Georgiana blushed.
Lydia smiled at her.
“You’re welcome,” Georgiana said, and her voice was just a tad above a whisper.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Months passed, and Elizabeth was shocked to see the change that overcame both Lydia and Georgiana. As unlikely as it might have seemed, the girls became close friends, and they were never out of each other’s company. It seemed that their opposite natures did in fact work to bring out the best in both of them. Georgiana reined in Lydia’s crazier schemes, and Lydia inspired Georgiana to be more open and talkative.
She thought that Lydia probably simply missed having her sisters, especially Kitty, who would follow Lydia anywhere, even though she was older. She had truly been Lydia’s protege. Georgiana wasn’t a Kitty substitute, however. She held Lydia in high regard, but she would not follow her anywhere. And Lydia did not see herself as a leader. She respected and admired Georgiana, and she wanted to be a polished lady as well. Her drawing had vastly improved, as had her French. She even had a bit of Latin. At the piano, however, she was still hopeless, and Miss Thackerey had given up trying to force her to practice anymore.
“We can’t all be good at everything,” Lydia was fond of saying.
Finally, Miss Thackerey, who seemed to be of the mind that Lydia was wrong, seemed to agree.
They went into half-mourning.
More months passed. The summer days began to wane and grow colder, the air began to grow more crisp. Autumn came.
And they were no longer mourning at all.
During all these months, Elizabeth had seen little of Mr. Darcy. He was a presence at meals, of course, but he never wanted to do anything alone with Elizabeth. No walks or rides or talks. He went on several long trips for business, each lasting for several weeks, and during that time, she did not see him at all. When she did see him, he was always polite and kind to her. Sometimes, she even caught him looking at her with an expression she could almost term a longing one. But looks and polite conversation were as far as their relationship progressed.
She knew why it was. It was what she had done with Wickham. It had poisoned Mr. Darcy against her. He was willing to marry her out of kindness and duty, but whatever had possessed him to propose to her in the first place was gone. She could see that.
It made her a bit sad, but she would manage.
She should have known that Mr. Darcy was a proud man, for all his generosity. He would not give his heart lightly.
And yet, she had come to feel rather comfortable at Pemberley, for all its expanse and formidableness. She thought that it would be all right, even though she did not love her husband and he did not love her. She would have a good life here, and she would be able to help her sisters.
After all, look at the change wrought in Lydia. If it weren’t for Mr. Darcy, such a thing should not have been possible. Elizabeth hoped that she could continue to do such good deeds.
One day, Mr. Darcy came to her to speak of plans for the wedding.
She told him that she didn’t want a lot of fuss, and that it could be quite simple.
He nodded to this and there was no more discussion. A date was set, a few weeks hence.
The housekeeper sought out Elizabeth one day. “I must say, madam, you have not come to me yet with your ideas for the place.”
“Ideas?” said Elizabeth. “What ideas should I have?”
“Well, you may wish to redecorate heavily once you are the mistress of Pemberley.”
Elizabeth could not imagine doing so. “Why, no, I think that everything is quite perfect as it is.”
“And perhaps the way that meals are done is not to your liking. Or perhaps you will want to alter the staff. Or perhaps you shall have some ideas about how to change the order in which we do the cleaning.”
“No, indeed,” said Elizabeth. “I rather like things exactly as they are. I would only ask that you come to me if you have some sort of change you want to implement.”
The housekeeper eyed her warily. “That is all? Truly?”
“Truly,” said Elizabeth, wondering if she had done something wrong. She was not utterly ignorant in all the things necessary for running a household, of course, and she knew that when she was the mistress of the house, there would be things she would need to see to, especially if there were to be a dinner party or a ball. But in all her time at Pemberley, there had been neither of these things, and she was given to understand from the lack of them that they were rare. Everything else had run so smoothly that Elizabeth doubted she could improve it. She was quite pleased with things as they stood at Pemberley.
“Well, if this is the case, then we shall all soldier on. Do let me know if you change your mind.”
“Of course,” said Elizabeth. “And if there are decisions that need to be made in which you need my input, never hesitate to ask.”
The housekeeper took her leave of her, and nothing more was said on the subject.
The date of the wedding approached. Elizabeth realized that the details had not been worked out and she went to speak to Mr. Darcy, wanting to inquire about where the wedding would take place and about lodging for her family.
But Mr. Darcy only said that since she had said that she didn’t want a fuss, he had assumed that she did not need anyone to come. After all, he said, they would visit them soon, and they would scarce see anyone during the wedding.
Elizabeth could have argued this. In fact, at one point in time in her life, she probably would have been outraged that he could assume such a thing. She would have demanded that she be permitted to send out letters of invitation and that Jane and the Gardiners at least be permitted to come and stay for the wedding. But she didn’t argue. She accepted it and said that it was very good. There was no need for a fuss, after all.
Why didn’t she fight? Perhaps because she still felt guilty over Mr. Wickham. Perhaps because she chided herself that she couldn’t expect much else from Mr. Darcy, who knew all and prepared all without a word of advice from others. Perhaps because she didn’t see the point in any of it. What did it matter? This marriage was an inevitability, and she was not resistant to it. But neither did she look forward to it especially either. Though a woman’s wedding day should be a special day, Elizabeth didn’t attach much significance to it.
The day came. They were married in the morning in a simple ceremony attended by a few neighbors, most of which Elizabeth had not met. Miss Thackerey served as a witness and Mr. Darcy used their nearby neighbor, Mr. Whitby, as another. After the ceremony, they came home to a wedding breakfast attended by no one other than the typical members of the household.
Lydia commented on it. “Why did no one from the wedding come back to breakfast? Look at all this room. It isn’t as though we couldn’t have fit them in.”
“I suppose because no one invited them,” said Miss Thackerey.
Elizabeth winced. Was she supposed to do that? She was the mistress of the house, was she not, and if there was to be a meal held at the house, she needed to oversee it. But she had never heard of a woman having to plan her own breakfast. Usually, there was someone else to do it. Usually, her mother. And of course, Elizabeth did not have a mother anymore. The thought made her feel like lead.
“It’s much nicer this way,” said Mr. Darcy, seated next to Elizabeth. “I’d rather not be assaulted with so much chatter, I tell you.” He turned to her. “Is this not what you expressed to me as your wishes, madam?”
Elizabeth licked her lips. Once again, she was presented the option of crossing him, telling him what she thought, even though it was not what he wanted to hear. She took the easier path. “Indeed, sir. Exactly to my taste.”
They barely made a dent in the wedding cake.
* * *
After breakfast, Mr. Darcy thought that his wedding day stretched out rather abominably ahead of him. He was not sure what to do with himself. It seemed wrong to concern himself with other business on that day of all days. He supposed he should be spend
ing it with his new wife. But he felt as though this woman at his side was a stranger. She now shared his name and would be part of his life for always, and he barely knew how to behave with her.
In his mind’s eye, he went back to happier times. He turned over memories of their first meetings. He remembered her at the Meryton Assembly, across the room in the crowd, her cheeks flushed and her eyes twinkling, laughing louder than anyone in the room. At the time, he had thought her impropriety writ large. Truly, she had been. But there had been something eliciting about that impropriety.
Before long, it had begun to charm him. When she arrived at Netherfield with muddy skirts, heedless to anything but the well-being of her sister, he was already falling under her spell. And then, trading loaded words with her, hearing how she slung words like arrows, but not in a malicious way. Instead, she was simply having fun, enjoying herself, enjoying everyone else. To Elizabeth, everything was in jest.
Even the way she had teased him when they had danced at the Netherfield Ball had been borne of her sense of humor. She had chided him, but lightly, genially. That woman… that was the woman he had fallen for.
The woman who sat next to him now, she was the same and yet she was not.
And, in all honesty, he was no good conversing with others under the best of circumstances. With his new wife, though, he was hopeless.
If she had been the old Elizabeth, she would have drawn him out. Now, Mr. Darcy, she might have said. It is customary for a groom to have something to say. Perhaps if you were to remark upon the moistness of the cake, and then by and by, I can say that we must give our compliments to the cook.
He cleared his throat.
She looked at him.
“The, er, cake is quite moist,” he said.
“Yes,” she said absently, though she hadn’t been eating her piece of cake. Rather, she seemed to be cutting it with her fork and pushing the pieces around her plate.
“I am…” He licked his lips. “I am pleased that we are finally married.”
“As am I,” she said, smiling perfunctorily at him.
Dash it all, it was going to be an interminable day.
He was right. It was. Because of the size of breakfast, and the fact that it had been served late in the day, there was no luncheon that day, and there was not a large dinner either, but a cold supper set out around dusk.
Getting from breakfast to supper seemed to Mr. Darcy a herculean feat that they would not be able to accomplish. He was rather certain this day would stretch on into eternity, and that they should be trapped in it for all time. Every time he glanced up at the sun, it would seem that it had not moved in the sky. Time stood still.
Finally, after what seemed like several centuries, supper came.
Afterward, Elizabeth did not join the other women in the sitting room and he did not have port. He went upstairs and began to pace.
This was it. His one further task for the day. His duty as a husband.
His valet came in, jocular and laughing, but Darcy did not rise to the jokes, and soon the valet fell silent. After he had assisted Mr. Darcy into his bedclothes, he asked his master if he were, in fact, feeling all right.
Darcy said that he was, of course.
“I expect it’s just nerves,” said his valet, clapping him on the shoulder. “Perhaps some brandy?”
“No,” said Darcy. “No, thank you. I don’t need to fog my mind.”
When he made it to his bedchamber, Elizabeth was already there.
She sat up in bed, the blankets at her chin. She was wearing a bed cap and her hair was plaited into a long braid. He could not help but think she looked rather like a grandmother, despite her smooth, young skin.
When he sat down next to her, he realized she was trembling.
He sprang up from the bed immediately, feeling shamed at the idea he was causing her any discomfort. Of course, he knew that he would probably cause her worse discomfort during the course of his doing his duty. He had never been with a maiden before, but he knew that it could be painful for them. He felt squeamish about the prospect of all of it. “Miss Bennet—that is, Mrs. Darcy—hang it all, shall I call you Elizabeth?”
“Whatever you wish, sir,” she whispered.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Yes, I am fine,” she said. Her eyes were the size of tea cup saucers.
“You don’t seem it.”
“Well, I have had no one to discuss this with. I have no mother, as you well know, and there is no one in the house who I felt I could confide in. None of the other women have any experience, of course, so I have been forced to try to figure out what I could from books, and I must say, Mr. Darcy, there are some volumes in your library which are quite shocking.”
Mr. Darcy choked. “Oh, you found those.” He sat back down on the bed. Lowering his voice, he said, “Yes, I discovered them when I was not more than twelve. The effect it had on my boyish brain…” He shook his head. “But you needn’t worry. It’s not like that, not really.”
She swallowed. “Yes, of course, because you have done this before. Because for some reason, it is all right for men to come to the marriage bed with experience, but women are to be kept entirely ignorant.”
“Well, it’s not a great deal of experience,” he said. Then he thought that might not be reassuring. “But enough. I know enough not to hurt you. I am reasonably sure I can even make it pleasant.” He grimaced, looking at his knuckles. “At least, I think so.”
She said nothing.
He glanced at her, and she did not look reassured. “I apologize.” He got up from the bed. “Truly, if you could simply forget that I said any of that.”
She still did not respond. She had gathered handfuls of the bed covers up in her fists. She was squeezing them very tightly.
He wandered away from the bed, cursing himself under his breath.
It was quiet for some time.
Eventually, he turned back to look at her. She looked much the same as she had only moments before. He did not know what to do, but he knew he must do something. She’s frightened, he said to himself. Soothe her. Reassure her.
Ah, but how was such a thing done? When it came down to it, he’d had no one to speak to of this either. He squared his shoulders and came back to the bed. He sat down next to her again, and he reached out to take her hand.
For a moment, she would not relinquish her grip on the bed covers, but then she did take his hand again. Her hand was shaking.
He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and make it all right. But he simply held her hand. He made his voice soft. “It is all right, Miss—Elizabeth. I swear to you, it will be all right.”
“I am not the one who is delaying it, sir,” she said, lifting her chin. “You are the one who has been jumping around and staring out of windows.”
He raised his eyebrows and then let out a surprised laugh. “Yes, well, excuse me for that.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “I think you regret having ever proposed to me.”
“No, why would you say such a thing?” He cursed himself again, for letting his uncertainties show. Indeed, he did not regret this. Some part of him was quite pleased in his choice of wife, and the fact that she was in his bed, well, there was part of him that was nearly giddy over it.
“It was a madness that overtook you at Rosings. Or perhaps because you saw me talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam and it made me appear more appealing than it had before. After all, that first night at the ball in Meryton, you did not even wish to dance with me.”
“I assure you, it had nothing to do with Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“But you did say that I haunted you,” she said. “So, perhaps you were temporarily relieved of your wits. I am sorry for it, sir. I am sorry to have trapped you here with me, and with the responsibilities of my sisters—”
“Hush,” he said. “I do not find fault with you. That is not why I was walking about the room.”
“You do not have to lie to me, sir.
I know there are many faults to find. What happened with Mr. Wickham—”
“No.” He vaulted back to his feet. “Not his name. Do not speak his name on our wedding night.”
“Mr. Darcy, if you only know how sorry I am—”
“I do not wish to speak of that,” he said, and he fairly roared it in her face. The force of his rage surprised him.
She cowered, flinching from him.
He felt ashamed of himself and he began mumbling apologies.
She told him it was all right, but she was shaking worse than she had been at the outset of this endeavor.
He thrust his hands in his hair. “Perhaps this is not the time for this.”
“For what?” she said in a tiny voice.
“For… consummation,” he said.
“But it is our wedding night. We are meant to… to be together. We have to do this.”
“Indeed, we do not. It is not a law or a commandment. We can… ease into it. It could take, oh, many nights, weeks even before we…”
She was visibly relieved. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he said, and he sat down and took her hand in his again. He squeezed it. “I am so very sorry for botching all of this so badly.”
“You… no, sir, you are always so kind to me. And I don’t deserve it.” She was starting to cry.
He reached out and brushed a tear away from her cheek. “Don’t cry, please. I can’t bear it if I make you cry.”
She struggled to smile.
He leaned forward, meaning to plant a quick kiss on her lips, just a peck, something almost brotherly. But even that was too much for him, and he had to settle for kissing her forehead instead.
When he pulled away, she gazed up at him gratefully. She was so happy that he was not going to touch her.
Dash it all, it made him feel like an ogre.
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