Chapter 17

E lizabeth awoke with a start, her heart racing from the remnants of a disturbing dream. In her sleep, she had found herself in a grand ballroom in London, the chandeliers casting a dazzling light upon the assembled guests. There, in the midst of the glittering crowd, stood Mr. Darcy, his voice cold and dismissive as he spoke of her lowly connections, of her family's lack of fortune and status. The words, though spoken in a dream, had cut deep, rekindling the prejudice Elizabeth had thought to set aside.

She sat up on her bed, her nightgown clinging to her damp skin from sweat, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. The room was still dark as the sun was yet to rise on the horizon, but her mind was anything but quiet. She tossed the bedcovers aside and sat up, pressing a trembling hand to her forehead as if to steady the storm of emotions that threatened to consume her. The absence of any communication from Mr. Darcy as Georgiana had promised the previous day, only served to fan the flames of her discontent

How could he? she thought, her heart pounding in her chest. He had left her alone in this unfamiliar house, surrounded by strangers, and hadn't even the courtesy to send word. The sting of his neglect was like a slow-burning fire, intensifying with each passing moment.

By the time the morning sun had fully risen, Elizabeth's anger had settled into a hard knot in her chest. It was as if all the doubts she had harboured about her husband had been confirmed. If he were truly sorry, she reasoned, why would he abandon her, leaving her to feel like nothing more than a newly acquired piece of furniture in his grand house?

Her resolve to give Mr. Darcy the benefit of the doubt crumbled beneath the weight of her renewed prejudice. She could not shake the conviction that he was, after all, the proud and aloof man she had always believed him to be, despite Mrs. Reynold and Georgiana testimonies.

When Mrs. Reynolds appeared to invite Elizabeth for breakfast later that morning, Elizabeth waved her away. "I do not feel like eating this morning, Mrs. Reynolds," she said, her tone sharp and dismissive. The housekeeper, though surprised, curtsied and withdrew without a word.

However, Georgiana, having noticed Elizabeth's mood, later suggested they go to town, a proposal Elizabeth seized upon with alacrity. "Yes, let us go to town," she said. "I have been indoors for two days already, and with Mr. Darcy still away, I find I have little appetite for remaining here any longer, doing nothing with my mornings." In truth, Elizabeth's request was driven by more than mere restlessness; it was an attempt to distract herself from the growing bitterness in her heart.

The journey to the town was not a long one, and Elizabeth was grateful for the change of scenery. The fresh air and bustling streets did much to lift her spirits, though her resentment towards Mr. Darcy simmered beneath the surface. Georgiana, eager to please, led her first to a fabric shop, where according to her, the town's best modiste plied her trade.

The modiste, a woman of middle age with a pleasant, if somewhat harried, countenance, greeted them with a curtsy. "Good day, Miss Darcy," she said, her eyes widening with surprise when she noticed Elizabeth at her side. "And this is...?"

"Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy," Georgiana replied with a smile. "It is a recent development. My brother married just a few days ago."

The modiste's eyes grew wider with astonishment. "Mr. Darcy has married? I had not heard a whisper of it!"

"Indeed, it is true," Georgiana affirmed, "We have come to see you about some new gowns for Mrs. Darcy. She will soon have to attend many balls and will need attire befitting her new station."

The modiste nodded eagerly, "Of course, of course! Mrs. Darcy, it is an honour to serve you. I must tell you, I owe much of my success to Mr. Darcy. I was once a maid in his household, but he took it upon himself to secure me a loan when I wished to start this business. I shall never forget his kindness."

Elizabeth, however, was in no mood to be swayed by tales of her husband's generosity. The modiste's words, meant as praise, only served to deepen her resentment. She could not reconcile the image of Mr. Darcy as a benevolent benefactor with the man who had spoken so harshly of her family, who had wronged Mr. Wickham, and who now left her in the great house of Pemberley without so much as a word of explanation. To Elizabeth, it seemed that Mr. Darcy was a man who relished acting the part of the noble gentleman when it suited him, especially among those who agreed with his actions and status. But beneath that polished exterior, she believed, lurked the same pride and arrogance she had always suspected.

As the modiste took her measurements and discussed fabrics and styles with Georgiana, Elizabeth remained silent, her mind fixed on the injustices she believed Mr. Darcy had committed. The praise he received from those around him only served to fuel her anger. She could not bring herself to speak of him kindly, nor could she forget the hurtful words he had once spoken. And so, even as she nodded and smiled politely, her heart remained closed, the walls of her prejudice firmly in place.

By the time they left the shop, Elizabeth felt no closer to understanding her husband than she had when she first arrived at Pemberley. The resentment that had taken root in her heart now flourished, unchecked and unchallenged. She resolved to keep her distance from Mr. Darcy until he proved himself worthy of her trust—if, indeed, such a thing was possible.

****

It was late in the afternoon when Elizabeth and Georgiana returned from their outing. Elizabeth's thoughts remained a blend of lingering frustration and a softening resolve. The day had offered some distraction, yet as they neared the house, a renewed sense of anticipation began to swell within her.

The carriage came to a halt, and as the footman opened the door, Elizabeth noticed Mr. Darcy standing at the entrance. His tall figure was silhouetted against the afternoon sun, his expression one of composed attention. Her heart gave an involuntary flutter—whether from surprise or something else, she could not quite determine.

"Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana exclaimed with a bright smile as she descended from the carriage. "You've returned. We expected you sooner."

Mr. Darcy's features softened at the sight of his sister. "Yes, I've only just arrived, I didn't imagine that I would be away for so long." he said, his tone warm. He extended a hand to help Elizabeth down from the carriage, his touch light but steady.

"Mrs. Darcy," he greeted her with a slight nod, his eyes searching hers briefly before shifting back to his sister. "Georgiana, would you mind leaving us for a moment? There are some matters I wish to discuss with Elizabeth."

Georgiana's smile faded slightly, but she nodded obediently. "Of course, Fitzwilliam. I shall see to a few things in the drawing-room."

With a quick glance between her brother and Elizabeth, Georgiana made her way inside, leaving the two of them standing together. A brief silence followed, the quiet stretching between them like a delicate thread.

Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth, his expression unreadable. "I hope your outing was pleasant," he began, his voice even.

Elizabeth, determined to keep her composure, nodded. "Yes, it was. The modiste is quite accomplished, and Georgiana was a wonderful companion."

"Elizabeth, I must apologize for my absence." He said, his momentarily pleased expression growing into something more serious. "My departure was rather sudden, and I regret not sending word as I ought to have. Matters concerning the estate's legal affairs required my urgent attention, and I was unable to delay them. However, I should have made arrangements to inform you, and for that, I am sincerely sorry."

Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat as Mr. Darcy spoke, his eyes full of remorse and apology. His tone was sincere, and the explanation reasonable. Had he read her mind or made a calculated guess of how to approach her? Elizabeth found it difficult to entirely let go of the frustration that had built up over the past two days. "I understand that such matters require your attention," she said, her voice gentle, though marred with lingering doubt. "But I must ask—has your business been concluded?"

"Not entirely," he admitted. "But I returned because I could not, in good conscience, leave you without word any longer. The business is pressing, but it can wait for now."

Elizabeth felt her irritation ebb further at his response. The sharp edges of her prejudice began to soften, though she was not yet ready to completely lay them aside. "Thank you for returning," she said, her voice softer now. "I appreciate your consideration, truly. I suppose I allowed my thoughts to get the better of me in your absence. These past few days have been… challenging."

"Challenging indeed," Darcy echoed, a faint smile touching his lips. "This marriage is as new to me as it is to you. But I hope that, in time, we might come to understand one another better, and that this union will grow into something more than a mere necessity."

Elizabeth studied his face, seeing in his eyes a flicker of vulnerability that she had not noticed before. It was strange, this feeling of guilt mingled with a tentative hope—an unfamiliar sensation that left her both wary and curious. She realized that there was much she still did not know about this man, her husband, and that perhaps her judgment had been too swift, too coloured by past grievances.

"Yes," she said after a pause, her voice carrying a hint of resolve. "I believe that would be best."

Darcy nodded, the tension between them easing slightly. "Shall we go inside?" he asked, offering his arm.

Elizabeth hesitated only for a moment before placing her hand on his arm, allowing him to lead her toward the entrance. As they walked, she found herself contemplating the conversation they had just shared. She was not in love with Mr. Darcy, not yet—but for the first time, she felt that perhaps it was not an entirely impossible notion. There was much to consider, much to reconcile in her mind, but for now, she was willing to take a step forward, even if it was only a small one.

As they entered Pemberley together, the grand estate seemed less imposing, and the path ahead, though still uncertain, did not seem quite so daunting as before.

Later, as Elizabeth changed her clothes quietly in her room, she reflected on what had just transpired. Darcy's words, his apology, and his evident concern for her well-being had begun to chip away at the walls she had built around her heart. Yet, questions remained—questions she was not yet ready to voice. The allegations made by Lady Catherine about Darcy's supposed betrothal to her daughter, and the tales Mr. Wickham had talked about Darcy's past actions, lingered in her mind.

Perhaps, she mused, once they had grown more accustomed to each other, she would find the courage to ask him about these things. If Darcy could explain himself, if he could offer her a truth that aligned with the man she had begun to see glimpses of today, then perhaps she could finally let go of her prejudice and allow herself to truly know him—to perhaps, one day, love him.

****

Darcy sat alone in his library, his mind searching through the events of the day. He had sought refuge here, in the familiar solitude of his books and papers, a place where he could gather his thoughts and reflect on the decisions that had led him to this point.

The truth was, his departure from Pemberley had not been as urgent as he had led Mrs. Reynold, his sister and Elizabeth to believe. The matter with his attorney, though important, could have been resolved with less haste. But the prospect of remaining in the house, in close proximity to Elizabeth, had seemed unbearable at the time. Her guarded manner and the coldness in her gaze, had left him feeling more uncertain than he had ever felt in his life. It was not the indifference he could not tolerate—it was the idea that she harboured a deep-seated disdain for him, a disdain he had brought upon himself.

In truth, he had completed his business with the attorney on the first day, but the thought of returning to Pemberley, to Elizabeth's cold reception, had held him back. He knew it was ungentlemanly to stay away from a newly wedded wife, especially one who had entered into marriage under such strained circumstances, yet he could not bring himself to face her so soon. He had needed time to think, to plan how he would approach her, how he might begin to mend the rift between them.

But as the second day had drawn on, he realized that his absence was doing more harm than good. It was not enough to simply retreat and hope the tension would dissipate on its own. He had resolved, then, to return to Pemberley, to face Elizabeth with humility and continue to apologize until she saw the sincerity of his intentions. He had to show her that he was willing to earn her trust, even if it meant enduring her coldness a while longer.

Now, as he reflected on the events of that afternoon, Darcy allowed himself a glimmer of hope. When they had spoken, Elizabeth had allowed him to take her hand willingly, her touch gentle rather than begrudging. And when she looked at him, he had not seen the same disdain that had haunted him since their marriage. It was a small victory, but one that stirred within him a belief that he was, perhaps, making headway.

There was much yet to be resolved between them, and Darcy knew that their journey to mutual understanding would not be an easy one. But in that brief moment, he felt the possibility of something more—an easing of her guarded heart, a softening of the barriers she had erected. And for that, he was willing to be patient, to continue proving himself to her, no matter how long it took.