Darcy filled a cup and settled himself in the armchair by the fire. “I think it is safe to say none of us are. People change, Bingley. Naturally, your affections will change accordingly, but it does not follow that the change must make them insufficient.”
His friend looked pensive, an expression Darcy saw on him but rarely, and it struck a chord. “I believe I comprehend your problem.”
Bingley flinched. “You do?”
“You have been given entirely too much time to think. Had I not interfered, you would have wed Jane after three weeks and been happily married for above eight months by now. I daresay this will all seem a good deal better after tomorrow.”
This and the coffee lightened Bingley’s mood sufficiently that, by the time he retired, Darcy was assured he would neither arrive at the church still addled nor forgo attending at all. He smiled to himself as he climbed into his own bed, thinking his friend would probably enjoy a far better night’s sleep than he. The morrow was still too many hours away, and coffee had robbed him of all hope of sleep just as anticipation had robbed him of his last vestiges of patience.
Tuesday 14 July 1812, Hertfordshire
“And after they leave London, they will go to Derbyshire. I suggested they go to Brighton for the summer, but they preferred not to, though I suspect he would have gone willingly had Lizzy wished it, for I begin to think there is nothing he would not do for her. Just look at the way he gazes at her.”
Jane did as she was bidden, as did everybody else to whom her mother had been extolling the Darcys’ virtues for the last ten minutes. Mr Darcy had pinned his new bride possessively to his side and was, indeed, hung on her every word. She endeavoured to make no comparison to her own husband, who tarried on the other side of the room, speaking to everybody and anybody but her. He was a vastly different creature to his friend, and she supposed she ought not to expect him to behave similarly.
It was not long before she began to feel altogether less sanguine. The small group of people to whom Elizabeth had been speaking had swollen to include most of the guests. Hers had diminished to just one, Mr Collins, whose determination to be heard had overcome all her attempts to escape his company. Perhaps this was what Louisa and Caroline had meant when they advised her that ladies who were too meek did not do well in society. If she could but harness a whit of her sister’s assurance, she might become a woman worthy of the world’s notice—and perchance her husband’s also.
She looked for Bingley, her one consolation being that he was not part of the group surrounding her sister. He was by the window, nodding at whatever Mr Philips was saying and staring so brazenly atElizabeth, it was a wonder the whole room had not noticed. She turned back to Mr Collins and pretended to listen, a headache burgeoning between her temples.
At length, Mr Darcy announced he and Elizabeth would depart, which prompted something of an exodus as the Gardiners, Collinses, Lucases and all Mr Darcy’s relations called for their carriages as well. Jane watched unhappily as everybody filed out of the parlour. Of course, they would all go now. Why would anybody wish to stay once Elizabeth left?
Longbourn’s drive was soon overtaken with milling guests. Elizabeth and Mr Darcy bade them all goodbye, coming to Jane and Bingley last.
“Thank goodness we need not say our goodbyes yet,” Elizabeth said, taking Jane’s hands. “I believe I shall survive the three days until I see you at Lord Ashby’s ball. Something tells me our farewell in London will not be so easy.”
“I do not think you will ever be forgiven for stealing Lizzy away, Darcy,” Bingley interrupted.
Jane would forgive her new brother a great deal if he would only hasten and do precisely that.
“You are welcome to visit Pemberley as often as you please,” Mr Darcy said, looking at her.
“Then I daresay you will be seeing much of us,” Bingley answered in her stead.
The effort of keeping her smile fixed in place began to tax Jane such that it was a relief when the leave-taking was done, and Darcy handed Elizabeth into their carriage.
“Are you well?” enquired Mrs Gardiner, stepping to her side to wave them off. “You look a little piqued.”
“It is difficult to see Lizzy go, is it not?” Mary said, appearing beside her aunt. “If it were not that I shall see her at Pemberley in a few weeks, I should be miserable too. I know you will miss her terribly.”
Jane’s uncharitable thoughts to the contrary were interrupted when Mrs Sinclair bustled past to her carriage.
“Fear not, Mrs Bingley, I hear your husband has employed your sister’s twin as a maid, so you will have her to remind you in Lizzy’s absence.”
The same day, London
Baker, the young girl appointed as Elizabeth’s lady’s maid, moved about in the dressing room, emptying the bath. Elizabeth came to perch on the dressing table stool in her bedroom, rubbing her hair dry with a towel, not quite believing she was here at last. Her wedding day had been perfect but with a good deal too many people to speak to before she and Darcy were able to leave and a good deal too many miles to travel before they were able to arrive here, everybody and everything seemingly indifferent to her impatience to begin her life as Mrs Darcy.
In recent weeks, she had derived the distinct impression she was expected to be nervous for her wedding night, but she was not. She could never be nervous of a man who took such prodigious care of her, who looked at her as though she were a work of art, who held her as though she were made of glass and who responded to her as though she were a seductress. On the contrary, she had great hopes of his recreating the same wonderful sensations he had on their walk the previous week.
“Should you like me to brush your hair, Mrs Darcy?” enquired the maid, coming into the room.
Elizabeth declined and waited only long enough for Baker to lay out a nightgown on the bed before dismissing her for the evening. She reached for her brush but froze when she caught sight of the most enormous house spider on which she had ever laid eyes, not a yard from her bare feet. She did next what any young lady of good sense would upon discovering such a beast in her presence: she screamed and clambered up on the stool. The spider scurried for the nearest cover, which happened to be said stool. She jumped off it, screaming again and laughing all at once. The stool clattered back against the dresser and fell to the floor. She stumbled over her bathrobe and lunged towards the bed, laughing at her own ineptitude as she leapt onto the mattress and clutched at a post to steady herself.
The door from the sitting room adjoining the master and mistress’ bedchambers flew open and banged against the wall with enough force to rattle the pictures and make every candle gutter.
“Elizabeth! What is the matter?”
Darcy wore only a bathrobe tied loosely at the waist, which accentuated the broadness of his shoulders most agreeably. His hair wasdripping wet. Rivulets of bath water ran down his face and dropped onto his exposed chest, as though Neptune himself had risen from the sea to defend his bride. Under any other circumstances, the sight might have weakened Elizabeth’s knees. As it was, she was somewhat distracted by the gargantuan creature darting towards his feet.
