Page 5
Story: Mr. Darcy’s Runaway Bride
Elizabeth
E lizabeth stood outside the church, feeling foolish in her wedding gown. Distant noise drifted to her ear. Carriages, chatter, paperboys announcing the latest edition. She heard it all and yet, her blood pounded so hard it was difficult to hear anything else clearly.
To her dismay, her father approached, his familiar figure bringing a fresh wave of betrayal.
“Lizzy? Are you ready for the ceremony?”
She regarded him, this man whom she had loved and respected above all others. The father who had now sold her future for financial security.
“How could you?” she asked, her voice quiet.
Mr Bennet’s expression faltered. “How could I what, child?”
“Jane told me,” Elizabeth said, raising her chin. “Uncle Gardiner and Uncle Phillips offered loans to save Longbourn. You refused them in favour of this.”
Her father’s shook his head. “This is hardly the time nor the place for such a discussion.”
“When would be a better time? After I am bound to that man for life?” Elizabeth gestured towards the church. “Once I have sacrificed my happiness to save our family from ruin?”
Mr Bennet sighed, removing his spectacles to polish them. “Elizabeth, everything I did was done for the good of this family, for the good of all my children, you included.”
“This was never about family. This is about choosing this path for me without exploring other options. Without consulting me.”
“What would you have had me do? Accept charity from my brothers-in-law? The Blackfriars offer more than financial salvation, Lizzy. They offer connection, standing in society, opportunities for your sisters.”
“At the cost of my happiness.”
“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance,” Mr Bennet quoted, his voice dry. “But you are a sensible young woman. I believed—I still believe—that you can make the best of this situation.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “Jonathan has just made it clear that after our marriage, I am to abandon my writing and any folly I might have in my mind. I am to put it all aside in order to be a good obedient wife to him.”
A flicker of discomfort crossed Mr Bennet’s face. “Surely he cannot object to a private pastime.”
“He does. Most emphatically.” Elizabeth rubbed her arm where Jonathan had gripped it. “He says a wife’s duty is to manage the household and attend to her husband’s comfort, not to fill her head with ‘fanciful notions’ as he put it.”
“I see.” Mr Bennet’s expression grew grave. “That is… unfortunate. But perhaps, with time, he may come to appreciate your talents.”
“He will not,” Elizabeth said with certainty. “He views me as a possession, Father. He wanted to court me when I was in London for the Christmas Season and I refused him and now he has what he chased after.”
“You exaggerate, surely.”
“Do I?” She stared at him, willing him to understand. “You have raised me to think for myself, to value independence of mind. How can you now condemn me to a life where those qualities are despised?”
Mr Bennet hesitated. “The financial situation is dire, Lizzy. Far worse than you know. We face complete ruin.”
“Then let us accept Uncle Gardiner’s and Uncle Phillip’s help.”
“It is too late,” he replied, glancing towards the church doors. “The Blackfriars have already advanced funds to secure our most pressing debts.”
The ground shifted beneath her again. Her father had not merely agreed to the match—he had already accepted monetary aid, binding them irrevocably to the arrangement.
“I see.” Her voice sounded hollow. “So, I am already sold, with the price paid and received.”
“Lizzy, that is not fair.”
“Is it not?” She looked up at him, blinking back tears. “Tell me, Father, what if the Blackfriars money is not enough? Will you sell Jane off to some ancient baron desperate for heirs? Or send Lydia to find herself a fine merchant with a deep purse?”
Mr Bennet’s expression hardened and he took two steps back as if she had hit him. “You go too far. I have always held your welfare as my first concern.”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “If that were true, we would not be standing here now.”
Speech eluded them both as they stood. Then, the music swelled once more with the wedding march.
“It is time,” Mr Bennet said at last, offering his arm. “We must proceed.”
Elizabeth stared at the proffered arm. Inside that church waited Jonathan Blackfriars, who would claim her as his wife. She would enter a young woman with a mind of her own and she would exit as nothing but a man’s extension.
“I cannot,” she whispered, backing away. “I cannot marry him.”
“Lizzy, be reasonable—”
“I am being reasonable,” she insisted. “More reasonable than anyone else involved in this affair. You speak of my welfare, yet you would bind me to a man who would extinguish the very qualities that make me who I am.”
“You are overwrought,” Mr Bennet said, reaching for her. “Come inside, compose yourself. We can discuss this after the ceremony.”
“After?” Elizabeth shook her head. “There is no discussion to be had after. Once I say those vows, my fate is sealed.”
She glanced towards the adjacent park, St James Park.
She could dip behind the trees and disappear, leave it all behind.
Her feet twitched already as her will to safe herself grew stronger than her fear of what her family would think of her.
She knew it would be uncomfortable for them, humiliating perhaps.
But with her uncles’ help, the family would persevere.
“I am sorry, Father,” she said, gathering her skirts. “Truly, I am. I wish there were another way. But I cannot sacrifice my soul, even for our family’s salvation.”
Before he could respond, she turned and fled into the park, her wedding slippers striking the gravel path with desperate speed. She heard her father call after her once, then fall silent.
***
Elizabeth found a secluded bench near a small fountain and sank down upon it, her legs trembling. Tears welled in her eyes. She had escaped one fate only to face another equally daunting. That of a woman alone, without resources or reputation.
What was she to do now? Where could she go? She had no friends in London who would shelter her against her family’s wishes, no skills to earn her keep, no prospects.
A shadow fell across her lap, startling her. Elizabeth looked up to see a tall gentleman standing before her, his expression one of grave concern.
“Pardon the intrusion, madam,” he said in a tone that spoke of good breeding. “May I be of assistance?”
Elizabeth cleared her vision. The gentleman was handsome, with dark hair and fine eyes, his attire elegant without ostentation. He carried himself with the air of one accustomed to respect and deference.
A lady did not accept assistance from a stranger, particularly not a male stranger, without proper introduction. But these were not ordinary circumstances.
The gentleman extended a handkerchief. “Perhaps you would care to use this? Yours looks well used.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then accepted. The handkerchief was of the finest linen, with the initials ‘FD’ embroidered in one corner. She pressed it to her eyes.
“Thank you, sir,” she managed. “You are most kind.”
“Not at all.” He gestured towards the bench. “May I?”
She nodded, shifting to make room. The gentleman seated himself beside her, maintaining a respectful distance.
“I realise it is unusual for me to intrude upon your privacy,” he said at last. “But I could not in good conscience pass by without helping. You seem to be in some difficulty.”
Elizabeth gave a hollow laugh. “That, sir, is an understatement.”
“Would it help to speak of it?”
She studied him, this unexpected Good Samaritan. There was something in his manner that inspired trust, despite the impropriety of their meeting.
“My name is Elizabeth Bennet,” she said, deciding that if she were to confide in him, he should at least know her name.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” he replied. “At your service.”
“Mr Darcy.” She tested the name. It was familiar, her Aunt Gardiner had spoken of a prominent family of that name in Derbyshire, but the surname was hardly rare. “I fear my situation is one for which you can provide little remedy, kind though your intention may be.”
“Allow me to be the judge of that,” he said. “What troubles you, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal. But what choice did she have?
“I have run away from my wedding,” she said at last. “I was to be married today, but I found I could not go through with it.”
Mr Darcy’s expression remained neutral, betraying neither shock nor censure. “I see. And your family? Do they know where you are?”
“No. I fled without word or direction.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “I cannot return home. They would only force me back to the church, back to him.”
“The gentleman you were to marry,” Mr Darcy observed. “I take it the match was not one of mutual affection.”
“It was an arrangement,” Elizabeth said bitterly. “My father is in financial difficulty. The marriage was to save our family from ruin.”
“Ah.” A shadow crossed Mr Darcy’s face. “Such arrangements are not uncommon, though they rarely lead to happiness.”
“This one would have led to misery,” she replied. “The gentleman in question made it clear that after our marriage, I would be permitted no pursuits beyond those he deemed suitable for his wife. No reading beyond what he approved, no writing whatsoever, no independence of thought or action.”
“Writing?” Mr Darcy raised an eyebrow. “He would not permit you to write to your family?”
“No,” she said. “Stories. I am—foolish as it may sound—an aspiring author.”
“I see.” Mr Darcy’s expression softened. “And you have nowhere to go? No friends or relations who might offer sanctuary? My carriage is not far from here, I could loan it to you. I could send a maid with you to take you to your destination.”
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