Darcy and Elizabeth had been married in January, and had spent the winter falling deeper in love with one another—especially Darcy, who could no longer remember how he lived in such a large, dark house before his wife filled and lightened his beautiful rooms. Elizabeth, on her part, hadn't lost her independence—nor would she ever—but had often found herself wondering how it was she had ever been able to sleep without Darcy's strong arms pulling her to his chest every night.
Their private little bubble burst, however, in the spring, when Darcy and Elizabeth were having their first guest (excluding, of course, the Bennets and the Bingleys, who hardly ever left, and no longer were truly considered company) since their marriage. Mr. Creedance, an acquaintance of Mr. Darcy's from his Cambridge days, had come to visit Pemberly for several weeks. Elizabeth, despite her nervousness at hosting independently for the first time, was proving to be an excellent hostess. In fact, Mr. Darcy thought she was too good a hostess.
In her attempts to prove that she was worthy of the title of Mrs. Darcy, Elizabeth may have shown her guest a little too much attention. She had memorized how he took his tea, shown him her favorite selections from the library, and conversed largely with him. However, the worst of it, in Darcy's view, was that Elizabeth invited Mr. Creedance to join them on their morning strolls around the grounds. It hadn't troubled Mr. Darcy much at first, as he believed his wife was politely including his friend in their morning rambles about Pembery's grounds, and he could only regret that he wasn't able to pull his wife behind a tree and ignore society's propriety for a few moments. But he couldn't help being troubled when Mr. Creedance joined her on a day he was unable to go with them, and every day thereafter, including this morning—a walk from which they had yet to return.
Did Mr. Creedance really believe it was appropriate to go on such long walks unescorted with a woman? Did he believe that it was proper if the lady was married? Or did he simply not care for propriety? After all, Mr. Darcy recalled, he did congratulate me on finding such a lovely bride. And I'm not blind. I see how he looks at Lizzy…the way I looked at her at Huntsford…the way I looked at her after I knew she had to be mine! He knew it wasn't his wife's intention to be improper; she would have gone on a walk with anyone but Wickham, had the opportunity arisen, and wouldn't likely think anything of it.
Darcy also knew Elizabeth loved him—a woman like her wouldn't (indeed, couldn't) emulate the passion he had seen from her in their bedchamber after their marriage. Of that he was sure. But would Mr. Creedance be inhibited by Elizabeth's disinterest? Recalling from his college years, Mr. Darcy believed the man would only interpret resistance as modestly, and would take it as a challenge. A challenge he would intend to win.
Darcy bolted out of his chair in the library and hurried to the door of his estate. Pulling on his greatcoat, he mentally traced Elizabeth's customary route across the grounds. They were likely in the woods by now. The woods! A perfect place to hide from witnesses! Darcy walked as quickly as he could, with all of his customary authority, towards the forest path and into the trees.
What he saw there filled him with almost as much jealousy as the idea that Wickham had wanted Elizabeth. She was leaning over picking wildflowers, one soft escaped curl falling into her lovely eyes, and Creedance, the swine, was not being subtle in his admiration of her bent over position. He saw the man's mouth move, then his Elizabeth—his!—returned to her standing position, laughing up at him—that laugh was meant for him!—and slip her arm into his elbow—that hand, too, that was his!—and lead him farther down the path.
They didn't even notice me, Darcy thought, his jealousy fading into hurt. Despite what he'd said at Huntsford, he'd always known that Elizabeth was too good for him. But if she's too good for me, she's certainly too good for that useless swine! After all, I'm younger…but I suppose…if she wants experience…or someone who will perform better at social functions, he's the right choice. But I'm wealthier! Though Lizzy has never cared so much about that, or she would've accepted my first proposal…with this dark reminder of her initial rejection of his suit, Darcy forced himself to turn away from his wife and the man he believed she now favored and return to his library.
Once Darcy got there, he yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk, where he hid a bottle of whiskey and two small glasses (a spare for the father-in-law he'd grown fond of) that he normally saved for when his mother-in-law (or brother-in-law, though that was much rarer) was on her way. With a shaking hand, he poured himself as much as the small glass would hold and downed it in one swallow.
He did this about four times before Mr. Creedance walked in. Darcy's recently drowned jealousy returned in a flash, this time fueled by his drunkenness. Fortunately, Darcy was one of those rare people that retain control of his body even after whiskey has robbed them of their senses. Which is why Darcy's first swing at Mr. Creedance's face hit his jaw and slammed him into the oak door.