Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
SIX WEEKS LATER
It took Bingley a full fortnight longer to gather his courage and propose to Jane Bennet. Darcy had remained steadfast in his resolve not to interfere this time, but his friend eventually overcame his insecurities and made the request at last.
Once the second engagement was secured, a date was quickly set for a double wedding.
Mrs Bennet protested that six months was far too little time to plan the grand affair she envisioned, but Darcy—having already waited long enough—declared he would not delay beyond the lawful reading of the banns.
That, he insisted, was the very longest he could be made to wait.
Thus it was settled: the marriages would take place only a few days before Michaelmas—exactly one year from the day Mrs Bennet had first received the thrilling news that Netherfield was let.
If anyone else observed the symmetry, they kept their silence, but Mrs Bennet did not fail to remind every acquaintance that events had unfolded precisely as she always foretold.
She was overjoyed to boast of three daughters married, and though both Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were universally acknowledged to be admirable husbands, she continued to show a particular fondness for the easy affability of her youngest daughter’s spouse.
A few firm words from Elizabeth, however, were sufficient to prevent her from repeating this preference in Darcy’s hearing—although Mrs Bennet could never quite comprehend why it mattered.
The wedding, although not as grand as Mrs Bennet might have wished, was everything that could be called lovely.
Soon after the date was fixed, Jane and Elizabeth had travelled to London to order their trousseaux, though much of it would not be completed until after the ceremony and their wedding journeys.
Their wedding gowns, fashioned of fine silk, suited both sisters admirably, even if Mrs Bennet lamented the want of lace.
She had been prevented by Mr Bennet from accompanying them to London to shop, a deprivation she did not soon forgive.
Equally, the wedding breakfast was grand, and it was hosted in the ballroom at Netherfield to hold all the guests invited from Meryton, London, and Kent.
The suggestion to hold the breakfast there had mollified Mrs Bennet somewhat, as did Darcy and Bingley offering to make purchases in London for anything she could not obtain in Meryton.
Elizabeth and Jane had succeeded in paring down their mother’s extravagant plans, yet the celebration remained splendid enough to satisfy all.
Mrs Bennet, in particular, had much of which to boast. Through her tireless efforts, all of Meryton was made to speak—often and at length—of the grand double wedding and the wedding breakfast at Netherfield, which would be remembered for years to come.
Finally, the ceremony was over and the newly married couples sufficiently feted, and it was time to depart for their wedding trips.
When Elizabeth and Darcy boarded their carriage for their journey to the Lake District, after they were settled in the forward facing seat next to each other, he was surprised to see her draw two books from the basket that had been packed alongside the food and drink for the road.
Darcy arched a brow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Provision for both mind and body, I see. You could not resist ensuring we had sustenance of every kind. But I had considered a different sort of occupation.”
Elizabeth’s face heated, but still she laughed, settling one of the volumes in her lap.
“You may have your maps and ledgers, sir. I will have my poetry and tales. Between us, I think we shall be well supplied. Besides, these books carry particular meaning for us.” With that, she showed him the covers of the books she had selected.
His smile softened as he read the titles. He turned and regarded her. “Indeed. I can imagine no better companion for such a journey. Shakespeare and Scott, is it?”
“Of course,” she replied, a teasing expression on her face. “Besides, I have long desired to hear you read sonnets to me, one or two in particular.”
Darcy merely raised his brow in reply, causing Elizabeth to laugh.
“Here, sir,” she demanded, handing him one of the books. “Open to the page marked.”
He smiled when he saw the bookmark—her keepsake of the note he had once slipped into another book not two months before. Opening to the page where the volume had fallen, his smile broadened at the lines she had marked. In his deep, resonant voice, he read aloud:
The rose is fairest when ’tis budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
“Ah, my dear Elizabeth,” Darcy said, taking her hand, “how happy I am that, for this moment, our trials are ended. We are wed, and though I know we shall meet with cares and difficulties yet, I trust that our love will be as the rose—blooming afresh each morning.”
Elizabeth grinned at him. “I had not known you were a poet, my dearest Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy grimaced with mock severity. “You, Elizabeth, above all others, are well acquainted with how poor a wordsmith I am.”
“Perhaps at assemblies,” she teased, “but since the summer you have acquitted yourself admirably. I have faith in you, sir.”
He chuckled softly. “Then let me try one more line, not my own but Sir Walter Scott’s: ‘My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, my gentle guide, in following thee It is true, Elizabeth. I must rely on you to guide me now in social situations when I am not at my best.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shone as she rested her head upon his shoulder, her voice warm with wonder.
“And to think—we found our happiness through so simple a thing as an unexpected birthday gift. How strange, that a single book could alter the course of our lives. Before it arrived, I was wretched; I scarcely dared to hope that I would ever meet with you again. I was certain you were lost to me forever. Yet in that dark time, your gift lifted my spirits and gave me courage, even though I did not know what you intended. Only the thought that you had not forgotten me meant more than I can say.”
Darcy pressed a kiss to her hair, his voice low and steady. “Then it was not the book that changed our lives, my dearest, but your hope. That hope gave me the courage to persist—and it is what has brought us to this moment, together.”
The carriage rolled steadily onward, carrying them northward. Before long, the volume of poetry lay unopened upon the opposite seat, quite forgotten, as its owners found far sweeter ways of expressing their devotion to each other.
~ The End ~