Page 25

T here were many things that one needed to plan and prepare for a wedding. Though it was a phrase Elizabeth had heard plenty of times from women around her, she had not quite understood the accuracy of the statement until the occasion came for her to plan her own special day.

Setting aside all of the legal and financial things that would mostly be undertaken by her grandfather and Fitzwilliam, there were still notices to be sent, breakfast menu to be decided, dresses to be made, church vicars to talk to, announcements to be published in the papers, and many, many more things. Just for the sake of her trousseau only, Elizabeth had been visiting what felt like dozens of modistes, haberdashers, and milliners for the past week.

The London season was in a bit of a limbo in the sense that the Parliament had opened, but Queen Charlotte’s birthday was yet to come to pass. The Almack’s balls would begin after the debutants were officially introduced to the royal family, and so would the rest of the more anticipated events. It had only recently been decided between both of the families that Fitzwilliam and she would marry before the court presentation, solely because it would eliminate the need to reintroduce Elizabeth as Mrs. Darcy to the society next year. Court presentations were necessary, and were often idolised by younger girls, but for Elizabeth, who had had to practise her curtsy and her walking in an astronomically uncomfortable dress silhouette for three months before arriving in Hertfordshire, having to attend the court only once sounded heavenly.

As much as she did like the idea, it certainly did not leave too much time to plan a proper wedding. Everybody she saw on a daily basis, including the downstairs servants, seemed to be in a constant state of rush. Everything from the silverware all the way to the chandeliers needed to be buffed, polished and cleaned in the Braxton house considering it was where the wedding breakfast was to take place. All the activities left barely any time for Elizabeth and Darcy to spend together. Which was probably why the gentleman had taken to coming to Braxton House each morning for breakfast.

It amused Elizabeth how fiercely Fitzwilliam was trying to ignore the impropriety of visiting at such an early hour. The same was also flabbergasting her grandfather, who had only ever seen the prim and proper side of Mr. Darcy ever since the younger man had entered society.

(If he ever discovered that Darcy had once tossed pebbles against her window and prompted her to join him in a secret rendezvous in order to say farewell, Elizabeth was afraid her grandfather would suffer a coronary.)

“Do you prefer peonies or roses?” She asked him one morning, quite out of the blue.

Darcy paused in the middle of taking a bite of his sausage eggs, “Pardon?”

“Peonies or Roses?” She asked again,

Darcy closed his mouth, placing his fork back down, “I do not think I have a preference. I hope you are not expecting me to wear any on my person,” The distaste at even the idea of it was clear on his face, and Elizabeth bit her lip so as to not laugh, “‘Tis a very foppish fashion, and I shall have nothing to do with it.”

“I was asking for your opinion on my attire, actually. After all, what is a bride without her bouquet ?” She joked, quoting her modiste. Not only was Madame Ellofe one of the best dressmakers in London, she had been a close friend of her mother’s. When she had learned that Elizabeth was to marry, she had immediately put all her orders on a back burner and cleared her schedule. Elizabeth had let the modiste free on the design and silhouette of the dress, only giving her opinion when asked, but the bouquet was something Elizabeth wanted to work on her own. She planned on pressing them later and displaying them somewhere in her new home.

“Oh.” Darcy tilted her head, examining her. After a long moment in which he seemed deep in thought, he responded, “I still do not have a preference. However pretty your bouquet might be, I do not think I shall spend a moment’s thought on it on the day of our wedding. Your beauty shall outshine it anyway.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, “Thank you, dear sir, for being so singularly unhelpful.” If her cheeks were warm, she pretended to not notice, and refocused all her attention on buttering another piece of toast before placing it on Fitzwilliam’s plate.

Darcy placed a warm hand on her cheek, and she looked up at him questioningly, “Elizabeth, as long as it is your face I see, smiling at me as you walk down the aisle, I promise I have no other preference for the day.”

She raised a sceptical brow, “You will not care even if I wear a dress splattered six inches deep in mud from a romp in the garden?”

Darcy grinned back, “If you’ve come to me after a romp in the garden, I can only imagine that your eyes shall look especially fine after the exercise. In which case, your dress shall be the last thing on my mind.”

Elizabeth laughed. Both engrossed in each other, neither of them saw Lord Braxton, sitting at the head of the table, roll his eyes at their mawkish behaviour, nor how Lady Braxton placed a hand on his knee, looking just as affected as her granddaughter was by Mr. Darcy’s flirting.

However, when the door to the breakfast parlour suddenly burst open, and Howard, Brexton House’s butler walked in with an almost harried expression on his face, he instantly had everybody’s attention,

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh is at the door, my Lord.”

Lady Catherine de Bourgh was on a mission. She had travelled to London in order to confront her nephew about the ridiculous rumours that were rife in Hertfordshire, and if the rumours were true ( which, of course, they were not! Her nephew was a rational, sensible man. ) it would only be her duty as his closest female relation ( she was practically his mother! ) to box his ears until he came back to his senses.

It had been nothing less than providence that she had felt an aggravating need for one of Gunter’s famous ices. The parmesan flavour was a personal favourite, and though Lady Catherine hated public spaces ( for who would want to mingle with the commons? ) Gunter's was the one establishment where she could step out of her carriage and take a seat on one of the outdoor tables.

It had not been a minute since she had placed her order when Lady Catherine acquired her first scoop of gossip. Gunter’s Tea Shop was, at any time of the day, rich with gossip. Apparently, Lord Pattinson had lost his prized horse to his brother-in-law in a bet. The bet being? That Lord Pattinson could fit thirteen whole crumpets in his mouth at the same time. Evidently, the man could fit only seven. Lady Catherine shook her head. The poor sod had not even been close.

Sir Wilberton had spent half his estate’s annual income on his bastard son’s gambling debts, and Lady Keebler had lost yet another tooth to too many cakes. Miss Hinsley had officially joined the Blue Stockings Society, further reducing her already dismal marriage prospects considering her advanced age of four and twenty and her irritating habit of rolling her eyes whenever she was spoken to.

Lady Catherine took all this information in stride, making a mental note to send a letter to Miss Hinsley warning her against her current course of action. Poor girl had no mother and five older brothers. It was no wonder she had grown up to be so horribly masculine and independent. If her father had not been one of her late husband’s friends, Catherine would have already written her off.

She had just been served her ice by a waiter when she heard the one rumour that managed to obliterate her appetite for her food,

“Mr. Darcy is said to marry Lord Braxton’s granddaughter before her majesty’s ball. This is Miss Braxton’s first season, and she has already managed to snatch the most eligible bachelor.”

“Mr. Darcy?” Another woman asked, sounding a little unsure, “I was under the impression that he was engaged to his cousin.”

“Yes, yes! So was I!” A third woman piped up, “His aunt’s daughter. You know- that sickly one that tried to come out some years ago but could not even dance a set without swooning. They say she hasn’t set a foot out of her mother’s estate since.”

A fourth woman, sounding distinctly older than the other three, giggled meanly, “I see Miss Braxton is following the footsteps of her grandmother. Did you know, the present Lady Braxton also stole her husband from another woman? ‘Tis true! In fact, Lord Braxton was all set and ready to marry Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but then, one day, he just eloped with another lady!”

Scandalous and giggly gasps echoed throughout the table behind her, and Lady Catherine gritted her teeth. She had been just about to stand up and whirl around to give the ladies a piece of her own mind when a gentleman’s voice stopped her in her tracks,

“That is blatantly untrue!”

Perhaps humanity was doomed after all.

The first lady, the one who had the one to introduce the topic to her party huffed, “It is very impolite of you to not only eavesdrop on a ladies’ tête-à-tête, but to also interject yourself in one, Lord Cavendish.”

Lord Cavendish. Lady Catherine approved of the young man. He was a handsome fellow, and had only recently inherited his father’s wealth and status after the latter’s death. From what she heard through the grapevines, he seemed to be managing his responsibilities well.

“Forgive me,” The man said, “Only, one of the subjects of your conversation is a personal friend of mine. I could not bear to hear the gentleman’s name maligned.”

“Oh?” One of the women asked, “Are you acquainted with Lord Braxton?”

Lady Catherine prayed the man would clear up the misunderstanding that was still prevalent in society about the circumstances of her first engagement, but the man thwarted her hopes with his reply,

“Nay, I have never met the man. I was speaking of Mr. Darcy.”

Lady Catherine brightened. Perhaps, Lord Cavendish had come all the way and disrupted the ladies’ party to renounce the ridiculous rumours that were circulating about Darcy’s engagement,

“Mr. Darcy?! Is he not to marry after all?”

“Nay, he is! He announced his engagement at the White’s himself a few days ago. I am referring to his supposed engagement with Miss de Bourgh. As a close, personal friend of the man for the past seven or so years, I can guarantee you Darcy has never been engaged to anybody before he proposed to and was accepted by Miss Braxton.”

Lady Catherine could hear no longer. Her clenched fist was shaking with anger on the surface of the table, and the blood rushing in her ears was too loud for her to listen to what the other party’s response was to the Lord’s proclamation. A part of her wanted to confront the man at the very moment. After all, who would question her, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and the mother of the future bride, if she were to announce to all that Anne and Darcy were betrothed to one another?

Only her daughter’s reputation stayed her. She could not let Anne’s name be bandied about until Darcy was brought back to his senses. Her sense of urgency resurging, Lady Catherine quickly stood, abandoning her ice in the process, and carefully so as to not be recognised by the table behind her, she quickly made her way back to her carriage,

“Take me to Darcy House this instant, Martin! There is not a second to waste!”