Page 55 of Saved By Mr. Darcy
“I ought to have had this discussion with you last night, but I was sorely fatigued by our journey.”
“Discussion?” Lizzy asked, her brow creasing. "What must we discuss now?!"
“The matter of your wedding night! I have had one daughter marry without proper instruction, though my sweet Lydia will make a fine wife."
“Mother, really, I…”
“Unless, of course, you have no need for the conversation,” her mother said accusingly. “Tell me the truth, Elizabeth. Has he compromised you?”
At once, Lizzy’s mind was taken back to that intoxicating night where they had lay entwined on the bed in this very room. That memory never failed to inspire feelings she did not quite understand within her, her cheeks hot and body aching for him. She chased the memory from her mind as though her mother might read her thoughts and see her guilt at once.
“Mamma!” Lizzy exclaimed, her cheeks heating as she felt the lie burn her tongue. “No. He has been nothing but honourable. I do not know what you can mean!”
“Well, that is a relief. One premature birth would be hard enough to explain, but two…”
“Mamma, is Lydia…?”
“No. No, of course not. I am simply anxious about the futures of your sisters. You must tread carefully, dear. Poor Lydia is away in Newcastle, and cannot help our fortunes. You, however, are in a marvellous position to introduce them to no end of well connected men. That cousin of Mr Darcy’s would do quite well for Kitty.”
Lizzy had no patience for her mother’s matchmaking skills today, and hoped that the poor Colonel Fitzwilliam would be wise enough to give Mrs Bennet a wide berth during the festivities - lest he leave here with a sore head.
“Mother, if you have quite finished your matchmaking, I really must get ready and prepare to depart.”
“No! Now, onto the matter of the wedding night. I do not imagine a man such as Mr Darcy will be demanding, but you must please him. He is a rich man, Lizzy, and you will have a very fine life so long as you prove your worth.”
“My worth?” Lizzy asked. “What do you mean?”
“You must have sons! We must only hope your injury will not impede you in that respect. I thought you would never marry after such an accident. Who knows what harm it caused!”
“I am not damaged,” Lizzy bit out, her fingers white around the arm of her chair. “Even if I need this chair for the rest of my life, I am not damaged. I am not an object! I have survived, and I will thank God every day for that. I will not be spoken to in this way.”
“You are hysterical. Now, to the wedding night.”
Lizzy shook her head, refusing to cater to her mother’s demands. A lifetime of submission, of trying to please and behave and still never being good enough. In an hour, she would no longer be Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She would be Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, mistress of Pemberley. And more important than that; she was,and would always be,Lizzy.She was not afraid of her mother and she would stand for her cruelty and frayed nerves no longer.
“Get out.”
“Oh, Lizzy,” her mother rolled her eyes. “You are being very dramatic! We have much to discuss. A girl cannot go into her wedding night unprepared!”
“Out!” Lizzy said again, pointing to the door. “Leave me alone!”
The door flew open. The two women snapped their heads to the side. Fitzwilliam stood in the doorway. He was dressed in his wedding finery, and the briefest of glances told her that he looked very handsome indeed. His face, however, was set in a furious frown that did not befit the elegance of his attire.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Mr Darcy!”
“Fitzwilliam!” Lizzy said in a panic, trying to manoeuvre her wheelchair behind her mother so that she was obscured. “You cannot see me before the ceremony!”
He turned away, his back facing the pair now. His fury was unmistakable even with his face hidden. She saw it in the tight line of his shoulders, the tautness of his neck visible even with the high line of his jacket and cravat. His feet were firm on the floor, a wall that could not be moved.
“Your husband is looking for you,” he told her mother. “Good day, madam.”
Her mother did not even protest; she simply scurried past him and down the corridor. Fitzwilliam stayed in place, his large frame blocking the door lest she return. Lizzy rubbed at her eyes, before snatching her hands away. She would not allow herself to cry. She would not give her mother the satisfaction of seeing herdaughter with red, puffy eyes on the most important day of her life.
“Did you hear that?” Lizzy asked. “Did you hear how she spoke to me? She was talking so loudly I am sure all of Pemberley would have heard her shame me!”
“I heard.”
