No wonder she had been so angry.
Mr. Darcy was a man of principle and honor. Even if she had lost his good opinion — so far that is as she had ever had it— she was confident that he would treat her in a mode proper to her station as his wife, and her position as a woman dependent on his goodwill.
But…
What else would there be?
While she could not imagine him abusing her, Elizabeth could imagine him living with her for ten years, twenty years, the rest of their lives, without ever trying to make things right. She could even imagine him never again making the attempt to come to her bed.
There were no birds outside. Just one lone raven. She imagined its lonely cawing. The wind blew on the trees. The branches wavered in the wind, always returning to their natural state.
She was tired.
When she finished the chocolate, she put the cup to the side and put the saucer over it to show that she did not want Mary to order another cup for her.
The crackling of the fire, the clicking of the knitting needles, the wind buffeting the windows. A scent of the flowers brought up every day by the staff. The pine from the fire. The taste of the thick chocolate on her tongue.
Papa had been convinced that she would become disgusted by Darcy’s manners and habits, and then eventually find another lover. That was what he’d meant when he said it would end in disgrace for them all.
He expected her to break her marital vows. He’d called her a wanton.
It hurt so much to remember. The anger — and the fact thathe gave her no choice.
Until she had talked with Papa, until he had raged at her, she had assumed that together they’d be able to find a way out of the situation.
She would never dothat— whether Darcy ever spoke a friendly word to her again, or not.
If she was not with child, or if the child was a girl, he would need to come to her again… but he might in any case. He certainly would, after all he had married her to have access to her body.
He’d also said to his uncle that he’d never been with a woman before her. It was generally known that men always had mistresses, fancy pieces, bits o’ muslin, disreputable women.
Darcy had not.
A knock on her door.
It was much too hesitant and soft to be Darcy.
Elizabeth waited.
She was not sure she wished to be joined by society once again. Mary was too familiar, too much a servant to count, and besides, she was a presence from Longbourn.
The knock repeated.
“Come in.”
Georgiana hesitantly entered.
Mary immediately rose. She bowed to Georgiana and looked at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth did not make herself rise, comfortably covered by blankets as she was. Instead, she smiled at Mary and waved her away, before gesturing for Georgiana to sit next to her.
The other girl came over, and then after asking Elizabeth if she’d like it with her gestures, slipped the blanket over her legs and feet, and joined Elizabeth under it. “We keep the house well heated, but it is impossible for everything to be warm in January.”
Georgiana leaned her head against Elizabeth’s shoulder, but the two of them didn’t say anything for a while.
At last Georgiana asked, “Did Fitzwilliam say anything to you about what he means to do with me before he left?”
“He left?” Elizabeth said unhappily, but not surprised. “For how long? Where has he gone?”
