She felt Mr Fiennes’s scrutiny even before she reached him. He examined her from head to foot, pausing at the necklace and darkening with displeasure. He said nothing, merely inclined his head to the parson to begin.
In what seemed a brief blur of vows and signatures, Elizabeth emerged from the church on her new husband’s arm. He handed her into the carriage, motioning to the rear-facing seat.
“I prefer to ride facing forward. You will sit with me when I wish; otherwise, that is your place.”
Elizabeth acknowledged his instruction with a single nod. His eyes drifted once more to her throat; he lifted the pendant and let it turn in the light. “A new trinket?” His scorn was evident.
“A token from my father—it is jet—inexpensive, and sentimental. He hoped to ease his conscience.” She delivered the lie with indifference, though every nerve urged her to withdraw.
He scoffed and let it fall. “He would do something of the sort. And how fitting that it should bemourningjewellery. Very well—keep it. But none shall offer you gifts without my consent. Now, come, sit beside me.”
Obediently she rose, moving with care as the carriage rocked. A sudden lurch sent her against him; he caught her, laughing huskily in her ear as her hands landed on his chest, his arm coming around her waist.
“Careful, my dear. Let us not break your pretty head.” He assisted her to the seat beside him. He behaved solicitously—the picture of a considerate bridegroom. Against her better judgement, she allowed herself to relax for the moment.
The wedding breakfast was a jumble of well-wishers and congratulations. Mr Fiennes managed every civility, leaving Elizabeth little opportunity to speak with her friends or family. She had only to smile. But there was one last task that remained. She turned to her father. “There is one matter yet to be settled,” she said in a low voice. “He must do what he promised.”
Mr Bennet nodded grimly, and turned towards his study; Elizabeth and Mr Fiennes followed. Wilkens stood by a table with a leather folio beneath his arm, waiting in stiff attention. His master swept inside with the air of a man preparing to demonstrate his own virtue.
“Well then, let no one claim I neglect my obligations.”
Elizabeth glanced at the folio and then at her father. “Papa,” she murmured, “make certain of the signatures.” Mr Bennet stepped forwards, opening the folio himself. Inside lay two folded documents—the copies kept by Mr Fiennes and his servant. He examined each, the set of his jaw tightening, before he added his own from his coat pocket.
“All three,” he said firmly. “As agreed.”
“Indeed,” Mr Fiennes replied, though the line of his pressed lips betrayed his annoyance at being policed. He moved to the fire, opened the screen, and stirred the coals until they glowed fiercely. Mr Bennet remained beside the table, arms folded, watching the proceedings with unwavering scrutiny.
Elizabeth stood between them, feeling the weight of what the moment represented. “My father’s debt is discharged and I have given what was required. Let us see the matter ended.”
Fiennes selected the first document—his own—and held it to the flame. The paper caught immediately, folding in upon itself as the ink shrivelled and vanished. The second followed, the edges curling as the fire consumed it. Only the final sheet remained. Fiennes held Mr Bennet’s copy for a heartbeat, glancing up at Elizabeth and regarding her with a look of satisfaction that made her stomach twist, then lowered it to the flame as well.
Mr Bennet exhaled shakily as the last of the parchment crumbled into ash. He looked away, incapable of meeting Elizabeth’s eyes.
For her, there was no sense of relief—only a cold finality. The ashes freed her father, but her own price had already been paid. Fiennes closed the fire screen with deliberate care, dusting his hands as if to mark the end of the transaction.
“There. It is done.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, her composure intact. “So it is.”
He offered his arm, and she laid her hand upon it, outwardly serene. Behind them, the last embers hissed softly over the remnants of the contract—three copies gone, the bargain sealed, and her future no longer her own.
When the time came to depart, she embraced her sisters in turn, counsellingLydia, Kitty, and Mary to behave and to cultivate their accomplishments. To Jane, she whispered her fervent wish that her sister might one day find true happiness in marriage. No words were exchanged with either parent; too much had already been spoken.
Mr Fiennes led her from the house and into his waiting carriage. They had sufficient daylight to reach London; he had made it clear he had no intention of stopping until they arrived in Mayfair.
The last of her fragile hopes for marital felicity ended that night. Later, she stared into the darkness, her innocence not surrendered but lost.
From that night forth, she understood how dearly she had paid for her father’s folly.
Chapter Eight
15 November 1806
London
Elizabeth
Elizabeth’sfirstweeksasMrs Damian Fiennes were filled with emotional uncertainty and restraint. She missed her family with an ache she dared not own, but she resolved to make the best of her new and unwelcome situation. Her husband’s moods were capricious—one day he greeted her with smiles and trifling gifts, the next his remarks held the semblance of courtesy but were, in truth, insults laced with censure. Few of the most artful matrons could rival his talent for subtle derision.
