Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Early on the morning of her wedding, Elizabeth was in her chemise, stays, and stockings, and her hair had been dressed.
Every gown she had brought with her from Longbourn was either on the bed, over the chair, or in the hands of Miss Baker, Miss Hughes, or Miss Taylor while the four of them decided which one she should wear to the church. Mr Darcy had seen her in all of them.
There came another knock on her bedchamber door. “Lizzy?”
Flinging open the door, Elizabeth embraced her dearest sister. “I am so glad to see you, but I assumed we were to meet at the church.”
“I, we, brought something for you.” Stepping aside, Jane revealed Miss Darcy and Miss Althea, who were all barely contained eagerness and wide smiles.
Once greetings, hugs, and good wishes were exchanged, she opened a portmanteau and passed something from it to her sister. “I thought you might want this.”
“Oh, Jane! Thank you.” Elizabeth caressed the cream-coloured gown with delicate white embroidery that she had worn at the Netherfield ball. “Mr Darcy and I danced for the first time while I wore this. But… You knew? That I was engaged to him?”
“When an express messenger arrived at Netherfield and Longbourn, we were frantic that something dire had happened. But Mr Darcy’s letters to Papa and Charles explained his intentions.
Mama and my sisters were only told that there was to be a celebration and that their attendance would be appreciated.
This morning Mama and I had a heated argument.
She insisted she should be the one helping you prepare for your wedding day.
” In a whisper for Elizabeth’s ears only, Jane added, “And night. But I insisted she remain at Strandsmere. I assumed that you would have adequate assistance.”
“I am going to need a great deal of help trying to squeeze into this after all the delectable German pastries I have eaten over the past two months. Now, Miss Taylor, if you would be so kind as to slip that gown over my head, we shall see how many seams need to be let out.”
None did. It was a perfect fit.
Miss Darcy had in her hand a simple but fragrant tussie-mussie tied with a pink ribbon. “We three, Mrs Bingley, Miss Althea, and I, made this for you. The roses, although rather late ones, symbolise love.”
“The lavender, I am afraid, is also a little tired,” said Miss Althea, “but I insisted it be included, for it means devotion.”
“I added the greenery, Lizzy,” said Jane. “Ivy represents fidelity.”
“What is that feathery stuff?” Miss Hughes leant in and smelt the nosegay. “’Tis an aromatic herb of some sort. Dill weed?”
Cheeks pink, Jane whispered, “Yes.”
“Well, what does dill weed stand for?”
Jane stammered, “I…I forget.” Again, she whispered in her sister’s ear. “I do not know whether it is true, but according to Mama, dill weed is for lust. She insisted that I add some.”
“There now, Miss Bennet,” said Miss Taylor, grinning as she gave a few final touches to Elizabeth’s attire. “You are not only as pretty as a picture but a blushing bride now, too.”
The marriage ceremony in the tiny church at Wyman’s Cove was conducted with dignity by the vicar, as most such rites tended to be performed.
If the bride was a little too radiant, the bridegroom far too pleased with himself, and both of their smiles a bit too wide, there was no philosopher cat there to remind them to strike a balance between solemnity and jubilation.
No one was offended, for there were only friends and family members there to witness and share their happiness.
Mr and Mrs Darcy stepped out into sunshine and the sound of celebratory bells pealing from the belfry.
As they climbed onto the curricle, a dozen or so villagers tossed handfuls of seeds and cereal at them for fertility and agricultural prosperity.
A gentleman farmer at heart, the bridegroom expressed his appreciation while Elizabeth surreptitiously tried to keep grains of barley and rye from going inside her bodice.
Then, holding his bride’s hand in his and the reins with his other, Mr Darcy urged the pair of bays into a brisk trot.
While waiting for the rest of their party to arrive in carriages slower than a jaunty curricle, Elizabeth’s husband took her for a tour of the whole villa, ending in the dining room, where an elaborate breakfast was set out.
In the place of honour as the centrepiece sat a Baumkuchen and a bride cake with white sugar icing, both baked by Mrs Poole of Cliff House.
More interested in what was on the walls than the fare upon the table, Elizabeth walked about the room admiring the framed watercolours until she came to the last one.
“I cannot believe you included ours amongst the younger ladies’ more refined works.” Elizabeth spoke of the painting with a rainbow, a setting sun, and two ‘m’-shaped birds soaring above the arc.
Mr Darcy stood behind her. “Yes, but this place will soon be shut, and I cannot decide whether our masterpiece should be permanently displayed at Pemberley or in London. What is your opinion?”
Finger tapping her chin, she contemplated the painting’s simplicity. “I recommend Pemberley’s nursery. Children might appreciate the bright colours.”
“Excellent reasoning, my love. What of the others?” He placed his hands upon her shoulders.
“Your sister’s depiction of swans on Willow Bourn and her trawler boat on the Channel should remain here until you decide what is to be done with your villa, as should Miss Althea’s seaweed gatherers on the beach.”
“Elizabeth, this is our villa.” Still standing behind, he slid his fingers from her shoulders to her waist.
“And you, sir, are my husband, and I may have to pinch myself to believe it.” She broke away and moved to Miss Hughes’s depiction of Heiress Tottle keeping Hector at bay.
“This one will have to be fought over between you and my new sister. You may share it with her for a while, but one day she will flee the nest.”
“Do not remind me.”
She moved on; he followed and again stood behind her. “What of Miss Althea’s watercolour of you, Georgiana, Hector, and me on the punt? Where does that one belong?”
“I must admit it is my favourite.” Elizabeth leant back against him. “I fell irrevocably in love with you while you so manfully steered the boat while speaking softly of Somerset.”
“Then that one,” he whispered in her ear, “is going in our bedchamber.”
“Our bedchamber?” Elizabeth had learnt that Judge Darcy had been a life-long bachelor, and there had never been separate rooms at Strandsmere intended for a wife. Turning to her husband, she asked whether Pemberley did not have an apartment for its mistress either.
“It does.” He seemed disappointed. “And you are, of course, to have it renovated and refreshed in any manner you choose. However, my wish is that we might share a…”
“Then that is our wish, Mr Darcy.”
Weak light sneaked through a crack between their bedchamber’s curtains as Elizabeth awoke to a morning full of promises.
Her tussie-mussie had been placed in a vase on the bedside cabinet the night before, and the scent of lavender and roses tickled her nose.
There was also the delicious spicy-woody fragrance of the handsome gentleman sleeping soundly beside her.
The next time she awoke, it was to the sound of rain hitting the windowpane, leaves rustling in a stiff breeze, and a husky voice saying, “Good morning, Mrs Darcy. Did you sleep well, my love?” Her husband, propped up on an elbow, head in hand, apparently had been watching her for some time.
“Off and on. Between disturbances.”
He smiled a lazy smile. “Mice, was it?”
“No. I believe it was the dill weed.”
“The what?”
Blushing, she tore her eyes away from his. “Good heavens, what is that doing here? I thought you were going to have it packed with the other paintings.”
“Yes, but while you were sleeping…” He sat up, hair tousled.
“Elizabeth, you might as well know now that I have a habit of getting up in the middle of the night to ensure all windows and exterior doors are closed and locked. It is foolish, I know, because the footmen have already done so. But I take the safety of those under my protection very seriously. So, I ended up in the dining room, and that watercolour called to me.” He shrugged.
“There is something about rainbows, and you, that fascinates me.”
“Rainbows are fleeting things. The colours fade into nothingness.”
“I disagree. Once a person has had the pleasure of witnessing a rainbow, one does not forget its brilliance. After leaving Netherfield, I could not forget you, although in all honesty I tried to do so. But even after a rainbow goes away, there is always the hope of seeing it again when the sun comes out after a short period of rain. Similarly, through sunshine and rain, your brightness remains. I shall love you always, Elizabeth.” He caressed her tangled hair.
It had been plaited, but he had untied its ribbon hours earlier. “You are so beautiful.”
Uncomfortable with compliments, she scoffed. “I was not handsome enough—”
He silenced her with a finger against her lips. “Inner beauty that shines through. Your beauty will always please all my senses and my mind.”
“I do not know what I have done to deserve such a husband. And I still feel guilty for not bringing anything to this marriage other than my alleged brightness.”
“You bring to me and to the Darcy legacy something more treasured, more valuable than a dowry. You bring you, wonderful you, with your warmth, vitality, intelligence, and integrity. You are more precious to me than all the wealth in the world.”
Taking her left hand in his right, he kissed her finger above the ring he had put there in church. “What is the proverb I am trying to think of? Something about you being more precious than rubies and that nothing I might desire can compare with you.”