Page 22

Elizabeth

F illed with anticipation, Elizabeth sat in the Darcy travelling carriage as it rolled steadily towards London.

The passing landscape shifted from the familiar peaks of Derbyshire to the gentler contours of the midlands.

She watched it without truly seeing, her thoughts too occupied with the man seated opposite her.

Darcy was reading a letter from his steward, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The morning sun caught in his dark hair, illuminating features she had come to know so well.

Had he regretted that impulsive moment between them?

His lips had been warm against hers, his touch gentle yet certain—but afterwards, he had retreated behind a wall of careful politeness.

For ten days they had discussed everything except what mattered. They had arranged trunks, discussed her meeting with Nocturne, debated their meetings with their families, and spoken of a dozen trivial subjects. Yet whenever the opportunity for genuine conversation arose, both had fallen silent.

“The sky threatens rain,” Elizabeth said, breaking the quiet that had stretched between them since breakfast. “I hope it holds until we reach the next posting house.”

Darcy folded his letter and glanced up at the gathering clouds. “We should reach Stevenage before any storm breaks.”

“That is fortunate.” She turned back to the window. The awkwardness between them was unbearable after how close they had become.

“Have you finished your sister’s letter?” Darcy asked, nodding towards the pages in Elizabeth’s lap that she had been pretending to read for the past half-hour.

“I have. She writes she had another delightful dinner at Netherfield and Mr Bingley’s sister stated she is most delighted we will be visiting. They plan a ball in our honour,” she said.

“Caroline is rarely sincere in her effusions,” Darcy cautioned. “Though I trust she will be civil. Charles would permit nothing less under his roof.”

Elizabeth smoothed the letter. “Mr Bingley seems a most amiable gentleman, from Jane’s description and yours. She writes of him with particular pleasure.”

“Bingley is the best of men,” Darcy said, his expression softening. “His good nature often leads him to see the best in people, occasionally to his detriment, but his judgement of your sister seems entirely sound. He mentions her in every letter.”

“I am glad,” Elizabeth said. “After all that has occurred with my family, it would bring me great joy to see Jane happy.”

The mention of her family cast a shadow between them.

The letters they had sent announcing their journey had produced swift responses—Jane’s loving anticipation, Mr Bennet’s brittle politeness, and Mrs Bennet’s catalogue of complaints, viewing Elizabeth’s failure to persuade Darcy to break the entail as a personal betrayal.

Of course, Mrs Bennet did not know Elizabeth had never broached the subject with Mr Darcy.

She did not want him to think she was after his wealth after all.

The worry her mother might bring up the topic nagged at her but she had to trust Mrs Bennet would hold on to her better senses in that regard.

From Darcy’s family, the replies had been equally mixed.

Lord Matlock, who had written only once since Elizabeth’s arrival at Pemberley, responded with cold formality.

He had announced his intention to be at Rosings Park at that time, and thus she would be meeting him along with Lady Catherine and Georgiana.

To her relief, Richard would also be in attendance.

“I confess some trepidation about our visit to Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth said. “My mother’s letter suggests she has not forgiven me for disappointing her hopes regarding our marriage.”

“We need not stay longer than is comfortable,” Darcy assured her. “Though I suspect her displeasure will soften when she discovers our marriage has not entirely severed the connection between your sisters and eligible society. Bingley’s presence at Netherfield has already improved their prospects.”

“True. Jane has dined at Netherfield twice already.” Elizabeth hesitated, then voiced the thought that had troubled her. “Your uncle’s reply was rather terse. Do you anticipate difficulty?”

Darcy’s expression grew guarded. “My uncle dislikes when his plans are thwarted. He had set his heart on my marriage to Lady Eleanor, but his displeasure will pass. My aunt may prove less tractable, but we need not concern ourselves with her opinions.”

“And Georgiana? Will she truly welcome me?”

“Georgiana is eager to meet you,” Darcy said. “Her letters have been filled with questions about you since our marriage. She is shy with strangers, but her soul is generous. You will find a friend in her.”

Elizabeth nodded, though uncertainty lingered. She had lived at Pemberley for weeks now, finding her place within its walls, yet she had done so largely in isolation. This journey would test her position as Mrs Darcy in ways she had not yet faced.

The carriage jolted over a rough patch, causing Elizabeth to catch at the strap.

Darcy reached out instinctively, his hand closing over hers before withdrawing.

The brief contact awakened memories of other touches—his fingers on her wrist as he helped her mount Persephone, his palm against her waist as they walked the garden paths, his lips upon hers in the library…

“Fitzwilliam,” she began. “I wish to speak with you about what happened between us the night I received the letter from Nocturne Publishing.”

Colour rose in Darcy’s face, but he met her gaze directly. “I have wished to address it these past days, but feared you might find the discussion uncomfortable.”

“I have found your silence far more discomfiting,” she admitted. “I thought perhaps you regretted what happened.”

“Regretted it?” Darcy looked startled. “No, not at all. I feared I had overstepped. When you withdrew, I thought—”

“I withdrew because I feared I had been too forward,” Elizabeth interrupted. “That I had embarrassed you by responding with too much… enthusiasm.”

They stared at one another, and then, to Elizabeth’s surprise, Darcy began to laugh—not his careful, measured chuckle, but a genuine laugh that transformed his face.

“We have been at cross-purposes,” he said. “Each fearing the other’s displeasure, when in fact…”

“When in fact we both found the experience rather agreeable,” Elizabeth finished, her own smile breaking free.

The tension that had lingered between them dissolved, replaced by something warmer, more hopeful.

“More than agreeable,” Darcy said. “Elizabeth, my feelings for you have changed considerably since our marriage began. I find myself thinking of you constantly, admiring your wit, your courage, your intelligence. When I am with you, I feel more myself than I have ever felt with another person.”

Elizabeth recognised in his words an echo of her own sentiments. “I came to Pemberley seeking refuge, but I have discovered not merely safety, but happiness.”

Darcy reached across the space between them, taking her hand in his. “When we made our agreement, we spoke of possibly ending our marriage after a year. I find I no longer wish for such an outcome. I wish instead to build a true marriage with you.”

She looked down at their joined hands, marvelling at how natural it felt now. “I would like that as well.”

“When we return to Pemberley, after our visits to London and Hertfordshire, perhaps we might ask the vicar to give us his blessing—a private ceremony to mark our decision. Not a legal necessity, for we are already wed, but a renewal of our vows with true understanding of what we pledge to one another.”

Elizabeth nodded, touched by the suggestion. “I would like that very much.”

Darcy lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles. “I have come to care for you deeply, Elizabeth. More than I thought possible when we met that day in the park.”

“And I for you,” she replied. “Though I still find it remarkable that such a beginning could lead to such a happy discovery.”

“Perhaps it is not so remarkable,” Darcy said. “Even in our first conversation, there was something between us—a mutual understanding. I trusted you instinctively, though we had just met.”

“As did I,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “Though I suspect many would call us both quite mad for acting upon such an impression.”

“I have never regretted it,” Darcy said.

Elizabeth blinked remembering that one significant secret still lay between them—her acquaintance with Wickham.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s account of Wickham’s treachery towards Georgiana made her own silence seem increasingly indefensible.

Yet she feared introducing such a subject now, when they had only just found their way back to one another.

She would tell him the truth, once the strain of meeting their families lay behind them. Once they had signed with Nocturne. Once all was settled.

“There is one more matter we should discuss before we reach Netherfield,” Darcy said. “Caroline Bingley.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Miss Bingley? What of her?”

“She has long harboured hopes of becoming mistress of Pemberley,” Darcy explained, looking uncomfortable. “Our marriage will have been an unwelcome surprise. She is too conscious of appearances to show it openly, but she may attempt to make you feel unwelcome through subtle means.”

“Rest assured, I have encountered such tactics before. Miss Bingley will find me less easily discomposed than she might wish.”

Darcy’s expression lightened. “I never doubted it. Still, I wished to warn you. Bingley knows nothing of her ambitions, or at least pretends not to for the sake of domestic peace.”

“We shall weather her disappointment together.”

“Together,” Darcy repeated, the word carrying the weight of a promise. “That is how I wish us to face all that lies ahead.”

The moment hung between them, fragile and perfect. Then, with a boldness that surprised herself, Elizabeth leaned across the carriage and pressed her lips to his in a brief, sweet kiss. “Together,” she agreed as she drew back.

Darcy looked stunned, then pleased. His hand came up to cup her cheek, and he leaned forward to return the gesture with a kiss that lingered longer, deepened beyond the chaste exchange of moments before.

When they parted, Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered, a new awareness of possibilities that lay before them. No longer simply companions, but a man and woman discovering genuine feeling for one another.

“When we return to Pemberley,” Darcy said, “there will be much to discuss. Much to decide.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, thinking again of her Wickham secret, of the true marriage they had envisioned, of the future that seemed suddenly to hold greater promise than she had dared hope. “But for now, let us face Netherfield and all it entails.”

Darcy nodded, squeezing her hand once more before releasing it. “Bingley’s sisters, your family, my relations—none of it signifies compared to what lies between us.”

As the carriage rounded a bend, Elizabeth felt both trepidation and hope rising within her. The coming days would test them both, bringing confrontations they had thus far avoided. Yet for the first time, she faced such prospects with the certainty that she did not stand alone.

Whatever lay ahead, they would meet it together—not as strangers bound by a hasty bargain, but as partners who had discovered, against all expectation, the beginnings of love.