Chapter Seventeen
Elizabeth had the pleasure of witnessing Emily’s and Georgiana’s delight after the marriage ceremony was complete.
Her mother sobbed and repeated, “God has been good. He has been so very good to us.”
Charlotte embraced her tightly. “My dear, dear Eliza, you will be happy. I am sure you will be.”
Her papa could not stand, and he looked wan and tired. But he touched Elizabeth’s cheek and smiled. “My dear girl. I shall miss you so much.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “I do not want to leave you.”
He smiled. “Change is often good, but it is always change.”
“I shall never, never not wish that you were closer.”
He laughed. “My dear, dear girl.”
Mr. Collins bowed and said gamely, “Whilst the circumstances are not the most propitious, and much that has occurred was of a questionable nature, and though I am by no means convinced that Lady Catherine will be pleased to hear the tale of what has transpired here, despite all this, you have married one of the most illustrious personages in the land, and I am honoured that you are my cousin.”
“Um…my thanks,” Elizabeth replied.
After they all toasted her and ate the large cake that Mrs. Bennet had somehow procured on such brief notice, Mr. Bennet went to his room to sleep, while the rest of the party sat down to dinner.
A shudder of not wholly irrational anxiety shot through Elizabeth as the door closed behind her father.
He might die during the night. That might be the last time she ever saw him.
And she would leave for Pemberley—perhaps tomorrow. She did not know Mr. Darcy’s plans. She might never see her dear papa again.
He would die.
Even if he did not die tonight, she was suddenly sure that he would die before they came south for the Season.
This thought made it hard for Elizabeth to feel the proper cheer that belonged to a wedding feast.
From his expression, Mr. Darcy’s mind was also stuck upon a sombre subject. Oddly, that companionship made Elizabeth feel better.
Mrs. Bennet had set a fine table, but, as she repeated many times, it was nothing to what she could have managed with more than five hours to prepare.
It turned out as they talked during the evening that there was not any plan for where she and her new husband would go for their wedding night.
A shiver ran through her whole body, causing her stomach and her bosom to tingle at the idea.
Mrs. Bennet looked startled when it was mentioned. “Lizzy, I have not had any chance to talk to you about…your duties.”
Elizabeth’s face burned.
She thought she knew the principal facts, but she was not certain. She glanced at Mr. Darcy, who looked about steadily and in an unembarrassed manner, except that his colour was high.
He certainly knew precisely what was involved in a wedding night.
From the corner of her eye, she saw that the younger unmarried women in the room, such as her sisters, Maria Lucas, and Georgiana had a keenly interested look.
Mr. Darcy said, “There will be ample time during the course of the night for significant conversations to occur.”
Lydia and Kitty tittered in a way that Elizabeth found terribly embarrassing.
Then Mr. Bingley broke the awkwardness by raising his wine glass. “A toast to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!”
She was Mrs. Darcy.
“As for lodgings for the night, Miss Elizabeth—” Mr. Bingley stopped and grinned sheepishly at everyone.
“I mean Mrs. Darcy. You are most welcome to join Darcy in his rooms at Netherfield—that will be a surprise for Caroline and Louisa.” He started laughing.
“Amidst the activity of the day I had completely forgotten my sisters. They have received no message about what has transpired here. It would be such a surprise to them if you come and we introduce you to them all as Mrs. Darcy.”
Elizabeth grimaced, and she looked at Mr. Darcy to see what he thought. A similar unhappy expression adorned his face.
“I suppose,” Mr. Bingley continued, “it might be awkward tomorrow round the breakfast table while we wait for Darcy and the colonel to return from their rendezvous.”
Elizabeth shivered.
Even though Mr. Darcy had said that he did not mean to fight Mr. Wickham, she was terrified of the morning. What would he really do when he saw his enemy?
“That sounds awkward indeed,” Elizabeth replied with a forced smile, “and an amusing surprise that I would happily avoid.”
“You will both stay here,” Mrs. Bennet said. “It will be no problem if Mr. Darcy and you both spend the night in your bedroom! Why, to begin one’s married life in their girlhood room seems like a very good omen!”
Elizabeth baulked at the thought of doing that, whatever that included, in her bedroom.
So odd, so wrong.
And her papa’s chamber was just below hers, and Elizabeth had gained the impression that that often involved a great deal of noise.
Mr. Darcy said calmly, “It is hardly of great importance as I do not think I shall sleep much. I shall need to leave two hours before dawn to ride to the appointed meeting place.”
“Oh, you do not sleep on your wedding night.” Mrs. Bennet giggled. “You know that. You have been married before.”
Elizabeth’s face burned, and she wished to sink through the floor, down into the ground, and then deeper and deeper until no one would be able to find the bones.
In a slightly awed and almost whispered voice, Georgiana asked, “Mrs. Bennet, what exactly do you do on a wedding night?”
It was her mother’s turn to look a little embarrassed, but after a few seconds of appearing tongue-tied, she cheerfully replied, “That is for you to learn about when you marry. By then my Lizzy will be well qualified to tell you everything that you should know. You must be so happy to have gained such a sister.”
“I am!” Georgiana agreed. “I could not love Lizzy better if we had grown up together.”
Elizabeth smiled warmly at the girl, though the embarrassment of the conversation still scorched her face.
In the end, Emily and Georgiana could not stifle their yawns any longer, so the Netherfield party, with the exception of Mr. Darcy, made their farewells.
Mr. Collins walked over to Lucas Lodge with Sir William and his family when they departed, so that there would be room for Mr. Darcy’s valet and Colonel Fitzwilliam to have guest rooms without making any of Elizabeth’s sisters bed together or forcing one of the servants to sleep on the floor.
Elizabeth and Charlotte embraced before Charlotte left. Elizabeth watched her friend walk away on the arm of Mr. Collins, listening to his conversation with more appearance of interest than Elizabeth had imagined anyone could muster.
Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam remained in the drawing room whilst Mrs. Bennet called Elizabeth upstairs to explain the secrets of the wedding night.
The conversation that followed was the most exquisitely embarrassing of Elizabeth’s life, though it did provide some information of interest, and more than a little reason for anxiety, even though Elizabeth had been correct in thinking herself to be informed of the principal facts.
When she returned to the drawing room, Elizabeth found her husband—how odd to give a man that title—sitting in the dim light with his legs crossed and an unreadable expression on his face as he stared at the fire, while Colonel Fitzwilliam read a newspaper by candlelight.
Both gentlemen rose, and the colonel yawned theatrically. “I shall retreat to bed, as we have an early morning. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy.” He bowed to them in turn and then left the room.
She looked at Mr. Darcy. He looked at her. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
He came and took her hand and led her to sit.
“It has been a day,” he said.
Elizabeth laughed and briefly glanced up at him before looking down once more. “It seems far longer than one day—must you go?”
“I must give Wickham an opportunity to apologise, and—”
Elizabeth looked up at him when he did not continue.
He frowned at his hands. “There is no shame for anyone if we can agree mutually that we do not wish to fight.”
“You feel it keenly, the sense that you will be despised by others if you do not meet him—but do not. Please, please do not risk yourself.”
“My life is not my own. It now belongs to you, amongst others.”
His eyes were soft in the candlelight.
Elizabeth’s stomach twisted.
She subtly moved closer. She could not say what she wished for, but she did hope for it.
He tilted his face towards her, moving slowly, deliberately.
Hand on her cheek.
She leaned into his palm.
He kissed her softly, his lips clinging to hers.
The kiss was endless.
Elizabeth began to lose her sense of place and forget that she was in Longbourn’s drawing room and that her parents slept nearby, along with her sisters.
All that existed was the kiss and the warm feel of Mr. Darcy’s lips, and the taste of his mouth.
When he pulled back, she moaned in unhappiness.
She longed for more.
She wanted to move even closer to him, to press her body against his, to feel more of him. But she did not dare.
He might judge her if she showed too much desire for him. He had every reason to distrust passion in a woman, to fear that it indicated licentiousness.
Elizabeth opened her eyes again and looked into his.
They were dark and intense.
He took a deep breath and pulled her hand up to kiss.
She wanted him to kiss her lips again. She wanted to find out what would happen next.
She did not dare to ask.
And then she remembered that they would go to her bedroom, with its proximity to her father’s room.
She groaned.
“What is it, my dear?”
“My dear—that sounds so strange,” Elizabeth replied. “So very strange.”
He smiled at her.
“I…um…my bedroom, the one Mama told us to sleep in…when I was younger, much younger, before Lydia was born, I um…it is right next to my mother’s bedroom. And on a few occasions, I, um, heard…um…”
“Ahem.” He nodded seriously. “Certain sounds.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth sighed in relief at his apparent understanding. “Certain sounds. I did not guess then at what they meant. I only recalled them as Mama talked to me about the, um, marital, um, bed.”
They sat there, both blushing, for several minutes.
Elizabeth yawned. She had slept far less than usual since her father’s attack, and despite the situation, she found her eyes were heavy.
“You ought to go to your room,” Mr. Darcy said. “You should sleep. Tonight is an odd wedding night. We shall…tomorrow…” He looked down and swallowed. “You are so beautiful. So very, very beautiful. I can scarce think when you look me in the eye.”
Heat crept up Elizabeth’s neck, and it was impossible to meet his gaze after he said that.
There was a warm glow in her belly.
“Tomorrow, we shall leave for Pemberley,” he continued, “and then, at the first inn, when Mr. Bennet is far away, then…”
Elizabeth nodded.
But she wanted to beg him to let her stay at Longbourn for a few days longer. To accustom herself to the idea that she must leave, and to see a little more of her papa before he died.
My life is not my own.
It was what Mr. Darcy had kept saying since he had decided not to fight Mr. Wickham. It was true for her as well.
She had married him to secure the well-being of Jane and the rest of her family, and she had no right to ask for anything else.
Elizabeth had a duty, a duty she would fulfil: to be the best wife to him that she could be, to be the best mother for Emily, and then, later, the best possible mother for his heir.
She wanted to take his hand and press it against her cheek.
That would be too forward.
He took her hand. He caressed it and studied it, turning it over and examining the lines on her palm. He traced his finger down her wrist and over the sensitive skin there.
She jumped and shivered.
The smile that Mr. Darcy wore when he looked up at her had a smug air, and she could not help but openly grin at him.
“You need your sleep as well, just like Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
He shook his head. “I do not believe that I could sleep. I shall stay here and read.”
“I shall not leave you to sit awake on our wedding night,” Elizabeth replied. “No, if you are going to read, you should read to me.”
“What would you like me to read?”
“Macbeth,” Elizabeth replied after some thought. “I have meant to reread it of late.”
“Not Romeo and Juliet?” he replied. She shook her head. “No? But the Scottish play is not apt. It is known to be bad luck and does not fit the mood.”
“Romeo and Juliet would be an even worse omen.” Elizabeth giggled. “Much Ado About Nothing or A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I leave to you the choice betwixt the two.”
“As I have never read Much Ado. I think that will be the choice. Where shall I find a copy?”
“In the library.” Elizabeth rose and picked up a candle. “I shall fetch it.”
“Let me go with you.”
He rose and they walked together. As they entered the library, their bodies brushed against each other again.
Elizabeth found herself in a passionate kiss with her husband once more, him cradling her head with one hand while the other rubbed slowly up and down her back.
His tongue flickered into her mouth, and she felt a jolt of pleasure as it moved against her own.
It was frightening and licentious to do such a thing in her father’s library.
Rather to Elizabeth’s disappointment, he pulled back.
He rested his head against hers. “Tomorrow. And I do not wish to hurry you. We must wait.”
He breathed heavily.
She breathed heavily as well. All her sisters were asleep in the rooms around them.
Mr. Darcy picked up the candle. “Now where are your Shakespeare folios?”
Elizabeth retrieved the volume containing Much Ado About Nothing.
When they returned to the drawing room, Elizabeth at last, since it could be interpreted as affectionate rather than desperate, asked for something she wanted.
“May I lay my head against your shoulder as you read?”
Mr. Darcy appeared surprised by the request. He stared at her for what seemed a terribly long time. Then he nodded solemnly.
They arranged themselves, still both in the clothes they had married in. Elizabeth pulled her feet up onto the sofa, then leaned her head against Mr. Darcy, every so often squirming and twisting about to feel more comfortable.
She was pleased to find her husband had a fine, delightful reading voice, and he brought emotion to the speeches.
A little after he began the second act, Elizabeth fell asleep.
Much later, she woke to the sound of a soft snore.
Mr. Darcy had fallen asleep, his hand on her side and his head tilted back on the sofa in what looked to be a quite uncomfortable pose. She stood up, and though he stirred a little, he did not rise.
Elizabeth collected several cushions, which she placed under his head, then covered him with a blanket. She also rearranged his legs into what looked to be a more comfortable position.
Then she lay down again, her head in Mr. Darcy’s lap. She pulled a second blanket over herself and grabbed one of her husband’s hands so that she could hold it tight against her chest.
Despite the oddness of the situation, in five minutes she was sound asleep again.