Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Immediately following the ceremony, Darcy and Elizabeth entered their carriage and were conveyed to Millwood Cottage for the wedding breakfast. The ride was far too short for his liking.
The privacy, something they had only rarely been afforded during their brief engagement, felt dangerously heady.
The moment the carriage door closed and the horses began to move, he drew her towards him with unmistakable possession.
At first, he kissed her but once, determined that their conduct remain decorous on this brief ride before facing their families.
The faint, breathless sound she made in response rendered such intentions a trial to his self-command.
He drew her closer and claimed her mouth again, this time more slowly and deliberately, and when she answered him without hesitation, restraint became nearly impossible.
A sharp knock upon the carriage door came far too soon, recalling them to the present.
Darcy did not immediately release her. Instead, he tightened his hold and rested his forehead against hers, unwilling, if only for another heartbeat, to surrender the moment.
Elizabeth, close enough that her breath warmed his cheek, gave the faintest laugh. “We cannot remain here indefinitely, William.”
“Why not?” he murmured, his mouth lingering far nearer hers than propriety permitted. “I see no compelling reason to go inside. We might make directly for Pemberley and spend the next months entirely alone.”
“We are expected inside, William. Our families wish to celebrate with us.”
“Must we?” he asked softly, the suggestion visibly costing him effort.
Her fingers tightened slightly in his lapels before relaxing slightly. “We must,” she said gently, shifting within his embrace to press a kiss to his cheek. The movement placed a small but necessary distance between them. “We shall have time to ourselves soon enough.”
He closed his eyes briefly and drew in a steadying breath, entwining her fingers with his own. “Not nearly long enough. You know our family insists that we join the season, if only for a brief time.”
Reluctantly, and with a low, restrained sound, he drew back, but not entirely. His hands lingered at her waist, his thumb tracing the line of her gown, as though even separation must be accomplished by degrees.
My wife.
The word resounded through him with a depth he had not anticipated. He had waited long enough to claim her openly; he did not relish surrendering even an hour more to expectation and ceremony.
At last he forced himself to order. He smoothed a curl that had slipped from its pins near her temple, his fingers brushing the delicate skin there with deliberate slowness before drawing back.
Adjusting his cravat, he reclaimed some semblance of decorum and ensured that neither of them bore visible evidence of impatience.
He was not so foolish as to provide their assembled relations with cause for speculation although he suspected more than one observer might remark upon the length of time their carriage had remained upon the drive.
Only when he was satisfied did he descend first and turn to assist her to the ground.
Inside, they were greeted by members of both families and several of Elizabeth’s neighbours, all eager to offer their congratulations.
Unsurprisingly, his cousin was among the first to approach, a knowing grin already forming.
“Rather pleased with yourself, are you not, cousin?” Richard said lightly.
Darcy did not glance at his cousin immediately. His attention remained upon Elizabeth as he settled her hand more securely upon his arm, his posture shifting almost imperceptibly, placing himself between her and the rest of the room.
“At present,” he said at last, his voice composed but unmistakably firm, “I am inclined to believe myself the most fortunate man in England.”
Only then did he look at his cousin, his brow raised in silent challenge.
Richard’s grin softened at once. “I do not doubt it, Darcy.” His words and tone were serious, and Darcy observed how he glanced ever so subtly at where Jane Bennet stood with the rest of her family after he spoke.
Darcy drew his wife further into the room as they began to greet the assembled guests.
They had seen nearly all of them at the church, yet propriety demanded that they make their way about the room and address each in turn.
He allowed himself the faint hope that, if they were diligent in their attentions, they might secure an earlier departure for London.
His hopes, however, were quickly undone, for between his Aunt Matlock and Elizabeth’s Aunt Rosalind, the pair were prevailed upon to remain far longer than he might have preferred.
Obviously they must remain for the meal and a time thereafter, but he allowed himself to hope they might not be obliged to linger excessively once it concluded.
Darcy responded easily when addressed, inclined his head at the proper intervals, and endured the toasts with suitable composure.
He remained acutely conscious of the warmth of Elizabeth’s arm upon his sleeve throughout the meal, of the subtle tightening of her fingers when some remark amused her, and of the quiet current of understanding that passed between them whenever their eyes met in shared glance.
At one such moment, she leant closer when the attention of most of the room had been drawn elsewhere.
“You appear very solemn for a man who has just been married, Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice lightly teasing.
“I am exercising heroic restraint.” He fixed her with a pointed look, one brow lifting slightly.
Her eyes brightened, the smile evident there if not upon her lips. “From what, precisely?”
He did not look at her when he answered. “From suggesting that we take our leave at once and forgo the ceremony of this spectacle entirely.”
A faint flush rose in her cheeks, one of satisfaction rather than embarrassment, and he found himself absurdly gratified by it.
She resumed her composure almost at once, turning her attention to the speaker at her other side, yet the shared understanding lingered between them.
The hours passed agreeably enough, although he regarded them only as a necessary interval before what he anticipated most. When the final farewell had been spoken and the last guest satisfied, she would leave with him as Mrs Darcy.
The certainty of it lent even the most tedious formalities a sweetness he had never before imagined possible.
When they finally took their leave early in the afternoon, they departed for London, where they were to spend several days in a degree of privacy Darcy had lately learnt to value more than he once believed possible.
He intended to make the most of that brief indulgence before society laid claim to them both.
Lady Matlock, having resolved to postpone her Twelfth Night fête until the end of January, had already set the ton to discreet speculation, a consequence Darcy suspected she regarded with entire satisfaction.
Little had yet been publicly said of his marriage; the formal announcement was to be reserved for that evening.
The thought of it stirred in him a curious mixture of pride and reluctance.
He had no wish to conceal his wife, yet neither did he relish surrendering her entirely to public scrutiny. They would be the object of much attention that night and for the weeks that followed, but at least they would be able to spend much of the next fortnight in relative privacy at Darcy House.
It had been wholly his aunt’s design. Darcy had considered offering resistance, but she informed him, with unmistakable firmness, that the arrangements would proceed as she determined and that he would conduct himself accordingly.
Elizabeth’s objections proved no more effectual.
They secured only one concession: that, should they later desire it, they might withdraw from London after Easter under the convenient pretext of a delayed wedding journey.
Now, as the carriage turned southward and the familiar lanes of Hertfordshire began to recede behind them, he felt the tension of the day begin, at last, to ease.
“Finally, we are alone,” Elizabeth said with a grin, laying her head against his shoulder as the carriage rolled steadily towards London.
“Yes,” Darcy replied, resting his cheek briefly against the crown of her head and pressing a light kiss there. He shifted his arm so that it curved more securely about her waist and drew her closer still.
Recalling how they had spent the journey from the church to Millwood, he was tempted to repeat it.
Still, he knew he must practise some restraint, else the hours ahead would prove an exquisite torment.
It was wiser, he decided, that they rest for now, although the prospect of little sleep that night gave him no concern whatsoever.
In truth, he anticipated the evening very much and doubted he would find much repose during the journey, anticipation rendering stillness all but impossible.
Their conversation drifted easily between light observations and quiet reflection as the carriage rolled steadily towards London. Before long, he felt Elizabeth’s weight grow heavier against him, her breathing softening into sleep.
The trust of it moved him more deeply than he would have anticipated. He drew her closer from an instinctive desire to shield and cherish her and remained still so as not to disturb her rest. Never before had he known such unguarded nearness, and he treasured the simple privilege of holding her so.
His Elizabeth. His wife.
How profoundly he valued the right to call her that.
Barely over three months had passed since their first meeting, since his own arrogance had wounded her, and he could not reflect upon the occasion without humility.
It had been her grandfather’s words, spoken for reasons entirely his own, that had led her to think less ill of him—an effect never intended.