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Mr. Darcy could not keep his gaze off the lady nestled in the crook of his arm, a small smile decorating her sleeping face.

Every few minutes he would force his eyes away and toward window, but the passing countryside held no interest for him.

He worried that Elizabeth might be made uncomfortable if she woke to find him staring at her, but he could not resist.

Elizabeth. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. His wife.

Even now, after several hours alone together in his carriage and well along the road to the seaside cottage where they would be spending the next fortnight, the fact that they were finally married seemed surreal.

In fact, if he considered it, the previous twenty-four hours seemed surreal. Will could recall them not in a continuous sequence, but as a series of brief, brilliant images.

He remembered being irritated with Bingley for dawdling and nearly making them late leaving Netherfield for the church.

The actual trip was a blur, but he recalled with excruciating detail that, having reached the church nearly two hours before the ceremony, he had been forced to stand at the front as if on display for all the arriving guests.

Richard and Bingley had laughed at him, saying that it was his just desserts for being so impatient.

Darcy had been so nervous that he feared he would vomit on the vicar’s shoes.

Not that he had been able to eat more than a corner of toast with his coffee that morning.

Will’s private consolation had been that Bingley was equally anxious, if not more so.

The younger man had chattered and jittered like a skittish colt until Mr. Hurst had finally taken pity on his brother-in-law and drawn him off to an antechamber.

Darcy was not certain what was in Hurst’s flask, but a few gulps from it had settled Bingley enough that when his man repaired his cravat once again, this time it remained intact long enough for the Bennets’ carriage to arrive at the church.

Elizabeth stirred a little as the coach jolted but did not wake; Fitzwilliam resisted the urge to feather his fingers through her hair, contenting himself instead with tucking the blanket around her again.

At one point during the wedding breakfast, Darcy had stood by as Mrs. Bennet extolled Jane’s unparalleled beauty as a bride to Mrs. Phillips and Lady Lucas.

With a start, he had realized that he had absolutely no idea what his new sister-in-law had looked like for the ceremony, though he had stood within yards of her for an hour.

From the moment that Mr. Bennet had appeared at the end of the aisle with his two eldest daughters on his arms, there had been none but Elizabeth.

The day had dawned without a cloud in the blue sky, a perfect example of autumn in England.

The three Bennets had been smiling at one another as they took those first steps; Darcy was fairly certain that Longbourn’s master had made some acerbic jest to amuse his daughters just before the doors had opened.

But then, Elizabeth had stepped into a sunbeam and Darcy’s entire world had shifted.

Their eyes had met and everyone else seemed to fall away, as if they were the only two people in the church.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had noticed that she had small white flowers woven into her hair and that they glowed even as the sunlight sparked gold highlights in her mahogany tresses.

When Mr. Bennet had passed his second daughter’s hand to him, Fitzwilliam had remained absolutely still for a moment, staring into her eyes and seeing all the love and trust that he could have ever hoped for.

His nerves fell away and he was left knowing, absolutely, that all was right in his world.

Whatever trials and tribulations life had in store for them, they would weather them together.

This sparkling, impertinent, intelligent, witty, kind, and above all, loving woman had agreed to join her life with his, and he trusted her as no one else to open himself and cleave unto her.

Darcy recalled very little of the vicar’s words but the brilliant smile that Elizabeth had given him when he slid the ring on her finger would be embedded in his mind forever.

He had held her hand in both of his for a moment, as if the sight of the jewel worn by his mother, grandmother, and so many Mrs. Darcys before them might disappear if he looked away.

It had been her soft, “Will,” that had returned his eyes to her face and then brought his attention back to the vicar, who had just informed him that he might kiss his bride.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not the sort of man to air his emotions in public, but as he and Elizabeth followed his friend and her sister out of the church, he could not suppress a wide, even goofy, grin.

Mr. Bennet overheard Mrs. Long’s nieces whispering to one another that Mr. Darcy was quite the handsomest gentleman that they had ever seen—his smile positively gave them shivers!

Elizabeth’s father made a conscious decision not to sharpen his wit upon the two silly girls, though his eyes twinkled.

Had they not quizzed his Lizzy just last week over how she could bear to marry such a grave, intimidating gentleman?

Will and Elizabeth had mingled with the well-wishers for some time, gradually moving toward Longbourn where Mrs. Bennet’s meticulously planned wedding breakfast was waiting.

Catherine had wiggled her way through the crowd to the happy couple, leading a slightly more timid Georgiana by the hand.

However, both girls were equally enthusiastic in congratulating their siblings.

At one point, the new Mr. and Mrs. Darcy came face to face with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and the two couples were finally able to wish each other joy.

For a moment, Fitzwilliam had stood by quietly as Charles and Elizabeth chatted happily over some aspect of the service.

Once again he was struck by how right he had been to disregard Society’s tendency to treat marriage as a business venture, to increase the family’s wealth and connections.

Jane Bennet might be lauded as a classic beauty and she certainly glowed with happiness, but Elizabeth laughed, and the sound of her unaffected joy made him feel as if he might burst with happiness.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, trailed by his parents, interrupted Darcy’s ruminations. Slapping his younger cousin on the back hard enough to stagger him, Richard had teased, “Well Wills, my boy… no way of escaping it—you are well and truly leg-shackled now!”

It was less his mother’s exclamation, “Richard!” and more Elizabeth’s raised eyebrow that reminded the Colonel that perhaps such jokes were best left in the billiards room or barracks.

He recovered quickly, however, and turned to tease the bride; “Mrs. Darcy, my sincerest congratulations… and when you find you can no longer put up with my cousin’s boorish behavior—particularly on a Sunday afternoon when he has nothing to do—you have but to call and I shall arrive on my faithful steed to spirit you away! ”

Elizabeth’s other eyebrow went up but she only laughed.

“Thank you for your kind offer, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but at present I do not expect to need rescuing—I’m quite content with my fate, you see.

” This last was said with such a warm look to her new husband that Richard felt as if he was somehow intruding on a private moment.

The Colonel moved off to greet Sir William Lucas and inquire after the health of Mrs. Collins while his parents took his place.

The Earl was gruff but sincere in his congratulations while Lady Eleanor wrapped both young people in hugs.

Even Darcy was left blinking back tears at her warmth, particularly when she whispered, “Oh Wills, my dear boy, how I wish Anne was here to see you so happy. She and your father would have been so pleased.”

The other Fitzwilliams had followed with varying degrees of enthusiasm; the Earl made a small comment apologizing that the Viscount and his wife had not been able to attend, but in truth no one was particularly disappointed.

After some minutes, Elizabeth was distracted from Lucy’s chatter by the sight of Mr. Gardiner making his way toward them from the direction of Longbourn.

Her aunt and uncle had been among the first to congratulate the new couple before going ahead to aid Mrs. Bennet in seeing that all details of the breakfast were perfect (or at least, to keep Longbourn’s Mistress from disturbing the servants from their work).

“My sister wished for me to check that you and Mr. Darcy and Jane and Mr. Bingley are all on your way,” her uncle murmured to Elizabeth.

At her amused look, he merely shrugged and chuckled.

Lizzy rolled her eyes but dutifully whispered the request to her sister, and soon the party was making their way toward the house.

In Darcy’s memory, the subsequent two hours seemed little beyond a sea of faces, some familiar, many not, but leaving him awash in genuine bonhomie.

He recalled complimenting his new mother-in-law on her table, and it had indeed groaned with the variety of dishes, not to mention the flowers and decorations.

A plate of delicacies had found its way into his hand, but Will could not remember eating a single bite.

At one point, Elizabeth had caught his eye across the room and quirked an eyebrow, silently asking if he needed rescuing.

Fitzwilliam had suddenly realized that he had been listening to Sir William Lucas extol Mr. Darcy’s great fortune at carrying off one of “Hertfordshire’s brightest jewels” for at least ten minutes, and had been perfectly content.

Darcy attributed his light-headedness to the emotions of the day, but his empty stomach and the champagne Mr. Gardiner had provided in honor of the celebration might have been contributing factors.