Darcy responded easily when addressed, inclined his head at the proper intervals, and endured the toasts with suitable composure. He remained acutely conscious of the warmth of Elizabeth’s arm upon his sleeve throughout the meal, of the subtle tightening of her fingers when some remark amused her, and of the quiet current of understanding that passed between them whenever their eyes met in shared glance.
At one such moment, she leant closer when the attention of most of the room had been drawn elsewhere.
“You appear very solemn for a man who has just been married, Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice lightly teasing.
“I am exercising heroic restraint.” He fixed her with a pointed look, one brow lifting slightly.
Her eyes brightened, the smile evident there if not upon her lips. “From what, precisely?”
He did not look at her when he answered. “From suggesting that we take our leave at once and forgo the ceremony of this spectacle entirely.”
A faint flush rose in her cheeks, one of satisfaction rather than embarrassment, and he found himself absurdly gratified by it.
She resumed her composure almost at once, turning her attention to the speaker at her other side, yet the shared understanding lingered between them.
The hours passed agreeably enough, although he regarded them only as a necessary interval before what he anticipated most. When the final farewell had been spoken and the last guest satisfied, she would leave with him as Mrs Darcy. The certainty of it lent even the most tedious formalities a sweetness he had never before imagined possible.
When they finally took their leave early in the afternoon, they departed for London, where they were to spend several days in a degree of privacy Darcy had lately learnt to value more than he once believed possible. He intended to make the most of that brief indulgence before society laid claim to them both.
Lady Matlock, having resolved to postpone her Twelfth Nightfêteuntil the end of January, had already set thetonto discreet speculation, a consequence Darcy suspected she regarded with entire satisfaction. Little had yet been publicly said of his marriage; the formal announcement was to be reserved for that evening. The thought of it stirred in him a curious mixture of pride and reluctance.
He had no wish to conceal his wife, yet neither did he relish surrendering her entirely to public scrutiny. They would be the object of much attention that night and for the weeks that followed, but at least they would be able to spend much of the next fortnight in relative privacy at Darcy House.
It had been wholly his aunt’s design. Darcy had considered offering resistance, but she informed him, with unmistakable firmness, that the arrangements would proceed as she determined and that he would conduct himself accordingly. Elizabeth’s objections proved no more effectual. They secured only one concession: that, should they later desire it, they might withdraw from London after Easter under the convenient pretext of a delayed wedding journey.
Now, as the carriage turned southward and the familiar lanes of Hertfordshire began to recede behind them, he felt the tension of the day begin, at last, to ease.
“Finally, we are alone,” Elizabeth said with a grin, laying her head against his shoulder as the carriage rolled steadily towards London.
“Yes,” Darcy replied, resting his cheek briefly against the crown of her head and pressing a light kiss there. He shifted his arm so that it curved more securely about her waist and drew her closer still.
Recalling how they had spent the journey from the church to Millwood, he was tempted to repeat it. Still, he knew he must practise some restraint, else the hours ahead would prove an exquisite torment. It was wiser, he decided, that they rest for now, although the prospect of little sleep that night gave him no concern whatsoever. In truth, he anticipated the evening very much and doubted he would find much repose during the journey, anticipation rendering stillness all but impossible.
Their conversation drifted easily between light observations and quiet reflection as the carriage rolled steadily towards London. Before long, he felt Elizabeth’s weight grow heavier against him, her breathing softening into sleep.
The trust of it moved him more deeply than he would have anticipated. He drew her closer from an instinctive desire to shield and cherish her and remained still so as not to disturb her rest. Never before had he known such unguarded nearness, and he treasured the simple privilege of holding her so.
His Elizabeth. His wife.
How profoundly he valued the right to call her that. Barely over three months had passed since their first meeting, since his own arrogance had wounded her, and he could not reflect upon the occasion without humility. It had been her grandfather’s words, spoken for reasons entirely his own, that had led her to think less ill of him—an effect never intended.
Otherwise, she might have despised him still, and they would not now be seated together as husband and wife.
At his arrival in the area, the earl had meant her for another and had once actively opposed their attachment. Whatever arrangement he had sought to secure, however firmly hehad attempted to discourage the match, his disclosures had nonetheless afforded Darcy the opportunity to prove himself to Elizabeth as worthy of her regard. Without that, she might well have dismissed him entirely. Instead, she had extended a generosity he had scarcely deserved, and he had managed to win her affection.
Now she rested against him, his to cherish and protect. With her safely within his embrace, the world beyond the carriage seemed, for the moment, of little consequence.
Content in that quiet certainty, he allowed his own eyes to close as the carriage continued on its way, the two of them resting together as it bore them towards London and into the next chapter of their lives.
Elizabeth and Williamspent the days following their wedding in blissful solitude at Darcy House. She had not anticipated how fiercely she would treasure that quiet seclusion with her new husband until she possessed it. No visitors disturbed them; at William’s insistence, the knocker had been kept off and the servants instructed to admit no one beyond immediate family.
On Monday, nearly a fortnight after their wedding, Lady Matlock made an appearance at Darcy House well before normal visiting hours and was shown in without delay. They were still receiving no callers beyond the family, yet her ladyship’s arrival signalled that their reprieve was drawing to a close. Thursday’s ball, at which their marriage would be formally announced to the ton, was now only days away.
So few were yet aware of the marriage that it retained, in some respects, the delicious quality of a secret. All who had attended the wedding had pledged discretion, and thus the countess’s carefully orchestrated surprise remained intact. That morning, Elizabeth was to venture out with her ladyship and be introduced only as the granddaughter of the Earl of Granfield, nothing further to be divulged. The unveiling, as Lady Matlock termed it, would come at the ball.
Lady Matlock had arranged the matter with a precision Elizabeth privately suspected would have impressed even the colonel. She had come to escort her new niece to the modiste; Georgiana was already waiting in the carriage below. The countess had entered only long enough to ensure that Elizabeth was prepared to depart, certain that William might attempt to delay her.
However, Elizabeth had anticipated as much and stood waiting in the hallway, already fastening her gloves.
