Page 27 of Courting Elizabeth

Chapter 7

DARCY

Darcy House had been prepared for a wedding night.

I understood this the moment we arrived. White flowers filled the vestibule. A fire had been lit in the great drawing room despite the mild evening. On a table waited wine, fruit, and a cold supper that no one would touch anytime soon.

A few hours earlier, every detail would have seemed to herald the happiness I had awaited for months.

Now, they only measured the distance between what I had believed I would receive and what Elizabeth could truly give me.

My London housekeeper curtsied before her.

“Welcome home, Mrs Darcy.”

Elizabeth responded gracefully. Only her fingers, tightened on the ribbon of her reticule, betrayed her unease.

Home.

I had promised her a house. I must take care never to turn that house into a price she would have to pay to possess it.

I offered her my arm and led her to the drawing room.

“Would you care for some wine?” I asked.

“A little.”

I poured two glasses. My hand remained perfectly steady.

Elizabeth was watching me.

“You are even more reserved than usual.”

“Fatigue makes me unsociable.”

“Fatigue or marriage?” she asked with an attempt at lightness.

I met her gaze.

“I have no regrets about the marriage.”

The answer was true. She seemed to hear it, for some tension left her shoulders.

She raised the glass to her lips, then set it down almost immediately.

“I do not know what is expected of me tonight.”

Her frankness tightened my chest.

The old Darcy might have welcomed this confession as permission to guide, to decide, to take charge of what a young wife did not know. That man had too often confused his certainty with a right.

“Nothing that you do not wish,” I replied.

She turned the ring around her finger. Once. Twice.

“Yet the vows we spoke are quite specific.”

“They do not authorize me to make your ignorance into consent.”