Chapter 11
On the Road From London
Fitzwilliam Darcy stared out the window of his carriage as it rolled north toward Netherfield Hall. It was very early, and the sun was making her stately way above the eastern horizon. It was Bingley’s wedding day and as lovely a day as could be hoped.
The recent rains had washed clean earth and sky, and now the early sunlight caught on the remaining water, setting the fields sparkling like sun across the ocean.
Above, the sky was still tinged pink and purple and gold with the remnants of the sunrise, contrasting nicely against the furled buds just beginning to paint the bare branches of the trees green.
The calm beauty of the landscape outside was in painful contrast to the state of Darcy’s heart. He had thought – he had hoped – that his fascination with Miss Elizabeth Bennet would fade away with time. To his distress, it had only grown more powerful.
It was now painfully obvious to him that when he had encouraged Bingley to abandon Miss Bennet, it was partially because he was afraid of Miss Elizabeth, of her incredible effect on him, and thus he fled to London like a scared boy instead of regulating his heart and mind appropriately.
And then had come the unexpected meeting in Hookham’s Library, followed up by the further encounter at the Gardiner home on Gracechurch Street, and then the ice skating party at St. James Park.
The Bennet ladies had returned to Longbourn within days of Bingley’s proposal to Miss Bennet, and thus he had been free of Miss Elizabeth’s disturbing influence for nearly a month now.
Darcy had tried – oh, how he had tried – to distract himself with other things.
He had spent many hours with Georgiana. He had busied himself with estate business.
He had even, with much reluctance, attended several dinner parties, where eager mamas had thrown their daughters at him.
All the young ladies were accomplished, and many of them were handsome, but they did nothing to his heart, nothing at all.
No, it seemed that wayward organ had decided that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of a country gentleman and a vulgar solicitor’s daughter, was the woman of his dreams, as absurd as that was.
Today he would see her again, and while his heart pounded with excitement at the prospect, his mind was a turbulent sea of fear and desire.
Miss Elizabeth was, without a shadow of a doubt, an exemplary lady.
She was kind, well mannered, intelligent, vigorous, and unusual.
If her family was a distinguished one, he would marry her in a heartbeat.
Alas, the want of connection was too great a barrier.
He owed it to his family name, to his beloved, precious sister, to marry a woman of excellent birth, whose connections would augment his family’s position in society.
But when he thought of marrying Lady Olivia Winton, daughter of the well-born but impoverished Earl of Nightcastle, or Miss Gertrude Shelley, niece of the Marquis of Lovenly, or even Miss Anne de Bourgh, his own cousin and heiress of the grand estate of Rosings, he felt genuine repugnance.
He would see Miss Elizabeth soon, and he hoped, with a fervency tinged with desperation, that he would look upon the lady and find himself entirely indifferent.
But he was not optimistic.
***
Meryton Church
Hertfordshire
A few hours later
Elizabeth stood at the rear of the church and looked around with satisfaction.
The sanctuary was prepared for the wedding, which was just as well, as the ceremony would begin in half an hour.
They had, she thought, done a good job with the decorations, which were simple but elegant.
Two vases flanked the pulpit, with sunny daffodils taking pride of place, surrounded by red and orange tulips like supporting singers behind a soloist.
Nor were the flowers the only bright spots about the church this morning.
As though the very heavens themselves were celebrating, sun poured in through the windows and warmed the wooden pews.
The floor was pooled with blue and red and yellow and green from the stained glass window behind the altar, depicting a beneficent baby Jesus sitting in the arms of his mother and smiling down on the proceedings below.
“Elizabeth!”
She turned a beaming face on the man who would soon be her brother by marriage. “Charles! The day has come!”
“At last,” Bingley agreed, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “I confess that the last week seemed a year long.”
“I believe Jane is in agreement about that,” Elizabeth returned in amusement, and then turned to the tall, well-dressed, gentleman lurking behind Bingley. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”
She was, Darcy realized hopelessly, as desirable, as glorious, as enchanting, as splendid as he remembered. Maybe even more so.
“Erm, good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he said stiffly. “I hope you are well?”
“Indeed, I am very well,” she answered merrily. “I hope you and Miss Darcy are also well?”
“Thank you, yes,” he said and lapsed into his usual awkward silence.
To his relief, the door opened at this juncture and Mr. Allen, the rector who would be presiding over the ceremony, entered the sanctuary.
Bingley and Elizabeth rushed over to speak to the man, with Darcy trailing along behind them like a lone duckling, and then Elizabeth hurried to the back door of the large chamber as various members of the community entered.
Darcy watched as the object of his adoration greeted Sir William Lucas, along with his wife and family, and then disappeared out into the vestibule, where Miss Bennet, soon to be Mrs. Bingley, would arrive in short order.
“It is pleasant to see so many of the local gentry attending the wedding,” Bingley said. “The Bennets are well liked hereabouts.”
“Yes, they are,” Darcy agreed, and realized that he spoke the truth.
In spite of the vulgarity of the mother, the eccentricity of the father, and the overly exuberant gyrations of the youngest two daughters, the Bennets were a respected family in the area.
He found that a trifle surprising, but then he was far more fastidious than most gentlemen.
Of course, the local inhabitants had grown up alongside the Bennet girls, and were naturally excited when one of their own married well; moreover, while much of the family was lacking in manners, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were in every way delightful.
The door opened again and such thoughts gave way to anxiety as several red coated officers entered the church. Darcy had not thought that any members of the militia would attend, and if Wickham were to appear, while he would not publicly strike the man in the nose, he would be sorely tempted.
To his profound relief, Wickham did not appear, though Colonel Forster, Captain Denny, and Lieutenant Pratt, along with a number of other officers, took their places on the left side of the sanctuary.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Bennet and her younger three daughters, all dressed becomingly, made their way to the front of the church, with the matriarch of the Bennet clan beaming enthusiastically.
And then the doors at the back of the great hall opened, and Miss Elizabeth entered with Mr. and Miss Bennet, arm in arm, behind her.
Elizabeth made her way gracefully down the aisle to take her place across from Darcy, and Mr. Bennet guided Miss Bennet’s hand from his own arm to Bingley’s, and the ceremony began.
Darcy had been present at many wedding ceremonies before, but he had never, not once, been filled with overwhelming envy in such a holy place.
He was happy for his friend, who had found a handsome and kindly lady to be his wife.
But he wished he were standing where Bingley was, not with Miss Bennet of course, but with Miss Elizabeth, who was facing Mr. Allen, her eyes sparkling with pleasure as the rector spoke the ancient words from the Book of Common Prayer.
When the ceremony was complete, and the bride had signed the wedding register, Darcy stood at one side and watched as Elizabeth danced from one group of attendees to another, her beautiful face alight with joy, talking and laughing.
He wanted to marry her! He had never wanted anything so much in his entire life…
“Darcy, I know you need to return to London today,” Bingley said, breaking into his thoughts. “Jane and I would be very pleased if you could attend the wedding breakfast, though.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Darcy, please do,” Mrs. Bingley urged, her handsome face aglow.
Darcy’s desire to see more of Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been warring with his rational awareness that he needed to run back to London now, before he did anything completely insane like propose to the lady.
But how could he refuse Mrs. Bingley, especially when the lady had kindly forgiven him for interfering with her courtship?
“I would be honored,” he said.
***
Longbourn
Mrs. Bennet had worked hard, and spent a great deal of money, in planning the wedding breakfast, and a banquet of tempting aromas drifted through the dining room.
The table and sideboards were groaning with ham, beef roast, and pheasant.
There were mincemeat, mushroom, and apple pies along with white soup, rout cakes, pound cakes, and pastries, sausage rolls, and even oranges imported from the West Indies.
A separate table held Longbourn’s best cups, along with urns of tea, coffee, and hot chocolate.
Servants rushed about, wending their way between the extra tables brought out for the day, deftly avoiding the guests who filled the house.
Ladies in their brightly-colored best, gentlemen in their Sunday coats, and ever and anon a flash of bright scarlet that was a militia officer, milled around, talking and laughing and eating.
The house hummed like a beehive throughout with conversation and activity.