His scrutiny began with his observing the details missed initially. She was beautiful and definitely healthier, but there were dark circles under her eyes not able to be hidden with cosmetics. The dress clung to her full breasts—Darcy quite distracted by that fact—but was loose at the waist and shoulders. Beyond the physical signs indicative of residual weariness and illness were the flustered movements and reticence so alien to her usual deportment.
Taken altogether, they confused Darcy more than ever. Over time, his skill in reading his wife’s thoughts had grown, but now he felt lost. She was entirely shut down and so unlike her usual self that he simply had no idea what to say or do. All his carefully rehearsed phrases vanished and he was left to stare open mouthed, not even standing when she entered as he should have.
George continued to talk, Lizzy answering with nods and monosyllables for the most part. Darcy realized he was staring and pulled his eyes away, reaching for the wine glass and proceeding to swallow half the liquid in one gulp in hopes of calming his frayed nerves and relieving his parched throat.
“Papa, spoon for soup this way?”
Darcy started, not aware that the soup course had been served, and turned toward Alexander. “Yes,” he croaked, pausing to clear his throat with another sip of wine before leaning to help, “but not too much in the spoon or you will drip. And never slurp, as fun as that is to do.”
“You can slurp all you want when eating with nanny,” George said, “but for some reason it is not allowed in public.”
“Manners, Uncle. It is called proper manners.”
George shrugged. “In some places they just pick up the bowl and drink right out of it. Did you know that, Alexander? Indeed they do. Gets the food in much quicker and the meal ends sooner than the interminable affairs we have here.”
“Look on the bright side, you get to eat more if the meal lasts a long while.”
“True. That is a benefit. Forget what I said, my boy. Take your time and we shall see who eats the most.”
“A connest?”
“That’s right, a contest. I bet you win.”
“Highly unlikely that even I could win that contest”—Darcy laughed—“but give it your best attempt, Alexander.” The boy set to his bowl with serious intent, Darcy laughing again. As he straightened in his seat he glanced to the right and caught Lizzy gazing at him. Her eyes were round and glistening, lips parted slightly, an expression of pain crossing her features.
A frown of concern knitted his brows and instinctively he extended his hand toward her. Unfortunately, his body was crooked in the chair and his fingers knocked against the edge of the soup bowl just hard enough to clang it against the wine glass. To make matters worse, Rothchilde bent at that precise moment to pour more wine, not only missing the glass as it moved, but also obstructing Darcy’s view of Elizabeth and interrupting his words. So what intended to be a sincere inquiry as to what was distressing her came out as, “What is wrong… Oh damn!” as the wine spilt onto the white linen tablecloth.
The minor mishap was exacerbated by the curse word, Darcy embarrassed by his uncharacteristic outburst and Rothchilde surprised to hear it. The footman erupted into apologies as he wiped up the crimson fluid with Darcy hastily blotting with his napkin while assuring it was nothing to be concerned over. In seconds it was done and Darcy’s glass was refilled, but the moment to reach out was past. Lizzy was again eating her soup with studied intensity, her face composed and hands steady. She had, he noticed, scooted her chair further away but whether to give Rothchilde room to sop the mess or to place space between them he did not know.
Dinner proceeded with the strange tension thickening as the minutes ticked with agonizing slowness. The courses were served and consumed, not that Darcy would remember how they tasted or what was served. Lizzy did add to the conversation from time to time with voice subdued and comments minimal. She ate well, Darcy was pleased to see, and smiled frequently at Alexander, but she rarely glanced Darcy’s direction and maintained an erect pose throughout. Was she angry? Nervous? He could not ascertain and the dinner table was not the place to boldly confront, so he reverted to the familiarity of his taciturn nature. It restored his composure to a degree, or at least kept the pain at bay.
Luckily, Darcy was distracted with Alexander and the constant chatter from George, who cleverly steered the dialogue to drag them in. Nevertheless, the strain mounted and Darcy genuinely felt a breaking point arising beyond his control. Before matters spiraled wildly, for better or worse, Alexander inadvertently intervened. He reached the end of his forbearance when his tiny stomach was filled and the need to sit still became impossible.
At the first protest, Lizzy jumped up and dashed around the table, grabbing Alexander out of his chair and exiting the dining room with haste and few words. Darcy watched her go, longing and sadness etched upon his face.
George sighed. He stood, shaking his head as he addressed the air in general. “You two are so perfectly suited for each other. Both of you are stubborn, blinded, and ridiculous. If I were a voyeur I would wish to be there when you finally overcome your foolishness. It will be a remarkable reunion, I am sure.”
“But he was so stern and stiff! He barely glanced at me, frowning when he did, and barely spoke a word to me. When he did his voice was angry and he swore!”
“You see what your aching, fearful heart chooses to see, Elizabeth. Between that and a fair amount of bullheadedness, I may need to lock you two in a room together before this is over. But I would rather the resolution come naturally. Now, drink your tea, all of it, and get some rest.” George sat the tray on the small table beside the fire and turned to clasp Lizzy’s shoulders. “Do not dwell on your clouded perceptions of dinner but clear your mind instead. I think you will then see a different interpretation.”
“I just want him to laugh with me as he did Alexander,” she whispered as the tears welled, “but how can he ever forgive me?”
“Forgiveness has nothing to do with anything since there is nothing to forgive.”
“That is rather cryptic, Aristotle,” Lizzy grumbled.
George chuckled, pushing her gently but firmly into the chair. “You will figure it out. Now, drink and eat all the fruit. No arguments! Then sleep. Tomorrow will be brighter, I am sure of it.”
Lizzy grunted but took a large bite of apple even as she glared at the doctor’s retreating back. She stared into the flames as she absently chewed and sipped, rehashing dinner over and over. Had she misinterpreted? It certainly is true that she had barely looked at her husband, shame and nervousness sapping every ounce of fortitude.
“What a blasted coward I am!” she muttered, throwing the core into the flames and sending sparks flying.
When George had informed her they were all to dine together that night, couching it as an order, she had grown weak with anxiety and relief. Her improving spirits did not like acknowledging that she needed someone else to push her, but that was the fact of it. Armed with determination to take a positive step toward reuniting with her husband, even if it meant groveling, she chose her attire carefully, dressing to entice as well as bolster her confidence. If all else failed, simple seduction may do the trick!
What she had not anticipated was his effect on her. Hearing his resonant voice, smooth as melted chocolate, forcibly pierced her heart before she entered the room. Waves of the purest lust jolted through her, quite unexpected considering the apathy of the past months, with heat rendering her muscles weak. Her cheeks flamed and her musings were so libidinous that she was afraid to look at him. Then when she did, it only multiplied the emotions a thousand fold. Yet he was frowning and so rigid in his chair that her heart sank, sadness warring with the desire until she could not speak for fear of falling to pieces.