Elizabeth watched Darcy out of the corner of her eye. She could tell by the set of his shoulders and the way his mouth flattened into a thin line that he was angry. What he was angry about she could not say. Then he looked at her uncle, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and she knew.

The source of his disquiet was her very own family, her most treasured uncle, her godfather and blood who had been nothing but kind to her the whole of her life. The man who gave her sanctuary when her mother became too much, who always remembered her favorite fruits and got them special for her when she visited, who had told her stories of castles and knights and dragons when she was but a small girl and enamored of her daring uncle. He had fed her thirst for adventure and always treated her with respect and kindness, as if she were a person that mattered and asked intelligent questions and not as an annoying child. Besides her dearest Jane and her father, he was the person she loved most in the world. She could not imagine getting married without him there, and she certainly could not imagine living the rest of her life without his presence.

Suddenly she felt as if ice had dropped down her back. Would Darcy forbid her from seeing them? Surely he wouldn’t! But she saw the look on his face. He was paler than usual and his jaw was clenched, a sure sign he was angry. She saw him excuse himself from the gentlemen and a fear she had never felt before engulfed her. He had been so kind to her parents and sisters that she had come to think better of him. It had never occurred to her he might cut her off from her family. But it was suddenly all so clear. He could not divorce the Bennets, they were entirely too closely related for that to work, but he could cut off an uncle and aunt. He could forbid her from calling on them and bar them from his house, her future home.

At the thought of being kept from her most treasured family, her fear turned to rage the likes of which she had never experienced before. She was giving up everything—Everything!—to marry him. She was subjecting herself to scrutiny and criticism from his family and she expected it would come from many of his friends as well. She was giving up on love—Love!—to be his wife. Because her father asked it of her and because Darcy loved her so dearly—she had thought enough for both of them. But now she questioned even that.

How could he love her, truly love her, if he disdained her very roots? How could they spend a lifetime together peaceably with such different ideas of what made a person worthy?