Answer at the Altar #2
Half of Meryton had assembled, lured by the spectacle of a double wedding and the irresistible scent of scandal. Lady Catherine’s recent confrontation had furnished the neighborhood with enough gossip to last through Lady Day and perhaps well beyond.
The pews were packed, the gallery crowded.
Elizabeth’s eyes found Georgiana at once, seated primly in the front beside Colonel Fitzwilliam and his distinguished family.
The Viscount, his elder brother, whose striking looks captivated every unmarried lady present, sat beside a matriarch whose bearing held a chill distinctly reminiscent of Lady Catherine.
On their side, a sea of familiar faces filled every space: the Lucases, Mrs. Long, the Philips, the Gardiners, and a host of neighbors, all eager for the ceremony to begin.
She did not trouble herself to look for Caroline or Mrs. Hurst; her attention was claimed by her mother’s shrill voice, crowing with more pride than a late-rising rooster.
“She has been marshaling the entire village since dawn.” Jane adjusted the delicate lace of Elizabeth’s veil. “I firmly believe she considers this her crowning masterpiece.”
“Two daughters bound in holy matrimony on one day,” Elizabeth replied, a wry smile touching her lips. “She shall dine out on this triumph for decades.”
“She will compose ballads. There may be commemorative needlepoint.” Jane smiled—serene, luminous, always making Elizabeth feel safe. “Are you ready?”
Elizabeth looked at her sister—her dearest Jane, who had stood beside her through every crisis and every joy, who would soon be mistress of Netherfield and, in time, Pemberley.
They would not be parted. The gentlemen’s compact had ensured their children would grow up together, racing through the halls of great houses and bearing names that spoke of truth.
“I am ready,” Elizabeth said. “Are you?”
“I have been ready since the moment Charles looked at me across the Meryton assembly and smiled as though I were the only person in the room.” Jane’s eyes were bright. “We are very fortunate, Lizzy. Truly fortunate indeed.”
At last, the moment arrived. Jane and Elizabeth walked arm-in-arm with their father between them, the world dissolving into a blur of faces—neighbors, friends, family.
Ahead, in the hush of the congregation, stood Bingley, radiating open-hearted joy, and Darcy, his expression composed yet charged with an emotion that caught at Elizabeth’s heart.
These were the men who would be their husbands.
The four of them stood together before the vicar. Jane and Bingley to the left, Elizabeth and Darcy to the right. The elder sister married first, as was proper, and Elizabeth could observe everything while she waited.
Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye across the altar. He watched her with an intensity that made her heart falter, still turning over the moments in his mind, searching for the answer she had withheld.
She offered him a small, private smile. He did not return it, but the corners of his eyes softened.
Soon, she thought. You will know soon.
Jane was truly luminous; there could be no other word.
Her white muslin caught the pale February light from the east window, and the jasmine in her hair trembled with each breath.
Elizabeth watched her sister speak her vows and noticed the way Jane’s voice trembled slightly on I will.
Bingley’s response was so earnest, so wholehearted, that even Mr. Bennet was observed to blink rather rapidly and inspect his handkerchief.
“Those whom God hath joined together,” the vicar intoned, “let no man put asunder.”
The moment for the rings arrived. There was a brief, nearly comical fumble with the tiny band, and then it was secure. Jane became Mrs. Bingley, and a collective sigh of satisfaction swept through the congregation.
It was time for Elizabeth and Darcy.
The vicar turned to Darcy. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live? ”
“I will.” Darcy’s voice was clear and unwavering, though Elizabeth saw his hands tremble slightly at his sides, his eyes never leaving her face.
Then the vicar spoke to Elizabeth, the words washing over her. Wilt thou have this man, love him, comfort him, honour, and keep him… She opened her mouth to speak the words that would bind her to him forever.
“I will.”
And then Darcy’s eyes widened.
She saw it happen: the moment the answer arrived. The slight intake of breath, the sudden stillness, the look of a man who had finally understood what had eluded him.
“I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together,” the vicar concluded. “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
They were, at last, married.
Darcy leaned toward her, slipping the ring on her smoothly. The vicar was still speaking about the blessing, the congregation, the solemnity of the bond, and Darcy brought his lips close to her ear, his voice a soft breath against her skin.
“The morning I left,” he whispered. “You were at the window.”
He drew back just far enough to see her face, and his eyes held the certainty of a man who was no longer guessing.
The memory returned: the hat-tip, that small, private gesture to a window he could not see through, to a woman who had given him no reason to return.
The moment she chose not to step back behind the curtain, but to remain and watch until the lane was empty and the cold glass was all that remained.
The moment she understood that every room in the house was smaller without him.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “That is when I knew.”
Darcy’s lips brushed her cheek, the softest, most proper kiss, the sort that could not possibly scandalize anyone. Elizabeth, never one to be overly concerned with propriety, turned her head and caught his mouth with hers, in front of the vicar, all of Meryton, her mother, and God.
Mrs. Bennet’s shriek of delight could be heard three parishes over.
Sir William Lucas began applauding as though at a theatrical performance.
Lydia and Kitty dissolved into giggles, and Mary—to everyone’s astonishment—smiled.
Mr. Bennet leaned toward Mrs. Bennet and said, quite audibly: “That young gentleman knew from the moment he walked into my study that he would be marrying our Lizzy. I could not tell you, Mrs. Bennet, or you would have ruined it.”
“Ruined it!” Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose with magnificent indignation. “I have never ruined anything in my life! I have been the architect of this family’s happiness from the very beginning, and if anyone had troubled to consult me—”
“You are being consulted quite sufficiently now, my dear,” Mr. Bennet interrupted smoothly. “Your daughter is kissing a remarkably wealthy gentleman within the sacred walls of church. I suggest you savor the moment.”
Elizabeth pulled away from Darcy, laughter bubbling up, pure and unrestrained.
She laughed because her father was incorrigibly witty, her mother gloriously absurd, her family both mortifying and beloved, and she was, at last, married to the man who had tipped his hat to an empty lane, a man she had seen even when he could not see her.
“You tipped your hat,” she teased. “To an empty window.”
“It was not empty, because you were there.”
“You could not have seen me,” she argued. “The sun was on the glass.”
“No,” he said, his gaze intense and tender on her face as happy confusion swirled around them. “I could not see you. But I looked back anyway because I could not leave without…”
“Without saying goodbye?” Elizabeth guessed.
“Without telling you I loved you,” he said. “Even if you never heard it.”
Elizabeth lifted his hand—his strong, warm hand now irrevocably hers—and held it firmly in both of hers in front of the altar, the flowers, the vicar, and every soul in the parish of Longbourn.
“I heard it, Fitzwilliam,” she said. “I have always heard you.”