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“Perfectly,” Elizabeth replied, pouring him a cup of tea with the precise amount of milk he preferred, a small detail that inexplicably tightened his throat.

“Georgiana and I were just discussing the differences in landscape between Hertfordshire and Derbyshire. I am very much looking forward to seeing it; I have never had the opportunity to travel so far north.”

“Indeed,” he managed, accepting the cup from her hand without allowing their fingers to touch. “Derbyshire has a particular character that I have always found appealing. I hope you will come to appreciate it as well.”

“I am certain I shall,” she said, with a warm smile at his sister. “It sounds spectacular, if Georgiana's descriptions are even the smallest part accurate!”

Dinner was a subdued affair, served in the private parlour, and more awkward even than Darcy had anticipated, as Mrs. Annesley, normally excellent at carrying a conversation, had pleaded exhaustion and retired to bed early.

The innkeeper provided an excellent meal, clearly intent on impressing his wealthy guests, and Darcy found himself watching Elizabeth surreptitiously, noting how the candlelight caught the fine bones of her face, the graceful movement of her hands as she attended to her plate.

She was beautiful, undeniably so, but it was a beauty enhanced by her intelligence, her quick wit, and the compassion that had led her to sacrifice her own happiness for her sister’s salvation.

Georgiana, perhaps sensing the strange tension between them, made valiant efforts at conversation, discussing music she hoped to share with Elizabeth at Pemberley, describing the library that she knew would interest her new sister.

Darcy was grateful for his sister’s gentle intervention, even as he noted the shadows of fatigue beginning to darken Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Perhaps we should retire,” he suggested as the meal concluded. “We have another long day ahead tomorrow, and you both appear weary. Hopefully Mrs. Annesley will be refreshed in the morning.”

Relief flickered briefly across Elizabeth’s features before she composed herself. “Yes, I believe that would be wise.”

As they ascended the stairs, Darcy gestured to the maidservant who waited to guide them to their chambers. “Mrs. Darcy’s room,” she said, indicating the first door they reached.

Elizabeth paused, a momentary confusion crossing her features before understanding dawned. She glanced at him, an unreadable expression in her dark eyes.

“I thought you might prefer... that is, after such a tiring journey...” Darcy found himself uncharacteristically lost for words.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “That is most considerate.”

Georgiana’s room was adjacent, and Darcy’s own chamber across the corridor. As Elizabeth prepared to enter her room, she turned to him, her hand resting lightly on the door frame.

“Goodnight, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her voice low enough that Georgiana, already disappearing into her own chamber, could not hear. “I hope you rest well.”

“And you, Mrs. Darcy,” he replied formally, though the title still felt strange upon his tongue, like an incantation too powerful to be uttered casually.

She nodded once, then slipped into her room, the door closing with a soft click that sounded to Darcy’s ears like the final notes of a melancholy sonata.

Alone in his chamber, Darcy stood at the window overlooking the inn yard, watching as the last activities of the evening wound to their close.

Lanterns were extinguished one by one, until only the stars remained to illuminate the courtyard below.

He thought of Elizabeth, lying in her solitary bed just a few steps away, and wondered if she was grateful for the distance he had placed between them, or merely resigned to it as yet another aspect of the bargain she had struck to save her sister.

Lydia Bennet. No, Lydia Brown she must be for now, hidden away with Mrs Wilkins, far from the scandal that had nearly destroyed her family.

Darcy had arranged it all, quietly and efficiently, asking only one thing in exchange: Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.

Indeed, he had not really asked for it in exchange; he would have helped Lydia regardless, but it had been difficult to think of a reason to discreetly remove Lydia from Longbourn in order to protect her reputation.

The only idea he had been able to come up with – perhaps the only one he had wanted to consider, he admitted to himself in a moment of searing self-awareness – was that Lydia might appear to accompany the new Mrs. Darcy to Pemberley.

Elizabeth had agreed with surprising readiness, her gratitude for his intervention in Lydia’s affairs apparently outweighing any lingering reservations she might have harboured regarding his character or person.

Now, however, as he prepared for another night of solitary contemplation, Darcy was forced to acknowledge the possibility that what he had viewed as the culmination of his deepest desire might be, for Elizabeth, merely the price of her sister’s salvation.

The thought was like a stone lodged in his chest, heavy and immovable.

He would give her time, he resolved. Time and space and every consideration.

Perhaps, in the charming surroundings of Pemberley, with its comforts and beauties, she might come to see him differently.

To view their marriage not as an obligation but as a partnership that might, with patience and understanding, evolve into something resembling the deep attachment he felt for her.

It was, he thought as he finally turned from the window, a slender hope upon which to rest his happiness. But for now, it was all he had.