Chapter 2
Darcy dropped into the chair in his library after they had dined and stared at the fire. He wondered what Elizabeth might have said if he had joined her in the drawing room having taken his half-glass of port in solitary splendour after she had withdrawn.
Of course, he had not done so once since they had arrived two months ago.
Two months! And nothing had changed. He had not dared try to thaw the coldness between them; her resentment was absolute, and obvious.
He could not trust himself to approach her.
It would make things more difficult for her, having to tolerate his presence.
He sighed. He could not blame her. He had not even been introduced to her before she found herself betrothed. He shuddered and jumped to his feet, beginning the familiar habit of pacing around his library when he needed to think.
There was a knock at the door, and a footman entered with a tray of coffee for him.
Darcy nodded, standing still as the man placed the tray carefully down. “Thank you, Hawkins.”
The door closed; alone again, Darcy resumed his pacing.
He recalled his insult at the assembly and watching Elizabeth laughing with her friends afterwards while looking at him.
He wished he had spoken more temperately; although she pretended amusement, somehow he knew she had been hurt by his dismissal.
Georgiana would have been devastated had she heard someone insult her in that way, so why had he not even considered the hurt he could have caused? And as he had watched her, he knew his words had been untrue.
Her flashing eyes, her dark hair glinting chestnut highlights when she passed by the candles, and her expressive features, all made an enticing whole, and he had bitterly regretted that he could not approach her, not after what he had said.
He shook himself, and crossed the room to sit by the fire and drink his coffee.
He knew she had been angry at having to marry, knew she despised and resented him.
He knew not how to approach her, ask her for forgiveness — even tell her of his feelings toward her.
He smiled slightly, had she felt the same pull of attraction when their hands touched as he handed her the mulled wine?
He had been hard-pressed not to react, not to speak intemperately; but he knew, with a sense of desolation, that she would not wish it.
He smiled slightly; before offering his arm to escort her through to the dining room, he had picked up the glass she had used.
He had lingered over touching it, the glass she had drunk from, her lips shaped around the rim, and his chest tightened with desire at the memory.
He had carried the glasses back to the tray, disguising his impulse as courtesy, but she had still looked towards him, askance.
The coffee was rich and strong, just as he liked it, and cream softened the bitterness in the evenings. He allowed himself to enjoy the luxury he lived in; he was very fortunate.
But his comfort did not last long; his mind returning, as it often did, to the assembly that had started it all.
The youngest Bennet daughter had been cavorting uninhibitedly around the crowded rooms. He had been watching with a sort of fascinated disgust when he saw her pass close to the kitchen hand who had been carrying a plate of food to replenish the table.
The man spoke to her and extended the plate.
The youngest daughter had paused and looked up at the man’s face.
His expression. Darcy had seen that sort of predatory look before.
Rakes and licentious fools were not the preserve of the rich or the poor, and this man looked hungrily at the buxom figure of the girl, caring not that she was very young and a gentleman’s daughter.
He looked just as Wickham had toward Georgiana.
When the man bent his head and whispered to her, she turned to follow him out of the room.
There had been no time to find one of her sisters, no reason to alert anyone to a brewing scandal, and Darcy had not even considered what he was doing when he hurried out of the room after her.
All he knew was that he could not allow another girl of Georgiana’s age to ruin her life, and he had not even thought further.
He had meant only to protect her, but Elizabeth’s furious words cut him deeply.
“Just the same as all of us that you have disdained all evening, sir!”
He still didn’t know whether she had even seen the other man.
But he had not known what to say, and so had not spoken.
If only I had been able to think of the words to explain!
Just one word in defence of myself. Then Elizabeth might not hate me so much.
I have lived my life mastering words and yet in the moment that most demanded them, my tongue failed me.
Mrs. Bennet’s shriek had halted everything in his mind. He had pushed through the crowd to go to Mr. Bennet. He must make things right, but the thought of being forced to marry the youngest sister — no! He had to explain and become betrothed to Elizabeth. Then he would be safe from the other.
His shudder spilled a few drops of coffee, and he absently brushed them away, smiling slightly. If he must marry, Elizabeth had definitely been the better choice, and he had been surprised to find he did not really mind; the lady had already fascinated him.
But she was furious, and her icy politeness had discouraged him.
He had not an idea how to solve this. After two months of marriage, he was still at an impasse.
He wanted to talk to her, to explain, to make of this marriage one where they could have an increasing regard for each other. Where they could find happiness.
But she would not welcome him. And that dismayed him.
He had hoped Georgiana, escorted by their cousin, would be here for Christmas.
Elizabeth needed a friend, and he hoped she and Georgiana would like each other.
Georgiana and Richard might be able to help them past this antipathy and make things easier.
Georgiana and Richard would not come in this weather.
In London it might not have been obvious that the weather had closed in early.
But even if they had started out, after the first night stop, Richard would have turned them back for town.
He would take no risks with his young ward and Darcy would not object to that sentiment.
However, he was disappointed. Elizabeth would remain isolated. He must do something.
He had already instructed his housekeeper to ensure that all the rooms Elizabeth used, including her chambers, were kept warm and well lit.
He had been pleased to see that the two women seemed to respect each other, and spoke often.
Mrs. Reynolds was a kindly woman, and she would help Elizabeth to feel more at home.
Much later, he lay in bed, too wakeful to sleep. He remembered the sight of Elizabeth’s face in the firelight. How could he ever have said she was tolerable? She was beautiful, and she was his wife. But they were strangers to each other, and he knew that was his fault.
She was lonely and unhappy. He could not allow that to continue. Christmas was a time for family, and he longed to be on good terms with his wife.
How could he improve things for them? What could he do to make her happier?
He was despondent. She hated him so much, any attempt to approach her would make her unhappier.
She would spurn every effort he could make.
He would have to stay out of her way. Perhaps spring would make a difference.
Her elder sister had approached him after the wedding.
She had said Elizabeth loved to walk out for many miles each day, whatever the weather.
His brow furrowed; she did not walk out here when the weather was so bad, did she? He was always busy on the estate with his steward; he did not know how she occupied her time.
He stared up through the darkness at the heavy canopy over the bed. If only you knew, Elizabeth. If only you knew. I just wanted to save your sister from disaster; the same disaster that nearly befell Georgiana.
His thoughts continued long into the night.