Author's note: Sorry about the wait. I got halfway through this chapter, then two tornadoes went a few miles by my house in the same night. We're all okay - just some property damage, but my time has been soaked up by dealing with all of it.

Let's get E&D married, shall we?

Chapter 8

Elizabeth approached the front door of Pemberley with trepidation. Now that her father had approved of the marriage, the only thing left to do was wait for the banns to be called, both here and in Meryton. She wondered if Darcy would allow her father to leave the prison during those three weeks.

The door opened wide to reveal a dark foyer enshrouded in shadows that spoke more of past splendor than present warmth. The expansive hall, once designed to awe visitors with its grandeur and opulence, was now outdated and cold.

Tall windows, once proud bearers of light, were darkened by heavy drapes that hung limply, as if mourning their forgotten duty to illuminate the intricate stonework and the sweeping staircase that climbed towards the obscured heights of the house.

The once gleaming marble floor, inlaid with exquisite patterns of dark and light stone, was now dull under a layer of dust. Elizabeth's steps echoed unnervingly as she moved forward, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that barely managed to seep through the crevices of the closed drapes. Each echo seemed to whisper secrets of the house's glorious past, now shadowed by the present gloom.

Above her, the once magnificent crystal chandelier hung motionless, its crystals unlit and covered with cobwebs, reflecting none of the light it was designed to amplify. The walls, adorned with portraits of Darcy's ancestors, watched over the hall with stern, faded faces, their eyes following her as she passed, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

As Elizabeth took in her surroundings, a chill ran down her spine. Pemberley was renowned for its beauty and elegance— according to her aunt— but it felt more like a mausoleum than a home. The weight of her decision to marry Darcy and enter into this somber domain pressed heavily upon her, filling her with a poignant mixture of dread and determination.

"I trust your trip to Lambton was pleasant?"

Elizabeth startled, her study of her new home had prevented her from hearing the housekeeper approach. "Yes, the carriage was quite comfortable, thank you."

"I'm glad to hear it." The elderly woman's smile was a direct contrast to their oppressive surroundings. "Come, I will show your rooms."

Elizabeth picked up her small valise— the only items she had in her possession— and followed Mrs. Reynolds up the stairs. At the top, the hall split off in two different directions.

The housekeeper took the left, well-lit corridor and said over her shoulder, "You will be staying in the family wing to the east of the house."

"The guest quarters are towards the west?" Elizabeth asked as Mrs. Reynolds stopped at a closed door.

Nodding, the older woman removed the large ring of keys at her waist and opened the dark chamber, beckoning for Elizabeth to enter. She took a few halting steps before drawing a breath to steel her courage, then took the final paces into the place she would soon call home.

To her surprise, the room was large and spacious; Elizabeth felt as though both Longbourn's parlor and drawing room could fit inside this one chamber. The wall on her left had one door, while the wall to her right had two. Directly across from her were what she surmised to be windows, covered entirely with heavy, dark curtains.

In spite of its size, the room was just as gloomy as the rest of the manor. Mrs. Reynolds hurried forward to light a candle, its flame only adding to the eeriness and flickering shadows, then looked nervously at Elizabeth, who crossed the room to join her. In spite of her own unease, the younger woman sought to make the elder feel more comfortable.

After all, It wasn't her fault her master was a beast.

"This room is wonderful," she said sincerely. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so fine."

And it was true. The room, for all its darkness, was well-kept. The surfaces were polished and cleaned, and the furnishings themselves had an elegance that spoke of a meticulous attention to comfort, even if they were quite outdated.

A large four-poster bed, draped with rich, embroidered fabrics, stood prominently against one wall, its linens crisp and inviting. Nearby, a delicate writing desk was placed by a window, an arrangement of fresh flowers upon it adding a touch of life and color.

Despite the beauty of the room, there was a palpable sense of stillness, as if it had not been lived in for some time. Dust particles danced in the shafts of light, and there was a faint musty smell, suggesting that the room, while kept ready for use, hadn't seen a mistress in many years.

Mrs. Reynolds beamed at the bit of praise. "We do our best to keep Pemberley fit for any circumstances that may arise."

"Such as unexpected guests," Elizabeth replied with a wry smile.

"We do not receive guests at Pemberley," a deep, stern voice said.

Elizabeth whirled around to see Darcy standing at the left door, which had opened without her hearing. Behind him, she could see a large bed; it was suddenly clear that his was the adjoining bedroom, making her room the mistress's chambers.

"Oh!" she said, lacking any other words. When he continued to watch her intently, she added, "Is this the correct chamber for me to stay in? Surely we should wait until the wedding—"

"Which is tomorrow," he informed her abruptly.

Gaping, Elizabeth looked at Mrs. Reynolds, who looked at the ground and refused to meet her eyes. Returning her focus to Darcy, she said, "But what about the banns?"

"The local vicar is one of the few who can issue a common license. He sent word that it has been signed by your father already, so we will be wed tomorrow at the chapel."

"I… I see," she stammered.

His dark gaze pierced hers for the space of several heartbeats. She searched for some glimmer of softness in his stony, expressionless face. Without warning, he suddenly whirled around and departed through the same door he used to enter.

After it slammed closed, there was a long silence. Elizabeth took a deep breath and looked at the housekeeper. "Well, I am sure I will appreciate this room."

Mrs. Reynolds watched Elizabeth closely, perhaps gauging her reaction. "It's been kept much as it was in the late Mrs. Darcy's time," she explained softly. "Mr. Darcy... he hasn't changed much here."

Elizabeth walked slowly around the room, her fingers brushing against the back of a plush chair, her mind racing with thoughts of the woman who had once occupied this space. She felt a strange connection to Mrs. Darcy, a woman she had never met, whose presence was embedded in the very fabric of the room. The furnishings, though from a different era, were similar to ones Elizabeth would have chosen for herself.

"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds," Elizabeth finally said, her voice quiet but steady. "It is a beautiful room. I hope I can do honor to it."

As Mrs. Reynolds left, Elizabeth stood at the window, looking out at the vast estate. Of all this I will be mistress, she thought. Just twelve hours until I am a married woman whose husband has ten thousand a year. And my father will be free.

Despite her preoccupations, Elizabeth was able to fall into a deep sleep. Upon awakening, she determined to look at her prompt wedding day as a blessing, not a curse.

After all, living here— unmarried— for three weeks? 'Tis better to get it over with.

She rose from her bed and opened her valise. When Mrs. Reynolds had left the night before, she'd offered to send in a maid. Elizabeth had declined, requesting to be left alone for the rest of the night. Thus she had fallen asleep on her bed still wearing the same dress she'd worn during the day..

Well, this is my home now. I supposed I should make it actually feel like one.

She went to the dressing closet that Mrs. Reynolds had pointed out to her; the second entrance on the wall with two doors. The first provided access to her private sitting room, the housekeeper had explained, and Elizabeth was astonished at how much space was provided for her sole use.

Her eyes widened as she passed the door to hang her few dresses. The entire dressing room was the size of her bedroom at Longbourn!

How on earth could this ever be filled? Who would need so much space for clothing?

"Miss?"

Elizabeth poked her head back into her bedchamber when she heard the tentative voice. "Yes?"

At the door to the room stood a slight wisp of a girl with large dark eyes and willow frame. "Mrs. Reynolds has assigned me to be your personal maid until yours arrives."

There was a hint of a French accent in the girl's voice, which surprised Elizabeth, as most of the French maids lived near London and worked for the highest echelons of the ton. She looked somewhat fearfully at Elizabeth, who gave her a kind smile.

"I would be very glad for your help. I'm afraid I've never had my own maid before! My four sisters and I have all made do with sharing one girl and helping one another."

The girl's face brightened, and she fairly skipped into the room. "What would you like to wear today? It is your wedding day, after all!"

Elizabeth's heart sank slightly at this reminder that her wedding day would be nothing like she had imagined with Jane when they were younger. Instead of a beautiful— yet practical— new dress, she would be making due with the crumpled gowns she'd shoved in her valise to come to Lambton.

"I'm afraid I don't have much," she admitted, showing the girl the few things hanging in the enormous closet. "Perhaps you could help me…?" Her voice trailed off, uncertain as to what to call her new ladies' maid.

"Oh! How silly of me. My name is Mégane Plumelle. Here, let me see what you have."

"Thank you, Plumelle."

Giving her new mistress a broad smile at this honorific, Plumelle began to carefully scrutinize each gown with a frown and furrowed brow. After several moments, she chose one and said, "I have just the thing for this! Wait here, I will be back."

Elizabeth laughed softly as Plumelle dashed out of the room, her manner unique when compared with the natural British reserve. She returned a few moments later with several lengths of delicate lace, which she extended to her mistress.

"These are lovely!" Elizabeth cried, taking one and examining it more closely. "I've never seen this design before."

"My mother sewed it," the girl said. "When I came to England, she sent it with me."

"Oh, I couldn't accept it, then," Elizabeth immediately replied, attempting to hand the lace back. "Your mother must have spent hours on this, and it's only right that you keep such a treasure for yourself."

"Non," Plumelle said, shaking her head. "I have quite a lot more, and I am happy to share. After all, a bride must feel her best on her wedding day!"

Convinced of her maid's sincerity, Elizabeth allowed Plumelle to pull her to the main room and seat her in front of the vanity. As the girl began to comb through her hair, Elizabeth felt the tension in her body ease slightly.

"Where are you from?" Elizabeth asked.

"Canada," Plumelle replied thickly, holding a hair pin in betwen her teeth as she brushed Elziabeth's thick curls.

Elizabeth allowed the girl's chatter to wash over ear, luxuriating in the feel of each brush stroke. Plumelle's ramblings about her mother's indigenous origins, her father's French heritage, and her cousin's insistence that she join him in England all combined to be an epic story that gave Elizabeth hope.

"I tried to find employment in London as a lady's maid, but my skin was too dark," the girl said matter-of-factly. "Instead, I came here to Lambton stay with my cousin's wife's family. When it became clear they had too many mouths to feed, I took a job here at the big house."

The girl paused and frowned down at Elizabeth's head. "It is too late to wash your hair; it will never dry in time. Would you like a bath, however? I can put some scented oils in it."

"Yes, please," Elizabeth replied eagerly.

"I will do your hair now while we wait for the water to heat, then I can add the lace on the dress as you soak."

Quicker than she had thought possible, Elizabeth found herself soaking in a large tub that had been carried to her dressing room. While Plumelle sewed, Elizabeth breathed in the lavender-scented steam that rose up around her, calming the butterflies in her stomach.

Unfortunately, the serenity was short-lived. All too soon, Plumelle had gotten Elizabeth dried and dressed, then was putting the finishing touches on her hair.

"There, miss. You look perfect."

Elizabeth looked in the mirror at herself for the first time, and her eyes widened. "You're a miracle worker," she said, her eyes tracing the details of her appearance in her reflection.

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow that illuminated her features with an ethereal light. Her hair, usually worn in a practical manner, was styled elegantly today, pinned up with strands artfully curled.

A few stray curls framed her face softly, highlighting her clear, fair skin and the light dusting of freckles across her nose that she had always borne with a quiet confidence. Around her neck, Elizabeth wore a thin ribbon of velvet, from which hung a small, unassuming locket that her father had given her the evening of her coming out.

Her expression, usually lively and animated, today bore a sculpted calmness. The natural pink of her lips was slightly subdued, and her cheeks, though touched with the lightest hint of blush, seemed paler than usual. This served to draw attention to her large, dark eyes.

The delicate lace her maid had painstakingly added to the trim also served to enhance her features. Plumelle beamed. "Between your eyes and your hair, miss, it was easy. All I had to do was enhance your natural look, rather than cover it up."

"You should see my sister, Jane. She's five times as pretty as the rest of us girls," Elizabeth informed her.

"Well, I've never seen a more beautiful bride."

This reminder of the reason why she was made up so fine caused her lips to quiver slightly. She steeled herself against the onslaught of emotion, forcing the waves of anxiety back down into the pit of her stomach.

A soft knock came at the door; Mrs. Reynolds entered and said, "It is time."

As she stood and smoothed the gown over her slim figure, Elizabeth allowed herself a small, hopeful smile. The mirror returned the image of a bride of classic beauty and inherent dignity, dressed not just for a wedding, but for the challenging journey that lay ahead with the enigmatic master of Pemberley.

The lonely carriage ride to the chapel in Lambton seemed to both pass in the blink of an eye and last for an eternity, all at the same time. As she entered, she looked around for her father and uncle, but the building was entirely empty save for a vicar near the front, along with a woman Elizabeth assumed was his wife.

"Let us begin."

Darcy's voice was loud and harsh, echoing loudly off the stone walls. He had entered the church behind her, silently, and he with his face angled away from her to hide the scarred cheek. The vicar gave his patron a look of disappointment, but he obediently opened the book he was holding and began to read.

Elizabeth stood beside her betrothed— I was engaged for less than twenty-four hours! she thought in surprise— and failed in her attempts to glance behind her. Her face held an expression a mask of composed resignation. The church, usually a place of joy and celebration, felt cold and unwelcoming, its pews empty except for a few obligatory witnesses, none of whom Elizabeth knew well. The vicar's read from the Book of Common Prayer, his words seeming to blend together into a dull, unintelligible hum in her ears.

Elizabeth's eyes flickered to the entrance repeatedly, a knot of hopeful anxiety tightening with each passing moment, expecting to see her father and Uncle Philips stride through the door.

But they did not appear.

As the ceremony neared its end, Elizabeth's voice was barely audible as she repeated her vows. The ring felt cold and heavy on her finger, a shackle binding her to a man she respected but did not love, a man who had saved her father at a price she now realized was immense.

At last, she turned to Darcy, her eyes searching for some sign of understanding, some hint of compassion. "Where is my father? Uncle Philips? I had thought to see them here."

Darcy's response was chilling in its indifference. "You are a Darcy now, Elizabeth. You are my wife, my property, as bound to my decisions as to my estate. Your past connections, while not forgotten, must now yield to your new duties."

Before Elizabeth could respond, the heavy doors of the church swung open, and Mr. Bennet, accompanied by a visibly upset Mr. Philips, entered.

"What is the meaning of this secrecy? What game do you play at with my niece's life?" Mr. Philips demanded, his voice booming through the now silent church.

Darcy, having just finished signing the register, turned and faced the challenger directly. Her uncle, who had not yet seen Darcy's face before, flinched at the sight, stepping back in alarm when confronted with her new husband's large frame.

"Yes, Papa, I am now married," Elizabeth interrupted, her voice steadier than she felt.

Mr. Bennet's shoulders slumped. "I am sorry to not have been here in time, my dear girl. Had we known it was taking place, I would not have missed giving you away for all the world."

Elizabeth's eyes darted to Darcy, who remained unmoved, his expression set, his defense of his actions cold and calculated.

"It is time we returned home. Come, wife."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. She took a few steps to her father and uncle, intending to bid them farewell with a hug and kiss, but she was stopped almost immediately.

"Now!"

Darcy's shout reverberated throughout the sacred building. She was torn between yearning for her father's comforting embrace and fear at her husband's anger. Mr. Bennet met his daughter's eyes and gave a slight shake of his head.

"Go, my dear. God be with you, as I cannot."

A cry burst from Elizabeth's lips, and she ran out of the church and into the waiting carriage. Her sobs haunted her the entire journey back to Pemberley.

She really was married to a monster.