AN: Written for the #62 "Keeping Up Appearances" theme at 100_fairytales on Livejournal. Post-book. This will not be continued.

In Perspective

Her husband, Mr. Darcy, looked extensively exhausted. He had put forth more civility than he was accustomed to showing at Pemberley, but holidays with family required such things, and with Elizabeth's family, even more so.

"Your mother…" he would say, and he'd watch as her eyebrows lifted, her eyes glittered, and a smile tugged at her lips. His mouth would close after a pause, and nothing more would be said about it, for his wife knew his present thoughts very well.

Her sister and brother-in-law, thank heavens, were not allowed at the Pemberley estate, but similar social circles and holiday balls had a way of bringing them together. Although, Darcy assured his wife he was more than prepared to face them, Elizabeth knew that deep down that he could never be truly ready when the two forces collided.

"Your sister…that man…" he said through gritted teeth, and Elizabeth placed a soft hand on his, and he unclenched his fingers that had gone white. When Mrs. Wickham had left them and clawed her way into someone else's attention, Elizabeth met her husband's dark eyes, her expression forming a silent apology, but her smile remaining affixed with her usual levity.

Later that evening, it was even evident in the low firelight that her husband was pale, lethargic, and inattentive toward his lukewarm tea.

"Thank goodness the holidays are over," he proclaimed with a heavy sigh. Elizabeth sympathized, of course, but seeing her husband so thoroughly emotional inspired some shameless amusement.

Even his sister had stolen glances at Elizabeth with a cautious smile and joy dancing in her timid eyes. Miss Darcy also had to stifle a laugh as her brother unceremoniously removed his boots and draped a hand over his eyes, reclining back into the chair with another languid sigh. He peeked out from under his hand and threw his wife a saddened look, and Elizabeth supposed he was looking for some prize for his great sacrifice. He said morosely, "Your family will be the death of me."

Elizabeth watched him sip his tea as she tilted her head. With a quick laugh, she replied, "My family or will I, Mr. Darcy?"

Miss Darcy dropped her crochet, surprised, and Mr. Darcy, quite flustered, was now wearing a fair amount of his tea.