Chapter Fifteen
Darcy
When Darcy returned that night and opened their chamber door, he smiled. Elizabeth sat in the chair near the hearth, her head tilted at an angle that would undoubtedly produce a crick in her neck come morning. One hand rested in her lap, the other dangled over the chair arm.
She had waited for him.
Whether from concern or courtesy, he could not determine. But she had waited, and the gesture mattered more than he could adequately articulate.
He moved closer, studying her sleeping face in the firelight. The tension that had at times marked her features during waking hours had smoothed away, leaving her looking younger and softer. Her lips were slightly parted and the firelight painted gold across her cheekbone.
She looked stunning like this, unguarded and peaceful.
He ought to wake her and allow her to move to the bed under her own power. But watching her sleep in that chair, uncomfortable despite her apparent oblivion, he could not bring himself to disturb her rest simply to preserve some unspoken notion of propriety.
Surely, carrying her a few feet from chair to mattress did not constitute unforgivable presumption.
Decision made, Darcy bent and slid one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back. She was slight in his grasp and murmured something indistinct as he lifted her, her head lolling to rest against his shoulder.
As he made his way to the bed, he was conscious of every step, every shift in his grip that might wake her. Elizabeth’s hand, which had been dangling loosely, moved to rest against his chest.
He reached the bed and lowered her with painstaking gentleness. She relaxed into the pillows with a soft sigh, and he began to withdraw, only to have her hand tighten in his coat.
“Stay,” she mumbled, the word thick with sleep.
He froze. “Elizabeth?”
There was no response. Her breathing had already deepened again, her grip loosening but not releasing entirely. She was asleep, likely unaware she had even spoken.
He extracted himself slowly, removing his coat and boots before settling on his side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. Elizabeth shifted, turned towards him and curled against his side with the unconscious trust of deep sleep.
She sighed again, this time with what sounded distinctly like contentment, and went still.
Darcy lay rigid, hardly daring to move. He was acutely conscious of every point where her body pressed against his.
The distance they had maintained previously, even sharing this bed, had been absolute and unbreachable.
Now Elizabeth pressed against him, her breathing slow and even against his neck.
He ought to maintain the boundaries they had tacitly established, which meant that sharing a bed did not mean sharing proximity or touch or any of the intimacies marriage technically permitted but neither had yet claimed.
Instead, after a long moment of internal debate, his arm came up to rest around her shoulders.
She burrowed closer in response and made a small sound of satisfaction.
Darcy stared at the canopy overhead, his heart beating far too quickly for sleep. Yet gradually, as Elizabeth’s chest rose and fell, exhaustion pulled at him with insistent weight.
His last conscious thought was that this—Elizabeth sleeping in his arms—felt unexpectedly, impossibly right.
***
Darcy woke slowly, consciousness returning in gradual stages. The bed beside him was empty, the linens still holding a distinctiveness that suggested Elizabeth had risen not long ago. He could hear her moving about behind the dressing screen, accompanied by the soft rustle of fabric.
He sat up, running a hand through his hair. Had last night actually occurred, or had exhaustion played tricks with his memory? It had in fact happened. He recalled Elizabeth waiting in the chair, him carrying her to bed, and the way she had curled against him in sleep.
And this morning she was awake before him. The question was whether she remembered any of what had passed between them, or if sleep had wiped the slate clean and left him alone with awareness of their intimacy.
The sounds behind the screen ceased and Elizabeth emerged fully into the room.
She had already dressed in a simple morning gown of pale blue muslin and stood now at the dresser. Her hair fell nearly to her waist when unbound, thick and lustrous.
She had not yet noticed that he was awake. He remained still, arrested by the simple intimacy of the scene. How many mornings had passed where he woke alone and broke his fast alone?
For as long as he could remember, his parents had maintained separate chambers and distinct routines. His father had once mentioned, almost wistfully, that he missed the early days of matrimony when such small domestic moments had been shared.
Now Darcy understood with sudden clarity what his father had meant. Watching Elizabeth brush her hair in the morning light and the way she tilted her head to work through a tangle, these were not grand romantic gestures. Yet it was meaningful in ways that surpassed mere aesthetic appreciation.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
Elizabeth started, nearly dropping the brush. She turned, colour rose in her cheeks. “I did not realise you were awake. Forgive me, I should have been quieter.”
“You were not disturbing. I was …watching.”
Her blush deepened and she looked away, resuming her brushing with slightly less assurance than before.
“I wanted to thank you. For last night. I remember falling asleep in the chair like a complete fool. And I woke up this morning in bed, which means you must have carried me there. It was very considerate. I am grateful you did not leave me to wake with a dreadful crick in my neck and the mortification of having failed at keeping vigil.”
“I could hardly leave my wife sleeping in a chair.”
“Still. It was kind.” She secured her hair with pins, the movements now brisk and efficient. “I hope I was not too heavy or awkward to manage.”
“Not at all. However, I am curious what prompted you to wait up. I did not expect to return to find you awake.”
Her hands stilled on the hairpins. Then she turned to face him properly, abandoning the mirror’s mediation.
“I hoped we might speak, when you returned. About our marriage. But I fell asleep before you arrived, which rather defeated the purpose.”
“You waited to speak with me.” He could not keep the note of pleased surprise from his voice.
“I did. And failed spectacularly at remaining conscious to achieve it.” Her expression was wry but not embarrassed. “I am apparently not suited to keeping vigil. My apologies for the failed gesture.”
“Do not apologise. I appreciate the gesture, even if sleep overcame you.”
They looked at each other across the room, tension that had existed in previous encounters melting between them. Then Elizabeth smiled, tentative but genuine, and Darcy felt his own mouth curve in response.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “since I missed my opportunity last night, perhaps you might tell me now how your village excursion proceeded? You returned very late. I trust nothing untoward occurred?”
He rose, reaching for his banyan from where it hung near the bed.
“Nothing beyond Arthur’s determination to inspect every establishment in Snowhill and Richard’s conviction that he could drink the local innkeeper under the table.
I spent most of the evening attempting to prevent my cousins from causing undue scandal or accumulating ruinous debts. ”
“That sounds rather trying.” Her smile had widened, amusement lighting her features.
“It was quite educational.” He tied the banyan’s sash, noting how Elizabeth’s gaze followed the movement before darting away.
“I now know far more about the ale production methods than I ever anticipated requiring. And I have been banned from returning to the White Hart Tavern, although the ban technically applies to my cousin, Richard, who may have challenged the proprietor to an arm-wrestling contest.”
His wife’s startled laugh rang out, bright and unguarded. “He did not actually challenge him?”
“He absolutely did. And lost, which Arthur found so entertaining he bought drinks for the entire establishment.”
“How mortifying for you.”
He moved to the washstand, splashing water on his face.
“Excruciating. I must acknowledge that their intentions were good. They wished to celebrate my marriage, however chaotically. Richard sends his regards, incidentally, and suggests we join him for cards this evening. I took the liberty of declining on your behalf.”
“Very wise. I am dreadful at cards.
“As am I. We are well-matched in our inadequacies, then.”
Another smile, this one easier than the last. Darcy found himself reluctant to let the conversation end, to retreat into separate preparations for the day ahead. “I have been thinking,” he began, “about the estate in Ireland.”
“The one you inherited through your mother’s family?”
“Through a distant cousin, yes. The estate is in good condition, largely due to competent stewardship during the years of distant ownership. But there are improvements I wish to implement, particularly regarding the tenants’ cottages and drainage in the southern fields.”
“What manner of improvements?”
“Several cottages require new roofing before winter. The southern fields flood seasonally, which reduces yield and creates conditions ideal for crop disease. If we install proper drainage and redirect the stream that feeds the flooding...” He paused, realising he had begun speaking to her as he would to his steward.
“Forgive me. You cannot possibly find agricultural drainage fascinating.”
“On the contrary, I find it quite intriguing.” Her expression held no trace of feigned politeness. “You said the flooding occurs seasonally. Does that suggest the problem worsens during autumn rains?”
“Precisely. The soil composition cannot handle the increased water volume, so it sits in the fields and creates bogs.” He felt himself relax further, encouraged by her engagement.
“But if we channel the excess water in the direction of the eastern boundary where the land slopes naturally, and reinforce the stream banks to prevent overflow—”
“The water would drain away rather than pooling in the fields,” Elizabeth finished. “That seems eminently sensible. What of the cottages? Is the damage from weather or age?”
“Both. Some have stood for fifty years or more without significant maintenance. New slate roofing would last considerably longer than thatch, and while the initial expense is greater, the long-term benefit justifies it.”
They discussed the estate at length, Elizabeth asking thoughtful questions that demonstrated total comprehension.
She grasped immediately why certain improvements would benefit others, suggested alternatives Darcy had not considered, and challenged his assumptions in ways that strengthened rather than undermined his plans.
“You have a remarkable head for these matters,” he noted when the conversation paused. “Many ladies would find such topics tedious.”
“Many ladies are actively encouraged to find anything substantive tedious. I happen to think estate management considerably more interesting than embroidery or watercolours, however, admitting such preferences typically brands one as unfeminine.”
“Not to me.” He held her gaze, letting her see his sincerity.
“I find your interest and intelligence both appealing and valuable. You follow complex discussions easily, offer insights I would not have reached independently, and challenge me to think beyond my initial assumptions. These are qualities I admire.”
She blushed again, but she did not look away. “You are very generous in your assessment.”
“I am very honest in my assessment.” He rose, suddenly conscious that they had been conversing for some time whilst he remained in his banyan, she in her morning dress, the intimacy of the situation somehow more pronounced than it had been when they first woke.
“I should prepare for the day. I promised Arthur I would review some documents before breakfast, and I am already unconscionably late.”
“Of course.” She stood as well. “I should go downstairs. Jane will wonder where I am.”
They moved to the door, reaching it at the same moment. Darcy’s hand closed over the handle as Elizabeth’s reached for it, their fingers brushing. Both froze.
“After you,” Darcy managed.
“Thank you.” She slipped past him into the corridor, close enough that he caught the scent of lavender from her hair, then paused and glanced at him.
“I enjoyed our conversation regarding the estate and about your cousins’ misadventures.
If you wish to discuss such matters again… I should like that.”
Her admittance pushed aside any lingering doubts about their marriage’s potential. Darcy grinned. “As would I. Very much indeed.”
She departed, leaving him standing in the doorway watching her retreat down the corridor. She turned a corner and disappeared from view. Only then did he step back into the room, closing the door as his mind turned over the events of the recent hours with wonder.