Elizabeth might have laughed off her mother’s vexation had she not been so frustrated with herself.
Once the ceremony was complete and the marriage register signed and witnessed, the newlywed couple graciously remained to accept the felicitations of their guests.
Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to return to Longbourn. She craved solace and silence, time to sort her jumbled thoughts and put herself — her life — to rights.
Mama clucked her tongue. “I do not understand why Mr. Darcy could not marry you anyway. You will remember eventually. Why not act upon the decision you made before the incident?”
What bothered Elizabeth most about her mother’s complaint was the unexpected rationality of her reasoning. She had agreed to marry Mr. Darcy, that much was plain. So, why did she hesitate to follow through with a decision she had already made? Why this waffling indecisiveness?
Her mother continued, waving her fan frantically. “We shall have to dismiss the footman … and just when he was catching on to his duties so well.”
Despite the silliness of her mother’s grievances, Elizabeth felt guilty. And as she watched Bingley and Jane, her regret grew, seeped into her bones. She had lost something of much more import than a new footman — a piece of her Elizabeth feared she might never recover.
She glanced at Mr. Darcy standing alone along the edges of the congratulating crowd. Was he her missing piece? Had she truly loved him so much, he had become a part of her?
Miss Bingley sauntered over to them, neck arched and eyes sparkling. Looping her arm through Elizabeth’s, as though they were the dearest of friends, she said, “My poor Eliza, this must be such a tragedy for you. I cannot imagine how I would feel if I lost the onething I most prided myself in.” She was far too pleased to evidence genuine sympathy.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, unwilling to supply Miss Bingley with a reply the lady would only use against her.
Lacking proper inducement, Miss Bingley continued without encouragement. “Surely, one so clever, a lady known for her quickness of wit, would rather suffer any loss other than that of her mind.”
Word had spread fast, and as was usual with malicious gossip, had worsened Elizabeth’s condition. Not that she needed anyone, especially Miss Bingley, to rub salt in her wound.
Elizabeth felt rather than observed Mr. Darcy shift closer to her.
“I am convinced that the very qualities you rightly credit to Elizabeth will assist her in a full recovery,” he said. He stood so near, his warmth radiated to Elizabeth’s right side, and she so naturally leaned against him, she startled herself (and nettled Miss Bingley) with her intimate, unmeditated gesture.
Mr. Darcy brushed a curl over her shoulder, sending shivers feathering over her skin and burning a trail where his fingers lingered. He had calluses.
Elizabeth liked calluses, especially on a gentleman’s hands. They were the trophies of determination and exertion and, for Elizabeth, they offered reassurance. He had said he would wait for her, and she believed him.
Whether the gesture was out of habit or for Miss Bingley’s benefit, Elizabeth did not know. What she did know was that Mr. Darcy undeniably stirred her senses, and maybe, just maybe, what her body knew, her mind would soon recall.
Awakened by his touch or a caress or a kiss.
Elizabeth was willing to try. She did not even blush at her thoughts.
Miss Bingley released her hold on Elizabeth and with a sniff, spinning on her heeled slippers, left to join her sister amidst the throng of ladies admiring Jane’s gown.
Jane’s eyes met Elizabeth’s, her concern holding her until Elizabeth nodded and smiled. Mr. Darcy’s quick defense and bold admiration had gone to her head, and if anyone were to ask Elizabeth how she felt that moment she would have answered, “Quite divine.”
She would have turned to him had her mother not waved her fan in front of her face. “Do you see? Mr. Darcy believes you will fully recover, so why delay the inevitable?”
Mr. Darcy stepped away, disturbing Elizabeth with the cold he left behind. “Mrs. Bennet, my feelings remain unchanged. Elizabeth must be allowed to recover.”
Elizabeth dashed back to reality and the cold church.
“To force such a union right now would be unfair to her, and I would forever regret treating her unjustlywhen I would vow to cherish her.” His promise was a thawing ray of sunshine … which silenced Mama for all of five seconds, wherein she resumed her original arguments with greater appeal.
Mr. Darcy held up his hands, speaking with the patience of one who had made peace with the inevitability of such dealings with her mother. “I do not intend to go anywhere.”
They continued back and forth, her mother’s complaints growing increasingly unreasonable and Mr. Darcy’s forbearance displaying itself to accentuating advantage, though he must have been agitated. His posture was stiff where his words were soft.
Elizabeth rested her hand over her mother’s arm. “Mama, let us not dwell on that which encourages dissatisfaction. Look at Jane.” She stepped aside, allowing her mother a better view of the bride. “Is she not lovely? Do she and Mr. Bingley not make a fine match?”
Tears filled Mama’s eyes, and she clutched one hand over her heart. “She is beautiful. And he is amiable and rich.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Hardly the thing she wanted her mother to say in front of Mr. Darcy.
