Chapter 2 #2
Elizabeth thought about what he said. She thought it unlikely her husband would be more than ten years older than herself, which meant he could only be three and twenty now.
Most men did not marry until they were five and twenty at least. Many waited much longer, or so her aunt Phillips had told her.
Her own observations supported this idea.
Her cousin Letitia married a man when she was nineteen and he was eight and twenty.
David Long married at nine and twenty, and Sir William said he did not marry Lady Lucas until he was over thirty.
Elizabeth hated to disagree with her father, but she did not think it likely her soulmate was already married. Besides the logical arguments, would she not feel it if he was? Would her heart not whisper the truth to her?
She was quiet another minute, then asked, “What other reasons do you suppose he has?”
Mr. Bennet sighed. “He may come from a wealthy family that does not approve of marks. If that is the case, he may marry against his mark.”
Elizabeth gasped. “Is such a thing possible?”
“I have never heard of it happening, but I imagine it has at some point. Especially if the gentleman were already promised to another.”
Elizabeth felt a moment of unease over this thought, but pushed it aside. She had made her decision.
“He also may not wish for a wife at all. Many soldiers in the army and sailors feel this way. Or he could have some sort of illness. Or simply not wish to have a wife and family. There are a great many reasons a man may choose not to be marked. Should you not respect his wish if he does not want a wife chosen for him?”
Elizabeth scrunched up her face. She had not thought of it in that way.
She had no desire to foist herself on someone who did not want her.
But was that not the whole reason for the marks?
Fate would match you with the person who suited you best, in personality and character, and you would be ridiculously happy together.
If he was marked for her, his wish for other women’s company would gradually wane.
He would want no other companion but her.
He would desire no woman but her. She would be his greatest source of happiness and he would be hers.
They would complement each other perfectly.
Was that not reason enough for him to forgive her for marking him when he had not wished it? Was a chance at that kind of perfect love not reason enough to get the mark? And perchance he was younger than her. He might have been born only a week later than herself!
“Jane did not have such a choice,” she said carefully. “Neither did Kitty. She was only seven when her mark came in. Is that not the same? Marking a girl when she has not decided for herself that she wishes it?”
Mr. Bennet blinked at her for a moment. “You are right, my dear. It is the same. I am thinking like a man, which I daresay is no surprise.”
Elizabeth smiled at him in that secret way they had between themselves. “Perhaps that is why Fate gave you so many daughters. To learn the way ladies think.”
Mr. Bennet threw back his head and released a howl of laughter. He drew Elizabeth into his side and squeezed her tightly, kissing the top of her head. “You are my greatest joy, Elizabeth.”
She smiled. “Papa,” she said, biting her lower lip, “will you be very disappointed if I get the mark?”
“No, my dear, I will not. It is entirely your decision, as it should be.”
She nodded slowly. “I have decided to get it. Not because I do not understand your reasoning, for your arguments are sound.”
Mr. Bennet smiled sadly at her, both proud of her skills at logic and afraid that she was headed toward disappointment.
“I wish to be marked because I do not think I could be happy with a man who did not love me completely. I wish for a deep and abiding love, like Aunt and Uncle Phillips have. I wish for a sharing of minds like Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. They are all marked.” She looked at her father sheepishly, as if she just realized she had not named him and her mother in her list of happy couples to emulate.
“You are right, my dear. Your aunts and uncles are very happy with their soulmates.” He pressed her hand. “I will stand beside you proudly when you receive your blessing, and I will not be the least bit disappointed you have chosen a mark.”
She threw her arms about her father’s neck and squeezed him tight. “I am choosing love, Papa. Not just a mark.”
Elizabeth’s birthday ceremony went along in the normal way, followed by a dinner at Longbourn her mother especially planned for her.
Elizabeth was touched Mrs. Bennet had gone to the trouble, but she should not have been surprised.
Elizabeth was the first Bennet daughter to undergo a marking ceremony.
Jane’s ceremony had been a simple blessing followed by a nice dinner, but it was not as elaborate as Elizabeth’s Marking Dinner.
She went to bed happy and smiling, wondering what her mark would be and how long it would take to come in. She only hoped it was as beautiful as Jane and Kitty’s had turned out to be.
It did not take a fortnight for Elizabeth to regret wishing she had a beautiful mark. A simple heart or circle would have been much more agreeable than the monstrosity currently being etched onto her back. She reached behind her with a knitting needle and scratched again, huffing in frustration.
“You will scratch yourself bloody if you continue doing that!” scolded Jane. She snatched the needle from Elizabeth’s hand.
“I cannot help it! It is so itchy!”
“Let me see.” Jane moved behind her sister and carefully slid Elizabeth’s wrapper off her shoulders.
Regular gowns were too irritating to her skin, so Elizabeth had taken to wearing a wrapper most of the day over the last week.
“It is coming in nicely, though it is very large. I cannot make out any particular design yet, but there is a rectangular structure here.” She touched the inside edge of Elizabeth’s shoulder blade. “Perhaps it is a building of some kind. Mayhap it is an image of London!”
Elizabeth scowled. “I do not care what it is anymore, I only wish it would stop itching!”
Jane gave her a sympathetic look, then gently pulled the wrapper up over her sister’s back. She took a pair of woolen socks from the drawer and pulled them over her hands, then began rubbing her sister’s skin in circular motions. “Does that help?”
“Oh, thank you, Janie! You are a saint among sisters!”
Elizabeth itched terribly for another month as her mark took shape.
What Jane had originally thought to be a cityscape turned out to be an elaborate landscape that spanned the entire left side of Elizabeth’s back, from her shoulder blade down to her hip bone.
The farthest edges reached in to her spinal cord and around along her ribs, nearly to her breast.
There was a beautiful forest along her side, in various shades of rich green, with a path running through it leading to a large house in the distance—the rectangular structure Jane had noticed at the top of the mark.
The house had a rolling lawn in front and a steep ridge behind it.
A stream of rich blue snaked around her rib cage nearly to the front of her body.
A fawn drank at its banks and birds flew above near the crease of her arm.
A colorful rose garden took up the center of the image and stood between the house and the forest. It was clearly a country estate of some sort, but no one recognized it, and the trees and steep ridge did not resemble the geography of Hertfordshire.
The last piece of the image to come in was low on her back, covering her hip and reaching to her buttock.
In the forefront of the image, near her spine, a large oak stood in a clearing by the stream, a swing hanging from a branch.
And there, right over the left dimple at the base of her spine, carved into the tree trunk was a crude heart with two sets of initials in it.
She knew ERB stood for Elizabeth Rose Bennet, but FGD was a mystery.
The general itchiness ended after six weeks, but it was a full nine months after her ceremony before the mark was complete.
The colors were rich and lush, the textures intricate, the light and shadow masterfully done.
The sheer size and scope of the mark was more than a little impressive.
Mrs. Phillips said it must be a good sign, that such a mark must mean there was a very great love with a very great man in her future.
Or with a groundskeeper, thought Elizabeth saucily, but she did not share her thoughts with her family.
Thankfully the mark was in such a location that she would not be expected to show it to all and sundry as Jane had.
It was also easily covered with clothing.
She had two gowns that showed the uppermost corner of the image, but it would be easy enough to have all her gowns in the future designed with concealing the mark in mind.
Christ’s College, Cambridge
Fitzwilliam Darcy struggled to pay attention to his tutor.
His arm had been burning and itching for two days now, and the pain was more than a little distracting.
He had thought it was a bite of some annoying pest, but he could not see a mark and there was no redness.
The itch was not isolated to one small location.
The entirety of his upper arm, from his elbow up onto his shoulder and wrapped around the back, itched like the dickens.
Finally, the lecture was complete and he made his way back to his rooms. He roomed with a distant cousin on his mother’s side, Reginald Digby, and he called for him as he entered.
“Reggie, what do you think this is? It will not stop burning!”
Reginald looked at Darcy’s upper arm carefully. “I cannot tell. It is red all over from you scratching at it. Best see the apothecary.”