The storyline, new character development, new events, and new characters are my intellectual property. Glorioux
A/n There are changes from the original. Keep in mind Mr. Darcy chose Lizzie for a purpose. Nevertheles, marriage makes her his.
Wedding bells and Confusion
It seemed as if everyone in Meryton lined the path to the church. The townspeople had never seen so many fancy carriages and elegant guests. When Lizzie, holding on to her father's arm, walked by them, she could hear people admiring her attire and praising her looks, commenting on the small turban, trimmed with fur and seed pearls she wore instead of a bonnet, and her elegant latest fashion empire cut heavy silk dress with a short jacket with matching white fur trimming, all the latest fashion, well suited for her slender frame. She could hear people saying they had never seen such a beautiful bride. Though she might look good, she felt hopeless.
Her mother and sisters walked behind her, all wearing elegant dresses suited for the Ton. Mrs. Bennet walked like a peacock, dressed in overstated finery, wearing half of her gaudy jewelry; one would think she was the bride. Of course, people made nasty comments about her pretentious 'fake' jewelry. The sisters did not look happy; well-knowing tongues wagged; what else could they expect? The gossip was all over the place, and there were tales of how Lizzie had caught the rich Londoner. Lizzie was the villain if they only knew. Only Charlotte Lucas defended Lizzie, saying her friend hadn't liked the proud man, wondering if maybe he had forced her, but nobody believed her.
Lizzie entered the church, filled with flowers and candles that Miss Reynold had arranged for; no expense was spared. Lizzie saw the proud man standing in formal wear at the front; next to him, an officer stood. He did not smile when he saw her; she could see he looked down on her.
She stood by the altar next to the stiff, proud man; not even the beautiful garments made this day better. Though she might look like a fairy princess, a beauty by any standards, he was blind to her charm, but other men were not. His family was there: an uncle and his wife, a Colonel, another pompous man, two strange-looking men and their haughty wives, and a few more of his guests. The ceremony was about to start in the small church, full to the brim. The Bingley had also come, and Charles fixed his eyes on Lizzie.
Lizzie stood still until she heard a big commotion and heard her father's voice: "Cathy?"
Followed by a stuffy voice, "Tommy, is that you? Oh, my, it's you, Tommy, Tommy!"
Her husband-to-be made a sour face.
She came to prevent this wedding, so why doesn't that surprise me? Darcy thought bitterly.
Elizabeth turned around and saw a beautiful woman in her forties standing before her father. He looked shocked.
She looked past the Cathy woman, oh dear, the daughter. Elizabeth realized the daughter looked like a blonder Mary's twin, but only for the eyes. She had her father's exotic blue eyes, which none of his children inherited. She was a couple of years older than Jane. Elizabeth noticed her mother's disgusted face.
"My dear man, I didn't believe it was you. Collins was right." Cathy spoke softly.
What was going on? Elizabeth wondered. Why was her father looking so strange, and why was the elegant woman blushing? She was beautiful and exquisite, like expensive porcelain; her father looked at the lady as if he wanted to eat her like she was a delectable sweet. Goodness.
"My dear, this is my daughter Anne," Cathy turned scarlet.
"I didn't know," her father exclaimed, "Miss Anne, a pleasure. " His voice was shaky and full of emotion. Lizzie gasped when her father took Anne's hand and kissed it for way too long.
Darcy's uncle intervened, "Cathy, this is most improper; I beg you not to make a spectacle."
The woman recoiled, her voice haughty and cold as ice. "I no longer obey. I came to put a stop to this farce. He belongs to Anne." She pointed at Mr. Darcy.
Darcy turned to look at her, "I beg to differ; I belong to no one. If you were planning to attend as a guest, please take a seat." Darcy said and turned around.
Her father offered one arm to Lady Catherine and the other to the daughter. They walked to the front of the small chapel. At the front, there were a few seats, always reserved, and, despite the murmurs going all over the place, he sat with them, not with Mrs. Bennet, but with a woman on each side.
From her vantage point, Elizabeth could hear her father's words. Now, she suspected the worst; it was easy to guess by the looks others gave them. "Cathy, my dearest, we must talk." His voice was tender and concerned.
The Cathy woman answered, "Yes, my dearest Tommy, my dearest man. We must."
Elizabeth looked. Goodness, her father's hand was over the woman's. She felt dizzy.
Her father held Mary's look-alike hand while the elegant Lady Cathy leaned towards him—not leaned, no, her aristocratic head was on her father's shoulder. Her father looked beyond happy, in a state of bliss. His permanently sad face was alive with hope and happiness. For the first time, Elizabeth realized that her father was a very handsome man, not old. His smile transformed him.
The Anne woman is looking at Papa with adoration; why? Oh dear. Could it be? No, no. Lizzie's thoughts made her anxious; this day had gone from bad to worse.
Moreover, if one were to observe her mother and Darcy's uncle's looks, she might be right. There was no way to deny it; this was an estranged family's reunion. The trio behaved as if nobody else existed around them; indeed, they were inside a private bubble of happiness, making Lizzie feel ill.
Hopefully, the lady would stop this farce, but it was unlikely since she seemed fixed on her father. Lizzie kept turning her head to look at the trio. The daughter, Anne, had a strange look about her; she was crying, but was she also smiling? Anne seems incredibly happy, even more so when Papa puts her gloved hand against his lips. Wait, why is she taking her glove off? Lizzie's mind wasn't at the wedding but on the drama playing behind her.
Lizzie also noticed two strangers, two men. They stood on the side of the church, looking at her with great interest as if she were someone special. The feeling that this day was not real prevailed, so Lizzie wished this was a dream.
The wedding continued, and when the pastor asked her if she would take Darcy, she said, "I do," when she wanted to say, "I don't." It was as if someone had forced her.
The groom gave her an air kiss on her cheek; he never looked at her. She felt cold. What was going to happen to her? When she signed the book, she wanted to make her hand limp, but once again, her hand had a mind of its own.
Once it was over, strangers welcomed Lizzie into the family, but she hardly spoke.
The Bingley stood in front of the newly married couple. Miss Bingley had forgone her orange garb instead of a dull grey, vastly improving her looks. The color might have made her look definitely fetching but have done nothing for her disposition. Miss Bingley gave Lizzie a dirty look and just mumbled her congratulations. Charles, instead, was over-effusive and held Elizabeth's hand too long, giving him enough time to appraise Mrs. Darcy carefully.
My glowing diamond, Charles thought, smiling inwards. His father had taken his mother from his best friend; Louisa was his half-sister. Stealing wives was not uncommon in his family; he knew their history. They were, well, scavengers of the best kind if others only knew. The outside was the facade hiding the hungry beast that would kill for a diamond, for the one they wished the most. It had happened a few times. Not that Charles would kill his best friend, at least not yet.
"Charles, she is my wife; I do think you have held her hand long enough!" Mr. Darcy's voice was threatening. She understood that she was his possession, and that was all.
"William," he grinned. Charles' smile had a purpose: to look his best and attract Lizzie. You cannot expect that others won't admire your beautiful wife," Charles made light of it. You better get used to it," he dismissed Darcy to look at Elizabeth. " My Lady, " he said, bowing his head gallantly.
Charles kissed her hand and breathed her in; her scent made him lightheaded. Yes, I found my diamond, he thought, and once again, he wondered, why did I not see her first? I would have also compromised her.
"You are so right," Richard agreed with Charles and winked at Darcy, whose mien turned dark.
Richard, Bartlett, and his father eyed her and admired the slender fox. Darcy caught every look. This jealousy was wrong; his weakness had found him. But how could this be? He did not care for this woman; thus, he paused to look at his new bride carefully. This was the first time he had seen her in daylight; though his night sight was perfect, the sun must have dispelled the fog.
He felt a punch on his solar plexus. Her small turban barely covered her head, showing a riot of curls artistically surrounding her delicate face. Her skin color was hard to define. Today, it was a porcelain hue with a slight tint from a smattering of unusually colored freckles over the bridge of her pixie nose and a few over her cheeks.
Her eyes, damn, had he been blind? They were amazing, exceptionally large, and unusually shaped, exotic. The color was unique, mostly amber-yellow. He could say they were yellow. They were exceptional; he could see impossible color highlights, which probably were a light trick because nobody had an indigo-blue eye rim or odd-colored flecks. Her arched eyebrows had ends curving upwards, and to top it all, her eyelashes were full and silky.
She was, hmm, unique; she was a fey princess. He couldn't deny it; she was delicate, luminous, yet resilient, a fighter, and a warrior princess. Furthermore, she was slender but did not lack female charms. Her fleshy, moist lips were not red but an enticing rosy color that he could see around his cock. Stop! His mind screamed as a frisson of lust traveled along his body. It was too late because his sex was erect at once. Pure lust made his skin burn, and his fingers ached, but mostly, it angered him.
Had he realized her charms before, he would have behaved quite differently and would have run the other way. Although he wasn't so sure of what way he would have gone. He had made an error in judgment when he chose Elizabeth, but what made it a mistake? The answer was simple, he did not want a wife who looked like her. He did not want to give her up if that was not bad enough. Bloody hell, he was in terrible trouble. Perhaps there was time; he could do something; an option would be to get an annulment; no, I cannot. MINE! The jealous beast roared inside him.
Now, he viewed every male as a potential rival, just great, bloody hell, he thought. It was Something that he'd always wanted to avoid. He had seen what jealousy had done to his blood kin. It had made them unhappy, changing them into despicable people.
Unfortunately, he had become one of the men he had pitied, those prisoners to jealousy, which was a harsh mistress. Like he did not have any problems, one of them was his unbridled lust. One of the main reasons he had not married yet was that he was looking for a particular kind of woman, and the new Mrs. Darcy wasn't that kind. She was an objet d'art.
What now, Hurst? Darcy thought impatiently. Yes, he was approaching to wish them well; he recognized their sort—two hungry wolves. "I hope you don't mind; my cousins are passing by. They bought an estate near you and wanted to wish you well." Hurst smiled.
"I bet," Darcy grumbled. She was his, not for anyone else to ogle. He saw his future, which made him angrier by the minute.
As it was, he wanted to leave with her and keep her under lock and key. The Hurst men eyed her differently, like what? Fitzwilliam Darcy assessed. He knew how, they assessed her like she was priceless. Not like wolves, worse, like collectors of rare treasures; they looked at her with greedy and covetous eyes. He had seen their kind before; they would stop at nothing to get the object of their desire. By now, all he wanted was to take her away, the sooner, the better.
Elizabeth saw and felt her new husband's concern; it was not just possession, it was something else, he was ready to fight. The men in front of her made her uneasy; their eyes were piercing her. She felt lightheaded, something was wrong. The light was fading when strong arms wrapped around her, just when her legs gave out.
Darcy picked her up on time. Her body felt good against his; good was not the right word, her body felt too perfect. It was going to be difficult to resist her lure; of that, he was sure.
He messed up because at that precise moment, he wished that he were carrying his wife to their bed. With this thought, his prick pulsed, and his bollocks felt heavy. Resisting was no longer an option. He moved his hand moved enough to touch the bottom of one breast, and he nearly moaned. He thought, this is really bad.
He missed the knowing looks of the Hurst; they were ecstatic with joy; they'd found the proverbial 'Mother Lode.' With her the world was in their hands; they struck gold. Their cousin was right; they had it made. With her, they would be able to do what they have wanted to do for years; it was time, she was the key; finally, they found a way to leave. The question was, how to get her away from Darcy.