Page 7 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“Here you are,” he said. “The ceremony commences any moment. Your father awaits outside.”
Elizabeth straightened further; her hands clasped before her. “I thought it unlucky for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” Jonathan replied, and waved a hand dismissively. “Now, are you ready?”
“I need to steady myself.”
He let out a puff of air. “I think you have had much time to steady yourself. It is time.”
She gulped. It was indeed time.
“Jonathan,” she said. “I wondered, I know I am to decorate the townhouse while you are away.”
He frowned, his eyes focused on the pocket watch he’d been holding.
“And? We have already established that you will furnish the house to my specifications while I am away. Why must we discuss this now?”
“We do not. It is just that I had a thought. A request. One I needed to discuss before we marry.”
He ran a hand through his hair and scoffed. “Go on then. What is so urgent?”
She had to know if he would honour her wishes and desires as Jane had thought, or if he was selfish and self—serving as she believed him to be.
“I thought perhaps I might use the small room off the library for my own use.”
Two lines appeared between his eyes. “There is a perfectly good sewing room waiting for you already.”
“I know. I mean for my books and my writing. I would like a small desk,” she said.
“Writing?” He spoke the word as if it were a foreign language.
“I write stories,” she explained. “Gothic novels. I collect them also. Along with other books, they are my passion.”
“I see. Your trunks arrived at our townhouse yesterday. The servants remarked upon their weight.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, seizing the opportunity to test his tolerance. “I hope to continue my literary pursuits after weare wed. My stories provide me great satisfaction, and I hope to find a publisher for my work but I need a designated space to write.”
Jonathan’s expression hardened. “Such frivolities will cease after today. A wife’s duties lie in managing the household and securing her husband’s comfort. You will have neither time nor need for scribbling tales. And the room besides the library is for the maids to use, not for your silly pursuits. If you wish to write a letter, use the desk in the drawing room.”
“But writing is what I love,” Elizabeth protested, her heart sinking even as she expected this response. “Surely you would not deprive me of an endeavour that brings me joy without diminishing my attention to overseeing the household duties?”
“I would and I shall,” he declared. Then, he took a step closer and that wretched cinnamon scent filled her nostrils again. “My wife will occupy herself with proper feminine pursuits—needlework, music, the oversight of servants. Not filling her head with fanciful notions or, worse, seeking public attention through publication.”
“But it is all I ever wanted to be,” she dissented.
To her shock, he wrapped his hand around her upper arm. His fingers closed, tight enough to bruise. “All you want to be from now on is a good wife and mother. You will obey me in this, Elizabeth. I will not tolerate defiance.”
She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. “You presume to command me before we are even wed?”
“I establish expectations,” he corrected. “Your father has granted me authority over you. I suggest you reconcile yourselfto your new position. It will prove easier for us both. You will soon see that I am right.”
Frost spread through Elizabeth’s limbs despite the sun. She pictured their future drawing room with its stiff chairs, her ink bottles boxed away, Jonathan’s voice echoing through the halls — and her voice, quieted to nothing.
With a swift movement, she wrenched her arm from his grasp. “Excuse me. I must prepare.” She could not tell him that she would not marry him, not right now. She had to tell her father. Once he heard how Jonathan sought to stifle her, he would put a stop to all of this.
She hurried past Jonathan, maintaining a measured pace through the church vestibule.
Chapter 3
