Page 78 of The Widower of Pemberley

Elizabeth shook her head.

It was pitch black outside the windows.

“Well, let us hurry. We would not want to make Wickham wait to apologise.” There was a decided sneer in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice.

“Not so quickly,” the valet said. “I shall not let my master go to a fight ill kempt.”

Mr. Darcy was made to sit, and Elizabeth watched with fascination as he was quickly and efficiently shaved by his man.

Then the valet used the fire screens to make a little area in the corner, where he stripped his master and dressed him in fresh clothes. Elizabeth blushed to see her husband’s white under shirt laid on the top of the screen.

When Mr. Darcy stepped out, he looked much as he usually did: a haughty and stiff gentleman whose expression told nothing of what went on in his heart or mind.

Fear bloomed within her. “You promise you will not fight?”

“It would be wrong,” he replied.

“The agreement is for you both to fire together,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “You are faster and more accurate than Wickham, so you would barely risk anything if you just mean to put him in the ground—nothing wrong with that.”

“Did you see how he started in fear yesterday? How he wished to avoid the fight?”

“I have had several deserters hung,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “Their eyes were brimming with fear, and they were all full of thoughts of sweethearts and a future they would never have. That did not change the deep satisfaction I had at ordering the lever pulled.”

Mr. Darcy pressed his lips together tightly.

Elizabeth followed them to the entrance hall, and she helped her husband’s valet lace up his boots.

They looked into each other’s eyes again before he walked out to the stables. He touched her cheek. “Go back to sleep. And do not fret.”

“I cannot.”

He laid his lips briefly on hers.

Then they were gone.

Elizabeth wiped her eyes, not knowing why she was crying.

She went back to the drawing room, lit the candles, and tried to readthe rest ofMuch Ado About Nothing.

It proved impossible to concentrate her mind on the words.

Soon the household servants woke and began to bustle about, seeing to their morning duties, and she descended to the kitchento find Cook and Mrs. Hill arguing about what to lay out for breakfast.

Mrs. Hill looked up as she entered and addressed her. “Did Mr. Darcy look well when he left?”

“Very.”

“Good. You don’t believe what they say, do you? About him killing Mrs. Darcy? I mean the Mrs. Darcy before you.”

“All lies,” Elizabeth said firmly.

“Good that he’ll be shooting that man, then,” Mrs. Hill replied. “Though shooting is too good for his sort.”

The tinkle of a bell sounded, and Elizabeth noted it was the bell in her father’s room. With a surge of anxiety, she followed the maid and footman sent up to Mr. Bennet.

Her papa smiled as she entered the room. “How was your first night of married life?”

Relief washed over her to see him.