by Meg Osborne
The doors flew open and the noisy crowd bustled in, followed by a short pause during which time Darcy felt his bravado falter just a little, and was forced to acknowledge, if only within the confines of his own mind, that he was indeed a little nervous. At last, he beheld Elizabeth entering, and his eyes would not move from her for the duration of the short ceremony. She looked beautiful, and yet so perfectly herself that he realised again that their decision to wed in London was quite the best. It was a simple wedding, not the grand occasion he had half imagined being foisted upon him when he did decide to marry, and he could nought but own he was glad of its simplicity. But a few moments more and the vows were said, and the new Mr and Mrs Darcy turned to be welcomed by their grouped family and friends.
Sitting down to the wedding breakfast, Darcy, at last, was able to tear his eyes away from his new bride, certain by the light pressure of her hand in his that she remained by his side. He ceded the right to make a speech to Richard, and to Mr Bennet, who, after rather more brandy than was entirely polite at so early an hour, found himself overcome with the desire to share his thoughts on this “most surprising match”, and was met with several peals of laughter and much rejoicing from everyone present. When Richard stood to speak, he began by lifting a pile of notes from where they had been deposited on a tray by a servant.
“Many of your acquaintances despaired over the speed with which you have married,” he began, clearing his throat. “And so I wager you will have an interminably long tour of the country in order to visit them all in the new year.”
Everybody laughed, for Darcy’s intention to retire to Pemberley and remain there, in comfortable solitude, was fast becoming a running joke within the crowd. Even he found Richard’s teasing amusing, and the scowl that usually darkened his features was nowhere to be seen.
“And here is something mysterious!” Richard said, lifting another note to his eyes. “This arrived without a postmark and was, I believe, slipped into the very hand of your housekeeper in person this morning.” His eyes scanned the gathered group, as if seeking out the mischief-maker from among them. “I do not doubt them especially offended not to have warranted an invitation, if they were in London themselves and might otherwise have been amongst us. Anyway, let us hear what words of joy they have for the bride and groom.” He cleared his throat. “To the inimitable Mr Darcy and his new bride, I must offer you my most hearty congratulations on your new state and only pray that wedded bliss finds you as contented a man as you deserve, certainly I have been denied the experience myself and thus can offer no suggestions as to the maintenance of a happy home.” He paused, frowning at the strange sentiment. “And yet, as you excel in all that you do I can only imagine you will find marriage all you deserve, William. Your friend, G.” Richard turned the letter over, in case there was a further clue as to the note’s author, and finding nothing, he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, the fellow must remain nameless, unless you are aware of a mythical G who would seek to advise you when he acknowledges his own lack of experience!” He laughed, though the sound was somewhat forced, and dropped the note to the table-top, hurriedly reaching for the next in the pile. Darcy’s eyes strayed to the mystery letter, and his heart sank. He had recognised the tone, read the identity of its author in the few, mysterious words. The handwriting merely confirmed his suspicions. So, George Wickham does not seek entirely to avoid me, he thought, his lips turning down in a grimace. He seeks to bait me, even now.
The slight pressure on his hand increased, and he turned to meet Elizabeth’s unspoken question with a vague smile. Her dark eyes were dimmed in concern, and he sought to silently reassure her, though this time his smile, which had until that moment felt more natural to him than any such expression had in the past, took effort, and he felt sure that she noticed. Her fingers withdrew the merest fraction from his, and he turned his attention back to Richard, feeling a wave of anger that even in his absence, Wickham still possessed the power to undermine his happiness.
Chapter Six
“I still think it a pity we could not attend the wedding yesterday, Caro,” Charles Bingley remarked, staring dolefully out of the window into the bustling London street.
“It was better avoided,” Caroline said with a sniff. “Did Mr Darcy not intimate he wished for it to be attended by family only? Even poor Georgiana did not plan to attend.”
“Yes.” Charles frowned. “How peculiar that Darcy would not want his own sister present.”
“Perhaps she was the one who refused,” Caroline said, maliciously. “After all, Lady Catherine de Bourgh has already come out as entirely disapproving of so unequal a match: perhaps Georgiana shares their aunt’s view.”
Something about her tone made Charles look up.
“That is not kind, Caroline.”
“It is neither kind nor unkind, I merely speak the truth,” she said, with a philosophical shrug. “I, myself, cannot see the wisdom in the union. I am pleased that at least certain members of Mr Darcy’s family are in agreement. I am unsurprised that Mr and Mrs Bennet and their passel of daughters are in full support. They must know that it is quite a step up for Eliza to have secured such a gentleman as Mr Darcy.”
She stopped speaking, suddenly fearing that her sharp tone betrayed not her detached, sensible view of the marriage, but permitted her brother to see her true feelings, that she regretted the wedding for altogether more personal reasons. The feeling had settled heavily on her when she woke the previous morning. This is Mr Darcy’s wedding day. It might have been mine, if that wretched Eliza Bennet had not bewitched him and spoiled all my hopes. No, she would not - could not - go to their wedding and smile and wish them a hearty congratulations when in truth she wished to strike Elizabeth and hoped Darcy would come to rue the day he had allowed himself to be so easily led away from the altogether happier, more sensible match that he might have had with her.
Charles had returned his gaze to the street, and Caroline began to perceive the notion that he was not merely witnessing the passing foot traffic but looking for someone. She drew a long breath. Their not attending the wedding had had a second, rather more essential reason behind it: she wished to prevent Charles from crossing paths with Jane Bennet once more. It had completely escaped her notice, when she suggested their removal to London, that Jane Bennet would follow them: or, rather, follow her sister. How could she have been so careless as to forget that would be the case? Still, it cemented her position that the wedding must be avoided. Jane Bennet would return home with her family, and then they might call on the newly married Mr and Mrs Darcy once there was safely a county’s distance between her brother and Elizabeth’s sister.
“Is there something of particular interest in the street, Charles?” Caroline asked, sweetly.
“Eh?” Her brother glanced up again, blushing slightly at having been caught in such careful concentration. “No, nothing really. You know me, I just like to watch the world go by.” He smiled, but the expression was not at all genuine. Not for the first time, Caroline felt a flash of guilt at what she was doing. It is for his own good, she reminded herself. Her brother deserved better from his marriage than Jane Bennet, even if he could not see it at this point. She knew better, and she would do what was required to keep him from making such a foolish mistake as his friend.
“Perhaps we might call on the -” he began.
“The Kents?” Caroline interposed, knowing full well the friends Charles had been poised to name had certainly not been the couple she had suggested.
Charles blinked, frowning slightly.
“The - Kents?” he asked, faintly. “Oh, yes. I suppose we might, if you wish it...”
Caroline let out a relieved exhalation. Sir Stephen and Lady Kent had two daughters as well as their son, Roderick, who was almost as wide as he was tall and whose ruddy red cheeks were framed by fierce whiskers. He was not a patch on Mr Darcy in terms of attractiveness, Caroline was forced to concede, but he was, if it could be believed, wealthier, and would
stand to inherit a title to boot, upon the demise of his poor father. His sisters, too, were altogether more agreeable prospects for Charles than Jane Bennet, being quiet and polite and eminently ladylike. They were not as beautiful as she was, naturally, and both lacked the ability to make anything of their plain features. Even with the wealth they had at their disposal, they were never dressed fashionably, but perhaps she, Caroline, might be able to assist them in that. If she could prove herself valuable to the family that would no doubt fix her in good standing with their brother, and then...!
“Is something the matter?”
Caroline froze, lifting a guilty gaze to her brother.
“You look as if you might be in pain, Caroline,” Bingley said, with an amused lilt, at last, lifting his voice from the unhappy sigh it had been since they arrived in London. “You are grimacing in a manner you surely learned from Darcy, during our time together at Netherfield. Come, tell me your troubles, for you surely know mine and have been a most kind, patient sister in helping to solve them.”
“You are mistaken,” Caroline said, hurriedly smoothing her features into a smile. “I am quite well. I was merely reflecting on your idea to call on the Kents. I think it a fine plan, and one we must execute right away. Shall we not call on them this very afternoon? We might pass through Regent’s Park on our journey, as well, and take some air.”
Her voice softened, then, for she cared for her brother very much, and did not like to see him upset, even when she was the cause and might, with but a few words and a single visit, resolve his conflicted feelings. Unfortunately, that would also end in a most undesirable engagement, and I am certainly not about to permit that in order to lift Charles’ spirits. No, we must find another way. The admiring smiles of the Miss Kents ought to go some way to soothing her brother, for Charles was an optimistic, happy fellow and would not be brought low for very long, Caroline was sure of that.
ELIZABETH WOKE EARLY the morning after the wedding and hurried to dress. Her room was elegant, and she was touched to see the small ways Darcy had attempted to make it welcoming to her. There were dried flowers scenting the air, and a selection of books on one end-table. She lifted one and cracked the spine, surprised to see that it was new. She replaced it on top of its brothers with a warm smile. How thoughtful he was, and how well he knew her!
Her heart sank a little, then, when she recalled the previous evening. Their guests had stayed late, celebrating and happy, but at last, they had gone and Darcy and Elizabeth were left alone. She had been unsure what their arrangements might be that evening, considering that they were both still holding to the pretence of their marriage being only a formal arrangement. She had allowed herself to be swept up in the romance of it, fancying she saw genuine affection in Darcy’s features when their eyes met and they exchanged their vows. She had continued in the dream until Colonel Fitzwilliam’s speech at their wedding breakfast, when he began reading notes that had been sent by friends and family unable to attend the ceremony but still wishing to pass on their congratulations. They had been taken with pleasure and good humour, as they were intended, until one was read that cause Darcy’s face to fall into a frown. Elizabeth had tried to ask him about it, both at the time and later in the evening, and on both occasions received nought but a short dismissal and an attempt to change the subject. It had been then that he had escorted her to her room. There was a door, he had muttered, that connected between this and the room behind it, which was his, but - and this was a point he was very clear on - the door was locked and the key would remain in her possession. Things may differ, he had said, at Pemberley, but this seems a suitable arrangement for the time being. And with a stern nod, he had departed, leaving her alone.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and forced herself to smile.
Well, Elizabeth, this was the agreement you made. And in any case, being given a room of your own, with new books and the promise of Pemberley in the future is far and away more enticing than anything that might have been yours, had you been forced to wed Mr Collins. Suitably cheered by this thought, she beckoned her lady’s maid in, and hurried to dress. She took her time walking down to breakfast, admiring the art that Darcy had chosen for display and running her fingertips over the delicately carved wooden furniture that lined the walls. Despite her slow progress, it was still early when she reached the dining room, so she was started to see Darcy already there, with a small pile of letters to his right.
“Good morning,” she said, affecting a cheerfulness she did not entirely feel. It was strange how shy she felt, now faced with the man who had become her husband.
Darcy pushed his chair back, standing to greet her.
“Good morning, Miss - Mrs - Elizabeth.” He smiled, and Elizabeth’s shyness vanished. He was still the same Darcy, the same man she had come to respect and appreciate and - but never mind that. He was looking at her expectantly, and she felt the sudden sense that he had asked her a question that demanded an answer, and she had missed it.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked, sliding into her seat, and watching him echo her motion.
“I enquired as to whether you slept well last night? I trust the room was - that is, that you were comfortable?”
“Very,” Elizabeth said, with a smile. “It is a perfect room: the very one I might have chosen for myself, had I been asked.”
This answer evidently pleased Darcy, for his returning smile stayed in place, settling around the edges of his lips.
“And I must thank you for the books,” Elizabeth continued, reaching for a cup of tea. “You are very kind.”
“Kind, nothing!” Darcy said, with a short laugh. “I think it well within a husband’s rights to be able to purchase a novel or two for his wife.”
Elizabeth delighted to hear the words trip so naturally from his lips.
“What plans do you have for the day?” she asked, nodding towards his pile of letters. “You must not allow me to keep you from your tasks.”
“Tasks?” With one motion, Darcy swept the pile of letters aside. “I was merely marking time until you joined me. I am entirely at your service today. What would you most like to do? We might take a walk, for I well recall your fondness for activity. You must be aching for some greenery.” He cast a rueful glance towards the window. “Perhaps we might visit one of the parks? St James’, or Regent’s.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“I should like that very much!”
“We might call on your family, if you wish it, too?” There was a light in Darcy’s eyes and for a moment, Lizzy could not tell if his suggestion was a serious one or an attempt at humour. “Despite what you may imagine of me, I do know the way to Cheapside.”
Elizabeth laughed, certain, now, that he had been making a joke.
“You mean you did not have your fill of Bennet attention yesterday?” she teased, filling her plate. She was suddenly ravenous, and her spirits, which had flirted with being downcast that morning at last felt suitably lifted. She recalled to mind Darcy’s assertion, in his proposal, that even if they did not possess the sweeping affection popularised by romances they were friends, and could well enjoy one another’s company.
“I weathered it as well as any man might, on the day he is married,” he conceded. “But I am also aware that this is all so sudden a change for you that you might be eager to see familiar faces once more.” He placed his knife and fork together, neatly, on his plate and laced his fingers together beneath his chin. “Did not you wish for Jane to stay in London? She is more than welcome to stay here, rather than with your aunt and uncle, if it would please you. We can send a carriage for her belongings today, if you wish?”
“You are very kind,” Lizzy began. “But just yesterday, Jane suggested that she would, in fact, prefer to return to Hertfordshire with our family.” Her heart sank. “I had so wished for her to stay here, but...”
News of Mr Bingley’s arrival in London precipitated Jane’s leaving, I am sure of it! She a
ttacked her food with her knife, slicing with rather more ferocity than was necessary. Despite her plan to reunite the pair on neutral ground, Jane had insisted she would not care to see him again, and in fact the very thought of staying near where she knew him to be caused her so much anxiety that she would very much prefer to be at home again, if it would not disappoint her sister greatly.
“In that case,” Darcy said, after a moment of quiet contemplation. “I will send just one letter this morning, before we take our leave.”
Chapter Seven
While Elizabeth retired momentarily to ready herself for their proposed walk, Darcy retreated to his study, dashing off a quick note that he had intended to write at some point within the next few days and now proceeded to with all haste.
My dear Anne, he wrote. Thank you for your congratulations on our wedding. I felt certain neither you nor Aunt Catherine might be pressed to attend, but was pleased nonetheless to receive your words. I wish to formally invite you to visit with us just as soon as you are able. I am quite sure you were already aware of my hospitality, but now I ask that you might come as soon as you can. I know Elizabeth is eager for some companionship, and to have you under our roof would be pleasing to us both. Please come. William.
He knew it likely that Anne would have a battle on her hands in proposing her plan to visit the new Mr and Mrs Darcy to her mother, but he felt strangely confident that nonetheless, she would succeed. Whilst Lady Catherine could be overbearing, he had been pleasantly surprised to see the ways in which Anne managed to wrest back a little of her independence, whether it merely be the independence of thought and feeling from her mother’s dominant clutches. It would do her good to be in London and out of Lady Catherine’s reach, at least for a little while.