Page 22 of Mistress of Pemberley

Two days later, early in the morning, a knock at the door adjoining the master and mistress’s chambers startled Elizabeth awake, her heart leaping violently in her chest at the frightened voice of Darcy’s valet. She believed her betrothed had left the earth before they were married, and her first thought was for Georgiana. That terrifying future, which she was certain had suddenly unfolded, played out vividly in her mind, for until that moment, his death had been a hypothetical event she had never imagined becoming real.

What would she do without him? How would they live?

She rose from her bed, ready to go to his room, but her legs refused to obey. After murmuring, “Just a moment, Parker,” she leant against the headboard, struggling to breathe and regain a fragment of her shattered composure, hastily wrapping herself in the robe that had once belonged to Lady Anne. She pulled it tightly around her as if embracing a memory carried through time. Silently, she pleaded with his mother to let him remain by her side a while longer.

An immense dread gripped her when opening the door, but to her relief, Darcy was watching her from the bed. His eyes were wide open, filled with so much love that her heart throbbed painfully again. She wanted to scold him, but his smile stopped her. She turned her gaze to Parker, ready to reprimand him instead, but the worry on his face restrained her once more.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Madam, I beg you to help me, I am desperate. The master insists on getting out of bed.”

“Darcy!” she exclaimed, but the smile on his face made her forget her worry, yet she continued rather severely, “This cannot be considered, sir. I do not understand what you want.”

“I am determined to dress and sit in an armchair. I refuse to remain in bed on my wedding day,” he declared with unwavering determination, his voice filled with a resolute tone that echoed through the room.

“But the physician said—”

“Forget what he said. I am still the master of this house, and I continue to give the orders. I promise you I shall not do anything reckless. Besides, I have been sitting upright for a week, and nothing untoward has occurred. If they help me move to an armchair, I shall not suffer for it.”

They both looked at Parker, who appeared too frail for such a task.

“Go, Parker, and fetch John and Ben. They will hold me, and you will assist me in dressing and shaving—”

“No!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and Darcy looked at her in surprise, ready to argue and defend his plan at any cost. Yet he saw that she had accepted his idea, and the “no” was for another reason.

“No?” he asked.

“I like the beard,” she said, blushing because it was precisely how she felt, and she had spoken before reflecting on her feelings—it was something that had come from her heart. He looked at her with disbelief, for her voice had been tender and cheerful, but her face looked confused.

“The beard stays, then,” Darcy said with infinite pleasure, seeing that in her heart, Elizabeth had a place for him that she was not wholly aware of. It was the most exquisite revelation on his wedding day, and one that filled him with joy. “You heard what your mistress wants,” he told Parker. “Now, prepare my clothes and fetch John, Ben, and Mr Talbot. Together, we shall manage.”

Parker left the room, but it was obvious that he still hoped his master’s plan would eventually be abolished.

“Do not leave,” Darcy asked Elizabeth, and even though she had many things to do, she sat in the chair beside his bed.

“Why did you not wish me to shave my beard?” he asked, and to his surprise, she blushed—a rare occurrence for her. Though it seemed that in that unguarded response, there lay something more than her fear of moving his face, he dreaded that Elizabeth would not tell him the truth.

Yet she looked at him, her cheeks aflame, and with sincerity and without hesitation, she said, “Because Darcy with a beard is my present—”

“Unrelated to the past?” he interjected in a tone meant to be light-hearted, even a touch sarcastic. But, all he managed was to reveal the depth of his emotion—one she did not perceive, overwhelmed as she was by her own.

“Only as much as necessary,” she laughed at last, restoring a semblance of peace between them.

“Good,” he finally said, somewhat calmer at the thought that this beautiful and intelligent woman found a trace of joy in their marriage. And though he had asked for a mere arrangement, Elizabeth was marrying him not only with her mind but, if only a little, with her heart as well.

Only then did she notice a grey velvet box on the bed beside him. He nodded gently.

“Yes, it is for you.”

“Darcy,” she spoke softly, her scolding tone more like a caress. “It is too much.”

“Nothing is too much for my wife. Open it, Elizabeth.”

She opened it almost fearfully, but her face lit up with a radiant smile at the sight of the exquisite jewellery.

“So, Miss Bennet is impressed by jewels and fashion after all,” he said, watching her fasten the stunning necklace of three strands of pearls, matching the colours of her dress.

“Miss Bennet was not like this,” she replied, gazing into the dressing table mirror. “But it seems Mrs Darcy has grown as vain as every other woman in this town.”

Yet she turned to him, unoffended by that revelation, and said, “Thank you, my dear. It is magnificent!”

“Have you finished the dress?” he asked, striving to maintain his composure lest emotion overwhelm him and take on dramatic proportions.

“Yes, and I have found the shoes as well.”

He swallowed hard, attempting to steady himself. He would have given anything to take off those pink and grey silk shoes, his hands trailing up her shapely legs. But he contented himself with the thought that Elizabeth would never again fear the future, which was enough for him. He waited for his marriage with the confidence that it was the best decision of his life. He could not imagine dying in the next four hours, and nothing else could happen meanwhile.

But the surprises of that morning were far from over.

Appearing more agitated than Darcy and Elizabeth combined, Parker entered the room with an alarmed expression, utterly unbefitting a servant in a grand house, and almost shouted, “Madam, your father has arrived, Mr Bennet. He is in the library.”

Elizabeth stared at him, bewildered. She knew nothing of her father’s arrival; such a visit had not even crossed her mind.

“You mean Mr Gardiner,” she said, but she immediately realised that Parker would never make such a mistake.

“No, madam, it is your father. He told me twice who he was. He awaits you in the library.”

Elizabeth glanced at the clock. It was barely seven o’clock. Her father must have left her uncle’s house around six…and he had likely arrived in London the day before.

Forgetting she was a grown woman, her heart tightened painfully, just as it had in childhood whenever she had committed some mischief and her father had summoned her to the library at Longbourn.

“Has he come to stop you from marrying?” Darcy asked, his words jesting, yet his tone entirely serious.

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth replied. “I did not write to them—”

“You did not write to them?” Darcy exclaimed, and Elizabeth shook her head.

“I asked my aunt and Jane to write to them in detail about what had transpired…but I…I did not have the time.”

“Elizabeth, how could you not write to them?” he asked again, for one thing he had come to understand about her was how deeply she valued her family. “You did not write to them even from Kent after…”

“No,” she admitted.

“Then your father does not know about the proposal in Kent?”

“He knows only what Aunt Gardiner wrote to them—what I told her to write. That you proposed to me, but not what happened afterwards.”

Only then did a smile appear on Darcy’s face, for in a way, in the midst of the entire situation, Elizabeth had aligned herself with him—standing together, side by side—and had not deemed it necessary to share every detail with her family, as she typically would.

“Please, summon Mr Bennet to me,” he said with newfound confidence, and Elizabeth nodded as she left the room.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth opened the door to the library without haste as though attempting to delay the moment she would face her father.

But he was already waiting for her, standing, and the concern etched upon his face made her place a hand on her chest as if to steady her heart’s wild rhythm.

“Papa!”

“Elizabeth!” Mr Bennet replied, studying her closely. His concern for her was palpable, his worry etched on his face. He only addressed her in that manner when he was upset, and Elizabeth tried to smile. Mr Bennet looked her over from head to toe in a desperate attempt to comprehend what was happening to her.

She still wore the pearls at her neck, and her elegant gown, that she had donned in haste, was far removed from his daughter’s usual attire in the morning. The letters from Mrs Gardiner and Jane had stirred up nothing but a storm within him, offering no clarity. The entire situation was absurd, and Elizabeth’s silence had become yet another source of worry. Mrs Bennet, as always unaware of reality, delighted in the event itself; what lay behind the marriage held no interest for her. The journey to London had been the hardest moment of his life, unable to imagine how Elizabeth, his most rational and intelligent daughter, had found herself in such a situation—one that, despite the account he had read in Mrs Gardiner’s letter, seemed utterly preposterous.

“Mr Darcy would like to talk to you—”

“Stop this nonsense. I want to speak to you first, then decide whether I wish to speak to him.”

Elizabeth invited him to sit, suddenly composed despite the crisis brewing in the room. Yet not even her father, the one person with unquestionable authority over her, could sway her from her resolve. In a few hours, she would become Fitzwilliam’s wife and do all that he had asked of her, her determination unwavering.

Calmly, she recounted the same story that she and Fitzwilliam had repeated almost verbatim—the proposal in Kent, his accident, and their decision to marry hastily.

“This is absurd, Elizabeth. How can you marry a man you barely know in a matter of days… A man you have never mentioned loving?”

“Did you not advise me to first find a man and then fall in love with him?” she asked, looking at her father as she often did when presenting a plan she knew would not be quickly approved. “That is precisely what I did. I found a man who loves me, who asked me to be his wife, and—”

“And who may abandon you before you are even married!”

“He may die , Papa,” she said with a pain that startled even her, as tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. For the first time, standing before her father, she considered the possibility that the man she had sought, following his advice, might have the power to make her love him. But then, how could she endure his absence? She had accepted a partnership, but suddenly, it no longer felt merely material. He had offered her his love, but until that moment, she had been certain her feelings were confined to affection and care.

“What is it, Lizzy?” Mr Bennet asked, moved.

“I am marrying him, Papa, in three hours, and all I can tell you is that I agreed to become his wife, believing that the life he would offer me after…his departure would be enough.”

“But now you are unsure,” Mr Bennet murmured, rising to embrace her as he understood what was going on in his adored daughter’s mind…and suspected what she felt even without her knowing. But in that strange situation, not knowing she was also in love with him could be a blessing.

“Will the marriage take place?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly fearful yet attuned to the reality of the day, momentarily forgetting all their torment.

“If that is what you wish and Mr Darcy convinces me, then yes, the marriage will take place,” Mr Bennet said, and she smiled, reassured.

“I accompanied the Duke of Nantwich to the Archbishop. The licence has been procured, but it is merely a piece of paper—one that can always be torn up.”

“It will not be!” Elizabeth replied, and at that moment, her father saw all he needed to see. Elizabeth loved Mr Darcy and was ready to accept with courage whatever fate had in store for her.

“Take me to him,” he said. Elizabeth was still herself, unchanged, and her path, however difficult, was meant for her. And no matter what the man had offered her, she was in love with him, even if she did not know it yet.

∞∞∞

When they entered Darcy’s room, Elizabeth glanced about, unable to comprehend how it could have changed so much in so little time.

The bed had vanished, and two armchairs stood in the centre of the room. In one sat Darcy, dressed in a coat with a blanket draped over his legs. What shocked her most, however, was his face. It was as though she no longer knew him; she had never seen this man before—the man who would become her husband in just a few hours.

Elizabeth looked at him. An epiphany took place in a moment, like all incredible realisations; a single glance was enough for her to understand that what she felt was love. The love she had always dreamt of, the love she had sometimes searched for and, in time, had come to await her, was there, in her heart, for the man who was soon to be her husband. A happiness beyond compare enveloped her, but it lasted only for a fleeting moment, for it was immediately replaced by a brutal pain. He was the man she loved, the husband she had longed for, yet he would never be her man.

She leant against her father, who, looking at her, understood everything she carried in her soul. Then, Mr Bennet turned to Darcy, struggling to master his turmoil, but he had to remain strong in that room.

He clasped his hand without a word, and together, they watched Elizabeth walk away.

Alone in her room, she tried to understand what had happened to her before summoning Anna. Yet the feelings in her heart were so new, so unexpected, and so powerful—at once wondrous and painful—that she found herself almost paralysed, wondering what would come next.

She called for Georgiana, and together, they wept in each other’s arms for the first time, sharing their pain.

They needed no words; a single glance between them was enough to decide they would not weep again from that moment onwards, so long as he would be by their side. Still, they had needed that outpouring of sorrow to move forwards.