Chapter IV
The bride wore white and a bonnet tied with lace the colour of claret and held a bouquet of eucalyptus, veronica and dark red roses. She smiled warmly as she walked down the aisle, despite shivering a little from the chill in the chapel.
While Pemberley was braced for the coolness of late November – every fire lit – the chapel, with its high ceilings and marble pillars, remained stubbornly chilly, even when bedecked with flowers and candles and filled with an excited congregation.
Charlotte sat next to Jane, who had arrived with Bingley just in time to see her sister wed.
Mr Darcy stood at the front, looking resplendent in a crisp navy tail-coat, with Colonel Fitzwilliam next to him in his regimentals.
Charlotte had stirred slightly at the sight of him in his uniform, which she had not seen him don since the spring.
Darcy had looked a little nervous moments before, and it had warmed her to see Colonel Fitzwilliam cheering him with a joke and a pat on the shoulder.
Her thoughts had been interrupted by the strains of the organ and the turning of heads.
Now, as Elizabeth made the short walk to the front of the chapel on her father’s arm, Charlotte was struck by how certain she looked, and how comfortable.
She considered how she had felt on her own wedding day, walking towards Mr Collins.
She turned her mind away from that thought; she wanted to enjoy the moment.
Charlotte had not seen Mr Bennet for some time, and he looked a different man – thin and pale. Eliza was on his arm as they walked, but it seemed she supported him, not the other way around. But he still made funny expressions at his daughter, making her laugh, and his pride in her was clear.
Kitty, Mary and Georgiana, with flowers in their hair, now stood to Elizabeth’s side.
Kitty looked delighted and excitable. She was turning into a very pretty girl, thought Charlotte, and seemed more confident now she was out of Lydia’s shadow.
Georgiana was smiling and demure, while Mary…
Charlotte thought that Mary looked as if she were working out a particularly difficult sum, except that doing such an activity would have brought her some joy, and this did not.
Elizabeth had also invited her aunt and uncle, Mr and Mrs Gardiner, who sat just behind Mrs Bennet and looked for all the world like proud parents. Charlotte was glad Eliza had some sensible adults in her life.
The happy party of just a dozen guests (hardly the Bacchanal that Lady Catherine had implied it would be) made its way from the chapel to the drawing room, which was elegantly appointed.
High windows allowed views down the length of the gardens towards the lake.
The walls were panelled in cream and gold, and the room’s aspect was more bright and airy than grand.
Charlotte chose a seat facing the window.
She expected Jane to find her husband or speak to the Gardiners, but she took a seat next to Charlotte instead.
It seemed Jane was eager for her companionship, having been with her new husband and his relatives for several weeks.
Though Charlotte had never been as close to Jane as she was to Elizabeth, Jane had been a good friend, and it was only during this last life-altering year that the two had lost touch.
Jane therefore had much to tell her, and both were in a mood to share confidences, which they did and at length.
Before long, Elizabeth joined them, and the three were raucous for a few minutes; overcome with the simple joy of being reunited.
‘When were we last together, all three?’ asked Jane.
‘Before my marriage, I suppose, so almost a year ago,’ Charlotte replied. ‘And look now: all of us married. Quite a feat for one year!’
‘Yes, and this now makes three Bennet sisters married off, for better or for worse,’ said Elizabeth wryly.
‘Mother is beside herself and somehow takes a great deal of credit for it. But as for that other case, I cannot think its achievement merits any credit.’ Her face clouded, and Jane patted her hand.
‘We will be happy today. And you must brighten before she arrives,’ said the elder sister, the mediator as ever.
Elizabeth gave a sigh and looked apprehensively at the door.
Charlotte learnt that the ‘she’ was Lydia, who would be joining them at some point in the day.
She was making her way down from Newcastle but had, characteristically, missed the service.
Elizabeth had received a letter from her only the day before, saying she would come, but it was clear then that she had not made the necessary arrangements and that it was likely she would be late.
None of this surprised her sisters; it confirmed that marriage had not changed Lydia.
‘Will she come with her husband?’ enquired Charlotte carefully, aware of the toll Mr Wickham’s designs on Lydia had taken on the Bennet family.
The sisters shook their heads. It was not in their power to reveal the whole truth of why Wickham would never be welcome at Pemberley, as that would implicate Darcy’s sister, Georgiana.
A naturally protective brother, Darcy would not permit the presence of the man who had almost succeeded in eloping with Georgiana when she was but fifteen.
But Charlotte knew enough of his character as a rogue, gambler and liar not to question this any further.
A happy afternoon passed: games of cards, turns around the house, and musical entertainments provided by either those who could play well – Georgiana and Charlotte – or those who were willing – Mary.
By early evening, the drawing room at Pemberley was buzzing with conversation, the table decked with sugar decorations, bon-bons, cakes and, crucially, bowls of punch.
This was the Darcys’ first experience of entertaining in their married life, and they wanted to impress.
Charlotte felt elated. Did she feel like herself, she wondered, or did she feel not at all like herself, and that was the joy? Why did she revel in being far from her home and from all that she had come to make her own? She did not want to think of the answer. But she knew it.
She shook it off, determined not to overthink her pleasure and thereby tarnish it.
She wore a fine green silk dress that she had worn in her youth, and had rediscovered at Lucas Lodge during her recent visit.
Her mother had gladly packed it in her trunk to take with her.
She enjoyed the feeling of wearing a dress she’d worn as a girl.
She let herself be giddy. There was a rose to her cheeks and an easy laugh on her face all evening – she was glowing, and for once, she knew it.
Once or twice, she caught Colonel Fitzwilliam looking at her, but she knew better than to invite his attentions; she did not want to be the subject of any intrigue, and she heeded her mother’s warning.
After all, tonight was for Elizabeth, and she made efforts to keep her eyes and her conversation for her friends.
Around eight o’clock that evening, Elizabeth heard a carriage outside and readied herself for Lydia’s arrival – a mere ten hours later than expected.
The butler entered to announce her, but instead of doing so, he walked uncomfortably over to Darcy and whispered in his ear.
Darcy’s face turned to thunder, and he went to Elizabeth and said something quietly in her ear.
A look of shock briefly crossed her face, and she muttered, ‘Excuse me,’ to Charlotte and quickly left the room with Darcy.
Their exchange did not go unnoticed. Most of the guests continued their conversations, despite their curiosity, but Charlotte, left alone by her friend’s sudden departure, stepped out of the drawing room and lingered in the hallway, observing from a distance what had caused her friend’s distress.
Far down the corridor, in the entrance hall, stood Lydia, and beside her, a tall, grinning figure whom Charlotte had not seen for over a year. He was looking around with pleasure, taking in every detail that would have once been so familiar to him.
‘Why are you here, Wickham?’ demanded Darcy.
‘What a cold greeting, Darcy, my God! What an abominable host!’ Wickham laughed. ‘I am, of course, here to celebrate your nuptials – my warmest congratulations to you.’
There had long been an understanding between Darcy and Wickham that the latter would never return to Pemberley, and Wickham had agreed to facilitate that arrangement, in return for Darcy’s financial support and his silence on certain matters.
Wickham had in fact confirmed in writing that he was unable to attend today; his only duty was to maintain his own absence.
Yet here he stood, bold and unabashed, acting for all the world as if that understanding between them did not exist. He knew his presence here was not only unwelcome but shocking, and he revelled in the effect it had on both Darcy and Elizabeth.
‘Lizzy, stop being silly,’ cried Lydia petulantly. ‘You should be glad my husband is here, and you are not being very nice, if I may say so. Poor Wickham. We have had a terrible journey – we ran out of brandy two hours ago, and we haven’t eaten since luncheon.’
They went to step farther into the hall, but Darcy stopped them. ‘Mrs Wickham, you are welcome to join us, but your husband is not.’ He turned to Wickham directly. ‘You must know why it is impossible. I will not have you anywhere near my’ – he paused – ‘my guests.’
Lydia was outraged, and her voice reached fever pitch. ‘I shall cry, Lizzy, if your husband is this rude and inhospitable. I am your sister! Wickham is my husband! It is too much!’ She was overcome – and also drunk – and began to wail.
The maid carrying food from the drawing room nearly dropped her tray at the racket, and the eyes of those in the entrance hall turned towards her and thus in the direction of Charlotte, who, just in time, ducked back into the room.