Chapter Ten
The day's travel was long and arduous. Conversation between Elizabeth and Darcy had been almost non-existent, and by the time they arrived at the coaching inn she was tired, hungry and deeply irritated.
He deposited her in a private parlour while he went to make arrangements, although Elizabeth felt certain that his valet or one of the footmen could have made them perfectly well. He simply wanted to be away from her.
Why did that thought feel so uncomfortable?
She had not wanted this marriage. Well, perhaps that was not quite true.
She had not wanted it in this way, with everything decided so quickly and no real opportunity to think.
Perhaps if, after that life-altering night in the cellar, they had been allowed time to come to know one another properly, to understand what had happened between them and what they might become, she would not now feel as though her entire life had been picked up and turned upside down without her permission.
And now it was her wedding night and she sat alone in a coaching inn with only a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits for company.
Elizabeth devoured the biscuits with little concern for elegance, since there was no one present before whom she was required to nibble delicately, and remained there for what felt like an age with half a cup of cold tea before her.
When the door finally opened, it was not her husband who stood in the doorway but a kind-looking maid who begged her to follow and showed her upstairs to a small but comfortable chamber which already contained her trunks.
Elizabeth was too embarrassed to enquire after Darcy and thereby admit that she had no notion of the whereabouts of her own husband.
Time passed slowly. The shadows lengthened outside and a fire was lit in the grate.
Hot water arrived, followed by a supper tray containing cold meat, bread, cheese and a small decanter of wine.
Elizabeth ate little of it. She changed into her nightgown and wrapper, brushed out her hair and then sat beside the fire trying to read a book.
She had spent the better part of the afternoon trying not to think about the moment in the carriage when Darcy had almost kissed her.
Worse, she had spent even longer trying not to think about how desperately she had wanted him to.
Now she was sitting in her chamber listening for his footsteps like some trembling bride in a sentimental novel.
He must have taken another room. The thought settled unpleasantly in her stomach.
Of course he had. After what had passed in the carriage, what else could she have expected?
He had made it perfectly clear that he would not presume upon their marriage, and she had done nothing to encourage him otherwise.
Perhaps he intended them to live as politely distant acquaintances from this moment onwards.
There was a hesitant knock at the door. She sat upright so quickly that the book slipped from her lap.
"Come in." The door opened and Darcy appeared.
He had removed his coat and wore only his dark waistcoat over a white shirt, his cravat still neatly tied despite the lateness of the hour.
For a few seconds he simply stood there.
His gaze moved over her loose hair and the thin wrapper gathered about her, then returned quickly to her face.
A flush rose along his cheekbones and his hand tightened slightly on the doorframe before he seemed to collect himself.
"I wished to see that you had everything you required," he said at last. His gaze moved briefly around the room. "The chamber is comfortable enough?"
Elizabeth glanced around the room. "Yes. I have everything I need."
"Good."
He remained where he was, one hand still resting on the doorframe, and Elizabeth began to wonder why he had come at all if he had so little to say. His attention moved to the supper tray. "You have eaten very little."
Elizabeth glanced at the abandoned plate. "I was not especially hungry."
"You should try to eat something more. We have another long day tomorrow."
"Thank you, Mr Pemberley." She repeated the teasing nickname from the cellar but it came out hard and brittle. The words had escaped before she could stop them. Darcy's brows drew together, and Elizabeth immediately regretted the remark, though not quite enough to apologise.
"I did not mean to lecture you," he said after a moment. "I only came to make certain you were comfortable and to wish you goodnight."
"Goodnight?"
Darcy paused and looked at her more closely. "Yes. I thought that was what you would prefer."
Elizabeth stared at him. He had finally come to her room only to enquire after her comfort and leave again. She felt foolish for every moment she had spent listening for his footsteps, and even more foolish for the disappointment now sitting heavily in her chest.
Her eyes moved to the decanter of wine on the table. "There is wine," she said. "If you require some."
Darcy frowned. "Why would I require wine?"
The sensible thing would have been to say nothing more. Elizabeth was tired enough to have lost much of her good sense and hurt enough not to care. "It seemed useful the last time you wished to touch me."
His expression changed at once.
Elizabeth knew she had gone too far, but embarrassment drove her onwards. "Although I suppose there is little point delaying matters. We are married now. We may as well get it over with."
Darcy stared at her for one long moment, then crossed the room so quickly that Elizabeth's breath caught.
In three strides he was standing directly before her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
Anger had brought colour high into his face, but there was something else there too, something hot and unmistakable that sent a shiver through her.
He lifted one hand and placed a finger beneath her chin, raising her face a little more firmly towards his. The touch was gentle, despite the tension in him. "Do not ever speak as though touching you is some duty I must force myself to perform."
Elizabeth's breath caught. His eyes dropped to her mouth and she thought he might kiss her after all.
She did not move. His thumb shifted slightly against her chin, almost a caress, and the heat in his expression deepened before he seemed to remember himself.
"And do not ever suggest that I would require wine before I could want you. "
The words struck hard enough to leave her without a reply. Darcy remained close for another moment, his face only inches from hers, before he released her and stepped back. The sudden loss of his touch was almost as unsettling as the touch itself. "Darcy, I—"
He gave a short shake of his head, whether to silence her or himself she could not tell.
Then he turned and crossed the room without another word, opened the door and disappeared into the corridor.
Elizabeth remained where she was long after it closed, one hand rising unconsciously to the place beneath her chin where his finger had rested.
Her gaze moved to the decanter of wine and she wished very much that she had kept her mouth shut.
???
Darcy spoke to her only when it was absolutely necessary throughout the rest of the journey.
Elizabeth felt the sting of the silence, but as the hours and miles passed it gave her some space to reorganise the jumble of her mind.
She realised that since the day of his disastrous proposal she had been dragged along by emotion, by dislike and prejudice, by fear and anger and, on several mortifying occasions, by desire.
One feeling had scarcely settled before another rose to replace it, and she had reacted to each with very little thought for what might follow.
The previous evening was a mortifying example.
She had been disappointed that Darcy meant only to wish her goodnight, embarrassed by that disappointment and then so determined to hide it that she had said something deliberately hurtful.
She had wanted reassurance and managed to insult him instead.
It could not continue in that way. They were husband and wife now.
However unwillingly she had come to the altar, she had spoken the sacred vows and placed her life alongside his.
She could spend the next weeks resenting how it had happened, but that would not carry her back to Longbourn as Elizabeth Bennet.
And Darcy was not the man she had once believed him to be.
He was certainly not the villain Mr Wickham had painted, nor was he simply the proud, disagreeable gentleman who had insulted her at the Meryton assembly.
He could still be arrogant and infuriatingly certain of his own judgement.
His interference between Jane and Mr Bingley remained difficult to forgive, and his decision to write to her father before she had agreed to marry him still made her bristle whenever she remembered it.
But there was much good in him too. She had seen his affection when he talked of his sister, his loyalty to those he loved and felt the gentleness of his touch.
She shivered at the memory, and he thrust a blanket at her without turning his head.
The action was so caring and so stern that it made her want to laugh out loud.
He was neither an ogre nor an angel. Perhaps she had spent too much time trying to place him neatly into one category or another when he was simply a man and, underneath all the pride and reserve, she believed him to be a good one.
She could hardly pretend she had behaved much better.
Too often she had allowed hurt and petulance to guide her speech and actions.
And she was tired of every look from him, every touch or careless remark, sending her thoughts spinning off in some new direction.
By the final day of their journey, Elizabeth had decided upon a plan.
She would stop picking at every grievance and stop wondering what every sudden rush of feeling towards her husband might mean.
There would be time enough for all of that later.
For now, they needed something simpler. They needed to begin again.
They needed to build a foundation of friendship before anything else.
As they passed into Derbyshire, she placed the lightest of touches on his knee. Darcy jumped beneath her hand and looked down at it as though she had done something far more shocking. Elizabeth nearly laughed. "Darcy, I have been thinking."
He looked at her, his expression guarded.
"You need not look quite so alarmed. I am not about to begin another quarrel."
He said nothing and the silence stretched between them. Elizabeth withdrew her hand and looked down at her lap. She had rehearsed these words many times and wanted to get them right.
"I think we ought to begin again. Not pretend that everything which has passed between us did not happen, because that would be ridiculous, but perhaps stop allowing it to govern every conversation we have from now until we are old and grey.
We have made a spectacular mess of things so far.
" She hesitated, then added, "And I know I have not helped matters.
I have said some very unkind things to you, particularly when I have been angry or embarrassed, and I am sorry for them.
I seem to have spent all my time lately taking offence or giving it, and I find I am quite ashamed. "
He opened his mouth as if to speak and she held up a hand. If she did not get it all out now she never would.
"That does not mean I have forgotten everything. I am still angry about Jane and Mr Bingley. I do not think I can simply set that aside because we are married, and I am still not entirely reconciled to the way you wrote to my father before I had given you an answer."
Darcy's expression tightened, but he said nothing.
"But I also know I was wrong about other things. About Mr Wickham, certainly. About you too, in many ways." She drew a breath. "We have arrived at marriage without bothering with most of what usually comes before it. Friendship would have been a useful beginning. A courtship, even."
Darcy gave a quiet exhale, but Elizabeth pressed on before she could lose her courage.
"What I mean is that we barely know one another, not really. I decided what sort of man you were without taking the trouble to find out, and I think perhaps you have made one or two assumptions about me as well."
"One or two," he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
She gave him a look, but there was no heat in it. "So I thought we might stop trying to be husband and wife for five minutes and attempt something simpler first."
Darcy was watching her very closely now.
"Friends," Elizabeth said. "I think we should try to become friends."
For several seconds he said nothing, and Elizabeth felt herself beginning to bristle before she caught the impulse and let it pass.
At last Darcy said, "You truly wish that?"
"I do." Elizabeth drew in a breath. "And I owe you an apology for last night. I knew I was being hurtful. I was embarrassed and disappointed and instead of saying either of those things like a sensible person, I chose to say something cruel."
Darcy's eyes widened slightly at the word disappointed, but to his credit he did not seize upon it. He was quiet for a moment before saying, "Thank you."
Elizabeth settled back against the seat. "So, friends?"
Darcy regarded her for another moment before a small smile appeared. "I should like that very much." He held out his hand across the space between them.
Elizabeth looked at it, amused. "What are you doing?"
"I tend to shake hands with my friends."
"Of course you do." She placed her hand in his and tried very hard to ignore the trail of heat that ran up her arm when his fingers closed around hers, even through their gloves.
She was not going to begin examining every ridiculous response her body had to the man again.
Friendship was the plan and she could not allow her mind to leap beyond that.
"Good," she said, withdrawing her hand before it could become any more distracting. "Then perhaps we may manage the remainder of the journey without either of us saying something unforgivable."
Darcy's smile deepened. "I shall do my best, Elizabeth."