Chapter 16 From This Day Forward
“Mr Darcy, welcome, sir.
“Thank you, Mr Carlson,” Darcy answered cordially to the Meryton rector that was about to change his life forever with a few words. “You know Mr Bingley of course. May I present his wife and my cousin, Mrs Anne Bingley.”
“Welcome to Meryton, Mrs Bingley. I hope you enjoy your time with us. Good to see you again, Mr Bingley.”
Darcy’s head felt like it was going to explode any minute, and wondered idly if he was ill, or just succumbing to the pressure of the situation.
He certainly felt worse than he had even when dealing with Wickham in Ramsgate, but such was his level of agitation, he could not speculate on his own health or sanity with any certainty.
The three weeks of exhaustion through work, worry, and lack of sleep were not helping either.
All in all, he found himself in a wretched state.
Darcy had been mildly curious as to who would stand up as witness for Miss Elizabeth.
He would have given five to one that it would be the eldest Miss Bennet, as they had seemed inseparable when that lady was ill at Netherfield.
He wondered if that would be awkward for Bingley, but in the end, it turned out not to be an issue.
Much to his surprise, the woman he found waiting was a matron, a decade his senior, who was completely unknown, but looked vaguely familiar.
He was happy it was not Miss Bennet, but curious about why it was not, and wondered if he would ever know.
The rector introduced the lady as Mrs Gardiner but made no mention of her connexion to the bride, probably assuming the groom either already knew or would learn from his bride in due course.
While Bingley was escorting his wife to a seat as far from the Bennets as he could politely get, Darcy’s ears started hearing something he really did not much care for.
“Mr Bingley certainly did not let any grass grow under his feet. Just look at that, a mere month after making such violent love to my Jane. I truly feel for Jane who is all that is beautiful and all that is good, but I know she did her best to secure him, so I shall not censure her, since losing such an inconstant man is no bother. But, oh my, look at Mr Darcy… so handsome… so elegant… so wealthy… ten thousand a year and likely more. Did you see his carriage? Look at his coat. He is as good as a lord. My clever Lizzy is certainly a lucky girl!”
The words were whispered with such sublime subtlety they only carried for fifty yards.
It was certainly loud enough for him to hear it and be mortified while grinding his teeth until his jaw hurt.
A quick glance at the speaker showed, as expected, Mrs Bennet talking to one or two of the ladies of the neighbourhood, perhaps Lady Lucas.
He could not be certain—nor did he care.
A glance at Mrs Gardiner showed her wincing nearly as bad as he must be.
While he listened in horror, the matron continued, “Lizzy will certainly be grand. Who would have thought my least marriageable daughter would capture a man so highly placed. Think of the carriages, the gowns, the jewels. She will certainly throw her sisters into the paths—”
Whatever Mrs Bennet was going to say, which he assumed was some reference to men of consequence, rich men, or something in that vein; was interrupted by the opening of the church doors.
He thought it unfortunate his bride had not been more punctual, his hearing less acute, or her mother’s voice less grating; because it was singularly impossible to un-hear Mrs Bennet’s litany of the benefits of marriage to one Fitzwilliam Darcy—or at least the benefits of marrying Pemberley.
If his head was not pounding so much, he might have been able to rationally work out that Mrs Bennet sounded no better nor worse than his own aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but alas, that thought was impossible at that moment, and it would be some time before it occurred to him.
He looked to the door and saw Miss Elizabeth walking towards him with a completely unreadable expression on her face.
He had to admit to himself, at least this one time, that she looked quite beautiful, just as she always had.
Somehow, some way, she either matched his own taste, or she had learned that a decade among the studied gaudiness of the ton had given him an appreciation for simple and elegant dress.
Of course, it was also possible, and perhaps likely, that she was making some point he had no hope of understanding.
Her dress was white, an unusual choice for a bride but not unheard of.
However, it was entirely devoid of expensive accoutrements such as lace, feathers, and the like.
Her dress was not quite plain, but neither was it particularly fashionable.
Her bonnet looked no different from the one she wore on her walks about the neighbourhood, and it might even have been in regular use before.
He had to grudgingly admit, that it was exactly right for his own taste, much to his surprise.
She was halfway up the aisle before he realised the frock looked suspiciously like her gown from the Netherfield ball, with some of its embellishments either removed or simplified.
He found that curious but did not have time to reflect on the minor mystery.
As his bride approached, he would have expected either a look of triumph, or happiness, but mostly she just looked…
stoic… which made no sense. If she had heard her mother a minute before he thought she would look embarrassed, but he was nearly certain she missed it.
He did not have long to reflect on it though, as she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, who also looked inscrutable.
Not knowing exactly why he did it, when she stopped in front of him, he whispered, “Miss Elizabeth, you look lovely.”
He was taken aback when she startled, as if any sort of compliment was thoroughly unexpected, but then she nodded slightly, though she did not smile. “Thank you, Mr Darcy. You look handsome as well.”
For whatever reason, an odd thought struck him through the pain of his ongoing megrim.
Here, in the church, about to pledge his life to this young lady, he had just given her the first compliment he could ever remember.
She had responded in kind, but he could not guess whether it was out of politeness or sentiment.
He suspected he only understood about half of what went on inside his own head, so any speculation about hers was pointless.
Whether for show or sentiment he could not tell, but it seemed right to kiss her hand, before turning to face the rector.
He knew it was unusual but not unheard of to skip the wedding breakfast, but he had taken some pains the previous day to have it spread around that he was on an important mission for his family, while implying it was related to the war on the continent, which was almost true.
He knew the neighbourhood would speculate for a time, but so long as he took away a wife from this place, no terrible new rumours started, and no child appeared before nine months—all would settle down soon enough.
For Elizabeth’s part, she had no idea if Mr Darcy’s compliment was just politeness, or if it could count as the one kind thing from her agreement with her father.
Even politeness was out of character, and it was a minor bout at best. The gentleman looked quite fierce, though that was nothing unusual for him.
He looked more than a little bit pained, but she imagined he was no more enthusiastic about the day’s proceedings than she was.
The bride decided that, for the moment, she would remain neutral.
Her beauty he had easily withstood, right from the beginning, but perhaps he was starting to get the idea in his head that they were about to be stuck with each other forever, and a compliment on at least an annual basis might make things smoother.
“Oooohhhh, I shall go all distracted!” Darcy heard over the otherwise mostly silent crowd, and he was gratified to see Miss Elizabeth flinch almost as much as he thought he was, and her jaw clench in frustration as Lydia and Kitty contributed their own vulgar observations.
The rector, a man who had seen everything, looked carefully at both bride and groom as if to encourage them to behave themselves.
He understood exactly what was happening, and while a reluctant participant, he was prepared to do his duty. He could only hope the couple would eventually thaw enough to get along, but the signs were not auspicious.
However, it was not his duty to judge or be judged, nor had his opinion been sought. He was here to perform the ceremony, and whether the couple lived up to their vows would be on their own heads.
He cleared his throat, and once silence descended, he began the familiar refrain. “Dearly beloved—”
Bride and groom felt a growing pressure as the vows continued, and the inevitability of the outcome inched closer to fulfilment.
The first to stumble was Mr Darcy, who coughed slightly in the middle of his recitation.
Said cough was unfortunately, right before the ‘till death us do part’ line, which was far from ideal.
Elizabeth snapped around to stare at him, and the rector thought he might have to intervene, but the gentleman recovered.
“My pardon, madam,” with what sounded like real contrition, and then repeated the vow exactly as it should be.
Elizabeth tried to guess whether he had just tried to make a point, or if he really had a cough he just could not suppress.
The guests breathed a sigh of relief at the completion, so the rector looked at the bride with what he hoped was a stern expression.
“Repeat after me—I, Elizabeth Rose Bennet, take thee Fitzwilliam Alexander Darcy to my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to Gods holy ordinance: and thereto I give thee my troth.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, ready for the moment of truth, still wondering if she would feel better about sparing Jane from a life of misery in the future, and repeated, “I, Elizabeth Rose Bennet, take thee Fitzwilliam Alexander Darcy to my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love, and to cherish, till death us do part, according to Gods holy ordinance: and thereto I give thee my troth.”
The rector, stared at her a minute, and wondered if the omission of ‘and to obey’ was deliberate.
Having known the girl for many years, he suspected it was, and he also suspected that making her repeat the vow would not go well.
Nobody else seemed to have noticed except the groom, who was staring at her intently with a ferocious frown on his face, even worse than what he had been sporting earlier.
He anxiously watched the groom long enough for him to object should he so choose, but Mr Darcy, simply nodded to get on with it, ignoring the omission.
It was not as if obedience in marriage depended on a few words.
The rest of the ceremony went exactly as it was supposed to.
Variance in weddings, being prescribed by law as having to occur before noon and read from the Book of Common Prayer, was unusual but not unheard of.
The signature of the couple and the witnesses, along with the rector and clerk in the wedding register were the only things really required for the marriage to be valid.
Darcy offered his new bride his arm, and she took it after a noticeable hesitation and walked from the alter.
The rector and parish clerk led the way towards the register, which was duly signed by bride, groom, Mr Bingley, and Mrs Gardiner; and the marriage lines were delivered to the bride in the usual way.
Once all the formalities were complete, the couple walked towards the door, on the other side of which, was their new life.
The groom expected a bout of tearful goodbyes and well wishes outside the church but was thoroughly surprised when his bride simply executed three or four curtsies pointing more-or-less in the direction of her family, then started walking toward the carriage.
Taken aback, he gave roughly the same number of bows, calling each of the sisters ‘Miss Bennet’ for lack of any better way to distinguish them. Mrs Bennet looked ready to burst, so he simply bowed to her and then turned quickly to her husband and offered his hand.
Mr Bennet said, “Be kind to her, sir. She will make you an excellent wife if you give her a chance. Pray give this to her. She will understand its meaning.”
With that, he handed Mr Darcy a small purse, bowed, and started gathering up his flock to head for their own breakfast, sans the happy couple.
Perplexed, Darcy went to join his—
He was walking towards the carriage where the lady was standing patiently waiting, when it finally sunk in for good. He was going to join his wife. She was his wife and would be for the rest of his life.
When he reached her, he said, “Mrs Darcy,” then offered to hand her into the carriage with a bow.
She nodded, took his hand even though he suspected she could have gotten herself into the carriage in half the time with a quarter of the effort without him, and was only being polite.
Once inside, she sat on the far side of the forward-facing seat, but then stared straight ahead in a way that thoroughly perplexed him.
He expected teary goodbyes, waving handkerchiefs, something, but she just sat there waiting for him to decide where he wanted to sit.
She had positioned herself off-centre in the seat enough that he could choose to sit beside her or sit in the opposite side without awkwardness.
He had to admit that it was clever of her, or perhaps it was just politeness. She seemed almost as lost as he felt.
He thought that if they had gone to all this trouble to restore their reputations, the least he could do is try to keep up appearances, so he sat beside her, but not so close as to cause her discomfort, and called out to drive on.