Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
From her window at Longbourn, Elizabeth watched the sun climb over frost-silvered fields, its light transforming the familiar landscape into something altogether new—rather like herself, she supposed, on this morning of all mornings.
Soon, Elizabeth stood before the mirror while Jane's fingers worked through the buttons of her white dress, each tiny pearl sliding into place with a soft click.
"Are you nervous?" Jane's reflection met hers.
Elizabeth met her sister's gaze steadily in the glass. "No. Only eager."
Her hand drifted to her throat, fingers tracing the unmarked skin.
Tonight. The claiming mark would come tonight, but the marriage vows came first. Darcy had insisted on doing everything properly—church, witnesses, the blessing of both families.
No more stolen moments in darkened chambers, no more shame or secrecy.
Yes, yes—she understood the necessity, valued the correctness of it all. The propriety deserved her gratitude, she supposed. Yet beneath that dutiful appreciation thrummed a restless hunger for the hours to pass.
The church overflowed with neighbors and relations, the Bennet family occupying the first rows while the Bingleys filled the opposite side.
And there, in the third row, sat Caroline Bingley.
Stiffened spine, pursed lips painted coral, gloved fingers gripped her prayer book until the leather creaked.
The sourness on Caroline's face could have spoiled fruit.
Elizabeth moved forward, each footfall closing the distance between herself and the gentleman Caroline had chased through countless seasons.
Still, Caroline remained in her pew. She would see this through—would watch Darcy pledge himself to the woman she'd branded common, declared unsuitable, pronounced entirely unfit for a man of his breeding.
Supposedly, Lady Catherine had written a letter to Darcy.
Unfortunately, it had fallen into the fire.
Darcy waited at the altar, and his expression when he saw Elizabeth made her breath catch somewhere between her ribs.
Love blazed in those dark eyes, mixed with desire, possessiveness, wonder—everything he'd hidden for so long now laid bare for all to see.
His hand was perfectly steady when he took hers, though a slight tremor ran through him and into her at the contact.
They spoke the same vows that had bound couples for centuries. Nothing new in the words themselves. But Darcy's "I do"—oh, that she would treasure. Her own echo brought his fingers pressing into hers, his eyes aflame with one truth written plain: Mine. Finally mine.
Elizabeth had never heard anything so dear.
The wedding breakfast erupted into joyous chaos the moment they entered Longbourn.
Mrs. Bennet alternated between tears and laughter, clutching anyone who would listen to exclaim about her clever Lizzy marrying ten thousand a year.
Mr. Bennet surprised everyone with an emotional toast that had him clearing his throat repeatedly and adjusting his spectacles.
Jane beamed from her position beside Bingley, who clapped Darcy on the back with enthusiasm that would have toppled a smaller man.
"Darcy! Mrs. Darcy! I cannot stop smiling! Look at my face—it hurts from smiling! We're to be proper brothers now! Proper brothers! Jane, did you hear? Brothers!"
Darcy's response was characteristically dry—"Thank you, Charles"—but his eyes kept finding Elizabeth across the room, tracking her movements through the crowd. She felt his gaze like a physical touch, warm against her skin even from a distance.
Caroline approached during the receiving line, her congratulations as brittle as spun glass and twice as sharp.
"Mrs. Darcy." The title fell from her lips like poison. "How... fortunate for you."
Elizabeth smiled with perfect serenity, the kind Jane had taught her through years of example. "Thank you, Miss Bingley. Your attendance means so much to us both."
Caroline's eyes glittered with venom, her jaw working as if physically restraining words that fought to escape.
But she couldn't say what she wanted—not here, not surrounded by witnesses, not when Darcy stood three feet away watching her with cool assessment.
She'd lost, utterly and completely, and the knowledge sat in her permanent grimace.
Yet she lingered, hovering at the edges of conversations, watching, waiting for—what? Some crack in their happiness? Some sign that this was all a terrible mistake?
Elizabeth was deep in conversation with Mrs. Long about the county's newest charity when she felt Darcy's presence behind her, solid and warm.
His hand came to rest possessively on her waist, fingers splaying across the silk of her dress.
Without thinking, she leaned back slightly into him, fitting herself against his chest. Mrs. Long gave them a smile and moved on.
He bent his head, his breath stirring the curls at her temple as he murmured low enough that she had to strain to hear, forgetting entirely that others stood nearby.
"I cannot wait to put my mark on your throat. These other alphas need to stop looking at you."
Heat flooded Elizabeth's face, spreading down her neck to disappear beneath her neckline.
She'd noticed the looks—Mr. Lucas's lingering gaze, young Mr. Goulding's repeated attempts at conversation, even Mr. Hurst stealing glances when he thought no one would notice.
Her newly revealed omega status had shifted something fundamental in how certain men viewed her.
She turned her head slightly, her lips barely moving as she whispered back with teasing lightness, "Are you jealous of everyone, Mr. Darcy?"
His hand tightened on her waist, fingers pressing into the boning of her stays.
"Yes." The admission came without apology or shame. "Of any alpha who looks at you. I'm aware it's unreasonable."
"I find it rather flattering," Elizabeth murmured, letting her weight rest more fully against him.
Darcy made a low sound, almost a growl. "Tonight. Tonight you'll wear my mark."
He stopped abruptly, his body tensing. Elizabeth followed his gaze to find Caroline standing not three feet away, her face frozen in an expression of absolute horror.
She'd heard. Heard every intimate word, witnessed their casual touching, the way Darcy held Elizabeth like he couldn't bear to let her go.
Caroline's carefully constructed composure shattered like ice in spring. Her face went white, then flushed deep red, traveling down her neck in ugly blotches.
"I—excuse me—"
She fled, silk skirts rustling frantically as she nearly ran from the room.
Elizabeth watched her go, pity and relief warring in her chest. "She heard."
Darcy's arm came fully around her waist, pulling her against him with complete disregard for propriety.
"Good. Let her know exactly how much I love my wife. Let everyone know."
Elizabeth leaned into his touch, the whispers of their audience fading to nothing, his possessive words hanging in the air for all those nearest to hear—and she found she didn't mind one bit.