Page 13 of In the Eyes of Lord Lingley

“I doubt the Viscount wishes to invite some indigent relatives to accompany us on our wedding trip,” Mary attempted again. “Especially when they will wish to be supported by him the entire time.”

“He will if you ask him,” Lydia hissed, towering over her much smaller sister and digging her nails into her arm until she cried out. “Any man that pays eight cows for a woman would happily provide companionship for his beloved!”

“They are here! I can see a.. a herd!” A man further down called, surprising them and causing Lydia to immediately release Mary and wrap herself back around Wickham with a high-pitched giggle. Mary stared at her with horrified fascination. The girl had never been kind, but she had not been so vicious either. Life with Wickham had apparently not helped her to blossom into a gentlewoman as Jane had insistently hoped.

Chapter 8

Lingley was nearly vibrating with worry as they waited for his private courier to arrive. There had been a delay in the special license, and it was only this very evening that the Archbishop’s office was able to approve it due to the man’s absence from the city. He had wished to arrive at Netherfield that day so as not to cause Mary to question his intentions, but it felt as if everything that could go wrong had done so. Until the clip of hooves paused before the house, he did not feel like he had taken a full breath. Once the parchment was in his hand, he immediately sent a note to the Gardiners and Colonel Fitzwilliam that all was prepared and they would leave at dawn the next morning. He also sent a note to Hertfordshire to announce their arrival to the Bennets. From Gardiner’s description, it was likely that the patriarch would not inform his ladies of the notification, but at least Lingley’s conscience was clear.

The next morning, the entire group had gathered well in advance of the sun’s rise, and Lingley provided a small repast before they boarded the carriage and led the cavalcade from London and into the bucolic fields of Hertfordshire. The first two hours went quickly, and they enjoyed the pleasant company as they went. When they stopped to refresh themselves, the gentlemen joined the grooms and rode the Andalusians for the remaining distance.

A great cry went up as they came into view of Meryton. As the horses drew nearer, the crowd began to count out the animals. “Four, five, six, seven, eight!”

“That is it! That is he!” Mrs. Bennet’s cries echoed down the lane. Her shrill voice piercing the babble of voices around her. “I knew he would return! I told you how it would be!”

Cheers began as they entered the village. There was a carriage pulled by four large Andalusians, while the last four were being ridden by some familiar gentlemen, accompanied by the Colonel on his own mount. Lingley pulled to the front and called instructions, and all the horses, including the carriage horses, began to do the dancing walk which they had been trained in. Cheering and clapping from the crowd seemed to feed their movements, and their steps became higher and more definite.

“Wait, why is there a carriage,” Mrs. Bennet demanded loudly. “Did he change his mind and only bring four?”

“I would not blame him,” Lydia chortled snidely.

Lingley had barely caught the words which she had spoken, but the feeling was clear, and he was immediately on alert as he vaulted from his saddle and bowed to his bride, joined once again by his mount. He drew Mary close by the hand and placed a lingering kiss on the back of it.

“Hullo, May,” he whispered, grinning fully at her, revealing the dimple in his cheek.

She blinked several times, and he saw the moment she recognized him. She flushed and doubted but his blue eyes and that deep dimple on his left cheek called to her memories and the vague impression she recalled, of a kind boy who would play games with her, solidified into a feeling of awe which tugged at her soul, reminding her of the first flame of adoration which had touched her heart.

“Johnny?” she squeaked, covering her mouth with her hands.

“Now, now, you must honor the tradition, sir,” Mr. Bennet harrumphed, slapping him on the back and popping into the little bubble which had formed about them.

“Here, as promised— eight Andalusian horses. Four trained to pull a carriage, as well as a coach worthy of their heritage. Two are trained for riding, and two for hunting. I have also hired a head groom to oversee their care and drive the carriage, as well as two under-grooms trained to my specifications,” Lingley announced before lowering his voice and leaning close to the man. “If you treat these horses half as badly as you did my wife, I shall see that you are hung from the neck until dead.”

The threat lay heavy in the air as the men stared at one-another until Mr. Bennet nodded once and gestured for Mary to step forward to be handed off to the man. There was a half-hearted cheer from the gathering, not nearly as loud as the jeering and laughing of the company.

“To the church!” was called out by some kind soul, and Lingley led Mary forward and into the church where he refused to release her, leading her forward himself and stopping before the altar. Lydia Wickham flounced her way forward, declaring, “I shall stand with Mary, of course, as I am her most favorite sister,” Mary nearly gagged as she watched her flutter her eyelashes toward Lingley.

He frowned at the child, “I believe that Mrs. Gardiner will be a better choice, thank you,” he announced.

“Mary, tell him!” she demanded with a pout. “But—”

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner quickly stepped forward, and Mr. Gardiner forcibly escorted the girl to the bench beside her family, leaving his wife to stand for their niece while the Colonel did the honors for Lingley. The rector stepped forward and performed the service with due solemnity, joining them together as one for the rest of their lives.

Lingley led Mary to the vestry where the records were kept, and she signed the name Bennet one last time. Mrs. Gardiner and Colonel Fitzwilliam signed as witnesses and then left the couple to follow the other guests to the wedding breakfast; the newlyweds held back, however.

“Did your mother even plan a meal?” Lingley asked softly.

Mary looked down and fidgeted with her dress. “She planned some, though nothing to what she did for Jane. But Darcy had provided much of the exotic and fine things for their breakfast, so really, it would not have been much different without all that. The meal reflects on her abilities as a hostess, you see, and she would not wish to be thought lacking by her neighbors after all.”

“Indeed.”

She reached up shyly and stroked his cheek where his dimple hid. “You really are my Johnny? I never thought to see you again.”

“I really am, my dear little imp.” He laughed with a slight flush to his cheeks. “You never could convince me that you were less than Fae. And you are still so small and elfin.”

“I know…” She frowned apologetically and looked away.

“It was not an insult. Nor am I unhappy with your stature.” He lifted her face with a finger under her chin.