Darcy observed his wife from across the room with concern. She had been quiet and distracted ever since she had left Longbourn two days ago. Though he could not claim to know her well, he felt he knew enough to worry. Elizabeth did not seem the sort to fall victim to fits of melancholy. He understood that she must be mourning the life she had left behind, longing for her family. She was also undoubtedly overwhelmed.

Pemberley had been more than she had expected, it was written on her face the moment the house had come into view. Did she fear being its mistress? Darcy had no apprehension in that regard. Elizabeth was certainly a sensible woman and with the help of the excellent Mrs. Reynolds she could not fail at her duties. He wondered if he ought to say as much, but then her worries might be something else entirely. Darcy felt that pressing sense of powerlessness, a feeling he had grown used to over the past six months. He had felt it throughout their journey to Pemberley, as he had watched her weep whilst she insisted that she was not weeping.

Worries about being the mistress of Pemberley had certainly occurred to Elizabeth. When they had arrived this afternoon she had been introduced to all the household staff and given a quick tour of the house by Mrs. Reynolds. The housekeeper seemed a capable woman and very loyal to the Darcys. Elizabeth was certain she could rely on her to help her adjust to her duties. It would be a challenge to be sure, but not insurmountable.

After her tour, Mr. Darcy had introduced her to Georgiana. Mrs. Wickham was not at all what Elizabeth had expected. In truth, she had thought to find a girl like Lydia, silly, impulsive, and rambunctious. Like her brother, Georgiana was reserved, but unlike her brother she lacked all confidence. Though she was tall framed and womanly in figure she seemed fragile, perhaps because of the obvious swell in her middle that even her high-waisted gown could not conceal.

Georgiana behaved almost fearful of her brother though Elizabeth could not account for this. After all, Mr. Darcy spoke of his sister only with love and had done a great deal to ensure her protection. And yet his manner, always a bit stiff, increased in rigidity the moment his sister entered the room. Georgiana obviously felt this, though her young mind did not know how to interpret it. Elizabeth wondered as well. Was it resentment or perhaps guilt, which caused this change in her husband? She could not know, but she was certain that he was not aware of how his reaction affected his sister.

There was much between the siblings that needed to be discussed. Elizabeth did not know if it was her place to begin such a conversation. No, she knew it was not her place. Yet now she must be wife to Mr. Darcy and sister to Mrs. Wickham and somehow ignore all the strain between them. She could not do it, it was not in her nature to ignore problems. Though she certainly liked to employ humor to distract from pain and fear, there were times when things simply needed to be dealt with and they were clearly not being dealt with here.

Mrs. Reynolds entered the library where both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had been awaiting dinner, "Miss Darcy wishes to dine in her room tonight. Dinner is ready to be served," she announced then exited the room. Darcy noted that she still referred to Georgiana as Miss Darcy. He did not know if this was for his benefit or her own. It gave him pain every time he was forced to introduce his sister as Mrs. Wickham. He did not think the name Wickham had passed Mrs. Reynolds lips for years.

Elizabeth was disappointed that Georgiana would not be joining them for dinner. She had hoped to further observe Mr. Darcy and his sister and perhaps set them at ease, though she had no idea how this might be achieved. She doubted very much that her usual tactic of gentle teasing would suit this situation. Indeed, she did not feel much in the teasing mood herself. She had been nearly rude to poor Mr. Darcy who was probably wondering at her lack of conversation. Goodness, he had been forced to lead the conversation since they had entered his carriage yesterday morning. He had given up some time ago, silence likely suited him just fine, but Lizzy knew this was not how newlyweds ought to behave.

As he led her to the dining room she felt that she absolutely must say something, "You must promise not to leave me to find my own way about this house for at least a week, Mr. Darcy. I would still be wandering the halls if Mrs. Reynolds had not found me and directed me to the library."

"I can make that promise, Mrs. Darcy," he said casting a sidelong gaze at her.

There, that name again. Her new name. All her family had called her it, of course, immediately after the wedding. And when they had stopped at the inn, the innkeeper's daughter who had served as her temporary lady's maid had been full of "Oh yes, Mrs. Darcy" and "How lovely, Mrs. Darcy." But when that name came from his lips it was something different entirely. His voice was full of warmth when he spoke it, yet it gave her shivers.

He had used it, she knew, because she had forgotten once again and called him Mr. Darcy. When they were alone as they were it was frankly odd that she continued to be formal. Yet she had great difficulty in crossing that boundary. He had surprisingly had no trouble adjusting, he had used her Christian name freely since they had wed. She did not know which affected her more, for he spoke "Mrs. Darcy" like a sacred promise and "Elizabeth" like a gentle embrace. And yet he was not comfortable around her for all his familiarity.

Just now, as they sat across from one another, he was grasping for words. She had known, nearly from the moment she had met him, that he was reserved. But this was something more than that. Was he anxious? Could she make such a man nervous?

"How do you find Pemberley?" Mr. Darcy finally spoke, she sensed that this was not the question he wanted to ask but she was relieved he had broken the silence.

What could she say? I find it overwhelming. I find it too grand. I find its ambiance stifling. It would not always feel overwhelming she was certain and perhaps she might even get used to such opulence. The stifling ambiance had far more to do with the primary occupants than Pemberley itself. Would things ever improve between the siblings?

"I find it lovely," she winced at the triviality of her words even as she spoke them.

"Indeed?"

"Yes . . . lovely."

Her husband fix an appraising expression upon her.

"I find it . . .I find it . . .,"Goodness, why was she having such trouble answering a simple question? She pressed on, "I find that it is everything I'd ever thought a grand estate to be."

"So glad it meets your standards," his tone was dry, but she saw a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, I see where you might be concerned. I have traveled far and wide to a great a variety of imposing homes, my standards are notoriously high."

"Indeed, yet you find Pemberley perfectly adequate," Was that a hint of a smile that twitched his lips?

"Perfectly so," Lizzy could fight it no longer, she laughed aloud.

"I am honored," Darcy spoke with gravity, though that certainly was a smile.

"You should be."

With that her dignified husband chuckled.

"That is a feat I shall add to my list of accomplishments."

His eyebrows arched in question.

"I made Fitzwilliam Darcy laugh at dinner."

Mr. Darcy's smile faltered a little and she hoped she had not hurt him with her teasing.

"These last months have brought very little to find delight in, but I believe there is hope for the future," he smiled still, but his eyes were serious now, that appraising look had returned.

Elizabeth felt a sudden jolt as though she were falling. Could she bring him the happiness he so obviously needed?


Later that evening as Elizabeth prepared for bed she reflected on earlier events. Their conversation over supper lightened considerably, yet that was frustrating as well. She wanted to know him and in order to do so surely they must speak on topics other than how they liked the assortment of dishes or the unusual coldness of the past winters. Then again, she hardly felt capable of speaking on any sensible topic at the moment.

Though it was the second night since their wedding, he had yet to visit her.

She dreaded his coming, yet a part of her was eager she had been led to believe it would be a transformative experience if not altogether pleasant.

There was a rap upon the door. That door. The one that adjoined their rooms

Elizabeth knew he would knock. Her mother had told her that he would do so on their wedding night. He would come to her and they would . . . mate. She grew up on a farm so she had already figured out the basics for herself. Yet listening to her mother's advice had made it so much more terrifying. But it was not as if it was avoidable. He had made it clear he was marrying to obtain an heir, and as he had been nothing but kind to her she was not very well going to deny him his rights.

So she bid him enter and tried to put on a brave a face as possible.

He paused at the door a moment to survey his wife's face. She was sitting up in her bed a book in hand. "Good evening, sir." She said. He could not help but notice the formality, yet she did not look frightened. He entered with caution. Closing the door behind him quickly crossed the room. He would have liked to jump straight into her bed. Not because of his desire for her but for warmth. His feet were bare and he wore only his dressing gown. But he did not feel he should do so without an invitation from Elizabeth. She only stared at him.

"What are you reading?" He asked, now standing at the foot of her bed.

Elizabeth could not believe he was standing there nonchalantly asking about her reading. Her heart was racing, she could not say if it was an effect of fear or something else . . .

"The Works of Shakespeare. Much Ado About Nothing, currently."

"Is it your favorite?"

"Yes, though it is difficult to choose among the comedies. I have not of late had much appetite for his tragedies, however."

"I think we've both had enough tragedy."

"Indeed." Lizzy said with a forced laugh. There was a long pause finally, she spoke, "You did not come here to discuss the merits of Shakespeare did you?" She thought it best to greet the issue head on rather than muck about in their discomfort any longer.

"No. I did not."

Elizabeth pulled back the bedclothes and patted the spot beside herself, "You must be cold," she said eyeing his bare legs. She had never seen a man in such a state of undress before, she hoped that the candle did not provide enough light for him to see her blush.

He took this as enough of an invitation. Carefully he climbed in bed next to her and pulled the bedclothes up to his waist. Taking the book from her hand he placed it on the nightstand then he took both of her hands in his own. Bringing each to his lips in turn he placed a kiss on every knuckle all the while looking into her eyes for any sigh of fear. She stared back at him mesmerized. Other men had kissed her hand, but never without gloves and never so adoringly.

He released her hands then ever-so-slowly bent to capture her lips.