The pain in Elizabeth’s hand as she pressed her fingernails into her palms was new.
She returned to the house.
Papa in his book room again. Retreated.
Jane, blind but still working upon embroidery on the sofa. She had spent many hours with an old woman from the village who had been blind since childhood learning and practicing how to guide her hands and manage with the needle, despite the loss of her sight. Lydia and Kitty arguing. The room was the same. The fireplace was the same. The blue-green sofa was the same. The oak table was the same. The piano in the corner was the same. Even the melancholy tune that Mary practiced was the same.
Rather than feeling safe and warm, as she usually did in the drawing room, Elizabeth felt distant. Like when Mr. Thompson had proclaimed Jane’s doom.
Mama moaned upon seeing her, and wrung her hands. “Oh, oh! Why must a family matter arisenow! If only you two had determined to marry by special license we could have had the ceremonynowbefore he headed off — oh, I fear something will go wrong.”
Elizabeth’s stomach was tight.
She loved Darcy. Why couldn’t she just be happy with the life he offered?
But if despised her family, he must despise her too, at least a little.
And she also loved him dearly, and she was also desperate to see his face again, to touch his chest, nestle her cheek against his shoulder, and feel his strong arms around her while he kissed her once more.
Chapter Twenty
It was not Georgiana that occupied Darcy’s mind as the carriage pulled him fast towards the first post station on their passage to the Great Northern Road — he had some of his men sent off to make inquiries in London, and upon less travelled pathways, but this was by far the most likely path for them to take.
Why were things so difficult with Elizabeth?
He didn’t want her to be unhappy. He didn’t want… he just needed her tounderstandabout his family expectations. And he’d explained everything to her.
I don’t want to be a pearl picked up from the muck.
Was that the metaphor that would haunt him all the days of their married life?
Hemerelymeant that she was not from such a good family as he, and that the behavior of her relations left a great deal to be wanted.
And she was so good to him. Even though she must still feel some anger and tension from their argument, she had been everything that was comforting, soft, womanly, and… perfect in how she had responded to the crises.
But… but what if she couldn’t understand? What if she never understood?
What could he do then?
Could he dine with tradespeople — dine at a house in Cheapside — if that was what it took to make Elizabeth happy?
If he must, he would, but he would not like to.
Why must this be so hard?
His mind turned to Georgiana.
The full blame must lie with Wickham and Mrs. Younge. But he had believed her to have greater intelligence and strength of character. She ought to know he was a poor worthless man, from a steward’s family.
How had she determined to do such a thing?
Elizabeth.
What would he tell her when he returned and saw her? How could he make her smile at him, while remaining true to himself?
The carriage rushed ahead, with only brief stops to change horses.
One of Darcy’s postillions rode ahead, negotiating to have the best horses at each station they planned to stop at available and waiting for them the instant the carriage reached the new station — an additional tip was promised to the men at the stop if they moved with sufficient alacrity.
