Page 43 of The Power of Refusal
T here was so much to be done—the marriage settlement, the preparation of the mistress’s chamber, the arrangements for obtaining the Darcy jewels from the vault. The thought of selecting a ring for Elizabeth brought him up short. He made a mental inventory of what rings he could recall in the collection. How had he not considered this important detail sooner? Elizabeth deserved nothing but the finest, the most exquisite token of his love and devotion.
As he reached the grand chamber where portraits of ancestors gazed down from gilded frames, Darcy hesitated before the ornate wooden chest that held the family jewels. With a steady hand, he lifted the lid, revealing a dazzling array of gems and precious metals that sparkled in the soft light filtering through stained glass windows. Each piece held a story, a legacy of generations past.
His eyes swept over the glittering treasures, seeking one that would capture the essence of Elizabeth—her wit, her spirit, her grace. Amidst the diamonds and sapphires, he spotted a ring tucked away in the velvet-lined box. It was a rare beauty, a delicate band of rose gold, adorned with a grouping of exquisite diamonds that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light. Darcy’s breath caught as he gazed at the ring, its brilliance dancing in the sunlight casting a kaleidoscope of hues across the room.
He reached out, with a mix of nervousness and anticipation, and lifted the ring from its resting place. Darcy pictured her face, her sparkling eyes filled with laughter, her quick wit that never failed to challenge him. Yes, this ring was perfect for her. It spoke of uniqueness, of beauty that was not conventional but striking in its own right—much like Elizabeth.
As Darcy held the ring in his hand, he felt a surge of emotion well up inside him. Darcy closed the lid of the chest and made his way to the window. The sunlight bathed him in a warm glow as he admired the ring once more. It was a symbol of his love for Elizabeth, a token of his commitment to her. Now, all that remained was to present it to her in a way that would convey the depth of his feelings.
∞∞∞
The familiar stone floor echoed softly under his polished boots as Darcy made his way forward. Sunlight filtered through the clear glass windows, casting long rays across the nave, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. St George’s Church had been the setting for many monumental moments in his life.
Georgiana’s wedding to Hal had taken place there, at once among the most joyous and most difficult days of his life. He reflected with satisfaction on having brought Georgiana from a devastated, shy girl of fifteen to the lovely, elegant Viscountess of today.
The scent of beeswax mingled with that of fresh flowers. His marriage to Hattie had also taken place in this church, now adorned with flowers from Darcy’s hothouses. It had been a bittersweet day. He cared deeply for Hattie, and had done what he could to make Hattie’s short life filled with every joy she could wish for.
His eyes were drawn to the baptismal font, now draped with a crisp white cloth. There he had but months ago gazed longingly at Elizabeth, convinced it would be his last sight of her. St George’s Church had been the place where he learnt the life-altering fact that Elizabeth remained unwed. He thought that somehow dear Hattie had a hand in ensuring he learnt the truth. She wished him happy. She insisted he needed to find love. Perhaps she had led him to that wondrous realisation.
The vicar, dressed in his finest cassock and surplice, stood ready at the altar. Darcy straightened his elaborately tied cravat and smoothed down his dark blue coat, aware of the eyes of the assembled guests upon him.
His heart swelled with emotion as he waited for Elizabeth to appear. In this moment, surrounded by history and on the cusp of his future, he was profoundly aware of the significance of both the place and the event about to unfold.
As Elizabeth appeared at the church entrance, Darcy’s breath caught. Elizabeth’s eyes locked with his, her cheeks flushed with emotion. Mr Gardiner placed her small hand in his, tears glittering in his eyes, a slight waver in the older gentleman’s voice as he entrusted his beloved niece to him.
They stood before the vicar. Darcy’s hand trembled slightly as he held hers. The delicate lace of her glove was soft against his palm. The vicar’s measured tones echoed through the nearly empty church, but for Darcy, the words seemed to come from a great distance. He was lost in Elizabeth’s eyes, the rest of the world fading away. A stray sunbeam caught the glint of a pearl-tipped hairpin in her coiffure, momentarily dazzling him.
The cool metal of the ring slid onto Elizabeth’s finger, a tangible symbol of their union. She looked up, her face illuminated with a delighted smile.
As they turned to face their small gathering of family, Darcy’s heart swelled. Georgiana dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, whilst Bingley beamed from the front pew. At last, they would begin their new life together. The familiar church, witness to so many pivotal moments in his life, now held his most treasured memory of all.
As the last of their guests departed, Darcy and Elizabeth found themselves alone in the drawing room of Darcy House. The remnants of the wedding breakfast lay scattered about, empty champagne glasses and plates bearing crumbs of the elaborate feast.
Darcy loosened his cravat, feeling at last able to breathe freely. Elizabeth sunk onto a chaise longue, smoothing her skirts. “Well, husband,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “it seems we have much to discuss.”
He joined her, taking her hand in his. “Indeed, wife,” he replied, savouring the word. “Where shall we begin?”
They spoke of hasty judgements and missed opportunities. Elizabeth laughed ruefully as she recounted Darcy’s belief that she had married. “To think, all those years wasted because of mixing up the multitude of Bennet sisters.”
Darcy caressed her hand. “Not entirely wasted, my love. Perhaps we needed that time to grow, to truly appreciate one another.”
Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. “We surely were slow pupils, in that case. I think I had some appreciation for you since Hunsford, in truth.”
Darcy tilted his head and regarded her intently. “Perhaps that accounts for the interesting portrait I found in a book at Lockwood,” he mused.
Elizabeth put her hand to her mouth. “Perhaps. Perhaps it also accounts for the entire portfolio of similar studies I brought from Gracechurch Street,” she said shyly.
As the afternoon light lengthened into evening, they planned their future. “Pemberley,” Elizabeth said decisively. “I long to see it in summer splendour with you.”
Darcy smiled, picturing his bride amidst the gardens he loved so well. “We shall leave on the morrow, if you wish it. There’s a particular grove of trees I’ve been longing to show you.”
Elizabeth leant in, her lips brushing his ear. “I believe, Mr Darcy, that you have a great many things to show me.”
He flushed, delighted by her boldness. “Indeed, Mrs Darcy. And we have a lifetime to explore them all.”
As twilight fell, they sat in companionable silence, the years of separation melting away. At last, they were where they belonged—together, on the cusp of a future bright with promise.
FINIS