Trusting that beauty and welcome at Pemberley might succeed where he had thus far missed the mark, he handed her out of the carriage and proudly introduced her to the waiting servants.
Elizabeth smiled graciously and carried out her duties with aplomb, though to Darcy, it appeared more performance than genuine feeling.
Once they were alone in the great hall, her demeanour chilled. He escorted her to their suite of rooms. After they had refreshed and changed from their dusty travel clothes, he gave her a brief tour of a few of the principal rooms.
“Shall I come to you tonight, Elizabeth?” he asked once he returned her to her chambers; the question felt abrupt even to him.
Swallowing hard, she straightened her shoulders. “If it is your wish.”
“It is my wish, Elizabeth, but I had hoped it was yours as well.”
His voice sounded strained. The longer their journey had gone on, the more their distance troubled him. He had not fully comprehended how little affection she bore him. Or maybe hedid but did not want to believe it. Her cool civility on the road north had been a revelation he had not been prepared to face.
Since coming of age, he had been accustomed to women welcoming his attentions—many seeking them eagerly—and it bewildered him to find his own wife so unaffected. He had delayed their physical union out of consideration, wishing her first night as his wife to be at Pemberley. That the one woman he had sincerely wished to marry should recoil from him was a humiliation he had never imagined.
Had he forced her into a life she could scarcely endure?
“If you prefer to delay until we know one another better, I am amenable,” he said at last when her silence lingered. “Elizabeth, perhaps…” He faltered, uncertain how to frame the thoughts that pressed upon him. “You must know I do not offer from duty or obligation, but from admiration. I meant it when I told you in Kent that I loved you—”
“How can you claim to love me, MrDarcy, when you scarcely know me?” Elizabeth burst out, her voice trembling, eyes flashing with anger. “You presumed too much in Kent—kissed me without permission and forced me into a marriage without affection. I cannot love you. I do not know you. And what little I do know leaves much to be desired.”
Her lips quivered before she pressed them into a tight line. He simply stared at her, stunned at her vehemence.
“Do not think I have forgotten your interference with my sister and MrBingley last autumn, even ifyouhave forgotten. She loved him, and yet you parted them for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, leaving her to suffer the consequences. If that alone were all I had against you, it would suffice for resentment, but it is not all. You are proud, disdainful, and unfeeling. Do not speak to me of love, sir, for I cannot believe you understand what that word truly means.”
Darcy recoiled as though she had struck him. Colour rose in his cheeks, a mixture of shame and injured pride, for never before had any person spoken to him with such contempt—least of all his own wife. That she should see him as cold and unfeeling, that she should doubt his integrity and his heart, wounded him more than he could easily bear. His pride chafed at her accusations, urging him to defend his actions, yet part of him wondered if there might be truth in her words.
“What would you have me do, Elizabeth?”
“There is nothing to be done. I could not refuse you then, not when the servants started spreading rumours. There were too many witnesses. Nor can I refuse you now.” Her laughter sounded brittle. “Papa would not allow me to be merely sent away for my sisters’ sake. I suppose some good will come of this. Papa has decided to take my younger sisters in hand and will refuse to allow Lydia to follow the officers to Brighton.”
Unable to respond to her words without causing greater offence, Darcy merely nodded. “You have long been desiring my absence, I think. I will leave you to your peace. Will you… That is… Will you still dine with me tonight, or should I have a tray sent to your room? If you are too tired tonight to come downstairs, I will understand.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, drawing a slow breath. His question hung between them, raw and unsettling, and she seemed uncertain how to answer.
“I will join you for dinner,” she said at last.
Her indifference mocked him. Her contempt humiliated him. Was it possible to mend what was broken between them—or had it been broken from the very beginning? Darcy studied her face, her eyes shining with unshed tears, her visage one of anger rather than acceptance, before giving a hasty nod and withdrawing through the adjoining door to his chamber. The click of the latch seemed to echo his unsettled thoughts.
Darcy’s valet removed his jacket, cravat, and boots before he dismissed the man with abrupt finality. Left alone, he sank into the chair by the fire, his head in his hands, and tried to tame the tempest within him.
He loved Elizabeth—did he not? Still, her words echoed in his mind, and each cut like a blade. Could it be that she was correct, and his love had been nothing but desire dressed as devotion? He had never thought of love in such terms before. He had been a selfish being all his life. What did it mean to love unselfishly? The concept was so foreign to him that he scarcely knew what it meant. How had all gone awry so swiftly?
One truth, at least, remained unchanged: he desired her. Despite his initial distaste with all within the environs of Hertfordshire, he had quickly discovered that Elizabeth Bennet had been unlike other women. He had resisted the pull of her eyes, bright with wit and intelligence, but after the Netherfield ball, he had nearly succumbed, nearly spoken his heart.
Only Bingley’s sudden departure and his own withdrawal from Hertfordshire had checked him. When he had seen her again at Rosings, any resolve had crumbled. He could deny his feelings no longer, and he had offered. Yet now, even in recalling it, he could not ignore that she had twice reproached him for separating her sister from Bingley.
Darcy sat upright, seized by sudden purpose.I will send Bingley back to Netherfield and encourage him to renew his attentions. That will please her.
He drew out a sheet of paper from his escritoire. With firm strokes, he wrote, and he bent his mind to this chance at reconciliation with his wife. He would not speak of it to Elizabeth—better that her sister should mention Bingley’s return in her next letter. Perhaps then Elizabeth would see that his actions could bring her happiness, and not only grief.
Regardless, that would not solve the immediate difficulty. Weeks might pass before Bingley received his letter, made his arrangements, and returned to Netherfield.
As he dressed for their first dinner together at Pemberley, he thought he might tell her of the estate, of its tenants, of all the improvements, and hopes he planned for it. He could speak of what her position as mistress of Pemberley would mean, not as ornament but as partner. She had assisted her father at Longbourn; he understood. Surely, she would take an interest in the running of his estate as well. If he invited her counsel, perhaps she might see him in another light.
His heart quickened as the plan formed.We will speak as partners. She shall see that I value her, and that together we might yet build something better than this bitter beginning. She will come to know me, and I will come to know her. Perhaps then, she will come to love me as I do her.
A short time later, he knocked upon the door to her chambers. Elizabeth’s maid answered, dropped a quick curtsy, and slipped out when she saw him.
