What occurred in the hours following, Elizabeth had not foreseen. The process of unburdening that she'd imagined would occur languished as a communion of the body, rather than that of the mind, took precedence. Darcy's commitment to speaking and hers to accepting had left both man and wife so overcome that kisses had replaced words, intimate caresses dared where comfort and reassurance should have been offered. They'd not been so confident as to their seclusion from others to brave the marital act, though both may have had thoughts of that nature, but instead been left sufficiently breathless to require an extension to their tour of the garden before they could contemplate bidding their hosts adieu with equanimity. The short trip to the coaching inn that had been their planned destination seemed an age as they silently struggled to deny their longing and maintain their propriety. On arrival, she'd witnessed her husband hurry along the necessary introductions with a taciturn efficiency that ensured the innkeeper did not linger in their company. The door barely secured behind them, she pounced, demure restraint forgotten at the sheer desperation to be united with him and he'd not complained. And as shocking as it was to act in such a flagrant fashion, indeed at a volume she'd imagined was far from lady-like, the resulting all-consuming bliss banished any thoughts of shame.
As they'd taken up their journey once more, the hours again turning into days, broken only by stops for food, stretch aching limbs and to gaze upon as many majestic vistas as the route allowed, no further discussion was held on the matter. It was as if he had not admitted his concerns and that she had not implored him to share them with her. Conversation remained pleasant, entertaining even, as they continued in their increasingly established roles of the gentile jester and her gracious stooge, although Lizzy noticed how the role that each of them took did alter on occasion which pleased her immensely. But the pattern of their conversation, onto which they'd fallen back time and time again, had become secondary to the growing desire to share and to learn more of one another. Darcy could not hold back his mirth as she recounted tales of tricks played by more than one sister on their Mama, harmless, girlish pranks that had kept them entertained on damp winter afternoons when needlework had long since ceased to be sufficiently diverting. For her part Lizzy had no trouble in accepting that he, in contrast, had chosen quieter, more dignified rule breaking, sneaking down to the kitchen for freshly made macaroons at each opportunity.
"Even as I approached my majority," he'd confessed, "I could not resist the sweet taste of coconut melting on my lips."
"And are they still a staple at Pemberley?" she'd enquired lightly, "Does the master command the menu to that extent?"
"On macaroons, certainly. And on ginger biscuits also," he'd said with conviction, adding, "I can only hope that the new mistress looks on my preferences as kindly as Mrs Reynolds has all these years."
The plea was articulated with eyes so wide that she reminded of a puppy begging for a scrap from the table and was met with an affirmation of her good intent on the matter, although as to his passion for horses she assured him that he could keep that for himself, for when he longed for space and freedom away from the constraints of his wife. He'd expressed rather the same thought on her penchant for walks taken at the crack of dawn and they had resolved with chuckling agreement that separate interests would be a point of health in their marriage.
She had thought to encourage him to open his heart to her, to speak frankly and without discretion as she had made clear he should feel able to do. But she declined to do so, repeating in fact though the opportunity did present itself on more than one occasion. Her hesitation in doing so seemed contrary to that which dictated her usual approach to such matters, her forthright manner proving unusually lacking. And yet, when the cause of it began to make itself known, she simply pushed it away and found a diversion with which to occupy her thoughts instead.
As they approached the lakes, the landscape changed with each and every mile as great hillsides rose and fell, the lush green landscape bright against clear skies. Elizabeth felt herself lulled into silent revelry at so much beauty and Darcy certainly felt no call to interrupt her appreciation of it. As he watched on and simply delighted in the joy of her countenance, he reflected that the trip whilst arduous and exhausting beyond measure had cemented a solid foundation on which he felt they both could build. He'd felt himself opening up as he'd barely done before and it hadn't shattered him, he was still whole, the same Fitzwilliam Darcy to which he'd grown accustomed, only happier.
At length, they turned off the main track onto one that was narrower and certainly less sympathetic to one's comfort, deep ruts in the dried mud causing them to bump so violently against the sides of the carriage that Darcy feared for his wife. She met his concerned expression with bemusement, but nonetheless allowed him to offer a steadying arm around her waist. He'd learnt enough already to know he was merely being placated but cared little. After several hundred yards, the tall hedges that had lined their route reduced to reveal wide pastures on either side, dots of fluffy white sheep away in the distance intermingled with wildflowers, all backed by a lake of shimmering blue. He felt himself grinning at her remark that the sun had been kind enough to organise itself for their arrival and, unable to resist, reminded her of his promise to ensure all arrangements and details were well in hand.
"My husband holds such sway over the weather," she exclaimed mischievously, "Had I known we could have married in winter, safe that we'd have been warm and dry. How fine it would have been to have a Twelfth Night wedding breakfast."
"If I'd have thought you'd wait that long," he countered, reaching for her hand to squeeze it with affection, "I'd have ensured it to be the case."
He watched as she reached for an answer, her face contorting as she deliberated which way to turn and his brow rising as he silently encouraged her wit.
"I would not have waited, Sir," she pronounced at last, her voice softening, "Not once I was resolved to be your wife. That would not have been something I desired."
"Nor me, my darling," he returned as he leant in towards her to kiss her cheek, happy when she turned at the last moment to meet his lips with her own. He lingered before drawing back, only to murmur, "Now, I believe we have arrived. Shall we?"
Elizabeth nodded eagerly, aware now that it had been some minutes since they had come to a juddering halt. The down opened and he stepped out, his hand offered to assist her in kind. The house laid out before them took her breath away, modest in size by his standards perhaps, but perfect in every other way. Built of local stone with three gables of grey slate, it seemed as if it had grown up from the ground itself, wisteria framing the windows on the ground and "Mr Darcy," the woman began with a curtsey, "Welcome to Meadow Lodge. I trust your journey was pleasant?"
Elizabeth held back as her husband stepped forward to extend a similar welcome, his words suggesting perhaps this was not their first encounter.
"Mrs Wilcox, may I introduce you to my wife," he said, looking back to encourage her forward, "We are well but rather tired. I wonder if we can make our way to our rooms and perhaps bathe, if that would not trouble you or Mrs Edwards?"
The woman, who she took to be the housekeeper, assured him that his request had been anticipated and gestured for them to enter the property. The doorway led into a small hallway of panelled wood, a fireplace opposite with doors off to each side and ahead. It had a homely feel and Elizabeth found herself warming to it immediately. But as she listened to them speak of room allocations and dinner timings, she felt her stomach turn as a thought came to her. They'd been man and wife for a little over a week, one in which they'd cemented their union with passion, sketched one another's character, plundered their histories for nuggets of gold, and found comfort in being two people together. But, as she climbed the staircase, a step behind the broad shoulders of her husband with his rich voice floating back to her as he inquired politely as to the health of a shared acquaintance, she had a sudden realisation that their survival was thanks to the very nature of travel. There had been frequent stops for rest and refreshments, the changing views to fill the long silences, books and card games to keep the occupied. Looking back she saw it had been by far the easiest part. This was the test, this, now.
She nodded and smiled as she was shown what was to be her room for the next month, the delights of a private bath and the comfort of small seating arrangement by the window, but therein lay the problem and rebuked herself strongly for not appreciating it sooner. Where she should have been preparing herself, she'd allowed excitement to get the better of her and whilst she managed to sufficiently express her contentment to the housekeeper, to offer her compliments and thanks accordingly, she knew from the deepening frown on her husband's face that the nature of her distraction was becoming clear. As Mrs Wilcox bid them goodbye with an urging to let her know if there was anything they needed, Elizabeth knew she could delay no longer, that her worries must be laid bare, and fully this time.
The click of the door closing had her forcing her eyes to join with his, to attempt to convince him of her joy at their situation rather than the depending intimidation that she felt. She reached for him, wanting his strength to surround her, the security that his love offered, that she'd begun to quite unwittingly rely on.
"You should not hold back, dearest," he said calmly, "I am secure in your regard for me. Do not fear my response."
"You'll think me foolish," she whispered into his chest.
"I sincerely doubt that, my Lizzy is no fool," he soothed.
She looked up and saw his brow still knitted in concern. "But you see, Fitzwilliam, she is," she confessed, "A fool who hides behind her wit and derides others for their lack of confidence when it is lacking in herself. All my talk of coming here, determined to take in the wilds of the Lakes without hindrance or interruption from others and now I find myself wholly intimidated by the prospect."
"Then we have that in common," he offered with gentility, "Except for myself I must exchange wit for brooding silences and outward sternness. Come now, let us wash and take tea, and then," his tone switching to one of a kind command, "I must implore you to explain."
Oh yes, there are worries at every turn for our poor Lizzy…but hopefully for not too much longer.
I can attest to the delightfulness of Georgian coconut macaroons and indeed ginger biscuits, being fortunate enough to be able to frequent a place where they are often baked using recipes of the era. Do try them if you ever get the chance.