Page 42 of London Holiday (Sweet Escapes Collection #2)

27 November 1810

The first time I saw her, she was marrying my best friend.

I was late in arriving at the ceremony, owing to a dismal rain that created an unexpected pothole, which bent the axle of my carriage. Consequently, when at last I did arrive at that little Hertfordshire church, dripping wet and slightly out of breath, I was obliged to quietly take a seat in the back to await the arrival of the bride.

The groom, meanwhile, was fidgeting at the front. Poor Andrew, with his ruddy complexion and nervous habit of tugging at his ear whenever he was at a loss, looked nearly fit for Bedlam. I had hoped to arrive early enough to offer him some friendly reassurance to fend off his wedding nerves. Instead, I was only able to wait for him to glance my way so I might extend an encouraging look. I am taller than most, and surely head and shoulders above the old maids in front of me, but Andrew was seeing very little that morning. I doubt he noticed me, even if he did manage to send an eye around the pews.

But I saw when his gaze lit on his bride.

Ordinarily, a man ought to smile when his lady love ascends the aisle of matrimony. He should eagerly step forward to claim her hand from her father, then beam at her as if he has just obtained a prize. Andrew Bingley, however, looked as though he wanted to run. Or vomit. Or both.

I had paid little attention to the bride at this point, but now I looked at her. Her veil still frosted over her features, but her steps never faltered. If anything, she seemed to bear up with a stubborn sort of indignation—not unmerited, I warrant—and it appeared to be the bride stepping up to claim her husband rather than the reverse.

I knew this marriage was a matter of necessity for both parties. She was an imprudent choice regarding fortune, but Andrew had other requirements, and he swore that Miss Elizabeth Bennet fulfilled them all. I could not affirm this, for all I could tell of the bride was that she had a light and pleasing figure, but Andrew did not look like a man entranced by her figure. He looked... I sighed. It would not be long now.

What the lady knew or perceived was anyone’s guess, but I could not imagine she could be so repugnant to her future spouse to merit such a mixed reception as she faced at the altar that day. Certainly, she was lucky in what she was to receive by her marriage, for Andrew would see her well provided for. But I pitied her before ever seeing her face, and wondered at her feelings upon the occasion.

Her father, a man nearly old enough to be her grandfather, was quaking nearly as much as Andrew, but he did his duty and passed off her hand. He wiped rheumy eyes, kissed his daughter’s veiled cheek, and surrendered her. The ceremony was concluded with dispatch, and I stood with the others to congratulate the new couple as they walked to the door.

Andrew never did remember to lift her veil.

I do not know how Fitzwilliam will tell his side of the tale, but I daresay he will fail to remember the first time we met.

I had resigned myself to marrying Andrew, for he was a tolerably decent man, by no means ungentlemanly, and he seemed quite able to withstand my irreverence. At least to a point. He needed a wife badly enough that when my Uncle Gardiner, who did business with Andrew, proposed me as an option, he offered marriage the first day we met.

I did not intend to accept, but my father had suffered a recent setback to his health, and for a short while, my mother’s fears of being thrown into the hedgerows seemed quite real. So, I said yes. The engagement was not announced immediately, for my peace of mind, so I did have four weeks to become acquainted with my future husband and his family. Therefore, when I was in London before our marriage, my aunt and I often called on the Bingley sisters.

I had no illusions of winning their friendship. Rather, my intent was to assert a benevolent authority from the start, as I was younger than both of them and soon to become mistress of the household over which they had presided for far too long. They received me grudgingly, but they never poisoned the tea, which I deemed a success. Still, the only occasions I could call pleasant were when their younger brother Charles would join us for a few moments.

Charles and I got on famously, for all that he was a scatterbrained and indecisive sort. He could lighten a room merely by entering it, and he had a good heart, though I thought it would take a fierce woman to settle him down one day. I was glad it was not to be myself, but I was pleased to be gaining him as a brother.

Therefore, that afternoon when the parlor door opened, I looked up in anticipation of finally drawing a breath of fresh air in that stale room of feminine posturing. To my dismay, it was not Charles who pushed his head in the door but a great, scowling fellow with black hair and the iciest blue eyes I had ever seen.

Until that moment, I had never seen Caroline smile, but I learned that she was indeed capable of the expression. She even sounded happy to see someone, though I cannot say the sentiment was returned. “Mr. Darcy! Why, we did not know you were in town. Shame on Andrew for not informing me! I do hope you will come to dinner some evening.”

I was regarding the gentleman with curiosity but little interest. He scarcely passed an eye over me. Instead, he made a stiff bow to Caroline and put himself firmly behind a chair so that she could not approach nearer. Obviously, he knew her well.

“Good morning, Miss Bingley, Miss Caroline. I was told Bingley was here.”

“He is in his study,” Louisa answered, “but he is sure to come in soon.” She cast me a flat glance, eloquent if one knew of her distaste for me, but meaningless otherwise. “Please, may we offer you a seat and a cup of tea while you wait?”

“No, thank you. I shall seek him there. Good morning.”

And that was my first introduction to the man known as Fitzwilliam Darcy.

I saw him a fortnight later at the wedding, but he never approached me. Andrew said something about the Darcy pride and a mishap with his carriage that left him bedraggled, but I was unimpressed with that excuse. Therefore, I set him down as the dullest and rudest man alive. He did little to dissuade me from that opinion.

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