The frown he gave her was formidable. “I require your complete attention when I speak.” His words carried the chill of command. “You have nodded your head inanely for the past five minutes—even when I asked whether you would prefer to sleep in the stables on our wedding night.”
They had reached a far corner near the doorway, where a draught from the passage brushed her neck. “Now that I have your full attention,” he drawled, “I wished to present you with a token of my esteem.”
From his pocket he drew a small case and opened it. Within lay the gaudiest necklace Elizabeth had ever beheld; heavy orange stones set in thick gold, the vulgarity of the design enough to make her recoil inwardly. “It is very ornate, but not at all to my taste.” She had remained calm, but she hated the piece, and the words had escaped her before she could temper them.
His glare hardened; the case snapped shut with a crack. “You are a spoiled, selfish child. I went to great lengths to secure a present for you, only to have you spit upon it.” His jaw tightened, and colour rose along his neck as he thrust the case back into his pocket and seized her hand, his grip unyielding.
Alarm tightened in her chest. She hastened to amend her error, mindful that her father’s bond with him yet held until the marriage vows were spoken. “I meant only that, if you wished to present meadvantageously in town, the gems would appear to greater effect in a simpler setting. You spoke of moving amongst the first circles—where taste is elegant and restrained, never over-adorned. Refined beauty commands respect.” Her rapid words seemed to mollify him; the fury faded until only the calculating gleam of his eyes betrayed him.
“You surprise me, Elizabeth. I thought you opposed my plans.” His words challenged her, and she measured her answer with care.
“I am to be your wife. As my husband, your wishes must take precedence over mine.”
One brow lifted in mocking amusement. He inclined nearer, his breath brushing her ear. “Pray, do not capitulate to my will too readily. You will take all the sport out of it.”
The morning of Elizabeth’s wedding dawned clear and cold. Mama roused her at first light and swept into the room with her usual energy. “Come to my chamber, Lizzy, I have had the large tub filled. The water is scented with roses. We must wash you, dress you, and arrange your hair.”
“I am not a doll, Mama,” Elizabeth groaned and drew the counterpane over her head.
“Goodness! It is yourwedding day,Elizabeth! Show some excitement!” Mama tugged the coverlet away, leaving her exposed to the chill.
Shivering, she sat up. “Pray, do not remind me.” Yet she allowed her mama to take her hand and lead her from the small bedchamber to the mistress’s suite. The air there was warm, the fire banked high through thenight, and the great tub steamed invitingly in the corner. In a trice, she sank into the fragrant water and released a long breath.
Two hours later—washed, dressed, pinned, and pampered—Elizabeth left her mother’s room, still recovering from the shock of her mortifying counsel regarding the wedding night. The advice had done nothing to calm hernerves; rather, it had inflamed them.
The other Bennet sisters waited in the vestibule. Mama paced fretfully, sending the servants hither and thither as preparations continued for the wedding breakfast and the flood of guests expected at any moment. “Where is your father?” She pressed a hand to her brow, her agitation plain as she looked towards the stairs.
Elizabeth had wondered the same. Papa had made himself scarce since the day Mr Fiennes came to claim her hand. She had attempted to speak with him, but he had rebuffed her; he now spent most of his days shut away in his study.
“I am here, Mrs Bennet.” Papa descended the stairs in his finest coat and waistcoat. “I would not miss my dearest daughter’s wedding.” He looked better than she had seen him in many months, and despite herself, she was pleased he had made the effort for her.
Mama herded the younger girls away and bade Elizabeth remain until the carriage returned for her and her father. Jane followed to assist, though she would stand up with her sister presently.
“If there were any way to resolve this, I would.” Her father’s shoulders sagged, the words but a breath.
Anger flared, but she checked it; she would not indulge resentment on this of all days.
“I know, Papa…and I have tried hard not to resent you for your part in my fate.”
He looked wretched, shifting his weight before reaching into his pocket. “I have something for you.” From a small case he drew a necklace—an intricately wrought silver chain bearing a black stone cut in a perfect circle of no more than a half-inch’s breadth, its silver setting delicately entwined with ivy and flowers. “It was once my cravat pin. I had it reset for you.”
“It is far prettier than the necklace Mr Fiennes tried to give me.” Her jest was feeble but sincere.
Papa fastened it round her neck. “It is spinel. The stone alone is worth twenty-five pounds; the setting and chain can give you a few more.”
“I do not understand.” Her fingers rose to the pendant.
“You are my cleverest child, Lizzy. Your husband may grant you pin money as the marriage articles require, yet he will never allow you to spend freely. Should you ever need to escape, the necklace will provide enough for your journey back to Longbourn. Tell him it is obsidian—or jet—a worthless trinket your father gave you to ease his conscience.”
She knew he spoke the truth and was deeply moved by his care. “Thank you, Papa.” She threw her arms about his neck, holding him tight for a moment before stepping back. “Later we shall both watch the contracts burn and then leave our lives in the hands of Providence.”
He bowed his head in shame. “May He bless us.”
The carriage soon returned to convey them the short distance to the church. Elizabeth entered, head held high. Her gown—of bright yellow satin, adorned with more lace than taste required—stood out vividly amongst the simpler attire of the guests, and the dark stone at her throat appeared all the blacker for its contrast.
She advanced down the aisle with steady step, her eyes fixed forward as she met her fate. She moved as one guided by invisible strings, aware only that each step erased another piece of herself. She carried no flowers, for there were none to be had, and Mama had made no effort to securehothouse blooms. Instead, one hand rested within a fur muff, the other clung to her father’s arm. Jane followed close behind.
Elizabeth had confided nothing to her closest companion. Jane believed all was well; she could not bear to trouble her dear sister with the truth or disturb her rosy view of the world.
