Chapter 7

7

O ver the years, Elizabeth had far different hopes for her wedding than the reality she faced. For one thing, she dreamed of being pampered and exquisitely groomed before walking down the aisle to meet her groom. She would be a blushing bride, deeply in love with her husband-to-be as he gazed longingly at her when they exchanged their vows. She would promise to love, honor, and obey a man she respected. She would have Jane standing next to her. She would not be wearing black.

A dull ache of broken dreams pressed against her heart. Although she was not meant for sadness or sorrow, all it took for Elizabeth to be resolved to her fate was the tiny faces of her niece and nephew.She would wed Mr. Darcy for their sake, and she would do everything within her power to be pleased at so doing.

Leaning against her father, she approached the groom.

After a brief explanation by her father and husband-to-be, the rector agreed to perform the ceremony and the baptism. Mr. Darcy stood silently in front of her. She could not look him in the eye, instead staring at his black and gray waistcoat. There were four buttons, each embellished with a crest. Was it the Darcy family crest?

When asked who gave this woman to be Mr. Darcy’s wife, her papa placed her hand in his soon-to-be son-in-law’s without handing Clara to someone else. Pressing his lips to her temple, he whispered, “You are meant for happiness, girl. You can do this.”

She was grateful that at least one of the individuals at the front of the chapel was confident because her determination wavered. At a gentle squeeze from Mr. Darcy, she turned her attention to the words uttered by the rector.

His palm was dry, his fingers long and thick. His fingernails were buffed and shined. His shirt cuffs were plain with small black stones embedded in the links holding them together. Even in his traveling clothes, he was elegant.

Mr. Darcy. Would she be like her mother and call her husband ‘Mister’? Or would he be Fitzwilliam? Certainly, she could not conceive of calling him Fitz. How did his sister address him? The only way to know was to ask. Since the clergyman was speaking, the time for requesting information was not then.

Would he call her Mrs. Darcy, Elizabeth, or Lizzy as her family did? Obviously, they would be formal when in public. What about in the privacy of their house? She gulped. What about when they are in their private chambers? She gulped again.

She had not considered that aspect of being married to him. Jane shared snippets of her personal experience with Elizabeth, telling her how wonderful the marriage act was when love was involved. What if there was no love? What then? Would her husband even desire to participate in the closeness? Would she?

She mentally shook off the thought, trying to refocus on what the minister was saying. Oh, good lord! He was at the part where he mentioned the purpose of marriage was to procreate.

Heat rose from Elizabeth’s torso until she thought her ears might ignite. She truly could not look at Mr. Darcy now!

Anxiety at what her future held nearly robbed her of speech when it came time to say her vows. The memory of Mr. Darcy holding Clara tenderly gave her strength. They married for the children’s sake. She needed to remember this, to make it her refrain to survive the coming days. The coming nights. When she shivered, Mr. Darcy tightened his hold on her fingers.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

It was done. Elizabeth Bennet was no more. From that moment on, she was Mrs. Darcy. Elizabeth Darcy. She had always thought Darcy was a much more dignified-sounding name than Bingley, though she never teased her sister about it.

After a brief ceremony, the twins were legally named Charles Alexander Bingley II and Clara Jane Bingley during their christening.

The solemness of both occasions affected them all.

They walked to the carriage in silence. Not even her mother spoke until they reached Longbourn, where Hill reported that everything was ready for their departure. A basket of food plus warm bricks for their feet was already placed inside the Darcy carriage.

“Pardon me.” Elizabeth excused herself after hurriedly helping to pack her possessions to farewell her mother, who had quickly relocated to the nursery. What she saw when she entered was a treat. Francine Bennet, who had been deeply depressed since the news of Jane, hummed a merry tune as she danced a waltz with Charlie in her arms. Clara watched from the comfort of Mrs. Carter’s embrace.

“Oh, but, Lizzy, are they not the most precious babies in the whole world?” Her mother’s smile grew until the corners of her eyes crinkled.“She looks just like Jane did when she was a newborn. And dear, sweet Charlie has that relaxed attitude of his father. Jane would be so happy.”

How could this not lift her own heart? Three generations in the same room.

“Tell me, Mama. Exactly how long did it take for you to fall in love?”

Francine Bennet grinned. “A heartbeat. A very fast heartbeat.”

Elizabeth wished she did not have to burst her mother’s bubble. “Mama, we need to leave.”

Slowing to a stop, grandmother and grandson gazed at each other with love and devotion.

Her mama said to little Charlie, “My new son-in-law has asked me to do my part to see you safe, young man. Never doubt that I will do everything within my power and ability to help you and your sister. As you go, please know that you both are precious to my heart. I love each of you equally, and I will for as long as I live and breathe.”

A pleasurable warmth surged through Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy, her husband, dignified her mother with his request for her help. Who would have thought? The fact that he did this added to the small list of good things Elizabeth knew about him. Jane would have told her that there was already much good about Bingley’s friend. Nonetheless, Jane would have said that about everyone she met. The truth was, at least in Elizabeth’s mind, the more she learned about Mr. Darcy, the more she realized that her first impression was not the complete picture of this man. Who was Mr. Darcy? It was imperative, as a new bride, that she find out.

Darcy paced the entrance hall, waiting for his wife and the children. He had been stunned by how pleased he was to stand across from Elizabeth, knowing he would forever be joined to her. The last remnants of doubt about her lack of social connections and dowry vanished into thin air. What did that matter when compared to the perfection of her character?

Her hands had been cold through her gloves. He wished she had a thicker cape, something he would care for as soon as they reached London.

“It was a fine wedding,” Mr. Bennet declared.

“Yes, it was,” Darcy agreed, wishing Elizabeth would descend the stairs. “Sir, I promise that I will try to be the best husband I can be.”

“I doubt you not, son.”

Ah, here she comes.

Was she a nervous bride? She looked completely calm until he noticed her pulse throbbing rapidly in her throat. A blush covered her cheeks. What was she thinking?

Had she wanted him to kiss her after the ceremony? He wanted to. But theirs was not the typical ceremony where the chapel was filled with friends, family, and well-wishers. No flowers decorated the building—no wedding breakfast where men would slap him on the back and tease him about his wedding night.

Did she wonder how he would act now that they were wed? Of course, he knew his rights as a husband and hers as a wife. He could demand what was due to him. She was required to submit. However, that was far from what he desired. No, when they finally came together, it would be, not because they were inheriting twins, but because the affection between them was genuine.

Immediately, he decided to discuss the matter with Elizabeth as soon as they had the privacy of their carriage. It was not until they were ready to step into his carriage that a thought occurred to him. They could not ride in the comfort of his coach.

Before he could give direction to change carriages, Elizabeth said, “Lady Armstrong will recognize the Darcy seal on the side of your carriage, will she not? If she does, then they will know we are not heading to Pemberley.”

“You are correct.” He was unusually pleased that they were like-minded. Directing the valets to ride in Darcy’s town coach loaded with their possessions and Bingley’s papers,the supplies for the babies and their bare necessities changed to the servant’s coach, where he entered behind Mrs. Carter and Elizabeth.

To the driver of the Darcy coach, he said, “Head toward Pemberley once we reach the junction of the Great North Road. Then, when you reach the first inn, turn back to London, avoiding the main thoroughfares.”

”Aye, Mr. Darcy.”

With a tap on the roof, they were off to an unknown future with the potential for happiness or abject misery. Darcy prayed for the former and desperately hoped to do all within his power to avoid the latter. They had no privacy all the way to London.