CHAPTER 1
Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.Elizabeth Bennet wrinkled her nose at her signature. Much too commanding and formal. Dipping her quill into the inkwell, she tested another variant.
Mrs. Lizzy Darcy.She twisted her lips. That was not quite right either. Far too inelegant, informal … no matter how lovely the “L” swooped and curled on the page.
Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.She sighed contentedly, signing her forthcoming name once more, exaggerating the loop on the “Y” with flourish. Nearly perfect.
She filled the cream surface with the surname she would forever use once she signed her name beside her husband’s in the marriage register that morning.
Her husband. Elizabeth’s heart hummed. The three previous weeks, during which the banns had been read, were a torture, forcing her to be patient when shewould rather not, but today was her reward. Finally, she would marry the man she truly, deeply, madly — nay, not madly. Never that! — ardently … Yes,ardentlyloved.
“Sit still, if you please, Miss. I am nearly done,” Sarah repeated. The maid had spent the past hour braiding and twisting Elizabeth’s hair into submission, carefully poking bunches of bishop's lace between sprays of pink and white roses from Mama’s garden — the first blooms of summer.
Daydreaming of her Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth traced her finger over her favorite signature, and attempted to be still while her emotions twirled and rejoiced. Today was the day.
“There,” Sarah said, stepping back and clasping her hands at her chin to admire her handiwork. “You are lovely, Miss. As beautiful as ever.”
Elizabeth was grateful. She was not given to vanity, but for days she had dreaded waking on her wedding day to an uncontrollable mane and a face full of unsightly blemishes.
“Sarah! Oh, where is that girl?” Mama called from her rooms.
Sarah pinched her eyes closed with a forbearing sigh.
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. Her mother was renowned for her nervous spasms, and today being the day which would go a long way in alleviating the source of her nerves — that of seeing two of her daughters marriedwell and settled — she had been particularly demanding that morning and would remain so until vows were exchanged, their unions official. “Thank you, Sarah. Your nimble fingers accomplished what I could not have dared.”
Pleased, Sarah bobbed a curtsy. “I will see to Mrs. Bennet,” she said, her step lighter than her usual trudge.
For the first time since waking, Elizabeth was alone. She knew it would not last for long, nor would she wish it to, so she enjoyed the moment, the calm before the storm … or, more appropriately put, the celebration.
Billowing curtains and the soft, sweet breeze beckoned Elizabeth to the window. Even the weather cooperated, adding to the perfection of the wedding day she and Fitzwilliam would share with her sister Jane and Mr. Bingley. A double wedding.
Her father came into view from the direction of the orchard behind the house. He was difficult to miss with his white, wide-brimmed hat and long, damask coat joined with a frothy veil of the finest lace. Elizabeth smiled, remembering how Mama’s rapture when Papa had brought the delicate lace home had turned to horror when he cut a big circle out of the center and had Mrs. Hill stitch it onto his old hat and stiff coat. What she had thought to be a rare, thoughtful gift was the start of Papa’s latest obsession — bees. Mama did not approve, but she was relieved enough that he had moved on from collecting beetles — they all were —that she did not object so long as the hive’s residents stayed in their dwelling … and far away from hers.
Mama’s shrill voice traveled the length of the hall. “Mary, do not dawdle. Fordyce’s sermons are not so enthralling you cannot resume your reading until after the service. Kitty, if you insist on this incessant coughing, you shall have to watch the ceremony through the stained glass window. I will allow for no interruptions on this glorious, blessed day.” A clap of her hands, and Elizabeth imagined her mother raising her face heavenward when she continued in one breath, “We are saved! A few more hours, and we are saved! Such clever girls, my Jane and Lizzy. They will put you in the way to marry well, Kitty, and I daresay, even your chances of making a match are much improved, Mary, with such handsome, wealthy gentlemen as your brothers-in-law.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She had never been Mama’s favorite, but her engagement had covered over all of her sins so far as her mother was concerned.
Jane drifted into the bedchamber, golden tendrils framing her porcelain cheeks, an English rose in full bloom.
“You are beautiful, Jane.”
Ever the modest, soft-spoken one of the five Bennet sisters, Jane looked down, a becoming blush gracing her features. When she looked up again, her eyes beamed brightly, her smile wide. “As are you, Lizzy.” She crossed the room, clasping Elizabeth’s hands in herown. No embraces. Not yet. Easily crushed muslin and wrinkled silk did not allow them. However, once their new gowns had been properly and dutifully admired, Elizabeth planned to hug her sisters, her mama, and papa until her arms grew heavy.
“Can you believe this day has finally arrived? I thought it would never come,” Jane said with as much impatience as Elizabeth had ever heard her sister express.
“I have been pinching myself all morning to be certain this is not a dream. It is all so perfect, so wonderful.”
“To think I shall be the mistress of Netherfield Park before the day’s end, and you of Pemberley. I can hardly believe our good fortune.” Jane plucked at the satin ribbon tied at her waist. “I almost wish Charles had not invited so many relatives and friends for the ceremony and wedding breakfast.” She dropped her voice. “I am happy to share my joy with those who are important to him, but I hope it is not selfish of me to wish to have those first precious hours after we are wed to ourselves. Just my husband and me.”
Elizabeth chuckled in commiseration. “I should worry more if you did not wish to spend more time with your new husband.” More comfort than that, she could not offer, for unlike Bingley, Fitzwilliam had invited no one from his side of the family at all. Elizabeth had agreed it was for the best. His aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh would only stir up trouble. Hislittle sister, Georgiana, was busy preparing Pemberley for their arrival with the help of his uncle and aunt Matlock. And his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the only other relation besides Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh of Elizabeth’s acquaintance, would dine with them that evening at Darcy House in London.
Each of them had sensible excuses. Completely comprehensible, given the shortness of their engagement. But a little niggle of suspicion — fed by the repeated and indisputable proofs Fitzwilliam had given that his love was stronger than his aversion to her sometimes offensive-but-always-well-meaning family — spurred her to expect that his side of the family would not be so poorly represented.
As constant as Fitzwilliam had always been, he was a man of surprises. The depth of his attachment had been tested to the full. Not only had she rudely refused him once, accusing him of the cruelest, ungentlemanly behavior toward a man undeserving of her sympathy, but when her youngest sister, Lydia, had run away with that same ne’er-do-well, Fitzwilliam had hunted them down and covered over their transgressions with a layer of respectability. He had arranged their marriage and saved her family from ruin.
And still, after all that trouble, he chose her. Shame at how wrongly she had misjudged him heated her cheeks. However, those same formidable obstacles which had so nearly prevented them from seeing eachother for who they, in reality, were, also convinced Elizabeth that their love would endure. Theirs was not a love easily won … and, therefore, just as easily lost or neglected. No, they had fought for each other, longed for each other when hope was gone, changed their views and refined their characters. There was nothing left but for them to be splendidly happy.
Jane tried to smile, and Elizabeth reeled her wandering thoughts back to her sister. Of what use was it to lament the present or ponder the past when a delightful future awaited both of them? Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s hands. “We have the rest of our lives to spend with our husbands.”
