“Possibly more.”
“Then you are lost. You will never leave.”
Elizabeth felt laughter rising, mingling with joy so complete it had no single name. She returned to the mirror. Jane added the final roses to her hair. Maryfastened the last button. When they stepped back, Elizabeth looked at the woman in the glass. She was certain that this was where she was meant to be.
“Well,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “Mr. Darcy is a very fortunate man.”
“I intend to make certain he knows it,” Elizabeth replied.
Jane took her hand. Mary took the other. And Elizabeth Bennet drew a calming breath and prepared to become the wife of Fitzwilliam Darcy.
8
The Matlock chapel smelled of winter roses and candle wax. Behind Darcy, the assembled were in their places. Lord and Lady Matlock, Georgiana, Mary, Mrs. Gardiner, and Bingley. In the row behind them sat Lady Sefton, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, and Lady Cowper.
Richard leant toward him. “Nervous?”
“No.”
Richard’s jaw twitched. “That is either very reassuring or very alarming.”
“Richard.”
“Yes?”
“Be quiet.”
The door at the back of the chapel opened.
Elizabeth appeared on Mr. Gardiner’s arm. Darcy forgot everything else. The ivory silk gown. The white roses in her dark hair. The beauty of her face and form. Her eyes found his across the length of the small chapeland stayed there.
Mr. Gardiner walked her toward him with dignity. When Gardiner placed her hand in Darcy’s, he wordlessly conveyed all that a guardian must.
Darcy gave a slight nod, understanding completely.
Elizabeth’s hand was secure in his. As he looked at her, the chapel and the assembled guests and the vicar with his open prayer book all fell away.
“You are late,” he said for her ears alone.
“I am precisely on time,” she replied with that particular spark in her eyes that he intended to spend the rest of his life provoking. “You were impatient.”
“Guilty.”
Behind her, Jane took her place opposite Colonel Fitzwilliam.
The vicar cleared his throat.
The ceremony was perfect. Darcy made his vows in a voice that was composed and certain, as though he had always known these words and was only given the occasion to speak them. When Elizabeth made hers—clear and unwavering, her eyes fixed on his—he felt peace.
He was aware, distantly, of Jane weeping softly, of Georgiana pressing her hands together, of Richard standing perfectly straight and solemn — until Bingley let out a hushed sound of mirth that cracked his composure.
“I pronounce that they are Man and Wife…” the vicar said.
Though not part of the ceremony, Darcy embraced his bride. She kissed him back with a surety that suggested she wanted to celebrate this moment at least as much as he. They had no reservations about expressing their pleasure in a chapel full of their closest relations.
Lady Matlock made a sound that might, in a less dignified woman, have been described as a sniffle.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the vicar announced, visibly pleased with himself, “Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
