Elizabeth came out, closing the door softly behind her.
He stepped towards her, and he did not know quite what he wanted to say or do.
No. He knew. He wanted to grab her by the waist and kiss her again. He wanted to push her onto the bed once more, and—
“Quite late!” Elizabeth exclaimed, turning away from his eyes. “I hope the breakfast has not gone cold!”
Elizabeth hurried past him, and Darcy did not stop her as she rushed to the collection of levers controlling the servant bells. She frowned, reading the little placards around them. “Now which is… ah-ha.” She pulled the bell to call her lady’s maid and turned to Darcy with a half-smile. “You should dress as well, I imagine.”
That was that.
He was still tempted to tell her to forget dressing, forget everything.
Her nervous manner stopped Darcy.
It gave him anxiety in his stomach, as though things were not quite right. She looked at him with those bright, worried eyes as he waited to move.
They were pleading eyes. He suddenly couldn’t meet them.
Darcy nodded, feeling more than usually awkward as he retreated.
Some thirty minutes later they came down to breakfast at almost the same time, with Mrs. North leading Elizabeth to the dining hall. When he found them, his housekeeper was explaining the significance of the balustrades in the main staircase and telling Elizabeth the name of the master who had painted each picture along the main hallway.
Elizabeth laughed at a quip Mrs. North made, and the housekeeper looked at his wife with approval. That was how it should be.
She’d dressed in a fine yellow gown that made her looklike the unmarried daughter of small gentry, and not what she now was, the mistress of one of the greatest estates in Derbyshire. He had not given her the time to properly purchase atrousseauin his eagerness for them to marry. But he had also not trusted her mother’s taste, or even her own.
She would be entering a greater society than she could have ever known before. It was impossible that she could meet their expectations. In his letter to his cousins announcing his marriage, Darcy had asked Lady Susan, the wife of Uncle Matlock’s older son, to suggest the names of suitable dressmakers. Lady Susan was universally acknowledged to be one of the most finely dressed women in theton. Once Elizabeth had gained and used her advice, it would be impossible to criticize Darcy on the basis of Elizabeth’s appearance.
Upon seeing him freshly shaven in his green coat, Elizabeth stopped laughing and curtsied. “Mr. Darcy.”
He hurried up to her and took her arm.
The feel of her slender arm and her small delicate fingers —somuch smaller than his own — on his wrist caused a sharp feeling to jump up his arm.
He wanted to embrace her tightly in greeting, and smell that lilac and strawberry in her hair once more. But despite the intimacy of the previous night, there was some feeling that blocked his muscles and voice from acting out that fantasy, just as it had stopped him from grabbing her and holding her in the room till they’d enjoyed each other once more this morning.
This was likely part of why such short engagements — only a week and a half between the disastrous ball and when he’d acquired the license for them to marry — were often frowned on. The two of them had not had enough time to really get used to each other before being husband and wife.
“You look very well this morning,” he complimented her.
She smiled, though weakly.
He added, “That dress is very mucha la paysanne. Still too much of your father’s station in it. My cousin Lady Susan recommended to me when I announced our marriage a dressmaker who will suit you very well.”
“She did?” Elizabeth’s smile was gone. Her lips were pressed flat. “And Lady Susan knows what will suit me?”
Ah. He must have by chance pricked one of those delicate points of feminine vanity which he had been informed by general knowledge that gentleman must always be cautious tonotprick.
“The dress is lovely,” Darcy replied quickly. “And you would be lovely in nothing at all.”
They both flushed.
Elizabeth. As bare as the day she was born. His legs between her legs as he pressed his lips against her neck, into her hair, everywhere.
They entered the breakfast room and were met with the scent of fresh baked bread, ham, eggs, coffee, and the sight of a pitcher of milk in a crystal decanter, a fine pat of butter, a selection of the lemon tarts he liked, and the collection of plates and utensils for each of them set next to each other.
He pulled one of the heavy oak chairs out from the table and gestured for Elizabeth to sit in it. The chair scraped over the floor.
