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Mrs. Bennet began again to exclaim, but Mrs. Ellington would not have it. “You will not be in the hedgerows, Mrs. Bennet. You shall have two daughters married on the morrow. Even if Mr. Darcy does not wish to wed Lizzy, you cannot imagine Jane or Mary would not grant you and their sisters a place in their homes.”
Mrs. Bennet could not argue with the truth of this. Before she could find another direction to direct her nerves, the cart carrying the Morgans’ furniture arrived, and her mind was again focused on the good fortune of Jane and Mary.
Chapter 31
The morning of the wedding brought no relief from the chaos that had overtaken Longbourn, for Mrs. Bennet was convinced that if every chair was not in its precise place by nine o’clock, the entire day would end in ruin. One of the maids spilled a large bowl of white soup, and one might have thought Mrs. Bennet was mourning the loss of a child by her response. Everyone but those to be wed ran up and down the stairs on a dozen minor errands regarding ribbons and forgotten lace, missing shoe roses, and Mary’s prayer book that had somehow been sent off to school with Lydia.
In the midst of this turmoil, Jane remained as tranquil as ever. She enjoyed her mother and sisters’ attention, but was just as content when they left her preparations in the hands of the maids if they had to run off to complete a task.
Mary might have liked to be so serene, but it was not in her nature. It did not help that both Mrs. Bennet and Kitty had tried to convince her to leave off her spectacles for the wedding and the wedding breakfast.
“I shall stumble and fall, Mamma!” she exclaimed.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You shall be on your father’s arm. You will not.”
“And when she is at the altar, Mamma, she ought to be allowed to see her husband’s face clearly and enjoy her own wedding day,” Elizabeth interjected gently, adjusting the ribbon on Mary’s gown. “You know she is quite blind without her glasses.”
Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth to argue, but seeing the determination in both of her daughters’ faces, she merely gave a dramatic sigh before going off to speak with the cook for the third time that morning.
When the hour arrived, the procession to the parish church was met by half of Meryton, all gathered to witness a double wedding the likes of which the neighbourhood had not seen in decades. Despite the cold day, the church was comfortably warm from the number of people present. The service itself passed with none of the mishaps that Mrs. Bennet had spent the last fortnight predicting. Both brides looked beautiful, and the grooms handsome. No one misspoke their vows or tripped as they walked down the aisle. Mr. Field conducted the service as he had done many times before for the people of his parish.
An ink pot and pen were brought forward, and the brides signed the name Bennet for the last time in the large leather register that held all the marriages, births, and deaths in the parish. The grooms then signed, as did the witnesses, making the couples officially wed. As the ink dried, the vestry of the church became very crowded with people as the guests donned their cloaks, hats, and muffs before going out into the cold morning. The brides and grooms were glad their things had been placed separately, lest they wrinkle their gowns or fine coats.
Once the brides and grooms were prepared against the cold, the heavy wooden doors of the church were thrown open. The entire assembly spilled out into the churchyard under a pale winter sun. The bells of the church rang happily, announcing the occasion to everyone in Meryton. Young children threw sprigs of evergreen and rosemary at the feet of the couples, hoping in return to receive one of the coins the grooms scattered amongst them. Had the weather not been what it was, they might have stayed in the courtyard to converse with their friends and relations. Instead, once their pockets were empty of coins, the grooms quickly bundled their new wives into the waiting carriages.
∞∞∞
“Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered, anxious not to be overheard by the many guests at the wedding breakfast. “May I speak with you?”
Elizabeth looked to where her two newly married sisters sat, each beside her new husband. As she scanned the crowded room, she found also the faces of her other relatives, each occupied either in conversation or with their meal. It was, she decided, the best possible moment to be absent for a minute or two, and agreed to walk with Mr. Darcy in the garden. The change from the warm, overcrowded manor to the crisp winter air of the garden was at first jarring, but as they walked silently together, the exercise began to warm them. The tension in Darcy’s frame immediately betrayed to Elizabeth the importance of his mission, and she began to worry that his aunt might have convinced him. It was silly, she knew, but something of her mother’s nervousness sprung up within her, albeit much more silently.
Yet, she did not have long to fret, for after they reached the second bend in the path, Mr. Darcy stopped and turned to her. “I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,” he began, “for the behaviour of my aunt yesterday. I am mortified beyond words that she accosted you in such a manner. After leaving Longbourn, she came to Netherfield. I am sure you can imagine what she said to me.”
“Indeed, I believe I can,” Elizabeth replied, “for she outlined it in great detail to me as she departed.”
Darcy stared at her for a moment, before letting a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan escape his lips.
“I only hope you are not offended by the manner in which I responded,” Elizabeth added.
“Offended?” Darcy echoed as he stepped closer to her. “How could I possibly be offended by anything you said, when I spent the entire interview wishing I could speak even more harshly. Most appalling to me, at least, is that she believed that a word from her would cause me to bow to her dictates and abandon all regard I have for you, go with her to Kent, and honour a supposed infant betrothal that I had never heard of until yesterday.”
Elizabeth could not help but allow a small, incredulous laugh to escape her.
“You laugh, but she declares it to be the favourite wish of my mother. My father died but a few years ago, and he never once spoke of it. She maintains that he must simply have forgotten.”
“I hope you did not expect her ladyship to concede a point, even when caught out.”
“Of course I do not,” he answered. “She never could do so, even if she wished it.” The path then curved away from the house, into what would have been a lovely rose garden in any other season. They were silent as they walked on, Elizabeth sensing that Darcy was attempting to gather his courage to say something else.
At last, Darcy spoke, his voice rather less steady than usual. “If you had done as my aunt wished and declared that you would never accept an offer from me, I would have accepted your answer and given you up. Yet, you refused. I must know, was that only to spite my aunt for her presumption, or is there any hope that you might ever care for me?”
Elizabeth gazed at Darcy with some astonishment, but soon found her voice. “I did not refuse her ladyship only for the pleasure of contradicting.”
Darcy’s countenance softened, as if her words had released some bound-up tension within him. “You did not?” he repeated, stepping closer, his eyes fixed on hers. “May I dare to hope, then, that my affection for you is not entirely unrequited?”
Elizabeth’s colour heightened, although not from the December air. “Indeed, I think—I am certain—I have long admired you, though I did not always acknowledge it myself.”
The happiness which this reply produced was such as Darcy had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight diffused over his face became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.
