Chapter Eight
Elizabeth
Two days later
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
The words echoed in the chapel. Elizabeth stood in the small chapel, her hand still clasped in Fitzwilliam’s, and felt only minute traces of the joy such moments were supposed to inspire.
Aunt Ahearn had arranged for a special license procured through her connections.
There was a brief ceremony attended by family only, conducted by a clergyman who seemed more interested in completing the service than investing it with meaning.
But proper words were spoken, proper responses given and propriety observed in every particular.
She was married.
The reality refused to settle into comprehension.
Two days ago, she had been Elizabeth Bennet, second daughter of an average gentleman, her future an uncertain landscape of possibilities.
Now she was Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy, wife to a man she was only beginning to know, her fate bound to his through vows that could not be undone.
Mrs Bennet wept openly. Elizabeth allowed herself to be embraced by her sisters, her cheeks kissed and her arm squeezed gently. Even Lydia and Kitty managed appropriate felicitations between their excited chatter about the journey ahead.
They retired to the drawing room in Glenmont Hall afterwards for a modest wedding breakfast of tea, cakes and cold meats.
Conversation flowed around Elizabeth whilst she maintained her composure through sheer force of will.
She smiled when expected, responded when addressed and performed the role of bride while her thoughts spun elsewhere.
She felt displaced, as if she were observing herself from some great distance, watching a stranger navigate rituals she did not fully understand.
Could her husband be feeling the same inadequacies? She wondered, sneaking glances at his face as he sat next to her. She was searching for some indication that he felt equally adrift in these strange new circumstances.
But no. He appeared perfectly composed, perfectly everything a bridegroom ought to be. She alone seemed incapable of settling into her assigned role.
“I find my affairs in Ireland are now concluded,” Fitzwilliam announced once the initial flurry of felicitations had subsided.
“I shall set off to England tomorrow, precisely to Matlock in Northern Derbyshire. My sister is there presently, along with my aunt and uncle. I intend to stop there before proceeding to my own estate.”
“How lovely for you,” Mrs Ahearn replied.
“Indeed. And I should be pleased to extend an invitation to the Bennet family to accompany us.” He spoke to the room at large, his tone cordial but matter-of-fact.
It was almost as if he were offering to share a carriage ride rather than altering everyone’s plans fundamentally.
“Matlock House is quite spacious. There would be no difficulty in accommodating you all for several days, should you wish to visit before returning to Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth’s teacup froze halfway to her lips.
The invitation hung in the air, generous, unexpected, and unilateral. He had not consulted her before extending an invitation to her family, nor had he asked whether she felt ready to meet his relations. He had simply announced his decision as established fact, leaving no room for negotiation.
Mrs Bennet’s squeal of delight pierced the air. “Oh! How absolutely splendid! Of course, we accept, do we not, Mr Bennet?”
Mr Bennet glanced up from his plate with interest. “Matlock as in the Earl of Matlock?”
“My uncle,” Fitzwilliam confirmed.
“Ah. Yes. I understand he maintains an impressive library. Particularly strong in classical texts and early medieval manuscripts.” Mr Bennet’s expression brightened considerably. “I should be delighted to view it.”
“Then it is settled!” Mrs Bennet clapped her hands together. “We shall all go to Matlock. What an adventure! Lydia, Kitty, think of the society we shall encounter. An earl’s household!”
Lydia and Kitty erupted into enthusiastic speculation about potential suitors among the Derbyshire gentry. And even Jane and Mary looked pleased at the prospect.
But Elizabeth could not summon matching excitement. Was this what her marriage would be? Her husband making decisions, her following meekly along, her voice diminished until she became merely an echo of his will?
Perhaps she was being unreasonable and this was how matters proceeded in marriages such as theirs.
The husband decided, the wife acquiesced.
That was the natural order, was it not? Her mother had always deferred to her father in matters of consequence, or at least appeared to, when his preferences conflicted with hers.
Yet something within her recoiled from this easy capitulation. Even her father would not make the decision to travel without consulting her mother first.
She had harboured a quiet hope that they might return to Longbourn first. A few days in familiar surroundings to ruminate over what had occurred, to adjust to her new reality before facing Fitzwilliam’s relations and their inevitable scrutiny.
Some time to prepare before stepping into a life she had not chosen.
That hope had just evaporated into thin air.
Longbourn meant safety, her own chamber and the paths she had walked since childhood. At Longbourn, she would be Elizabeth who happened to have married, rather than Mrs Darcy who must immediately perform her new role before a critical audience.
But Fitzwilliam had decided otherwise. And her family’s enthusiastic acceptance made objection impossible without appearing ungrateful and contrary.
“Lizzy?” Mary’s voice was low, meant for her ears only. “Are you well?”
“Quite well.” The lie tasted bitter. “Merely tired from the morning’s excitement.”
Mary’s sceptical look suggested she wanted to ask more questions, but she did not press the matter.
The wedding breakfast eventually concluded. Guests dispersed to attend to various tasks required for imminent departure. Fitzwilliam approached Elizabeth as the room emptied.
“Mrs Darcy. I thought perhaps you might prefer to travel to Castlewood Manor in my carriage rather than the hired conveyance with your family. It would afford us some privacy.”
Mrs Darcy. The title sat wrong and was ill-fitting. She was Elizabeth. She had always been Elizabeth. This new identity felt like a disguise she had not consented to wear.
She could not bear to be in close proximity to him yet. Not when everything still felt so raw and uncertain.
“Thank you, but I believe I shall ride with my family. There are matters I must attend to before we all depart tomorrow.”
A flicker of something crossed his features—surprise, perhaps, or disappointment. It vanished as quickly as it emerged.
“Of course. As you wish.”
He bowed, she curtseyed, and the formality of it all made her want to scream. They were married. They had stood before God and clergy and spoken vows of union, yet they might as well have been strangers meeting at a country assembly for all the intimacy between them.
***
Evening brought Wilhelmina to Elizabeth’s chamber, carrying a brush and an expression that signalled understanding without needing explanation.
“Sit.” Wilhelmina gestured to the chair before the dressing table. “Let me brush your hair.”
Elizabeth obeyed, grateful for the familiar ritual. Wilhelmina’s fingers worked through her curls, loosening the pins that had held everything in tidy arrangement throughout the ceremony and breakfast.
“You are leaving tomorrow. I confess I shall miss you terribly. These past days have been chaotic, certainly, but they have also been significant. I am glad you were here, even amidst all the upheaval.”
Elizabeth met her cousin’s eyes in the mirror. “As am I. I only wish circumstances had been less dramatic.”
Wilhelmina leaned forward. “Drama seems to follow wherever you go. It is part of your charm.”
“Charm. Yes. I am certain Mr Darcy finds my talent for creating chaos charming.”
Wilhelmina’s hands stilled, a sign that she recognised the bitterness in Elizabeth’s voice. “What troubles you, cousin? And do not dissemble. I know you too well.”
For a long moment, Elizabeth considered maintaining her facade. She held her composure until she could maintain it no longer.
“He invited my entire family to Matlock without consulting me. He announced it like I had no stake in the decision. As though my wishes were irrelevant.”
Her cousin resumed brushing in soothing movements. “Perhaps he assumed you would be pleased to have your relations accompany you?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he did not think to ask. I had hoped, foolishly, I know, that we might return to Longbourn first. A few days to adjust to everything and understand what has happened. But that choice has been taken from me.”
“Did you express this preference to him?”
“I had no opportunity. He made the announcement publicly. To object would have appeared untoward and contrary. And now I fear this is what our marriage shall be. There’s a chance my voice shall be diminished until I become merely an echo of his will.”
The words hung between them, stark and frightening in their honesty.
This was her deepest fear, the nightmare that had haunted her through every moment since the ceremony concluded.
Not that Fitzwilliam would prove cruel or unkind.
She did not believe him capable of deliberate cruelty.
But that he would be thoughtlessly authoritative, making decisions for her rather than with her, assuming his judgment naturally superseded hers in all matters of consequence.
She would disappear. Not through malice, but through the slow erosion of a thousand small moments where her preferences went unasked, her opinions unvalued, her personhood gradually subsumed beneath the weight of his expectations and assumptions.
“Oh, Lizzy.” Wilhelmina set down the brush and rested both hands on her cousin’s shoulders, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “One decision made without consultation does not determine the entire course of your union.”
“Does it not? Everything has happened so quickly. The engagement, the ceremony, now this journey…all of it spinning beyond my control. I feel like I am being swept along by a current too strong to resist. And the worst part is that I cannot even articulate my objections without sounding petty and ungrateful.”
“Your feelings are not petty. They are valid and understandable. You have had precious little agency in these recent events. But you must speak with him. Tell him what troubles you. A marriage cannot function if one party harbours silent resentments whilst the other remains ignorant of the hurt they have caused.”
“I know.” Elizabeth sighed. “I shall. Once I have had time to order my thoughts properly. I cannot face such a conversation whilst everything still feels so raw.”
“Do not wait overlong,” Wilhelmina cautioned. “Small wounds fester when left unattended.”
They lapsed into silence as Wilhelmina finished with her hair, braiding it loosely for sleep.
The rhythmic motion was soothing, a small anchor of normalcy in a day that had felt surreal from beginning to end.
Eventually, Elizabeth stirred herself to ask after the matter that had nearly been forgotten amidst the chaos.
“What of Mr O’Sullivan? I never heard what transpired between you after we orchestrated your time together.”
Her cousin’s entire demeanour brightened. “Oh! Yes, there is positive news on that front, at least. Our conversation was brief, but he expressed heartfelt interest. He intends to call next week, properly, to continue our acquaintance.”
Elizabeth smiled, pleased. “That is wonderful. At least one romance may proceed with appropriate courtship and consideration.”
“Yours shall improve as well,” Wilhelmina assured her. “You and Mr Darcy need time to discover each other properly. The foundation of respect and shared values already exists. The rest will follow.”
Easy to say and harder to believe. But Elizabeth appreciated the effort nonetheless.
When Wilhelmina finally departed, embracing Elizabeth with fierce affection and whispering wishes for happiness, Elizabeth was left alone with the silence and her tangled mind.
She crossed to the window, gazing out at the darkened gardens.
Tomorrow she would leave Ireland as a married woman, bound for a great house full of people who would likely judge, assess and find her wanting in a thousand subtle ways.
She would meet Fitzwilliam’s sister, his formidable aunt and uncle, and navigate their expectations while still fumbling to understand her own husband.
And through it all, she would smile and nod and play the part of the contented bride, because what alternative existed?
Happiness. That was what everyone wished for her: Wilhelmina, Jane, even Fitzwilliam himself, in his own reserved way. They all wanted her to be happy.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and allowed herself a moment of brutal honesty.
Happiness seemed a distant prospect. Survival felt more immediately relevant.
Perhaps, with time and the grace Wilhelmina believed possible, they might build something tolerable from this hasty union. And affection would develop where now existed only wary courtesy.
Hopefully, she would learn to voice her concerns before they calcified into resentment. And Fitzwilliam would prove willing to hear her when she finally gathered courage to speak.
But tonight, on the eve of her departure from everything familiar, she could not summon optimism. Tonight, she could only acknowledge the truth of her situation and steel herself to face whatever came next.
The gardens below remained dark and still, offering no answers. Elizabeth straightened, squaring her shoulders.
She was Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy now, for better or worse.
Time would reveal which it would prove to be.