Elizabeth and Darcy's eyes met during the ceremony.
The smell of incense and burning candles hung near the front of the modest stone chapel. The morning light strained in through the tall windows, stained yellow, red, and green. A rich green cloth was set on the altar. The parson held a small brown prayer book in front of him and intoned the words of the ceremony.
Darcy paid attention to nothing but Elizabeth's bright brown eyes. The white around the irises, the black of her pupil. Her bold eyelashes. He no longer was sure. The parson spoke of joining, of souls united. It was as though the words applied to them. He needed to be nudged when it was time to hand over the rings.
Elizabeth imagined she was marrying Darcy. She hoped. A desperate hope flowered as their eyes held.
The minutes passed.
The ceremony ended, and they signed the registers. Elizabeth's hand brushed against his, and he smiled. She saw he was no longer sure that he wished to walk away from her.
This was her chance — her true chance to convince him to seize their happiness. She would not let shyness or concern for propriety stop her. It would not be like last time. She would not let him leave again.
They walked out of the church, following Jane and Bingley. Darcy tightly held Elizabeth's arm. It would hurt him if he let her go.
It was a bright day with a thin winter sun that left the air cool but pleasant. A crowd of the local gentry waited outside of the tall double doors to greet the happy couple. Everyone smiled and shook hands.
After the crush lessened, Mr. Reed shook hands with Bingley and Jane. He then spoke to Elizabeth, "I love to see people wed happily! A wedding always makes me think about marriage and the future. Is it not so for you?"
Barely paying attention to Mr. Reed, Elizabeth said with high emotion, "Oh, it definitely makes me think of marrying." Her voice was full of feeling, and she squeezed Darcy's arm as she spoke.
Mr. Reed did not see that, and he smiled at Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet, would you walk with me to your brother's house? I would like to converse with you."
Elizabeth blinked at him. But before she could find a polite refusal, Mr. Reed moved to take the arm which Darcy did not hold.
Darcy held Elizabeth's arm tightly, and pulled her away from Mr. Reed's grasping hand. Darcy's voice came out in a low growl, "Reed."
Elizabeth's eyes to darted to Darcy's face. He was jealous. Elizabeth's cheeks pulled up into a bright smile. Darcy looked delightfully masculine with his teeth bared. Her bold hero.
He was claiming her.
Reed spoke, "Now, Darcy, what are you doing — oh."
Elizabeth did not look at Reed; she was far too busy admiring the way Darcy glared. She'd never thought his eyes would be so perfect when he was angry.
Reed added in a flat voice, "I apologize. I did not understand the situation, Mr. Darcy. There was no offense intended. Good fortune to you both."
Darcy stared at Mr. Reed as he walked around the corner of the church. When he was no longer visible, Darcy turned to look at Elizabeth. She smiled more brightly than ever before, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. Everything pulled him towards her.
Darcy smiled back, but it was a thin smile.
His stomach roiled with disgust and anxiety. He was failing. He had sworn to behave in one manner, and he had failed. His eyes held onto her face. He had no choice, no ability to turn away from the promise in her smile. This was like last time; his mind would change itself again.
Maybe he no longer wanted to fight himself.
He loved her.
Elizabeth saw he was torn. She only needed to push him a little further. Then whatever made him hesitate would dissolve. He would realize it did not matter — no matter what difficulties they faced they would be happy. Happy while they faced them together.
"Darcy, your arm, it is the only one I want to hold." His eyes searched hers. "It is the best arm I know. I plan to hold it always."
Darcy nodded barely, his eyes not leaving Elizabeth's. The moment burned into his soul. He would marry her, just like his father would have. She deserved better than him. Better than a man who would break a solemn vow with himself.
Elizabeth seemed unnerved by his stare but still smiling said, "Mr. Reed is an awful man. To compare a woman to a dog like he did last night."
Darcy's heart beat hard, and his eyes softened.
Elizabeth cheerfully said, "You are a like a dog — a great big clever sheepdog that protects the herd and drives off wolves. A loyal companion."
Elizabeth's stomach flipped as Darcy at last smiled back at her. A real smile; one which pulled the corners of his eyes together. Her heart pounded wildly.
He said, "So you think it right to compare gentlemen to dogs, just not ladies."
"Your character has the good features of a wonderful dog. I doubt you would ever loll your tongue out to beg for a choice treat."
"I might loll my tongue out to beg a special favor from you."
Elizabeth's face went bright red. It made her envision games husbands and wives might play with each other. She added, "I did not compare your appearance to a dog's — though how you look does make me want to hold and pet you."
Darcy frowned. "I am not much like such a dog — such a dog would never abandon his flocks."
Elizabeth's smile did not waver, but her stomach spasmed painfully. She needed to make him see. His first duty, his true duty, must be to himself — to his own happiness. To her.
Charlotte interrupted them and touched Elizabeth's arm. She pointed her pale blue glove towards the road. Half the people who had been invited to the feast at Netherfield had already started down. Charlotte said some nonsense about the meal, but what Elizabeth saw was concern in her eyes. Charlotte glanced between her and Darcy, and Elizabeth realized that they had been very indiscreet.
Elizabeth did not care.
Darcy took Charlotte's arm with his free hand, and the three set off on the short walk to Netherfield. Elizabeth said, "It is a beautiful day. A happy day."
Darcy nodded.
Elizabeth added, "It shall be happy. Charlotte, do you remember my dog, Merlin? Would you not agree that it would be a great compliment to be compared to him?"
Elizabeth squeezed Darcy's arm again, working her fingers deeper into the springy flesh of his muscles.
"That shaggy creature? I swear you loved him as much as Jane. And you would let him follow you everywhere. You dreadfully spoilt the animal."
"He was a delightful dog. Loyal, friendly, noble. He understood that claiming those who he cared for and keeping them near always was most important." Elizabeth spoke to Darcy, "You know that as well."
Darcy remembered his father. He would run about and appear well for everyone in the neighborhood — but he failed to protect and guard those nearest him. Elizabeth was the person dearest to him now that Georgiana had left. What was the purpose of protecting the estate if he did not protect it for somebody?
Maybe it would not be like his father to marry Elizabeth. Maybe…
Miss Lucas was quiet, and her eyes were pointed firmly away from them.
It felt like there had been a long pause in the conversation, though it had only been a matter of seconds. "You are right. Caring for those you love is most important."
The three of them reached Netherfield, and Jane ran to Elizabeth and hugged her tightly. During the breakfast Darcy was unable to talk to Elizabeth because all of the women crowded around Jane. He talked to Bingley. Mr. Bennet watched him with a speculative frown.
He was giving up.
Elizabeth; his Elizabeth. He would marry her.
He'd nearly decided that before, but this time was different.
He would not change his mind this time. He did not want to change it. Resisting her charms had not made him happy. He was tired of endless duty. Life with Elizabeth would be warm and happy and filled with laughter.
It did not matter that he was acting like Father.
When their eyes met, his heart leapt and his stomach twisted with anxiety.
She was perfect. Beyond perfect. She was precious and sweet. She was happy, lively, eager. If he ran again, if he forced himself away, she would be hurt terribly.
His father's behavior was driven by vanity and indulgence, not affection. He loved Elizabeth with everything in his soul.
They sat too far apart from each other to converse during the wedding breakfast.
Elizabeth saw how Darcy watched her with those dark probing eyes. He kept drinking, and she drank too. She was scared. She would not survive it if he left again. She could not. Not now. He looked like the portrait of a haunted man. His eyes rarely left her, but he was not happy.
After breakfast the ladies left to help Jane to dress for her wedding trip. They went to the side room, where Jane removed the wedding clothes and put on a traveling dress. For a few minutes Darcy faded from Elizabeth's mind.
Her sister was married!
She was going away, and when she returned, she would live at Netherfield. Nothing would ever be the same. Tears began, and Elizabeth hugged Jane again and again.
At last Jane was in the wedding chaise, and it pulled away. Colder weather was coming in, and the wind flapped their clothes. The wheels of the carriage made a low clatter as they rolled over the packed gravel driveway.
Darcy saw the bittersweet look in Elizabeth's eyes. The occasion was so much happier than when he learned about Georgiana, but still Elizabeth had always been so close to her sister. She must feel the change deeply. He squeezed her arm.
Elizabeth smiled at him and wildly waved her other arm at the departing carriage. Darcy leaned next to her ear and said in a low voice that vibrated in Elizabeth's stomach, "You shall always be her sister. There is change, but that bond remains. That will always be the same."
Elizabeth allowed her happy tears to flow. "I am so happy and sad at the same time. It is silly… I did not think I would cry so."
Darcy wanted to comfort her and dabbed at her face with his handkerchief. He then handed the cloth to Elizabeth, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy.
"Thank you… I am so, so glad you are with me. You always cure any melancholy. I am always warm and safe when you are near."
Darcy loved to hear her say that. Every bit of Elizabeth was precious to him. It was not a matter of her beauty, but of her being. He felt like he was floating, and he grinned at her.
A voice screamed in the back of his mind. You cannot do this — stop, stop, stop. Darcy pushed it away. He would not walk away this time.
A cold chill froze Darcy's guts. He could change his mind. He knew he could change it. What was he doing? He was violating a solemn oath. Father did what he wanted. He wouldn't be like Father.
This was wrong.
Darcy's breath hitched, and Elizabeth saw the wildness return to his eyes. He looked away from her. Mr. Bennet spoke to Sir Lucas, but Elizabeth realized he watched them. Charlotte and Mary were talking, while Lydia and Kitty had walked off to Meryton for gossip already.
This was no time to be shy.
Ignoring those around her, she stepped close to Darcy and placed her hand on his upper arm. "You are happy now. Be happy. This is perfect, this is where you belong. Do not doubt it."
Elizabeth felt the wine in her stomach, his arm was muscular, and she flushed with desire for him to touch her. "Your estate, your uncle, your plans — they are not as important as our love. As this bond between us. You know that."
She smiled brightly at Darcy. He said with an eerie uninflected voice, "I am happy with you. Yes. Happy." He made no motion to step away from her. "Elizabeth — I think I should go."
"Stay. You deserve to be happy. You need friendship, you need affection, you need me. You will be lonely and lost if you leave. I will be lonely and lost."
"I know what I need."
"You are no fool. You do not — we do not need wealth. We do not need anything but each other. You will not find happiness in a large income. Admit you are no fool."
"I am no fool."
"Then do not return to Pemberley alone."
"I do not know what is right. I… I can't think."
He left her and walked around the house and into the garden. The weather had turned icy, and a cold wind blew through the bare branches. It cooled him down.
Darcy pressed his head against the wood of a white gazebo. Resisting Elizabeth made him a fool. The money would work out, hopefully. It did not matter. He would lose no money by marrying Elizabeth, because he could not marry an heiress.
Elizabeth was the only woman he could ever marry.
He was going to walk back around the house. He would grab Elizabeth's hand, he would lean his head next to hers, and he would whisper, "Marry me."
A girl's slippered footsteps sounded behind him. It could only be Elizabeth. Darcy took a deep breath to prepare himself.
"Look at me," her achingly beautiful voice called out, "Fitzwilliam, look at me."
She stood, every feature clear in the afternoon light. Her dark eyes were fevered; she was bareheaded; he could see the pale white line of a part through her hair.
Elizabeth stepped forward, and her voice rang out clear, "You love me. This bond — you cannot deny it. I love you, I want you — we will be happy. Please."
Darcy did not reply. His features were painfully sharp and beautiful. Elizabeth did not know what the cast of his face meant. She stepped so close their clothes brushed. Elizabeth stood on her toes to speak into his ear, pushing her breasts against Darcy. He tensed, and she felt it. Elizabeth breathily whispered, "You want to enjoy my body. I want yours. Take me to your home. Make me your wife."
Darcy burned.
Flames ran through his toes and fingers and torso. She stepped back and looked at him. The memory of her warm breath tingled on his ear. He could not think. She was beguiling and beautiful and inhumanly tempting.
"Please…" Elizabeth moaned.
She grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself up to kiss him. Darcy desperately held her against his body, he felt her belly and breasts tight against his stomach and chest. He could never let her go. Her leg rubbed against his loins. She flicked her tongue at his lips, and he opened them.
Darcy's eyes closed, and Elizabeth whimpered into his mouth.
Wickham's voice laughed in his mind. His father's cold eyes glared into his core. Darcy froze. Elizabeth continued to squeeze his shoulders. One strong hand was tangled in the hair on the back of his neck. Her lips and tongue begged him to kiss her back. Her weight was warm, soft, and clinging.
A despicable voice cut through his mind: You are Fitzwilliam Darcy. You are not like your father.
Darcy felt as though he was looking down on his body from above. He wanted to stop himself as he pushed Elizabeth away. He did not recognize the voice as his own. "Madam. I cannot. I cannot fail my duty. We shall not meet again. I shall not let passion guide me."
Elizabeth reached towards him. "No — I need you."
Her face collapsed as Darcy stepped back away from her and shook his head, no. Her mouth opened and closed. Her face was white, so white. It was like she didn't understand, couldn't understand. Then Elizabeth turned and ran. She stumbled over a plant and banged her knee. Darcy stepped towards her to help her stand, but she immediately rose and ran again.
Sick.
Darcy wanted to throw up and cry. He wanted to die.
Why? Why did he do that?
He hadn't meant to refuse her. He didn't want to refuse her. He hated himself. When he walked away from her last time it had been a victory over himself. But this was a defeat.
With a slow, slouched step Darcy walked to the post station. He clutched his hand against his chest and tears rolled down his face.
MDVMDVMDV
He didn't care for her. Elizabeth's knee hurt from where she fell as she ran, and her dress was torn.
Everything. She had shown him everything in her heart, and he didn't care.
He rejected her again.
It was not supposed to be like this. She had been brave and ignored propriety and the foolish social rules that stopped women from showing affection. He was supposed to realize that love — that she — mattered more than prudence and money.
Elizabeth found an isolated bench, surrounded by tall rosebushes on three sides and hugged her shoulders tightly. She sobbed and sobbed with huge choking gasps. Her nose was stuffed, and she could not breathe right. Her breath hitched with a rasping wheeze as she struggled to draw in air. Her chest hurt.
Everything hurt.
She brought her knees up and buried her face against them. Her left knee stung with pain, a dull counterpoint to the agony in her chest. The freezing surface of the bench made her shiver.
A lone bird chirped, not heeding her cries, and the sun came out from behind a cloud warming her.
What was wrong with her?
How dare he reject her! There was nothing wrong with her! How dare he change his mind after he had nearly decided to marry her again? Indecisive, greedy waffler. Damn, damn — damn him.
Elizabeth sobbed harder. It felt like acid ate through her stomach.
"Here is where you fled!"
Mr. Bennet stood under an arbor. It was covered with gray leafless vines, and the sun lit him from behind. His tailored black coat clung tightly against his frame. Her father's face was mottled; his neck jutted forward.
"You can't disguise it — a servant saw you kiss him. He abandoned you, I see. Good for him. You Jezebel. You behaved like… like a damn whore." Mr. Bennet's veins pulsed visibly. He held his clenched fists trembling in the air above Elizabeth. For a moment Elizabeth feared, or maybe hoped, he would strike her.
Mr. Bennet stomped his foot. "Look at me! Damned girl. I never thought you were a sly, loose Miss who only wanted to trap a gentleman. You've made a scandal of yourself. Has he taken your virtue? Did you let him do that? Perhaps at Netherfield when you were with Jane? Well? Did he!"
Elizabeth flinched at her father's shout, and a startled flight of birds left the garden.
A servant had seen her?
Of course one had. Elizabeth's hot flash of shame somehow made her less miserable. As her father continued to yell, she ground her teeth in anger. She loved Darcy. If he had wished her virtue, she would have given it to him. She wished he had.
She would happily become Darcy's mistress if he asked.
He hadn't.
Elizabeth's face crumpled, and she sobbed again. Mr. Bennet grabbed her wrist and roughly yanked Elizabeth to her feet. "The carriage is in the lane behind the house."
He dragged Elizabeth behind him with a viselike grip on her wrist. It hurt.
Elizabeth tried to stop sniffling and hold her head high. She was angry at her father for accusing her so, she was angry at Darcy for leaving her, she was angry at herself for not being enough for Mr. Darcy.
The carriage was empty, and their coachman sat on the roof. Mr. Bennet hurled her in and then settled next to Elizabeth on the bright red cushions. He stuck his head out the window. "To Longbourn. Hurry."
With a jolt the carriage started its rattling way.
Elizabeth sat stiffly. She angled her head away from her father and did not look at anything. The empty pit in her stomach still swallowed everything else. Tears dripped down her cheeks.
"I expected better from you. How could you? You are like your mother. You are like every worthless girl who hopes some poor gentleman will become so desperate to tumble her that he'll be stupid enough to marry her."
The air between them was stuffed with tension. Mr. Bennet asked, "Did you?" When Elizabeth made no response, Mr. Bennet repeated far more loudly, "Well! Did you? Pray tell, are you still a virgin? Do I need to chase after that worthless gentleman to find out?"
"Don't speak of Darcy so!"
Elizabeth looked at her father. His face was still red; the muscles behind his jaw tense and vibrating. Her sharp tone stunned him into stillness for an instant, and Elizabeth tasted the saltiness of the tears pouring down her cheeks. Mr. Bennet began to speak again, and Elizabeth cut him off, "You need not worry for my virtue. He didn't want me."
Mr. Bennet sneered. "He wanted you. That was obvious. But he walked away. Good for him. By Gad, good for him. I admire men who are better than me. He chose not to marry you, but you chased him, like your damn mother, just because you wanted a handsome husband. Damn all women. Damn your despicable female tricks, damn those touches and coy looks, those obscene sighs. You are all disgusting creatures desperate for a good estate and a husband. I never thought you would descend so low."
"Maybe if you hadn't been an irresponsible, selfish gentleman who spent his entire income and instead provided a dowry for your daughters, I would not have needed to use those female tricks to attract an honorable husband. Perhaps if you had been a better father, Darcy might have… I might have… maybe… Oh, I wish I had been good enough."
Elizabeth's stomach clenched again, and she started to sob once more.
Mr. Bennet didn't move for a minute. He then he put his arm around Elizabeth and pulled her against him. "There, there girl. I shouldn't have said that. I did not mean it; Forgive me. I… I should have made the effort and saved a dowry for you. I have failed you."
Elizabeth cried into her father's shoulder; the stiff wool of his overcoat scratched her raw nose. He patted her on the shoulder.