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28th December 1812, Saturday

Hertfordshire was not nearly as cold as Matlock, but in December, it was still very cold.

Seeking privacy outside was out of the question, and even if it had not been for the weather, one look at Mr Darcy’s face would have had her reconsidering the walk anyway.

The poor man was in no condition for any more physical activity.

No, instead, Elizabeth had the fireplace in the back parlour lit and tea ordered and led her intended to the cosy room away from the rest of her sisters and the Gardiner children.

Darcy sighed as he sank against the Chesterfield chair that she had nudged closer to the hearth, and she took the footstool sitting across from him, slipping off his dusty Hessians and draping a blanket over his lap.

He looked down at her with hooded eyes, gave her a lazy smile that was much too attractive for an action so thoughtless,

“You are doting on me.” He said.

She raised an amused brow, “You sound surprised, sir.”

He blinked slowly, “I am not in the habit of being doted on.”

Neither was Elizabeth in the habit of relying on a person so wholly as she was realising she could rely on Mr Darcy.

He was as steadfast as a centuries old oak tree.

Immovable and true when he had made up his mind about something.

His stubbornness would, Elizabeth was sure, in time cause a quarrel or two between them, but if that same stubbornness continued to hold on to her, she was sure nothing in the world would tear them apart.

She might not have his stubbornness, but Elizabeth vowed then and there to hold on to him just as tightly with her own brand of tenacity.

“You shall have to grow used to it now, Fitzwilliam.” She murmured.

He was looking at her with such tenderness in those half-closed eyes, Lizzy felt her throat grow tight, and she placed a kiss on his knee before leaning her chin on it, “I intend to quite spoil you rotten, my love.”

Darcy grinned, “What a coincidence. So do I.”

Elizabeth grinned back.

They were interrupted by a throat clearing behind them and Elizabeth straightened and turned to see Mrs Hill standing on the threshold of a wide open door with a tea tray in her hands.

Elizabeth stood up and crossed over to her,

“I will take it from here, Mrs Hill. Thank you.”

Mrs Hill bowed, and left the room, though Elizabeth was sure she was only going so far as to sit a few feet away outside.

She shook her head.

They would marry in a week.

Elizabeth saw no need for chaperonage.

She turned back to Fitzwilliam with the tea tray.

Mrs Hill had laden it with pastries and tarts, some which Elizabeth had specified and some that showed the housekeeper's own affection for their guest. There were petit fours, slices of the fruitcake from Christmas, crumpets and scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, and cheeses with crackers. Mr Darcy was partial to jam and crumpets, she had noticed during their shared stay at Netherfield, and nobody with a sound mind could ever say no to Mrs Bennet’s fruit cake .

The tea too, was a blend of congue and peppermint, brewed with rejuvenation and restoration in mind. She placed the tray on the tea table sitting next to his chair, and because his eyes tended to follow her, Darcy noticed, for the first time, a book that also rested on the same table.

“Did you like it?” It was the copy of Le langage des fleurs he had gifted her for Christmas. The bookmark peeked from somewhere in the middle, showing him that she had at least started to read it, but it was her bright smile as she gazed down at the tome that told him how immensely she was enjoying it.

“It is gorgeous.” She sighed, then started fixing him a cup even as she continued, “Truly, it is more a piece of art than literature. The illustrations are so detailed and the colours so vibrant, they might as well be real flowers rather than just drawings. My sisters and I have spent the better part of many hours just going through all the flora and memorising its meanings.”

She handed him his tea and then returned to her seat on the footstool. Darcy straightened a little in his seat after taking a sip. The freshness of the peppermint effectively waking him up,

“What about the inscription in the front?” He asked, teasingly.

She smiled back just as goadingly, “A very flattering rendition of my character.” She winked, “But it is just as you said, my good qualities are in your protection now, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible.”

That she had memorised lines from his letter astounded him. That maybe she had read each one multiple times like he had done with hers was a giddying revelation. He placed the tea back in the tray, cupped her face, and tried to kiss her .

She was smiling against his mouth too widely for him to do it properly.

“Elizabeth, stop it.” He whispered against her mouth. She giggled.

“I can not. I’m too happy.”

And well, now he was smiling just as widely, and the kissing business unfortunately had to be set aside.

Darcy sighed heavily, then leaned back in his seat. If he would not be able to kiss Elizabeth, he would at least indulge in those rather scrumptious looking crumpets.

“What about my gift?” She asked him once he had had his fill of jam and baked goods, “Did you like it?”

Darcy pulled his coat away enough for her to see the pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat, “Of course, I did. The painting, the script, your lock of hair. I loved all of it. It is very detailed work. It must have been expensive.”

“Almost all of my annual allowance.” Elizabeth gave him a proud smile,

Darcy laughed, “Am I getting a spendthrift for a wife?”

“Hmm, perhaps.” Elizabeth teased, “Though, a more accurate description would be a wife who is only a spendthrift during Christmas.”

“Oh well, if it is only during Christmas, I suppose I can allow it.”

“How very magnanimous of you, Mr Darcy. ”

Darcy raised a brow, “That is a very big word, Miss Bennet.”

“You are not the only one who studies for words of four syllables, sir.”

“Yes, I am starting to understand that I am also getting a very intelligent wife.”

“A bit too quick for you?” She wiggled her brows,

“I think I shall spend the rest of my life trying to catch up with you, Elizabeth.” Darcy stated, suddenly serious, “But, I do not think I shall mind.”

The teasing was at an end then, and Elizabeth took a moment to just gaze up at her solemn, serious, soon-to-be husband.

“Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”

He raised a brow, “Whatever for?”

She gave him a look, as if he were being deliberately obtuse, “For Lydia. You have no idea how thankful I am. And if only the rest of my family knew, I would not have only my own gratitude to convey-”

“Don’t.” Darcy sighed, then slipped out of his chair to instead crouch in front of her so that their eyes were level and their noses almost brushed against each other’s, “I do not need their gratitude. If you must thank me, let it be for yourself alone. Everything I did, I did for you. To make you happy. Elizabeth, there is nothing in this world that is in my power that I would not do for you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes softened. She was reminded of a month ago, when he had gone to London for the sole purpose of bringing back with him documents that would improve him in her eyes. And then, of the night at the Gouldings’ party, when he had travelled to Hertfordshire only for a night just because she had promised him a dance, and then of today, how he had travelled all the way from Matlock, for three days straight, just to help her sister so that they could marry.

“Yes, I am starting to realise that.”

This man- this rather tall, dark and intimidating man- She held this man’s heart in her hands. It was her most precious possession.

Darcy gave her a half smile, “Good.”

“Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Kiss me now.”

6th January 1813, Wednesday

Their wedding took place at Darcy house.

It was a small, intimate ceremony, consisting only of the Bennets, the Darcys and the Matlocks. They had met each other's families only a couple of days ago, and though Elizabeth had not yet formed an opinion on the Earl, his wife and their eldest child, in Richard and Georgiana, she had found an instant friendship.

Amongst her own family, Mrs Bennet was much too awed by the grand townhouse and her grand son-in-law and his grand family to say or do much of anything.

Jane was as serene and sanguine as ever, Kitty was very palpably jealous of her older sister’s good fortune, and Mr Bennet spent most of his time in the house’s library.

In Lydia and Mary, there was the most change.

Though visibly happy, Lydia was more subdued.

She kept her distance from Richard and his brother Carlson, and spent the majority of her time with Mary.

Mary, on the other hand, was a veritable lioness.

Though not outwardly suspicious, there was a new sense of awareness for her surroundings in her.

She observed everyone but said little, spent time with Lydia and Georgiana and was often found reading the bible, only this time, the expression on her face was less fanatical and more pensive.

The two girls had also grown to very obviously admire and emulate Mr Darcy.

It was as if overnight, he had found himself with two more Georgianas.

Their gazes held both affection due to a brother and respect due to a father.

They had trusted him with their safety above anyone else and Darcy was not insensible to the responsibility he now carried of their care.

On the day of the wedding, the girls, except for the bride herself, dressed in gowns of identical styles in varying shades of pastels.

Jane was in her signature blue, Mary a very pretty green, Kitty was in her favourite shade of pink, and Lydia wore a very bright yellow.

Georgiana’s dress was lilac and between the five girls, they were a veritable rainbow.

Darcy stood in the morning room, sunlight coming through the tall windows and lighting up the space like a stage.

Richard stood just behind him and the vicar was just to the side.

They were surrounded by their family, all of them ready with their flower petals and handfuls of rice and all that was left was for Elizabeth to walk in with her father and make him the happiest man alive.

“Breathe, man.” Richard whispered to him.

Darcy very deliberately took a breath, and his darkening vision cleared .

By the devil!

He had almost swooned!

He heard Richard laughing behind him.

The Earl too, was pressing his lips very tightly together.

Darcy glared at them both.

The doors to the morning room opened.

Darcy forgot anyone else existed.

Elizabeth Bennet was a vision in white.

Her gown glittered in the sunlight, crystals and tulle and satin all rippling and flowing like waves with each step she took closer to him.

Her veil was doing little to hide the bright smile on her face.

The crown of orange blossoms that kept the piece of lacy tulle on her head and the bouquet of peonies she held in her hands made her look like a fairy.

Darcy was sure he was gaping like an idiot, but so was everyone else and so it did not matter.

She reached him.

Mr Bennet passed her hand over to him and Darcy clasped it firmly in his grip,

“Breathe, Fitzwilliam.” She teased him softly in lieu of a greeting.

Darcy grinned like a fool,

“You are making it very difficult for me to do that, Elizabeth.” He replied just as softly.

Not wasting another moment, Darcy lifted her veil so that he could see her lovely face.

Elizabeth was blushing a bright pink, her eyes were glittering like jewels and her mouth was turned up in a smile so joyous, it was making her glow.

A little further away, he heard Lady Matlock whisper to someone, “Darcy was not exaggerating. ”

He hadn’t been.

Not at all.

Words could not explain Elizabeth’s beauty when she was happy.

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today…”

Darcy heard the vicar start the ceremony, but he listened to very little.

His mind was otherwise agreeably engaged in committing to memory everything that was Elizabeth Bennet as a bride.

Her gown was a very pure white, undisturbed by any other colour.

Her bodice and sleeves were filled with hand-sewn clear crystals that shone brilliantly in the sunlight.

The length of her dress was covered in layers of soft tulle and silky satin with an overlay of embroidery and yet more stones.

If Darcy looked closely enough, he could see matching white satin slippers peeking out of the bottom of her dress.

The only jewellery that adorned her was a string of pearls around her neck and matching pearl studded hair pins nestled in her updo.

The only colour she wore was the green from her flower crown and her bouquet.

She looked like an angel.

Then, Elizabeth caught him staring, and gave him a look that was decidedly impish, and he remembered that appearances were deceiving.

His Elizabeth was closer to a devil than an angel.

And he would not have it any other way.

“Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will.”

The vicar turned to Elizabeth ,

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Elizabeth practically bounced on her feet in excitement, “I will.”

“Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?”

Mr Bennet stepped forward, “I do.”

The Vicar placed Elizabeth’s right hand in Darcy’s.

And asked him to repeat,

“I, Fitzwilliam Darcy, take thee, Elizabeth Bennet, to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

And then, it was Elizabeth’s turn,

“I, Elizabeth Bennet, take thee, Fitzwilliam Darcy, to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

Then, the vicar passed Darcy Elizabeth’s wedding ring.

Darcy, taking it, placed it delicately on Elizabeth’s fourth finger, and vowed ,

“With this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The both of them kneeled, and the vicar started his prayer.

Darcy closed his eyes so he would not roll them.

Were all marriage ceremonies this long?

He was impatient.

Now that they were here, that they had come this far, he was ready for it all to be over and done with.

Elizabeth squeezed his hand, and Darcy turned his head just enough to look at her.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

Together, they turned back to the front, and listened to the vicar drone on and on,

“Forasmuch as Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Darcy almost got up- but it was not over yet, and the Vicar continued giving them his blessing.

He huffed, though thankfully not loud enough for people to hear over the Vicar’s sermons.

He felt more than saw Elizabeth’s shoulders shake in suppressed laughter, and squeezed her hand in reprimand.

After an eternity, they were finally called to sign the registry.

The two of them stood, signed their names, then Jane and Richard signed theirs as witnesses.

The Vicar offered them his congratulations.

Darcy thanked him very properly, and then promptly lost interest in anyone else except his wife.

His wife .

“ Bonjour , Mr Darcy.” She greeted him very sweetly .

His next words made his heart swell, “ Bonjour, Mrs Darcy . ”