Chapter Twelve
Darcy took her hand and slowly drew off her glove, finger by finger, his eyes fixed on hers all the while.
Elizabeth knew she ought to say something tart about his presumption, but no words came.
He turned her bare hand over instead and pressed his mouth against the inside of her wrist. The touch sent a shiver all the way through her.
"William," she whispered as his mouth moved higher.
A sudden metallic clatter shattered the moment. Elizabeth jerked awake to find a maid crouched beside the fireplace, one hand frozen around the poker and an expression of horror on her face. "Oh! Mrs Darcy, I am so sorry. I did not mean to wake you."
Elizabeth stared at her, still caught somewhere between sleep and the alarming memory of Darcy's mouth travelling up her arm. "No. No, it is quite all right."
The maid began apologising again as she hurriedly rescued whatever she had knocked loose in the grate and left the room, but Elizabeth scarcely heard her.
She pulled the thick coverlet a little higher and tried to collect herself while the unfamiliar room came into focus around her.
Embroidered bed hangings had been tied back at each corner of the enormous four-poster bed she occupied, leaving the room open around her.
Opposite the bed, a broad window looked out over the lawns and towards the lake, which she could see even without lifting her head from the pillows.
The walls were covered in a delicate paper of tiny yellow birds darting between climbing roses, cheerful enough to soften the grandeur of the room.
A low fire burned in the grate beneath the mantel, and the furniture had the heavy polish of pieces that had been cherished for generations.
It was all very beautiful, but for several disorientating seconds, she had no idea where she was.
Then the memory returned in a rush. She was in Pemberley.
This was her first full day there as its mistress, no less.
Yesterday there had been Georgiana and dinner with Darcy and…
she groaned and covered her face with her hands, attempting to sink deeper into the plush bed.
Apparently her mind had no intention of leaving the previous evening where it belonged.
Georgiana had cheerfully shown her these rooms yesterday, opening cupboards and pointing out which windows caught the best morning light, before explaining that the little sitting room beyond the door beside the fireplace connected directly with Darcy’s own apartments.
Elizabeth had thought the arrangement sensible then.
Reassuring, even. They each had their own space, with a full room between.
She would be safely tucked away in her own chamber.
Now, it was starting to feel like an island—a very lonely island.
After dinner, Darcy had not attempted to see her again.
She had gone straight upstairs, still flushed from his kisses and embarrassed from her body’s response to him.
She had drunk only a little with dinner, so could not lay the blame with a bottle this time.
She had been very clear. She wanted them to know one another properly before everything between them rushed ahead again, and Darcy had listened.
She knew he was too honourable to go against her wishes, even as a small and rebellious part of her heart had hoped he would ignore her.
Elizabeth frowned at the yellow birds on the wallpaper.
It was an appalling thought. She would have been furious if he had come through the connecting door after she had expressly asked him not to press her.
Or at least she ought to have been furious.
Last night, lying awake in the enormous unfamiliar bed, she had found herself much less certain.
Sometime after the house had grown quiet, she had heard movement in the adjoining sitting room.
A door opened softly and footsteps crossed the carpet, muted but distinct enough to make her stop shifting beneath the covers and listen.
She had known at once that it was Darcy.
The sound drew nearer until it stopped somewhere beyond the connecting door, and Elizabeth found herself staring towards it in the darkness, imagining the handle turning and Darcy appearing there with the same look he had worn before he kissed her.
His eyes cloudy with desire. She held her breath, but the footsteps retreated and the far door closed softly behind him.
???
By the time Elizabeth came down to breakfast, she had had several stern words with herself and was convinced she could behave in a perfectly friendly, perfectly sensible manner towards her husband.
There would be no blushing or staring at his lips and remembering what they felt like on hers.
Friendship was the plan and, what’s more, it was her plan. She would see it through.
That conviction lasted until Darcy looked up from his newspaper and smiled at her. "Good morning, Elizabeth."
Good Lord, the man had dimples. How had she not noticed them before? She supposed he had spent very little of their acquaintance smiling. Elizabeth was trying not to imagine what it might be like to kiss them when Georgiana greeted her warmly and drew her into easy conversation.
Darcy folded away his newspaper and rose to make up a plate for her.
He remembered her preferred fare and even made a cup of tea exactly to her liking.
He must have paid attention as they travelled.
It was all very ordinary and domestic and made her feel a little like she was appearing in an odd sort of play.
When he set the plate before her, his fingers came close to hers upon the edge of it.
Her hand ached to close the distance between them, but she quickly moved it into her lap before she could behave foolishly.
Darcy merely smiled again and returned to his seat.
"I am afraid I shall be occupied for much of the morning," Darcy said mildly.
"There are several matters with my steward which require attention after my absence.
" He gave her a searching look. "I hope you do not mind and I am certain Georgiana will be glad of your company. "
"Of course not." She made her voice suitably light. Why should she mind? She had not expected him to abandon the management of Pemberley merely because he had acquired a wife. "You have an estate to run."
The younger girl responded enthusiastically. "I certainly would be glad of your company." She smiled at Elizabeth. "Let us leave William to his fusty old papers. We shall have ever so much fun."
Elizabeth tried her best to return the younger girl's smile. She knew that a day with Georgiana would be very pleasant indeed, but she already felt the lack of Darcy. Friends need not be tied to each other every moment of the day, she reminded herself sternly.
Darcy finished his coffee and rose. "Then I shall leave you in better company than my own."
And so the pattern of their days was set.
Darcy was always kind to her, but his behaviour was so scrupulously proper that it made her want to scream.
They took their meals together and, when estate business released him, he would sometimes join Elizabeth and Georgiana for tea, talking easily enough of books or Pemberley’s tenants or the minutiae of his day.
The topics were always light and cheerful, though sometimes she noticed a tension in his body, a readjusting of his expression that made her wonder if he felt as placid as he appeared.
Elizabeth saw more and more of the man she had glimpsed in the cellar, warmer and less guarded than she had once believed him to be.
But that night itself might almost never have happened.
He never touched her, save for a very proper brush of her fingers when he wished her good evening each night before disappearing to his rooms.
To her shame, Elizabeth took to pressing her ear against the door of their shared sitting room after he had gone.
She had not ventured through it since Georgiana first showed her the apartments, but every evening she found herself listening for some sign of him on the other side.
Sometimes there were footsteps or the scrape of a chair.
One night she heard him singing quietly to himself, so softly that she could not make out the words.
The sound made her heart flutter in her chest. She stood there long after the sound had stopped, one hand resting against the door, before scolding herself and going to bed.