Chapter 13
A PROMISE KEPT
Elizabeth slept ill the night before her wedding; it was almost a relief to arise and face the day.
Jane came in to brush out and help style her hair—always a trial.
Thankfully, she did not try to talk too much, as the nerves were nearly overpowering, and her mother and other sisters left them alone.
Mr Darcy was a good man, she could see that now.
Even, he seemed to be everything she had hoped for in a husband.
However, she was not in love with him, and she had never envisioned marrying a man with whom she was not head-over-heels in love.
After all, she barely knew him! A week ago, she had imagined that he despised her. If only there were more time!
But time was a luxury she did not have.
The night before, Mama had entered Elizabeth’s bedchamber and made an embarrassing, convoluted explanation of what was supposed to happen upon her wedding night.
Her words had made everything worse, and now Elizabeth was not only full of nerves for marrying a near-stranger, but she was half appalled and afraid to even consider what was to follow.
“Him being such a big man, you can expect to feel as if you were going to split in half. It hurts something terrible at first, but it is over with very quickly,” her mother had instructed.
“I usually ponder something else entirely until your papa is finished. Lately I have been planning to repaint the larger drawing room from that awful bottle green. I found a paint colour called ‘Stifled Sigh’ that I believe would be pretty, the palest of lilacs, but ‘Dust of Ruins’—which is a bit lighter than ‘Noisette’—is bolder and possibly more elegant. ’Tis nearly impossible to decide. What do you think?”
What she thought was that her mother ought to redecorate fewer public rooms during intimacy and especially not one Elizabeth would have to stare at for the remainder of her time at Longbourn.
Instead of running screaming from the room, she tried not to listen, not to either paint colours or Mama’s advice.
At the outset of her situation, she had taken no interest whatsoever in wedding clothes, and naturally, there was hardly time to procure anything beyond new trims, a couple of hats, and what trifling amount could be obtained ready-made.
But she was clever with a needle, so after deciding to move forward with the marriage, she had remade one of her older gowns into a much more stylish wedding-day dress in pale blue with sheer silk gauze overlay.
It was cut becomingly low, to show off her sapphires, and she was glad, after all, that she had gone to the effort, and would appear in her best looks—it helped her courage.
After endless fussing with her hair, she felt the cool weight of the stones as Jane clasped them around her neck.
“There. You are finished, except for donning your gown. You will be the most beautiful bride this country has ever seen,” Jane pronounced at last.
Elizabeth turned to peer in the mirror, and almost did not recognise herself.
Rather than attempting to tame her hair, Jane had styled it with some height, leaving curls framing her face.
A slim indigo silk band, in lieu of a hat, rested across the top of her head and held back the curls, somehow making her wild locks appear regal instead of unruly.
“Oh, Jane, you have done wonders. Whatever shall I do without you?” It was all she could do not to descend into weeping, considering the unknowns of her future unaccompanied by any of those she held dear, an immense rift she had no idea how to navigate.
She was certain that Mr Darcy held no great opinion of her family, and in some ways, she could not blame him.
Her two youngest sisters had made silly fools of themselves before him the last couple of nights, her father had been moody and silent, her mother trying too hard to please whilst throwing Jane at Mr Bingley.
When Lydia had complained, loudly, over gossip of Mr Wickham’s hasty departure, Elizabeth had been mortified.
Mr Darcy seemed to be doing his best to overlook their poor behaviour, but she wished there had not been quite so much to overlook.
“You will do as you always do,” Jane assured quietly.
“You will do your best, and your best will be more than acceptable. You will make new friends, and have wonderful, new experiences, which you will surely delight in. You have always been the most daring of us all, Lizzy. This marriage has been a surprise for you, but I believe in Mr Darcy’s integrity, and I believe in you. ”
In the mirror’s reflection, she saw the look on her sister’s face; her eyes were full of unshed tears.
For the first time, she realised that Jane had been struggling as well.
Probably, most of her efforts to be what Elizabeth had felt was overly optimistic were aimed at hiding her personal sorrow at the loss of her closest sister.
“Oh, Jane, I have relied upon your friendship and good sense all my life! I will miss you so! Promise me now that you will visit at the earliest opportunity, just as soon as I can arrange it.”
“That is an easy promise to make.” Jane glanced out the window.
“I see Papa’s carriage is at the front. It is a shame to cover this lovely gown with a pelisse, even if it is new and with the sweetest fur trim, but it is chilly out.
At least it is not raining. Here are your gloves. Shall we go down?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. If Jane could swallow her pain, so could she.
“Yes. I am ready.”
She was not, not really, but it was time, and she had given her word.
Darcy watched from his window until the carriage carrying Miss Bingley away was long out of sight.
As he had expected, she had chosen to accompany Mrs Thomasina Darcy instead of returning to Suffolk in near poverty.
What he had not quite expected was Louisa Hurst’s absolute fury at her sister.
It was she who had arranged for Miss Bingley to travel to Hurst’s Mayfair home in abject disgrace, there to await Thomasina’s pleasure.
He had sent an express to his cousin with the ‘happy’ news of having found companionship for her, and he had not spared the ink in describing exactly who he was sending to her.
Had it been anyone else, he might have had second or third thoughts; however, his cousin loved a challenge, and, even, loved people in general.
He had made clear that if she could do nothing with Miss Bingley, she must send her home to her family, but he was confident that if anyone could, it was the scatter-brained, high-spirited, brilliant, adventure-loving Thomasina Darcy.
All that remained was to marry the woman who had been most harmed by Miss Bingley’s twisted sense of covetous jealousy. His feelings of anticipation warred with his guilt, but what was done was done, and he felt the only honourable solution was to see that Elizabeth, eventually, regretted nothing.
It was not until he waited at the front of the church, Bingley fidgeting by his side, that he felt any particular nerves. And those, not until Elizabeth walked into the nave upon her father’s arm.
She was magnificent.
Everyone else in the church faded into insignificance; only his intended, his enchanting Elizabeth, could hold his attention.
It was not just because she looked as finely attired as any ton bride—she could have been dressed by the finest seamstress in London and not looked more elegant.
It was not only her lovely eyes, luminous and large, or skin so soft, perfect, and flawless that she would have been sought after by half the portraitists in London, if only they could see her now.
It was not simply that she was beautiful. Not only.
It was that he knew—knew—she was not marrying him for sensible reasons of wealth, position, and reputation, never mind love.
Simply, she had given her word that she would, and so, here she was.
She faced him with courage and strength, an inner resilience that would not allow her to back away from a promise made, however carelessly.
Here she was, offering him all that she was and would ever be, and promising it before God and family.
If she would not withdraw from a simple wager, how much more seriously would she take these vows she gave now?
The answer was clear. She would pledge her loyalty to him this day, and he could trust it. He could trust her. The knowledge that she did not love him pierced his heart.
My brave and beautiful bride.