Chapter 7 Unhappily Ever After #2
That evening, after they had enjoyed a late supper in a private room at the inn, he escorted her to her room.
He only wished her a good night, planning to leave her undisturbed in her chambers, but when he leant to kiss her, she turned her cheek to him.
That slight movement filled him with dread, and he said in a hushed voice, “Good night, my dear.”
The following day, Darcy attempted other topics that he thought might engage her, but every effort met with brief civility. She remained reserved, answering in brief syllables if at all. Her countenance, once so lively, bore restrained disdain that stung far more than words.
“Elizabeth, I know how much you enjoy walking and how much you enjoyed your walks at Rosings, but at Pemberley, I would ask you to have a footman accompany you when I cannot.”
Her entire mien stiffened at his words.
“It is only that the grounds are vast, and you are unacquainted with them,” he said quickly.
“I would not have you lost or injured with no one to assist you. Should you remain near the house, it will not be necessary, but Pemberley is nearly ten miles around. Until you know the estate better, I must insist upon it.”
Her acquiescence relieved him.
“I do see your wisdom in this, Mr Darcy. For the present, I will do as you bid. At Longbourn, I have walked my father’s grounds since childhood and know every path, but at Pemberley, I must own, I am a stranger.”
“Do you ride at all?”
“No, Papa never thought to teach us.” She lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “A neighbour taught Jane, but their family moved before I had my chance.”
“I would be glad to teach you, if you should wish it,” Darcy offered, hoping they could find a common interest; riding would open a wealth of possibilities.
Elizabeth inclined her head, though her assent appeared more a concession than pleasure. Darcy could not be certain whether the prospect interested her or whether she merely wished to avoid further disagreement.
“Very well. I should like that, Mr Darcy.”
“Will you not call me by my Christian name, Elizabeth?”
She raised her brow. “It is Fitzwilliam, is it not? Has anyone ever called you anything else?”
“Georgiana calls me Brother, and most others use Darcy. My mother favoured my full name, while my father most often called me ‘Son.’ ”
“Do you like being called Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy only gave a small shrug. “It is my mother’s family’s name.”
“Very well. If it is your wish.” She twisted the wedding band around her finger.
He nodded to the ring. “It belonged to my mother.”
She stopped turning the ring and clasped her hands together in her lap. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” But said no more.
He considered the gold band he now wore and what it symbolised. He wondered how long it would take her to adjust to wearing the ring, the very weight of it on her hand.
Darcy continued to broach other interests but found her unforthcoming, appearing to be entirely absorbed in her own thoughts. At length, Darcy ceased these efforts, wounded that she continued to resist his overtures.
He expected that Elizabeth’s arrival at her new home might ease the tension that had grown between them as they sat confined in the carriage.
He was unused to Elizabeth being so guarded, her silence sharper than any reproach; yet, as a man unpractised in such a situation as theirs, he had no notion how to bridge the distance.
Early on the third day, Darcy was all anticipation for the sight of Pemberley, which would surely buoy her spirits. Elizabeth cannot deny the splendour of Pemberley.
Indeed, upon seeing the house, she seemed to awaken in delight. When their eyes met, her pleasure faded.
“Welcome to Pemberley, Mrs Darcy.” Hesitating, as though the right words might elude him if not chosen with care, he asked, “And how do you like Pemberley?”
“It is lovely.” Her voice was polite but distant; the warmth of her old self was but a faint echo. “I shall enjoy learning more about the estate and discovering its footpaths and walks, even if a footman must accompany me.”
“It is only for your safety,” he repeated. “Pemberley is vast.”
She nodded.
Trusting that beauty and welcome at Pemberley might succeed where he had thus far missed the mark, he handed her out of the carriage and proudly introduced her to the waiting servants.
Elizabeth smiled graciously and carried out her duties with aplomb, though to Darcy, it appeared more performance than genuine feeling.
Once they were alone in the great hall, her demeanour chilled. He escorted her to their suite of rooms. After they had refreshed and changed from their dusty travel clothes, he gave her a brief tour of a few of the principal rooms.
“Shall I come to you tonight, Elizabeth?” he asked once he returned her to her chambers; the question felt abrupt even to him.
Swallowing hard, she straightened her shoulders. “If it is your wish.”
“It is my wish, Elizabeth, but I had hoped it was yours as well.”
His voice sounded strained. The longer their journey had gone on, the more their distance troubled him.
He had not fully comprehended how little affection she bore him.
Or maybe he did but did not want to believe it.
Her cool civility on the road north had been a revelation he had not been prepared to face.
Since coming of age, he had been accustomed to women welcoming his attentions—many seeking them eagerly—and it bewildered him to find his own wife so unaffected.
He had delayed their physical union out of consideration, wishing her first night as his wife to be at Pemberley.
That the one woman he had sincerely wished to marry should recoil from him was a humiliation he had never imagined.
Had he forced her into a life she could scarcely endure?
“If you prefer to delay until we know one another better, I am amenable,” he said at last when her silence lingered.
“Elizabeth, perhaps…” He faltered, uncertain how to frame the thoughts that pressed upon him.
“You must know I do not offer from duty or obligation, but from admiration. I meant it when I told you in Kent that I loved you—”
“How can you claim to love me, Mr Darcy, when you scarcely know me?” Elizabeth burst out, her voice trembling, eyes flashing with anger.
“You presumed too much in Kent—kissed me without permission and forced me into a marriage without affection. I cannot love you. I do not know you. And what little I do know leaves much to be desired.”
Her lips quivered before she pressed them into a tight line. He simply stared at her, stunned at her vehemence.
“Do not think I have forgotten your interference with my sister and Mr Bingley last autumn, even if you have forgotten. She loved him, and yet you parted them for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, leaving her to suffer the consequences. If that alone were all I had against you, it would suffice for resentment, but it is not all. You are proud, disdainful, and unfeeling. Do not speak to me of love, sir, for I cannot believe you understand what that word truly means.”
Darcy recoiled as though she had struck him.
Colour rose in his cheeks, a mixture of shame and injured pride, for never before had any person spoken to him with such contempt—least of all his own wife.
That she should see him as cold and unfeeling, that she should doubt his integrity and his heart, wounded him more than he could easily bear.
His pride chafed at her accusations, urging him to defend his actions, yet part of him wondered if there might be truth in her words.
“What would you have me do, Elizabeth?”
“There is nothing to be done. I could not refuse you then, not when the servants started spreading rumours. There were too many witnesses. Nor can I refuse you now.” Her laughter sounded brittle.
“Papa would not allow me to be merely sent away for my sisters’ sake.
I suppose some good will come of this. Papa has decided to take my younger sisters in hand and will refuse to allow Lydia to follow the officers to Brighton. ”
Unable to respond to her words without causing greater offence, Darcy merely nodded.
“You have long been desiring my absence, I think. I will leave you to your peace. Will you… That is… Will you still dine with me tonight, or should I have a tray sent to your room? If you are too tired tonight to come downstairs, I will understand.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, drawing a slow breath. His question hung between them, raw and unsettling, and she seemed uncertain how to answer.
“I will join you for dinner,” she said at last.
Her indifference mocked him. Her contempt humiliated him.
Was it possible to mend what was broken between them—or had it been broken from the very beginning?
Darcy studied her face, her eyes shining with unshed tears, her visage one of anger rather than acceptance, before giving a hasty nod and withdrawing through the adjoining door to his chamber.
The click of the latch seemed to echo his unsettled thoughts.
Darcy’s valet removed his jacket, cravat, and boots before he dismissed the man with abrupt finality. Left alone, he sank into the chair by the fire, his head in his hands, and tried to tame the tempest within him.
He loved Elizabeth—did he not? Still, her words echoed in his mind, and each cut like a blade.
Could it be that she was correct, and his love had been nothing but desire dressed as devotion?
He had never thought of love in such terms before.
He had been a selfish being all his life.
What did it mean to love unselfishly? The concept was so foreign to him that he scarcely knew what it meant. How had all gone awry so swiftly?