Chapter Thirty-Two
Seeking signs of strain, Richard studied the Earl where he sat in the forward facing seat of the grandest of the Matlock carriages, Abigail beside him. His father had improved daily since Richard had arrived at their family home, but he’d scared them enough to warrant worry.
“You’re certain you’re up to this journey?” Richard asked, as he already had several times.
“I’m not made of glass,” the Earl growled. “It was a bellyache.”
“Father, you collapsed and remained barely conscious for nearly three days,” Abigail said.
The Earl gestured at Richard. “Don’t tell your brother that. You’ll make him worry.”
“She already told me.” Richard shook his head. “I’d feel better about you making this trip if you’d be honest with Doctor Smith so he could properly diagnose you.”
“Bellyache,” the Earl muttered, scowling.
Richard scowled back. “I don’t see why you insisted on making the journey.”
The Earl rapped his knuckles on the side of the carriage. “This is a fine conveyance. As comfortable as my bed.”
The carriage jolted on the uneven road and Richard suppressed a smile.
The Earl’s stubbornness softened. “I want the world, and my sister, to see that I fully support you, Richard. You are my son.”
A lump threatened to form in Richard’s throat. He swallowed it down. “Thank you, Father. Your support is very appreciated, but expressing it isn’t worth endangering your health.”
“Bellyache.” The Earl glared across the carriage, then said, “It’s a shame Beatrice is too heavy with child to join us,” in reference to the absence of Richard and Abigail’s younger sister. “I’d like more of the family to show their support.”
“Yes,” Abigail agreed, offering Richard a shrug.
Richard shook his head, permitting the change in topic, though he still worried over his father’s health.
While the Earl and Abigail chatted about the two children Richard’s younger sister had already borne, he tugged the curtain back to reveal a wintery landscape.
He’d never visited Bingley’s rented estate or traveled this corner of Hertfordshire.
He wondered how close they were…how near he was to seeing Anne. He smiled.
“Are you thinking of Anne?” Abigail asked.
Richard turned back and nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you looked so happy.” His sister smiled. “I’m glad you truly love her.”
“If he didn’t, he wouldn’t marry her,” the Earl said with confidence. “I gave him enough, he doesn’t need to marry for money any longer.”
“I’ve grown increasingly fond of her.”
“And she ran away from Aunt Catherine for you,” Abigail added on a sigh, appearing for a moment younger than usual, reminding Richard that she was his little sister, for all she’d already been widowed. “That must have been very scary for her.”
“She showed a great deal of courage and determination,” Richard agreed. “I can’t help but be flattered.”
Abigail’s expression regained its usual pragmatism. “Don’t be too flattered. As much as she ran to you, she also ran from Thomas.”
Richard chuckled.
“Catherine would not have locked Anne up nor forced her to marry Thomas,” the Earl protested. “My sister is not a monster.”
“No, but Anne truly did show great courage.” And Richard truly was flattered she’d made the journey at least in part to reach him.
He shook his head, sobered by the thought of her traveling all but alone, with only a young maid and an equally young groom.
“She’s moved so little in the world that she would be easy prey for all sorts of ne'er-do-wells.”
“Yes, but from now on she will have you to look after her,” Abigail said.
The Earl nodded. “And I know you will treat her well. I am happy for you and for my niece, which is why I am attending this wedding.” This last he said firmly, with a quelling look at both Richard and Abigail.
“Yes, Papa,” they chorused, and Richard exchanged an amused glance with his sister.
They arrived to find Bingley as amiable as always and his wife as lovely and sweet natured as reported by Darcy.
When they were shown into a parlor with the other guests, Netherfield Park proved too full for any private words with Anne, but it still delighted Richard to see her.
He was surprised to learn that both Miss Bingley and Mr. Wickham were in residence, though confined to their respective rooms, in addition to Anne, Lady Catherine, Georgiana, Mrs. Annesley and a couple introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Carter.
Though not quite as pretty as her older sisters, Mrs. Carter was clearly a relation of Mrs. Bingley and Miss Elizabeth, and it was she who, after being introduced, informed him of the location of all the other guests.
“…and the Gardiners are staying with the Phillips,” Mrs. Carter continued, naming relations she obviously thought Richard had heard of, and he did vaguely recall Georgiana mentioning the surname Gardiner.
“And the Murphy family is all here.” She leaned close.
“Mr. Darcy put them all up at the inn but we’re not to know he paid. ”
Beside her, Mr. Carter looked on with amused adoration.
“But they say your older brother, the Viscount, will not attend.” Mrs. Carter leaned near again and dropped her voice to add, “And from what I hear, that’s good.”
“Darcy tells me you were a captain in the local militia, Mr. Carter?” Richard said, attempting a new conversation before Mrs. Carter could delve into Richard’s familial relations.
“He was, and so handsome in his uniform,” Mrs. Carter replied for her husband. She turned to him fondly. “But just as handsome out of… I mean in civilian clothes.”
Mr. Carter was clearly amused but not upset by his wife’s recovery from her near faux pas.
Always happy to bow to the experience of a fellow military man, even one from the local militia, Richard didn’t further attempt to derail Mrs. Carter as she recounted in detail how the reading of Darcy and Miss Elizabeth’s banns had been interrupted.
Mrs. Carter concluded with, “But with Miss Bingley’s withdrawal of her objection, everyone agrees that the reading did count.”
Having not considered that it wouldn’t, Richard still knew a twinge of relief.
Then Anne, who’d been speaking with Richard’s father and Abigail, crossed to stand by his side, and Mrs. Carter started her recounting over.
Richard didn’t listen, or mind, happy to be in a parlor full of cheerful chatter with the woman he would marry come morning there beside him.
When morning came, he dressed in his Colonel’s uniform, every spec of brass polished to perfection by Harper, who, it turned out, wasn’t dismayed to learn he served merely a Colonel and not the son of an Earl.
Richard would never know if that was because of the holdings his father had granted him, or his future ownership of Rosings, but he decided he didn’t care.
Harper was a fine and loyal valet, and little more mattered.
They arrived at the church in a fleet of carriages, three grooms, three brides and all their guests.
Gavin Murphy and Miss Mary Bennet were both dressed well but sensibly.
Darcy appeared impeccable as always in a dark suit, the cost of which Richard knew would make him wince, but the sort of garb he supposed he should become accustomed to.
Elizabeth Bennet, dark hair gleaming and eyes brighter than stars at midnight, was, in that moment, the loveliest woman Richard had ever seen.
And then Anne entered. She wore the simplest of gowns, a delicate cream that somehow lent warmth to her complexion.
Her middling brown hair coiled in perfect ringlets, brightening to a fine caramel color in the candle-filled church.
Her thin face framed wide, luminous eyes, which found his the moment she walked in.
A smile turned up her delicate lips and Richard saw the happiness there, and knew he would nurture and grow that emotion for the remainder of his life.
***
Elizabeth halted, watching a row of giggling children run by in bemusement.
The eldest Murphy son had brought his entire family for the wedding, including all the little ones, which augmented the Gardiners’ lot, the Lucases, and other children Elizabeth recognized.
She wondered if the Murphys expected her sister to provide Gavin with their own army of offspring.
Judging by the adoring way the two looked at each other, neither would mind.
Assuming they had time, for Mary and her new husband were to depart for a manor furnishing opportunity immediately following the meal.
The last child raced past, a toddler dragging a tattered blanket behind, and Elizabeth resumed her path across Netherfield’s grand parlor.
They were exceedingly fortunate Mr. Bingley had rented the estate, and that he and Jane seemed happy to provide wedding breakfast after wedding breakfast. The mass of people wouldn’t have fit in any other room in which Elizabeth had stood in her life, except Lady Catherine’s octagonal parlor at Rosings.
Despite the swarm of people, mostly known to her and many well loved, Elizabeth had only one with whom she truly wished to speak.
Making her slow way through a sea of well wishes, she finally reached the parlor door and slipped out in search of Mr. Darcy.
He’d done very well, she felt, aware of his dislike of crowds and platitudes, but a short while ago, she’d seen him and Colonel Fitzwilliam duck free of the parlor and the chaos there.
Elizabeth looked up and down the hall, but her slow path through the gathering had assured Mr. Darcy was nowhere to be seen.
She turned back to the footmen waiting on either side of the doorway.
“Did you see which way Mr. Darcy headed?” A blush crept up her cheeks, but she fought it down.
She’d every right to ask after her husband.
“That way, Mrs. Darcy,” one of the young men said and pointed deeper into the house.