Chapter 3
Three
ELIZABETH STOOD MOTIONLESS BEFORE THE WINDOW in her bedroom at Longbourn, watching dawn break over the familiar hills and hedgerows as though imprinting the view upon her memory.
In less than three hours, it would no longer be hers to claim.
In less than three hours, very little would remain truly hers at all.
Behind her, laid across the freshly pressed bedcovers, lay her wedding dress: cream-colored muslin, simply cut but of fine quality. Jane had worked through two evenings to add delicate embroidery at the neckline and cuffs, a touch of beauty in this union devoid of romance.
“Lizzy?” Her sister’s voice came softly from the doorway. “May I come in?”
Elizabeth turned, forcing a smile. “Of course. I was just... contemplating.”
Jane entered, already dressed for the ceremony in her best blue gown. She took Elizabeth’s hands and squeezed them gently. “Your fingers are like ice. Are you very afraid?”
“Not afraid, exactly.” Elizabeth withdrew her hands and moved to the dressing table, picking up her hairbrush before setting it down again without purpose.
“Resentful, perhaps. Trapped, certainly.” She met her sister’s concerned gaze in the mirror.
“Five days ago, I was simply Elizabeth Bennet, with all possibilities before me, however limited by fortune. Now, I am to be Mrs. Darcy because of a rainstorm and bad timing.”
“And perhaps fate,” Jane suggested softly.
Elizabeth laughed without humor. “Fate has a cruel sense of irony if it would match me with the most prideful man in England.”
“He is also one of the wealthiest and most respected,” Jane reminded her. “Many would consider you fortunate despite the circumstances.”
“As Mama reminds me hourly.” Elizabeth sighed, turning to face her sister directly. “But what of happiness, Jane? What of marrying where there is genuine affection and mutual respect?”
“Perhaps those things may come in time,” Jane said, ever the optimist. She moved to the bed and touched the wedding dress, smoothing an invisible wrinkle. “That book he sent suggests he listened closely to your conversation in the cottage.”
Elizabeth glanced at her nightstand where the volume of Mary Wollstonecraft’s essays lay, delivered the previous day with a brief note in Darcy’s precise handwriting: “That we might continue our discussion when circumstances allow.” The gesture had unsettled her more than any grand display might have done.
“A book is a small thing to offset a lifetime tethered to a man who likely views me as an unwelcome obligation,” Elizabeth replied, though with less conviction than before.
Jane began gathering the items needed for Elizabeth’s toilette. “Come, let me help you dress. You should at least look your best when becoming the mistress of Pemberley.”
Elizabeth submitted to her sister’s ministrations, allowing Jane to brush her dark hair until it gleamed before arranging it in an elegant style, more elaborate than Elizabeth typically wore.
As Jane worked, the house below them came alive with preparations, Mrs. Bennet’s voice occasionally penetrating even the closed door as she directed servants and bemoaned the hasty nature of the wedding that should have been her greatest triumph as a mother.
“Ten thousand a year, at least!” Elizabeth had heard her mother exclaim to Lady Lucas the previous day. “And such a distinguished gentleman, despite his reserved manner. My clever Lizzy, to secure such a match!”
“Through scandal,” Elizabeth had muttered to herself afterward. “How clever, indeed.”
As Jane fastened the tiny seed pearls at her throat that were a gift from their Aunt Gardiner, Elizabeth studied her reflection with critical eyes.
She appeared pale but composed, her dark eyes luminous against her creamy skin, her lips full and naturally pink.
Not conventionally beautiful like Jane, but Mr. Darcy would not be humiliated by her appearance at least.
A soft knock at the door preceded Kitty’s breathless entrance.
“Lizzy! Mr. Darcy’s carriage has been spotted on the road to Longbourn.
And there are already people gathering outside the church, including Mr. Bingley!
Everyone is hoping for a glimpse of the couple in the most scandalous wedding of the season.
” Her excitement suggested this was cause for celebration rather than shame.
“Kitty!” Jane admonished. “That is hardly helpful.”
“But it is true,” Kitty said. “Mary says Lizzy should be grateful that Mr. Darcy is saving her from social ruin through Christian charity.”
Elizabeth felt a flare of anger. “You may tell Mary that I would prefer honest spinsterhood to being an object of Christian charity.”
“Lizzy,” Jane murmured, “she means well.”
“They all mean well.” Elizabeth stood and allowed Jane to help her into the wedding dress. “That does not make their sentiments any less galling.”
The dress settled around her like a physical manifestation of her new reality: confining yet undeniably fine, transforming her into someone she barely recognized. Jane fastened the row of tiny buttons with deft fingers.
“There,” Jane said softly. “You look beautiful.”
Another knock, this one firmer. Mr. Bennet entered without waiting for a response, his expression a mixture of resignation and sorrow as he beheld his favorite daughter in her bridal attire.
“So it is true,” he said with attempted lightness. “My most sensible daughter is to be sacrificed on the altar of propriety after all.”
“Papa,” Elizabeth said, voice catching.
He crossed to her and took her hands in his, studying her face with uncommon seriousness. “I would not have forced this match upon you, Lizzy, despite your mother’s insistence. Even now, if you wish to refuse...”
Elizabeth shook her head, touched by the offer but aware of its impossibility. “We both know I cannot. Not without dooming myself to disgrace and tainting my sisters by association.”
Mr. Bennet sighed, patting her hand. “No. But I would have you know I would have supported you regardless.”
“I know, Papa.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of books and pipe tobacco that had always meant safety. “But Mr. Darcy has behaved honorably in this, at least. He had no obligation to offer for me.”
“Did he not?” Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows rose. “I rather thought a gentleman who compromises a lady, however accidentally, has every obligation to make amends.”
“A gentleman of Mr. Darcy’s standing could have weathered the scandal without permanent damage,” Elizabeth pointed out. “It is women who bear the brunt of society’s censure in such cases. I believe he understands this.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Bennet conceded. “Or perhaps his interest in you predates your unfortunate adventure in the cottage.”
Elizabeth stared at her father, startled by the suggestion. “What possible reason would you have to think that?”
“I am a more observant father than you credit, my dear. I noted his attention at the Lucases’ dinner. A man does not watch a woman he finds merely ‘tolerable’ with such focused interest.”
Before Elizabeth could demand further explanation, Mrs. Bennet’s voice called from below, announcing that they must leave for the church immediately if they were to arrive before the groom. The moment for private confidences had passed.
Mr. Bennet offered his arm with a wry smile. “Shall we, my dear? Your wealthy, handsome bridegroom awaits.”
“And so does the rest of Hertfordshire, apparently.” Elizabeth accepted his arm and squared her shoulders.
The Bennet family departed in their aged carriage, Mrs. Bennet instructing her daughters on proper behavior until the very last moment. Elizabeth barely heard her, lost in contemplation of her father’s unexpected observation about Mr. Darcy’s prior interest.
Could it be true? Had Mr. Darcy admired her before fate threw them together in that cottage? If so, why had he made no approach until forced by circumstance?
These thoughts occupied her until they arrived at the small stone church where, as Kitty had warned, a crowd of curious neighbors had gathered despite the early hour.
Elizabeth felt their eyes upon her as she descended from the carriage on her father’s arm, their whispers like the buzzing of insects around a flower.
“Hold your head high,” Mr. Bennet murmured. “You have nothing for which you need be ashamed.”
Elizabeth straightened her spine and assumed an expression of serene dignity as they entered the church. The interior was modest but brightened by arrangements of early spring flowers, evidence of her mother’s determination to create some semblance of a proper wedding despite the haste.
And then she saw him, standing rigidly beside the altar, his tall figure imposing in a dark blue coat that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Mr. Darcy turned as she entered, and Elizabeth caught her breath at the intensity in his expression as his eyes traveled over her.
Not displeasure, as she had half-expected. Nor mere approval. Something deeper, more visceral, that sent an unwelcome flutter through her midsection.
“Courage, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet whispered, patting her hand as they began the slow walk down the aisle.
The ceremony passed in a blur. Elizabeth heard herself repeating the vows as though from a distance, promising to love, honor, and obey a man she scarcely knew and certainly did not trust. Mr. Darcy’s responses came in his deep, assured voice, unwavering despite the circumstances.
When he slipped the gold band onto her finger—a simple ring that must have been hastily purchased in London—the physical contact sent an unexpected jolt through her body.
His hands were warm and gentle, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. Elizabeth raised her eyes to his, startled by the heat she found there, quickly masked behind his usual reserve.