Chapter 21
T he soft winter morning dawned crisp and clear, the sun casting its golden rays over the frosted landscape. Elizabeth stood before her small mirror in her bedroom at Longbourn, smoothing her hands over the delicate fabric of her new gown. The dress, a gift from her aunt Gardiner, was a pale blue muslin with intricate white embroidery along the hem and bodice. The elegant simplicity of it made her feel both beautiful and out of place.
Jane stood beside her, a vision in soft peach, her serene smile steadying Elizabeth’s fluttering nerves. “You look lovely, Lizzy,” Jane said gently. “Aunt Gardiner chose perfectly.”
Elizabeth forced a smile, willing herself to believe it. “If Aunt Gardiner hadn’t sent these, I shudder to think what we might have worn.”
“It was kind of Mr. Darcy to bring them back from London,” Jane replied. “I do hope our aunt isn’t disappointed about not gifting them to us herself at Christmas.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Bennet burst in, beaming with excitement. “Oh, my dears, how radiant you both look! And to think—two daughters married in one day! Mr. Bennet, we are so blessed!” Her chatter was incessant, oblivious to the tension in Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Now, Lizzy, do try to look cheerful. We don’t want Mr. Darcy to see you frowning on your wedding day.”
Elizabeth nodded, letting her mother fuss with her hair before she finally swept from the room again, leaving the sisters in relative peace before they all bundled into the carriage and made the short journey to the church.
The chapel was modestly adorned with evergreen garlands and white ribbons, a reflection of the hurried nature of the event. The attendees were few: Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty, Lydia, Mr. and Mrs. Philips, the Lucases, and Georgiana Darcy, whose youthful excitement was a sharp contrast to the somber atmosphere of Bingley’s mourning.
Darcy stood at the front of the church, his tall frame rigid, his face impassive but his eyes betraying his tension. He was dressed sharply in a dark coat, his cravat tied to perfection, and his expression unreadable as he looked straight ahead. As Elizabeth approached, she felt his gaze shift to her, and the weight of it settled heavily on her shoulders.
For the briefest of moments, she thought she caught a flicker of something in his eyes—admiration? Tenderness? But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual stoicism. Her heart sank.
The ceremony began, its solemnity underscored by the rector’s low, measured tones. She glanced sideways at Jane, who radiated quiet serenity, her hand brushing against Mr. Bingley’s as they waited for the rector to begin. Elizabeth envied her sister’s peace of mind. For Jane, this was a love match—Bingley’s open adoration left no room for doubt. For Elizabeth… her thoughts stalled as her gaze flickered toward Darcy on her left.
The words of the ceremony washed over her in a haze. She tried to focus on them, but her mind whirled with uncertainty and doubt. Darcy’s presence beside her was overpowering, a tangible force that filled the entire church like a storm cloud, ready to unleash; formidable, but somehow life-giving, too. She was keenly aware of every movement he made—the faint twitch of his hand, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the occasional glance he cast in her direction.
When the moment came for her to speak, her throat felt dry, and her pulse hammered in her ears. She hesitated, just for a breath, before forcing herself to say the words. “I do.”
The pause was so slight she doubted anyone else noticed it, but Darcy’s head turned fractionally toward her, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. Elizabeth’s chest tightened. Did he think her unwilling? Did he know how torn she felt, how desperate she was to reconcile the conflicting emotions that had plagued her since he proposed?
And then it was his turn. His response came swiftly, firmly: “I do.” There was no hesitation, no doubt. His tone carried a weight of conviction that surprised her, and she found herself glancing at him in surprise. He met her gaze briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the rector.
The ceremony concluded, and the finality of the moment settled heavily over her. They were married. No longer Elizabeth Bennet, but Mrs. Darcy. The thought sent a shiver through her, equal parts exhilaration and dread.
As they exited the church, Georgiana hurried to her brother’s side, her delight barely contained. “Oh, William, it was beautiful!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. “Elizabeth… I mean, Mrs. Darcy,” she corrected herself shyly, “you looked so lovely.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “Thank you, Georgiana. You are too kind.”
She received other similar congratulations as if in a dream. But I am wide awake, and a dream would mean this were a love match.
∞∞∞
The small party returned to Longbourn for a wedding breakfast. The event was kept modest, out of respect for Mr. Hurst’s recent passing, but Mrs. Bennet’s joy made it anything but subdued. “A wedding, and to such fine gentlemen! Oh, Mr. Bennet, how proud we must be!” she exclaimed, ignoring the mortification in Elizabeth’s expression.
Elizabeth could barely suppress her irritation. “Mama,” she said through gritted teeth, “this is not the time—”
“Oh, hush, Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet snapped, her voice shrill. “Would you ruin the happiest day of my life with your nonsense?”
Realizing that anything she said further would only escalate the situation, Elizabeth turned her attention to the food before her. The breakfast table was laden with a variety of delectable dishes, but the even that consolation was marred by Lydia’s petulance.
“I cannot believe Wickham ran off with that awful Caroline Bingley,” she huffed. “I thought he preferred me!”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth snapped, her voice sharper than intended. “Do you realize the danger he posed to us all? I was nearly—” She stopped short and looked to her mother and father. “Papa, please.”
“Lizzy is right, Lydia,” Mr. Bennet interjected, his tone stern. “You will not speak of that man again, and you will learn to curb your foolish tongue.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Lydia wailed, stamping her foot.
“And you will continue to do nothing in your room,” Mr. Bennet said firmly. “Go.”
Lydia stormed out, her skirts swishing dramatically as she went. Mrs. Bennet shook her head. “That girl will be the death of me.”
“Perhaps if you corrected her more often, she might have learned some sense,” Mr. Bennet muttered.
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy from the corner of her eye, feeling all the embarrassment of such a scene. The tension only increased when Mrs. Bennet loudly attempted to coax Georgiana to the pianoforte. Mary, who had been playing awkward scales, scowled as Mrs. Bennet bustled her off the bench.
The young woman turned pleading eyes to her brother. “Georgiana is far too shy to play in public,” Darcy said swiftly, rising to his sister’s defense. Georgiana’s cheeks burned crimson, and Elizabeth felt a pang of embarrassment for her mother’s behavior.
Charlotte Lucas lingered near Elizabeth, her eyes flickering with barely concealed envy. “Two sisters married on the same day,” she murmured. “How remarkable.”
Elizabeth hesitated, trying to deflect the comment. “It is a somber day, Charlotte. A man has died—”
Charlotte’s tone grew sharper. “And yet, you find yourselves marrying men of wealth and status; the most eligible bachelors in the county, in fact. A tragedy for some is fortune for others, is it not?”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush, but she bit back a retort. “I have no interest in such fortune,” she said quietly, but Charlotte merely gave her a superior, knowing look and moved away.
∞∞∞
The breakfast ended soon after, and Elizabeth retreated to her room to change and collect her valise. She paused at the threshold, her gaze sweeping over the familiar space that had been hers for so many years. The patchwork quilt on the bed, the well-worn books on the shelf, the little vase of flowers she had picked only days ago—all of it felt heartbreakingly small and comforting, filled with memories of laughter, arguments, and quiet solitude.
Her fingers brushed the edge of her writing desk, the place where she had scribbled so many thoughts and letters. It hit her, then, with the force of a wave crashing against the shore.
I will never be here again as Elizabeth Bennet. I am Mrs. Darcy now.
A sob rose unbidden in her throat, and she sank onto the edge of her bed, tears spilling down her cheeks. She pressed her palms to heated cheeks, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all—the loss of her independence, the uncertainty of her future, and the weight of marrying a man she barely understood. Burying her face in her hands, she gave way to her sorrow as sobs wracked her body.
“Elizabeth?”
Her head snapped up, her tear-streaked face meeting Darcy’s concerned gaze. He stepped into the room, his brows furrowing as he took in her disheveled appearance. He sat down heavily at her writing desk. “Are you… Is marriage to me truly so terrible?” he asked, looking up with haunted eyes.
Elizabeth didn’t know what to make of that look, but she knew that she didn’t want to be the reason it was there. She shook her head vehemently, her voice trembling. “No, it isn’t—please don’t think that. It’s just…” She gestured helplessly to the room around her. “This has been my home for so long, and now…”
“I see.” He studied her intently, his expression unreadable, but the fear was gone.
Before she could say more, Jane appeared in the doorway. “Lizzy, the carriage is ready.”
Elizabeth nodded, gathering her composure. She took one last look around her room, then followed Darcy and Jane downstairs, bracing herself for the journey ahead.
As the carriage rolled toward Netherfield, Elizabeth sat in silence, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words.
∞∞∞
Dinner at Netherfield was a subdued affair, the lively chatter that usually accompanied such occasions noticeably absent. The massive dining room only magnified the silence, particularly as Mrs. Nicholls had decided that a more intimate setting was appropriate for the light wedding supper, and had instructed the servants to leave the sumptuous spread on the buffet and then vacate entirely. The candles cast long, flickering shadows across faces masked in varying degrees of tension, fatigue, and grief.
Georgiana, sitting to Elizabeth’s right, made a valiant effort to maintain the conversation. “The flowers in the church were so lovely.” Her voice carried an almost childlike enthusiasm. “I’ve never seen such a delicate arrangement of garlands.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly, though her thoughts were far from the flowers. She nodded absently, her fork tracing the edge of her plate. “It was a beautiful ceremony,” she agreed, though her voice lacked its usual spark. Her thoughts wandered to the moments in the church—Darcy’s solemn expression, her own faltering hesitation as she said the words that bound them for life.
Jane and Bingley, at the other end of the table, seemed oblivious to the subdued mood. They exchanged quiet smiles and murmured to one another, their happiness forming a bubble that excluded everyone else. Elizabeth’s heart warmed to see Jane so content, but the sight also heightened her own sense of unease.
Darcy excused himself to retrieve another helping from the buffet. Mrs. Hurst, on Georgiana’s left, had barely touched her food. Her complexion was ashen, and the dark circles under her eyes betrayed a profound weariness. She held her fork limply, pushing a morsel of fish around her plate without ever lifting it to her lips.
Elizabeth hesitated before leaning toward her. “Mrs. Hurst, are you feeling well? Can I do anything for you?”
Mrs. Hurst’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “I think you’ve done quite enough, Miss Bennet,” she hissed coldly, her voice trembling with barely restrained anger. “If it weren’t for you, my husband would still be alive.”
Georgiana gasped, and Elizabeth winced. The accusation struck her like a physical blow. Her breath caught in her throat, and she blinked rapidly to push back the tears that threatened to spill. She forced herself to take a steadying breath; fortunately, Mrs. Hurst had spoken softly enough that only Elizabeth and Georgiana had heard her.
“If I could change what happened, I would,” Elizabeth said quietly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “I never meant to intrude. I only wanted to ensure your health doesn’t suffer.”
Her gaze drifted to Mrs. Hurst’s stomach, the faint swell just visible beneath her gown. Mrs. Hurst followed her eyes and stilled. For a moment, the two women simply looked at one another. Then Mrs. Hurst’s expression softened, and she sighed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s just… I’m so angry at Caroline, and she isn’t here for me to tell her…” Her words trailed away, and she gave a pitiful shrug.
Darcy returned with his plate and Georgiana relaxed, visibly grateful not to be the only person within earshot. Elizabeth nodded, her heart aching with sympathy. “I understand,” she said gently. “I know something about younger sisters behaving in less-than-appropriate ways.”
Mrs. Hurst let out a shaky laugh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “It seems we share that burden.”
Elizabeth’s lips quirked upward. “But while we cannot choose our family, we can choose our friends. And now you have the best sister in the world—Jane. I’m happy to share her, of course, though I might insist on a small leasing fee.”
A soft chuckle escaped Mrs. Hurst, the tension between them easing. She picked up her fork again and took a small bite of her food. “You’re very… direct, Miss Bennet.”
“Incorrigible, I’m told,” Elizabeth replied lightly, her tone inviting further laughter.
Mrs. Hurst’s lips curved into a faint smile, and she nodded. “Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth agreed, a playful twinkle in her eye.
The tension between the two women had vanished, and Mrs. Hurst took another tentative bite of her food. Satisfied, Elizabeth turned her attention back to her own plate, though she could feel Darcy’s gaze lingering on her. She resisted the urge to meet his eyes, focusing instead on the intricate pattern of her plate.
When the meal ended, Mrs. Hurst leaned toward Georgiana and whispered something in her ear. The younger woman nodded and rose, her cheeks tinged pink. “I think we shall retire,” Georgiana said softly. “It has been such a long day.”
Mrs. Hurst followed suit, murmuring her own excuses. The two slipped from the room, their absence scarcely noticed by Bingley and Jane. Elizabeth’s brow furrowed as she considered Mrs. Hurst’s lingering grief. She hoped the woman would find some peace in Georgiana’s gentle company.
Bingley glanced at Jane, his expression tender. “Should we retire as well, my love?”
Jane smiled shyly, her cheeks warming. “If you think it best. I would not like to be a poor hostess to your— our guests.”
“We are all family now, so technically you have no guests,” Elizabeth teased, attempting to mask her own uncertainty. “Everyone should call me Elizabeth, and we needn’t stand on ceremony at all. Go get the rest you need; do not delay on our account.”
Jane’s blush deepened, and Bingley beamed as he escorted her from the room.
Elizabeth watched them go, a pang of envy mingling with her happiness for her sister. The void they left behind in the quiet room made Elizabeth acutely aware of how she was now alone with Darcy.
They were married. The realization struck her like a lightning bolt: she and Darcy were married, and with that came certain… expectations. Her stomach twisted as she remembered her mother’s vague and clumsy advice. She had no idea what awaited her in that department; she’d no opportunity to ask her aunt Gardiner, whom she always planned to consult the day before some future wedding.
A wave of nervous energy coursed through her. Her thoughts began to spiral as she considered what the rest of the evening might entail. She had spent so much time focusing on the ceremony, the logistics, the immediate aftermath—she had scarcely allowed herself to think of the wedding night.
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, offering little clarity but ample embarrassment. What would Darcy expect of her? What would he think of her ignorance?
Before she could address the matter with him, he turned to her. “I say goodnight to Andrew every evening,” he said, his tone almost hesitant. “Perhaps you would join me tonight. After all, you are his new mother now.”
Elizabeth blinked, startled by the unexpected invitation. Relief flooded through her—both for the delay it offered and for the chance to see Andrew. “Of course,” she said, rising quickly. “I would like that very much. He is such a joy to be around.”
Darcy extended his arm, and she took it, a shiver coursing through her at his touch. Together, they made their way up the stairs without speaking. The nursery was warm and quiet, lit by the soft glow of a single lamp. Andrew was already tucked into bed, his curls falling across his forehead as he clutched a worn stuffed bear. His nurse, Rebecca, stood by his side, her face lighting up when she saw Darcy and Elizabeth.
“Mr. Darcy, Miss— Mrs. Darcy,” she said, greeting them with a small curtsy. “He’s just nodded off. We weren’t sure if you would be up tonight.”
Darcy knelt beside the little bed, his voice low and soothing. “Andrew,” he murmured, brushing the boy’s hair back gently. “We have something to tell you.”
Andrew stirred, his eyes fluttering open. “Papa?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Nice lady!”
“Yes, I’m here,” Elizabeth said with a small laugh. “Elizabeth, do you remember?”
“Liz’beth,” the boy lisped, relaxing against the pillows.
“I have some wonderful news,” Darcy said. “Elizabeth is your new mama!”
Elizabeth’s heart swelled with the words. Mama.
“New mama?” echoed Andrew.
“Yes, and she’s going to stay with us forever.”
Andrew’s sleepy gaze shifted to Elizabeth, and he smiled faintly. “You stay f’rever?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her voice catching. She reached out to take his tiny hand in hers. “Forever.”
Andrew’s smile widened before his eyes drifted shut again. Elizabeth’s thumb gently stroked his palm, her gaze lingering on his peaceful face as he slipped back into slumber. The warmth of the room wrapped around her like a cocoon, but her thoughts swirled in a tempest of emotions.
Mama.
The word felt echoed in her mind. It was foreign and heavy, yet oddly comforting at the same time. Could she truly fill such a role? She had always loved children, and Andrew already held a special place in her heart since the moment she met him—but the reality of her responsibility was daunting. This wasn’t merely about reading stories or offering a kind word. She would help shape his life, comfort his fears, guide him through trials. The thought both exhilarated and terrified her.
She glanced at Darcy, who was still kneeling beside his son, his expression soft and unguarded. There was a tenderness in the way he brushed Andrew’s curls, a love so evident it made her chest ache. Darcy had entrusted her with not just himself but his family, his world. Could she be enough? Would she fail him or Andrew—or worse, both?
Darcy’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Thank you for this,” he said quietly.
“For what?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
“For making this transition easier for him. And for me.” His voice held an uncharacteristic vulnerability, and she saw the faintest trace of relief in his eyes.
The sincerity in his tone warmed her, even as it added to the storm of emotions within. She managed a faint smile but said nothing more, afraid her voice might betray the nervous energy thrumming through her.
Darcy smoothly rose to his feet and stood beside Elizabeth, his hand brushing hers briefly. The gesture was unintentional, but it sent a jolt through her. She, too, stood up, resisting the urge to begin wringing her hands.
It’s time. You can do this, Elizabeth.
Darcy escorted her out of the room and along the corridor to the guest wing. He stopped before a door and opened it, revealing a spacious, tastefully appointed bedroom adorned with soft colors and elegant furnishings. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Near the bed, a maid unpacked her belongings.
“This is your room,” he said simply. “I will join you in an hour.”
Elizabeth nodded, her throat too tight to form words. He opened a door between her room and, she assumed, his. She watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest. As the door closed softly behind him, she stood frozen in place, the silence of the room pressing in around her.
“If you please, ma’am, I’ll just finish putting these last things away, then I can help you into your nightclothes.”
“Yes, thank you.” Elizabeth’s voice was barely higher than a whisper, and the maid gave her an encouraging smile before returning to her task.
Elizabeth wandered to the hearth and forced back a shiver. The warmth of the fire did little to calm the chill that had settled deep within her. Her eyes fell on the bed, its crisp linens and downy pillows an innocent witness to the night ahead. Her heart pounded as the reality of what awaited her came crashing down.
Her mother’s clumsy, cryptic remarks about marital duties echoed in her mind, offering no clarity, only discomfort. Elizabeth shook her head, chastising herself for letting such thoughts consume her. She had married Darcy—a man of honor, intelligence, and, as she was slowly realizing, depth of feeling and compassion. Surely, he would not expect more than she could give.
And yet… the question remained: what did he feel for her? Had his offer been born solely of honor and obligation, or was there something more? She had glimpsed moments of tenderness in his gaze, fleeting yet unmistakable, but doubt whispered cruelly in her ear.
He doesn’t truly want you. This is just another duty to him.
Her thoughts turned to the scene in the nursery, to the way Darcy had spoken about Andrew. It struck her that he wasn’t merely inviting her into his life—he was sharing his family, his vulnerabilities, and his trust. The weight of it was staggering, but it also kindled a glimmer of hope.
The maid helped her into a plain nightgown with a hint of lace around the collar and hem. Drawing a deep breath, she dismissed the maid, then approached the small mirror above the dressing table. Her reflection stared back, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“You can do this, Elizabeth,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve faced worse and come through stronger.”
She had married him. And now, there was no turning back.