Page 27 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)

Jane Bennet sat beside Mr. Bingley, radiant in a gown of pale blue silk, her hair simply dressed, a small string of pearls resting at her throat.

She had chosen modesty and simplicity over show, and in doing so had won admiration from all but one.

A few pews behind her, Miss Bingley leaned toward Mrs. Hurst and murmured behind her fan.

“I declare, Louisa, it is a pity Jane did not think to embellish her gown with even a little lace or embroidery. One would hardly know it is a wedding. But I suppose such economy is in keeping with Longbourn.”

Mrs. Hurst tittered in soft agreement, adjusting her bracelet with studied indifference. Caroline, not yet satisfied, added in a sharp undertone, “Still, I am immensely grateful that the obstinate, headstrong Eliza is not here to sully the day with her impertinence.”

The remark struck Jane like a blow. Her breath caught, a tiny, involuntary gasp, and Bingley, ever attentive, turned at once.

“Jane, my dear,” he whispered, bending closer, “do not let Caroline’s spite disturb your peace.

She is displeased because I told her only yesterday that she will remove to Scarborough this week, and remain there until I have found her a proper house in London and a suitable companion.

She will not reside with us, my love. I wish our marriage to be untroubled, as far as it is in our power to make it so, full of laughter and love.

Were Caroline underfoot, we should both suffer. ”

Jane turned to him, her eyes luminous with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said softly, “for being so careful with my happiness.”

Bingley smiled with quiet affection. “It is for my happiness too, Jane.” He wrapped his warm, steady hand around hers, and thus entwined, they turned back to the altar as the clergyman began the service.

Mary and William Collins Bennet stood together before the congregation, both tall, dark-haired, and remarkably well-suited.

They made a comely pair. Jane watched with quiet emotion, her heart stirred by the gentleness in their voices as they spoke their vows.

When William slipped the ring onto Mary’s finger, it was done.

Her sister, bookish and earnest Mary, was now a wife.

She would leave Longbourn that very day and begin a new life in Kent.

A hush settled over Jane’s heart. The moment was beautiful, yet tinged with melancholy. One by one, her sisters were departing. And in three weeks, it would be her turn; she would stand with Mr. Bingley at the altar, and she too would leave behind the only home she had ever known.

Kitty Bennet sat several rows behind, a demure figure in pale blue, her gloves clutched in her lap, her eyes misted with tears.

She was proud of Mary, happy for her in every respect, but the solemnity of the vows, the reverent hush of the church, saddened her heart.

So many changes had come so swiftly. Lizzy had gone to Scotland, Jane was to be married, Mary was now Mrs. William Collins Bennet and would be departing this very day, and Lydia had been gone these many years.

Kitty felt herself left behind in their wake.

Mary, by contrast, was quietly exultant.

Her eyes gleamed with anticipation, her cheeks glowed with vitality.

Beside her, William stood unexpectedly solemn, his hair neatly combed, his cravat pristine, his jacket beautifully tailored.

They would travel to Kent immediately after the wedding breakfast to begin their new life together.

Far from sorrowful, they were beginning an adventure.

Mr. Darcy sat near the front with his sister Georgiana, whose gloved hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

She looked shyly about the church, her gaze drifting over the floral garlands and sunlit windows; her thoughts, Darcy suspected, were not entirely present.

He reached over and gently squeezed her hand.

She looked up and offered a faint smile, drawing comfort from his presence.

“Are you well, little sister?” he asked softly.

She smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “Lizzy ought to be here, sitting with her sisters. But her mother forbade it.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “Are you certain, Georgiana?”

“I am. I asked Lizzy when I might see her again, whether she could return if Mary and the rector were to marry. She told me her mother said she was no longer welcome at Longbourn, and that if she heard of her sisters marrying, she was not to think of attending. She blamed Lizzy for Jane’s delayed marriage, insisting she would have been wed years ago if not for her interference. ”

Georgiana grimaced. “The man was nearly sixty. That was the match her mother had arranged.”

Darcy’s brows lifted. “Sixty? Are you quite certain of your facts, little sister?”

“He must have been,” she insisted. “His hair was entirely grey.”

Amusement flickered in Darcy’s eyes. “Ah. Grey hair, the surest sign of decrepitude. He must have been sixty at the very least. Perhaps older. Practically a fossil.”

Georgiana gave a reluctant smile, and Darcy, satisfied to have coaxed a measure of mirth from her, turned his gaze back toward the altar, though his thoughts lingered on Miss Bingley.

Caroline’s bitter whispers had not escaped his notice. Nor, he suspected, had they escaped Jane’s. Darcy’s eyes flicked briefly toward Miss Bingley. There was nothing to be said. Her fate, too, was sealed.

Mr. Bennet sat in pensive silence beside Mrs. Bennet, who looked thoroughly gratified to have one daughter at last respectably wed.

Her mind was already occupied with the wedding breakfast to follow the ceremony, then drifted to Jane, who, after all these years, would soon be married as well.

But she could not rest. Lizzy, Kitty, and Lydia remained.

She must see them all matched before she would allow herself any peace.

Mr. Bennet’s thoughts, too, were of his daughters.

Lydia had long been away at a girls’ seminary, safely removed from her mother’s reach.

Elizabeth was in Cambridge, soon to travel north to Scotland, perhaps to find a husband and remain there.

The thought brought a quiet ache to his heart.

And now Mary was to reside in Kent, with her new husband.

Jane, the gentle, golden heart of his household, would be wed in three weeks’ time.

Though he masked it well, a quiet grief hung about him.

There was pride, certainly, and a measure of satisfaction.

But the pew that once held five young daughters now sat nearly empty.

He had daughters still, but the old days were gone.

The future had arrived, and with it came silence.

The clergyman’s voice rang out in the final declaration. Mary and William turned to face the congregation, joined now in holy matrimony. The guests rose, filing out into the churchyard behind them as bells pealed once more.

Kitty dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Caroline Bingley remained stiff and unsmiling, her lips thin and her glances cold.

Darcy stepped forward with Georgiana to offer congratulations. “My best wishes to you both,” he said with quiet warmth. “May your days be full of peace.”

Mary beamed at him. William bowed with solemn dignity.

By three o’clock, the wedding breakfast was concluded and the bride’s carriage made ready. Mary slipped her hand into her husband’s. He looked down at her with undisguised affection, and she smiled, serene, contented.

And Mr. Bennet, standing quietly behind them all, murmured, “Well, at least one of my girls is well settled. God keep her happy. And the rest… may time be kind.”