Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Darcy hated weddings. Not all of them, but most. He wanted to be happy for the couple, but he always found fault with the match or the event. But Bingley had asked him to be present, and he could not refuse his closest friend.
He stood outside the church leaning against the trunk of a tree, hoping the shade might hide him from the view of arriving guests.
Bingley was likely already inside. Darcy had chosen to walk to the church rather than ride with his friend, needing time to clear his head and, in truth, hoping, yet not hoping, he might cross paths with Miss Elizabeth.
He knew she might still be cross with him, even a month since the accident, and from his cousin’s description of her behaviour at Mr Collins’s funeral, Darcy thought he might need a word more severe than merely “cross.” Even so, the only way to address the rift was for them to speak face to face.
If he could have written a letter to her directly, he might have been able to soften her opinion of him.
Yet, without explaining the full reason for his departure, which he would never have set to paper, it might not have mattered.
The Bennets’ carriage clattered into view, but Miss Elizabeth was not in it.
She must have chosen to walk, as he had.
Or perhaps the bride needed special attention, and Miss Elizabeth was inside, as well.
He left the shadows and approached, watching Mrs Bennet being handed down by the coachman, Mr Bennet stepping after, and then the youngest daughters. No Miss Bennet. No Miss Elizabeth.
He was in the open now, and was immediately noticed by Mrs Bennet who raised her handkerchief and waved it wildly at him. “Mr Darcy!” she called. “Mr Darcy!”
Others turned their heads and, though his cheeks burned, he walked towards the family.
“Such a thing to have a daughter getting married,” she said.
“Yes,” was all he could manage.
“Where is Mr Bingley?”
“He… I am not certain, madam.”
She said, “Mr Bingley does not know the groom, does he? If so, I would say he might be inside with the man. And you, Mr Darcy, you are not with either—”
“I walked,” Darcy interrupted, unable to listen to another moment of her chatter.
Mrs Bennet cocked her head. “Is Mr Slade unworthy of your friendship?” She asked, not as a concerned mother of her daughter’s best friend, but as a woman fishing for gossip.
“Mr Bingley knows him from town. Mr Slade and I have only recently become acquainted, but he has a good reputation and is said to be kindly. His business dealings are spoken of in a most positive manner.”
Instead of appearing relieved, Mrs Bennet’s face turned sour. “He is a merchant. He will do for Miss Lucas, I suppose.”
Mr Bennet, who had had his attention on his young daughters, caught this last bit and shushed his wife. “We are,” he told Darcy, “pleased for Miss Lucas. By all accounts they are a good match. Well suited in temperament.”
“And none too soon,” said Mrs Bennet. “We feared she might never find a husband.”
Mr Bennet took hold of his wife’s arm as the younger girls tittered, and led them all towards the church, nodding his head to Darcy and whispering fiercely to Mrs Bennet as they went.
They would be miserable in-laws, and he dreaded the thought. But Miss Elizabeth would be a perfect wife. He knew it. He also knew from his cousin that her fury at his rushing away from Mr Collins’s accident had not subsided, and he feared she might never be calmed.
He looked about but still did not see Bingley or Miss Elizabeth, so he went into the church. Inside, he saw no sign of them either, and took a seat, feeling self-conscious at being alone. Then Bingley’s figure darkened the doorway, and relief swept over Darcy.
“I am sorry for the delay,” said Bingley as he slid into the pew. “I had the driver turn back to Netherfield, fearing my waistcoat was wrong.”
Darcy thought a moment. “The blue one? It matches your eyes.” He fought back a smile. “I should think your Miss Bennet would adore such a thing.”
Bingley shoved him with his shoulder in protest. “She favours this green one.” He paused. “Though she has commented upon the blue. Perhaps I ought not to have changed it.”
“I should think that since you are already betrothed you might not concern yourself with such matters.”
“We are not yet married. Not for another three months, and I should like to think I shall respect her wishes even after we are wed.”
“Why did you decide to wait so long? The death of Mr Collins should not have necessitated more than six weeks.”
“Miss Bennet hopes that Mrs Collins might attend, and believes the additional time will make the difference.”
Darcy nodded. Even his friend’s delayed wedding was largely his fault. No, not his fault. Mr Collins stepped into that road. And why? Why did that fool—
The groom and vicar stepped to the altar and the crowd hushed.
Those in the pews rose, and Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth walked down the aisle in lovely gowns Darcy had never seen.
The pale purple fabric whispered as Miss Elizabeth walked past, eyes fixed forward, and all he wanted was to take hold of her and tell her how perfect she looked, and to kiss her and kiss her and—
Bingley sighed quietly as Miss Bennet smiled in his direction. Darcy wished he could express himself as freely. Would he have done so even if his parents had not frowned on outward shows of emotion? Impossible to say.
Miss Lucas passed in a shade of green that he thought the most becoming colour he had seen on her. He suspected this one had been of her deciding, and wondered if her other gowns had been the influence of a mother without taste.
The groom looked as pleased as the bride to exchange vows. Darcy wished them well in his mind, and was determined to smile and appear pleased to have been welcomed to the ceremony.