Chapter 41 #2
Lady Catherine’s mouth dropped open, revealing slightly yellowed teeth, and her face turned even more red, just as two timid maids entered the room with tea. She had never had any patience for being contradicted.
Richard waited in amusement for his aunt to recover sufficiently to speak. Based on the clock on the mantle, it was a full three minutes before she had recovered.
“Anne is ... she is not healthy, exactly, but she can … that is,” she finally mumbled.
“You know as well as I do that childbirth is a difficult and dangerous business,” Lady Matlock said crisply, and then she turned an apologetic look on her son. “Please excuse me for mentioning something so indelicate.”
He waved a hand in response and promptly found his thoughts shifting to Jane Bennet.
She was such a healthy lady, with sturdy limbs and a rosy countenance.
His cousin, Anne de Bourgh, was feeble and pale, and Lady Matlock was right; pregnancy and childbirth would likely be difficult indeed for the fragile heiress of Rosings.
“It matters not!” Lady Catherine finally bellowed. “By honor, Darcy is committed to Anne, and I have no intention of permitting this egregious wedding to go forward. I will call on Darcy tomorrow and tell him that he must break off the engagement from this … this … strumpet!”
Richard opened his mouth, only to close it in response to a stern look from Lady Matlock.
“You may certainly do that,” his mother said calmly, “but Darcy will not listen. Now come, Sister, it is almost time for dinner, and I suggest that we lay this topic aside for the time being. After dinner, I will have the housekeeper take you upstairs. You have had a tiring day, and I hope you will enjoy a good night’s sleep in the Blue Room. ”
Lady Catherine sniffed, but she consented to another cup of tea as she fumed quietly, which was a vast improvement.
The butler called them to dinner, and Richard took his aunt’s arm and guided her to the smaller dining room, forcing himself to keep his expression calm and benevolent.
Lady Catherine was not an early riser, and Darcy’s wedding was set for nine o’clock tomorrow morning.
By the time Lady Catherine descended on Darcy House, Darcy and Elizabeth would already be married.
***
St. George’s
Hanover Square
9 O’clock
The Next Morning
Elizabeth trembled with excitement as she brushed a hand down her ivory-colored gown.
An overdress of silver net lay on top of it like dew on grass not yet touched with color by the sun.
The silk had taken her fancy some two weeks previously while on a visit to Madame Fanchon’s shop, and to the delight of both that redoubtable lady and Elizabeth herself, had been finished in time for the hasty wedding.
Everyone, from Lydia to Mr. Bennet to Sally, the maid who acted as Elizabeth's abigail, had exclaimed over how lovely she looked.
She could not disagree; the dress quite becoming on her.
It was set off to magnificence by the engagement gift her beloved Fitzwilliam had given her, a delicate silver chain that hung about her neck, supporting a large and gleaming pendant inset with a magnificent, sparkling diamond.
In but a few moments, the sanctuary doors beside which Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet stood would open, and she would walk down the aisle on her father’s arm and be wedded to her Fitzwilliam.
In some ways, it seemed all a dream, a glorious and wonderful dream.
It had all happened so quickly. It had not been even a full month since she and Fitzwilliam had entered into their engagement.
What a joyous whirlwind these last weeks had been, as he acquired the common license and a date had been set and the invitations written and sent out.
Now, she was about to become the happiest, most blessed of women; Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
“You look beautiful, Lizzy,” Jane said from beside her.
Elizabeth looked around with a smile. “Thank you, dearest, so do you.”
It was true. Though Jane’s dress was, naturally, not nearly so adorned as Elizabeth’s, it became her wonderfully.
The gown was a heavenly blue that matched Jane’s blue eyes perfectly and made her look like an angel.
A single, modest strand of pearls was her only jewelry.
Such simplicity detracted nothing, allowing her natural beauty to shine through.
Elizabeth was so very glad to have her dear sister attend her on this happiest of days.
Beyond the great doors, the imposing organ vibrated and hummed and droned to life, the solemn music proclaiming the beginning of the wedding. Mr. Bennet turned to the bride with an affectionate, proud smile, and he held out his arm. “Well, my dear? Are you ready?”
Elizabeth carefully laid her gloved hand on his arm, returning his smile and blinking back grateful tears as she did so.
She had never even met Mr. Harper and counted it little loss.
How could she, when the good God above had so kindly provided her with a stepfather who was loving and kind and treated her as his own daughter?
“I am,” she said.
Two servants opened the large doors, and she stepped through on Mr. Bennet’s arm, with Jane following behind them.
Walking slowly up the aisle in the middle of the sanctuary was like stepping into a tiny piece of Heaven, with vaulted arches soaring above, chandeliers gloriously lit, the lush carpet underfoot, the polished wood of pews and walls and altar, while the sun spread pools of red and blue and green and yellow through the stained glass windows high in the walls.
The invited guests all sat in the front few pews, looking back at the approaching bride.
Mrs. Bennet and her youngest three daughters were in the very front, of course, and behind them, Lord Langdon, Lady Langdon, with Zachary and Priscilla beside their parents, all in their best clothes and appearing delighted for their cousin.
Jane’s aunt and uncle, the Gardiners, were here as well; the pair smiling at the sight of father and daughter making their steady way down the long red carpet.
Across from the Bennet ladies, Serena and Georgiana and their governess sat side by side, the sisters incandescent with joy. Behind them, the Earl and Countess, along with Richard, Rebekah, and Rachel, watched the bride’s progress with approbation.
Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and her husband had all been prevailed upon by someone, likely Mr. Bingley, to attend as well.
None of them looked overjoyed, and there were distinct lines of strain around Miss Bingley’s mouth, her smile taut and fixed.
Elizabeth regarded the other woman with absent pity.
It could only be galling to her, watching the man for whom she had long set her cap wed another.
Elizabeth’s attention moved on, for now the bridal procession was passing the pews, and her groom drew her eye.
She scarcely noticed Mr. Bingley standing beside his friend in the role of best man; all her focus was on her beloved Fitzwilliam, where he stood awaiting her.
He looked more handsome than ever in his long black tails and knee-breeches and white silk stockings, and his eyes glowed where they rested on her, his love and passion obvious.
He smiled at her as she approached, and her answering smile radiantly reflected the sublime happiness that filled her soul.
Mr. Bennet looked between them and beamed mistily, patting Elizabeth’s hand gently before transferring it from his own arm to Darcy’s.
He retired to take his seat beside his wife, and bride and groom turned together towards the aged rector.
He, too, was smiling as he began the old and hallowed ceremony.
“Dearly beloved,” he intoned, “we are gathered today…”