Chapter
9
“Lizzy, it is
time to get up, my dear.” Mr. Bennet knocked the door of his
daughter’s bedchamber.
“I
am awake, father,” Elizabeth
replied from the bed.
Of course she was
awake; she had not slept at all the previous night. How could she sleep when
she was about to marry the most cruel man in the world? The man that, for no
apparent reason, had denied Mr. Wickham what rightly belonged to him? The man
that purposely destroyed Jane’s only chance for happiness and whose
lascivious actions had ruined her own life?
All through the
night, overwhelmed by the most profound despair, Elizabeth had prayed for some sort of miracle
to occur, that something extraordinary would happen or that someone would come
to rescue her from her woeful fate. But to no avail, the time had come and in
only a few hours, she would be the new Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the wife of the
man she detested the most.
Elizabeth rose from her bed
and walked towards the window. Contrasting with her gloomy spirits, the morning
presented itself prodigiously beautiful and clear. The sun was shining brightly
and the pristine snowy layer that covered the grounds of Longbourn was of the
purest white she had ever seen. A bottomless bitterness possessed her heart as
she looked at the perfect landscape that seemed extracted from a fairy tale
storybook. She had imagined that the day she would marry Mr. Darcy would be a
sombre and rainy day but no, it was the most scintillating winter day ever.
With a deep sigh of resignation, she started to get ready
for her wedding ceremony.
In his room at the Inn, Darcy was as anxious as any man on his wedding day
could be. He woke up very early and began his toilette with the meticulousness
that was inherent in him. He had the barber come to his room to shave him and
then he dressed himself in the tailored suit he had brought from London especially for the
occasion.
Someone knocked the
door and Darcy allowed him in. It was his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Darcy! Are you not ready? You shall be late for your own wedding!”
Darcy rolled his
eyes at his teasing. “It is still early, Richard.”
“Are you
nervous?” The colonel sat on a chair and observed his cousin as he made,
with his usual coolness, the last adjustments in his appearance.
“A little,
not as much as I thought I would be,” Darcy answered as he inspected his
cravat.
“I truly
admire your capacity to remain unmoved to everything around you. This is a most
extraordinary event for any man and here you are, calm as you were just going
to attend church.”
Darcy merely
smirked in reply and tugged at his waistcoat.
“I believe I
must be honest with you,” said the colonel, “When you first told me
you were engaged and in what circumstances, I feared for you happiness.
Everyone was against the match and you confronted an entire society to marry
the lady. But after meeting your fiancée, I realized she was worth the trouble.
I must tell you, my friend, you are indeed a very fortunate man; Miss Bennet is
an extraordinary woman. I have never seen a better suited couple.”
“I thank
you.” Darcy smiled proudly.
“And she
seems quite fond of you, I must say.”
Darcy’s smile
broadened to a wide grin. “I believe she is.”
The piano played
the first chords and the crowd reunited in Longbourn’s chapel turned
around to see the bride. There were sighs of admiration at her entrance, smiles
and even some tears from the proud mother that was giving her first daughter
away in marriage to that noble gentleman. Holding the crook of her
father’s arm, Elizabeth
walked down the aisle, apparently serene and composed yet possessed by the
greatest downheartedness. This was it; there
was no turning back now.
At the end of the
aisle, her future husband awaited for her. There he stood, looking so handsome,
so proud. As she took the last steps to her horrible destiny, Elizabeth made
promise to God and to herself that no matter what evils came upon her during
her marriage, she would never cry in front of him, she would never give him the
pleasure of seeing her broken and at his mercy for making the most miserable
woman in the world.
The ceremony
proceeded uneventfully. Elizabeth
recited her vows without feeling them and allowed her husband to kiss her hand
when she was declared his wife. The overwhelming dread with which she had
started the morning was now gone and replaced with an emptiness so immense that
made her insensible to everything around her. She felt a spectator at her own
wedding, possessed by some sort of extracorporeal sensation that made the
entire scene appear unreal to her, a scene on which she had not participation,
where the pale woman in a white wedding gown was someone completely unknown to
her, a poor soul whose tragic fate she pitied. Not really hearing them, Elizabeth politely
accepted the greetings of the well-wishers as she walked outside the chapel on
the arm of the man that was now her husband.
With feelings that
were the exact opposite of those of his bride, the happy groom was barely
capable of containing his joy. His exterior remained solemn and haughty;
accepting the compliments with a polite smile, but inside he felt he was the
most fortunate man that had ever walked this Earth. Elizabeth was his at last.
The wedding
breakfast was unsurprisingly brief as the couple intended to have an early
departure so they could arrive in London
before nightfall. After saying goodbye to the Bennets, Darcy turned to his
cousin, thus allowing Elizabeth
more privacy in the farewell to her family.
The unhappy bride
was barely containing her tears when she embraced each member of her family. ‘I will not cry. You will never make
me cry, Mr. Darcy’. she commanded herself, resolute to keep her
promise of never crying in front of her husband. She kissed her Papa and her
Mama –both with misty eyes—and each one of her younger sisters.
When Jane’s turn came, Elizabeth
could not but feel that she was somehow betraying her sister. Gathering all her
strength, she looked into Jane’s eyes and said,
“I will miss
you so much, my dearest Jane. My life will not be the same without you by my
side.”
Jane, knowing her
sister’s dissatisfaction with this marriage, replied with teary eyes. “I wish you the greatest happiness, Elizabeth. You deserve
nothing less.”
Elizabeth felt a touch on
her arm and turned around.
“It is time
to go, Mrs. Darcy,” her husband said with evident pride.
“Yes,
sir,” she gave Jane one more quick hug and stepped into the carriage.
Darcy climbed into
the coach and sat by her side. Elizabeth
was expecting him to do just that but she had hoped that he would sit opposite
to her. As the carriage began to roll up the road, the reluctant bride leaned
out the window to wave to her family one last time, silently saying goodbye to
her old life.
“Elizabeth, you have been
so very quiet. I hope you are feeling all right, my dear,” Darcy said a
moment later, speaking in his most tender voice.
“I am well,
sir. Just a little tired. I will be fine soon,” she replied, emotionless.
“I know this
is very difficult for you, dearest. I perfectly comprehend your
feelings.”
She showed him the
faintest of smiles.
Darcy took her
gloved hand in his and moved closer to give her a quick kiss on the lips. She
responded to it but immediately turned her face away to direct her eyes on the
scenery outside the carriage, a sight that she now found of great interest.
Noticing her paleness, the groom did not insist with his seduction, and
attributed her present lowness of spirits and detachment to the tension of the
wedding and the pain of leaving her family behind. About an hour later, Darcy
noticed that her eyelids were becoming heavy and with great tenderness, he put
his arm her shoulder and gently pulled her closer to his body. A few minutes later, completely exhausted by
the stress of holding back her emotions and the lack of rest of the previous
night, Elizabeth
fell asleep.
Elizabeth felt someone moving
next to her and imagined that Lydia
had once again crawled into her bed during the night, as she usually did when
the weather was this cold and the hearth in her room had died out. Her little
sister was too lazy to restart the fire but Elizabeth never complained when she joined
her, in fact she welcomed her additional warmth she furnished as they cuddled
together under the covers. In these distressful times, when the world seemed
against her and her future looked so dark, the notion that she was sharing her
bed with her youngest sister and not the man that would soon become her husband
was exceedingly comforting. Consoled by these thoughts, she snuggled against
the source of warmth, vaguely taking notice that her pillow felt unusually
woolly this morning.
But soon reality
struck her with the intensity of a lightning bolt, for it was not Lydia the one
providing the warmth and comfort she so desperately needed --it was her odious
husband-- and the woolly fabric on which she was resting her head was not her
pillow, it was, in fact, Mr Darcy’s coat. She immediately sat up and
began to arrange her clothes and the blanket that was covering her and her
husband.
“My dear,
forgive me if I woke you up.” Darcy accommodated himself on the seat to
observe her. “Do you feel rested now?”
“Yes, quite
rested.”
His gloved hand
traced her pale cheek. He smiled lovingly at her and after being granted a weak
smile in return, he leaned in to kiss her, something he did with great
tenderness. Elizabeth’s
reply was mild to say the least, almost deprived of emotion thus discouraging
him to infuse more passion to the kiss. Her lips were cold and unresponsive and
her general passivity was becoming a matter of preoccupation for the young
groom. For a man that had fallen in love with her liveliness of spirit and had
been fantasying about repeating the interlude of the previous afternoon since
he sat on the carriage, he found his bride’s behaviour utterly
disfavouring.
“Are you
unwell, dearest?” He asked sweetly as he looked into her eyes, searching
for a sign of illness. He thought she looked exceedingly pale. “We can
remain a little longer in our next stop if you need time to rest.”
The prospect of
staying at an inn –where he might suggest they proceeded with the
consummation of their marriage—seemed more frightful than remaining with
him inside the coach, where they were at least in public. “No, that would
not be necessary, I am perfectly well, sir.”
Elizabeth removed herself
out of his hold and turned her eyes to the fields outside the window. She was
not inclined to speak –nor did she have anything to say at this point--
so the task of making idle talk was left to the groom, who made a few comments
about the ceremony and the wedding breakfast. Elizabeth replied briefly but
civilly at his praise at her mother’s cooking efforts and accepted his
compliments on her appearance with an insincere smile. He tried other subjects,
obtaining a similar –and quite uncooperative, in fact—response from
his bride.
After a few
attempts at making conversation, Darcy dropped the effort entirely. Practically
no word was said until they reached the outskirts of London.
The Darcy carriage
stopped at the door of the townhouse. The house was big, elegant, far more than
what Elizabeth had expected. She could but feel small and out of place before
such grandeur and the enormity of the building only served to increase her
feeling of loneliness and defencelessness.
The presentation of
the new mistress of the house to the staff was conducted with the formality
these extraordinary events habitually had. The newlyweds were received by the
housekeeper, Mrs. Turner, who after a few words from the master, introduced
Elizabeth to the servants that were lined up expecting to meet the new Mrs
Darcy.
Elizabeth noted
that her husband was exceedingly solicitous towards her. His behaviour since
they left Meryton had been radically different to the one he had displayed
before their marriage. His manners had softened considerably, he was all
kindness and gentility, personally seeing after her needs and doing all that
was in his reach to make her feel comfortable.
Once they were done
with the formalities, Darcy escorted her to her bedchamber so that she could
rest and freshen up for dinner.
“Is there
anything you need, my dear?” he asked gently. “Your trunks are
being unpacked by your maid. Please, do not hesitate to ring for help if you
are in want of something.”
“Thank you,
Mr. Darcy,” she replied, meeting his eyes for only a second.
“Dinner will
be served in two hours, is that agreeable with you?”
Elizabeth nodded
silently.
“I will come
for you at that time, then.”
“Yes,
sir.”
Darcy raised her
hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on it. There so many things he wanted
to say, he was so desirous to kiss her and show her how happy he was with their
union that he would have followed her into her chambers to have a brief taste
of the nectar of her lips, but his wife’s abnormal dullness was puzzling him
and preventing him to act upon his most primal desires. His disquietude for his
new stature was also a reason for his lack of passionate determination as
Darcy, though perhaps more experimented in the matters of the flesh, was also
newlywed, therefore just as inexperienced as his wife in hymeneal protocols.
Hence the couple
parted at the door, the bride disappearing hastily into her chambers, the
exceedingly puzzled groom silently walking towards his. In both cases a tight
knot was starting to tie inside their stomachs, bringing more tension to what
had been a tiresome and stressing day.
Once alone in her
rooms, Elizabeth took a deep breath and looked around in an attempt to take in
the particularities of the place that she thought would become her personal torture
chamber in the days to come. The room was exceedingly handsome and Elizabeth
was certain that she would have loved it in other circumstances. The walls were
covered with an exquisite fabric in the faintest shade of peach, with matching
curtains and furniture. The bed was as beautiful as it seemed comfortable.
There was an enormous fireplace warming up the space and a lovely bouquet of
flowers was situated on one of the tables.
Two girls appeared
from her dressing room and Elizabeth recognized one of them as Elsie, the girl
that the housekeeper had introduced her as her new lady’s maid. With
great solicitousness they helped her out of her dress and showed her the
dressing room where a warm bath awaited her. Elizabeth was not used to all this
luxury and was a little shy as her maids tended to her. Yet she could not
complain. They were attentive, efficient and discreet. All her instructions
were followed with precision and celerity and Elizabeth did not fail to
ascertain Elsie’s skill with the brush and ribbons. Her hair was
beautifully done.
When the time came,
Darcy went for her as he had promised to escort her to the dining room. The
couple dined in awkward silence, each one preoccupied with their own thoughts
of the night ahead. The exquisite dishes the cook had carefully prepared for
the occasion were practically left untouched as the groom, though apparently
calm, was consumed by anxiety and the dread the bride was feeling had swept her
appetite away.
Always observant of
etiquette, Darcy asked his wife if she would prefer to spend some time in the
music room drinking coffee before retiring. In all honesty, he was hoping she
would refuse his suggestion because that would give him permission to skip
other formalities and take her directly to their chambers to make love to her.
He was pleasantly surprised when his bride declined his offer and unwittingly
granted him his impious little wish. Little did he know that her decision had
nothing to do with her haste for consummating their marriage. Her reasons,
while connected with carnal procedures, had an entirely different motivation:
if what would follow was inevitable, she saw no point in delaying it. The
sooner it ended, the better.
“Shall I join
you in half an hour?” he asked in a tender voice as they reached her
chambers.
“Yes,
sir,” Elizabeth replied quietly. Without even a courtesy, she disappeared
into her rooms.
Alone in her
bedchamber, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her chest, at loss of what to do.
The knot that was twisting her stomach was getting tighter, creating a very
unpleasant sensation through her entire body, taking her almost to the point of
nausea. In only half an hour, her husband would be there with her and all those
things she had been wishing would not happen would finally occur. Her eyes
rested on the bed, the place where her husband would take her virtue away,
where he would finally possess her and shuddered at the thought of his hands
upon her, of him making his way towards parts of her body that no one had ever
touched.
There was a soft
knock at the door and Elizabeth startled, her heartbeat speeding up at the
thought of her husband joining her in her rooms so soon after their
departure. Certainly it could not be
him, he had just left! When she realized that the sound came from her dressing
room and she allowed Elsie to enter.
“I’ve
finished unpacking your things, ma’am.”
“Thank you,
Elsie.”
“Which night
gown would you prefer for tonight, ma’am?” she asked as she
presented Elizabeth with the three she selected. Two were among
Elizabeth’s belongings; the third one she was told was a present from the
master. It was a beautiful nightgown made of ivory silk and Spanish lace that
Elizabeth thought was perfect for the occasion. Yet, she chose the one her aunt
Gardiner gave her, probably not as fashionable and expensive, but that would
surely make her feel more at ease.
The young girl laid
it over the bed and waited for instructions.
“Thank you,
Elsie. That will be all.”
“Good night,
Madam,” the girl made a courtesy and left.
As soon as he
entered his chambers, Darcy was immediately joined by his valet, who came
holding the night shift and robe he had chosen for his master in this special
occasion. With his usual efficiency, the servant moved around the room, helping
his master to undress and into his night clothes. When he was done, he bid the
master good night.
Having bathed and
shaved before dinner, there was not much that Darcy could do until the time to
join his bride came. He still had long ten minutes to wait and was becoming
increasingly fidgety by the minute, so he poured himself a glass of port hoping
that a little liquor would help placate his jittery spirit. Slightly soothed by
the beverage, he walked towards the window and stared into the night.
Darcy knew that the
success of this night would depend entirely on him, not only in terms of his
pleasure, but also that of his bride. Being a reserved man that despised
licentiousness, Darcy’s experience with the fair sex was quite short,
just occasional encounters with paid women that had instructed him on the
basics of lovemaking that took place in his early twenties. The frequency of
these meetings decreased significantly when he became the master of Pemberley
and in the past couple of years he had lived of life of chastity. Despise these
limitations he knew enough to know that women tended to be a bit reluctant when
exposed the particularities of intercourse for the first time. He was also
aware that the deed could be painful and that it was the man’s mission to
raise his bride’s passionate sensibilities before proceeding with the
act. Therefore, with this concern in mind, he had commanded himself to remain
calm and be gentle in front of her beauty and repress his manly desires until
his wife was ready to receive him.
After some
agonizing minutes, the anxious groom took a deep breath and marched towards his
wife’s bedroom. The time had come.
Elizabeth sat by
her vanity, slowly brushing her hair, blankly staring at the woman in the
mirror as if she weren’t herself, wishing she would wake up from this
nightmare that had started in the woods behind her home and that had lasted two
torturous months.
Albeit her
immeasurable misery, Elizabeth was not physically afraid of what would happen
tonight. Her mother had been quite sensible in her speech about what occurred
in the marriage bed. She was told that, though painful the first time, she
should not fear it, as intimacy could turn quite pleasurable once she became acquainted
with her husband. Her mother’s advice –with a forlorn look in her
eyes—was that a husband should never be discouraged from coming to his
wife’s chambers. Her recommendation was exactly the opposite, that he
should be invited to come as often as possible, as men are usually happier in
wedlock and treated their wives much better when their stomachs were full and
when satisfied in bed with certain frequency. Mrs. Bennet’s words brought
Elizabeth back to happier times in Longbourn, when it was known that her father
still visited her mother’s quarters. Her Mama was less screechy and
annoying, her nerves much calmer, and her father less sarcastic and
contemptuous with his wife. All that changed after her mother miscarried her
sixth child halfway through her confinement, a boy apparently, three years
after Lydia’s birth. That fateful occurrence ended every intimacy between
her parents and as years progressed, they became the bitter old couple that
rarely expressed any sort of affection for each other and showed each other
little respect.
No, what Elizabeth
was feeling now was not fear or dread. It was an emptiness that was so vast
that could not be measured. She felt trapped in a life she did not want where
she belonged to a man she did not love. There would be no affection, happiness
or respect ahead, only darkness, loneliness and pain.
Her duty was to
obey, to accept, to surrender. In only a few minutes, her husband would be
there to claim his rights over her and there was nothing she could do to stop
him.
There was a knock
on the door and she knew that the time had come. God helped her.