Page 30 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

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Darcy spoke to her only when it was absolutely necessary throughout the rest of the journey. Elizabeth felt the sting of the silence, but as the hours and miles passed it gave her some space to reorganise the jumble of her mind. She realised that since the day of his disastrous proposal she had been dragged along by emotion, by dislike and prejudice, by fear and anger and, on several mortifying occasions, by desire. One feeling had scarcely settled before another rose to replace it, and she had reacted to each with very little thought for what might follow.

The previous evening was a mortifying example. She had been disappointed that Darcy meant only to wish her goodnight, embarrassed by that disappointment and then so determined to hide it that she had said something deliberately hurtful. She had wanted reassurance and managed to insult him instead. It could not continue in that way. They were husband and wife now. However unwillingly she had come to the altar, she had spoken the sacred vows and placed her life alongside his. She could spend the next weeks resenting how it had happened, but that would not carry her back to Longbourn as Elizabeth Bennet.

And Darcy was not the man she had once believed him to be. He was certainly not the villain Mr Wickham had painted, nor was he simply the proud, disagreeable gentleman who had insulted her at the Meryton assembly. He could still be arrogant and infuriatingly certain of his own judgement. His interference between Jane and Mr Bingley remained difficult to forgive, and his decision to write to her father before she had agreed to marry him still made her bristle whenever she remembered it. But there was much good in him too. She had seen his affection when he talked of his sister, his loyalty to those he loved and felt the gentleness of his touch. She shivered at the memory, and he thrust a blanket at her without turning his head. The action was so caring and so stern that it made her want to laugh out loud.

He was neither an ogre nor an angel. Perhaps she had spent too much time trying to place him neatly into one category or another when he was simply a man and, underneath all the pride and reserve, she believed him to be a good one. She could hardly pretend she had behaved much better. Too often she had allowed hurt and petulance to guide her speech and actions. And she was tired of every look from him, every touch or careless remark, sending her thoughts spinning off in some new direction.

By the final day of their journey, Elizabeth had decided upon a plan. She would stop picking at every grievance and stop wondering what every sudden rush of feeling towards her husband might mean. There would be time enough for all of that later. For now, they needed something simpler. They needed to begin again. They needed to build a foundation of friendship before anything else.

As they passed into Derbyshire, she placed the lightest of touches on his knee. Darcy jumped beneath her hand and looked down at it as though she had done something far more shocking. Elizabeth nearly laughed. "Darcy, I have been thinking."

He looked at her, his expression guarded.

"You need not look quite so alarmed. I am not about to begin another quarrel."

He said nothing and the silence stretched between them. Elizabeth withdrew her hand and looked down at her lap. She had rehearsed these words many times and wanted to get them right.

"I think we ought to begin again. Not pretend that everything which has passed between us did not happen, because that would be ridiculous, but perhaps stop allowing it to govern every conversation we have from now until we are old and grey. We have made a spectacular mess of things so far." She hesitated, then added, "And I know I have not helped matters. I have said some very unkind things to you, particularly when I have been angry or embarrassed, and I am sorry for them. I seem to have spent all my time lately taking offence or giving it, and I find I am quite ashamed."

He opened his mouth as if to speak and she held up a hand. If she did not get it all out now she never would.

"That does not mean I have forgotten everything. I am still angry about Jane and Mr Bingley. I do not think I can simply set that aside because we are married, and I am still not entirely reconciled to the way you wrote to my father before I had given you an answer."

Darcy's expression tightened, but he said nothing.

"But I also know I was wrong about other things. About Mr Wickham, certainly. About you too, in many ways." She drew a breath. "We have arrived at marriage without bothering with most of what usually comes before it. Friendship would have been a useful beginning. A courtship, even."

Darcy gave a quiet exhale, but Elizabeth pressed on before she could lose her courage.

"What I mean is that we barely know one another, not really. I decided what sort of man you were without taking the trouble to find out, and I think perhaps you have made one or two assumptions about me as well."

"One or two," he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

She gave him a look, but there was no heat in it. "So I thought we might stop trying to be husband and wife for five minutes and attempt something simpler first."

Darcy was watching her very closely now.

"Friends," Elizabeth said. "I think we should try to become friends."

For several seconds he said nothing, and Elizabeth felt herself beginning to bristle before she caught the impulse and let it pass.

At last Darcy said, "You truly wish that?"

"I do." Elizabeth drew in a breath. "And I owe you an apology for last night. I knew I was being hurtful. I was embarrassed and disappointed and instead of saying either of those things like a sensible person, I chose to say something cruel."

Darcy's eyes widened slightly at the word disappointed, but to his credit he did not seize upon it. He was quiet for a moment before saying, "Thank you."

Elizabeth settled back against the seat. "So, friends?"

Darcy regarded her for another moment before a small smile appeared. "I should like that very much." He held out his hand across the space between them.

Elizabeth looked at it, amused. "What are you doing?"

"I tend to shake hands with my friends."

"Of course you do." She placed her hand in his and tried very hard to ignore the trail of heat that ran up her arm when his fingers closed around hers, even through their gloves. She was not going to begin examining every ridiculous response her body had to the man again. Friendship was the plan and she could not allow her mind to leap beyond that.