Chapter Eleven
Darcy
“I shall sleep elsewhere.”
The words were blurted out before Darcy had fully considered their delivery. He stood in the middle of what was meant to be their shared bedchamber, hands clasped behind his back.
Elizabeth went very still at his pronouncement.
“There are guest chambers aplenty,” he continued. “I will have my belongings moved. I would not wish to impose upon you when we are both still adjusting to circumstances.”
One could have heard a needle drop, so quiet was the room. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a distinct quality of what he identified as apprehension.
“Your family will notice.”
He turned to face her properly. “I beg your pardon?”
“If we occupy separate chambers, your aunt and uncle will observe it. They will believe we are at odds.” She faltered, colour rising in her cheeks. “It will reflect poorly. On me, particularly.”
“Their opinions are inconsequential.”
“Are they?” Elizabeth met his gaze directly now, and he saw a plea for understanding there. “I am already the unknown bride acquired through irregular circumstances. If we cannot even share rooms as married couples are meant to do, what will they conclude?”
“No one would presume that.”
“Everyone would presume precisely that. A marriage so hastily contracted, a wife so wholly unsuited to your station…separate chambers would be interpreted as proof that you regret the alliance. And I will be the one judged wanting.”
The beginnings of a megrim sprang up behind his eyes. The conversation had veered far from his intended course. He had meant to offer her comfort and relieve the obvious distress her realisation about shared chambers had caused. Instead, he seemed to be causing fresh anxiety.
“I assure you, my purpose is merely to afford you comfort. There is no other expectation or demand.” The words felt inadequate, unable to convey the complicated tangle of consideration and his own uncomfortable awareness of her proximity.
“We have both been thrust into this situation with insufficient time to accustom ourselves. I thought perhaps—”
“I know what you thought. And I appreciate the consideration. But I cannot accept separate chambers. Whatever my personal apprehensions, we must present a united front.”
He wanted to argue that her comfort mattered more than appearances. His family could form whatever opinions they wished; he cared nothing for their judgment. But the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her fingers continued worrying at her gown, suggested an objection he would not win.
“Very well,” he conceded. “If you prefer it thus.”
“I do not prefer it. But it is necessary.”
Another silence, this one heavier than the last. Darcy searched for words that might ease the awkwardness, might bridge the chasm that seemed to widen with each exchange. Before he located such words, Elizabeth spoke again.
“What should I wear this evening?”
The abrupt topic shift caught him off guard. “I beg your pardon?”
“To dinner. I have not met Lady Catherine. I do not know what manner of formality your family expects.” She gestured helplessly towards the wardrobe where her modest collection of gowns presumably resided. “I do not wish to appear inappropriate or provincial.”
“You will look beautiful whatever you choose.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and mortification swept over him. Too intimate. She had just made clear her discomfort with their forced proximity, and now he had compounded it with unwanted familiarity.
“That is, I merely meant—you need not concern yourself overly with—” He was making it worse. “I shall dress elsewhere. In my cousin’s chambers, perhaps. That should afford you privacy for your preparations.”
He fled. There was no other dignified term for his hasty departure. He left the room at a fast pace, closing the door more firmly than strictly necessary.
In the corridor, he paused to collect himself. His heart hammered with a loud intensity. She had asked a practical question about attire, and he had responded like some callow youth composing bad poetry. Beautiful. What possessed him to use such a word?
But it was accurate. She was beautiful, perhaps not in the conventional manner that drew notice at balls and assemblies, but in a more subtle way that revealed itself through expression and animation.
When she spoke to him, when indignation or amusement flickered over her face, she became quite striking indeed.
None of which he should be thinking about whilst she prepared for dinner in distressed solitude.
Darcy located Arthur’s chambers and explained his need for temporary use of the space. His cousin raised an eyebrow but refrained from questions, merely directing him towards the dressing area where Thom could assist.
As he changed into his evening outfit, Darcy’s thoughts circled relentlessly around Elizabeth’s anxieties.
She feared his family’s judgment. She was worried about appearing inadequate before relations who might have reason to view her with suspicion.
He had not fully considered how these expectations would weigh upon her.
At Pemberley, matters might improve. There she would be mistress, beyond the immediate scrutiny of aunts and uncles. She could establish her own household rhythms and make decisions without constantly second-guessing whether they met aristocratic standards.
But would she even wish to go to Pemberley?
From the look of things, she had not yet accepted the permanence of their union. Perhaps she harboured hopes of dissolving the marriage once sufficient time had passed, once the scandal might be weathered with less damage than an immediate separation would cause.
He hoped that was not the case.
He had entered this marriage viewing it as a path to blissful possibility. For a while, he’d begun to imagine a future where they might build a pleasant bond. But Elizabeth viewed it as a burden to be endured rather than a foundation to be developed.
Even her insistence on shared chambers arose not from any desire for his company, but from dread of his relations’ disapproval.
This was also what he had feared when he resolved to give her space. That distance would calcify into permanent separation, and they would become one of those couples who inhabited the same house whilst living essentially separate lives.
Yet what alternative existed? Press for intimacy she did not desire? Demand she pretend affection where none existed? That path led only to resentment and misery.
No. He must continue as planned. Give her time and demonstrate through patience and consideration that he meant her no harm.
Even if it hurt to know she was sharing chambers only because refusing would displease his relations.
Thom finished with his waistcoat, standing back to assess his work with a critical eye. “Will that do, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He glanced at his reflection, the image of a gentleman heading to dinner. Nothing in his appearance suggested the turmoil beneath.
He made his way downstairs where voices indicated the others had already gathered. The drawing room doors stood open, revealing his family arranged in their customary positions. There, seated beside Georgiana, was Lady Catherine.
Splendid. The evening promised to be delightful.
Lady Catherine rose as he entered, her expression conveying her displeasure. “Darcy. I understand congratulations are in order. Naturally, I am astonished that you would contract such an alliance without consulting us first.”
“Good evening, Aunt. I hope your journey was comfortable.”
“Do not deflect, Fitzwilliam. You have married a woman of whom we know nothing, under circumstances that can only be described as precipitous.” She drew herself up to her full, considerable height. “I demand an explanation.”
“I shall be happy to provide one. After dinner, perhaps, when we might speak privately.”
“After?” Lady Catherine sputtered, spots of angry red appearing high on her cheekbones. “This matter cannot wait!”
“Good evening, Mr Darcy!” Mrs Bennet’s voice cut loudly across his aunt’s objection.
Elizabeth’s mother had entered with the rest of the Bennets, and she advanced upon him with great enthusiasm.
“And Lady Catherine, what an honour to make your acquaintance! I have heard so much about you. Such consequence, such connections! Elizabeth is truly fortunate to have married into such an illustrious family.”
Lady Catherine’s expression suggested she had just encountered something unpleasant on the sole of her shoe. “Indeed.”
The single word dripped with disdain so profound it should have been impossible to misinterpret. Yet Mrs Bennet either failed to notice or deliberately chose to ignore the insult, pressing forward with the sort of determined cheerfulness that recognised no obstacle.
“And this magnificent estate! Why, I was just saying to my daughters, was I not girls, that Matlock quite rivals anything we might see in Hertfordshire. Though naturally Pemberley must be even finer, and Elizabeth will be mistress there. Such an excellent arrangement!”
The butler announced dinner, providing merciful interruption. They processed to the dining room in order of precedence. The earl and his wife first, followed by Lady Catherine, then the rest according to their rank.
Darcy found himself seated between his sister and his uncle, with Elizabeth some distance away next to Richard and Kitty. Her posture was rigid as she attempted to navigate a conversation with those nearest her.
Lady Catherine dominated discourse from her position of prominence. “I cannot fathom what possessed you to act with such haste, Fitzwilliam. A gentleman of your standing requires a wife of appropriate breeding. This... Miss Bennet—”
“Mrs Darcy,” he corrected.
“—comes from no family we recognise. Her father is merely a gentleman with an entailed estate, I am told. Her mother’s relations are in trade. Trade! How you could consider such an alliance suitable defies comprehension.”
Mrs Bennet, seated within hearing and apparently incapable of recognising insult however blatant, smiled as if she had been complimented.
“Oh yes, my brother, Mr Gardiner, does very well in his business. Very well indeed! He resides near Cheapside, quite respectable, and provides excellently for his wife and children. We are all very proud of his success. Why, just last year he expanded his warehouses, and his profits have increased most satisfactorily. He is quite the example of industry and intelligence applied to commerce. I am certain you must agree, Lady Catherine, that such enterprise is to be admired, regardless of one’s position in society. ”
Lady Catherine’s expression suggested someone had just announced the plague had arrived for dinner. Her fingers tightened around her fork until her knuckles showed white, and she drew a breath that seemed designed to fuel a comprehensive set-down.
Lord Matlock intervened before his sister could unleash whatever vitriol she had prepared.
“I am certain we are all delighted to welcome Mrs Darcy to the family. The circumstances of their meeting may have been unusual, but Darcy has always demonstrated sound judgment in matters of importance. We trust his choice and extend our warmest welcome to his bride.”
His words were kind, but they did nothing to ease the oppressive atmosphere at the table. Lady Catherine’s silence spoke volumes, her expression making clear that she extended no such welcome and considered her brother’s platitudes insufficient to the situation.
Down the table, Kitty’s laughter rang out, too unrestrained for the formal atmosphere.
“Oh Colonel, you are too amusing! Yes, it is all quite absurd, is it not? Lizzy announces her engagement to save Mr Darcy from those dreadful fortune hunters, and now here they are, married! Like something from a book, truly. However, I suppose the circumstances were rather romantic in their way.”
Richard chuckled, enjoying her animation. “Romantic indeed, Lady Catherine. I am still attempting to understand precisely how my cousin managed to acquire a wife in the space of a week. He has always been so cautious about such matters.”
“Cautious!” Kitty laughed again. “Oh, nothing about their courtship was cautious. Everything happened so quickly. One moment Lizzy was unmarried, the next she was engaged, then married before any of us quite realised what was occurring!”
Darcy’s fingers gripped his fork. Every word, however innocently intended, painted the marriage as a hasty farce. Elizabeth had gone absolutely still, her gaze fixed on her plate.
“How... extraordinary.” Lady Catherine’s voice could have frozen water. “One might almost wonder whether the haste suggested a planned necessity.”
The barb was well-directed and Darcy clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait.
He endured it all in silence. To censure Mrs Bennet’s lack of discretion would humiliate Elizabeth. To silence Kitty would suggest he found fault with her family. To respond to Lady Catherine’s provocations would create precisely the sort of public discord he had hoped to avoid.
So he said nothing and permitted the disaster to unfold around him.
By the time the final course concluded, his head throbbed and his shoulders ached from sustained tension. The ladies withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their port. Lady Catherine departed with them, her disapproving countenance making clear that conversations would continue at a later time.
“Well,” Richard observed with amusement once the door had closed. “That was certainly memorable.”
Arthur shot him a quelling look. Lord Matlock sighed. And Darcy reached for the port with the grim awareness that the evening was far from over.