Chapter 44
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 43
With the days ticking down, Darcy’s nerves only get more frayed… and this is the small family wedding! The one that is supposed to be her fairy tale come true! The one in which she doesn’t have to manage to look like a real baroness! Why is she so nervous? Why does she feel so unsure? John has been a constant rock to lean on, always there to help her make decisions, always there to smile at her, and tell her she’ll be breathtaking, yes, even if she really manages to stumble and fall at her own wedding. She’ll have her papa for walking her down the aisle, she’ll have him standing right there at the front with the rings if she ends up falling last second, somebody is always going to catch her. And she knows he’s right, he would. Still, isn’t this all she ever wanted? Hasn’t she dreamed of this through all her childhood stories? Why does it feel… wrong is such a strong word?
She’s seriously starting to wonder if she’s being silly, Gregory isn’t making such a fuss, he’s giving her free rein with all the planning, she can do whatever she wants, he told her as much. He’s not nervous, at least not that she can tell. Sure, when she ended up asking him, he said that no, he is nervous, but then he went right on again not acting like it, tried to make it better by distracting her, like he often does, by throwing her over his shoulder and going down to their playroom. But even there she felt less sure, she isn’t blind after all, every time she asks for a bit more, he shuts his empathy off by turning to his demon form. At first she thought he did it for her, but she can read his expressions better now, there’s reluctance. She hates that! She doesn’t want to be bad for him! She told him as much, she told him that he shouldn’t just indulge her. She doesn’t want to make him feel like he has to do anything that he isn’t comfortable with. But all he said is that he just needs time, and that was the end of the discussion. Maybe she should start to know better, he never ends up talking much to her when it’s something important or emotional. She must be talking about it wrong, but she doesn’t know how to learn better when it’s either ‘I don’t care’ or ‘there, there, now we’re feeling better so let’s not talk about it anymore’.
So she focuses back on the wedding preparations, keeps leaning on John, her dear John, always listening to her worries and never just stopping her. Even when he doesn’t always say much, he’s not uncomfortable with her emotions, and she can’t express how much that means to her any other way than to spend all her nights in his dreamscape so that he can show her his world, so that she can bounce and squeal for him to show him that, yes, it really is amazing! He is amazing, and such a good storyteller, especially when he doesn’t have to talk for it. He’s kind of adorable like that, all deeds and hardly more than grunts and short sentences, but it’s so heart-felt, she adores that about him. She’s really not sure how she would have done this, any of it, without him, and without Arthur, for that matter. She’s still not sure if he appreciated the teary hug she gave him when she noticed that even he is nervous, that this is important enough to him to be nervous about. She wanted him to know she really appreciates all his help, but she’s worried he just thought she was being awkward.
Oh, and then there’s her mother, of course. It’s still so weird to her to have a mother, another woman, around. It’s half amazing and half very exasperating, because her mother also is absolutely impossible, including making terrible (definitely not intriguing) suggestions for honeymoon activities. But all impossibility aside, it’s her mother (who she long learned to call Lucy when she’s not chiding) who makes sure she gets any sleep on the final night. Well, the final evening, and yes, via full-on mind control. And then it’s also Lucy who wakes her back up a few hours before daybreak to make sure that her hair and makeup are perfect. They spend the time giggling together. Her mother seems different, a bit less… reserved is the wrong word, but maybe younger? There is a lightness to her that Darcy hasn’t noticed before, a warmth to her smile that was more painted on before, and somehow, that is the first thing that morning that gets a real smile on Darcy.
It’s still very terribly early, and there’s another round of giggling when both women end up yawning while they wonder if it’s going toward morning and that nasty sun coming up. Then there’s a knock at the door. Lucy smiles, and Darcy knows that smile by now, and it makes her smile, too, because it tells her that’s Papa! Jumping up from the vanity, Darcy rushes over and her eyes go wide when the first thing she sees is the most beautiful rose bouquet she can imagine, it smells so very nice! Then she looks up and sees that her papa looks a bit tired and it clicks. He’s brought her roses before. He grows them at his asylum, she knows that. But his asylum is in London, he went all the way there for her! “Papa! You shouldn’t have!” He shakes his head and pats her hair, in the not-gentle way she likes.
Her papa cut so many of his beloved roses for her, and it’s so late in the year, these must be from a greenhouse, oh no, she hopes he didn’t kill his bushes for her. But then her mother beams at him and Darcy sees how much that means to him, so she doesn’t say anything… well, until he pulls one more rose from behind his back, long-stemmed and of a deeper blood-red than the ones she’s holding now. For a moment, she’s bitterly jealous of her mother, of her papa of course being such a perfect romantic, she wants somebody who does things by the book! Then she’s blushing and feeling silly, it’s her wedding day, how can she feel like that? So she turns and gives her parents a little bit of privacy, keeps smelling her own roses and tries to practice walking. She’s still not sure she won’t stumble.
She doesn’t. She’s safe on Papa’s arm. He’s walking her down the aisle, that must mean this is right. It’s right, isn’t it? She keeps glancing up at her papa, but he looks straight forward, she can’t read his face. What about Arthur? He’s close to Gregory, and he’s a man, he would also know, right? But she can’t really read his face either where he’s sitting in the front row (as the only person). Maybe John… her breath gets stuck in her throat and her knees stop wobbling. He’s standing right there, right there up front, she’s walking towards him. He’s safe. If she just keeps walking up to him it will all be right. He’s… she thinks he started smiling when he noticed that her eyes are stuck on him, and that smile makes her worries melt away. He’s right there, she can do anything like that, he’s her rock.
Darcy can feel the warmth of his body close where she ends up standing. It replaces the reassuring warmth of her papa as he lets go of her and takes his seat on the other side of the aisle across from Arthur. She can smell John, too, and after all the time in his dreamscape, that smell is so familiar, so soothing that she’s still smiling when her attention is pulled to her mother as she starts talking.
Not that Darcy has ever been to a wedding, but she’s read enough books, even the etiquette ones, to immediately know that this isn’t right. Well, no, that’s not true. Her mother changed the words, but it’s right actually, it’s so very right. Now that she’s looking, Darcy recognizes the book Lucy is reading from. That’s not a bible, and really, Papa isn’t a religious man, so she never learned to be either. No, it’s her beloved copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and she recognizes that her mother is reading passages about love and marriage. About happily ever after. And that sweet gesture makes her beam at her mother. She doesn’t even mind when Lucy asks her first for her vows.
Darcy has them ready, of course, learned them by heart easily after she wrote them. Wrote them after consideration of Gregory’s insecurities and the things he doesn’t care about. She wanted these to be special, so with a long breath in she starts:
“From this day forward I promise you these things:
I will laugh with you in times of joy and comfort you in times of sorrow.
I will share in your dreams, and support you as you strive to achieve your goals.
I will listen to you with compassion and understanding, and speak to you with encouragement.
I will help you when you need it, and step aside when you do not.
I will remain faithful to you with the moon and sun as my witnesses.
I will walk beside you all the days of my life,
when you are my vigilant demon.”
She gives him a meaningful look, then slightly pushes on his hand when he doesn’t get the hint and whispers if he please could change. He looks sheepish, but then obliges and she goes on, looking up at his tiger eyes.
“If your path is dark, I will light your way.
If you are threatened by the storm, I will be your shelter.
I will walk beside you all the days of my life,
When you are my caring feline.”
This time it only takes the nudge to his hand for him to change, and she continues again, picks him up on the fitting line:
“If you fall, I will lift you up.
If you lack the strength to go on, I will carry you.
I will walk beside you all the days of my life,
When you are my courageous man, and my husband.”
At that, she puts him down again and takes his hands with a smile once he changes back, but feels none of the euphoria she thought telling him these things would give her. She prepared so much for this, why does she feel as if she just recited something? It doesn’t matter, she said it, she made her vow. She’s his vows and a ‘Yes, I do’ away from being happily married. It will all feel right then, she’s sure. She’ll have a happily ever after, that’s what all the stories say.
~~~~
Arthur does his best not to look overly relieved when Gregory starts into his vows with almost no hesitation. All those hours practically sitting on him and going through them with him again and again, insisting that, no, he needs to be able to recite them starting from any line, no, he doesn’t know them well enough already, no, it won’t just be fine- he’ll be nervous, he’ll be excited, that makes you forget things, and he doesn’t want to ruin the wedding for Darcy, now does he? They’re worth it, now that Gregory speaks smoothly, doesn’t need to look to him for prompts.
~~~~
The vows are lovely, even with Gregory stumbling once or twice, but Darcy is still waiting for that feeling of this being right, for this being her fairytale. Maybe it is because she knows it wasn’t really him who wrote them? She is so grateful to Arthur for his help, for even matching hers, for giving her a few lines delivered by her demon prince. Like in the stories… and she knows there are plans for the honeymoon down in the nexus. She’ll literally be like one of the princesses who danced their shoes to pieces in the underworld. Danced with their demon princes away from the world and she suddenly has to stop herself from shuddering at the thought of being away alone with Gregory. Away from her papa and John, even her mother, and well, Arthur, but he’ll probably only notice Gregory being away.
It’s John’s touch that shakes her out of the rising agitation, there’s the brush of his fingers against hers underneath the pillow with the wedding bands he’s holding. Right, the wedding bands, it’s her turn to answer, so she inhales slowly as she picks up the ring. She put so much into the ring, part of herself, and so much effort to connect herself to Gregory’s past. As it should be, as she always dreamed with a husband, and isn’t he hers? Yes, yes, he should be, she knows that’s right, and why that drives her fangs down, she doesn’t know, but maybe it’s just her drac reassuring her. So yes, she takes the ring and slips it on his finger as she says “I do.”
The ring Gregory slips on her finger is golden and shows a cat and tiger holding a heart. It’s obvious symbolism, she knows why he chose it, but she still feels like in a trance as she hears him give his own “I do,” followed only seconds later by him grabbing her for a kiss, just after Lucy managed to declare them married.
She’s crying, crying into the kiss, and girls sometimes do that when they are happy, right? That’s what this is, she’s happy crying. The emotion flaring when it’s Arthur who mutters under his breath to remember that there are people here must be regret that Gregory is pulling away, out of the anything-but-chaste kiss. It must be happiness when Gregory walks her back down the aisle, why is she looking over her shoulder back at Papa and John?
Once Gregory has swung her up into the decorated coach, she finally gets her focus on him back as he starts talking about the ring he got her, and asks if she saw the heart on it, also the little ones. She hadn’t actually, and is happy to hunt after them in the engravings as the coach makes its slow way back to the main castle, away from the gazebo she thought would be the ideal spot for her wedding, away from the setting moon, and that image shouldn’t make her feel melancholic.
Instead, she turns back to Gregory and starts talking about the ring she made for him, reminds him of the night she was hurt and that she didn’t want to tell him, well, now she can tell him. Now she can also tell him that she got the rocking chair he had told her about. Yes, his ring is made of bone and wood, with the red gold wire holding everything together. Red is the colour of love, of blood, so she wanted him to always have something of her with him, but also a reminder that he doesn’t have to leave his past behind.
He forgets to help her out of the coach and walks ahead. She hopes that means he’s touched and just embarrassed about it. She’s not sure. Did she do it wrong? Was the bone too much? Is he weirded out? But for that he is taking her hand too tightly when she catches up to him, at least she thinks so. He’s not saying anything, but that’s okay. She’s not good with words herself anyway, so silence is okay until the rest of the family joins them at the decadent breakfast buffet. Wedding cake for breakfast, yes, that sweet tooth idea definitely was not hers, but it seems to make Gregory happy and that’s her duty now. She’s his wife, her life is sworn to him and she’s always been obedient, she’ll do her best to remain a good woman for him.
~~~~
After how much frantic planning they invested in the whole wedding, Arthur isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed when it passes by in almost a flash- suddenly, he’s leading Darcy and Gregory down to the nexus where Llew is waiting for their honeymoon in Faerie. Llew promised that it was going to be suitably romantic, and safe, and Arthur really hopes it will be.
Of course, the whole honeymoon business makes him feel all squirmy inside, given what people are supposed to be doing on honeymoons, but, wonder of wonders, Gregory doesn’t make any quips, doesn’t tease him. Maybe it’s because Darcy is there- maybe he really is changing, growing up. They’re not children anymore, they’re becoming adults, and, after all, Gregory is a married man now.
Darcy hugs him tightly at the door in the cellar, beyond which there is a spiral staircase. Not like one you’d expect in a castle cellar, made from stone. No, this one is decorative wrought-iron around wooden treads, like a more elaborate version of the one leading to the mezzanine in the library. It also means you can see out of it into the clearing, or grotto, or whatever it is, with its pretty blue-green grass and pond and a soft scatter of white flower petals from the trees by the water. It really is very beautiful and magical-looking, something right out of a fairy tale, and he hopes that means Darcy is going to like it.
He’s not sure about that, because she holds on a moment longer than he expects, and when she walks down the path on Gregory’s arm, following Llew, she looks back over her shoulder at him. He doesn’t know what to make of her expression. It looks like she… wants something from him? Is looking for something?
Maybe she’s feeling shy, he wonders- being alone with her husband for the first time, that’s a pretty big deal, isn’t it? He thinks it would be for him if he… well, if he was in that situation, not that he’s going to think any closer about that, what with the cold, hollow sensation gnawing at the pit of his stomach at the notion. He shoves that aside, and instead gives Darcy what he hopes is an encouraging smile. He doesn’t know whether he succeeds in that, either, but she turns back around and the nexus door closes softly on its own, leaving him outside.
Not much later, he finds himself yawning again and gives the sofa against the wall of his lab a look- a sofa the house rather pointedly popped up there after he spent one too many late evenings in here. A sofa that keeps looking more cushy and inviting the longer he looks at it- and it’s just as comfortable as it looks, he knows.
Fine- it was a really, really early morning, even though he’s used to being up early. He’s not that used, still, to staying up late, but it happens more and more often- what with the unlimited supply of candles and gas lights the house offers. That makes daylight a lot more optional. So he gets up, and curls up on the sofa for a nap. Also, that’ll mean that Darcy and Gregory will get back from their honeymoon all the sooner.
Of course, surely it’ll be fine- Llew wouldn’t trick them with the honeymoon in Faerie thing, right? Well, he is a fey… but a fey who’s kind of on their side? At least has an interest in them being at the castle? Yes, surely he’s worrying for nothing, and Darcy and Gregory will return just fine in a few hours, like Llew said. Eventually, he manages to convince himself of that, and give in to sleep.