Page 30 of Courting Elizabeth

I could obtain a wife's obedience. The law, custom, and the vows spoken that very morning gave me powers she could scarcely counter.

I wanted none of that.

I wanted Elizabeth.

Her laughter offered without fear. Her wit free to contradict me. Her desire freely given. Her affection granted to the man I was, not to the master of Pemberley or the protector of Longbourn.

The word came to me with almost military clarity.

To court her.

Even if Elizabeth was neither a fortress nor a victory destined to flatter my pride.

Yet I must earn what I had believed I received.

I would show her the man behind Pemberley, and I would learn to listen before acting.

I would court her after marrying her.

And I would tell her nothing of my intentions.

A declaration would transform my every gesture into a maneuver. I wanted her to remain free to welcome them, to refuse them—and even to never love me.

This last possibility seemed almost unbearable.

I accepted it nevertheless.

A slight sound reached me from the other side of the connecting door, then silence.

I did not approach.

Elizabeth would not know what I had heard.

She would see only what I chose to do with it.

Chapter 8

DARCY

All night, the door remained closed.

I had not truly believed she would open it. Yet I had woken several times at the slightest sound, torn between wanting to see her appear and relief that she would not act out of fear or duty.

I came down to breakfast at eight o'clock. Elizabeth was already there, dressed in a cream-colored gown, her hair arranged with less severity than the day before. She was reading a letter but folded it as soon as I entered.

We looked at each other with the awkward awareness of having slept apart on our wedding night.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning.”

I took my seat across from her. The staff had laid out enough food for six people. I poured tea to occupy my hands.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked.

“Well enough.”

Faint shadows ringed her eyes. I probably looked the same.