Prevailed Upon to Marry

by Isabelle Mayfair

  I shook my head. I could not afford to allow my mind to go there. I was marrying Elizabeth because it was the right thing to do, not for personal pleasure. I was infatuated with her, that much I could admit to myself, but infatuations do not last. I was sure repeated exposure to her family would work its magic in the end, although that would not leave me free of my marriage to her.

  But the alternative was for her to marry Collins. He would have the right to touch her and take her to his bed. Did I want to visit my aunt and hear stories of how Mrs Collins - my vibrant, bewitching Elizabeth - was large with child once again, knowing it should be my child in her womb, knowing I would never again find a woman who appealed to me the way she did? No, I could not have done that. No matter what else happened, at least I had the comfort of knowing Elizabeth would be secure. Her family was safe and perhaps knowing I preserved their futures would have a calming effect on her mother? She might even be a sensible woman, although maybe I hoped for too much.

  I would have to tell Bingley. It was not as though I could keep it from him. I wondered how he would feel about my marrying a Bennet lady considering my opinions on his potential match with Jane? I could only hope he would understand the vast differences in our situations. I was obliged to marry Elizabeth. I could tolerate having a wife who cared little for me, and it would not hurt me to know her feelings considering mine were nothing more than an infatuation. It was not as though I was in love with her and vulnerable to her as Bingley was with Jane. I could weather this far better than he ever could.

  Besides, telling Bingley would have the added advantage of finally making Caroline Bingley understand that I would never marry her. I smiled as I imagined her reaction when she heard of the news. She had taken such pains to tease me about my regard for Elizabeth, hoping to turn me away from her. I wondered how she would feel knowing she had disparaged the woman who was about to become my wife?

  At that thought, my mind once again travelled across the woods towards Elizabeth. My heart ached as I recalled her pale face and the sadness in her eyes. She had adored her father. I had to remember that she was still in the first pains of terrible loss. I would be gentle with her, but I would see her smile again, even if I did not love her as a husband should love his wife. I would do all I could to make her smile and know I caused it. I would make sure Elizabeth Bennet never had cause to regret marrying me.

  Satisfied with the notions of my own goodness, I abandoned all pretence at trying to write a letter and returned to bed. Yet, even as I drifted off to sleep, the image of Elizabeth turning to me with a smile on her face and love and desire in her eyes was all I could see before me.

  12

  Elizabeth

  The morning of my wedding day reflected my dull, grey feelings. I stood at the window of my childhood bedroom for the last time as I gazed over views as familiar to me as my reflection in the mirror. It was the last morning I would wake up in my bed and look out this window to anticipate the day ahead. I had imagined this day many times but never under such circumstances. I believed I would marry a man I was out of my mind in love with. My father would walk me down the aisle to where my future husband waited for me with his face lit up with love. I would smile and laugh and believe myself to be the most fortunate woman in the world.

  How different this would be. My father lay cold in the ground. Uncle Phillips would give me away, and Mr Darcy would wait for me at the top of the aisle, his face as grim as always. We would exchange vows with cold hearts before a silent journey to London where we would — I hoped — sleep in separate chambers. At least he is not Mr Collins, I whispered to myself. But the thought did little to comfort the dread that lay heavy in my chest.

  The sounds of Lydia and Kitty shrieking as they ran across the garden distracted me from my gloomy thoughts. I smiled as I watched them run towards the oak tree, then cry out and run in the other direction as a figure emerged from behind it. I drew in a breath as I saw his handsome figure in its scarlet uniform. George Wickham's laughing eyes seemed to turn in my direction. I drew back behind the curtain, thinking he had seen me watch him. Satisfied I was not observed, I moved a little, so I could follow him as he strode across the garden, his chestnut hair flopping over his forehead in a way I had always found charming. For several weeks now, it had been his face I imagined at the top of the aisle waiting for me. If Darcy had not deprived him of his inheritance, we might have lived a comfortable, happy life together. What a shame I had not the wit or the courage to persuade Darcy to right the wrong he had done Wickham. If he had, it might have saved us both from a marriage neither of us wanted.

  I was astonished he came here today of all mornings. Our last meeting with one another had been painful. He arrived at Longbourn along with Denny and some other officers at Lydia's insistence. As soon as I saw his face, I knew he knew about my engagement. Well, of course, he would. If the news had not spread all over Meryton already, Lydia would have told him. My little sister lived for gossip, and she had always had a tendre for Wickham and felt a touch of envy at his regard for me. I say a touch because Lydia's mind hopped about like a rabbit, springing from one attachment to the next with little to capture her deeply.

  He had taken the chair beside me as usual, and it was some moments before he spoke.

  "I believe congratulations are in order," he murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on the fire.

  "I believe you are right," I replied. His answering smile was sympathetic.

  "I understand you had little choice in the matter."

  "Oh, I had a choice." My eyes flicked toward my cousin, sitting like a toad in Father's old chair. Unexpectedly, we both laughed, and some of the tension passed.

  "But I do not believe it was your desire," he said, growing serious again. "Forgive me if I am indelicate, but you and I were always good friends. You must know I always have your wellbeing at heart."

  "I am not offended," I whispered so no one would overhear. "Everyone knows I had little regard for Mr Darcy. He is not unaware of it. But he believes himself responsible for my father's death because he did not act quickly enough, and he believes it is his task to remedy the situation."

  "That is why he wishes to marry you? Because he blames himself for your father's death?" A slight frown played over Wickham's face.

  "That is what he says."

  A curious look passed over Wickham's face before he smiled that dimpled smile.

  "Well, perhaps he has changed then. He was not always so eager to rectify his wrongs… ah, forgive me. I should not speak of such things. Not to you."

  "Our wedding does not change what Mr Darcy has done."

  "And will you be happy with such a man?"

  I shrugged and played with the handle of my teacup.

  "I will not be unhappy. My family will be secure, and I think Mr Darcy will make a tolerable husband. There are worse men I could marry."

  "But is that enough for you?" Wickham turned in his chair towards me, so our legs almost pressed together. I gasped and glanced around the room, fearful that someone might see us. Yet he had done nothing wrong as such. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I know I am speaking out of turn, but if you indulge me this one time, you deserve better than this. You deserve a husband who loves you and desires you with a passion you feel every time he looks at you and touches you. Mr Darcy cannot provide that for any woman. He is too stiff and cold. He will be polite to you, even amiable, but he will not and cannot love you as you deserve."

  I moved, so we were not so close to one another. The heat rose to my face, and I could not say if it was caused by the fire or by his words — and whether those words were offensive to me or filled me with longing.

  "You should not speak like this," I said, averting my face so he could not see how I was affected. "I am engaged to marry Mr Darcy. Whatever his faults, he deserves better than this."

  Wickham drew back. I kept my gaze fixed to the needlework in my lap, but I could not resist a glance. His face looked stricken and so desperately sad I
had to fight the urge to comfort him. He swallowed and placed his teacup on the side table.

  "Forgive me," he said. "I — I would not distress you for the world. I only sought to — I shall leave you…"

  He rose quickly, almost knocking the table as he did. The cups there made a clatter that drew everyone's eye — including Mr Darcy's who had just been shown into the room by Hill. He nodded to everyone then froze as he caught sight of Wickham half out of his chair beside me, his body still angled towards me. I caught my breath and wondered what Darcy would do.

  He crossed the room towards me and raised my hand to his lips, catching me by surprise. He barely glanced at Wickham who stared at me helplessly from behind Darcy then bowed and left the room with a look of despair on his face that would tear at everyone's heart. How Darcy felt about me conversing with Wickham I had no idea. He remained beside me for the evening and spoke as little as he always did which was a relief as my mind was torn between two things; Wickham's words, and the unexpected jolt that went through me at the sensation of Darcy's lips on my bare skin.

  Rain poured steadily as my uncle came to take my hand outside Longbourn church. Jane kissed my cheek while my mother wept and patted down my lace dress between strangled sobs.

  "If only your father were here to see this…" she cried as she arranged my veil.

  I gritted my teeth. If my father were here, I would not be in this situation. Mr Collins would have returned to Kent, and our family would have all been as we were before. I would not be about to leave my home and family and friends to spend my life with a silent man I could not understand. But there was little point in dwelling on what might have been.

  "I wish it were my wedding day," sighed Lydia as she leaned in to stick her nose in my bouquet. "I should have liked to be married before any of you. Lord, think what fun it would have been if I chaperoned you at balls and found husbands for you all."

  "Mr Collins is still looking for a wife," I suggested, keeping as straight a face as I could at her appalled response.

  "No thank you! I do not wish to spend my life hearing sermons in bed. Not that I imagine Mr Darcy will be any better. He will be too busy disapproving of all you do to have some sport between the sheets…"

  "Lydia!" Jane gasped. My shock was hardly less. "Where have you learned to speak of such things?"

  "Oh, the officers' joke about it all the time. I am no green girl. I know what Lizzy will do tonight…”

  "I think it is time we went in," I said quickly when I saw my mother had no intention of reining in her youngest daughter. Trust Lydia to be the one to send me racing to Darcy's side. I would have to have a word with Jane later. If no one took a firm hand with Lydia, she would be ungovernable, and I was sure there were those in the militia who were not the gentlemen Wickham was and who would be more than happy to take advantage of her silliness. I would speak with Jane at the wedding breakfast.

  Before I left for London…

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded to my rather scandalised uncle to lead me in.

  I remember little about the ceremony. Some parts come to me large and bright while others are a blur. I recall how Darcy's eyes fixed on me as I came towards him and how he did not take them from my face throughout the ceremony. His hand was warm on my ice one, and his voice was steady and clear while I recited my vows in a dull tone as if I were reciting my final words on the scaffold. I recall one brief stab of panic before the clergyman said the final words that would proclaim us man and wife for the rest of our lives. My last moment of freedom. I could grab it now and escape this situation and damn the consequences.

  But as I glanced towards the door, I caught sight of Jane. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she smiled gently at me. I swallowed. I was doing this for her. Marrying Mr Darcy would make Jane's life better. Even as I thought this, I felt Darcy take my cold hand and slip his ring on my finger. I stared at it and would have closed my hand over it to see how it felt, but Darcy kept my hand in his. Then the vicar pronounced the words, and we were husband and wife.

  Mr and Mrs Darcy.

  13

  "It will not take much longer to get there."

  I raised my head from where it rested against the window and blinked at my new husband.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Darcy nodded towards the window. "We would be there already if it were not for the rain. But I calculate it is not too much further. Perhaps an hour."

  "Oh." I nodded and didn't know what else to say to continue the conversation. They were the first words we had exchanged since we climbed into the carriage and pulled away from Longbourn, my mother and sisters running alongside and waving to us. My parting with Jane had been especially painful.

  Darcy smiled slightly. "You took me to task at the Netherfield ball when you told me we must have some conversation. You said it was sometimes best to talk by rule if we could not do so naturally."

  "I recall." I twisted the heavy, unfamiliar ring on my finger. I was a little taken aback that he remembered my words so precisely. I had thought he would resent them. "Forgive me. I am tired. It has been a long day."

  "Your parting with your family must have been difficult."

  "It was always going to be difficult." I twisted the ring around and around.

  "You are sorry you wear it?" Darcy's voice was sharp.

  I raised my head to see his dark eyes boring into mine, and some of my old defiance rushed back. It was a welcome relief from the grey fog I seemed to have walked around in since my father died.

  "I was contemplating the newness of it, sir," I snapped. "I am sure every new bride finds it takes some getting used to. We will have a long life together if you will take offence to my every minute action."

  "Most brides do not merely endure their husbands," said Darcy. He folded his arms, and though he appeared outwardly calm, I could see the resentment radiating from him.

  "I cannot pity you too much there, sir. You repeatedly insisted that you needed to marry me out of some misplaced guilt. You knew it would not be a love match. We are two ill-suited people who must muddle through together and make the best of things. You endure me as much as I endure you."

  I folded my arms and stared back at him, challenging him to respond. In truth, the rush of anger was a welcome relief. It was good to feel something lively again, even if it was an argument with my new husband within hours of being wed.

  Darcy stared at me for a long moment then shrugged and turned to the window.

  "No doubt, you are right."

  He lapsed into silence again and remained so for the rest of the journey.

  The sky had grown dark by the time we arrived in Grosvenor Square. Darcy's magnificent townhouse rose above us, overlooking a pretty garden. This was my house now. I was mistress of this place. I felt a thrill of satisfaction I could not quite conquer as Darcy led me up the steps and introduced me to the waiting staff. I nodded and smiled and tried to look like a happy bride even as I tried to memorise their names. So many new faces to remember.

  "Is Miss Darcy here?" I asked as he led me up the stairs to the drawing-room after ordering the housekeeper to bring us tea.

  "She will join us in a few days. Until then, she remains with my aunt and uncle Fitzwilliam."

  I sank with relief into the plush pale blue sofa and reached my hands towards the crackling fire.

  "I wonder she is not here to greet me sooner," I said.

  "Did you wish it? She is eager to meet you, but I thought…" He pressed his lips closed and moved towards the fire to stoke it, sending a welcome blast of heat into the room. "Newly married couples usually wish to spend a few days alone together before receiving visitors," he said, still keeping his head bent towards the fire. "They are not willing to share one another right away. I assumed you would not like people to know we married for practical purposes?"

  I stared at his broad back, my mouth open in astonishment. I had not thought about that at all. It never entered my head to wonder what ot
hers would think of our marriage. Did I wish people to look at me with pity because I married a man who felt sorry for me? That I did it for selfish reasons to secure my family's future? If someone had asked me a few weeks ago, I would have tossed my head and claimed I did not care what anyone else thought of my reasons for doing something. It was easy to say so at home in the bosom of my family when I would not have imagined ever being in such a situation. But it was not a luxury I had now. Now, people knowing the truth about our marriage made me feel a curious surge of dread. The thought of entering dinner parties and seeing heads bent towards one another to whisper behind fans. Miss Bingley's contempt at knowing we did not love one another. No, this marriage would be challenging enough without having to contend with such matters.

  "I — no, I would not like that. But what do you propose we do? That we behave as a normal married couple when others are present?"

  Darcy stopped playing with the fire. He replaced the stoke and turned to face me, his hands clasped behind his back.

  "Something of the sort," he said. His eyes finally met mine. "But it will be necessary to pretend more than that. We are newlyweds, Mrs Darcy. People will believe we married for love. They will expect us to be besotted with one another."

  "I — see." I nodded and tried to look unconcerned though I felt my cheeks flush. "And what would that entail? How does a besotted couple behave?”

  Darcy raised his eyebrows, and I blushed at my ignorance.

  "My parents did not have a demonstrative marriage," I said quickly. "The only couple I ever saw who was besotted were…" I caught myself just in time before I said Jane and Mr Bingley. "… were not at a point of being married," I finished. "There was no engagement, so what affection they could show was limited."