Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Married?” she repeated. “No. No, no, no. There must be something we can do.”
Darcy shook his head with the sombre air of a mourner.
“The ‘something’ was convince Georgiana to leave Wickham, or persuade him he did not want her. Everything about what just happened…” Darcy tore off his hat and ran his hands over his face.
“To say that it was worse than I expected is a laughable understatement. But I will not have it also wound my honour, my moral character, by us returning to England as anything less than husband and wife. How would it look to the world?”
It took her a moment to catch her breath and speak without stammering. Surely, she did not have to commit herself to Darcy. “But we know the truth. Nothing improper—”
“That does not matter!” He sat up sharply to look at her.
“No one will believe us. We know we did right in trying to rescue our sisters, but we were alone for days. This was not an afternoon carriage ride alone or a stolen kiss. If we do not marry, my reputation will suffer and yours will be entirely destroyed. My character demands that I protect your good name.”
Elizabeth drew back at his tone, as though he were the one at a disadvantage. “So, you are doing me a favour? I should be grateful because you are at least an honourable man? I am aghast that I must tie my life to a stranger.”
“And I am tying my life to a woman of no family, no fortune, whom I have known for a week. I do not want you either.”
This was impossible. A marriage was forever, an unbreakable bond for life. “I am determined to yield neither my body nor my heart to a husband not of my own choosing,” she cried.
“How fortunate, because I am not interested in either,” he yelled right back.
She felt a pang of rejection that was entirely unwarranted. She did not want to be loved by Darcy, so it should not wound her to be told it would not happen.
Darcy sighed heavily. “I am purely interested in preserving our good names,” he said in a calmer tone. “Georgiana’s scandalous marriage will already be humiliating. I will not add absconding with a gentleman’s daughter and abandoning her in Scotland to the list of things that could ruin me.”
“It would be my ruin, not yours,” she said carefully as the full realisation of what she must do fell upon her.
Who would connect themselves to her family if it were known she left London alone with Darcy?
“You would suffer a few muttered asides, and some mothers would keep their daughters from dancing with you. But you are a man, and you are wealthy, and your uncle is an earl. You would survive the gossip and suffer a temporary disgrace. I could never return home, never show my face in public, never marry.”
She felt cold all over, and her hands shook. The only way forward was to commit herself to a prideful man whom she, at best, respected his principles and found handsome.
“This should not shock you.” Darcy sounded impatient. “We discussed this possibility yesterday.”
Yesterday, it was a notion, a far-off potential problem unlikely to happen.
Georgiana was not supposed to be beyond their reach.
Elizabeth had not considered such a consequence as this, but she should have.
She had to accept responsibility for her reckless choices, for her own sake and for all of her sisters’.
To the world, she had run off with a man just like Georgiana had—and no one would care about her intact virtue or noble intentions.
She felt Darcy’s stare, but she could not raise her eyes to meet his.
“I have no choice,” she finally said. “And I am terrified. You could grow to despise me, neglect me, shame me, and I have no choice but to remain with you and endure it. Who wants that sort of life?”
He was silent for a long while. “I have no choice, either,” he murmured.
“You might hate me, humiliate me, fear me, and I have no choice but to take care of you, even beyond my death. This is not the life I wanted, either. But like with Georgiana, I cannot force you to do what I think is best. When this carriage stops, you must decide if you are marrying me and protecting our reputations, or returning to England as a single woman and enduring the consequences.”
“Even if I did not care for my good name, I care about my sisters’ and their future prospects. So I will marry you and endure as women have always endured, and will cope with the consequences: the physical, the emotional, the financial.”
Darcy started. “What manner of man do you think I am?”
“I don’t know,” she shouted, “and that is why I am frightened.”
He was quiet as he twisted the ring he wore. “Wickham will break my sister’s spirit and leave her destitute. She will grow to resent him and blame him for all her suffering. She will live a hard life whether they live together or ultimately live apart.”
Her heart broke for Georgiana Darcy. She had made a thoughtless choice, and the consequences would be long-lasting and dire. “I never wanted that for her.”
“You and I must live life together now, and although I am not prepared to ever make those promises that you might have expected from your chosen partner, I assure you that I will not break your spirit or leave you destitute.”
That was the best vow she would get. Financial support and to not oppress her. Not love or enduring affection, not someone to share burdens or laughter with.
Springfield was half a mile from Gretna Green and appeared to Elizabeth to be a one-street weaving town.
The chaise stopped at the Queen’s Head Inn, and when Darcy handed her out, she got a better look at his face.
There was pain in his eyes, a haggard, resigned look.
He was no happier about this than she was, and he had lost a sister too.
“I can promise not to resent you, or blame you for this,” she said, still gripping his hand as she stepped down.
He met her eye and while he did not smile, he nodded and there was a softening in his look.
“We have to consider how this will appear to the world. The story we tell is that we fell in love instantly when we met just over a week ago. You ran away from your friends in Ramsgate to jump over a broomstick with me in a blacksmith’s shop and call it being married.
” He grew thoughtful. “I will do whatever I can to add some legitimacy to this escapade.”
Darcy hailed the anvil priest and, after talking for a while, asked him to send for a sheriff. “By showing proof of the marriage,” he said to her, “we can obtain a warrant from the sheriff.”
She did not understand. Too much was happening in a brief time. “Who is being arrested?”
“The warrant is to have our marriage recorded by the local registrar,” he explained patiently.
“I am going to pay the fine for having an irregular marriage so he can list our union in Springfield’s registry.
I am not relying on the certificate that ‘priest’ Mr Lang fills out or announcing our intentions in front of witnesses I have never before seen. ”
He wanted a proper record of their marriage, for it to be as legitimate as possible. What might that mean as to what sort of husband Darcy would be? Fastidious, certainly. Caring? Hopefully. She was too in shock to consider it more deeply.
The wedding was simple. They were asked their names and places of abode and enquired of if they were single.
Each attested they had come of their own free will and accord, and then the priest filled in his printed form.
He asked Darcy, “Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, forsaking all others, keep to her as long as you both shall live?”
“I will.”
Her breath came quick and shallow. This marriage was happening, and it would be forever. The same question was asked of her, and she whispered an affirmative answer.
“Do you have a ring?” the priest asked.
She and Darcy shared an alarmed look. Of course, there was no ring; they had not planned for this.
Darcy finally pulled off the ring he wore, a gold piece with reeded edges and an oblong hair locket framed in black enamel.
A mourning ring for his father, if she had to guess.
He pushed it onto her finger, whispering, “I will buy you one that fits.”
She had to close her fingers into a fist to keep it from slipping off.
The priest led Darcy to make some promises along with the ring, but those were the only vows stated. They were then told to take hold of each other’s right hands and she was charged with saying, “What God joins, let no man put asunder.”
“Forasmuch as this man and this woman have consented to go together by giving and receiving a ring,” said Mr Lang, “I therefore declare them to be man and wife before God and these witnesses in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Elizabeth sat to the side in a daze for an hour while Darcy waited for and talked to a sheriff and a magistrate and then hired a carriage.
What would her parents say when they learnt she was married?
Her mother would be glad since Darcy was a wealthy man, but her father would be disappointed she had run off in such a way.
Her friends would call her romantic at best and reckless at worst. She was no longer Elizabeth Bennet, and she had no idea who Elizabeth Darcy was.
That would not be as alarming if she knew who Fitzwilliam Darcy was.
“Shall we?”
She looked up and saw him standing over her.
She must have asked a question with her blank expression, because Darcy added, “Let us return to England. I will buy you a wedding band in Carlisle, and from there we can write to our families.” He gave a weak smile.
“I know neither of us wants to get into another carriage, but I ought to take you home.”
“To Longbourn?”
“To Pemberley.”
Of course. A few lines of dialogue, and she had a new name and a new home.
“Is there anything else, Mrs Darcy?” the housekeeper asked.