Chapter 4
Chapter Four
ELIZABETH
In the vestry of Meryton’s church, Elizabeth stood with her father and her elder sister. Jane was to be her attendant; rather than sitting in the pews, watching the ceremony, she would be standing by her side at the altar, just as the two girls had always assumed and hoped.
Smoothing the skirt of her pale yellow gown, Elizabeth asked the time.
Jane smiled gently, and from the gleam in her sister’s eyes, Elizabeth knew that she was amused at her impatience. Looking at their father’s pocket watch, which he had laid on the table, Jane said, “It is now five until nine.”
“You are in too much of a hurry to drop the name Bennet,” Elizabeth’s father complained.
“Oh, Papa, it has felt like forever since you gave us permission to wed.”
Jane walked to a cloth bag that Elizabeth had wondered about.
She reached inside and drew out a small bouquet of roses, and as she handed Elizabeth the bouquet, Jane said, “William brought this for you. He said for me to tell you that he still remembers the time the flowery roof showered roses, which the morn repaired.” She hesitated, a thoughtful look on her face, and then said, “I am almost certain I got that right.”
Elizabeth, recognising Milton’s “Showrd Roses” from Paradise Lost, gulped down a sob of pure joy. Clutching her roses, she said, “You did, Jane. You got it exactly right.”
Her father used his eyes to express weariness with all of the romance, but Elizabeth saw his tears and knew that he was already feeling her loss. Although it was ridiculous—he had never been so emotional when she went away for months and months to the Gardiners!
Jane said, “You are ready; you look beautiful; and I should go take my place.”
She hurried away.
Elizabeth watched the minutes slowly tick by. One, two, three….
At nine exactly, she smiled at her father and handed him his pocket watch. He carefully placed it in its pocket as she waved towards the door with her roses, saying, “Let us go, Papa.”
He stared at her, not moving for a moment—and she was inclined to stride down the aisle by herself if he did not instantly comply—but then he sighed and said, “You are a good girl. You will be missed.” And he held out his arm, escorted her out of the vestry, and steered her to the central aisle.
Elizabeth looked down the aisle. Presumably there were many people in the seats of the church, and presumably Jane, Richard, and the vicar were standing there, at the end of the aisle, but she saw only William in his black tailcoat and breeches, charcoal waistcoat, and shiny black Hessians.
His cravat was snowy white and neatly arranged—but not extravagantly looped as many she had seen in London.
His dark brown curls looked tumbled, his eyes were intense and almost black, and his smile—
—Well, his smile lit up the church, at least for her.
She had never seen a human so beautiful.
Even though she had truly married William quite some time ago—that is how she considered it, that the true marriage had occurred in the private promises they had made over and over, for weeks—this public wedding was important, too, and she felt herself tremble a little as her father paused at the entryway of the church.
But she drew herself up and stopped trembling as they began to walk down the aisle.
It was not long before she stood before William, looking into his eyes, and then he stepped next to her, her hand on his arm, his other hand on hers. The warmth, the certainty, the love, even the passion—she had seen it all in his eyes, and she still felt it in the connexion of arms and hands.
Finally, finally, the vicar began to speak: “Dearly Beloved….”