Chapter 11 #2
“Men like that are used to having things the way they like them. They do not often have to cede to another’s wishes or place another’s desires above their own. It can make them selfish, demanding. Unpleasant companions for more than an afternoon.”
“Mr. Bingley seems to like him well enough.”
“Bingley likes everyone.”
Elizabeth worried her lip. “I had not thought of all that. Do you truly think he will be a difficult companion?”
Bennet rubbed a hand across his brow. “I cannot say with any certainty. And it is a moot point if he is your soulmate. The mark will make him treat you well, or so I have heard. He will be incapable of being unkind to you.”
That was only a slight relief to Elizabeth. “I do not know that I want a husband who is kind only to me and a tyrant to everyone else.”
“Now, now, we don’t know that he is a tyrant. I should not have said anything. The truth is that we do not know him well. He may be perfectly companionable.”
Elizabeth nodded, her forehead still creased with worry.
“Let us do this. I will give him my permission to court you, and we will acknowledge the marks match after I have seen his, but you will wait several months before you wed. That will give you time to get to know him, and at least you will know what you are getting into.” He levelled her with a serious look.
“Elizabeth, if you find you do not like him, you may stay here at Longbourn. Mate sickness is rare. There is a very good chance you could lead a perfectly happy life without him.”
“I do like him, papa. Far too much already, I fear.”
“Ah.” He smiled sadly. “That is the mark at work. Forgive me for frightening you, dear. I’m sure all will be well. Send your young man to me and I will work it all out with him.”
She nodded, worry gnawing at her mind. Was Mr. Darcy a demanding man? Would life with him be difficult and unpleasant? Was the happy home she wished for only a fantasy? She was afraid there was only one way to find out, and it was paved with peril.
Mrs. Bennet could not hide Jane forever, so she invited Bingley for a family dinner that evening so Mr. Collins would understand her eldest and most beautiful daughter was taken. And by a man with five thousand a year!
Kitty and Elizabeth conveniently secured an invitation to dine at Lucas Lodge that evening, and they were out the door and down the path before Mr. Collins could even see them, let alone be introduced.
Once she saw that Mary had a viable marriage prospect, Mrs. Bennet put extra effort into her least eligible daughter’s appearance.
Mary was trussed up in one of Elizabeth’s gowns and her hair was done by Sarah before even Jane’s, something that had never happened as long as the girls could remember. No one was ever ready before Jane.
They knew for a fact that Mr. Collins was not marked—the poor man had not even known he could be marked.
His miserly father had not arranged a ceremony for him, nor informed him of the usual procedure.
By the time Mr. Collins realized he had missed this important rite of passage, he was sixteen years old.
Mrs. Bennet had told Mary in no uncertain terms of the risks of marrying an unmarked man.
He could come into a mark later. It was unlikely, as Mr. Collins was already five and twenty—and she could not think who Fate would purposely saddle with such a buffoon—but there was always the possibility, and she did not want Mary to be shocked if she woke up next to a marked man one day.
Mary knew the risks and told her mother she was ready.
She was proud to be the next mistress of Longbourn.
She may not be the most beautiful, or even the third most beautiful of her sisters, but she could carry on their family legacy and ensure Longbourn remained in Bennet hands. She could be proud of that.
When Mary stepped into the drawing room before dinner, Mr. Collins stared at her in silence for a full minute.
As if that alone was not a great feat, he then proceeded to splutter through a clearly unrehearsed compliment that left Mary blushing.
Mrs. Bennet was beaming with triumph. Her daughter would be Mistress of Longbourn, and it would be her home forever. Just as it always should have been.
The following day brought great excitement to Longbourn. First, Mr. Collins asked Mary for a private audience after breakfast. Mrs. Bennet was already ridiculously happy because of Jane’s impending wedding, and Mary’s betrothal was icing on a five-thousand-pounds-a-year cake.
Collins proposed, Mary accepted, and Mr. Bennet gave his consent, though not without having a Very Serious Talk with Mary to ensure she knew what she was about.
Collins was an imbecile, but he could likely be managed if she put forth the effort.
She assured her father she knew what she was about and he reluctantly agreed, though he promised to negotiate a generous settlement for her so she could maintain her independence as best as possible.
Just as Mr. Bennet was contemplating having a brandy before the clock struck noon, Mr. Darcy was announced.
“Send him in,” he said tiredly. Best to get all the young bucks dealt with at once.
Elizabeth was waiting in the corridor for Darcy when he stepped out of her father’s study. “Come,” she said, taking his hand and leading him out a side door.
She had his gloves and coat and shoved them into his arms as soon as they were out of sight of the house. Darcy shrugged into his coat, then pulled his gloves on as Elizabeth paced impatiently before him.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“We need to walk.”
“We do?”
“I need to walk, and I wish to speak with you, so we need to walk.”
“Understood.” Darcy moved quickly to keep up with her. “Are you going to tell me why we are racing away from Longbourn?”
She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “How did it go with my father?”
“As expected. He wished to know I was solvent, which I am, and what I intend to put in the settlement. He asked about my family and I told him of my sister and about Pemberley.”
“Anything else?”
“He said we must court for at least three months before he will consider consenting to a marriage.”
She nodded, having expected as much. In fact, she was surprised it was only three months instead of six.
“You will be one and twenty next year, will you not?”
“Almost twelve months away,” she said with a sheepish expression. “I only had my twentieth birthday a fortnight ago. The twenty-seventh of October.”
His lips flattened into a straight line. “I see.”
“Did my father say he was considering withholding his consent?” she asked in horror.
“No, he was not so forthcoming. But he looked like he would very much like to deny me.”
Elizabeth paled. He wouldn’t! He had promised he would give Darcy a chance!
“Dearest, do not worry.” He rubbed his hands over her arms to warm her. “I will win him over. It is understandable that a man would not want to give up such a treasure. I am certain I will be even worse when it is Georgiana’s time. Do not worry, my love. All will be well.”
She nodded, slowly focusing back on the present moment. “I knew he would be difficult—he does like to toy with people sometimes—but that was not what I was expecting. I’m certain you are right. All will be well.” She tried to smile reassuringly but fell woefully short of the mark.
“What were you expecting?” he asked with a smile.
She cringed. She should not have said anything, for she did not want to lie to him, but neither did she wish to have this discussion.
“Elizabeth? What is it?”
“My father thinks, that is, he is under the impression that…” she struggled to find the right words.
“Your father thinks what?”
“That you will be a difficult husband and that I might be happier remaining at Longbourn,” she said in a rush.
Darcy flushed red. “He said what?”
Elizabeth cringed. “It is only because you are a wealthy man. He thinks you are used to doing as you please whenever you wish and may not adjust well to having to consider another person. Though he did say the mark would likely impel you to treat me well,” she added with a hopeful expression.
Darcy’s eyes grew so large they looked like they would pop out of his head. His face was a bright red, and there was a vein in his forehead that throbbed with his pulse.
When he spoke, his voice was eerily calm. “This is what your father thinks of me? What he told you to expect of me? That I am a spoiled child who only knows how to demand his own way and cannot share his toys?” he spat.
She swallowed heavily. “Not in those exact words, but essentially, yes.”
He blew out a ragged breath and paced away, then back towards her. He repeated the circuit three times before coming to stand before her. “Do you agree with him?”
“What?”
“Do you think I am spoiled and will be impossible to live with?”
“No! I do not think you are spoiled.”
“But you think I am difficult?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, not knowing what to say.
Darcy huffed and stomped off.
“Fitzwilliam, wait!” She grabbed his arm and tugged until he turned to face her. “I do not think you will be difficult or impossible to live with.”
He looked slightly relieved, but wary.
“I will admit to some trepidation”—his mouth grew tight again and she rushed through her next words—“not because of anything you have done but because I do not know you well yet.” She took a deep breath and reached for his hand.
“You are a powerful man, with a noble family and a grand estate. I do not entirely know what to expect. So yes, I have some concerns about that. Understandably so.” She straightened her shoulders and spoke firmly.
“But never, not once, did I consider not marrying you to be an option.”
He watched her, his expression slowly softening. He tugged her towards him by the hand that was holding his. “Did you truly not even contemplate leaving me?”
“I did not, though after your little display of temper here, I may consider it.”
He yanked her into his arms with a growl and peppered her face with kisses as she laughed.
“Elizabeth.” He breathed deeply, his face buried in her hair. “I am not a man who loses his temper. I do not stomp about and display my anger. I am sorry you saw me thus.”
“It is all right, Fitzwilliam. It has been an emotional day.”
He pulled back and held her face in his gloved hands, his breath making a cloud in the cold air between them.
“It is not the day. It is you. I will never be sanguine at the thought of losing you, Elizabeth. You are more important to me than—my God, I cannot think of anything more important to me than you. I would sign over the deed to Pemberley for you.” She gasped and he swallowed hard, closing his eyes.
“I cannot lose you. It would kill me.” He brought his forehead to rest on hers.
“Do you understand? You are the most precious thing in the world to me.”
She sighed, melting into him. “Fitzwilliam, my heart.”
She reached up onto her toes and kissed his face. First his cheeks, then his jaw, then his impressive nose. She held his face in her hands, her nose pressed against his, and looked into his eyes. “I am yours, Fitzwilliam, and you are mine. You shall not lose me. We belong together.”
He sighed, his body sagging in relief.
“You undo me, Elizabeth. You have no idea of the power you wield over me.”
She smiled softly against his lips. “I promise to only use my power for good,” she whispered.
He pulled her closer to him then, opening his greatcoat and pulling her inside. Her hands stole around his back inside the coat, snuggling into his warmth. She rested her head on his chest and sighed happily.
“My father will grow to love you, Fitzwilliam. I know he will. All will be well.”