Chapter One
Elizabeth
5th December 1812
E lizabeth Bennet stood beside her father at the rear of the small chapel, her heart thudding with disbelief. She was to be married—to Mr Darcy.
The words felt strange, foreign even, like a notion overheard rather than one that belonged to her own life. And yet, it was her reality. Today, Elizabeth was indeed to become a wife. She glanced at the snowy vista beyond the chapel windows, where the good people of Meryton bustled cheerfully preparing for Christmastide. Their gaiety filled the frosty air, and the falling snow seemed to heighten the festive spirit. But within the chapel, Elizabeth could feel none of their joy. The joyful cheer was stifling, a taunt that stood in stark contrast to the hollow resignation that had settled within her.
Her eyes dropped to the bouquet she held—a small arrangement of holly sprigs and rosemary, modest but pleasing, clasped tightly in her trembling hands. Outwardly, she might appear the picture of a blushing bride—attired in her best gown, with the chapel full of well-wishers—but her heart was burdened with dread, not happiness. Unlike her sister Jane, who had been married but a few weeks earlier for love, Elizabeth was not marrying out of affection. Duty compelled her to this union—to save her own reputation, that of her family, and, most absurdly, the reputation of the very man she was about to wed.
She stole a glance at her father beside her. Mr Bennet, typically so composed and detached, now appeared both tense and troubled, his gaze distant. For one fleeting moment, she dared to hope he might yet intervene to stop the wedding. She was his Lizzy, his cherished daughter, and he had never credited the rumours for a moment. He had fought valiantly in her defence before, but in the end, he had yielded. Yet as they stood together, she wondered if he might even now be weighing whether to object, to find some final, desperate means of undoing what had been set in motion.
Since the day her mother had demanded this match, Elizabeth had exerted every effort to defend herself. She had written letters to Charlotte and others who had been at the gathering on that fateful night, all of whom had eagerly confirmed her alibi. They had declared, without hesitation, that she had been in their company throughout the evening—far from the Hudson Arms, where she was accused of having met Mr Darcy.
Alas, the statements of her friends had counted for naught. Their assurances had fallen upon deaf ears, for they were deemed women of little consequence. As for the gentlemen present—her cousin Mr Collins among them—they had not spoken on her behalf. She could only suppose that they had wished to avoid entanglement in so unpleasant a matter. Whatever their reasons, their silence had left her with no means to vindicate herself.
And then there was Mr Darcy. His behaviour was beyond her comprehension, or rather, his lack of it. He had made no effort to exonerate her, no attempt to set the record straight. Instead, he had remained silent, unmoved, while rumour after rumour gathered strength, leaving her to face the consequences alone. To her dismay, her father had been summoned to Rosings Park, where Mr Darcy’s formidable aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had assumed command of the arrangements.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, fresh frustration building within her. She had not even had the chance to confront Mr Darcy before the day of the wedding. He had not appeared in Meryton until the very morning of the ceremony. Could he truly be so indifferent? Or was his silence an admission that he cared nothing for her plight? She could hardly believe that the same man who had once slighted her at an assembly would now quietly acquiesce to marriage unless it served him in some way. And yet, here they stood, each bound to this cold altar by invisible chains of consequence she could scarcely fathom.
As they waited, Elizabeth allowed her gaze to sweep over her family seated in the front pew. Mrs Bennet, clutching a handkerchief, was dabbing her eyes—her expression a peculiar mixture of delight and distress. No doubt she was pleased to see another daughter wed, but even she had not wished for it under such bitter circumstances.
Jane sat next to her, her calm smile offering reassurance, though it was tinged with sympathy and sorrow. Jane always knew when Elizabeth required her encouragement, even when words were unnecessary. Mr Bingley was seated beside her, though he avoided meeting Elizabeth’s eye. He, too, had been drawn into this unhappy affair, acting as a reluctant intermediary. No doubt he had helped persuade Mr Darcy to proceed with the match at the behest of both Mrs Bennet and, as she had heart, Mr Darcy’s relations who were also eager for the match to quell the rumours.
Elizabeth could feel the eyes of her other sisters upon her as well, though Kitty and Mary avoided looking at her directly. Both were weighed down by the many burdens the Bennet family had borne in the past year. Lydia and Mr Wickham were absent, their journey delayed by the inclement weather—a relief, Elizabeth thought. She had no desire for their presence to compound the day’s ordeal.
She could not know the full extent of what had transpired between Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham, but she knew enough to realise that a confrontation would have rendered today unbearable. Mr Wickham had spoken less than kindly of the Darcys, and Mr Darcy’s feelings towards him were clearly no warmer. Did Mr Darcy know that Mr Wickham was now his brother-in-law? And if he did, what might he think of it?
A slight rustle from her father brought her back to the present moment. She turned to see her father studying her with a look of quiet determination. He leaned closer, his voice low and measured. “You need not say a word, Lizzy. If you are set against this, now is the time to speak. We can leave.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Even now, with the chapel full and all eyes upon them, he was offering her a choice—however narrow. She met his gaze, finding comfort in his steadfastness. But as she looked once more at her family, feeling the weight of all they had endured for her sake, she knew what her answer must be.
Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “No, Papa,” she whispered, striving for steadiness. “You know as well as I that it would ruin us. You said as much yourself.”
“I did,” he replied gravely. “But now that I see you standing here, looking so wretched—and with the groom himself arriving late—I cannot help but wonder whether we might be better served to endure the scandal.”
She had no time to respond, for at that moment, a carriage stopped outside the chapel. Mr Darcy alighted, accompanied by a young lady who could only be his sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy.
Elizabeth’s future had arrived, and it bore no resemblance to anything she had ever envisioned.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr Darcy addressed her curtly, his expression almost accusing, as though the predicament were of her making.
“Mr Darcy,” she replied coolly, matching his tone.
Miss Darcy, wide-eyed, tugged on her brother’s sleeve. He sighed and said, reluctantly, “Allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy.”
Georgiana’s warm, genuine smile softened the moment. “It is so delightful to meet you. I cannot wait for us to speak further. Tonight, at the posting inn, we shall talk and talk. I am so eager to have a sister.”
“That will do, Georgiana,” Mr Darcy said, his tone gentler now, though directed towards her. He then turned to Mr Bennet. “Shall we proceed?”
Elizabeth observed that he had not addressed her again, nor enquired after her readiness. She drew a deep breath as Mr Darcy walked down the aisle, Miss Darcy slipping into a pew at the front.
Taking her father’s arm, Elizabeth steadied herself. The moment had come. It was time to become Mrs Darcy.
***
After the ceremony concluded, Elizabeth endured a wedding breakfast that could only be described as torturous. Everyone seemed eager to congratulate her and her new husband, who remained largely silent. Were it not for Miss Darcy and her cheerful demeanour, Elizabeth would have dreaded the journey to her new home even more keenly.
When the celebrations finally ended, Elizabeth watched her belongings being loaded into the two carriages Mr Darcy had brought. One was reserved for Miss Darcy and her companion, Mrs Annesley, while the other would convey Elizabeth and her new husband. Both carriages were burdened with her trunks and portmanteaux, though she could hardly focus on such details. The moment had come for her to bid farewell to her family.
“Oh, we shall write to you often, Lizzy!” Kitty exclaimed, embracing her elder sister.
“I am sure you will,” Elizabeth replied, attempting to sound encouraging as she broke the embrace.
“Oh, my dear girl,” said Mr Bennet as he pulled her close, holding her with unexpected fervour. Elizabeth reciprocated the gesture, feeling the unspoken weight of his concern.
“Do not worry for me, Papa. I shall be fine,” she assured him, though the words rang hollow even in her own ears.
“Are you certain we cannot persuade you to remain but a day longer? Netherfield is ever at your disposal,” Mr Bingley said with unfeigned earnestness as he approached with Mr Darcy.
“You could not persuade me to stay here a moment longer,” Mr Darcy replied sharply, his tone laced with irritation.
“Why ever not? I find this place charming. I should dearly like to become better acquainted with my new family. Indeed, after our journey from Rosings, I am most fatigued by endless hours in the carriage,” Georgiana interjected brightly as she followed the gentlemen. Mr Darcy offered no response, his expression unyielding.
“Oh, Lizzy, why did it have to be him?” Kitty lamented with a dramatic sigh. “He is dreadfully dull and thinks himself superior to everyone!”
Elizabeth gave her sister a warning glance, suppressing the urge to point out that she had hardly chosen this husband. There was no use in dwelling upon such matters with her family. Before she could reply, however, Mr Darcy strode purposefully to the carriage, opened the door, and assisted his sister and Mrs Annesley inside with brusque efficiency. Without so much as a glance in Elizabeth’s direction, he marched to the second carriage, turned, and glared impatiently.
“Well?” he called, his tone more befitting a command to a servant than an address to his new wife.
“It appears I must take my leave,” Elizabeth said, masking the anger that simmered within her. Reluctantly, she turned towards the carriage, offering Mr Bingley a faint smile of thanks for his silent encouragement as she passed him.
Settling into the seat opposite her husband, Elizabeth tried to remain composed despite the oppressive air that seemed to fill the small space. Mr Darcy stared resolutely out of the window as the carriage lurched into motion. The silence grew unbearable, and though she had no desire to speak with him, she felt compelled to break it.
“It has been some time since last we met,” she ventured hesitantly.
Mr Darcy turned his gaze towards her at last. “Indeed. And I must admit, I had no intention of returning to these parts.” His tone was clipped, his displeasure unmistakable. “The vicar, I noted, was scarcely pleased to see me.”
“Perhaps it was the nature of this… union,” Elizabeth suggested, her voice tinged with irony.
“Or,” he countered, “it may have been the ceremony’s delay.” His expression darkened further. “The roads here are a veritable labyrinth of dead ends. One could scarcely hope to arrive punctually.”
“It might have been avoided altogether,” Elizabeth replied coolly, “had you sought a special licence. The ceremony could have been performed at Pemberley.”
“A special licence?” Mr Darcy’s voice rose in incredulity. “Do you know how costly such things are?”
“Surely, it would not have ruined you.”
“My income is not your concern,” he snapped.
“It is very much my concern, now that we are wed,” Elizabeth retorted.
“Do not remind me,” Mr Darcy said darkly, his irritation plain. “I am displeased enough as it is.”
“I can imagine,” Elizabeth replied with a bitter laugh. “I believe your words upon first seeing me were that I was not handsome enough to tempt you. And now it would appear that you have been lumbered with me.”
“When, pray, did I say such a thing?” Mr Darcy demanded, clearly affronted.
“The occasion was evidently insignificant enough for you to forget it,” she replied, turning to look out of the window, unwilling to argue further.
Silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of the horses’ hooves and the carriage wheels upon the frozen ground. Elizabeth stared at the passing countryside, her thoughts tumultuous. This man, so haughty and insufferable, was now her husband. The enormity of it was suffocating.
How she wished for Jane’s calming presence, or Charlotte’s sage advice. But Jane had remained at Netherfield, and Charlotte, constrained by Mr Collins’s disapproval of the match, had been unable to attend. Elizabeth was utterly alone.
At length, she turned back to Mr Darcy. “Your aunt did not attend the ceremony.”
“And you expected her to?” he asked sharply.
“It was your wedding as well,” Elizabeth observed.
“My aunt,” he said stiffly, “deemed this marriage a necessity for propriety’s sake. She was scarcely pleased with the arrangement.”
Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his deference to his illustrious relations. She replied coolly, “It must be a trial for them to endure such a connection, given your evident distaste for my family.”
“You may rest assured,” he said bitterly, “I find this situation no less disagreeable than you do.”
Elizabeth held her tongue. They were bound together now, for better or worse. As the carriage rolled onwards, she turned back to the window, gazing at the bleak landscape and wondering what the future would hold.