Chapter 29
The look Darcy gave Elizabeth when she came down for dinner that night made her catch her breath. For a moment, her knees trembled. Stumbling inelegantly against the table, she made a clumsy curtsey and managed a mumbled greeting.
In contrast, Darcy was irritatingly composed.
He bowed gracefully, spoke clearly, and pulled her chair out for her so smoothly that the legs barely scraped against the floor.
Elizabeth sat down, blushing, feeling her skin tingle with him standing so close.
Then he was gone, and she could breathe out.
For the whole meal, while she struggled to find her voice, Mr. Darcy was impeccably polite.
He spoke of the long walk he had taken around the grounds and apologised for not inviting Elizabeth to join him.
It was cold, he claimed, and he was unsure if it would sleet.
He preferred her to stay warm and comfortable in his…
(he checked himself then, with a glance at the butler) . .. house.
Elizabeth smiled and politely thanked him for his consideration.
Even when they were newlyweds, Lizzie could not remember her husband being this reserved.
It was as if they were strangers, genteelly getting to know each other over a simple meal.
Half an hour of it was enough to drive her to distraction.
He kept looking at her! And God forgive her, but she couldn’t help looking back. It was torture.
Darcy ran out of comments about the weather and resorted to searching the room for topics. An uneven candle in the candelabra provided him with a few minutes, then the design of the cutlery, and then the taste of the winter berries in their dessert.
I hope he chokes on it! Elizabeth thought savagely, Why won’t he talk to me, instead of at me?
Of course, she could have started the conversation herself… but her tongue was tied into knots. All she could do was nod, eat and drink large gulps of water whenever her head started to pound. Darcy was draining just as many glasses, she noticed uneasily, but they all seemed to be water, too.
By the time the meal was over and the silent servants left, Elizabeth was exhausted. Her confusion and irritation were too much for her headache to tolerate, and Darcy’s infallible poise was the final cut. Gritting her teeth, she stood up to leave.
Darcy stood up too, holding out a staying palm. “Wait, Elizabeth. I must speak to you.”
“Must you?” she exclaimed, sarcasm dripping from every word, “Well, it cannot be urgent. We have sat together for over an hour, sir, and you have not spoken of anything more interesting than the pepper pot! You have not even asked after my health, sir, as any gentleman ought.”
“I apologise. I thought that it was a question that would be embarrassing to answer in front of the servants, given the circumstances.” Darcy replied, narrowing his eyes against her scolding. “I do not want to give you another reason to lie to me.”
“I am a famous liar, sir.” she replied fiercely, “And I am going to bed.”
Darcy sighed and scratched his nose. “Please do not be angry at me, Elizabeth. I apologise. Let us start again: May I ask after your health, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Thank you for finally asking, sir.” Elizabeth raised her chin arrogantly into the air.
He caught her eye and smiled, and she could not stay angry.
She did not want to. Every inch of her soul wanted to reach for him - to understand what had happened, or to ask what was going to happen next…
or even just to be held and told that he was still her friend.
Elizabeth lowered her head and returned his rueful smile. “I have a headache but am otherwise perfectly well. May I make the same enquiry, sir?”
“My head aches too, and I have never wanted to drink more badly in all my life.”
“But you did not.” Elizabeth nodded at the table, “Unless you had something before we sat down.”
“No. I am sober.” he did not look particularly happy about that fact but said the words with some pride. “The day after is always the worst, I have found. Especially when I feel guilty.”
“I must share some of the guilt, sir. If I had not mocked you yesterday, and goaded you into drinking more, then perhaps things would be different.”
“It was not your fault. Christ himself could not have kept that decanter from my hand. His angel, however, found a very efficient way to rid me of it!” Darcy smiled, and Lizzie felt the last tension between them ease.
He beckoned her back to her seat and then sat beside her, taking his hands in his.
“Elizabeth, I do not feel guilty about drinking. I certainly do not intend to let it happen again, and I am furious with myself for doing it - but that is not why I am out of sorts today. I must apologise to you for how I behaved last night. Please believe that I did not intend to… that had I been sober, I would never have compelled you to… ugh. I have been trying to find words for this all day, and still, they will not come.”
“Then be blunt.” she suggested quietly. “I shall not be offended by honesty.”
Darcy studied her for a moment and then nodded. “Very well. I should not have treated you like I did. I should not have allowed you to get drunk. I should not have taken you into my bed. Most of all, I should not have touched you.”
“Why not? I am your wife.” she pointed out, trying to sound reasonable. She knew at once that it was the wrong thing to say. Darcy’s face darkened. He did not release her hands, but his eyes flinched away from hers as if she had blinded him.
“I wanted it to be your choice.” his voice was a hoarse, furious whisper.
“Damn it, but I wanted you to have that, at least. How I congratulated myself from rising above the disgusting rights our marriage gave me! A vain, arrogant belief, for I failed you the very first time it was put to the test.”
Elizabeth cautiously picked her path through that stream of self-loathing. His words had struck her like a tolling bell, hurtful and ominous.
She had been right; he had hated it.
Lizzie cleared her throat and tried to reassure him: “It was not disgusting, sir. If you are torturing yourself for the sake of my pleasure, then there is no need.”
He stared at her, “I know that, madam. I could tell.”
“Oh.” she blushed and then continued, “Then I do not understand why you feel the need to apologise.”
Only Darcy could find a way to turn a heartfelt apology into an argument. He spoke through gritted teeth. “It is the principle of the matter. Did I hurt you?”
The sudden question made Elizabeth flinch. She reached for her glass of water and gulped a few mouthfuls down before she could think of an answer.
“I told you, sir, you need not concern yourself with…”
“I am afraid that I must.” he replied stiffly, “I must be held accountable for everything that happened. I cannot placate myself by saying that the man who took your innocence was too drunk to know any better. It was I who failed to control myself.”
“Very well.” Elizabeth raised her chin, breaking into his monologue and surprising even herself, “Then I must apologise to you, Mr. Darcy. I was just as drunk as you. I enjoyed it, and you said yourself that you could tell. Should I pretend I hated it, so that you can wallow in pointless guilt?”
Darcy glared at her but found no reply. Elizabeth spoke again, and her voice grew weaker.
“You said you loved me. Do you regret that too, sir? It meant so much to me. You mean so much to me.”
“Of course I love you!” he exploded, “Good God, Elizabeth, how can you doubt it?”
“Oh.” she whispered, staring down at her toes. She could not draw a full breath, and her heart pounded, but hopeless confusion made her stomach hurt, “You just don’t want me as your wife.”
The notion was so breathtakingly abhorrent that Darcy could find no answer. He had no idea that Elizabeth’s perception of him was so wretched until she said that. He could see the raw honesty in her eyes, blunt and aware, as if she was simply reciting a fact.
Before he could find his voice, Elizabeth stood, brushing down her skirt and not bothering to disguise her hurt.
“I shall go and see Georgiana. That is why you married me, after all. I am sorry that the thought of anything else is so abhorrent to you.”
“Elizabeth, wait…” Darcy finally found his tongue, then winced and tried again: “I did not say it was abhorrent. It was… Elizabeth, I admit that I wanted it to happen, but the manner in which I wanted to have you…”
“Have me?”
“I have a headache, and you are not being easy. Forgive me a few words, at least.” he growled, looking impatient. “I do not want you to leave me feeling like it was a mistake. It was not what happened that disgusts me, but how it happened.”
“There is no need to explain, Mr. Darcy.” she cut across him once more, shaking her head. “You married me a sister, not a husband. You have no reason to overthink what was clearly a drunken mistake for both of us.”
She curtseyed formally, kept her eyes lowered, and left. It was the only way to hide the tears in her eyes.