Twenty-Four #2
Colonel Fitzwilliam led her slowly down the aisle.
No music swelled dramatically; only the soft shuffle of feet and the occasional whisper from the villagers who had known Mr Darcy all his life.
When they reached the front, the Colonel placed Elizabeth’s hand in Mr Darcy’s with a small, meaningful nod.
“She is yours to cherish now, cousin,” he said quietly. “Do it well.”
Mr Darcy’s fingers closed around hers. “I intend to,” he replied, voice low enough for only the three of them to hear.
The Colonel stepped back to stand beside him, and the vicar began.
The ceremony was simple, heartfelt, and profoundly emotional.
The vicar spoke of love, of duty, of the sacred bond between two souls.
Mr Darcy repeated his vows in a clear, resonant voice that trembled only once, when he promised to love, honour, and cherish her all the days of his life.
Elizabeth’s own voice was softer but no less certain as she spoke the ancient words, her eyes never leaving his.
When the vicar pronounced them man and wife, a quiet ripple of applause and happy murmurs rose from the pews.
No grand fanfare, just genuine goodwill from their people.
Mr Darcy leaned down and kissed her gently, reverently, a promise sealed in front of God and their gathered neighbours.
When he drew back, his eyes were bright with unshed tears, and Elizabeth felt her own spill over.
She laughed softly through them, and he smiled in return, the dimples she had once found so startling now dear beyond measure.
They stepped out into the sunshine together as husband and wife.
The wedding breakfast had been arranged on the green in front of the church.
Simple white tents erected overnight, long tables laden with food prepared by Pemberley’s kitchens and supplemented by generous contributions from Lambton families.
Platters of cold meats, fresh bread, cheeses, early apples, and cakes adorned the tables.
There was ale for the villagers, wine for the family, and ices for the children.
A small group of local musicians—fiddlers and a piper—struck up lively but not overly formal tunes.
No one stood on ceremony; tenants and gentry mingled freely, children ran between the tables, and laughter rose easily on the warm afternoon air.
Elizabeth moved through it all on Mr Darcy’s arm, accepting congratulations with genuine warmth.
Mrs Bennet held court near one tent, regaling anyone who would listen with stories of her clever second daughter, while Anne stayed close, Muffin now sporting a new white ribbon tied by Kitty.
Lydia spoke with a young tenant’s wife, Kitty laughed with a group of village girls, Mary discussed poetry with the local curate, and Jane walked arm-in-arm with Colonel Fitzwilliam, their heads bent in easy conversation.
The sight of her family, healthy, happy, and welcomed, filled Elizabeth with peace.
As the afternoon lengthened into evening, the celebration continued.
Food was replenished, music played on, and toasts were raised—some heartfelt, some humorous, all sincere.
Mr Darcy stayed close, his hand often finding hers, his thumb tracing small circles against her glove.
Every glance they shared carried the weight of the years behind them and the promise of the years ahead.
When the sun finally dipped low and the sky turned to deep gold, the carriages were called.
The wedding breakfast concluded with warm farewells and good wishes from the villagers.
Elizabeth’s sisters, her mother, and little Anne climbed into one carriage, all of them tired but glowing with happiness.
Anne waved sleepily from the window, Muffin tucked under her chin.
Mr Darcy helped Elizabeth into their own carriage, then climbed in after her. The door closed, and the wheels began to turn, carrying them back to Pemberley under a starlit sky.
The journey was quiet, the only sound the clop of hooves and the occasional rustle of silk as Elizabeth shifted closer to her husband.
When they arrived at the great house, the household staff had already lit lamps along the entrance and up the grand staircase.
Mrs Bennet, the sisters, and Anne were helped down and escorted to their chambers.
Anne hugged Elizabeth tightly before Alice led her away, whispering, “Goodnight, Mamma.”
Mr Darcy waited until the others had gone upstairs. Then he turned to Elizabeth, offering his arm once more.
He escorted her not to her old governess’s room, but to the mistress’s chambers, the beautiful suite adjoining his own, which had stood empty for so many years.
The door was open, soft lamplight spilling into the corridor.
Fresh flowers adorned the mantel, and the large bed had been turned down with crisp white linens.
At the threshold he paused, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles.
“I shall return in half an hour.” His voice came low and full of promise. His dark eyes held hers, warm with love and barely restrained desire. “Will that be enough, my wife?”
Elizabeth’s breath caught at the word. She nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in her throat, and watched him walk away down the corridor.
She stepped into the mistress’s chambers alone, anticipation singing in her veins.