It was a day in which their felicity was shared with two of those most dear to them: Jane and Bingley. Mrs Bennet assured anyone who would listen that if a mother had two daughters engaged at the same time, a shared wedding was the only way to manage it without completely succumbing to her nerves.
Georgiana and Lydia were both permitted to attend the wedding, having recently completed three months of being housebound for their antics in Brighton. Georgiana was ordered to remain by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s side; Lydia was closely overseen by her father who sent her back to her bedchamber midway through the breakfast for flirting too boldly with Lieutenant Denny.
And now Elizabeth was Mrs Darcy, a fact which seemed extraordinary to her but to which she was slowly growing accustomed.
“I had a letter from Hartham,” Darcy told her. “Congratulating us on our marriage.”
“That was good of him,” she said. “I thought I had heard that he proposed to someone?”
“Someone his aunt knew,” Darcy replied. “A distant relation.”
“When do the pair of you go to Brighton?” Saye asked.
“Tomorrow,” Elizabeth replied.
“We needed a day or two so the priest might finish his task,” said Darcy gravely.
Saye’s brows wrinkled. “Priest? What priest?”
“The one we had in for the exorcism.”
Elizabeth stifled her giggle. Darcy had come late to teasing, but he had grown quite proficient.
Saye huffed. “I have no time for your nonsense, Darcy. It was all a humbug, and your little wife told me so herself.”
“Yes, but I did not know all of it,” Elizabeth said, managing gravity. “The fiddler, to be sure, but there was more. A great deal more.”
“What more?” Saye rolled his eyes. “The only dreadful spirit that inhabited that house was the spirit of sopping, sickening romance, sure to make a mooncalf from any who dared set foot inside.”
“Including you?” Darcy asked him. “I noticed that you and Miss Goddard disappeared for a bit during our breakfast.”
“That is peculiar; I should have thought your mind would be on your wife, not your cousin. You are a strange man, Darcy.”
“She did look rather flushed and giggly when you returned,” Elizabeth supplied. “When may we wish you joy?”
At this, Saye thrust his paper to the side with a loud rustle. “Never, it seems. Miss Goddard is determined to be a spinster.”
“Did she refuse you?” Darcy asked, sounding shocked.
“Would I be following in your footsteps if she had not? I shall be just as bad as you were Darcy, a barrel in breeches,” Saye retorted.
Elizabeth turned to look at her husband, wishing to see him better beyond the obstruction of her bonnet. To further her intrigue, Darcy appeared red-faced and was levelling a disgusted look at Saye.
“I was hardly a barrel in breeches,” he pronounced stiffly.
“You were close. Lord knows what would have happened if I had not come along and invited you to Brighton. In any case, here we are!”
“As it is,” said Elizabeth staunchly, “I find my husband’s figure very pleasing, not at all like a barrel.” This earned her a brief kiss.
“Well, you have me to thank for it,” Saye replied drily. “I dragged him away from the very establishment we are about to grace with our presence, and set him on a course of gymnastics to return him to his former glory. But here we are!”
Elizabeth looked out of the window as they drew to a stop, seeing a charming little shop named Benjamin and Gerald’s. It was clearly a confectionery from its appearance; from the distance they had travelled, she could only assume it was a most excellent one.
“The best cream ices in England,” Darcy informed her as he stepped out of the carriage. “Prepare yourself, my dear wife, for the only thing I think is sweeter is the taste of your kisses.”
“Good lord, must I hear this?” Saye moaned. “Now I shall need a double portion.”
That Darcy was an esteemed patron was very clear. The proprietor came out to greet him as soon as they entered, and ushered them to the best table, the one overlooking the street. And then Elizabeth saw the real tribute: a particular concoction called The Darcy. “Well, I simply must have that one,” she cried out delightedly. “Is it your favourite, Darling?”
