Page 6 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“Oh, look at those redcoats outside!” Lydia exclaimed, nudging Kitty as they peered through a small window where two red-coated men strolled past. “Do you suppose they might attend the wedding breakfast? Mr Blackfriars must have military connections, must he not?”
“Lydia, contain yourself,” Mrs Bennet scolded, though her rebuke lacked conviction. “This is your sister’s wedding day not a parade. I am certain Mr Blackfriars connections are far better than mere redcoats. He knows royalty. His cousin is a viscount.”
“Oh, I might become a viscountess yet,” Lydia giggled as she placed an orange blossom in her own hair.
“And I shall set my cap on one of the Blackfriars cousins,” Kitty exclaimed.
“Girls,” Mrs Bennet chided. “Decorum, please.”
“Surely some levity is allowed,” Kitty complained.
Mary adjusted her spectacles, her expression solemn. “Marriage is a serious undertaking. Levity has no place in such proceedings. As St. Paul instructs, ‘wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.’”
“Thank you, Mary,” Elizabeth murmured.
The distant sound of the church organ signalled the guests were seated and awaiting the bride.
“Come, girls,” Mrs Bennet commanded, ushering Lydia, Kitty, and Mary towards the door. “We must take our places.The ceremony shall commence shortly.” She cast one final, approving glance at Elizabeth. “Jane, do attend to her veil before you join us. Mr Bennet will arrive any moment to escort her. And Lizzy. My Lizzy.” She sucked in air through her nose and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I could not be prouder.”
The door closed behind them, leaving Elizabeth alone with Jane in the small antechamber.
No sooner had they left than Elizabeth exhaled and dropped into a chair nearby, eyes stinging with tears. “I cannot do this.”
Jane’s blue eyes widened in alarm. “Lizzy, what troubles you?”
“Everything about this match,” Elizabeth confessed. “For the entire month of our engagement, Jonathan has spoken of nothing but his own wishes. How I am to manage our home while he is away, how I am to decorate the drawing room, which of my belongings are suitable for our townhouse, how I am to prepare for our life together.”
“Perhaps he merely wishes to ensure your comfort. He is going to the continent for several weeks. He will want to guide you before he goes.”
“No, that is not it. He never once asked what I desire,” Elizabeth continued. “Not once, Jane. It is as though I am a possession he has acquired, to be arranged according to his taste and convenience.”
Jane pressed her sister’s hand. “Perhaps marriage will soften his manner. Once the ceremony is complete, you may find greater freedom to express your preferences.”
“I think not,” Elizabeth insisted. “I know it as certainly as I know the sun rises. This match means the end of all I hold dear—my independence, my thoughts, my very self. Yet what choice remains? To refuse means condemning our family to ruin. I wish there had been another way to secure funds.”
Jane glanced towards the door, ensuring they remained alone. “I must tell you something. I was sworn to secrecy but seeing you so miserable is wretched. The truth is, there was another way. Uncle Gardiner and Uncle Phillips both offered Father loans to resolve our financial troubles.”
Elizabeth stared at her sister. “Father refused them?”
“He did,” Jane confirmed, her voice lowered. “He preferred the Blackfriars connection, not merely for the financial relief but for the social advancement it offers. Uncle Gardiner spoke to Father just yesterday to convince him that he could still change his mind but he said it was too late.”
“Father chose this path regardless, even though there was another way?” The father she adored, the man who had encouraged her love of books and writing, had sold her future for status. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession. The entire room shrunk around her.
“He sounded as though he was convinced it was best for you and that you would see that in time. I do not believe he means to harm you. He thinks highly of Jonathan Blackfriars and things him a splendid match,” Jane attempted to comfort her but it fell on deaf ears.
“Pray excuse me,” she murmured. “I require time alone.” She rose, staggering forward.
“Lizzy, the ceremony—”
“One moment, Jane. I beg you.”
Before Jane could protest further, Elizabeth retreated through the door.
She walked around the back of the church to the small garden and leaned against the wall, her hands on her knees.
It could not be. Her own father had done this.
Before she could so much as gather her thoughts, footsteps sounded. She braced herself and rose to her full height, expecting her father. Instead, Jonathan Blackfriars stood before her, his tall figure blocking the sun.
