Page 23 of Desired By Mr Darcy
“My parents always shared; I thought nothing of it. I know some keep separate quarters, but I always believed that seemed rather a poor show. She will be my wife; why should I want any distance at all from her?”
Darcy said nothing. He had not even considered that a man and wife would share a bed together. His own parents, though they had married for love, never had. It was natural to desire privacy, and marriage would surely not change that.
“Oh dear,” Bingley said, “you’re thinking again, aren’t you? Now that your cousin has gone, you may speak to me. I will not laugh as he would. Are you feeling alright about everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“I may have been in my cups at the club the other night, but I was not beyond comprehension. I saw your unease, and you have not been yourself since. He has gotten under your skin.”
“Nonsense.”
“We are both men, Darcy, and I am as inexperienced in love as you. You have this dreadful habit of keeping everything you think and feel carefully hidden. You must feel as though you are going mad!”
“I am quite well, I assure you, and looking forward to my marriage. There is nothing more to say.”
“It is not a shameful thing, you know, to desire your wife. I do not know what ideas have been put in your head, but…”
Darcy’s expression tightened, and he turned his gaze to the fire, the flickering flames a welcome distraction from Bingley’s probing words. The warmth of the room suddenly felt stifling.
“Bingley,” Darcy said, his tone clipped, “this is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion.”
Bingley leaned forward slightly, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
“It may not be the time or place, Darcy, but it is necessary. You’re my closest friend, and I cannot stand by while you tie yourself in knots over something that ought to be a source of joy.”
Darcy exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiff.
“I am not… tied in knots, as you put it. My thoughts are simply preoccupied with the logistics of the wedding, the move to Pemberley, and Elizabeth’s adjustment to her new life. It is only natural that I feel some trepidation.”
“And yet,” Bingley said gently, “I have never known you to feel anything but certainty in all that you do. Tell me - are you worried that you and Elizabeth will not suit?”
“Elizabeth and I suit perfectly. She compels me to be a better man. It is myself I question, not her.”
Bingley nodded encouragingly.
“Go on.”
Darcy hesitated, searching for the words.
“I have spent my life guarding my emotions, presenting a façade of control and reserve. With Elizabeth, that façade is often laid bare. She sees through me in ways no one else has. While I value her perception, it leaves me... exposed.”
Bingley smiled faintly. “And that frightens you.”
“It unsettles me,” Darcy admitted. “I have always sought order, predictability. Elizabeth is far from predictable. She has an air of chaos about her, and I fear that I will be lost to it.”
“That does not sound like something to fear,” Bingley said. “It sounds like love.”
Darcy turned his gaze back to his friend, his expression conflicted.
“It is love, Bingley, of that I am certain. But love alone does not dispel the habits of a lifetime. I did not believe myself to ever be worthy of her, and now I am sure I will disappoint her.”
Bingley’s smile broadened, and he clapped a hand on Darcy’s shoulder.
“My friend, if Elizabeth Bennet has chosen you, it is because she sees in you the man you are and the man you strive to be. She does not strike me as someone easily disappointed.”
Darcy allowed himself a small, wry smile.
“You have more faith in me than I do.”
