“I can promise not to resent you, or blame you for this,” she said, still gripping his hand as she stepped down.
He met her eye and while he did not smile, he nodded and there was a softening in his look. “We have to consider how this will appear to the world. The story we tell is that we fell in love instantly when we met just over a week ago. You ran away from your friends in Ramsgate to jump over a broomstick with me in a blacksmith’s shop and call it being married.” He grew thoughtful. “I will do whatever I can to add some legitimacy to this escapade.”
Darcy hailed the anvil priest and, after talking for a while, asked him to send for a sheriff. “By showing proof of the marriage,” he said to her, “we can obtain a warrant from the sheriff.”
She did not understand. Too much was happening in a brief time. “Who is being arrested?”
“The warrant is to have our marriage recorded by the local registrar,” he explained patiently. “I am going to pay the fine for having an irregular marriage so he can list our union in Springfield’s registry. I am not relying on the certificate that ‘priest’ Mr Lang fills out or announcing our intentions in front of witnesses I have never before seen.”
He wanted a proper record of their marriage, for it to be as legitimate as possible. What might that mean as to what sort of husband Darcy would be? Fastidious, certainly. Caring? Hopefully. She was too in shock to consider it more deeply.
The wedding was simple. They were asked their names and places of abode and enquired of if they were single. Each attested they had come of their own free will and accord, and then the priest filled in his printed form. He asked Darcy, “Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, forsaking all others, keep to her as long as you both shall live?”
“I will.”
Her breath came quick and shallow. This marriage was happening,and it would be forever. The same question was asked of her, and she whispered an affirmative answer.
“Do you have a ring?” the priest asked.
She and Darcy shared an alarmed look. Of course, there was no ring; they had not planned for this. Darcy finally pulled off the ring he wore, a gold piece with reeded edges and an oblong hair locket framed in black enamel. A mourning ring for his father, if she had to guess. He pushed it onto her finger, whispering, “I will buy you one that fits.”
She had to close her fingers into a fist to keep it from slipping off.
The priest led Darcy to make some promises along with the ring, but those were the only vows stated. They were then told to take hold of each other’s right hands and she was charged with saying, “What God joins, let no man put asunder.”
“Forasmuch as this man and this woman have consented to go together by giving and receiving a ring,” said Mr Lang, “I therefore declare them to be man and wife before God and these witnesses in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Elizabeth sat to the side in a daze for an hour while Darcy waited for and talked to a sheriff and a magistrate and then hired a carriage. What would her parents say when they learnt she was married? Her mother would be glad since Darcy was a wealthy man, but her father would be disappointed she had run off in such a way. Her friends would call her romantic at best and reckless at worst. She was no longer Elizabeth Bennet, and she had no idea who Elizabeth Darcy was.
That would not be as alarming if she knew who Fitzwilliam Darcy was.
“Shall we?”
She looked up and saw him standing over her. She must have asked a question with her blank expression, because Darcy added, “Let us return to England. I will buy you a wedding band in Carlisle, and from there we can write to our families.” He gave a weak smile. “I know neither of us wants to get into another carriage, but I ought to take you home.”
“To Longbourn?”
“To Pemberley.”
Of course. A few lines of dialogue, and she had a new name and a new home.
“Is there anything else, Mrs Darcy?”the housekeeper asked.
Four days as a bride, and Elizabeth was finally responding when someone called her “Mrs Darcy.”
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth answered her. “Your suggestions are good ones, and there is little to change.” She had been eager to go round the house with Mrs Reynolds to discuss the furnishings. It had been something to focus on.
She had not arrived at Pemberley in a composed state of mind. When they left Scotland, she flung herself into the coach and gave way to her grief. The tension that filled the post-chaise leaving Springfield felt different from the tension that filled the mail coach that had raced to Gretna Green. Neither she nor Darcy were angry at one another; neither one ranted and stormed at the injustice of it all. But a resignation settled over both of them for the one hundred and seventy miles to Derbyshire.
She had seen little of Darcy since they arrived yesterday, so she could not be certain if his mood had improved upon his homecoming.
Mrs Reynolds was unaffectedly kind upon learning there was now a Mrs Darcy. Any surprise about Mr Darcy eloping was swiftly hidden, and they were both congratulated. Everyone at Pemberley was disappointed over Miss Darcy running off with a man from the estate who had turned out rather wild, but the housekeeper admitted they were all pleased the master found someone who was good enough for him.
It was not as though Darcy had a choice.
Whatever Elizabeth had expected upon arriving at her new home, the reality of Pemberley astounded her. Her eye was delighted with the commanding scenery on her first approach to the mansion. The interior was exactly in unison with what she had seen driving up, and there was something both comfortable and grand in its arrangements.
“I think it a good thing to put your own mark on the house, ma’am,” Reynolds said.
