Page 79 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

“I’ll claim to have married you for other qualities.”

I tried to pull my hands away. He held them fast.

“Elizabeth, you have nothing to prove tonight.”

“You said the same thing before our wedding night.”

His gaze darkened at once.

“The result was very satisfactory.”

“For a man who wasn’t supposed to distract me, you choose your memories poorly.”

He brought my fingers to his lips.

“Then I’ll leave you to your soups.”

The dinner began well. I remembered the names, steered conversations with sufficient skill, and prevented a nearly deaf old lady from questioning Georgiana about Wickham. Fitzwilliam, seated at the other end of the table, sometimes looked at me with a pride that unsettled my concentration more than any criticism could have.

Then Fitzwilliam’s aunt—his maternal uncle’s wife—mentioned the last reception Lady Anne Darcy had given before her death.

“She always placed white roses in the gallery,” she said. “She claimed the red ones darkened the portraits.”

Her tone was not hostile. Yet several glances drifted toward the red roses I had chosen that very morning.

I replied lightly:

“The portraits will have to get used to less discreet company.”

The table laughed. The conversation resumed.

My confidence did not.

Every detail suddenly seemed wrong. The sauce too thick. The wine served a minute too late. My Hertfordshire accent more noticeable among the polished voices. I wondered if Fitzwilliam noticed my errors, if he missed the perfect mastery of a mother whose place I filled without possessing her training.

After the guests left, I went up to our chamber before him.

I removed my earrings with sharp movements. When he entered, he found me at the dressing table, my shoulders rigid.

“The dinner was a success,” he said.

“Because no one died of poisoning?”

He closed the door.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You taught me not to accept that answer.”

I set an earring down on the table.

“Your aunt spoke of your mother.”

“She often does.”

“She spoke of how she entertained, how she chose flowers, how she ran the house. Everyone knew exactly what she would have done in my place.”