The rain fell like tears upon the windowpane. Each drop a reminder of how far away she was from everything that was familiar and right in Longbourn. Normally such dramatics would cause her to bristle. Did it not sound like something one of her younger sisters might say or something to be read in a silly novel like the ones Maria Lucas read? But it was true. She ached for the noise and the chaos and even her mother's frantic and verbose expostulations on any and every subject- her Papa holed away in his study, Jane's gentle and serene smile, the plunking of the piano by Mary's fingers and the profuse giggling of her two youngest sisters as the entire house was thrust into uproar by their silliness. She knew not how long she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, but she found she had ceased to care. What did it matter that she chose to remain in her chambers? She had done as expected. She had rallied herself admirably to get through a wedding, subsequent wedding breakfast, even a wedding night, but little had prepared her for a long journey into Derbyshire and the introduction of a new life she had scarcely wanted. She sighed and began to pull at the long strands of hair that had fallen loose from its plait in all of her frantic fussing, her consolation being that she had spared her sisters from an imminent life of poverty spent amongst the hedgerows if the worst should ever befall them.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Her new name. No longer was she Lizzy Bennet of Longbourn. That person had ceased to exist the moment she signed her name beside his in the church registry, her quick scrawl nothing to the elegant and measured hand of her new husband. She had cared little for the beauty of such a moment, but had been stricken that his larger hand did not shake as hers did. Other ladies, desirous for a rich husband who owned half of Derbyshire, might have shown some semblance of delight at such a moment, that record that the lady would now be under the protection of such an illustrious man. She only attempted indifference, her dark eyes flitting to the F and then the D. She had not even considered what his Christian name was until a sennight prior. She was sure she had heard it when he was introduced or later when her mother went on to abuse him with her typical zeal, but it held no great importance to her and surely she would have no cause to use it!

Mr. Darcy had always been an unwelcome trespasser in her thoughts. Having made himself profoundly disagreeable from their first meeting and every meeting thereafter, this all seemed so irregular! He had declared her as merely tolerable, not handsome enough to tempt him, and was from such a family that he was destined to marry into a powerful house and not into a country estate in Hertfordshire of no consequence. That he had even asked for her hand had been the greatest shock. That she had accepted- she had only the rest of her life to regret it or find some measure of good within! She anticipated the first and felt the latter to be the greatest of impossibilities!

Having turned her girl Lucy away and claiming she had no desire to go below stairs for breakfast, she was finally alone to her thoughts. No husband looking to her expectantly with an expression of mute displeasure, no lady's maid asking a litany of "would you rather"s, just the soft pattering of rain amid recollections and the desperate wish to return to the life she had known before last September when Mr. Darcy had reluctantly entered their comfortable little assembly.

"What is fifty miles of good road?' He had once asked her. Fifty miles of good road had taken her from all she had known and loved. Fifty miles of good road now meant she was tied to a man she did not, could not, and most assuredly would not love. A man she was convinced would be the last man in the world she would ever be prevailed upon to marry. It was her own fault, truly, for accepting him. It had been a wretched spectacle, both the proposal and her stilted acceptance. She had spoken her answer without delay, betraying her senses and all she held in careful regulation. Stupid, thoughtless girl! What had possessed her to fling her wishes and hopes aside? Was she truly thinking of her family's hopes or had she wanted to merely spite the man who had been the means of destroying her beloved sister's happiness in having Mr. Charles Bingley as her husband?

She felt the heat rising to her cheeks at the thought of having shared a bed with the man who had so passionately declared his regard for her in the same breath as offending her and insulting all that she held dear. The act itself had not wounded her as much as the knowledge that she was now tied to him for life. In the end, he had been exceedingly gentle. What vexed her greatly was that he was exactly the opposite of how she imagined he might be, though she certainly had never imagined him in that capacity at all! With her mother's summary of what was to take place, mortifying as it was well-intentioned, she had found herself curiously awaiting the act of consummation. That she would be alone with him was disconcerting enough. That she would be alone, unclothed and abed with him was another thing entirely. That he had kissed her, whispered endearments, caressed and stroked her hair when it was done- she could honestly still not know what to think of that! Her mother had spoken of none of those things and the strange intimacy had continued to confound her. The entire notion of a marriage bed would for some time. There was no part of her that would believe what she and Mr. Darcy had done was ordinary. She flushed crimson and brought her hands to rest against her flaming cheeks, the unwelcome thoughts disturbing the peace she was seeking to find. Mr. Darcy. Her husband. It was singular and strange but even she, so determined to despise him, could not show disgust in the face of what had resembled true affection for her and concern for her welfare.

He could hardly be sensible to why she had married him. As arrogant as he had proven himself to be, he likely could not begin to believe she thought ill of him. She had not even had a moment to explain her conditions of marrying him before he had appeared before her with such an honest and open expression of goodwill. As she had never seen its likeness in his former expressions, she had neglected to relay what would have been her own strong list of objections to him. As she had also never stood so close to a man as to notice the curve of his lashes, she had remained rooted to the floor, that treasonous thought striking her as he came even closer. They were a sooty black, curling up in the most enviable fashion and rendered a softness to his countenance.

Her curiosity at seeing him thus had been of no benefit to her. Her surprised expression, to him, must have been sufficient encouragement to do as he wished! She had found herself set upon in haste, the recipient of warm lips pressed to her own. The kiss had been gentle and tentative. Had she been overwhelmed by love, she might have swooned for it, but her shock was far too great for such. She had not known what to do. Striking him seemed cruel. Fleeing would be cowardly. Standing still seemed as good an option as any, but he did not act pleased by it. Her unwilling hands eventually came to grasp his forearms. It would be Mr. Darcy who would determine if the movement was one of passion or entreaty to cease. It seemed he believed it was the first and so she abandoned her hope in the latter.

In the end, her objections were not spoken of. As strong as her dislike was for him, she was not so cruel as to inflict pain and bitterness on a man who, despite his penchant for behaving so abominably, professed to ardently admire and love her. It did not go to say, she was moved by it. Rather, it had served as a means to an end. As she had already refused one proposal, it would not do to refuse a second by a man who, equally as ridiculous, could perhaps be of use in securing the happiness of her dearest Jane. At last one of the Bennet girls might have a chance to marry for love. That girlish wish, spoken in the full bloom of youth, that she would not be induced into matrimony but for the greatest love, would be carefully packed away with the rest of her old things.

Her solitude was to be short lived. The very man who inspired all this reflection had strode into her chamber as if he had every right to do so. There had not been even the courtesy of knocking. She would flush once more. Of course he would have the right to do so. He was a man. This was his home, she his wife. She was another piece of property, taking place among his manifold possessions. She glanced to him as blandly as she could and then continued her preoccupation into her thoughts as she turned her face to the window, finding it fitting that the rain was now blowing sideways and some of the trees looked to be tossing and pitching in the wind that followed behind. Tossing and pitching. Was that now the nature of her feelings? Would they always be as such?

"Elizabeth, " he would speak gravely, his voice a mixture of softness and gruffness, her Christian name unexpectedly filling the silence of the room, sounding odd when said in his voice.

She expelled a sigh and arched a brow, turning back around to look at him with expectation. "Sir?"

"Are you not hungry?" There was a slight twitch to his lips as he asked and she briefly wondered at it before she saw the door begin to crack open behind him, a servant bringing in a couple of trays.

"I…," she began, but she was unable to finish when she saw the sight of the fare. Enough for her and all of her sisters, by far! She looked to him curiously, her own breathless and disconcerted smile beginning to appear at being caught by surprise. " I could eat, sir, but I am not sure I shall begin to make any sort of progress with that!"

"That would be extraordinary indeed, but it is not all for you."

"Oh!" was all she emitted, a somewhat embarrassed expression taking hold of her features. Her gaze fixed on him, and she watched in some semblance of astonishment as he thanked the servant quietly and motioned for her to come sit on the bed. Surely he did not think- breakfast where they had just the night before-? She flushed once more, feeling quite missish and highly ridiculous. He made quick work of beginning to prepare a plate for her, performing this task with more grace and alacrity than even the most experienced servant at Longbourn. He seemed to think her appetite very great, and she could not help but stifle a giggle at this sudden strangeness. She looked to him in great shock. It was all very odd and troubling to her, and her eyes settled on the unruly forelock that grazed just above his dark, furrowed brows. His concentration was great, and he looked dreadfully out of place in such a domestic scene.

She had not expected his eyes to meet hers and she looked away uncomfortably to have been found staring. "Mr. Darcy, surely you know you did not have to have the kitchen go to so much trouble on my behalf. I am grateful for it, but I am -"

"I shall tell them to prepare less tomorrow, " he said brusquely. "But you must be hungry. You hardly touched your dinner last evening."

That was no falsehood. She had been too preoccupied with pushing it across her plate, too overwhelmed with what had been soon to take place.

She had wordlessly nodded her thanks once more, and looked to her plate in hopes of summoning a very large appetite and not losing the contents of her stomach.