Chapter 28
Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy wedded Miss Elizabeth Bennet on a warm July morning in the Pemberley Chapel.
The bride’s gown, elegant and of the latest fashion, had been purchased in London for parties and balls she never attended. She wore a set of matching jewels with rubies and diamonds, part of the Darcy collection that complimented her skin tone and enhanced her lively beauty.
However, Mrs Darcy’s most admired asset was her dark, sparkling eyes that gazed lovingly at her husband, who paid attention to little else but her.
The obvious adoration between the couple brought tears and smiles to the faces of their friends, families, and other guests.
Those who had known the master for a lifetime were astonished by his changed appearance—the loss of his usual coldness and severity. And it was universally acknowledged that he looked even more handsome with a becoming smile that never seemed to leave his face.
From the chapel, they returned to Pemberley. Tables and chairs were arranged by the lake to accommodate the numerous guests. The servants waited in order while a group of musicians tuned their instruments.
Reluctantly, Mr and Mrs Darcy had to separate and care for their guests, but their eyes rarely left each other.
In the company of his male relatives, Darcy secretly wondered how long he had to remain at the wedding breakfast.
As though reading his mind, the colonel laughed. “Darcy, why on earth did you agree to such a huge party? Whose idea was this?”
He grinned. “Actually, mine. Mr Wilson told us about the parties hosted at Pemberley many years ago, and Elizabeth and Georgiana were very enthusiastic about it. So I thought this would be a good opportunity to celebrate together.”
“Those gatherings must have happened before George married Anne,” said Lord Matlock. “I do not remember such events. Besides, my sister was not fond of large gatherings and noise. She always preferred silence and solitude.”
“Yes, long before he became engaged,” Mr Wilson replied. “Afterwards, he always put his wife’s preferences ahead of his own. He was a loyal and caring husband,” Wilson said meaningfully, glancing at the earl, who said nothing.
“I remember that,” Darcy said. “But this might be the right time for more liveliness, even if it means parties and balls,” he attempted to joke.
“One thing George Darcy hoped and prayed for was to see you happy,” Wilson replied to him. “He would be so content to see that you have brought laughter and joy back to Pemberley! He would be so proud of you, including your choice of wife.”
“Thank you,” Darcy answered with no little emotion. “But I deserve no praise. I fell in love despite my own stupid pride and mistaken sense of duty. I was blessed and fortunate, and I am not even certain I deserve it. As for this party, any opportunity to dance with Elizabeth is welcome.”
“Then you might be disappointed,” Lady Matlock interjected, joining the group. “Since you are married, you will rarely dance with her. One set may be acceptable but no more.”
Darcy glared at her with such reproachful sharpness that everybody laughed.
“Who said that?” he inquired.
“The rules of society, which you know well,” the lady replied in jest.
He raised his eyebrow in challenge and uttered with perfect seriousness, “I beg to differ, Aunt. This is my house, my party, and my rules. I plan to dance every set with my wife.”
“Oh stop being silly, Darcy,” said the viscount. “There will be many others eager to dance with the new mistress—myself included—and it is your job as a host to please everybody.”
“In fact, it is the hostess who should not dance rather than the gentleman,” the colonel intervened. “Am I not right, Mother?”
Darcy rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I should have known this party was a bad idea. Without it, I could leave you all and retire with Elizabeth to our apartment. We need some peace and quiet after the madness of the last days.”
“Well, it is too late now. But I shall learn from your mistake,” the colonel replied.
“Speaking of that, when is your wedding, son?” Lord Matlock asked.
“I am not certain. Anne still entertains hope that Aunt Catherine will change her mind and give us her blessing, maybe even attend the wedding. She suffers so much over her mother’s ridiculous stubbornness.”
Wilson and the earl glanced at each other before the latter spoke.
“Many of us have suffered for my sister’s stubbornness.
We should have censured her a long time ago.
Now I fear it is too late. It would be better for Anne to decide on the date; perhaps, in time, things will improve. It is the best we can hope.”
“Please excuse me; I intend to look for my wife. I should take an example from Bingley, who never leaves Jane’s side,” Darcy said and left in haste to the others’ amusement.
As the festivities commenced, ladies and gentlemen mingled, mixed, enjoyed the food, and danced through the afternoon.
Elizabeth danced with her husband twice, dancing as well with other guests while Darcy bore it stoically.
Joy overflowed at Pemberley, and the sounds of happiness could be heard throughout the entire park.
No attention was paid to a shadowy figure who watched the party from afar, hidden for a long time behind a large oak tree.
Finally, when the guests began to leave, Lady Catherine de Bourgh entered her carriage and demanded full speed as she fled from the past, the present, and the future.
She carried with her a sharp pain in her chest and the dark burden of a hatred that impaired her breathing.
As she finally left Derbyshire, the sun slowly set at Pemberley, and silence replaced the din.
It was time for the newlyweds to begin their life together.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth paced her bedchamber with eagerness and joy but also distress. She had been in her apartment many times, but that evening it looked different somehow.
Or perhaps it was just her—no longer Miss Bennet, but Mrs Darcy. She approached the adjoining door, listening for sounds from his side.
He said he would come in an hour, but she was ready much earlier. She had dismissed Janey and now waited alone.
Waited for her husband.
To ease her impatience, she stepped onto the balcony. She spotted the place he had found her by the lake when he returned from London. It seemed so long ago! In these last weeks, Pemberley had become so much her home that she felt like she had been there for a lifetime.
“What a perfect view this is, Mrs Darcy.” She heard his voice and felt his arms wrap around her. She leaned back against him, and he kissed the top of her head.
“Shall we go inside?” he whispered in her ear, and she shivered, nodding.
Darcy turned her in his embrace to face her. She looked at him with a shy smile, but the sparkle he expected to see in her eyes was shadowed. Moreover, she was biting her lower lip, her chest heaving with each deep breath she took.
He searched her face with concern. He had separated from her less than an hour ago, and she had been joyful, pleased with his company, teasing him, and flirting with him the entire day.
He knew she was as anxious and desirous of his presence as he was for hers.
He imagined she would throw herself into his arms the moment he entered her room, but she seemed more reserved and restrained than she had been in weeks.
He desperately wanted to kiss all her worries away, but his care was stronger than his desires.
Was she unwell or perhaps only overwhelmed by the idea of what was to come?
“What is troubling you, my love?” he inquired tenderly.
She swallowed, trying to remove the lump in her throat.
“Nothing…just you…I have been waiting for you,” she murmured, forcing a smile.
His strong palms found a spot at the junction of her neck and shoulders and rested there, burning her bare skin. His fingers glided gently along the back of her neck, playing in her heavy curls. Her arms encircled his waist, providing support for her weakening knees.
His lips brushed over hers, then tasted her throat, moving up to the line of her jaw; he paused and withdrew a few inches, his eyes delving into hers until she could hardly bear the intensity of his stare and the power of the feelings she saw there and already recognized.
“You are so beautiful, my beloved. I miss you every hour you are out of my sight.”
“Your love makes me beautiful,” she whispered. “I was nervous while waiting for you because I have imagined this moment so many times…and I want you to be as happy as I am…”
“‘Happy’ is too small a word to express how I feel, my dearest wife. Do you not know how much I love you—how much I desire you?”
His face lowered closer to hers. She held her breath, standing still, waiting for their lips to join, certain that his kiss would make all her fears vanish. But the kiss did not come. She opened her eyes, shivering and searching his face for a sign of his intentions.
“Are you sure you are well, my love? If you are tired, we can wait until tomorrow.”
His voice was half-teasing, but she failed to notice the humour.
“No, I am not tired…I am sorry I am acting so foolishly. I am just… Will you not tell me what you want me to do? Please?”
Her distress was obvious, her countenance more unsure than ever, and he was torn between worry and amusement over her insecurities. How could she not know that her love was everything he wanted?
“What do I want you to do? Just to stay in my arms where you belong.”
He lifted her in his arms, carrying the sweet burden through the room. Elizabeth’s heart pounded forcefully, and she closed her eyes. She felt herself being lowered to sit on the bed, and she immediately felt cold and lonely without his touch.
His voice brought her back from her reverie. “Let us have a glass of wine and talk. There is no haste, my love. We have no reason to hurry anymore.”
He filled two glasses and handed one to her, blew out all except two candles, and then sat beside her.