Chapter 24 #3
When they were through, she asked if he would accompany her on a short walk to stretch her legs and he readily consented. When they returned, the fires were lit in the individual bedchambers and Elizabeth walked toward hers, saying she would ring for the maid to help her prepare for bed.
“That isn’t necessary, Elizabeth. I can help you,” said Darcy.
Stopping in her path with her back still to her husband, she said, “I already told her I would ring for her later. It will only take a moment.”
“Surely I can manage a few buttons!” he exclaimed, thinking she was trying to spare him an unnecessary duty.
“You really needn’t bother, Fitzwilliam. I shall join you here when I am ready,” she said quickly as she made for the door. She was through it and had closed it soundly behind her before he could think of a response.
Has she just run from me? What on earth is going on?
Annoyed but trying not to let it overtake him—he had learned something from their first awkward day together—he went into his room and changed into his nightshirt, loosely tying his dressing gown over it.
He had a sip of brandy and returned to the sitting room, staring out the window at the darkness while he awaited his surprisingly changeable wife.
Had he offended her in some way? He went over their conversation in the carriage, over dinner, on their walk.
There was nothing out of the ordinary. She had asked him about the book he was reading; he had told her.
She had asked him about something being discussed in parliament that she had seen him and her uncle and father reading about in the broadsheet; he had told her what he knew of it.
She had asked him about the plans for the morrow, and again, he had told her.
What had he possibly done to offend her?
Was she even offended? Was she nervous that he would try to lie with her at an inn?
Ah, that must be it, he thought. She had been raised a modest lady and they were very newly married.
The thought of such intimate activities in what was so public a place must be unnerving to her.
Well, he should set her mind at ease. He had not planned as far as that.
Yes, he had wanted to kiss her and hold her a bit, and perhaps feel certain assets under his palms that he had recently become acquainted with, and he wasn’t completely sure he would be able to stop himself from going any further, but he wasn’t planning it.
He could restrain himself. He would restrain himself.
The door to his right opened and Elizabeth stepped out, a dark grey dressing gown covering what looked to be a very serviceable plain white nightgown beneath.
He frowned. She had been wearing silky, soft, enticing gowns each night of their marriage.
They hadn’t stayed on her long, but he had certainly appreciated the picture they created.
Were these her travel things? The last two nights he hadn’t seen her as they had not talked after dinner but gone straight to bed.
“Do you think they have chocolate here?” she asked. She was settled into the chair by the fire, looking at him expectantly.
“I’m sure they do. Shall I ring for it?”
“Please.”
The maid arrived shortly and he requested chocolate for his wife and port for himself.
“Are you looking forward to seeing the ruins tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yes. I haven’t seen them since I was a child.”
“It will be nice to be out of the carriage for a little while,” she commented absently.
“Yes, it will.”
“It’s too bad you didn’t bring your horse. You could have ridden part of the journey at least,” she offered.
“Then you would be alone in the carriage,” he responded.
Was it his imagination or did she look like that idea wasn’t particularly bothersome? He walked toward the fireplace and sat in the chair in front of her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. She looked at him in surprise.
“Elizabeth, are you well?”
“Why do you ask?” she said. She scooted back in her chair and looked aside nervously.
“You seem distracted. You slept half the day in the carriage. You —” he gestured aimlessly with his hands. “Forgive me, you just don’t seem yourself.”
She sat up a little straighter. “Traveling is tiresome. I thought a sleeping powder would help me rest so I took one at the first stop. There is nothing wrong with me.” Nothing that won’t be over in a few days.
“Sleeping powder!” he cried. “Why would you—if you were tired wouldn’t you sleep on your own?”
She shrugged and looked away uncomfortably.
“Ah, I see,” he said grimly.
She startled and looked up. “You do?”
“Yes. Forgive me for intruding on your rest, madam.”
He withdrew and stood looking out the window, his back to her.
She was utterly confused about what had just happened.
She stared after him for a moment, then decided to ignore the problem.
Her sisters often behaved similarly. They would get in a snit about something, not tell anyone what it was, then huff off to pout until someone came to find them and cajole it out of them.
Well, she wanted no part in such games. If he wanted to act like a child, she would not participate.
After several minutes of her sitting in silence and him staring out the window—what was he looking at, anyway?—her curiosity got the better of her. Fitzwilliam did not usually pout and he was normally nothing like her sisters, so she thought it right to ask him of his troubles.
“Fitzwilliam, is something troubling you?” she asked carefully.
Only the realization that my wife of nine days is already tired of me. “No, I am perfectly well,” he said flatly, still facing the window.
“Truly?”
He turned to face her. “I am as well as you, Mrs. Darcy,” he said with a slight nod in her direction and what she could swear was a mocking look in his eyes.
Elizabeth sat motionless at his words, stunned that he would speak to her in such a way. “What are you implying?” she asked.
“Nothing, my dear. Absolutely nothing,” he replied. She was sure his tone was mocking her now.
“Please don’t call me dear when you are angry with me. It ruins it,” she said somewhat sharply.
“As you wish, madam,” he said as he turned back to the window.
A few minutes passed in silence—neither spoke nor moved. Finally, Elizabeth could take it no more.
“Is this how it is to be then? You will take offense at some imaginary insult and will not tell me why you are angry, but will stand at the window and sulk? How long is it to last? How frequently does this happen? Should I take to carrying a book with me at all times in case you decide to shut me out at an inopportune time?”
He whirled around, his face pinched with the anger that had finally come to the surface. Though it was the slightest bit frightening, she felt triumphant at forcing a reaction from him. She had never been able to abide stoicism.
“Me? I am the one being silent? I am withdrawing? That is a rich tale you weave, Elizabeth.”
“What are you talking of?” she asked, confused and irritated. Her head was starting to pound again and the cramps in her lower back were getting stronger. She squinted her eyes to relieve the pressure in her forehead, unknowingly making herself look incredibly angry.
Frustrated, tired, and disappointed, Darcy decided to end her games here. “Is my company so tiresome you had to send yourself to sleep to avoid it?”
“What?”
“I see clearly now why you have been avoiding me, why you won’t come near me. Why you are wearing that!” He pointed to her nightgown and she clutched it to her chest.
“What are you talking about? I’m not avoiding you!” she exclaimed. Her hand rubbed her temple and her eyes closed against the pain in her head.
“Are you not? Then why have you become a different person on this journey? The first day you were my Elizabeth. Then yesterday you were tired and silent. I thought it was just fatigue, but today you hardly spoke three words. You were happy to let me do all the talking while I prattled on, ignorant of your growing disdain.” His voice grew with each accusation and before he knew what he was about, he had worked himself up into a frenzy.
She gasped at his outburst and stood to face him.
“If I was avoiding you, would I have asked to cuddle with you in the carriage? If I was avoiding you, would I have eaten with you and specifically asked for your company on a walk? If I was avoiding you, sir, would I have come out this evening to sit with you despite the pain in my head and the ache in my back? You spoiled, hateful man!”
Elizabeth clamped a hand over her mouth, shocked by her own words, and ran from the room, shutting her door with a thud, the lock making a clear snick as it latched into place.
He could hear her sobbing from the sitting room and wondered what he had done.
He stood there, wondering when he had become intemperate and volatile.
Just a few hours ago he had held her while she slept in the carriage.
He had led her peacefully through the garden.
They had eaten a pleasant meal together and he had so looked forward to spending the evening with her in his arms. Is that what this was about?
Had he become a spoiled child who threw a tantrum when denied a treat? Was he hateful as she had said?
He paced and ran his hands through his hair, all the while hearing Elizabeth’s muffled sobs through the door.
It sounded like she had buried her head in a pillow but he had always had keen hearing.
After several minutes the sobs subsided and there was a knock at the door.
He answered to find a maid there with hot chocolate for his wife and port for himself.
The young woman bobbed and said, “The missus says to tell the lady that she’ll have what she requested shortly and one of the maids will bring it up. Sir.” She bobbed again and was away before he could question her further.