“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God…”
The rector’s familiar words echoed through the small parish church as Elizabeth stood beside Mr Darcy at the altar, her hand trembling slightly within his steady grasp. Sunlight filtered through the ancient stained glass windows, casting jewelled patterns across the worn stone floor where countless couples had made similar vows over the centuries. Yet none of those unions, she suspected, had begun quite so pragmatically as her own.
She stole a glance at her bridegroom, noting the rigid set of his shoulders beneath his perfectly tailored dark blue coat. His profile remained as impassive as marble, though she detected the almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes that suggested he was no more at ease than she. They made, she reflected with dark humour, a most unconventional bride and groom—two people bound by duty and circumstance rather than passion or romance.
Behind them, the small congregation rustled with barely suppressed excitement. Mrs Bennet’s frequent sighs of delight punctuated the ceremony, while her father’s occasional throat-clearing communicated his joy about the day’s proceedings. Mr Bingley and Jane sat together, their quiet happiness a stark contrast to the formal arrangement being solemnised before them. Georgiana occupied the front pew, her youthful face glowing with pleasure at the proceedings despite the unusual circumstances that had brought them about.
“Wilt thou, Fitzwilliam, have this woman to thy wedded wife…”
His response came clear and firm, without hesitation. When her own turn arrived, Elizabeth spoke her vows with equal certainty, however, her reasons bore little resemblance to the traditional sentiments such words were meant to convey. She was not promising to love, honour, and obey from romantic devotion, but from a complex mixture of pragmatism, duty, and hope that their mutual regard for Ambrose might provide sufficient foundation for a tolerable union.
The ring—his mother’s, he had informed her the previous evening—slid onto her finger with surprising warmth. The weight of it felt foreign yet somehow significant, a tangible reminder that she was no longer merely Elizabeth Bennet but Mrs Darcy, with all the responsibilities and expectations such a transformation entailed.
“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” the rector said on a conclusive note.
Mr Darcy offered his arm to escort her down the aisle, though she thought she detected a slight relaxation in his bearing, as if some significant hurdle had been successfully navigated.
The walk back to Longbourn proved mercifully brief, Mrs Bennet’s excited chatter filling every moment with observations about the ceremony’s perfection and predictions of future happiness that made Elizabeth grateful for her bonnet’s deep brim. Mr Darcy maintained his customary silence, but she noticed his occasional glances in her direction, as if attempting to gauge her thoughts on their changed circumstances.
The wedding breakfast at Longbourn surpassed even Mrs Bennet’s usual standards for elaborate entertainment. Everysurface groaned under the weight of delicacies procured at considerable expense, while ribbons and flowers transformed the modest dining room into something approaching festive elegance. The effort touched Elizabeth despite her complicated feelings about the occasion that inspired it.
Georgiana had arrived early to assist with the preparations, her natural grace and refined manners making her an invaluable addition to the celebration. Elizabeth noted with growing appreciation how the young woman moved seamlessly between helping to arrange flowers and engaging the younger Bennet sisters in conversation, her gentle nature winning hearts wherever she ventured.
“Such a magnificent match!” Mrs Bennet declared to anyone within hearing distance, her voice carrying clearly across the crowded room. “Ten thousand a year, at least! And Pemberley! Such a beautiful estate, I am told, with grounds that stretch for miles. Our dear Lizzy will want for nothing—such carriages, such gowns, such jewels as she shall have!”
Elizabeth felt heat rise in her cheeks as her mother’s enthusiastic cataloguing of her new husband’s financial advantages continued without pause. A sideways glance revealed Mr Darcy’s jaw tightening almost imperceptibly, though his expression remained unchanged. She caught Jane’s eye across the room and tilted her head meaningfully towards their mother.
Understanding immediately, Jane glided to Mrs Bennet’s side with her characteristic grace. “Mama, you must tell Mrs Phillips about the new lace you ordered for Kitty’s gown. She was asking about it particularly.”
The diversion succeeded admirably, drawing Mrs Bennet into a detailed discussion of millinery choices that allowedthe monetary aspects of Elizabeth’s marriage to fade into the conversational background. Mr Darcy’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he inclined his head towards Elizabeth in what might have been gratitude.
“My dear Lizzy,” Mr Bennet announced, approaching with his customary wry smile, “I must congratulate you on achieving what many would consider impossible—inspiring a gentleman of Mr Darcy’s evident sense to willingly join our chaotic family circle. He must be quite desperately in love indeed to embrace such a fate.”
His teasing tone drew chuckles from nearby guests and Elizabeth detected the underlying affection in his words. “The courtship proceeded with remarkable efficiency,” he continued, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I suppose I should not be surprised, given your excessive fondness for those romantic novels you insist on reading. Perhaps they provided instruction in rapid matrimonial progress that I failed to appreciate.”
“Indeed!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, momentarily abandoning her discussion of lace. “I shall never again discourage my daughters from reading such works if they produce such splendid results! Why, if Kitty and Lydia applied themselves to romantic literature with half of Lizzy’s dedication, they might be engaged before Christmas!”
The assembled company laughed at this pronouncement.
“Speaking of practical matters,” Elizabeth overheard Mr Darcy saying quietly to her father, “I have written to my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, regarding the entailment on Longbourn. Although she isn’t the most pleased with our marriage, she recognizes the importance of ensuring my wife’s family remains secure in their home.”
Mr Bennet’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Indeed? I confess I had not expected such consideration from a lady who presumably objects to our connection.”
“Lady Catherine values propriety above all else,” Georgiana, who was seated nearby, added with a diplomatic smile. “She believes it reflects better on the Darcy name if my new sister’s family need not worry about their future security. Whatever her personal feelings about the match, she will assist in breaking the entailment because it serves the family’s reputation.”
“How very practical of her,” Mr Bennet replied with dry humour. “I find myself unexpectedly grateful to a woman I have never met and who apparently disapproves of my daughter’s existence.”
As the celebration continued around them, Elizabeth retreated into private reflection on the extraordinary circumstances that had led to this moment.
When news of her engagement had first circulated through the neighbourhood, the reactions had been uniformly astonished. Mrs Thorton had declared it impossible that such a proud gentleman would choose someone so far beneath his station. Mrs Hayward had suggested he must have been bewitched by some inexplicable force. Several other acquaintances had questioned the wisdom of matching such a strong-willed woman with a man accustomed to absolute deference.
Their scepticism mattered little now. She was Mrs Darcy, and she would honour that name with the same integrity she had brought to being a Bennet. If society expected meek subservience from the mistress of Pemberley, they would be disappointed. She had not abandoned her principles uponspeaking wedding vows, nor did she intend to transform into someone unrecognisable to appease external expectations.
The sight of Mr Bingley and Jane conversing in low, intimate tones near the window brought pleasure amidst her complicated feelings. Their attachment had clearly deepened during recent weeks, and Elizabeth felt confident that Jane’s gentle nature and Bingley’s cheerful disposition would produce a far more conventional—and likely happier—union than her own.
“I believe,” her father murmured, appearing at her elbow with his characteristic ability to materialise unexpectedly, “my jest about your imminent motherhood has proven remarkably prophetic. I confess I had not anticipated quite so literal a fulfilment of my prediction.”
Elizabeth started, then realised he referred to her impending role as Ambrose’s stepmother rather than any more personal expectations. “Your wit has always been uncannily accurate, Papa.”
