Chapter Fourteen #2
Darcy listened closely to the entire service, documenting it for posterity in his mind.
He never wished to forget the moment Elizabeth promised to be his forever, or when he slid the cool gold band on Elizabeth’s finger or how she blushed when he repeated the vow.
“With my body, I thee worship.” He would always recall how deeply her happiness was reflected in her dark eyes when the vicar declared “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder,” for he was sure that his own joy was as easy for her to see.
He had been startled, at that juncture in the ceremony, by a loud, half-choked cry from the back of the sanctuary.
When he glanced up, he could see Miss Bingley holding a handkerchief.
He was determined to ignore her sniffling.
As he turned to face Elizabeth again, he could see Mrs. Bingley, standing behind his bride and glaring at Charles’s sister.
The sound was quickly muffled, and Mrs. Bingley returned her attention to the vicar, her countenance sweet and serene.
When at last the service was over and they were led to the marriage register, Elizabeth chuckled.
“What is it?” he asked. She pointed at the last entry. Mr. Charles Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet. And their own signatures, as witnesses.
Darcy signed his name. “Has it really been just over a fortnight?” he asked, befuddled. “It feels an age.”
“Only because you were in a self-imposed isolation for much of it,” Elizabeth teased him, taking the pen from him to add her name.
“I remained in my rooms because it was the Bingleys’ wedding night, and they did not re-emerge on the nights that followed,” he told her wryly. “It is not usually the best time to be hosting guests.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied pertly. “You are very thoughtful.”
“Mrs. Bingley,” the vicar called. “We need your signature as witness.”
Elizabeth handed the pen to her sister as Mrs. Bingley stepped over to them.
“Mrs. Darcy,” Darcy said, taking his wife’s hand. “I intend to hide away again, if you do not mind.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Not as long as I am allowed to hide with you.”
The building was nearly empty now. “That is the plan, Mrs. Darcy.” He moved her bonnet back a bit to drop a kiss on the top of her head. “That is the plan.”
Instead of a wedding breakfast immediately following the ceremony, the entire family and some of their friends would gather for Christmas dinner on the morrow. This meant that Elizabeth could take the carriage back to Netherfield with her new husband.
“Lizzy, Mr. Darcy,” Jane called.
“Yes, Jane?” Elizabeth asked.
“Would you mind if Charles and I took Miss Bingley to visit Longbourn for the day? Mamma has a number of things she wishes done for the dinner tomorrow, and I thought we could help.”
“We would not mind at all, so long as you do not mind if we return to Netherfield.”
“Of course not. Caroline,” Jane called quietly, “we shall be returning with my family to Longbourn and remaining for dinner.”
They all ignored Miss Bingley’s little cry of dismay.
“Your sister has a streak of cruelty in her that I quite approve,” Fitzwilliam murmured in her ear.
Miss Bingley would remain in Hertfordshire through Christmas and would be a guest at the dinner that would celebrate both the day and the marriage.
But as soon as the sun was up on the twenty-sixth, she and Mrs. Matthias would be on their way back north to Scarborough, where Mrs. Hurst ought now to be expecting her.
Mrs. Matthias had confessed that she was very happy to be returning home for Twelfth Night.
“It is not cruelty,” Elizabeth corrected her husband. “Jane has a finely honed sense of justice, is all, and she wishes for Miss Bingley to be well chastised for attempting to come between us.”
“Whatever you name it, I am grateful for two things. One, she did not apply the same sort of chastisement to me when I separated her from Bingley, and two, she is now sending us to Netherfield, quite alone.”
Jane had always been firm where she knew herself to be right, but she was truly able to be herself now that Charles was there to support her.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say so, but then met her husband’s intense, magnetic gaze, and her breath hitched. That look promised something she did not understand but was eager to discover. “Is the carriage out front?” she asked.
Fitzwilliam took her by the hand. “Anders is waiting. Shall we say our farewells to your family?”
“Jane will do that for us,” Elizabeth informed him.
He lifted both of her hands, placing a kiss on the back of one, then the other. “Shall we, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice.
Elizabeth was lost in the sensation of the kisses and the way his deep voice made her shiver.
“I never expected to have this second chance with you, but I will always be thankful for it,” she said quietly as she gazed up at him.
“To spend Christmas as your wife is beyond anything I could dream of even a fortnight ago. Yes, please, Fitzwilliam. Let us return to Netherfield, for you have, I think, much to show me.”
His eyes bore into hers. “We have much to show one another. And it may take us all night.”
Christmas dinner was a loud, merry affair. It was almost too much for Darcy, and he reached under the table for Elizabeth’s hand. She linked her fingers through his and held his hand in her lap. He took a breath, feeling calmer.
Even when he was a child, dinners at Pemberley or Matlock, the earl’s home, had been quiet, formal affairs.
With the Gardiner, Phillips, Lucas, Goulding, and Long families gathered together to celebrate Christmas and his marriage to Elizabeth, there were many conversations being held at once, and he was overwhelmed by being at the centre of all the activity.
Elizabeth answered the questions that were tossed at them for the most part, though he managed to respond several times on his own.
“My cousin and my sister will visit us in London in January,” he said to Mrs. Bennet. “Because of the possibility of a storm, I asked them not to travel.”
Mrs. Bennet had apparently been disappointed not to host the son of an earl at her Christmas table, but she was mollified by his explanation.
“It is a shame, for the storm eased in time, but I would not have taken the chance either,” she said sadly, nodding.
“And at least the roads are clear enough for Miss Bingley’s journey to Scarborough.
” She smiled at Miss Bingley, who was seated between Mrs. Long and Mr. Goulding.
Darcy could see by the set of her jaw that she was miserable, but no one paid her any heed.
“Indeed,” Miss Bingley replied flatly. “It shall be quite comfortable, I expect.”
“And Mr. Darcy, when do you and Elizabeth plan to travel to town?”
“Sometime after the first of the year, Mrs. Bennet,” he said, grateful for an inquiry that was simple to answer. “My aunt and uncle wish to meet Elizabeth before the season begins.”
The letter from his uncle had been surprisingly sanguine. It might have had something to do with the viscount’s newly announced engagement. Darcy was grateful.
“Your uncle and aunt, the earl and countess?” Mrs. Bennet asked, raising her voice just a touch.
Elizabeth sighed beside him, but Darcy would not deny her mother a chance to boast a little. He was sympathetic to her having lost her youngest daughter to a man that did not deserve her, and still felt some guilt attached to that entire affair.
“Yes, madam,” he replied. “They have heard much to Elizabeth’s benefit from my cousin, the Honourable Colonel Fitzwilliam, and my sister, Miss Darcy, whom Elizabeth met when she and the Gardiners were in Lambton over the summer.”
Mrs. Bennet could not have been any happier to have him elucidate the connection. She accepted the congratulations of the neighbours seated to either side of her and smiled at Elizabeth as though she had always been her mother’s favourite and not her father’s.
Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “You are becoming a bit obsequious, Mr. Darcy,” she whispered to him. “Whatever will you say to my mother next? Will you compliment her for the glazing on the windows or the exquisite fireplace, which I can assure you did not cost eight-hundred pounds?”
“What are you on about, wife?” he muttered back.
“If you had ever heard Mr. Collins waxing rhapsodic about Rosings, you would not ask.”
“Are you comparing me to your cousin?”
“I would never.”
“I should certainly hope not.”
“Although you do share something in common.”
“I am afraid to inquire.”
“Perhaps you are wise.”
Did she truly intend to keep it from him? He narrowed his eyes at her, and she lifted a hand to pat his cheek.
“You both proposed to me,” she informed him.
That malodorous, bad-mannered popinjay had proposed? To his Elizabeth? Collins had been married to Miss Lucas by April, which meant that Collins had proposed before Darcy. Further, that meant that when Elizabeth said Darcy was the last man she should ever marry . . . the last man?
He stood, using their linked hands to lift her to her feet in a graceful twirl. Elizabeth was surprised, but did not protest, only watched him curiously as he pulled her out of the dining room and into the hall, where he positioned her under the archway that led back to the drawing room.
“Your smile is rather roguish, Mr. Darcy,” she said breathlessly.
“Did Mr. Collins ever kiss you, Elizabeth?” he asked, reaching one long arm above his head and was pleased to see her grimace.
He saw the moment she realised what he was about, for she held out her hand for the white berry he plucked from the mistletoe hanging above. Darcy placed it very gently in her palm and her fingers curled around it.
“If Mr. Collins had ever made the attempt,” she said in a low, throaty voice that made Darcy wish to call the carriage and make for Netherfield instantly, “I would have slapped him.”
“Then my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he nearly growled, “he and I have nothing in common. Not anymore.” He took her lips in his own and felt her melt against him. “Do not you agree?”
Elizabeth’s eyes were glazed. “What?” she asked.
Darcy smiled. “You were telling me that I am the only man you have ever loved.”
“And the only man I ever will,” Elizabeth said, most agreeably.
“Happy Christmas, love,” he said, and leaned down to capture her lips again.