Bells rang at dawn and signalled the start of the flourish and grandeur that would fill the wedding day of High Lord Darcy and Princess Intended Elizabeth. The short road from Pemberley to the village chapel was lined with people from near and far, all holding nosegays of holly for good luck.
Even if Darcy had been there, Elizabeth would not have been allowed to see him, and she was glad of it. It would have been too hard, knowing where he had been. She had no idea how she was going to make it through the wedding. She had barely slept. Whether it was nerves or anticipation that kept her awake, she could not be sure. Her focus was upon the fact that her almost-husband had abandoned her for another’s bed, and she was devastated. George would never have behaved in such a manner.
With a sigh, she reached under her mattress for a small wooden box. Her father had made the case for her back when his hands had been steady enough to carve the intricate ivy design that covered every inch of it. Carefully, she opened the delicate container to reveal her dearest treasures: a ring her mother had worn as a girl, a patch of cloth from one of Papa's famous grey greatcoats, a lock of George's fiery hair. She lifted the velvet lining to withdraw the miniature of her beloved bonny George and traced his features with her fingertip.
“I should have married ye on this day. Those bells should have been ours.”
She sat on the bed and stared at the portrait for a long while before she put the contents back and replaced the box.
Today is my wedding day.
“And I hate him,” she whispered to the Fates, though she doubted they was listening.
* * *
Shortly after dawn, Darcy and Finn returned with a beautiful cinnamon mare that had a blond mane and bright, gentle eyes. The horse had spirit but was sweet-tempered and she was the perfect size for Elizabeth. When Darcy had seen the animal, he had wished Elizabeth beside him so much that he almost conjured up her image, but it was a trick of his tired eyes.
“Sir, do you need me any longer?” Finn asked, dismounting to stretch his legs and crack his back.
“Pray meet me at the chapel.”
“Certainly,” he replied, then paused, the silence growing heavier by the moment.
“What?” Darcy asked finally.
“You should have been truthful from the start. I have been married for a very long time, sir. Women do not forget.”
“Finn, the situation will work itself out. I have faith.”
“If I were you, William, I would see about a charm to make the girl forget your transgressions.”
“Not amusing.”
“My wife thinks otherwise.”
“Your wife is meddlesome. One day I shall try her as a busybody and put her to work in the scullery.”
Finn chuckled and remounted. “I would very nearly pay a pound of gold to see that. Of course, later I would be forced to call you out and make you pay for humiliating my beloved wife.”
Darcy shook his head, trying not to smile at his friend's easy manner. A small part of him wished he could be like that, but he was more than satisfied with his life, and the urge passed quickly, especially when thoughts of Elizabeth meandered through his brain. Of course, she hated him right now, but she would have to forgive him eventually. At least, he held onto his hopes she would forgive him, especially after he explained to her why he had really gone and showed her his beautiful gift.
Upon entering the house, his valet ushered him to his chambers, where he was served breakfast. The servants of Pemberley, a superstitious lot, were taking no chances with the fate of the fragile couple. Mrs. Reynolds had sewn hand root into sachets for the couple to carry with them. Timmons had lit green candles to ensure luck and prosperity. The whole household knew the master and mistress had some kind of issue that set them off kilter, and they were trying to bring the good will back into force.
In his study, he found a note on his desk. Jane's cursive hand curled around the heavy paper like a stream through the woods.
William:
On this day my oldest, dearest friend is to be married. When you see him, could you relay to him to do nothing else wrong?
Jane
It was typical of her to be snide, particularly when the occasion was solemn. She had had him in a fit of laughter at his mother's funeral. Neither of them had ever cared much for the former High Lady Darcy, and when they marked her passing with ceremony, Jane took every opportunity to mock the clergyman delivering the eulogy. Whenever a kind lie was spoken as a way to honour the spoiled, selfish, cold princess, Jane would pucker her lips and pretend to wail in grief.
As children, they were not allowed to sit toward the front of the chapel during Seventh Day services, and their mocking game ceased only when Darcy's nurse scolded them loudly enough to cause heads to turn.
He smiled, folded the note, and placed it in the breast pocket of his wedding clothes. His recently damaged confidence began to return as he looked himself over in the glass. Still tall, strong, and handsome. Elizabeth was lucky he had found her, lucky that he had taken her from a life of uncertainty and hardship. He was about to make her a princess, a princess that would be his in a matter of hours. It was a small price to pay to finally capture that spirit of hers and bend it to his will, to know that her fire was at his command. She would be his wife and, finally, his lover. His breeches tightened simply thinking about it.
The tiniest part of his brain knew that even with vows, Elizabeth would not simply acquiesce to his demands. She would fight him, hate him, and torture him for merely existing within her purview, but he could not bring himself to care. He ignored the voice until it surrendered and went silent from neglect. He had not come this far to let shame, guilt, or battle weariness defeat him.