Chapter Four

Chapter Three

Darcy slowly woke up. He felt unusually cold, and his first realization was that for some reason he'd slept without any clothes. As a rule, he always preferred to wear some form of sleeping gown in bed.

The cold December light was peeking through an open curtain.

Why was the curtain open — and when had his heavy red damask curtain been replaced by a cheery yellow floral print?

With a start Darcy realized that he had fallen asleep in his wife's bedroom and not his own.

He sat up pulling a sheet around himself. And looked around, wanting to see Elizabeth.

Hearing him move, Elizabeth's gaze shot to him from the side of the room, where she'd half opened the ornamented door that hid the water closet.

She was lovely.

Elizabeth had wrapped a light blue wool dressing gown around herself. It clung to the feminine curves of her body, and he could see that she wore nothing underneath the robe. Her dark hair fell down, and there was something startled in her eyes.

As they stared at each other, her face turned a deep vivid red, and she then broke their gaze and looked down.

Darcy swallowed nervously.

He wanted to take her again.

"I, uh, need…" She made a tiny curtsey that caused the dressing gown to flap up and expose the naked line of her legs. Then with a rush she hurried into the water closet.

Darcy stared at the door. He then relaxed back onto the bed, looking at the elaborate scene painted onto the ceiling in a French style. He was not sure if he'd ever actually looked at it, having had little reason to go into his mother's London bedroom when she was alive, and even less since she had died.

The taste of Elizabeth still lingered on his mouth.

He felt again how he'd pressed her against the bed, and how her dark eyes and dimly lit face looked up at him. The moment he entered her. That feeling of rightness, of perfection, that this was what the world meant, somehow that the reason for his existence was explained by this sensation when he had fully entered his wife . That complete sense of peace.

He could hear Elizabeth moving around inside the water closet. This was an unexpected intimacy, in some odd way being aware of a woman being at her toilet was as much a part of their becoming one as the physical joining they had experienced the previous night.

He had been a fool to wait so long to marry.

Darcy had always been determined that he would marry a woman who united all of the virtues that were expected of the Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley with something more, something that was special and that appealed to him in particular.

While Elizabeth had few of those expected virtues, she definitely appealed to him in particular. So lovely. He thought of her how she'd stood there a minute ago, slender and lovely in her dressing gown.

Elizabeth groaned in frustration, there was a mechanical clacking, and then the familiar sound of water flowing from the cistern and into the basin of the water closet that had been purchased from Joseph Bramah when his mother had the bedrooms rebuilt a year before she died.

Darcy grabbed his own robe and wrapped it around himself.

Elizabeth came out, closing the door softly behind her.

He stepped towards her, and he did not know quite what he wanted to say or do.

No. He knew. He wanted to grab her by the waist and kiss her again. He wanted to push her onto the bed once more, and—

"Quite late!" Elizabeth exclaimed, turning away from his eyes. "I hope the breakfast has not gone cold!"

Elizabeth hurried past him, and Darcy did not stop her as she rushed to the collection of levers controlling the servant bells. She frowned, reading the little placards around them. "Now which is… ah-ha." She pulled the bell to call her lady's maid and turned to Darcy with a half-smile. "You should dress as well, I imagine."

That was that.

He was still tempted to tell her to forget dressing, forget everything.

Her nervous manner stopped Darcy.

It gave him anxiety in his stomach, as though things were not quite right. She looked at him with those bright, worried eyes as he waited to move.

They were pleading eyes. He suddenly couldn't meet them.

Darcy nodded, feeling more than usually awkward as he retreated.

Some thirty minutes later they came down to breakfast at almost the same time, with Mrs. North leading Elizabeth to the dining hall. When he found them, his housekeeper was explaining the significance of the balustrades in the main staircase and telling Elizabeth the name of the master who had painted each picture along the main hallway.

Elizabeth laughed at a quip Mrs. North made, and the housekeeper looked at his wife with approval. That was how it should be.

She'd dressed in a fine yellow gown that made her look like the unmarried daughter of small gentry, and not what she now was, the mistress of one of the greatest estates in Derbyshire. He had not given her the time to properly purchase a trousseau in his eagerness for them to marry. But he had also not trusted her mother's taste, or even her own.

She would be entering a greater society than she could have ever known before. It was impossible that she could meet their expectations. In his letter to his cousins announcing his marriage, Darcy had asked Lady Susan, the wife of Uncle Matlock's older son, to suggest the names of suitable dressmakers. Lady Susan was universally acknowledged to be one of the most finely dressed women in the ton . Once Elizabeth had gained and used her advice, it would be impossible to criticize Darcy on the basis of Elizabeth's appearance.

Upon seeing him freshly shaven in his green coat, Elizabeth stopped laughing and curtsied. "Mr. Darcy."

He hurried up to her and took her arm.

The feel of her slender arm and her small delicate fingers — so much smaller than his own — on his wrist caused a sharp feeling to jump up his arm.

He wanted to embrace her tightly in greeting, and smell that lilac and strawberry in her hair once more. But despite the intimacy of the previous night, there was some feeling that blocked his muscles and voice from acting out that fantasy, just as it had stopped him from grabbing her and holding her in the room till they'd enjoyed each other once more this morning.

This was likely part of why such short engagements — only a week and a half between the disastrous ball and when he'd acquired the license for them to marry — were often frowned on. The two of them had not had enough time to really get used to each other before being husband and wife.

"You look very well this morning," he complimented her.

She smiled, though weakly.

He added, "That dress is very much a la paysanne . Still too much of your father's station in it. My cousin Lady Susan recommended to me when I announced our marriage a dressmaker who will suit you very well."

"She did?" Elizabeth's smile was gone. Her lips were pressed flat. "And Lady Susan knows what will suit me?"

Ah. He must have by chance pricked one of those delicate points of feminine vanity which he had been informed by general knowledge that gentleman must always be cautious to not prick.

"The dress is lovely," Darcy replied quickly. "And you would be lovely in nothing at all."

They both flushed.

Elizabeth. As bare as the day she was born. His legs between her legs as he pressed his lips against her neck, into her hair, everywhere.

They entered the breakfast room and were met with the scent of fresh baked bread, ham, eggs, coffee, and the sight of a pitcher of milk in a crystal decanter, a fine pat of butter, a selection of the lemon tarts he liked, and the collection of plates and utensils for each of them set next to each other.

He pulled one of the heavy oak chairs out from the table and gestured for Elizabeth to sit in it. The chair scraped over the floor.

"Perhaps I did not express myself in a favorable way," Darcy said as Elizabeth sat and he pulled out his own seat with carved deer heads on the backrest, "I merely meant to say that Lady Susan knows more about how one is expected to dress within your new situation, and that—"

"And that as the daughter of such a poor man as my father I could not possibly have any notion what would be expected of me, and I will disgrace you horribly if I am allowed to pick my own clothing?" Elizabeth's eyes flashed as she replied. "I assure you, I understood. And further that I can, and I will dress myself without any aid from your cousin."

"But—"

"No. This is not a matter on which I will bend. Any orders I make while currently in town will be from the same woman my aunt has patronized these five years, and who is familiar with me and my tastes."

They glared at each other.

The determination in Elizabeth's eyes and face made her yet lovelier. A woman's anger should not look beautiful, but it did with Elizabeth.

"What do you wish to have for breakfast?" Darcy piled several rolls onto her plate. "If there is anything particular you wish that is not here, the kitchen can probably make it."

"This is much like how Mama always set the table," she replied. "There is nothing wanting—" She frowned.

Darcy pushed the plate towards her again and smiled at her. He suddenly wanted to see her like the food his house provided. He was anxious for her reaction.

Elizabeth cocked her eyebrow at seeing Darcy's study of her. Then she laughed a little. That made the lines which had been in her expression smooth out. "It is breakfast. You need not set such a store upon how I like it."

It was impossible not to smile back at her. He shrugged.

Elizabeth theatrically picked up a roll, sawed it in half, and smeared one side with butter before taking a dainty bite. Except when using the sharp knife, she kept an eye on him. "Oh." She groaned as though ecstatic. "Oh, what a piece of work is such a roll! How delightful in taste. And infinite in moisture. In deliciousness how… ummm…" She paused, perhaps unable to remember the next line from Hamlet's speech, or maybe unable to come up instantly with a suitable bread-related modification of the text. After a second she finished in a triumphant voice. "And yet to me, what is this quintessence of flour!"

"Rolls please you not?" Darcy replied dryly. "And neither toast?"

Elizabeth giggled. "An excellent reply."

"But what do you really think?"

"A very fine roll."

Darcy grinned at her.

"Also, particularly good butter — you are far too pleased to hear that I like your kitchens."

"Should we not be proud of them?"

Elizabeth flushed and looked down.

Of course, his kitchen was excellent, he was after all a great gentleman, and not one of those who theatrically expressed no interest in food. Instead of this pleasure at it, he should be annoyed to see her enjoying the fruits of her and her mother's scheming.

He loved her honest delight, and her silly misquoting of Hamlet.

Why?

Darcy's mind flashed back to their joining, the feel of her.

Perhaps the trade that he had made was fairer than he had thought. Perhaps what he had paid to her in exchange for having her was not so ridiculously greater than the value Elizabeth brought to the Darcy name and Pemberley.

He knew what his uncle would say — there were hundreds of lovely girls who were as beautiful and intelligent as Elizabeth and who also had good connections and a plump dowry-purse.

But he'd never enjoyed conversation with them so much.

Elizabeth set to eating with relish, making sounds of pleasure with each bite as she went through the preserves, the ham, and the rolls. Each time she looked at him and smirked with her bright eyes and mischievous lips.

"Coffee? Do you want only one lump of sugar?" Darcy asked as he poured himself a cup from the carafe that had been strained before being set out so that his cup would not be filled with all of the coffee dust from the mill.

"Yes." She looked at him. "You paid attention when we were all at breakfast while Jane was at Netherfield."

Darcy flushed and looked down. He took a bite of ham, chewing it slowly.

She tilted his head. "I'd only heard of maidens doing that when they hoped to catch a fine beau ."

He felt his face go hot. Had he really been so infatuated all this time?

Elizabeth's expression was not displeased, but it also was not delighted. She looked thoughtful.

They were quiet again. Both of them preoccupied.

After a while Darcy decided that it was not right for him to wholly abandon his earlier concern. "Do attend the dressmakers Lady Susan recommended. We will host many of my relations, including my uncle the Earl of Matlock, and his son Viscount Hartwood."

"Ah." Her voice was frosty and clamped down. "An earl."

Elizabeth was gripping her fork in a vaguely threatening manner. The earlier relaxation and friendliness in her manner was wholly gone.

Darcy sighed. He absentmindedly took a big swallow of his coffee. Jove . Too hot. He nearly spat it out in shock, but managed to drink it all back, slightly burning his mouth and throat.

Either Elizabeth would dress to the level expected by the ton without Lady Susan's aid, or she would realize her own insufficiency during the Christmas holidays without Darcy needing to press her further. They would not yet be exposed to society in general. He only… Darcy wanted her to appear at her best.

His whole family would strongly disapprove of this marriage, and by not dressing properly Elizabeth would give them added reasons for censure. There was enough censure.

And it was her duty. It was her duty to play her part as his wife.

"Mr. Darcy, I simply do not wish to spend an excess on clothing. This is a firm determination I have made, and—"

"You used your arts and allurements to make me forget what I owed to myself and all my family," Darcy suddenly snapped back, surprising himself. "Dressing properly for your position is a part of what you undertook to do when you chose to marry me."

"Oh. So, I—" Elizabeth snapped her mouth shut. There was a long pause.

"They will judge me. Not you, me . From you they expect nothing. How you dress reflects upon everyone connected to the Darcy name. My family will watch."

They ate together quietly now.

He supposed he had not spent much time imagining what life would be like with Elizabeth in that hurried week as he arranged everything necessary before his return to Netherfield. But he knew he'd expected her to talk and laugh with him. If they debated and argued, it would be with a lighthearted spirit. They shouldn't be angry and cold.

Jove, he was right .

Her clothes would not stand up to the sort of inspection they'd be given. Their implicit contract was for him to provide her the benefits of marriage to a man in his position, and for her to fulfill the duties of his wife. Those did not just include the wedding bed. Those duties included being an ornament for the Darcy house, and now she just refused to take on that duty out of some misplaced sense of confidence in her own abilities and a worry about money of all things.

"This is why you chose to marry me," Darcy added harshly. "You wanted to be able to afford many fine dresses and carriages. And now you can. So do not pretend to frugality now . Just spend the money at the appropriate dressmaker, so you'll do honor to the family."

"Yes, why else might I have ever done such a thing as use my arts and allurements on you. Why else would I make you forget what you owe ."

Darcy was unsettled.

They were both quiet as they finished the meal.

"What do you plan to do today?" Elizabeth's voice cracked as she asked without looking at him. She pushed away her empty plate.

"I do not know." He'd thought they'd spend the day together. He was thinking of attending on her when she went to Lady Susan's dressmaker. It was silly, but he wanted to be near her as much as he could. That was suddenly impossible. "I'll visit my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. His regiment is stationed in Surrey. Close enough. Also, I'll talk with my man of business about the investments to make next time the coupons are clipped. You will have ample time to go shopping while I am out… Perhaps we can spend the afternoon together?"

"Shopping? Yes, that clearly is all I can want in life." Elizabeth grimaced and looked down. "I apologize."

"You have more than enough pin money, and the allowance for the first half is available to you as a draft on my bank. This was all set forth clearly in the settlement papers."

"I—" Elizabeth slumped and sighed.

How the deuce was he supposed to talk with her? This was never so difficult before. He cast his mind over his acquaintance with Elizabeth to try to find a topic of conversation that would not lead to her being annoyed again. "Perhaps books?" He smiled at her.

"What do you mean?" She looked up. That quizzical look in her eyes. A willingness to smile at him again.

"You are a great reader."

"That was Miss Bingley's appellation." She laughed. "I told you, I deserve no such praise. Nor such censor as she intended. Now father, he —" A flicker of frustration crossed Elizabeth's face before being replaced by a half smile again. "I cannot object to a visit to Paternoster Row."

"We can walk out together, the offices of my man of business are a mile further down the road part St. Paul's."

After looking at him in an odd way, Elizabeth then smiled at him. "I would like that."

The door to the breakfast room suddenly opened loudly, and a cheerful voice exclaimed, "Darcy! Coz! Heard you got mousetrapped by the parson. Didn't even invite me." Colonel Fitzwilliam sprang forward from the door, extending his hand out to Elizabeth. "And hello, hello, might I suspect that you are the cheese that the parson put in the trap? For in that case, I do not blame my cousin for letting the spring close over him. Excellent to meet you."

Elizabeth stood and looked at him quizzically but took his extended hand. "If I follow the metaphor, I am in fact the Stilton."

"We are not at home." Darcy grinned at his favorite cousin.

Ignoring Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam kissed Elizabeth's hand and said, "A finer wedge could not be imagined."

"Elizabeth, my cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, second son of the Earl of Matlock. Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Darcy."

"Mrs. Darcy! Such a creature. Just two months ago there was no hint that such a creature would ever exist again."

Elizabeth studied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Might I invite you to join us for breakfast? Though I must warn you, Mr. Darcy has already claimed the best of the cheese."

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed liberally. "Don't mind. Not at all. Very good coffee here."

He poured himself a cup. "See, Darcy, that was proper hospitality. Offering of food and beverage. Not telling a fellow who rode forty-five minutes to catch you unawares that ‘I am not at home'. Transparently ridiculous. You stand here. This is your home. And I thought you despised all forms of deception."

"The meaning of the statement was wholly clear from its context," Darcy replied instantly. "So, there was no dishonesty."

"Stuff and nonsense. You said what you said."

"I can confirm," Elizabeth said in an amused tone, her eyes twinkling, "that Darcy claims to dislike trickery of every sort. We, therefore, ought to assume he truly thought he made a clear statement. I do not wish to overstep my bounds by speaking for my husband, but I believe he meant to say that we are not at present accepting visitors, and that the conventional way to express that in our society is by saying ‘one is not at home' — is that not what you meant?"

Darcy smirked.

"Still a ridiculous thing to say," Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated. "How was I to know that he didn't want to convince me that he was elsewhere? He ought to have been clearer."

"Perhaps I expected greater perception from you than you possessed?" Darcy said.

Colonel Fitzwilliam flung a cloth napkin at Darcy's head in exchange for that. Then he said to Elizabeth, "Apologies, I know, I know. At least three years' delay was obligatory before I engaged in any cousinly rambunctiousness in front of Mrs. Darcy ."

"Oh, do not mind me ." Elizabeth was looking at him in a different way than he'd ever seen. "I am delighted to observe."

"Ah, well. In that case—" And Colonel Fitzwilliam also tossed a spoon and two other napkins at Darcy.

When Darcy did not reply with anything but a quelling glare, Colonel Fitzwilliam lowered his voice and said to Elizabeth, "It is being an oldest son. He always thinks he must be dignified."

"I see," Elizabeth replied.

Darcy tossed a napkin back at Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Excellent shot," Elizabeth crowed.

And despite himself Darcy grinned and bowed his head to her.

Over the following minutes it was clear from the easy and free conversation between Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam that she liked him. She had no difficulty bantering with him over a breakfast table. Darcy though found it increasingly hard to figure out what he might say to Elizabeth.

She made him nervous. It was ridiculous after the previous night, but she did.

Colonel Fitzwilliam piled away two full cups of coffee and most of the rolls and ham that had been left on the table by them. "Always a very good cup of coffee," he said to Darcy. "I'd happily steal your cook if I could afford him."

"There is no chance we'll see you for Christmas at Pemberley this year?" Darcy asked in reply.

"No chance. We're taking delivery of the new muskets and uniforms, and I want to be there to inspect them in case the manufacturers messed up half the pieces like they did for Robert's regiment a year back."

"When do you return to the peninsula?"

"The present plan is that we'll ship to Lisbon and march to join the forces in Spain during the course of the summer. We will not be ready until after Easter at the earliest. So, if you still plan to visit Lady Catherine…"

Darcy grimaced.

"Ah-ha. I had already deduced that it was unlikely that we would descend once more on Batty Catty."

"Lady Catherine has not yet sent me a letter ‘congratulating' me on my marriage, but I cannot imagine that her temper will have cooled so soon."

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh — my cousin's benefactress?"

Darcy grimaced remembering the sole interaction he had with the oafish man who'd spent much of the evening of the ball hanging about Elizabeth and who had presumed to introduce himself to Darcy. Not meeting Mr. Collins again would be an advantage of not spending time with Lady Catherine.

"He said that you had been engaged to her daughter." Elizabeth frowned.

"I assure you, I never made any offer to her, and I never gave her any indication that I might. My honor was not entangled, whatever my aunt may have hoped for or preferred."

And there again Elizabeth's deep eyes were intent on him. She was studying him. What was she thinking when she looked at him that way?

"Wait," Elizabeth suddenly exclaimed, "Christmas in Pemberley? — we are leaving London so soon?"

"Just a week here. Perhaps a few more days can be arranged if you need it to finish having dresses ordered."

"Just a week?" Her voice was surprised and a little small.

Of course she wanted to stay in London longer. It was the best place to spend his money.

"I am eager for you to see Pemberley, your new home, and your new sister Georgiana."

"Too close, too close." Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. "Darcy keeps his own counsel about his plans even with his wife. Never thought you'd carry your obsession with privacy so far."

"I did not know that we would leave so soon… I'd hoped to see my family again for Christmas."

"That will be impossible," Darcy replied. Wholly impossible since Darcy could not imagine himself being in close quarters with Mrs. Bennet for any great length of time. At least not so soon.

As good as a Lord! My clever, clever girl!

"I see," Elizabeth said, echoing him quietly. "Impossible. Yes, I see."

"You'll get used to it," Colonel Fitzwilliam said sympathetically. "My cousin likes to have his own way very well, but so do we all. It is only that he has a better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence."

The mock serious tone that Colonel Fitzwilliam used had been clearly intended to cheer Elizabeth from the unhappiness that Darcy's announcement had brought to her. Darcy felt something like guilt, but it was important to start as he meant to go on. He would not spend more time with her family than was necessary to satisfy propriety, and he would not allow her to arrange their schedule.

She had chosen to join his life, not the other way around.

Elizabeth made a smile that Darcy could tell was forced and replied to Colonel Fitzwilliam, "The younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence?"

"You paint a quite unpleasant picture of me," Darcy said to his cousin, instead of allowing Colonel Fitzwilliam to reply to Elizabeth. "I hardly have my own way always."

"Don't you?" Colonel Fitzwilliam replied with a raised eyebrow. "At least in matters most significant to you? Haven't you now shown how very much you are your own man?"

Did he? He had wanted Elizabeth, and he had taken her. And he had been able to simply choose to have her without worrying about the possibility that she would refuse him or not wish to marry him because he was so very rich. The wealth was enough to make any woman consent to whatever he asked.

That knowledge had perhaps been the chief reason he had never made anyone an offer of marriage.

"It is not… my situation is not wholly bereft of disadvantages."

"Such as?"

Darcy was well aware that he would both sound conceited and ridiculous if he tried to claim that knowing that any woman he asked would agree to marry him was a disadvantage. But it was. Maybe.

"You will love Pemberley," Colonel Fitzwilliam said to Elizabeth after a pause. "Everyone does. It is well worth seeing, though I acknowledge it would be wholly superior from your standpoint if you could combine it with a family Christmas."

"I am married now. And…" Elizabeth replied slowly. "And fortunately, my family is close enough to London that I should see them in some way every time we are in town."

Darcy grimaced again, though he tried to force his expression into passivity.

From the way that Elizabeth straightened and frowned, and how Colonel Fitzwilliam sidewise looked at him, he perceived that his face had betrayed his feelings to both of them.

He had thought several times with pleasure upon the great distance between Longbourn and Pemberley as a protection from his new and unwanted relations, but twenty and seven miles was not enough space to keep him from Mrs. Bennet, and her desperate efforts to sink her daughters' claws into every one of his friends of fortune.

It would be necessary when they came to London for the season for him to make it clear to Elizabeth that he would not facilitate the ruin of his friends in the way that he had been ruined.

"But really," Elizabeth said to Colonel Fitzwilliam with a more cheerful mien, "when have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?"

"I cannot say I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from a lack of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like."

"Unless," she replied with a sly smile, "they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do."

"Oh, I cannot deny that I very often do like women of fortune. But there are rather more second sons than great heiresses — now Darcy here. He could simply find the brightest jewel of Hertfordshire and marry her. But my habits of expense make me too dependent. There are very few in my rank of life who could afford to marry without some attention to money."

"You approve of my marriage?" Darcy asked. "Do you intend to say so much to your father?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. "I'd merely convince him that I was insane if I went so far as to defend you. I am only surprised you care in the slightest what he thinks. That is not your usual arrogant manner."

"I am not arrogant." Both of them looked at him as though he'd said something ridiculous. "I am not."

"Of a certainty. Not arrogant. Only proud, convinced of your superiority to all the world, and of the unending importance of the Darcy name, especially when merged with your Fitzwilliam heritage. It is simply a natural matter that all men look up to you—"

"He is very tall," Elizabeth said. "He can't help that people look up at him."

"That is very true. I think people would not pay him half so much deference if he was as short as his friend Bingley. I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Bingley."

"Yes." Then Elizabeth hesitated and looked at Darcy. "Will we be calling on him while in London?"

"What? No, I do not think so."

"I'd like to speak to him." Good God. Did she hope to sell some story to his friend about Jane missing him? The mercenary chit. Was it not enough to entangle one unwilling man?

"I do not believe he has time for society at present," Darcy sharply replied. "He is absorbed with the business that drew him from Netherfield."

Colonel Fitzwilliam had a sly expression as he looked between them.

"Are there any other plans we have whilst in London," Elizabeth asked, "besides leaving for Pemberley in only a week?"

"Not of any particular importance," Darcy replied. He felt from her tone as though he was being judged by her. But he rejected her right to judge him in the matter of Bingley. No, rather he judged her . "Once in Pemberley we will host my family for two weeks, from right before Christmas day until the day after old Christmas."

"An ample chance for them to observe me?"

"It had been planned before I met you that this year would be our turn to host."

"I see."

Darcy added, thinking it was the proper thing to do, "While not a definite plan, as a usual matter I come to London for the season in March and leave early in June, as I do not like to spend more than three months in the capital at once."

"My father dislikes London for the noise, smell, and expense," Elizabeth replied, stiffly. "What is your reason?"

"I would not say I dislike London. Merely that it ought to be savored in small bites. In truth the three months I am present for the season is twice the length I like, but it is the best opportunity to meet with my acquaintances from around the kingdom."

Elizabeth nodded. "I see."

There was a cold silence around the table for a minute.

"Ah, speaking of Georgiana," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "In her most recent letter her French has improved greatly. By this time, I would say it is hardly worse than my own."

"She still has a fair bit to improve in grammar."

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. " Tu as toujours été meilleur que moi à cela ."

" C'est seulement l'un des nombreux domaines dans lesquels je suis supérieur ," was Darcy's smiling reply.

From the way that Elizabeth looked between them with a slight frown, Darcy suspected that she could not follow the French. Did she even read the language? — another one of the essential accomplishments that she lacked.

Hesitatingly, frightened of what he would hear about the woman he'd tied himself to, Darcy asked, "Did you follow the French?"

"Only ‘ je suis ', and ‘ toujours '. I can read French passingly well, but it seems I cannot speak it at all. It has been years since we had a master in the language."

Elizabeth studied her plate's delicate blue decorations with a fierce frown.

Not so bad as he'd thought. But not near what his wife should be. "I will have Georgiana's master in French also give you lessons when we reach Pemberley."

Elizabeth pressed her lips tightly together, and then after a second forced a stiff smile. Darcy had an unhappy sense in his stomach. Elizabeth did not meet his eyes.

"Ah, well, an excellent breakfast. But I now ought to head to guildhall to meet a provisioner." Colonel Fitzwilliam pushed himself away from the table and stood. "I must make forlorn farewells. My heart cannot bear to break with your presences, yet stern duty requires. Etcetera, etcetera. A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Darcy — and I say that sincerely."

"We were going to walk that way," Darcy replied. "If you still wish to go by Paternoster Row."

"No." Elizabeth frowned at the harshness of her own reply.

Darcy felt a stab of rejection. She was saying no to him. Now that they were married, she only wished to say ‘no' to every opportunity she had.

He brushed away that nonsense though as Elizabeth added, "Now that I know we will only be present in London for a week, I wish to immediately call on my… acquaintances."

Darcy looked at her.

She'd meant to say something else.

Why was she seeming angry with him? He cast his mind back over the conversation. Her mood had changed when he'd made it clear that they would not speak with Bingley during this week. Was she really so obsessed with landing his friend for her sister that his protection of Bingley was enough to put her in a sour mood?

"In any case," Darcy said stiffly, "I will expect to see you at dinner."

"You may depend upon that ," she replied.

No doubt the acquaintances she meant to call on were persons wholly unsuitable to be acknowledged by his wife, and he ought to nip the matter in the bud right now by demanding information and forbidding her from meeting them. But there was simply something about the way that Elizabeth had a cold expression, and how Colonel Fitzwilliam was watching, curious to see what their marriage was like, that made it hard to open his mouth to tell her that.

He didn't want the divisions, and the way that he had not yet had an opportunity to clearly dictate to Elizabeth the terms on which she was to live to be visible to his cousin, and through him to his uncle and the rest of their family.

Besides, even if she reaffirmed her acquaintance with unsuitable people, they would not be so wholly unsuitable as to be more than a mild embarrassment.

After a set of parting words, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy walked out to the cold street. An overcast ugly December day. A vicious breeze blew in from the direction of the harbor.

"Fine lady, fine lady," Colonel Fitzwilliam said as he rubbed his hands together for warmth and pulled his coat around him tighter. "Whole thing came off fast — my man collected some rumors, you know."

"I do not care about rumors. I would not be moved by them in any way."

"Oh. Oh! — you were just eager?"

"I confess that I of course very much wanted to be bonded in Holy Matrimony with my wife as soon as she was chosen as the companion of my future life. That was one reason for our haste," Darcy replied. "Of equal significance, I had been away from Georgiana and Pemberley for too long. And I wished to ensure we could be settled into the estate for at least a week or two before family descended on us. Perhaps we can have a ball organized while they are present for the New Year, and to introduce Mrs. Darcy to the neighborhood."

"A ball! Very eager. See that was something you ought to have told the lady about when she asked if you had other plans."

Darcy grimaced.

"I am envious. You were in a position to act simply on your own judgment, and you did so."

His own judgement.

Darcy tried to control his face so his cousin would not realize what a mockery he had made of that .

And yet… he wanted to explain everything to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Bingley was the only other friend he held so close as his cousin, but Bingley was in experience and wisdom his inferior, while his cousin was both family, his older by a few years, and he had a strong measure of good sense and personal conviction — though he expressed it differently than Darcy did.

"So, I see that despite the obvious attractions of your wife, there is something amiss with the marriage. I strongly suspected that when I heard how quickly you'd gone from engagement to marriage. Not to mention that I would not have expected you to marry at all, let alone to enter a marriage that would expose you to the ridicule of your fellows."

"What is the point that you mean to make?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged. "I was curious, that is why I descended upon your breakfast with your bride. I'd rather hoped to hear a long scandalized story from Mrs. North about how neither of you had stirred out of the bedroom since you arrived the previous night. But I think the curiosity was equally satisfied by watching the two of you banter."

"And what conclusions did you draw," Darcy replied crossly. "You know I do not like to be made the object of sport."

"And you know," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, "that no matter how much taller than me you've grown, I can knock you over the head if we must participate in a bout of the noble art."

Darcy swatted at the back of his cousin's head, and Colonel Fitzwilliam ducked, grinning. "I hardly like fisticuffs. Fencing is my preferred sport. Beat me at that, or at billiards if you wish to brag."

"I did beat you at billiards last Christmas."

"One game out of fifteen."

"A win is a win."

"What did you think of Elizabeth? Will she stand up in our circles?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam stopped walking and looked at him with a deep frown when Darcy turned back around to face him after walking several feet further on. The officer shook his head and then continued on the road.

"You think she will shame me?"

"I think you are a fool, and what is worse, too much of a fool to see that you are. She hardly knows what to make of you — that is my guess — you ought to worry about how to convince her of your virtues, not if the nonsensical members of our family will like her. You made the choice to marry a poor girl, by George, you've a duty to every consideration you ignored in doing so to make it a happy marriage. That is not what the conversation I witnessed this morning portends."

"They'll watch her. Lady Catherine is a doomed case. She'll never forgive the slight I gave her and Anne. Even if I made an exceptional match, a diamond of the first water, she'd have been unhappy. But now, she is incensed. But there is some hope with your father. And I always cared far more for his opinion than Lady Catherine's."

"I hope that is not a high compliment to my father."

"And was that meant to insult our aunt?" Darcy laughed. "There is much to admire in Lady Catherine — her certainty, her willingness to advise anyone, and the serious manner in which she takes her duties. But she is… wrong so often, and incapable of confessing when she is." He shrugged. "The high compliment to your father is that I do love him, I do respect him, and I think he is often wise. He at least can confess to his own errors."

"Bravo! I'll tell Papa what you said." Colonel Fitzwilliam clapped slowly. "If you wished to make love to him, you'd do a far better job than you seemed to manage with your wife ."

"They'll look for every way to judge me , and to cast scorn on my judgement in marrying her. She needs to be… she needs to sparkle. To be perfect. To be exquisite. To be someone whose every motion makes it clear to your parents that ‘ah, this is why he married her despite the disadvantages'."

"You, my friend, are a fool. If you cared the slightest about that, why did you marry her in the first place?"

Darcy did not reply.

A gust of wind tried to take his hat away, and he grabbed it with his hand to hold it on his head.

The cobblestones on the road they were crossing were starting to come apart, and Darcy delicately stepped around a pile of horse dung.

"What is the tale?"

"What tale?"

"Of how you ended up married to her."

Darcy shrugged. "A beautiful woman, an inebriated man. My judgement and my very character would have rebelled in ordinary times against making the offer. But once it was made, my character rebelled yet harder against recalling it, even though I wished I had never made it."

Horses clopped past them.

"You? That is most out of character for you. How did it in fact happen?"

Darcy did not reply while they walked a whole block, the gusting wind becoming worse. A light spray of ugly sprinkles started falling from the sky.

Gloomy mood. And he was determined not to stay in it. He'd been so torn between two visions of what happened, and of himself, since that night. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before in his life.

"You know I do not like to discuss my business in any detail."

Colonel Fitzwilliam snorted.

"Yes, well. Let me explain what actually happened — I was more drunk than I can recall ever being since Cambridge. And then — the deuced thing is that we were arguing about Mr. Wickham ."

"Mr. Wickham?" Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaimed in surprise, and some suspicion. "What does he have to do with Mrs. Darcy?"

"He joined the militia in Meryton." Darcy grimaced. "An ugly happenstance. It was not by plan, the expression on his face when we first met by chance on the road in town made that clear. He spread some tale of how I had mistreated him to all and sundry. Miss Elizabeth… Mrs. Darcy demanded that I explain my dealings with him, and she became frustrated with me when I would not."

This led to a raised eyebrow. "And pray, why did you not?"

"I could not talk about Georgiana!"

"There were other parts of your connection with him that you might have spoken about."

"It is Wickham's character to be liked quickly, but not for long."

"But how—" Colonel Fitzwilliam wiped his hand over his face. "Never straightforward with you. She was arguing with you about Wickham, and you were drunker than you ever have been since those college days I missed by going into the army. By all that is holy, how does this lead to an engagement?"

"She… she looked at me. In a particular way. We'd gone to the library to argue. And her eyes… she…" Darcy flushed.

"Jove, you didn't rut right there in a public room!?"

"No!" Darcy exclaimed. "Who do you think I am?"

"You already have told me you acted contrary to your judgement and ordinary character." He then laughed at Darcy's expression. "You made an offer of marriage because of how she looked at you?"

"No, I…"

Raised eyebrow, waiting at his pause.

"I kissed her."

"You kissed her! Good for you."

"It was a mistake. We were still in the midst of the embrace when her mother burst into the room with a friend. Upon seeing us she shouted about how clever her girl was ‘oh ten thousand a year, I shall go distracted'."

Then Darcy added, a little petulantly, "And Mrs. Darcy still has not apologized for having defended Mr. Wickham and admitted how foolish that was."

"May I assume you have not yet deigned to tell your wife any of the details of your interaction with that gentleman?"

"I am the fool still? It is unreasonable to expect my wife to simply trust my character more than Wickham's?"

"What has reason ever to do with love?"

"Do not tell me that nonsense."

"And the haste with which you made the marriage? Once the decision was made you were desperate to finally rut with a woman? — that is to say Papa was right when he counseled you to keep a mistress."

The thought had occurred to Darcy that, if there had not been a part of his soul which was desperate for female company, he would have been better able to resist the delightful temptation that Elizabeth had offered to him.

"Living in an upright and honorable manner, in accordance with my conscience certainly was not a mistake."

"Such a wait." Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eye. "And was last night with your lovely wife all you hoped during your—"

"I will not entertain any questions on that subject. I beg you for the love we have for each other as cousins to not continue this line of conversation."

"Fair, I apologize." Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. "I am teasing you, but that was not mannerly. Not good form."

"Thank you."

The two of them strolled down the lane.

"Did you get so drunk because you were upset that you couldn't ask her to marry?" Colonel Fitzwilliam smirked at him in a way that showed that he was quite confident in his correct judgement of Darcy's motivation.

"You are still teasing me," Darcy replied.

"At last, you gave us cause to laugh at you over. Do not expect your fallibility to be quickly forgotten."

Darcy groaned, but in an odd way he was pleased that it was his favorite cousin making sport of him, and not a stranger. He had himself on occasion made sport of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and turnabout was generally considered fair.

"In the end, I approve," Colonel Fitzwilliam said in a wholly serious tone — which meant he was at most half serious — "You allowed your good judgement to be overcome, but it was inevitable that would someday happen after so many years of always allowing your too good judgment to win over your impulses. And I like Mrs. Darcy. This is more likely to lead to your happiness in the long view than any marriage that your judgement would have approved of."

"I am a very good judge of character and behavior," Darcy replied.

"You are not a good judge of what will make your own happiness."

"I know my duty."

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed again. "Your duty is now to your wife. I dare say she is not wholly happy with her situation."

"How can she not be? She has married a man of ten thousand a year. ‘Good as a Lord', ‘Good as a Lord.' That is what her mother was screeching as she praised her clever, clever girl when they found us."

"Do not tell that to my father . He'd explain that you are not as good as a lord. Or at least not as good as an earl. Maybe a viscount or a baron. He dislikes that Pemberley is a bigger and more profitable estate than Matlock, even though he is titled, and you are not."

"You are missing the point. I was—"

"You admit it yourself. This was your choice. An impulsive choice that would not have been made if you had been sober, and which decided the whole fate of your future life, but still your own choice. I rather suspect it was good for you. You were always too focused on your duty… like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap — I tell you, Coz, I am serious. This has every hope of being the making of you."

"I was already made," Darcy replied testily.

"Then the making of your happiness."

Darcy grunted.

For two blocks neither of them spoke. Darcy studied the bare branched trees around them, the cobblestoned streets, becoming busier and busier as they came closer to the pulsing heart of London, of the entire British Empire.

"I confess I am rather frightened of returning to Spain." Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed and pushed his hair aside to show the otherwise hidden scar on his temple that he'd received the previous year. "So close. Makes a man aware."

Darcy placed an arm on his cousin's shoulder. "You could sell the commission."

"No. Not I. Duty." He half smiled. "You are not the only one." Then shrugged. "I like her. She is quick on her feet, clever. Pretty as well. And she has… there is something… more than most women. On the other hand, you know that my parents will not be impressed."

"I know."

"Protect her from them — make sure she knows that she can rely on you. That you will support her, even against your own family."

"What?" Darcy blinked at the odd idea. His aunt and uncle could be difficult, but ultimately, they wished for what was best for him.

"How are you so obtuse? Did you hear how she spoke of her knowledge of French? She is as worried as you are that she will be seen as insufficient for the high role of being married to you" — Colonel Fitzwilliam sneered — "and you are inclined to tell her that you fully agree that she is insufficient."

"She is insufficient — and she is unwilling to listen to corrections. I tried to tell her to go to Lady Susan's dressmaker, and she directly refused me."

"You—" Colonel Fitzwilliam's mouth hung open, aghast. He snapped it shut. "You what?"

"I suggested to her that while her dress today was lovely, it was not sufficiently sophisticated for the ton — you saw it. Surely you cannot disagree. I don't even know what is missing, maybe lace? Or the sleeves are wrong. Something… it has a look about it of the clothing of the daughter of a country attorney, or maybe Cit. It is not tip top. You know what I mean."

"You told her that?" Wide eyed question.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Why — I am, I confess, astonished that Mrs. Darcy accepted you. What did you say when you proposed? In vino veritas ? No — it must be the opposite for you. In vino eloquentia. "

Darcy frowned, trying to remember just what he'd said.

"Come, now what were your words?"

Now it was Darcy's turn to feel shocked.

"I cannot recall," Darcy said, flushing. "It was not… I think it was a matter of gesture more than word."

He had never asked Elizabeth to marry him. They had kissed… she had not stopped him from kissing her… and that meant that she wished to marry him, but… he had not in fact asked.

"Gesture more than word? You never actually asked her after you kissed her, did you? Just negotiated a settlement with her father and assumed all was settled?"

That… that was in fact what had happened.

"Unsound. Very unsound." Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. "I must watch you someday become so drunk as to make gestural love to a wholly unsuitable young lady. You clearly become a different sort of person. I'd like to see — by George. By Jove! Soften your truth telling. Do not, I beg you, do not criticize your wife's taste in clothing. Certainly not for Lady Susan's sake — ah, here we are. Where our roads part. But for God's sake, promise me, be less honest to your wife. She does not deserve it."

"I do not understand what you really mean to ask, but I am above disguise."

"Above disguise? — be tactful. And perhaps, sometimes, do not say anything at all."

"I thank you kindly, for your advice," Darcy replied coldly. "But as you have never been married, I shall keep to my own counsel. In any case, in my opinion the generality of marriages are plagued by little lies, insincerity, and an inability for the parties to speak their true thoughts to each other, and I think this comes because many couples use the policy you just suggested, rather than being forthright and honest with each other."

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed, shaking his head. "Did you tell her directly that you'd ignored your good judgement when you asked Mrs. Darcy to marry you? I mean kissed her into a marriage?"

Darcy nodded, feeling rather shamed.

"And at present you are describing the course your ‘good judgment' leads you down — do not glare at me that way. You look as though you mean to hurt me." Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed and backed away. "But I tell you, you have married her, and you should talk to her, and deeply. Learn her character, what it really is, and find the things you can like in it. But I know nothing, not being married. Unlike you, oh wise married man of nearly twenty-four hours."

And with a wave, Colonel Fitzwilliam was off, leaving Darcy standing next to the tall marble columns fronting the bank of England and giving him the peace necessary to contemplate the wisdom brought by two and twenty hours of marriage .