to Darcy’s name would do him further injury when all she wanted was to protect him.
They had scarcely spoken since they argued yesterday, or rather when she was withdrawn and fearful and he rightfully lost his patience with her silence. But this last payment would mean she could put things to rights with her husband.
She had little of value to sell, and selling items from Darcy’s home that might not be missed was deeply wrong. If she had bought any of the ornaments or art or furnishings with her own money, then she could sell them, but nothing here was hers. Besides, what if a servant was unfairly blamed?
So here she was in the library when Darcy was out to rifle through his account books.
He was better at financial details than she was, but she was an excellent manager who could do arithmetic.
About a third of his income went to household expenses and provisions, a quarter to the servants, equipages and horses, another quarter to clothing, entertainment, her pin money and his pocket allowance, and another ten percent for rent for the house in town, taxes and repairs, with the remainder set aside in reserve.
There was cash in the house for expenses, but twenty-five pounds was so very much. Her father only spent about five hundred pounds on his daughters in an entire year, and that included room and board. Darcy would see the coins missing eventually, and she did not know how to explain the loss.
She despairingly counted out twenty-five pounds. That was a problem for another day. Fifty pounds was a princely sum to buy Wickham’s silence, to rid herself of this menace, and to protect Darcy’s reputation. It was also the price of her own folly.
And she hoped the comfort of being rid of Wickham would ease her guilt at stealing from Darcy.
“This is the last payment,” she said to Wickham as she handed over the coins. They were standing near to Lansdowne House on the south side of Berkeley Square. “I can pay you no more.”
He took the entire coin purse and put it into his pocket. “The last payment for the present. I am not unreasonable, but you need to ask yourself how badly do you want to avoid a scandal?”
“Darcy would stand by me if you make your claim public.”
She was lying, but maybe she could convince Wickham.
Darcy would weather the scandal if Georgiana left Wickham and needed his support, but the hint of a wife’s infidelity was far more grave.
It was a deeper disgrace to the family name he was so eager to protect.
But if Wickham believed he would get no more from her, maybe he would leave her alone.
Wickham watched her curiously. Was she trembling? She felt like she was, but she stared him down.