“I have felt it there; every night since I left you I have felt it, felt you and your joys and your heartaches. I have wished to come to you every time I have felt you cry, to hold you in my arms, to heal your pain like this,” he said, kissing her lightly on the corner of her mouth.
“Why did you not?”
“I did not know if you would forgive me; I wished to make myself better for you, to prove myself worthy of the love you have given me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes — which she did not remember closing — snapped open and she sat back, her head shaking.
“No, you are wrong. It is me who has wronged you! You have nothing to — oh!”
She did not finish her sentence, for Mr. Darcy had finally brought his lips to hers, trapping them against his own as his arm reached out to pull her further into his embrace. She folded into him, the memory of that first kiss at Hunsford screaming through her mind. This kiss was every bit as electrifying, though so different; she was not angry this time, but instead felt unmoored, floating with no security, desperate for something steady, and so she clung to him tighter.
“Marry me,” he breathed heavily, pulling away for a moment. “Take me as your husband.” Elizabeth laughed against his lips and nodded.
“I will,” she murmured, capturing his lips with hers. He laughed in surprise and pulled her closer, wrapping both arms around her waist and pulling her into his lap.
“Now,” he breathed, kissing her again. “Marry me now.”
She pulled back, her hands on his chest as she stared at him with an eyebrow arched.
“Mr. Darcy, what are you talking about?” He reached up and smoothed a stray hair back into place and leaned forward to kiss her again, but she stopped him.
“Marry me now,” he repeated. “We are both of the old religion, even I know the rite. You do not need permission from your father. We could wed right now and return to Longbourn as husband and wife. Please do not make me live a moment longer without you.”
He kissed her again, this time more passionately than before, and her hands wound their way through his hair and for a maddening moment she was on the verge of agreeing, of whispering the words she had learned as a girl, of taking his hand and pledging her life.
The wind had picked up during their embrace and was blowing fiercely now, whipping at her hair and clothes, and as the kiss deepened it began to rain, gently at first, then harder — and though the tree they sat under protected them with its leafy canopy to the best of its abilities, soon they were both wet through, and pulled back at last. The moment they parted, the wind and rain ceased.
“Was that us?” Mr. Darcy asked, his voice clipped and back at its normal register as he looked around with child-like amazement. “But we cast no spell…”
Elizabeth laughed and wiped several drops of rain from his cheek with her thumb, then leaned in to gently kiss the now dry spot.
“We called the wind because we lost control,” she said softly with a smile. Then laughed as she heard her words. Had she not said those very words at Pemberley some weeks ago? Mr. Darcy saw her expression and laughed as well, and leaned in to kiss the side of her neck.
“I was thinking of our last kiss, in the rain,” he confessed with a small blush. “I was thinking how beautiful you looked, with your hair wild from the wind, the rain on your skin…”
He trailed off, staring at her intently, his gaze boring into her and she warmed under his eyes as she looked away.
“You have not seen much magic, have you?”
“Truthfully, no. I have only really seen yours,” he responded. “It thrills me every time.”
She bit her lip to keep back another laugh.
“I will practice magic for you anytime you wish, sir. Maybe we will one day practice together,” she responded.
“Marry me,” he urged again. “You did not answer me. I beg you, Elizabeth, let me marry you now, as you are in this moment; the wild, beautiful creature I fell in love with.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I cannot sir, you know this!”
Mr. Darcy looked as though she had struck him, and he sprung to his feet so suddenly that Elizabeth lost her balance, for she hadn’t realized how heavily she was leaning against him.
“Please do not reject me, not again. I could not bear it,” he said, his back to her. “What else must I do to deserve you?”
Elizabeth stood quickly, nearly tripping on her skirts as she went to his side and clasped his hand in hers, her other hand on his arm.
“No, I did not mean that!” she laughed. “Of course I will marry you; I simply meant I cannot marry you now. I cannot get married without my sisters.”
Relief cracked over Mr. Darcy’s stern face as he turned to face her sheepishly.
“Let us wed tomorrow, then. Or tonight. We could give your mother the greatest gift of all and let her marry two daughters in one week.” He slipped his arm around Elizabeth’s waist and leaned down to whisper in her ear, his warm breath tickling across her neck. “We could be man and wife by tomorrow night, and at Pemberley before the week is out.”
Elizabeth shivered slightly at his seductive tone and pushed him away playfully.
“I have always thought you a patient man, Fitzwilliam Darcy, but now I realize I was wrong. Come, let us talk to my father before we make any further plans,” she laughed.
“And what if he does not give permission?” Mr. Darcy asked as he allowed Elizabeth to turn and steer him down the hill.
“Then we will tell him that we are married already and slip away in the night. He survived one daughter’s elopement, I’m sure he’d handle another quite well. Now walk faster, Fitzwilliam, I wish to be back by tea.”
XXXVI
Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy were married at dawn four days later. The service was a small affair, held in a very old, ill used chapel at the edge of the Longbourn estate, and only family was in company.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had been called upon to bring Georgiana down for the ceremony, and together the cousins represented the only portion of Mr. Darcy’s family. It appeared that neither Georgiana nor the colonel had been prepared for the fact that they were not attending a strictly-Christian service, however, for when Mr. Bennet entered the chapel and lit the room’s candles with a lazy wave of his hand, both of them jumped.
“This is not going to be a normal wedding, is it Charles?” the colonel leaned over to whisper to his friend. Bingley, who had been married just a day before, grinned.
“Did he not tell you?” Bingley asked with some surprise. “They are using a marriage rite from the old religion.”
“But why? You and Mrs. Bingley had a church ceremony, as did the Wickhams.”
“Marriage law governing two witches is very different, cousin,” Georgiana said breathlessly, her eyes bright with excitement. “Witches often defer to their husband’s religion when marrying, and it is generally frowned upon for the rite to be used when marrying someone with non-magical lineage.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at Georgiana, then back to Bingley, who nodded curtly. The gentleman’s mouth opened for a moment, then he clamped it shut, and rubbed his hand over his chin.
“I cannot believe the devil kept it from me, all this time. And to think that he was such a prat about her magic!” Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed, causing Georgiana to blush slightly. She was saved from her embarrassment by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Bingley, who looked positively glowing in her white muslin, with small wildflowers dotting her hair.
“Miss Darcy! Good morning,” Jane said with a wide smile as she put her arm lightly on her husband’s in greeting. “It is so good to finally meet you in person. I hope you are well. Elizabeth has asked for you, for she wishes you to share the pre-rite prayer with her. Do you mind terribly?” Georgiana flushed but nodded daintily in consent and allowed herself to be led from the room quietly.
Mr. Darcy had appeared in the midst of this discussion and stood by the altar, speaking quietly with
Mr. Bennet when his cousin approached.
“How did you never tell me? All this time, you kept it a secret.”
Mr. Darcy’s head shot up and he locked eyes with his cousin and gave a small shrug. He looked anxious and jittery, and for a small moment Colonel Fitzwilliam felt some remorse for goading him on his wedding day.
“It was hardly worth mentioning. I do not practice, and neither did Georgiana,” Mr. Darcy responded, his voice echoing across the chamber. “I have endeavored to have her taught, but for my part I am unlikely to pick up the study.”
“Then why all this? Why have some furtive pagan ritual? Good God, man, it’s not even dawn yet!”
Darcy shifted uncomfortably and his eyes flicked from Mr. Bennet, who still stood by his side listening silently, to his cousin, reticent to acknowledge that he would have married in any religion in order to be wed faster.
“It was important to Elizabeth to be wed in both her religions; it is a part of who she is. I would not separate it from her,” he said gruffly.
“There hasn’t been an English marriage between two families of magical inheritance in almost two decades,” a small voice interjected from behind them. “It is a matter of some excitement, to tell it truly, and it should be commemorated as such.”
The men turned around to find Mary Bennet standing at the colonel’s shoulder, her hair adorned similarly to Jane’s. Behind them, the Bennet sisters were mulling into the chapel, Mrs. Bennet ushering them along, accompanied by a tall, willowy man that Colonel Fitzwilliam didn’t recognize.
“That is Mr. Murray,” Mary explained to him in a whisper. “He has come from London to confirm the papers proving each family’s magical pedigree, and to conduct the service. As Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are each of two religions, he is given special permission to oversee both a magical and legal wedding.”
Mr. Murray walked to the front and shook Mr. Darcy’s hand, murmuring quietly to him as the party took their seats.
“Should I know anything else about my family?” Colonel Fitzwilliam muttered to Mr. Bingley. “Does Darcy keep a pet dragon? Is my Aunt Catherine a werewolf?”
Mr. Bingley hushed him and turned in his seat in time to see Elizabeth Bennet enter the chapel, Georgiana at her side. Fitzwilliam blinked twice, unsure of what he was seeing, for Miss Elizabeth appeared to be positively glowing — not with wedded bliss, but with a steady, pulsating light that seemed to emanate from every strand of her hair and gather around the small crown of lavender woven around her head.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stood and walked to Darcy’s side, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly as the taller man turned to behold his bride. With a great rush of wind, every candle in the small chapel was extinguished at once, and the inhabitants thrown into the shadows of the dim morning light.
A gentle laugh rang through the room, followed by the sound of a snap, and the candles flickered back to life as Miss Elizabeth and Georgiana continued their way down the middle of the chapel.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been expecting several more feats of magic, was caught off guard by how normal the wedding was, to be quite honest. It proceeded as any Christian service would, and it was not until Georgiana produced a long strip of white silk for Mr. Darcy that the ceremony deviated in any way from the one he had grown up observing.
He looked on in interest as Darcy took the silk, grasped Miss Elizabeth’s hand, and gently wove the ribbon around their joined wrists and fingers. Glancing at Mr. Murray, Colonel Fitzwilliam expected the man to speak, but he had retreated backwards.
Miss Elizabeth said something then, softly, in a foreign language he did not recognize. Was it Latin? No, it was not familiar, and far more lyrical. She whispered the words almost, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was sure that hardly anyone would be able to hear. When she finished, she brought her and Darcy’s joined hands up to her mouth and kissed them — no, breathed on them, he realized, for as she did so, she exhaled a silvery white mist that wrapped around their hands then seemed to dive beneath Darcy’s skin, worming its way down his hand and under the sleeve of his jacket as it appeared to travel up his arm.
Miss Elizabeth kissed his hand, and then Darcy spoke, repeating those same strange, foreign words. His whispers seemed to echo around the room and then he too lifted their joined hands, exhaled on the silken ribbon, and Colonel Fitzwilliam watched as the silvery mist dove under Miss Elizabeth's skin, down her hand, and up her arm.
The two began speaking in unison then, and a white, glowing light began to form around them. Miss Elizabeth’s voice was soft, the smile on her face wide and glowing, while Darcy was ramrod straight, his face expressionless, and his deep voice carrying the foreign words across the small chapel.
“I bind myself to you; my body, my soul, my magic inheritance, from this day until the day I return to the earth,” Miss Elizabeth said, returning to English suddenly. “For now I am one part and you are the other, and together we shall be whole.”
Darcy brought her hand to his lips and kissed it again, a small smile cutting through his serious expression.
“I bind myself to you; my body, my soul, my magic inheritance, from this day until the day I return to the earth,” Darcy responded, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “For now I am one part and you are the other, and together we shall be whole.”
A cheer broke out from the Bennet family, and Colonel Fitzwilliam blinked in surprise. Was it over? Was the pastor not to make any formal announcement? Apparently not, for Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth — or was she Mrs. Darcy now? — turned to face their family, hands still bound and wide smiles on their faces.
“Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn!” Mr. Bennet called over the crowd. “You have been married in the old rites; name yourself, for Mother Earth, the winds, the seas, and the sky demand it. Name yourself!”
Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy and smiled widely before turning back to her father.
“Before Mother Earth, before the winds, the seas, and the sky, my name is Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley.”
The family cheered again and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy walked down the middle of the aisle and out of the chapel, the family crowding around behind them as they ventured the short walk back to Longbourn. Colonel Fitzwilliam fell in beside Mr. Bingley, who was strolling slowly arm-in-arm with his wife.
“That was one of the stranger things I’ve ever witnessed,” the colonel said with a grin. “I didn’t understand a word of that.”
“The whole ceremony is often done in the old language,” Jane Bingley said with a sympathetic nod. “They did as much of it in English as possible, but the actual magic has no translation.”
“So that was magic, then? What did it do?”
“It married them,” Bingley said with a confused frown.
“Come man, you know what I mean. What was that glow? What does the magic do?”
“You are very curious, Colonel,” Mary Bennet said as she fell into step beside the small party. He held out his arm for her, and she accepted it with a small nod.
“Miss Mary! Darcy says you are the family historian. Come, explain it to me. What did I just witness?” Mary preened slightly at the description.
“During the wedding rite, the two parties bind themselves together, as symbolized by the handfasting. The magic is unclear, but it is said that they then remove a portion of their soul, their very essence, and give it to the other.”
“That’s all rather barbaric sounding, isn’t it?” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, pulling a face. “I cannot believe Darcy has gone savage.”
“Just wait until the next full moon, Colonel, and you shall truly see savagery. We pray barefoot outside. Occasionally we even get our hands dirty.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam wrinkled his nose at Mary and shook his head.
“You Bennets will be the ruination of my cousin. Or his making. Come, let us catch up before he whisks his new bride away.”
***
Elizabeth Darcy was both exhausted and electrified as the carriage bounced gently a
long the road. She could barely keep her eyes open and yet she could not bear to close them, and the carriage hummed with the crackling energy of her excitement and anxiety.
“My dear, do you think you could quiet for a moment? I too am happy, but I believe you are in danger of singeing my hat,” Mr. Darcy said quietly from the seat across from her. Elizabeth sighed and wrung her hands, and smiled sheepishly.
“I’m sorry, Fitzwilliam. I am just so tired, yet awake. And I cannot wait to be back at Pemberley. Let us ride through the night,” she said with a smile. “That way we may be back in half the time.”
“I think not!” Mr. Darcy said in mock outrage. “We shall be stopping in London for the evening, and I shall treat my wife to a wonderful dinner and not spend my wedding night in a carriage.”
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 36
