CHAPTER FORTY-SIX Promises
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Promises
Jane and Bingley made their vows first.
Their voices suited them. Bingley’s was warm and earnest, too loud at the beginning because nerves had robbed him of moderation. Jane’s was clear and gentle, each word spoken with the calm certainty that had once caused others to doubt how deeply she felt. Elizabeth did not doubt it.
Neither did Bingley now. When Jane promised to love and honour him, Bingley’s eyes filled.
Jane smiled at him as though no one else were present.
Caroline, seated beside Louisa, looked down at her gloved hands.
Then she looked up again. Whatever she thought, she remained quiet.
Bingley slipped the ring onto Jane’s finger without dropping it.
Mr. Bennet whispered to Mrs. Bennet, “Already better than our ceremony.”
Mrs. Bennet elbowed him.
Then it was Darcy and Elizabeth. The clergyman turned toward them. Darcy’s hand tightened around hers.
Elizabeth glanced at him. A memory rose between them so clearly that she knew he shared it.
Marry me.
You are delirious.
Answer.
Yes. The first promise had been made in mud and fear. This one would be made before God, family, neighbours, and every person who had watched them stumble toward understanding.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife…”
Darcy answered, “I will.” His voice did not shake.
Elizabeth’s did, slightly, when her turn came. “I will.”
Darcy looked at her. There was no triumph in his expression.
Only wonder.
They joined right hands. Darcy repeated the vows slowly. To have and to hold.
For better, for worse.
For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. Elizabeth’s throat tightened at the final phrase. Darcy felt her fingers move in his.
He looked at her. Her eyes were bright with laughter and tears.
He understood.
Sickness had come first. Health, God willing, would follow.
When Elizabeth repeated the same words, she thought of his fevered face, his hand clutching hers, the first week when love had existed only on his side and duty only on hers.
In sickness and in health. The words were no abstraction between them.
Darcy produced the ring. His hand trembled enough that Elizabeth whispered, “Do not drop it.”
His eyes narrowed.
She smiled. He slid it onto her finger.
The clergyman continued. Behind them, someone sniffed loudly.
Mrs. Bennet.
Then another sniff.
Georgiana.
Then Richard, in a whisper intended for no one, said, “Damn.”
The Earl murmured, “Language.”
“You are crying too.”
“I outrank you.”
Darcy heard and nearly lost his composure. Elizabeth saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Do not laugh,” she whispered.
“You began it.”
The clergyman gave them a stern look. They became solemn with difficulty. At last the words were spoken.
The marriages were declared. Charles Bingley turned to Jane with an expression of such joy that he almost kissed her before propriety permitted.
Darcy looked at Elizabeth.
She lifted one eyebrow.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he whispered. The name struck her strangely.
She smiled. “Mr. Darcy.”
His eyes warmed. It was not yet time to kiss her. He seemed to find this personally unreasonable.
Elizabeth enjoyed his suffering.