Page 35 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)
Darcy
M y dear nephew,
I cannot begin to express my displeasure!
I find out of your betrothal to a stranger – a girl of no name and no standing, for I have never in my life heard of her.
Imagine my utter horror when my parson of all people returned to Kent reporting of the sudden announcement of your engagement the day after a ball.
It is not dignified! It is an outrage! I will travel to you to express my feelings in person once the roads are in better condition, and I fear for your presence of mind.
Poor Anne! Your mother would hold the great displeasure for what has happened.
I urge to think of your own reputation, and that of your family.
What will become of Georgiana with a country girl for a sister?
! She needs someone ne of standing to guide her into society.
Mr Collins tells me that Miss Elizabeth Bennet has no formal education, and is one of five unruly girls who are permitted to do much as they wish.
I am also told that another engagement was announced shortly after yours between the eldest Miss Bennet and that Mr Bingley you are so fond of.
This is a far more suitable match for a man with a background in trade.
I worry that you have been led astray by fortune hunting young women and unsuitable friends.
Please, I must urge you to reconsider.
Yours,
Lady Catherine De Bourgh
Dear Aunt Catherine,
I will do no such thing.
Yours,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
∞∞∞
The London Times, 1st December 18--
Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy Esq, of Pemberley, Derbyshire, announces his engagement to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of Mr T. Bennet Esq of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.
Mr Charles Bingley Esq of London announces his engagement to Miss Jane Bennet, daughter of Mr T. Bennet Esq of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.
∞∞∞
15th December, 18--
Dearest Elizabeth,
I have arrived safely at Pemberley for Christmas.
I am sorry indeed to be parted from you for the festive season, but as you know, I wished to spend the season with Georgiana at our home.
Next year, my love, you will be here beside me, the mistress of this place.
I sorely miss you, but I know that this parting shall only be temporary.
I am pleased to hear that the plans for our wedding have progressed well.
I have extended the invitation to my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and my aunts and uncle.
I do not believe my aunt, Lady Catherine, will be in attendance, for she has now sent me several letters expressing her disappointment.
You will meet her in time, I am sure, and I do not doubt that your easy manners will win her heart as you did mine.
Perhaps not precisely as you won mine…
I think of nothing but you. I wake aching for your touch, my dreams filled with thoughts of you. Our wedding cannot come soon enough, my darling Elizabeth. I will endeavour to spend all of my days ensuring your happiness.
Ever yours,
Fitzwilliam
∞∞∞
The January morning of their wedding dawned sharp and clear, the frost glittering like silver upon the hedgerows.
The air carried a brightness that seemed to belong especially to them.
In the small church, garlanded with winter greenery, Darcy stood at the front with Bingley at his side, every nerve thrumming as though all of Hertfordshire’s gaze were fastened upon him.
There were absences among the assembled congregation.
Lady Catherine and her daughter Anne had not attended; he had never expected them to, for his aunt had been clear in her disapproval.
He had received more than one letter stating her displeasure, and it was only due to the cold weather and poor roads that she had not come to scold him in person.
His aunt had never understood love, nor sought it in her own marriage.
The seeking of her blessing was a thing of duty, never of affection.
He thought, with a brief pang of longing, of how his mother would have looked upon Elizabeth with joy.
His father, too, would have admired her greatly. That thought alone steadied him.
Tomorrow he and Elizabeth would depart Hertfordshire.
They would travel first to London, then north to Pemberley, where they might at last learn the quiet rhythm of married life.
Georgiana was to go from London onto Kent, accompanied by their cousin Fitzwilliam, carrying with her the daunting charge of soothing Lady Catherine’s ire before the new Mrs. Darcy should ever be obliged to stand before her.
Darcy knew his sister’s gentle nature would serve her well in that trial.
And then, the doors opened.
His breath deserted him. All the restless noise of the church hushed within him at once.
Elizabeth entered with her father, her step measured and calm.
She wore a gown of pale blue, unfamiliar to him, yet perfectly chosen: it set her eyes alight, and the rich chestnut of her hair glowed against the soft hue.
He knew that blue was her favourite colour, and it became her very well.
Beneath her bonnet, her smile was serene, untroubled, as though this moment were the most natural thing in the world. He could not look away.
The vows were soon spoken; simple, solemn words, every syllable a sacred promise.
When he pledged himself to her keeping, he felt the vow bind not only his hand but his soul.
He had known resolve before, but never such glad determination that his life, his name, his every power, would be devoted to her happiness.
The wedding breakfast followed. The affair was more lavish than customary, held at Netherfield at Mrs. Bennet’s urging.
Darcy suspected, with an inward sigh, that her true delight lay in parading the grandeur of her daughters’ marriages before every acquaintance within thirty miles.
The profusion of flowers, the excess of dishes, the unnecessary musicians; yes, it verged on vulgarity.
It went on well into the evening, turning into a party rather than the customary wedding breakfast. But he was newly married, and Elizabeth’s quiet glances of amusement kept him from sourness.
What did it matter, when she was his wife?
At last, the endless clinking of glasses, the flutter of well-meaning relations, and Mrs. Bennet’s triumphant exclamations drew to their natural close.
Guests bundled themselves against the cold and made their departures.
Carriages rattled down the drive, voices faded, and Netherfield grew still again.
Only when the final carriage began to move away did Darcy truly breathe. He turned to find Elizabeth watching him, her eyes warm with mirth and tenderness both. For the first time that day, they were entirely alone.
“My wife,” he said in disbelief.
Her answering smile undid him. How blessed he was to look upon her; it was impossible not to see the happiness that radiated from her, her posture relaxed and tired as she leaned against him.
“Your wife,” she echoed in a whisper, her hand slipping into his. “Now, take me to bed.”
He inhaled sharply at her hushed request, her eyes sparkling as she smiled up at him.
Her boldness inflamed him. They had had little opportunity to be alone over the brief course of their engagement, and the past months had been filled with longing looks and fleeting touches.
She had been privy to his darkest desires, but he knew nothing of hers.
Now, every longing they shared would be fulfilled. He would do anything she asked of him, anything at all. He would ensure her pleasure, though many husbands did not care for such a trivial thing as that.
Bidding goodnight to the new Mr and Mrs Bingley – Miss Bingley and her sister had departed for London earlier that day after the wedding – Darcy and Elizabeth walked through a deserted Netherfield.
A bedroom had been prepared next to his, and Elizabeth wished him farewell with a teasing smile as she slipped into her own chamber, where a maid would prepare her for her wedding night.
His own valet, Smith, waited in his room, a knowing smile on his face as he helped Darcy disrobe and change ready for bed.
“A marvellous day, sir,” Smith said. “A hearty congratulations to you and Mrs Darcy.”
“Thank you.”
“She will make a fine mistress; I do not doubt that she will be beloved by all at Pemberley.”
“I hope so.”
“There,” Smith said with a flourish. “You’re looking quite right, sir. I will bid you good evening.”
“Thank you.”
The man departed with a bow, and Darcy sagged down onto the bed.
He did not know how long Elizabeth’s toilette would take, or if she would send word that she was ready for him.
It was common for a man and wife to share a connecting door – indeed, their chambers at Pemberley would bear such a convenience, but it was missing here.
It would be far more dignified to make his way to her in private, rather than parading about the corridor dressed in his night clothes as he was.
He crossed to his dressing table, withdrawing a small box he had placed there some days earlier.
He had bestowed his bride with a beautiful necklace from the Darcy collection, as well as her wedding ring.
This was a mere token of his appreciation, a new necklace bought just for her.
A delicate gold chain with a single sapphire dangling from the end, this was not appropriate for public wear, but something for her to wear when she was not amongst society.
He wondered if, one day, she would wear only this – bare before him with only the jewellery he gave her to mark her as his.