The dastardly cretin snuck away after dinner.
"Lizzy, are you quite well?" Georgiana inquired. "Your cheeks appear uncommonly flushed."
Elizabeth rose. "I have a letter to write. Pray excuse me." She would give him a piece of her mind. He had to return and face her. And when he did, he would know the strength of her ire.
***
They engaged in a game of cat and mouse for a week before she was able to corner him. Elizabeth had the measure of his movements now and rose very early in the morning, well before first light, to catch him as he made his way from his bedroom.
After William's birth, her husband had removed himself to a separate chamber out of consideration for her need to rest—and he being one who tossed and turned incessantly at night—in addition to the need for her body to heal from its ordeal. It was her fault, really. She had noticed for weeks that he was gone, by the time she emerged from the lingering exhaustion and all-consuming of new motherhood, her husband was firmly ensconced in his separate chamber. She had done nothing out of consideration for his rest due to her insistence she rise in the night whenever their son awoke. She refused to employ a wet-nurse, no matter how plebeian her preference might be considered.
"Elizabeth," he said, startled when his bedroom door creaked open and he stepped out with the air of someone attempting to move as quiet of a fashion as possible.
"Where do you ride this morning, husband?" she asked, voice pleasant. "Might we have the pleasure of your company for luncheon?"
"Ah," He started, "the matter is, Elizabeth—"
"I see." She turned away. "Well, since you will not be present, I see no reason why I should not accept my mother's invitation to stay a week or two at Longbourn. She does so long to see her grandson."
She heard the click of his heels as he snapped to attention. "What? You will do no such thing, Elizabeth. I require you here."
She faced him. "Oh? You require me here, but yet you have so many pressing engagements that I am relegated to—"
"Oh, do stop," He stared at her, irritated, then bowed. "Fine. I will join you for dinner."
"I requested you join me for luncheon."
"You are the most stubborn—"
"Longbourn it is, then." She smiled at him.
His mouth shut with an audible snap of teeth and he turned, striding down the hall in high dudgeon. Elizabeth sniffed. He had better not be late. Tonight they would have it out, or she would demonstrate to him the folly of ignoring Elizabeth Darcy.
***
Elizabeth was dressing for dinner when the door to her sitting room opened abruptly. The maid paused in her duties, startled, and curtsied as Mr. Darcy entered.
He came to a halt in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back, expression aloof. "I would speak with you, Mrs. Darcy."
Her brow arched and she rose, smiling to dismiss the maid and waited until the girl closed the door behind her.
"How may I serve you, husband?"
His eyes narrowed, an expression she did not quite recognize flitting across his face. "Have you abandoned this foolish idea to visit Longbourn? You are only nine months out of childbed and far too fragile to travel."
She laughed at him. "Only nine months? My! Yes, it is far too soon for traveling, or walking, or even sitting up in bed to brush my hair."
He strode forward, jaw tight. "I dislike when you mock me, Elizabeth."
"Well, perhaps you should refrain from being eminently mockable."
She crossed the remaining distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Darcy, you are the silliest man sometimes. You behave as if you dislike my company, but when I make an intention to leave, you seek to dissuade me. How changeable you are."
He scowled. "If insisting you have a care for your health is silly, then perhaps reminding you of the duty you so blithely seek to abandon—"
She stiffened. "I abandon nothing. Really—" Elizabeth pulled away, her previous amusement evaporating.
He caught her, holding her still to repent her retreat. "Elizabeth . . ."
There was something in his tone, a note of deeper emotion which held a clue to the thoughts he chose not to share with her.
"Tell me," she said.
He did not speak. A hand slid into her hair, threatening to undo the maid's good work.
"I cannot endure this any longer," he said in a hoarse whisper and released her, striding out of the room.
***
He was late to dinner.
"You are not yourself," she said, voice icy. That her husband had come at all was against her expectation. After the way he had left her, she had felt sure he would renege on his previous word. The blessing was mixed as, after seating himself, he proceeded to indulge in the sort of drinking reserved for men of poor character and questionable sobriety.
Elizabeth held her peace, calling on every last inch of good breeding and courteous manner in order to engage her husband pleasantly in light-hearted discourse, to which he responded curtly, and smooth over any awkwardness caused by his ill behavior.
She followed him into his sitting room following the completion of the meal, where Elizabeth noticed the high glitter in his eyes and a certain aggressive set of his shoulders. He glanced at her and turned his back. She inhaled abruptly, furious over the deliberate cut.
"I did not admit you, Elizabeth."
She closed the door, caught herself looking around for something to throw at him, and took a deep, calming breath. She was a wife, a mother. She must conduct herself with all maturity as befit her station, even if her husband chose to behave like a petulant brat.
"I asked you to join us for dinner not so you could disgrace us all with such ill-mannered conduct, but so that we could reaffirm our mutual affection and commitment as a family. The distance you insist on placing between us is intolerable. If—"
"Stop, Elizabeth," he said, interrupting her with a rough voice. He leaned an arm against the fireplace, the flames casting a dark, moody mien over his face. For a moment he looked the like the devil himself.
"I will stop when you tell me what is wrong, William. I have a right to know why my marriage is deteriorating before my eyes."
"You have the rights I give you and no others." He turned to face her, eyes hard. Haunted. An expression she had never seen before.
Her stomach clenched. "Are you—do you regret your choice of bride? Is this what all of this is about? Have you finally come to your senses and realized how far beneath your status you married?" She refused to consider the possibility, but she must. Elizabeth Bennet had never run from a hard reality. "Have you taken a mistress?"
"Elizabeth!"
She had truly angered him. Of course, such talk was uncouth for a gentleman's daughter or wife, but she was a woman of the world or at least thought herself so. And Darcy was her husband and in the privacy of their marital discourse, she should be free to discuss such things.
"I will not apologize for blunt speech," she said, raising her chin.
"When have you ever apologized for anything, Elizabeth Bennet?"
Elizabeth gasped at the accusation. "That is unfair and untrue."
He snorted. "Courting you was like courting a mule."
She drew herself up to her full height. "I dare you then to declare that I look like one!"
Darcy sighed. "You are ridiculous, Lizzy."
"And you, sir, are intoxicated."
"Hardly." He began to strip out of his tailcoat, tossing it over a nearby chair. "Will you excuse me, dear? The day has been long and I am weary."
"No, I will certainly not excuse you!" She strode forward, righteous anger lending an earnestness to her expression and agitation to her movements. "We will have this discussion whether you wish it or no!"
He whirled away from her. "Blast it, Lizzy! I am trying to protect you."
She stopped short, heart beating rapidly. Of all the confessions she had feared, had hoped for, this was not it.
"Protect me from what?" she asked in a soft tone. "I beg you, confide in me. Whatever troubles you face, I face them with you. You did not marry a woman who is silly or indifferent. Please."
She placed a hand on his shoulder, the muscle stiffening under her fingers. The heat of the fire could not thaw the chill of her unease, however. Only reassuring words from her husband could do so. Words he seemed reluctant to offer.
Darcy turned. Elizabeth's hands rose to frame his face, so beloved. She rose on her toes, pressing her body against his still, hard form, brushing his thinned mouth with her soft lips.
"Please, husband," she whispered, all feminine grace and genteel pleading.
He slumped, hands seizing her upper arms as if his control rested on a tenuous thread. Darcy yanked her roughly against him, an arm sliding around her waist as his lips crashed down upon hers and he took from her a kiss so heated, so passionate in its despair and fury, that she simultaneously feared the worst and burned with sensual yearning.
How long since last he had held her thus? Since she had felt the masculine, virulent press of his body against hers? Elizabeth moaned, fingers gripping his shoulders.
Darcy stiffened and pushed her away, the rejection bordered on violence. "No! Leave me at once."
Elizabeth stared at him, shocked, as she felt all the color drain from her cheeks as she swayed from the brutal coldness of the rejection. One moment he held her in his arms like a man possessed with wanting and the next beheld her with an expression of such malevolence she flinched away.
But she was no weak woman. Elizabeth held out a trembling hand to him, imploring. "This is not like you."
His words, and his face, were cruel. "What do you know of me, Elizabeth? What could you ever know of me?"
Her arm dropped to her side, a heavy weight. Numb, she stared at him one final moment before she turned and left to his solitude.
***
Elizabeth lost her way twice, wandering the halls in a daze until she made her way to the nursery. She looked down on her slumbering infant and bent to kiss his forehead. He would wake soon, and be wanting her breast. She reminded herself of this continually, and dredged up in her heart the fierce love she bore for him. But she felt so numb, the pain of her husband's final words a physical ache in her chest.
She needed to get away. To . . . think.
Elizabeth walked out of the nursery and down the hall, and by the time she had emerged from the family wing was running, nearly unable to see for the tears in her eyes. The tears of a fool in love.
She had no true recollection of leaving the grounds, of plunging at night into the countryside, no thought on her mind of where she would go. Only that she would.
***
"She has done what?" Darcy exclaimed, turning on his sister.
"I was just informed. I came right to you." Georgiana's forehead creased in worry. "I called out to her, but it was as if she could not hear me. What could be so wrong? She looked like the devil himself was chasing her."
Darcy set off immediately, striding through the hallways, considering the time it would take to saddle a horse versus following his wife on foot. He felt a sick dread in his chest. It was dark and the air was chilled, and there were often footpads or poachers in the woods. She could easily become lost, or injured, or sicken from exposure. Had she even taken a wrap with her?
There were so many cruel things he had thought to say to her in order to push her away, but he had not had the heart to hurt her in such a manner. He had settled on the gentlest means of ejecting her from his presence before his resolve broke. To drive her from him before he set upon her like a wild man and wrung from her every last drop of feminine surrender in her body and soul. Before he got her again with child.
But what did it matter if Darcy saved his wife from death in childbed only for her to die alone from exposure and grief? His Lizzy was strong, but she was still a woman and vulnerable. He was a cad, a devil, for forcing her to such drastic actions. He did not deserve her, or the happiness she had brought him.
He did not deserve her, but she was his. To take, to protect. To love and cherish. He could not lose her.