Page 30 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)

Darcy stood beside his dearest friend, Charles Bingley, on a lovely morning in May, watching as Miss Jane Bennet walked with graceful composure up the nave of the small stone church in Meryton.

She was radiant, her golden hair gleaming in the purple-hued light cast by the stained-glass windows.

She walked with poise and quiet joy on the arm of her father, her eyes fixed solely on the man who waited for her at the altar.

Bingley looked transfixed, as if he was breathing rarified air. Darcy glanced at his friend and was struck by the openness of his expression, adoration, wonder, and a trace of disbelief that such a woman belonged to him.

She was indeed beautiful, but more than that, she was serene, gracious, and good.

A true gentlewoman. Darcy’s thoughts strayed to the week before, when all had nearly come undone.

Caroline Bingley had returned from her banishment in Scarborough with no notice, traveling in a post-chaise, with two footmen, and an unparalleled capacity for drama.

Darcy's cheeks warmed at the memory. She had stormed into the Netherfield drawing room, shrieking like a fishwife.

“Charles! Louisa wrote to me! She said you’ve made an offer of marriage to Jane Bennet, that country nobody, her uncles are tradesmen! How dare you! Don’t you care for my future? How am I to make a good match with such low connections clinging to your name?”

Charles had frozen, speechless in his own home, seated beside Jane while her family, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and several guests looked on in shock. Darcy and Georgiana had occupied chairs near the hearth.

Jane had turned her angelic gaze from Caroline to Charles, her eyes searching his.

Darcy, sensing catastrophe, had risen slowly and approached Caroline. Only when he stood before her did her words cease.

At last, she blinked and took in the room. Her face flushed scarlet with shame, though she would never admit it. Her spine stiffened, and she pivoted smartly, disappearing up the stairs.

Darcy had hoped she would remain there.

He turned to Jane, bowing slightly.

"Miss Bennet, may I offer you more tea? Or perhaps some wine to calm your nerves?"

She looked up at him gratefully. "Yes. Wine would be most welcome."

At last, Bingley had stirred. He had frozen in shame, but now cleared his throat and faced the room.

"You must forgive my sister. She has a terrible temper. I assure you, my beloved Jane will not be asked to share a roof with her. Excuse me, I must attend to this matter."

Darcy had watched, half in awe, as his friend stood, walked into the hall, and called his footman.

"Samuel, bring Miss Bingley down and escort her back to Scarborough. Carry her down if you must. She will not spend another night under this roof."

Samuel had done just that.

Her shrieks and protests rang down the stairs, echoing through the halls. And then, blessedly, the door had shut behind her.

Silence followed, thick and dreadful.

Georgiana had reached for Darcy’s hand, gripping it tightly until, finally, Bingley reappeared.

"My love," he had said to Jane, "that was...unpleasant. Let us move to the music room. Perhaps Louisa and Georgiana would favor us with a piece."

It had been awkward, yes, but also redemptive. Louisa had stumbled at the keyboard, shaken by her sister’s display, but Georgiana, with Darcy beside her to turn the pages and shield her from view, had played beautifully.

And Jane had not cried off. After all of it, she had remained by Bingley’s side.

Now, she stood at the altar beside Charles, reciting her vows with clear, lovely solemnity.

“I, Jane, take thee, Charles, to my wedded husband...”

Darcy’s throat tightened as he watched. Charles had married the finest woman in all of England.

No, he silently corrected himself. The second finest.

His thoughts turned to Elizabeth.

He had never met a woman so full of life and wit, so capable of challenging his mistaken opinions, and making him like her all the more for it. And how had he treated her? With condescension. With pride and prejudice.

And now she was gone.

Elizabeth Bennet was somewhere in the world, possibly thinking ill of him, justly offended by his arrogance. She had every reason to dislike him. And he had no idea where she was.

The fear struck him like a sudden chill.

What if I never see her again?

His eyes returned to the ceremony. The vicar pronounced the couple man and wife. Jane and Charles smiled at one another with a joy unmarred by fortune or consequence. It was love, simple, steady, real.

Darcy stood motionless, his heart full.

He had spent his life weighing merit by birth, rank, and wealth. But Jane and Elizabeth had no title or fortune. And yet they possessed what so few in society could claim: depth of character, constancy, courage, and they were kind.

He swallowed hard, suddenly uncertain of the path before him. Perhaps everything he had believed about suitability and station was flawed.

The thought unnerved him.

And beneath the discomfort, something else stirred, hope.

Hope that if he ever saw Elizabeth Bennet again, he might find the courage to make her his own.