“I like how he dresses, very much. More than—”
“Oh, you do not know of what you speak!” Tears came to Lady Susan’s eyes. “He would be the most beautiful man in thetonif only he dressed with verve and daring. He combines the ancient tallness of the Darcy line with the good looks of Fitzwilliam blood. I see that I cannot convince you by an appeal to your own welfare, but do you not feel that you have a duty to the world? To society in general? When he obstinately refuses to dress as he ought, he robs everyone of that beauty that might be theirs to behold — Eliza, there is not enough beauty in this ugly world. No, I see you smile, I see that you think I am ridiculous—”
“She is,” Lady Matlock said, patting her son’s wife on the shoulder in an affectionate way.
“But this is what is in my heart. This is what I truly feel. That what I spend on clothing is more in the nature of charity, a blessing to the world, than a thing I do for myself. And Mr. Darcy has never taken up his proper duty.”
“I think,” Elizabeth said, “you might have better luck persuading him directly yourself.”
“It will not work,” she shook her head sadly. “You must believe I have tried — what makes it oddest is that he has examples before him. Chiefly my husband, and that other fellow.”
“Other fellow?” Elizabeth asked.
“That man who used to hang about Mr. Darcy. Oh, what was his name? The steward’s son… ah, yes, Mr. Wickham, his dress was perfect. Better than even my husband’s. He simply had an intuition forhowan outfit would go together. But it was not even that… the way he walked. Ahhhhh.” Lady Susan’s voice was a sigh. “I am still plagued by the memory of his well-turned ankles the time I saw him in breeches and stockings for a fancy event.”
Elizabeth noted that Georgiana had turned pale and then blushed.
Given what she thought she knew, that Georgiana had some child infatuation for Mr. Wickham, she thought it best to shift the discussion away from him. “He is a very handsome man, but I think that knowing well-dressed persons is not a sensible reason to change one’s own style of—”
“You know Mr. Wickham?” Lady Susan exclaimed. “How? — is he still so well dressed? And his walk, does he still walk in that gliding way?” The Viscountess stood up and tried to mimic the walk of a man with perfect comportment, and in so doing made herself look ridiculous.
Georgiana looked on the verge of tears, pressing her hand against her face, and her eyes misty.
“And he was only the steward’s son,” Lady Matlock said sharply, noticing her niece’s emotion. “He was not a man worth thinking about in any way.”
It was clear to Elizabeth that these words were addressed to Georgiana.
The young girl’s face flushed red, and she turned to hide herself from the observation of her aunt, and then went to a couch on the other side of the room and wrapped her arms around her legs.
Elizabeth went to go sit next to her, the girl needed some sort of comfort, a friendly embrace at the very least. If she wouldaccept it.
“That is not important. For my part, I care nothing for how high born, so low born a man is, so long as he dresses well.” Lady Susan grabbed Elizabeth’s arm to prevent her from walking over to Georgiana. “Nor whether they are a Papist, or Low Church, or even a Mohammadite — so long as they are well dressed.”
“I do not believe,” Lady Matlock said repressively, “that Mussulmans are known for dressinga ton.”
This conversation was then interrupted by the entrance of Darcy into the room.
That night when Darcy came into her room, as he always did, he hesitated when he touched her in a way he never had before. She always kept a few candles flickering on her dresser until he entered the room. He opened his mouth several times, as though to ask her a question, but then did not say anything.
He stroked his hand over her face, and Elizabeth pressed herself towards his touch.
That need in her, coiling, waiting for him to touch her body and make her come alive with the pleasure of the joining was there.
But he didn’t move to take her tight in his arms, to kiss her, and squeeze her till she felt safe and whole. He just stared at her eyes, as though looking for something, waiting for something.
Elizabeth had a terrible fear, even though this oughtnotbe something to fear, for it would speak poorly of her husband, and not of her, that the way that she had been criticized by his family today had made him see her in a new light, and that he now, truly and fully repented the marriage.
That stare between them lasted a long time.
His face was dim in the flickering twilight, the line of his jaw softened in the warm light.
Her tongue wetted her lips as she watched him, wanting him, wanting his touch.
And then, after what seemed like an impossibly long and horrid wait, she was the one to break, pressing forward, putting her lips against his, and drawing her hand around his neck.
He pulled her tight against him. He was desperate in the way he held her, needy and hurried. He’d not been like this since the first time they came together, only a few short, meaningful weeks before.
Afterwards he lay next to her, not saying anything, but holding her tight.
