Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
“He was late.”
“I was not late,” insisted Darcy.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “You were late.”
“You were late,” chimed in Bingley and Jane.
They laughed at the joke they had been telling for the past twenty years.
“Well,” said Rose, her patience fraying, “Theo shall not be late, and I do not wish to be, either.” She pulled at the bonnet she and Elizabeth had trimmed just the day before, their last joint preparation for the wedding. “Where is Grandmama?”
“Lizzy! Lizzy,” said Mama hurrying down the stairs, “I am all in a flutter.”
Darcy and Rose scowled, mirror images of one another, and Jane and Bingley exchanged knowing glances. The boys and Agnes stifled giggles.
Elizabeth stepped forward, attempting to remain calm. “Of course, Mama. Whatever is the matter?”
“I cannot find my black slippers.”
“Then wear the silver. They will look fine with your gown.” Elizabeth took in the harsh stares of the portraits of generations of Darcy heirs that lined the walls, sure her husband’s ancestors would not approve of this commotion. “Why did you not ask one of the servants upstairs?”
“Those girls are fools.”
Elizabeth flinched. Her servants were not fools, but her mother disliked asking the young ones for assistance for reasons that eluded her. “Mama, Mrs Kennedy can fetch them for you.”
“Oh Lizzy, whatever would I do without you?”
Elizabeth nodded at Mrs Kennedy, who vanished upstairs, and Elizabeth looked to Darcy.
“Come children,” Darcy said in his most commanding voice. “The carriages await.”
“We could have walked,” announced Philip glumly, pulling at his new waistcoat. He had grown seemingly overnight, which had required quick work by the tailor.
“We could race there,” said Augustus, suddenly sprinting for the door, smacking Philip on the back of the head as he passed. Philip gave chase as he smoothed the dark strands, but when they reached the door, Darcy bellowed, “Cease this foolishness!” and the boys froze.
Agnes rolled her eyes, as she often did at her younger brothers. “They are cork-brained, but they are correct. We could have walked.”
Elizabeth said, “We did not want anyone to be fatigued before the ceremony.”
Agnes scowled. “Nothing ever fatigues me but doing what I do not like.”
Elizabeth held up a hand to Darcy, who was ready to lose the last of his patience.
“Agnes, you may walk back from the church. But,” and at this, she narrowed her eyes at her fair-haired daughter, “do not disappear into the woods today.” She did not wish to hear from Darcy once again that Agnes was too like her.
It entertained her that he seemed only to connect them when Agnes had run off, never when she was brilliant, like when she had written a perfectly cutting parody of their social circle or was playing the pianoforte even more beautifully than Georgiana.
“Father,” whispered Rose, blinking up at Darcy.
Elizabeth noted the tremble as Rose held her bouquet.
Waiting was agony for a bride, and she would not allow Rose to be tormented a moment longer.
“Mr Clark,” she said to the butler, and at her gesture the door was opened and the family, more like a herd of sheep than landed gentry, was corralled into the carriages.