Page 27 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

She turned away from him with a sigh. "Jane and I always said we would only marry for the deepest love. I suppose that is a foolish dream now. I must put it away."

Darcy winced, his heart contracting painfully. Was it really so impossible to imagine loving him?

"I know the circumstances are far from what either of us would have chosen," he said quietly. "But I do not believe last night was entirely a mistake."

Elizabeth's eyes lifted to his, wide and uncertain.

"There was something between us," he continued. "You cannot deny that."

Her colour deepened. "We had too much wine, Mr Darcy. That is all."

Her use of his formal name pained him, but he continued, "I do not think that was all. When we touched… When we kissed…"

"Do not pretend an affection between us that does not exist, sir. I know what must be done. I will marry you, and I will try in all ways to be a good wife and mistress. But this is not a good beginning and no amount of looking through rose-tinted glasses will make it so." She looked at her boots as she spoke, her colour heightened.

Darcy placed a gentle finger under her chin and raised it until he looked into her eyes. They were bright with unshed tears. He studied her face, trying to decide whether she believed her words as firmly as she wished him to. He thought she trembled a little under his touch, although whether that was due to fear or something else he could not say.

"I think we could be happy," Darcy pressed on before courage deserted him. "I am not asking you to pretend affection you do not feel. I am only saying that I do not think marriage between us must necessarily be a punishment."

Elizabeth jerked away from his touch and took a step back. The breeze caught another loose strand of her hair and moved it against her cheek. He wanted again to touch it, to tuck it back beneath her bonnet, to caress her soft cheeks, her jaw, the line of her elegant neck. To soothe away the tension and pain.

At last she sighed again. "You are very determined to make the best of this."

"I am determined not to make the worst of it, certainly."

Elizabeth turned back towards the parsonage, which he supposed was a type of acceptance. Darcy fell into step beside her. This time he did not offer his arm.

Chapter Nine

Elizabeth Bennet was married on a Tuesday in the small church at Hunsford. None of her family attended. The ceremony was performed by her cousin Mr Collins, who, although very confused by the sudden turn of events, was so overawed by the request from Mr Darcy that he performed his duties without complaint and only the minimum of florid speeches. The witnesses were Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and Miss Anne de Bourgh, lately engaged themselves and likely hoping for a rather more festive mood for their own nuptials. Elizabeth wore her best day dress and spoke the sacred words with a heavy tongue, feeling at times as though she were watching the occasion from somewhere above. Lady Catherine did not honour them with her presence.

Now she sat opposite her husband in a carriage much grander than any she was accustomed to as they headed north towards his estate, Pemberley. Their estate, she supposed. She looked at him, seated upon the squab opposite her and gazing determinedly out of the window, and was not at all sure how she felt. He was handsome. No one could argue with that. His features were fine and well proportioned, with a strong jaw and very dark brown hair which waved away from his face in a pleasingly imperfect way. His eyes were lighter in contrast, a rich navy blue framed by thick dark lashes that any woman would have envied. But her feelings for him remained such a muddle that Elizabeth felt she had simply shut them away. Locked them somewhere deep inside herself until she had the time and space to sort through the jumble.

She knew she had been harsh upon him, rude even at times. She thought he was probably a good man at the centre of it all, but flashes of pride and arrogance still made her feel a strong desire to be as contrary as possible. To write to her father without gaining her acceptance of his hand was a liberty she could scarcely fathom, and her father's short and careless acceptance had been mortifying. His part in destroying Jane’s happiness was another sin she had to lay at his door, and it was one she was not sure she could forgive. And she could not imagine what her dearest sister thought about the hurried wedding. Elizabeth had not been able to find the strength to commit the news to paper before the hurried nuptials.

And yet, when they had been together in that cellar, she had felt such a pull towards him. A desire to touch him and be near him which she could not entirely blame on the wine. If she were truly honest with herself, that feeling had never quite dissipated. Mr Darcy shifted slightly and Elizabeth immediately looked away, though not before his gaze moved from the window to her face.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Perfectly."

"Are you warm enough?"

"Yes."

"Would you prefer the window open?"

"No."

Darcy nodded gravely and returned his attention to the passing countryside. Elizabeth pressed her lips together. They had been married for less than two hours and their conversation had been limited to such banalities that she might have been sharing the carriage with a stranger. Though she supposed in many ways he still was a stranger to her.

The carriage rocked gently beneath them. Outside, the Kent countryside rolled past in a blur of spring green while inside there was only the creak of leather, the occasional clatter of wheels over rough ground and the pressing awareness that she was travelling alone with her husband. Her husband, indeed. The word felt as ridiculous as the role she was playing in this catastrophe.

She glanced at him again. His expression was solemn, almost severe, but she had begun to understand that Mr Darcy's face was not always a reliable indicator of his feelings. In the church that morning he had looked positively grim. Anyone observing him might have thought he was being marched to the gallows rather than marrying the woman he had very firmly insisted upon making his wife.

The thought irritated her. "You need not look quite so miserable," she said.

His head snapped towards her. "Miserable?"