Chapter 34 #2
Lady Catherine inclined her head. “Between the two of us, we have experienced rather varying beginnings to marriage. Which is why we wish to be clear.”
She looked at Elizabeth more directly. “It can be uncomfortable the first time,” she said plainly. “For some women, very much so. Much depends upon the regard a husband has for his wife—and her feelings toward him.”
“I love him,” Elizabeth said at once.
“We know,” Lady Catherine replied, not unkindly. “And that will make all the difference.”
Lady Anne stepped a little closer. “Even so, there may be moments when you are uncertain. Or have questions you do not wish to voice elsewhere.”
“You may come to either of us,” Lady Catherine said. “We shall be discreet.”
“We only wished you not to feel alone,” Lady Anne added, her voice gentle. “This ought to be a happy time. And you have had… so much upheaval. You must be missing your family dreadfully. Especially your sister.”
Jane.
The name alone was enough.
Elizabeth’s eyes filled before she could stop them.
She reached out, taking Lady Anne’s hand—and then, more hesitantly, Lady Catherine’s as well. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This is not what I expected… but I am truly grateful. More than I can say.”
For a moment, none of them spoke, then Lady Catherine cleared her throat rather abruptly. “Yes—well—there is no need for tears. We shall all look quite ridiculous if we continue.”
Elizabeth allowed her hands to return to her lap.
Lady Catherine gave a brisk nod. “Come, Anne. If we delay any longer, poor Darcy will begin to suspect that Elizabeth here has changed her mind.”
A watery laugh broke through the emotion, and Elizabeth brushed quickly at her eyes.
The door opened, and the maid returned at once, resuming her work as though nothing at all had passed. Lady Anne gave Elizabeth a warm, reassuring look before she and Lady Catherine withdrew.
Left alone once more, Elizabeth watched as her hair was finished—pins set, curls arranged with delicate care.
Her thoughts drifted.
To what lay ahead.
To the unknown.
To the quiet certainty beneath it all.
She would trust him.
She always had.
At last, the maid stepped back. “There you are, miss. All done.”
Elizabeth rose slowly and turned toward the looking-glass at the side of the bed. For a moment, she did not quite recognize herself.
She had never looked so—so finished. So composed. So… beautiful.
The color in her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes, the elegance of the gown and her hair—everything came together in a way she had never before seen.
She gave a small, almost disbelieving breath.
Perhaps…
Perhaps she might even rival Jane.
A knock sounded, and Lady Anne reentered. “The carriage is ready,” she said gently. “The gentlemen have already gone on ahead.”
Elizabeth nodded.
She turned back to the mirror once more.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked back at her.
For the last time.
She drew in a steadying breath.
The next time she stood before her reflection—
She would be Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.
∞∞∞
Darcy stood at the front of the small chapel, his hands clasped behind his back with a steadiness he did not entirely feel.
Richard stood beside him, uncharacteristically quiet for once, though there was a certain satisfaction in his expression that suggested he found the moment more amusing than solemn.
Darcy scarcely noticed.
Every sound seemed sharpened—the faint rustle of movement, the creak of the pews, the distant murmur of voices settling.
And then—
The door opened.
Darcy turned.
For a moment, everything else ceased to exist.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway.
The gown—which he realized he had no idea where she had procured it—suited her far beyond anything Darcy could have imagined. The deep rose of the fabric brought warmth to her complexion, and the arrangement of her hair lent her a quiet elegance that stole his breath entirely.
But it was not the gown.
Not truly.
It was her.
The way she held herself—composed, though he could see the faint tremor of nerves beneath it. The light in her eyes when she found him. The unmistakable certainty that, despite everything that had happened, she had chosen this.
Chosen him.
Darcy felt something in his chest tighten.
Elizabeth came forward. The ceremony, once begun, seemed to pass in a blur. Darcy heard the words. Spoke them. Felt the weight of them settle into something real and irrevocable.
At one point, for one wild, fleeting moment, a thought struck him: that the door might burst open. That Mr. Bennet would appear, furious and immovable, to drag her away and put an end to it all.
But there were no objections. No interruptions.
Only the quiet certainty of vows spoken and received. When the moment came—
“I, Fitzwilliam Darcy…”
His voice did not falter.
Nor did hers.
And then—
It was done. They were married.
And now they were on their way back to Rosings, entering the doors and being announced by the butler for the first time as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, to the polite applause of the assembled servants.
They passed through the crowd of starched uniforms and made their way into a large formal dining area, which had clearly been thoughtfully arranged. The table had been set with care, flowers placed where they might catch the light, and a modest but elegant spread laid out before them.
“I know it is just us, but your wedding day deserves to be recognized and celebrated,” Lady Anne said. “Welcome to the family, my dear.”
“I have a sister!” Georgiana exclaimed happily, filling her plate with cake.
“And I have another cousin,” Richard said with a smile.
“Speaking of Anne,” Lady Catherine said, “I am sorry she will not be joining us. She still does not feel enough courage to leave her rooms with so many people in the house.”
“Of course.”
Darcy inclined his head, though his attention strayed often—drawn, again and again, to Elizabeth seated beside him.
His wife.
The word felt both new and entirely right.
Conversation flowed more easily than he might have expected, aided perhaps by relief as much as by celebration. Even Richard, for all his usual levity, seemed content to let the moment remain unmarred by too much wit.
The cake—produced with impressive speed by Rosings’ cook—was cut and shared, to general approval.
At last, Lady Catherine rose.
“That will do,” she said decisively. “I believe we have celebrated sufficiently for the present.”
She turned her attention to the newly married couple.
“You have been given a suite of adjoining rooms in the guest wing,” she continued. “They have been prepared to afford you every comfort.”
Elizabeth’s color rose.
Darcy felt his own composure threatened for perhaps the first time that day.
“You will wish for privacy,” Lady Catherine went on, entirely untroubled. “The servants are at your disposal. Books have been provided—of a suitable variety—as well as a few games, should you require diversion.”
Richard coughed into his glass. Lady Catherine ignored him.
“It is not a wedding journey,” she added, with the faintest air of concession, “but it will serve. You are not to trouble yourselves about appearances. You will remain in your rooms for at least three days. You need not concern yourselves with being poor guests.”
Elizabeth was very decidedly blushing now.
Darcy cleared his throat. “You are most considerate, Aunt.”
“I am practical,” Lady Catherine replied. “There is a difference.”
Darcy inclined his head.
When she dismissed them with a nod, he rose and turned to Elizabeth.
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
Then he offered his arm.
“Mrs. Darcy.”
She placed her hand upon it.
Together, they left the room.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth entered the suite on Darcy’s arm, her heart fluttering with the weight of everything that had passed and what was still to come.
He paused just inside, allowing her a moment to take it in.
The sitting room between the chambers was modest but thoughtfully arranged. A small bookshelf stood against one wall, filled with a surprising variety—poetry, sermons, a few novels. A chess set was already laid out upon a small table, alongside a deck of cards and a few other simple amusements.
It felt… comfortable.
Warm.
Like home.
Darcy released her arm only to take her hand instead.
“These rooms are yours,” he said quietly, indicating one door, then the other. “And mine here. We may—” he hesitated only slightly, “—use them as we find most comfortable.”
Elizabeth nodded, her fingers tightening faintly in his.
“There is a bell for a maid and valet,” he continued. “But…” His voice softened. “If you are agreeable, I would rather not have anyone else present this evening.”
Elizabeth looked up at him, noticing the tension in his shoulders. “I should like that,” she said softly.
Relief—subtle but unmistakable—passed over his features.
She gave a small, almost self-conscious smile. “Though I confess, I should be grateful for a few minutes to free myself from these hairpins. They are beginning to make themselves known.”
His lips curved slightly. “May I assist you? I am not entirely unexperienced.”
Elizabeth stilled. Is he saying… does he mean… surely he would not mention something like… like that on our wedding night?
Her face evidently betrayed her feelings, because Darcy shook his head with a faint huff of breath.
“That was poorly phrased. I meant only that I have had some small experience—Georgiana has required help from time to time as she has grown, and I have observed Lady Anne remove her own pins often enough on the way home from one social gathering or another.”
He led her gently into her chamber.
The vanity stood near the window, the last light of evening fading beyond it. Elizabeth sat, lifting her hands to begin the careful work of removing the pins.
Darcy stood behind her.
At first, he only watched.
Then, slowly, he reached forward, his fingers careful as he located one of the pins and drew it free.
Another.
And another.
Her hair began to loosen, soft strands falling against her neck and shoulders.
Neither spoke.
There was something intimate in the quiet, in the small, shared task.
Elizabeth’s breath caught—just slightly—when she felt his hand brush lightly against her skin.
Then—
A warmth at the back of her neck.
A kiss.
Soft.
Unhurried.
She stilled completely.
Another pin slipped from his fingers, forgotten.
“Darcy…” she began, though she did not know what she meant to say.
He did not answer.
Only leaned closer.
Her pulse quickened.
The room seemed to grow very still.
The last of the pins fell away unnoticed, her hair now free around her shoulders.
And as his hand came gently to rest at her shoulder, drawing her back toward him, Elizabeth felt the last of her thoughts begin to scatter.
There was no fear.
No uncertainty.
Only them.
And her final, fleeting thought—before everything gave way—
was that she was exactly where she belonged.