Page 25

As young women will, Elizabeth Bennet had imagined her wedding day in quite some detail more than once in the years since she came of age to marry. However, she had never imagined it would eventuate quite like this, though she was not displeased by the lack of pomp and circumstance. The small parlour at Longbourn had been transformed with pretty greenery and summer flowers, creating an atmosphere of simple elegance that suited her far better than any grand cathedral. She stood before her looking glass, hardly recognising the serene bride who gazed back at her, dressed in a gown of finest pale golden silk that Jane had helped her finish only yesterday.

“It is strange,” Elizabeth murmured to her reflection, adjusting the small pearl comb securing her veil, “to think that in an hour’s time, I shall be Mrs. Darcy.” The name still felt foreign on her tongue, though not unpleasant. Indeed, there was a certain music to it that caused a flutter in her stomach whenever she heard it spoken aloud.

The events that had led to this hastily arranged ceremony by special licence were not what any young lady might have planned, yet Elizabeth could not bring herself to regret a single moment. The scandal surrounding poor Lydia had been contained through Mr. Darcy’s intervention, though at the cost of George Wickham’s life. That Lydia herself had been the instrument of his demise was a secret that weighed heavily upon those who knew the truth, but one which they would protect fiercely.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her reverie. “Lizzy?” Jane’s gentle voice called. “Are you ready? Papa is waiting.”

Elizabeth drew a steadying breath. “Yes, come in.”

Jane entered, looking every inch the perfect sister in her pale blue dress, her fair hair arranged in elegant curls. “Oh, Lizzy,” she breathed, her eyes filling with tears. “You look beautiful.”

“As do you,” Elizabeth replied, embracing her sister carefully. “Is everyone assembled?”

“Yes,” Jane confirmed, wiping away a tear. “Mama is fluctuating between weeping joyfully and instructing the servants about the breakfast. Mr. Darcy arrived with his sister and cousin half an hour ago. Miss Darcy is quite lovely, though terribly shy.”

“And Lydia?” Elizabeth asked quietly.

A shadow crossed Jane’s face. “She is present, though unusually subdued. She has kept to her promise not to speak of... recent events.”

Elizabeth nodded, grateful for small mercies. “And Mary and Kitty?”

“Mary is plucking at her new gloves and murmuring what appears to be biblical quotations about matrimony, while Kitty is trying very hard to appear grown-up and solemn, though she cannot help glancing at Colonel Fitzwilliam every few minutes.”

This drew a laugh from Elizabeth. “Some things never change, even on wedding days.”

A second knock heralded Mr. Bennet’s arrival. As Jane slipped away to join the others, Elizabeth turned to face her father.

“Well, my Lizzy,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion, “it appears the time has come for me to give you away.” He surveyed her with a mixture of pride and melancholy that brought a lump to Elizabeth’s throat.

“Not entirely away, Papa,” she assured him, taking his offered arm. “For Mr. Darcy is rich enough that even though Pemberley is a great distance away, we shall be able to regularly travel to Longbourn.”

“Not often enough,” he replied with a sad smile. “I shall miss your good sense among the general nonsense that prevails in this house.”

Elizabeth squeezed his arm affectionately. “You still have Jane, and Mary has improved considerably these last months. Even Kitty shows signs of developing into a sensible young woman.”

“And Lydia?” Mr. Bennet asked, his expression darkening briefly as he met her eyes. The knowledge of Lydia’s pregnancy, and what she had done to Wickham, was a carefully held secret, and they were two of the only people who were aware of it, the others being Lydia herself, Jane, Mr Darcy, and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Lydia will have her own path to walk,” Elizabeth answered carefully. “We can only hope that recent events have taught her the value of prudence.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, then straightened his shoulders. “Come then, my child. Let us not keep Mr. Darcy waiting any longer. I have found him to be a man of remarkable patience, but even that has its limits.”

The walk down the staircase and into the parlour seemed to Elizabeth both interminably long and shockingly brief. Time itself appeared to ebb and flow unpredictably, stretching certain moments into small eternities while compressing others into mere heartbeats.

And then, suddenly, she was there, standing beside Mr. Darcy before the local vicar, who had been persuaded through a generous donation to perform the ceremony at such short notice. Elizabeth barely heard the familiar words of the marriage service, so consumed was she by the nearness of the man who was to become her husband. She stole glances at his profile, noting the firm set of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, the slight tremor in his hand as he took hers.

“I, Elizabeth, take thee, Fitzwilliam...” The words came clearly despite her racing heart, and she marvelled at the steadiness of her own voice when everything within her seemed to tremble with emotion.

Mr. Darcy’s responses were low but unwavering, his eyes never leaving her face as he pledged himself to her for all eternity. When he slipped the wedding ring onto her finger, a simple gold band he had told her had once belonged to his mother, Elizabeth felt a sense of rightness so profound it nearly overwhelmed her.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the vicar declared, and in that moment, Elizabeth Bennet became Mrs. Darcy.

The first kiss as husband and wife was brief and proper, given their audience, but the look in Darcy’s eyes promised more once they were alone. Elizabeth felt colour rise to her cheeks at the thought.

“My dear, dear Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, surging forward to embrace her daughter with uncharacteristic emotion. “Or I should say, Mrs. Darcy! How well that sounds! Ten thousand a year and such fine breeding! I knew you could not be so clever for nothing!”

“Mama,” Elizabeth murmured, gently extracting herself from her mother’s clutches. “Thank you for arranging everything so beautifully on such short notice.”

“Oh! It was nothing, nothing at all,” Mrs. Bennet insisted, though her satisfied expression betrayed her pride in the accomplishment. “Though I still say we might have had a larger celebration if not for... circumstances.”

The circumstances being that less than two weeks before, the first banns had been called for Elizabeth to marry an entirely different man. But George Wickham was dead and gone.

Jane was next to offer congratulations, her embrace gentle and sincere. “I am so very happy for you, Lizzy,” she whispered. “You have found a good man.”

Mary approached with solemn dignity. “Marriage, sister, is a most sacred institution,” she began, but then, to Elizabeth’s surprise, she simply added, “I wish you joy,” and briefly squeezed her hand.

Kitty was more effusive, though she kept glancing over Elizabeth’s shoulder at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was engaged in conversation with Mr. Bennet. “Your husband is so tall and handsome, Lizzy! And his cousin is quite dashing in his regimentals, is he not?”

“Quite,” Elizabeth agreed, amused by her sister’s transparency. “Though I believe the Colonel returns to his regiment shortly.”

Kitty’s face fell momentarily, but she recovered quickly. “Well, perhaps he shall visit Pemberley while on leave, and we might see him when we visit you.” She cast a quick, jealous glance behind her. The decision that Lydia would be the sister to accompany Elizabeth on her wedding trip had seemed an odd choice to everyone who did not know the true circumstances; the best explanation Elizabeth had been able to invent was that she had felt sorry for Lydia over being denied her Brighton trip with the Forsters. Jane emphatically agreed, saying she was far too occupied at Longbourn, and Mrs Bennet had praised Elizabeth for her generosity, but Kitty had clearly been bemused.

Lydia approached with uncharacteristic hesitation once Kitty had moved on. The girl who had once been the most vivacious of the Bennet daughters now seemed diminished, her usual exuberance replaced by a wary caution that spoke volumes about her recent experiences.

“Congratulations, Lizzy,” she said quietly, her voice lacking its usual animation. “Mr. Darcy is... he has been very kind.”

Elizabeth understood the depth of meaning in those simple words. “Yes, he has,” she agreed, taking Lydia’s cold hands in her own and keeping her voice very low. “And we shall continue to be kind, Lydia. You are not alone, I promise you.”

Lydia’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away quickly. “Thank you,” she whispered, before retreating to a corner of the room.

A gentle touch at Elizabeth’s elbow announced the arrival of Miss Georgiana Darcy, who looked both nervous and determined. “Mrs. Darcy,” she said, testing the name shyly. “I... that is, I wanted to welcome you to our family. My brother has spoken of you with such admiration, and I... I am so pleased to have a sister at last.”

Elizabeth was touched by the girl’s sincerity. “Thank you, Georgiana, but you really must call me Elizabeth. I have looked forward to knowing you better. Your brother speaks of you with great affection.”

Georgiana blushed prettily. “He is the best of brothers. I hope... that is, I trust you will be happy at Pemberley.”

“With such a welcome from you, how could I be otherwise?” Elizabeth replied warmly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam approached next, his manner easy and cordial. “Mrs. Darcy,” he greeted her with a slight bow. “May I offer my congratulations to both you and my fortunate cousin? I must say, when I first met you in Kent, I never imagined we would soon be related by marriage.”

“Nor did I,” Elizabeth admitted with a smile. “Life is full of the most unexpected turns.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, his expression growing momentarily serious. “And sometimes those turns require the steadying hand of a friend.”

“Friends such as yourself are invaluable, Colonel,” Elizabeth said meaningfully.

“Richard, please,” he corrected her. “We are family now, after all.”

The wedding breakfast that followed was a modest affair by the standards of their circle, but more than adequate for the small party. Mrs. Bennet had outdone herself in the preparation, with cold meats, pastries, and a wedding cake that drew admiring comments from all present. Elizabeth found herself seated beside her new husband, acutely aware of his presence, the occasional brush of his hand against hers sending a thrill through her that she struggled to conceal.

“Are you pleased, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked quietly, during a moment when the others were distracted by Mrs. Bennet’s animated description of the cake’s preparation.

Elizabeth met his gaze, finding in it all the love and devotion she could ever wish for. “Very pleased, Mr. Darcy,” she replied. “Though I confess the name still sounds strange to my ears.”

“You will have a lifetime to become accustomed to it,” he assured her, his voice low and intimate.

“A lifetime,” she repeated, marvelling at the thought. “That seems both an eternity and no time at all.”

As the breakfast concluded and preparations began for their departure, Elizabeth found herself standing apart with Darcy for a brief, precious moment of privacy.

“Well, sir,” she said, her voice teasing despite the emotion that threatened to overcome her, “you have succeeded in making me your wife. I trust you are satisfied with your conquest?”

Darcy’s expression softened into the smile he reserved only for her. “Not a conquest, Elizabeth, but a partnership. We begin our journey together today, and I could not wish for a more perfect companion.”

Elizabeth felt a wave of love so intense it momentarily robbed her of speech. Instead, she simply placed her hand in his, a gesture that said more than words ever could.

The departure from Longbourn proved more emotional than Elizabeth had anticipated. Standing in the circular drive before her childhood home, now as Mrs. Darcy, she found herself unexpectedly moved by the sight of her family assembled to bid her farewell. Even her mother, who had spent the morning alternately weeping with joy over her daughter’s advantageous match and issuing last-minute instructions to the servants, now dabbed at her eyes with genuine feeling as the grand Darcy travelling carriage stood waiting.

“Oh, my dearest Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, embracing her daughter for what seemed the tenth time. “To think I shall now address my letters to Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley! You must write the moment you arrive, and tell me everything about your new home!”

“Yes, Mama,” Elizabeth replied patiently, gently extracting herself from her mother’s clutches. “I shall write as soon as we are settled.”

Mr. Bennet stood slightly apart from the general commotion, his expression caught between pride and melancholy. When Elizabeth approached him, he took both her hands in his.

“Well, my Lizzy,” he said quietly, “I have given you away, as fathers must. But I trust Mr. Darcy understands the value of what he has received.”

“I believe he does, Papa,” Elizabeth assured him, her voice catching slightly. “And you have not lost a daughter, but gained a peaceful library at Pemberley to retreat to when you visit.”

This drew a smile from him. “A most compelling inducement. I shall hold you to that promise.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, a rare gesture of affection that brought tears to Elizabeth’s eyes.

Jane’s farewell was calm and loving, as was her nature. “I shall miss you terribly, Lizzy,” she said as they embraced. “But knowing you are happy makes the separation bearable.”

“We shall not be parted long,” Elizabeth promised her.

Mary approached next, offering a stiffly formal curtsy before surprising Elizabeth with a brief, awkward embrace. “I have prepared a small volume of sermons on matrimonial duties for your journey,” she said, pressing a slim book into Elizabeth’s hands. “I have marked those passages I thought most pertinent.”

“How thoughtful,” Elizabeth murmured, tucking the book into her reticule with a mental note to examine it later, if only to appreciate Mary’s good intentions.

Kitty’s goodbye was a mixture of tears and excitement. “You must send for me to visit as soon as possible,” she insisted. “Longbourn will be insufferably dull without you, and I long to see Pemberley. They say it has the finest gardens in Derbyshire!”

“And you shall see them,” Elizabeth promised, “though perhaps not until spring, when they are at their best.”

Mr. Darcy, who had been engaged in a final conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam, now joined Elizabeth. “The carriages are ready, my dear,” he said softly. “We should depart if we wish to reach our first night’s lodging before dark.”

Elizabeth nodded, then turned to watch as Lydia was embraced by her mother and sisters. The youngest Bennet daughter’s face was a study in conflicting emotions: relief, apprehension, grief, and something that might have been shame, an expression Elizabeth had never before associated with her most vivacious sister.

“You will write to us, won’t you, Lydia?” Mrs. Bennet was saying.

“Yes, Mama,” Lydia replied, her voice oddly subdued. “Of course.”