Chapter 49
The March sun cast a warm glow over their faces as the Darcy carriage rolled through the busy town lane. The carriage wheels creaked and groaned, creating a steady rhythm that usually lulled Darcy into a trance. This day—his wedding day—it did nothing of the sort. He was married. To Elizabeth!
The ceremony had been interminably long. To be a vicar, one must enjoy the sound of one’s own voice.
He looked at his forefinger and the ink stain from having signed the wedding registry. A very welcome parting gift. Darcy turned his attention to Elizabeth, who sat next to him, her eyes fixed on the gold ring adorning her finger. His wife. He could not help but stare at her delicate features, the way the sunlight caught the caramel strands of her hair and made them shimmer. She seemed lost in thought, her lips slightly lifted as she turned the ring over and over, as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning. He wondered what was going through her mind.
“Mrs Elizabeth Darcy,” she whispered.
“Why do you whisper?” He whispered all but the final word, which he emphasised. “Is it your plan to have all of our circle speak our name in a hushed voice?”
“Mrs Elizabeth Darcy,” she replied, in a mockingly haughty manner.
“Pardon me, madam. What was that you said? I could not make it out.”
Elizabeth turned to him, her perfect smile radiant. His breath hitched. What a glorious creature his wife was!
“Mrs Elizabeth Darcy,” she repeated, pronouncing her new surname loudly.
He offered his hand; she placed hers in it. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs Darcy.”
He kissed the ring on her hand and was pleased by her sigh of pleasure.
A few nights later, the new Mrs Darcy sat before the library’s fiery hearth, which cast a warm glow on the walls and dancing shadows across the Persian carpets. A random popping log was the only sound that interrupted, but did not infringe, upon the pleasant silence of the room, nor her new husband’s concentration. A fatigued Elizabeth, on the other hand, had surrendered reading Much Ado About Nothing; instead, she raised her favourite of the bard’s comedies up higher and utilised it like a fan, hiding her face as she gazed at the vision sitting opposite her.
Darcy sat in his favourite armchair, a leather-bound book in his lap, lost in his reading. Elizabeth watched him smile, furrow his brow, and even lift an eyebrow. He was a handsome sight, with his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead and his strong jaw displaying a hint of the beard he had his man shave each morning. She could not help but admire him, and he was hers!
As if sensing her interest, Darcy looked up from his book and met her gaze. His eyes narrowed and his pupils widened. She knew that look. She swallowed, the spark of desire lighting within her. She lifted an eyebrow.
“Is there something on your mind, husband?” She set her book down.
He set his aside and continued to stare. She gave in to the tingling in her chest. She rubbed her palms with her fingertips, massaging the damp.
“There is,” he paused, “wife.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and let his baritone envelop her. She opened them as he sat next to her on the fainting couch. She leant into him; he wrapped his long arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She inhaled audibly and sighed aloud. “This seat is accurately named.”
He leant in closer, their noses touching, his voice low and teasing. “Is that so, Mrs. Darcy? Perhaps I should test your theory.”
Their faces mere inches apart, Elizabeth could feel his warm breath on her skin. She embraced the now familiar, very welcome thrill running through her at his closeness. His lips hovered over hers. But just as their lips were about to meet, her book fell to the floor with a muted thud. Darcy leant back, a small smile playing on his lips.
“I believe someone is trying to interrupt our quiet evening, my dear,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head. “It seems the books themselves are jealous of our attention, Mr. Darcy.”
He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well then, perhaps I should show them who truly holds my attention.”
And with that, he pulled her into his lap and captured her lips in a passionate kiss. Elizabeth melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as their kiss deepened. A pleasant eternity later, they broke apart, both breathless and flushed. Darcy rested his forehead against hers, his hand caressing her cheek.
His lips made the lightest contact with hers. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his breath a sensual feather upon her mouth. She pressed her lips against his neck and purred like a cat.
She drifted off in her husband’s loving embrace.
Having attended Sunday services, Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the music room then went to review some letters of business. Elizabeth was practising scales from memory when Georgiana stepped into the room.
“Georgiana! Welcome home.” Elizabeth stepped away from the pianoforte and opened her arms.
Georgiana rushed into her embrace. “I have missed you, Lizzy.”
A voice from the doorway intruded upon their reunion. “I see marriage makes a beloved brother second seat in the family orchestra.”
“Only when the first pianist is as wonderful as Mrs Darcy,” replied Georgiana. As Elizabeth laughed, Georgiana rushed to Darcy and fiercely embraced him. “Forgive me, as the knocker is still down…”
“Never you mind, sweetling. This is your home. We, too, have missed you.”
Servants efficiently delivered tea and departed. Elizabeth did the honours.
“What are your plans? When shall you be off?” asked Georgiana.
Elizabeth smiled at Darcy; he too wore his amusement openly. Happy is a family with younger sisters. “We plan to remain in town for the foreseeable future,” she replied.
Georgiana’s brow crinkled and she turned to her brother. “When shall you introduce Lizzy to Pemberley?”
“We shall remove to Derbyshire a few weeks before Season’s end,” he replied.
“Why so long?” Georgiana asked.
Elizabeth looked at Darcy, who nodded. “We have yet to hire trustworthy protection.” At Georgiana’s gasp, Elizabeth continued on. “Once we have qualified men in place, we shall move to Pemberley.”
“You sound like Brother.” It sounded more like a concession than an accusation.
“Your brother takes the protection of his family seriously.” Georgiana opened her mouth but Elizabeth raised a finger. “As do I.”
Mrs Goulding took stock of the Meryton matrons assembled in her drawing room on this fine February morning. All were in her good graces, except for Mrs Harrington and Mrs Long. Well, she had a surprise for them.
“You all know about the glorious to-do in London last week for the wedding of Miss Elizabeth to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, nephew to the earl of Matlock and heir to one of the country’s largest estates?”
The group nodded, and murmurs about the lavish ball and banquet celebrating the nuptials consumed nearly a quarter of an hour. Finally, Mrs Goulding was ready to continue and make her point. “Well,” she said loudly enough to quell any other conversation, “I owe Mrs Harrington and Mrs Long a much overdue apology. It was exactly one and twenty years ago today that I errantly offered my assertion regarding the future of Miss Jane Bennet.”
“I recall something of a boast you made of her over my Penny, but for the life of me, I cannot recall it,” replied Mrs Harrington. “But we shall all be able to greet Lady Snodgrass in a month, as she has condescended to visit our fair county.”
Her daughter had married an impoverished knight. Mrs Goulding pressed her lips to keep from laughing.
Then Mrs Long boasted of her niece’s match. “It must be difficult to have a Season and find few suitors. My niece’s husband expects a call to St James. When she visits Meryton next, we may soon address her as Lady Sallow.”
Mrs Goulding coughed into her hand. “Yes, yes, that is fine, my dears. As I was saying, I owe you all a long-overdue apology. I had asserted that Miss Bennet would one day earn the distinction of being named Lady Someone.”
She pulled a broadsheet from her reticule; her husband had put it into her hand that morning. She held it up for her audience to see. “Our Miss Bennet shall never be Lady Someone. Rather, should she ever find it in her schedule to visit, we shall all curtsey to Her Grace, the Duchess of Somerset.”
The gathering ended not long after.