A Delicate Rose

An excerpt from Jan Ashton and Justine Rivard's new book, coming June 9

The wretched evening mercifully at an end, Elizabeth and Darcy found themselves in their carriage on the way back to Darcy House. Her head fell onto his broad shoulder, a place so comfortable and familiar that she immediately yawned.

“My love, are you well?” Darcy said softly. “My aunt’s description of the lessons she has set for you for this week was outrageous. I should never have agreed to it. Never!”

“Yes, all is well, dearest. Indeed, I think the evening was rather a success.”

“How can that possibly be? Do not tell me you think her unfounded criticisms useful in some way.”

“Not in the way you mean, I think.”

“How, then?”

“As you might have expected, there was a great deal of, shall we say, silliness afoot. Many thoughts expressed in the most direct manner possible,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “But it is my opinion, strangely enough, that what your aunt most craves is someone to listen to her, truly listen to her.”

“What on earth do you mean? She requires everyone around her to listen to her all the time. Regularly. Incessantly.”

Elizabeth nodded. “It is as you say. But for the most part, others only hear her because they must. They are not the same things, being heard and being deeply understood. This is only a feeling I have. I shall keep you apprised if there is any truth to it in the end.” Breathing in her husband’s familiar scent, she said, “Would you care to learn more about my numerous shortcomings and the remedies for them? Lessons begin tomorrow, by the bye.”

“What? You cannot be serious.” Darcy turned and looked at her closely, though within the darkness of the carriage, Elizabeth was uncertain what he might find. She smiled prettily, showing her teeth just to spite Lady Catherine.

“Do you not wish for a day of rest after the evening’s exertions, at least?”

“Oh no. My transformation begins tomorrow afternoon at Lady Catherine’s dressmaker’s. We must order gowns and whatnot now if they are to be ready for making calls next week. And in time to attend the opera.”

Darcy’s left eyebrow rose. The dear man was such a sceptic. “What are you about, Elizabeth? Has she addled your brains entirely, or are you developing a stratagem? Do say it is a stratagem.”

She shrugged. “Time will tell. I may be mistaken. Meanwhile, shall I regale you with a more detailed account of the evening’s happenings in the drawing room?”

Soon they arrived at Darcy House, and once Darcy was clad in his night-shirt and banyan and Elizabeth in her nightgown and robe, they settled themselves on the settee in their private sitting room and she began her tale. Darcy met much of it with scoffing or by barking his disagreement. Elizabeth’s soft caresses and assurances did much to calm his temper, until she came to the point that she knew would rankle him most.

“She remains suspicious that I am with child. Or perhaps she thinks me overfed, for though she had many opinions on my hair and gowns, my practice of eating vegetables before cutting into my meat, and my propensity to laugh too often and too loudly, she only stared at my waist.”

“The nerve of her!”

“Which insult do you refer to?” She snuggled more deeply under his arm. “For all those observations are indeed true, except for the possibility I was with child when we wed.”

“You have a beautiful laugh, an infectious laugh. Your preference for peas and carrots over partridge and ham is an odd one—”

“So said Mr Hurst as well.”

“But to imply by her cold stare that we anticipated our vows! That our marriage could only come about because of a child?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “It is not uncommon, and she is observant enough to see the, um, disarray in which we often present ourselves.” She leant up and kissed him. “I do not think Fitzwilliam Darcy was known for torn cravats and swollen lips before meeting me, was he?”

“Oh Elizabeth, never!” He pulled her back to him for a searing kiss before his lips trailed down her neck.

“Also,” she giggled breathlessly, “I stare too much.”

Days after the Darcys are married, an angry Lady Catherine de Bourgh appears on their London doorstep, demanding to tutor Elizabeth in the ways of the ton. A furious Darcy accedes to his 'darling' wife’s wish to ease family tensions but the ‘lessons’ take a turn when a mysterious visitor from Lady Catherine’s past appears.