Elizabeth felt a calmness envelop her as she sunk as low as she might into the warmth of the filled copper bath. She was grateful for its high sides shielding her from any prying eyes had they chosen to pass by the house and look up, the day too glorious to shut out. But a lakeside view meant there was not a sole to disturb her, the unheard rustling of trees and deepening ripples at the water's edge a hint that the weather was on the turn, a squall blowing in from the west or, more likely, a temporary disturbance to the bout of unusual summer-like conditions they'd experienced in recent days. She tried to clear her mind, to recall what it was that had drawn her north when so many other sights would have provided more than adequate a diversion for their wedding trip. Those places that she'd read about and studied, sought images of so as to allow herself the folly of indulgent daydreams as she tried to place herself in them, well, now they seemed so distant, so out of reach, her fingertips just an inch away. But it must be this way and she was resigned to it.
Immersing herself almost fully, she took several deep breaths in and out before she reluctantly stood and reached for a towel that had been left within reach on the wicker chair. She giggled as she pictured her husband's face if he came across her now, dripping and bare, how it would light up and immediately darken with lust. Oh, that would be a sight! She hummed at the thought, her mind lost to it as she wrung out her hair and twisted it up on top of her head so as to better dry herself. Before long she was dressed in a simple affair of sage linen, one she'd had for far longer than she cared to contemplate but she fancied it had brought luck before so perhaps it would again. The sound of doors opening and closing somewhere below her feet jolted her nerves, the tea they'd requested being brought out most likely, and so with a final flourish and check that the straightforward hairstyle she'd attempted would hold, she was ready.
She gingerly made her way down the stairs. The house wasn't so large that she couldn't find her way, more that she didn't want to surprise anyone by her sudden appearance. If this was to succeed she needed to retain the small degree of serenity that bathing had given her. Crossing the small hall she let herself into the Parlour, a sunny room with windows along one wall. A maid bobbed as she entered and then scurried away, leaving her quite alone. The view from her was out over the adjoining pastures and it proved to be as captivating as any she'd seen. So taken up in it she didn't hear the approach of her husband and jumped as his voice spoke to her.
"I do like you in this dress," he remarked, coming up behind her and slipping his arm about her waist and drawing her to recline against him.
"Then I shall wear it whenever I seek to persuade you of something," she replied lightly, "But cannot summon the enthusiasm to argue my case."
She felt the movement of his chest against her back, a low chuckle in her ear as his breath tickled her cheek. She sighed contentedly, and could not help but close her eyes as she savoured his touch, his scent, his all surrounding her. Loathed as she was to break the spell of it, at last she felt she must if only to take tea whilst it was still warm and suggested as much. Helping themselves, they selected the seats positioned in front of the hearth at slight angles to one another but sufficiently near that neither felt distant to the other. After exchanging a few pleasantries as to their thoughts for the following day, Darcy enacted a change of subject.
"You do not fool me, Elizabeth," he began, placing his cup down gently on the small table between them, "You are holding back and I wish it were not so. You do not trust me yet. And I understand. But I must assure you, Madam, that I am worthy of it. I seek only your happiness and contentment in my company and to know that when we are apart that you are secure in the faith that our marriage should bestow on you."
He spoke eloquently and earnestly and one glance at his face and she saw the truth of it. Since their torrid parting at Rosings, she'd come to know he was all that was good and honourable, what a man should be, and yet she questioned still. She claimed wisdom beyond her years but that was a falsehood, at least partially, she'd not seen what others had, her own pride in her ability to discern a person's true character misplaced and, perhaps worst of all, she'd proven herself open to the manipulation of others. She could trust him and did, wholeheartedly, but the trust she had in herself? Well, that had faltered and remained unsteady, but setting it aside now she breathed deeply and resolved to begin.
"It is not a question of trust, for you have won that many times over," leaning forward a little so as to be able to brush her hand against his briefly where it lay on his knee, "But of doubt."
"Doubt?" he said, pulling back with mild consternation.
Not in you," she rushed to clarify, "Not in the sincerity of your actions or in the love of which you have, that I know you feel, that we share. But yes, doubt."
A silence sat heavily between them, one that they had yet to experience. Part of her longed to flee, either directly out of the room, or else straight into his arms where she could convince him that all was well, that she'd misspoken. But this was too vital to hide from any longer.
"You beg me to speak openly, freely, and yet you do not do so yourself," she said, summoning her strength. "I encouraged you to share with me your burdens and whilst I do not wish to force them from you, I remain curious as to why you have not yet done so. You come to my bed each night but imply it is but a temporary arrangement. You talk of the new mistress of Pemberley and yet it is plain I am not needed, that your every need is met by your household. And I do not blame you for this, Fitzwilliam, truly I do not, not in the slightest. But it gives me cause to question my purpose, my motivation for rising each day? To provide you an heir, indeed and of course, for that is also what I wish, but when that is done what use am I to be? What will be my worth?"
Her rush of words were met with a loud exhaling of breath as he resisted the overwhelming temptation to collapse back into his seat. But he remained steadfast, but his expression struggled to remain neutral as he floundered for a response.
"I do not need the perfect repost," she offered insightfully, "Simply to understand my place. I am bound to you in law and whilst I cannot promise to bind my spirit as well as others may, I am sensible enough to know that decorum may require it."
"Bind your spirit?" he repeated with incredulity, "Is that what you believe I require of you?"
"I do not know what you require of me," she replied, directing her eyes to keep in his gaze so as to mask her fear. "We have not spoken of it."
Darcy took to his feet so suddenly that she was thrown back against the cushion of her chair not through any physical force but that of sheer surprise. He took several paces across the room and back again, his lips seeming to be moving but without any sound forthwith. She'd eyed him as he dealt with an inner sort of demon, his eyes now flaring as she saw his inner turmoil.
"Speak plainly, Sir," she encouraged, "I am not afraid of you."
"Elizabeth, I..." he said with force before stopping to calm himself, to moderate his temper before taking up again. "Elizabeth, Lizzy, I cannot understand you. You are my wife, I thought you understood that."
She stood to join him now, their bodies front on to one another but a gulf apart. "Understood what?" she urged, "You tell of a great love between your parents, one that you dreamed to emulate, and you know my wishes for the same, but love is not enough. Surely it is not, though with childish naivety I believed it would be. Love may bring you to the altar but not a marriage does it make."
He shook his head in disbelief, unable still to comprehend her meaning, to reconcile her words which to his mind contradicted all that he had believed to be agreed between them. He ran his hand distractedly though his hair, unsure as to which way to turn. He looked down to his wife, her fine eyes staring back at him with a fire that he'd come to recognise. Her wit was but one element of her character, this was the other, her passion. He'd seen it in the heat of the coupling, in her defence of her sister and family, when she fought for those she believed to have been wronged including herself. But he discerned in her something more now, or at least not just a display of passion, but also of determination and of hopefulness.
"My darling," he said, stepping forward to close the gap but leaving a space between them still, "My sweetest, dearest wife, do not regard me so. I see I have done wrong but do not look at me like that for I will forget my place and ravish you upon this rug."
Elizabeth could not help but laugh, she'd been preparing for his wrath, for a confirmation of her fears, but it seemed, with considerable relief, that it was not to be.
"I am sorry, Fitzwilliam," she said demurely, "I would not wish you to be forced into such an action."
He raised one eyebrow and let a smirk pass across his lips briefly before he returned to the subject at hand.
"You are right, of course," he said sincerely, "We need to discuss what we think our partnership is and will be, as we should have done before now. Although I do not believe us to be at odds on this matter. For myself, love and equality between man and wife are one and the same and I beg your forgiveness if I have given the impression as to otherwise. My silence on this matter was solely driven from my own anxiety, not wishing to scare or frighten you, but I see now in the absence of knowledge I have allowed uncertainty to grow."
Elizabeth let out the breath that she didn't truly know she'd been holding. "You are not solely to blame," she confessed, her head burrowing into his chest as his arms came to wrap themselves around her, "I have my share in this."
Darcy planted a kiss deep into her hair, and then another and another, before he shifted to grasp her gently by shoulders, stepping back to look directly in her eyes.
"I have failed you as a husband if you believed me indifferent to you, for letting you believe even for a moment that I do not, will not, value your every input, thought or consideration that I am fortunate to receive from your lips," he declared so softly but with such firmess said that she thought she might break under it, "And I have certainly failed as man if you have the impression that I will be sleeping anywhere other than in whatever bed it is you choose to take for yourself."