The Ceremony
Lydia Bennet paced to and fro in pleasantly nervous agitation in the church on her wedding day.
She observed that her groom did not appear quite as nervously happy, but since she had been told that was the way with men, she could not fret about it.
She, Lydia Bennet, would be the first married.
She reflected how happy and proud her mother would be, eagerly anticipating returning to Longbourn with a ring on her finger and a handsome officer by her side.
He had even contrived to receive some funds owed and purchased a commission in the regulars, which was even better in her opinion, though she had not the slightest idea of the difference between the regulars and the militia, and no conception at all how far north Newcastle was.
Her aunt and uncle Gardiner stood by them, not looking the least bit happy, but considering the number of stern lectures they had inflicted upon her over the previous week, she granted them no consideration at all and was pleased she was nearly finished with them.
She asked, “Uncle, when are we to begin?”
“Hush—when everyone arrives,” was all the man would say.
The wait was not long, as a few minutes later the door opened, and Lydia screamed in joy to see all her sisters except Kitty enter with two men, whom she presumed to be her father and another witness.
She had been told her sisters would not deign to attend, but she was ecstatic to see they finally realised that she had done well and came to witness her triumph.
That feeling only lasted a few moments, because as they came closer, she saw that they all looked as grim as if they were attending a funeral. Jealousy was such an ugly feeling!
The second shocking thing was that they were all wearing fine clothing, even though her uncle and father had refused to buy her anything new at all.
She assumed that was her father and uncle trying to teach her a lesson in humility, or some such nonsense.
Even Mary was dressed much better than usual and looked almost pretty.
Lydia had little time to dwell on the anomaly because the surprises compounded.
The two men were not, in fact, her father and someone else.
Instead, she gave a startled cry and her intended made a distressed sounding hiss when they noticed the two men were the dour Mr Darcy and some other officer in uniform.
She turned to George, and saw him frowning at the officer, so she assumed he was probably someone concerned about the small holiday he had taken from his regiment.
She imagined that might be tiresome, but her Wickham would settle the matter.
He always did, and it was not as if he deserted!
They stopped, and Lydia said brightly, “Well, I am certainly happy to see you all here, though why you received better things than the bride remains a complete mystery. I hope you came to witness my triumph.”
Jane slightly frowned at the words, as did Mary, while Elizabeth gave her a look that could curdle milk. “Shall I presume my aunt has explained how your actions have nearly brought this family to ruin, Lydia.”
“La, Lizzy, you are only jealous that I will be the first married. After all of everyone’s gloom and doom, everything is ending as it should.”
“And you feel no shame about how you secured it?” Mary snapped.
“I shall be the first married, and Mama will be thrilled,” Lydia replied brightly, no more intimidated by the glacial expressions of her elders than she had ever been.
“Meryton is such a dreary place. Jane has been looking for a husband there for seven years, yet in Brighton, I succeeded in a few weeks. You can thank me later.”
Her intended sounded nervous for the first time in their acquaintance, and he took her arm and squeezed, looking somewhat affectionate, but mostly attempting to reduce her to silence for one minute.
When she paused momentarily, he simply said, “Darcy, Fitzwilliam,” to the two men, while giving them the most insignificant of bows.
Both men replied, “Wickham,” with rock-hard faces, which Lydia presumed meant Mr Darcy was still angry about whatever trifle it was that made him deny her George the living.
Desiring only to enjoy her triumph, she said, “Shall we begin. I am anxious to be the first married.”
Mary gave her a look of disgust, which she ignored as usual, but then said enigmatically, “Not exactly, Lydia.”
“What do you mean?” she asked in some confusion. The whole point of being in the church that morning was her wedding. Nothing else made sense.
“Two things, really,” Mary said with a frown. “First, if you had remembered any manners at all, you might be curious about your guests’ identities.”
“A bride is not expected to know all the guests, Mary. I can meet the gentleman afterwards.”
“Lydia,” Wickham snapped rather waspishly, showing that he was not really in much better humour than his bride, but at least understood the basics of propriety.
She looked at him, and he cocked an eyebrow.
“It is no matter,” the other officer said. “Let us, just for the sake of tradition, pretend we can follow the proper forms. Wickham, may I request an introduction to this… lady.”
The slight pause was like a hammer blow to anyone with an ounce of discernment, but Lydia did not notice at all.
Wickham complied with obvious frustration. He, at least, knew he was marrying an empty-headed fool, but his debts were substantial and heiresses thin on the ground.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I present Miss Lydia Bennet,” he said without mentioning her status as his bride.
The colonel bowed properly, Lydia barely remembered to curtsy, and started to speak, only to be silenced by another squeeze on her arm by Wickham.
“Miss Lydia, Colonel Fitzwilliam is the second son of the Earl of Matlock and Darcy’s cousin.”
She noticed that the man was nowhere near as handsome as her beau but thought it must be pleasant to be the son of an Earl, and being a colonel was obviously better than a lieutenant.
“Delighted, colonel,” she cooed flirtatiously, which left the colonel wincing and frowning.
She added, “I would love to speak more, but it is time to commence our wedding.”
Mary spoke softly, “As I said before, Lydia, not quite.”
“Explain it,” Lydia said, wishing to have whatever silliness Mary had planned over with. She imagined her sister wanted someone to deliver a sermon like Mr Collins did, or perhaps lecture her from Fordyce, but whatever it was, she wanted no part in it.
Mary said, “Father has decreed that weddings shall proceed in the order in which he bestowed his blessing.”
“Well, I was the first engaged, so we shall begin with me!”
“Not quite! You need to pay more attention,” Elizabeth snapped angrily, apparently out of patience.
“What do you mean?” Lydia asked peevishly.
With a long-suffering sigh, Elizabeth took up the explanation. “It is true that you were the first to receive our father’s consent, but you have yet to receive his blessing and are unlikely ever to do so. You will have to wait your turn.”
Then without waiting for a reply, Elizabeth turned to the other sisters. “Shall we proceed.”
Much to Lydia’s shock and consternation, Mary—Dour Mary, Ordinary Mary, Plain Old Dull Mary—gave the mysterious colonel a smile that would put Jane to shame, took his arm, and walked towards the parson.
“What is happening?” Lydia wailed.
“Open your eyes, Lydia. Mary has our father’s consent and blessing, so she will be wed first,” Jane replied, before turning to join her sisters near the parson while Lydia looked on in horror.
As the parson started the ceremony with the traditional, “Dearly beloved,” Lydia thought to stamp her feet and demand an explanation, but Wickham squeezed her arm even harder and bent to whisper angrily.
“I do not like this any more than you do, Lydia, but do not make a fuss. We need Darcy’s help with my debts and new commission.
Just think of the advantages. Miss Mary is the most gullible of your sisters and she will connect you to the Earl of Matlock.
That will be good for us, so hold your tongue! ” he snapped with a snarl.
Lydia did not think much of the snarl, but her sisters and aunt had been snarling at her for some time and she was unbowed, so she did not trouble herself about it.
She spent the next half-hour watching plain old Mary wed, wondering how it came about and why everyone kept blathering on about how she had ruined all the sisters.
She had obviously not ruined Mary in the least—and in fact, since she was marrying an officer, it seemed certain Lydia had helped her, though Mary as usual would not show her appreciation.
Not a stranger to jealousy, Lydia spent some time seething about the fact that Mary was wearing a new, fashionable gown that looked better than the one Jane wore to the Netherfield ball, while she had an old day-dress she had taken from Brighton.
Mary was wedding a colonel in the regulars and the son of an earl, while she was marrying a lieutenant in the militia and son of a steward.
Mary was connecting herself to the Darcys, while she connected herself to an orphan.
That said, she reasoned herself out of that bit of peevishness by reflecting that her Wickham was three times as handsome as the colonel, and almost certainly ten times as diverting.
The ceremony dragged, with Wickham obliged to restrain her a few times.
She amused herself by reflecting that Mary had chosen Lizzy as her witness, and that forced her elder sister to endure a half-hour beside the most disagreeable man she had ever met—dour Mr Darcy.
She imagined it was torture, and she was happy she did not have to endure it.
When the church secretary produced the wedding register, both ladies and both gentlemen signed it, and the deed was done. Mary Bennet was no more. The first Bennet married was now Mrs Mary Fitzwilliam, and it was finally Lydia’s turn.