“I—please excuse me,” she said as she stood and fled the company. Once out of sight, tears began pouring down her face.
She had witnessed a miracle.
Chapter 37
The moment the door closed behind him that night, the strain of the day seemed to press down more keenly on Darcy’s chest. He remained where he stood, his gaze fixed on Elizabeth as she began to remove the last of her hairpins, and he saw—now, without distraction—what she had borne in silence.
But there had been no opportunity to discuss anything. Letters of business and affairs of estate did not cease simply because one’s world was unraveling.
Fortunately, the house quieted quickly after the rather awkward dinner. Richard retired early—it was his wedding night, after all—and even Lady Catherine had not thought fit to prolong the evening. Mr. Bennet, for his part, had looked worn by travel and strain, withdrawing to his guest room without further argument.
Now Darcy was finally alone with his wife. His gaze searched her face as he asked, “Elizabeth, how are you doing?”
She paused, then pulled the last hair pin from her head, causing her long, dark tresses to tumble around her shoulders. It was his favorite look of hers: wild. Carefree. Intimate.
For a moment, he thought she might deflect the question.
“I wished to speak to you earlier about your father’s revelations,” he hastily continued, “but there was no time. You regained your composure remarkably quickly.”
She gave a small, tired smile. “I have had a great deal of practice at that lately, have I not? Soon I shall be a true proficient.”
He laughed softly. “Elizabeth.”
She sighed. “I am well,” she said. Then, after a pause, “Or at least, I am attempting to be.”
“A full night’s sleep will do you a world of good,” he replied. “Come.”
They retired to her chamber, and once the candles were lowered and the door secured, they climbed into bed together.
Darcy drew her into his arms at once.
She came willingly.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
Then Elizabeth let out a slow breath against his shoulder.
“It is all so very strange,” she said. “I am the same person I was yesterday—and yet I am not. Everything I thought I knew of myself has shifted. I do not know quite how to… hold both things at once.”
Darcy’s hand moved slowly along her back in a soothing motion.
“How do you feel toward Mr. Bennet?” he asked after a moment. “If you are uneasy in his presence—if you do not feel safe—I will take you away at once. To London. To Pemberley. Anywhere you wish.”
Elizabeth shifted closer to him, her hand resting lightly against his chest.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For that—for all of it.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“I do not feel anger,” she said at last. “Not as I thought I might. Not now.”
Darcy frowned slightly. “I confess I do not understand that.”
She gave a faint, thoughtful smile.
“I have nearly twenty years of memories of him,” she said. “Kindness. Wit. Affection. He raised me. He taught me. That does not vanish in a single day.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “And yet he deceived you. Drugged you. Sought to take you away by force.”
