Chapter 13 #3
She laughed softly, wickedly pleased. “Good. I should hate to think you entirely at ease.”
* * *
“Hold still, Lizzy! I cannot secure this pin if you insist on fidgeting like a child,” Mrs Gardiner scolded, though her tone held more amusement than reproach.
Elizabeth exhaled sharply, forcing her body to remain motionless as her aunt arranged the delicate lace cap atop her dark curls.
The morning sunlight streamed through the guest chamber window, highlighting the ivory silk of her wedding gown, a simple but elegant creation that flowed gracefully over her slight bump.
”There,” Mrs Gardiner declared, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You look beautiful.”
Elizabeth turned toward the looking glass, hardly recognizing the woman who stared back at her. “I look terrified,” she countered with a nervous laugh.
”Merely thoughtful,” her aunt corrected, adjusting the fall of Elizabeth’s sleeve. “Though I daresay a touch of colour in your cheeks would not go amiss. Perhaps a pinch?”
Before Elizabeth could protest, Mrs Gardiner had gently pinched her niece’s cheeks, bringing a flush of pink to her pale complexion. “Much better. We cannot have you looking like you are attending a funeral rather than your own wedding.”
”Is it not?” Elizabeth murmured, smoothing her hands over the gown. “The funeral of Mrs Morley, at least.”
Mrs Gardiner clicked her tongue. “Such dramatics! I thought you had left those behind with your girlhood.”
Elizabeth sighed, moving to the window where she could see the busy London street below.
Carriages rolled past, pedestrians hurried along the walkways, all unaware that Elizabeth Bennet’s carefully constructed life was transforming yet again.
“I cannot help but think of my plans for France,” she admitted.
“All those preparations, the correspondence with Monsieur Bevier, the arrangements for my business…”
”Plans change,” Mrs Gardiner said simply, coming to stand beside her. “And not always for the worse.”
Elizabeth turned to face her aunt, vulnerability evident in her expression. “What if I have made another mistake? What if this marriage proves as confining as my first?”
Mrs Gardiner’s expression softened. “Oh, Lizzy. Mr Darcy is not Thomas Morley, you know this. Has he not demonstrated his respect for your independence in every possible way?”
”He has,” Elizabeth acknowledged, her hand drifting unconsciously to her abdomen. “But I cannot help but fear…”
”Fear is natural,” her aunt said, taking Elizabeth’s hands in her own. “But so is hope. And I see hope in your eyes when you speak of him, whether you admit it or not.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, unable to deny the observation. “I never expected to have this chance,” she whispered. “To be a mother. To have a family of my own. I had mourned that possibility years ago.”
”And now here you are, about to marry a man who clearly adores you, carrying a child that both of you already love.” Mrs Gardiner squeezed her hands. “Life has a way of surprising us, does it not?”
A reluctant smile tugged at Elizabeth’s lips. “Indeed it does.”
”Besides,” Mrs Gardiner added with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “I have it on good authority that Mr Darcy is quite beside himself with nerves this morning. Your uncle saw him pacing the length of his study at dawn, muttering his vows like a schoolboy before an examination.”
Elizabeth laughed despite herself. “Surely not! Mr Darcy, nervous?”
”Apparently he has already changed his waistcoat twice, and nearly strangled poor Fletcher while attempting to tie his cravat.” Mrs Gardiner’s eyes danced with amusement. “It seems the great Master of Pemberley is as human as the rest of us when facing his wedding day.”
The image of the normally composed Darcy in such a state lightened Elizabeth’s mood considerably. “Well, I suppose I cannot be the only one suffering,” she said with mock severity.
Mrs Gardiner laughed, then sobered slightly. “Are you truly suffering, Lizzy? Is this marriage so very dreadful a prospect?”
Elizabeth considered the question honestly. “No,” she admitted after a moment. “Not dreadful. Terrifying, perhaps. But also…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Hopeful.”
”Hopeful,” Mrs Gardiner repeated with satisfaction. “That is a fine foundation for a marriage, I think.”
A knock at the door announced the arrival of the maid with Elizabeth’s bridal bouquet, a simple arrangement of late roses and greenery that complemented the understated elegance of her gown.
”It is time, Mrs Morley,” the maid said with a curtsy. Elizabeth accepted the flowers, their sweet scent momentarily calming her racing pulse. “I suppose it is.”
As she prepared to leave the room, Mrs Gardiner adjusted her necklace one final time. “Remember, Lizzy, you are not losing yourself today. You are gaining a partner.”
Elizabeth nodded, drawing strength from her aunt’s words. “A partner,” she repeated softly. “Yes, that is what I shall focus on.”
With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and stepped into the corridor where her uncle waited to escort her to the church, and to her future.
“For the love of God, Darcy, if you adjust that cravat one more time, I shall be forced to strangle you with it.”
Darcy’s hands froze in the act of tugging at the perfectly arranged white cloth at his throat. He shot a withering look at Brigadier Fitzwilliam, who lounged opposite him in the carriage with the relaxed air of a man thoroughly enjoying his cousin’s distress.
”The knot is crooked,” Darcy muttered, though he reluctantly lowered his hands.
”The knot is immaculate,” Richard countered, grinning broadly.
“As is every hair on your head, every thread of your coat, and every polish mark on those boots. You look like you are about to be presented to the King, not married to a woman who has already seen you in considerably less formal attire.”
Darcy’s scowl deepened. “Must you be crude today, of all days?”
”Must you be a nervous wreck?” Richard shot back, his eyes dancing with mirth. “She has already accepted you, man! The difficult part is over. Now you merely need to stand, repeat a few words, and try not to faint before the ring is on her finger.”
”I have never fainted in my life,” Darcy said stiffly, though the pallor of his face suggested such an event was not entirely outside the realm of possibility this morning.
Richard leaned forward, his expression softening slightly. “In all seriousness, cousin, what has you so agitated? You have wanted this for years. You are about to marry the woman you love, who is carrying your child. Most men would be jubilant.”
Darcy gazed out the carriage window, watching London’s buildings roll past. “I am… jubilant,” he said, the word sitting awkwardly on his tongue. “But I am also aware that Elizabeth is relinquishing much. Her independence. Her plans for France. The life she had built for herself.”
”Ah,” Richard nodded knowingly. “And now you fear she will resent you for it.”
Darcy’s silence was answer enough.
”You underestimate her,” Richard said after a moment. “And yourself. From what I have observed, Mrs Morley is not a woman easily coerced into anything. If she is marrying you, it is because she has chosen to do so.”
”Because of the child,” Darcy corrected quietly.
”Because of many things, I suspect,” Richard countered. “The child amongst them, certainly. But also, perhaps, because she sees in you someone worth building a life with.” His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Though Lord knows what that might be, given your charming disposition.”
Darcy snorted despite himself. “Your support is overwhelming.”
”It always has been,” Richard agreed cheerfully.
“And it will continue to be, though I confess I am looking forward to redirecting my teasing efforts toward your married state. Speaking of which,” His expression turned sly.
“I imagine you are rather anticipating the wedding night? Or is that particular pleasure somewhat diminished by previous… acquaintance?”
”Richard!” Darcy hissed, glancing instinctively toward their driver, though the glass partition and street noise made it impossible for the man to overhear.
The Brigadier laughed, utterly unrepentant. “Come now, Darcy! You can hardly blame a man for curiosity. The stern Master of Pemberley, undone by a lady apothecary with fine eyes and a sharp tongue. It is positively Shakespearean.”
Darcy’s glare might have scorched ice, but his cousin merely grinned wider.
”I am merely trying to distract you from your nerves,” Richard said innocently. “Is it working?”
”It is giving me a headache,” Darcy retorted, though the tension in his shoulders had indeed eased somewhat.
The carriage began to slow as they approached the small church Darcy had selected for its privacy. Richard leaned forward, his expression suddenly more serious.
”She chose you, Darcy,” he said quietly. “Remember that. Whatever her reasons, whatever her fears, she chose you. Honour that choice by believing in it.”
Darcy met his cousin’s gaze, surprised by the unexpected wisdom. After a moment, he nodded. “Thank you, Richard.”
”Do not thank me yet,” Richard replied, his mischievous grin returning as the carriage came to a stop. “Save your gratitude for after my speech at the wedding breakfast. I have been working on it for days.”
Darcy’s eyes widened in alarm. “You will not be making a speech.”
”Oh, but I will,” Richard countered, descending from the carriage with a flourish. “And it will be glorious. I have collected stories from your Cambridge days that will make even Rita blush.”
”Richard, I swear to God…”
”Best not to swear before entering a church, cousin,” Richard called over his shoulder, already striding toward the entrance. “Save your vows for your bride!”
Darcy stood frozen beside the carriage, torn between exasperation and a strange, bubbling lightness that might, in a less reserved man, have been identified as joy. With a shake of his head, he followed his cousin into the church where his future awaited.