Page 101 of The Widower of Pemberley

Darcy shrugged. “No—I suppose I might safely read it. ‘She must not be the sort of woman whom my mother would have approved of’.”

Georgiana frowned. “I never…I loved Mama, but she was never…never kind to me. Lizzy, I amgladthat you are nothing like the women she wished Fitzwilliam to marry.”

“Most of the rest is wholly obscured by this excellent shark that Emily drew.”

“It is an Emily elephant,” the girl protested, “while the other one is a papa elephant.”

“This excellent little elephant—it is very lifelike,” Darcy immediately corrected himself. “All that I can read from the rest is that I wished for my future wife—that is you, Elizabeth—to have a real affection for Emily, and to be poor and bring little wealth to the marriage.”

“Ah, the virtue which made up for the defects of my beauty and wit. If I had been richandlovely, you would not have looked twice at me.”

“I certainly would havelookedtwice at you,” Darcy replied, “but I imagine that I would not have asked you to marry me.”

“And I would not have accepted,” Elizabeth replied, laughing, “as you made an excellent impression of a bear at times. Wholly false, but still a good impression.”

Darcy looked at the page again. And then he frowned.

He stared at what he had written at the very bottom of the paper for a long time. Then he said at last, “Perhaps my cousin was right.”

When her husband said nothing else, Elizabeth asked, “Might you be less cryptic? Do you refer to Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

“He once told me that the main problem with my marriage to Mary was that we were ill matched. I thought the defect was chiefly in me and secondly in her. But perhaps it simply was that… I begin to hope that you and I might be better matched, and that it will make the difference.”

Darcy continued to stare at the paper for some time, before he folded it away and put it in the inner pocket of his coat.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The first months of Darcy’s marriage to Elizabeth were filled with a growing sense of delight.

He had noticed this sensation the most strongly after he began to sleep in her bedroom every night.

Elizabeth was generally delighted to be with him.

Elizabeth liked conversation with him.

She drew him out, found ways to make him speak, and in turn he found it easy to listen to her talk about her days and little interests in a way he never had with Mary.

And even when he revealed aspects of his character that she did not like, she replied with annoyance and amusement rather than cold resentment and clear unhappiness.

By the time they were preparing to return south for the Season, Darcy found himself in an odd mood.

He was happy.

Happier than he could ever remember himself being.

There was still lingering fear that was confused and unreasonable, and that occasionally arose: it could not last; she would see what Mary had seen; she would become miserable.

But the number of times he had that thought dwindled every week.

A few days before they set off for London, Darcy received a surprising letter from his man of business.

“Well, that is that.” He frowned at the paper as he folded it and laid it beside his plate.

Elizabeth put down her coffee. “What is the matter?”

“It is, on the whole, a good thing.” He picked up the letter again and tapped it on the table. “Yes. On the whole, I am quite pleased.”

“That is a rather annoying habit you have,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes dancing as she smiled at him, “of on occasion extensively describing your thoughts on a matter before telling me what the matter is.”