Chapter 20
Elizabeth
Jane married Mr. Bingley one June morning beneath a sky so luminous that my mother took it as heaven's approval of all her decisions.
She wept during the ceremony, even more at the luncheon, then recovered enough strength to inform every guest that Jane had always been the most beautiful young woman in Hertfordshire. Bingley gazed at his wife as if discovering this truth for the first time.
Darcy stood beside me in the church.
When Jane spoke her vows, his fingers discreetly brushed mine between the folds of my dress. No one could see the touch. It was enough to send a warmth racing beneath my skin—one that had nothing to do with religion.
Two weeks later, it was our turn.
I slept little the night before. Jane had left Netherfield to spend the night at Longbourn with me. We shared our old room one last time, though neither of us was still the girl who had once spoken of love there with such ignorance.
“Are you happy?” she asked me in the darkness.
“Yes.”
“You didn't hesitate.”
“Not anymore.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“You love him.”
I stared at the ceiling I could not see.
I had told Darcy that I respected him, desired him, and chose him. I had not yet spoken the word love. Not because it wasn't true, but because I feared a declaration made so late would seem manufactured—a mere echo of his own.
“Yes,” I murmured. “I love him.”
“Have you told him?”
“Not in those words.”
“Why not?”
“Because he believed me once when I offered him less than that. I want there to be no doubt when I finally say it.”
Jane took my hand beneath the covers.
“I don't think he doubts you. He doubts himself when it comes to you.”
This observation followed me until morning.
My wedding dress was ivory muslin, simple according to my father's wishes and far too simple according to my mother's. Darcy had given me a pearl necklace that had belonged to his mother. When Jane fastened it around my neck, I felt for the first time the weight of the family I was joining.
“You're beautiful,” she said.
“Mama thinks three additional rows of lace would have improved Mr. Darcy's judgment.”
“His judgment seems quite fixed already.”
In the church, he waited for me near the altar.
I had seen him in drawing rooms, on paths, drenched by rain, kneeling before me. I had never seen him so moved. His face remained grave, but his eyes followed me as though he feared I might vanish before reaching him.
My father gave me his arm.
“There's still time to flee,” he murmured.
“You haven't prepared a carriage.”
“I was counting on your ability to walk.”
I squeezed his arm.
“I'm staying.”
He kissed my forehead before entrusting me to Darcy.
When our hands joined, Fitzwilliam exhaled slowly. His thumb caressed my fingers once, hidden by our gloves.
I spoke my vows without trembling.
I thought not of the debt, nor of Lady Catherine, nor of the ten thousand pounds that had so occupied my mother. I thought of the man who had agreed to change without becoming weak, who had given freedom back to the woman he desired, who now waited to receive a promise he had not purchased.
When the priest declared us husband and wife, Darcy looked at me with an expression so intense that the rest of the church disappeared.
The luncheon was noisy, interminable, and happy.
My mother kissed Darcy several times, which he bore with admirable courage.
Lydia asked if she could come to Pemberley for an entire season.
Kitty burst into tears when she realized two of her sisters were leaving Longbourn.
Mary read a passage on conjugal duties until my father gently took the book from her hands.
Georgiana stayed close to me. She wore a light blue dress and smiled more than she had at our first meeting.
“May I call you Elizabeth?” she asked.
“Only if I may call you Georgiana.”
She kissed me.
Darcy watched us with an emotion he made no effort to hide.
At last, it was time to leave.
I cried as I embraced my mother, surprising even myself. Her arms wrapped around me with desperate strength.
“Write to me, Lizzy. And don’t forget that your poor mother cannot travel such a distance without a comfortable carriage.”
“I’ll see to your comfort.”
My father walked me to the front steps.
“Be happy, my daughter.”
“I will be.”
“And remind him from time to time that he is not always right.”
Darcy, behind me, replied:
“I’m counting on her never to forget it.”
The carriage carried us toward London, where we would spend two nights before continuing on to Pemberley.
For the first few minutes, we watched Longbourn disappear. Then I found myself alone with my husband in the close confines of the carriage.
My husband.
The word sent a shiver through me that did not escape Darcy.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
“Are you tired?”
“A little.”
“Do you regret it?”
I turned my head sharply.
“That’s the third question in less than a minute.”
“I promised to ask.”
“You promised to listen to me, not to interrogate me all the way to London.”
He smiled, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes.
I removed my glove and laid my hand on his cheek.
“I regret nothing.”
He closed his eyes against my palm.
“Elizabeth…”
“Kiss me, Fitzwilliam.”
This time, he didn’t ask again.
His mouth claimed mine with an ardor he’d been holding back since morning. He drew me closer until my hip pressed against his. The sway of the carriage added a dizzying instability to our embrace. I felt his desire pressing against my thigh, immediate and undeniable.
He pulled away with a muffled groan.
“We still have several hours on the road.”
“I know how to count.”
“You seem determined to make the journey impossible.”
“I thought married men enjoyed more privileges.”
“Not in a carriage where the coachman and a valet are a few feet away.”
I blushed, then laughed against his shoulder.
He put an arm around me and kept me there. The warmth of his body, the swaying of the carriage, and sheer exhaustion finally made my eyelids heavy.
I fell asleep against my husband.
When I woke, the lights of London glimmered through the window. Darcy was absently caressing my fingers.
“We’ve arrived,” he murmured.
His gaze reminded me that our day was not over.
It was only beginning.