Page 23 of Mistress of Pemberley
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Darcy answered, “I will.”
“Elizabeth Bennet, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Elizabeth answered, “I will.”
Elizabeth and Darcy, their hands clasped, gazed into each other’s eyes while Mr Thompson, the vicar who had seen Darcy grow up, nearly dropped the sacred book from which he read. The two young people looked at one another with an expression he had always sought in couples exchanging vows, yet one so often was absent. The brides would usually beam at their families, rejoicing in the union; the grooms awaited the wedding night with a yearning rooted in the body rather than the soul. Yet when, at last, a pair like the one in front of him gazed at each other with the joy of simply being together, tragedy threatened their happiness before it had even begun.
Their gaze was a testament to deep, earnest emotions—a silent commitment to disregard the weight of the future and live the blessed hour of their wedding ceremony in its purest form. They had vowed to live together as husband and wife yet had decided to consider their marriage as an island adrift in a boundless sea, a sanctuary untouched by time or expectation, existing solely for them and them alone.
Darcy’s love for Elizabeth was more profound than he had ever imagined possible, a love that was wholly selfless, impervious to anything beyond that moment that was so precious to both of them. Elizabeth, in turn, felt a unique exaltation, the thrill of fulfilling a destiny shaped perfectly for her while bringing goodness to those around her, to the people who depended upon her.
“Forasmuchas Fitzwilliam andElizabethhave consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Elizabeth looked at the vicar.
Their armchairs were placed before the window, casting the clergyman in a wash of light, rendering him almost too radiant to behold, elevating that unusual wedding to the realm of a sacred ritual, ideally attuned to her state of mind. It was as though she were caught in a dream, joyful and sorrowful all at once, unable to fully grasp the reality of her circumstances. Yet, as she watched Darcy sign his name beside hers and then Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam sign as their witnesses, things fell into a new and unfamiliar order that bore no trace of the life she had known before. She was married, she was in love, yet her life was far from anything she had ever dreamt of.
Her soul, overwhelmed by this new love, ached, for she longed to look at her husband and let him see what had blossomed within her heart. Yet, it was not possible. To let him see her love would be a torture too great for him to bear. But on the other hand, how could she let him leave without knowing she loved him?
Torn by this dilemma, Elizabeth did what she had never managed to do before—she postponed any decision, forcing calm to settle over the tumult in her heart. She looked at Darcy and smiled as he kissed her hand, allowing no emotion other than peace to show on her beautiful face, illuminated by an inner joy she saw no reason to conceal.
The young couple received the congratulations of those who had attended: first, the physician, who gazed at Darcy with notable intensity, then Georgiana, Mr Bennet, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner, followed by Lord and Lady Matlock, and finally the Duke and Duchess of Nantwich. Few words were spoken, for nearly none of the customary phrases suited the occasion. Even Lord Matlock, visibly moved, had ultimately accepted the situation with a kind of indulgent grace. The guests, each with their own thoughts and emotions, formed a community of shared joy and tension.
The family had witnessed the ceremony seated behind them. At the same time, the servants—many of them gathered in the hall—had also been present, eager to share in the moment. Darcy had allowed this without hesitation.
It had been an intensely emotional ceremony that everyone present had felt profoundly. It was unlike any wedding they had ever attended. There was love in the air but also a restraint, coming mainly from the couple themselves but also from the unspoken questions each guest silently pondered, for they were surrounded only by those who loved them.
“You look beautiful,” said Lady Matlock with genuine admiration in place of the usual congratulations. She had met Elizabeth just moments before the ceremony, yet her gaze was warm and approving. The Duchess of Nantwich embraced her, murmuring an invitation to visit her soon.
Elizabeth had half-expected someone to recognise her gown, to catch a curious or reproachful glance, but no such thing occurred. As Darcy had said, the wearer gave life to the garment, and the exquisite dress seemed made for her. Even Mr Bennet, indifferent to fashion, had exclaimed in wonder, “You are marvellous!” as he led her to her future husband.
Still sitting side by side, surrounded by the love of their families, they drank a glass of champagne and tasted the bride cake. Soon after, everyone left, guided by Georgiana to the dining-room, where a late breakfast awaited, leaving the newly married couple alone. Their first moments were filled with relief, joy, and a hint of nervousness about the life ahead.
“You ordered them to cut all the flowers from the greenhouse,” said Elizabeth reproachfully as the door closed behind the servants who had cleared the room, leaving them surrounded only by the colourful bouquets that had been the sole decoration.
“And I love you,” Darcy replied, smiling at her but silently thanking her for scolding him instead of slipping into a dangerous state of regret that might have overwhelmed him. “No, Mrs Darcy, I did not decimate the greenhouse. Only your bouquet was made of Lady Darcy roses from our greenhouse. But I am certain that my mother would have done the same. For the rest, there are greenhouses in London that cultivate flowers for such occasions all year round.”
“Are there?” she asked in surprise. He smiled, for this was precisely what they needed—to talk about Elizabeth preparing herself for the life that awaited her, a life about which she still had so much to learn.
“There are so many things I do not know,” she lamented, her tone and words ideally suited to the moment. Immediately after the wedding, most husbands would begin the ritual preceding the wedding night, gently guiding their brides towards the realisation that she was now a wife and soon would be a woman. Elizabeth and Darcy lacked this essential step, so Elizabeth sought to restore some semblance of balance by granting him control over her future life. She had made no plan; instinct alone guided her words and actions, for the only emotion she felt was her love for him, while her sole purpose was to make these days as peaceful as possible for him, with no regard for herself. The pain will come later, she had repeated to herself several times that morning as she stood before the mirror, resolute in her determination to embark on this difficult journey beside him without burdening him with her suffering.
“Do not be silly,” he said tenderly. “As long as we have time, I shall try to sketch a rough map of your life for you. But I have complete faith in your ability to find your way, even along unfamiliar paths.”
“I shall get lost.”
“And you will enjoy getting lost, for you are curious and delight in doing new things in your own stubborn way.”
“Do not speak of me so, sir!” she exclaimed, gazing at him. She wished to perch on the arm of his chair and embrace him, but she did not dare.
“You should go downstairs to the meal—”
“Do not be absurd. I am not going anywhere. Georgiana is there, and, after all, they are our family.”
She said our with hesitation, wondering how his family would behave towards hers. That tiny flicker of fear did not escape him, for he had been attuned to every nuance of Elizabeth’s demeanour since their marriage. He longed for her not to regret their union, to find in the life that awaited her a reward for the strange interval during which she had been his wife but not truly his.
“Your family is wonderful, indeed, just as you told me,” he replied to her unspoken fear, and she looked at him with disbelief.
“The half-hour I spent with your father was a revelation,” he continued with near fervour, so sincere was his admiration. He had liked Mr Bennet since meeting him in London and, try as he might, could not recall him from Hertfordshire. Mr Bennet, in turn, felt reassured, for every word Darcy uttered had been a declaration of love for Elizabeth.
“I asked him not to leave,” Darcy said, and Elizabeth’s face filled with astonishment.
“You asked my father not to leave?”
“Yes, so we might see him again—”
“Wait. Something is not right,” Elizabeth cried, startling him, though she quickly calmed him again. “It is not about my father…it is about how absurd it is for you to be here alone while we are all downstairs eating. We should have arranged the meal here in this room…or—”
“Or?” he asked, amused yet curious, stroking his beard with his right hand. It had become a habit since it had grown and since he knew other movements might harm him.
“Or we should move your bedroom downstairs. All the important rooms are there—the dining-room, the library, the greenhouse, the music room, even the drawing-room…and you are up here.” As he prepared to respond, she stopped him. “Do not say no before you hear everything.”
“I have no intention of saying no, either before or after.”
“That is what we shall do,” Elizabeth declared, her entire body, not just her face, reflecting her resolve. She rose to her feet and paced quickly across the room.
Then, to his surprise, she darted out and returned moments later with the wheeled horse from the nursery.
“Are we playing now?” he asked, beginning to laugh, though he ought not to, for Elizabeth, dressed in her elegant gown with a few orchids still adorning her hair, had seated herself on the toy horse and was moving it around the room. She examined its wheels with great focus.
“Elizabeth, what is happening?” he asked, increasingly bewildered. “Do you mean to put me on the horse?”
“Do we have someone who repairs carriages?” she asked, and all he heard at first was that we , which told him she was already his wife, this was her home, and he was her family.
“We do!” he replied, still laughing.
“Someone skilled, dependable?”
Darcy stopped laughing, his expression turning serious as he watched her intently study the wheels of the toy, which she had turned upside down, resting its head and mane on the carpet. “Tell me what you need, and I shall tell you how to achieve it.”
“I need someone who can craft real wheels, like those for a carriage, but smaller—for your armchair.”
“So I can move,” he said, a wave of exhilaration rushing through him. He placed his hand over the spot where the bullet lay, and she grew alarmed.
“I am being foolish,” she said suddenly, worry clouding her face. “The physician told us not to agitate you.”
“Forget the physician. Agitate me with your brilliant ideas.”
“But how shall we move you downstairs?” she asked, recovering from her concern, her thoughts racing as she imagined everything happening at once.
“Sit down. You are making me dizzy,” he said, taking her hand. She smiled, for it was precisely what her father used to say when, amid a heated conversation, she would rise and begin pacing the room.
“Elizabeth,” he said, stroking her hand without looking at her. “I have obeyed everything the physician asked until now because I wanted us to get through today. You are my wife, my love—you know that, do you not?” Only then did he lift his gaze to meet hers.
Elizabeth nodded, for she could not bring herself to speak. She knew it, but unexpectedly, she felt truly his wife, as though she had been preparing for this moment for a long time, not just a few days. He saw her answer in her eyes and whispered, “God, how happy I am.”
Then, clasping her hand firmly again, he continued, “I have managed to get into this chair, and I feel almost my usual self after so many days lying in bed. I want to move downstairs, and our men will find a way to take me down without shaking me up too much,” he joked. “Stop fidgeting, my love. Listen to me, as I shall not tell you this twice. I shall begin to live because I yearn to have an almost ordinary life, while still taking much care. But if something happens during these…manipulations, I want you to know it is the way I prefer to go instead of living longer.”
“Do not say that!” she ordered yet smiled; she understood his feelings because they were alike, and she was ready to make his life easier, accepting the risks just for him to feel closer to the idea that they were together, man and wife.
Elizabeth was unstoppable. In vain did he try to keep her by his side—after circling the room twice, she vanished without a word, leaving the door wide open. Yet, within moments, she reappeared, accompanied by her uncle, who still held a napkin in his hand, evidently having been dragged away from the table by Elizabeth.
A few seconds later, Georgiana arrived, looking alarmed, followed closely by the colonel. Both halted at the threshold, bewildered, for Darcy was clearly unharmed.
All eyes turned to Elizabeth. She was speaking animatedly to her uncle, gesturing towards the toy horse. “Wheels, we need wheels.”
As strange as it seemed, Mr Gardiner understood at once and nodded. “You are right. Give me a few days, and I shall take care of it.”
“Would someone care to explain what is happening?” Richard asked in a cheerful tone, glancing at Georgiana, who appeared to have recovered from her fright.
“It is quite simple,” Elizabeth replied. “We shall move Darcy’s bedroom to the ground floor, and my uncle will devise a way to craft or find a chair with wheels that will allow him to reach any room without sudden movements.”
“Splendid!” Richard exclaimed. This sort of commotion was most welcome. A day before the wedding, Richard had discovered his cousin ill, despondent, and engulfed in worry. Now, amid the chaos Elizabeth had unleashed, he had come alive. Darcy’s eyes gleamed, and he watched her bustling about with a smile of quiet indulgence.
The night before, Richard had lain awake, tormented by the thought that Darcy was making a terrible mistake in marrying—imagining the torment of a man unable to love his wife on their wedding night. He had feared that sorrow would only deepen in him. Yet, before this storm of Elizabeth’s making, with her wild yet ingenious schemes, Darcy seemed not only amused but restored. A touch of colour had returned to his cheeks.
Whatever she had planned, one thing was clear—Elizabeth was the very remedy he needed.
Darcy’s chamber was moved to the ground floor the day after the wedding, and life improved significantly for him. However, it was only a tiny change in a continuously dramatic and dangerous situation.
Although his life had grown more varied, he missed the upstairs bedroom, for it had placed only a single door between him and Elizabeth.
“Do not be foolish,” she said when he confided his slight sorrow. “I shall stay with you every night until you fall asleep, and in the morning, I shall be the one to wake you up.”
“Perhaps you should also move your bedroom here too,” he suggested.
“And turn my entire household upside down?” she asked in a playfully irritable tone.
“Oh, I am not allowed to do anything any longer,” he lamented, and they both laughed.