The pews were packed. Mr. Bingley stood beside the vicar. He smiled brightly at Jane.
Another young man stood beside Mr. Bingley. Tall, dark, strong. Very handsome. His smile and firm gaze made Elizabeth blush.
Papa whispered into Elizabeth’s ear. “Do you know those gentlemen?”
She turned to him, her agitation mounting whenshe felt the watchful stares of dozens, if not hundreds, of eyes on her.
He signaled the gentlemen to join them, further provoking Mama’s nerves, and asking Elizabeth, “Does the name Darcy mean anything to you?”
Why was he speaking in riddles? Frustration growing, she replied, “Is it supposed to?”
The gentlemen stood before them now, their wide shoulders blocking the onlookers’ view and lending them a measure of privacy. It was considerate of her father, but Elizabeth did not understand why they were having this conversation when Jane ought to be exchanging vows with Mr. Bingley.
Papa inclined his head. “Mr. Bingley.” Slower, and with his gaze fixed on Elizabeth, he said, “Mr. Darcy.”
The handsome man smiled at her as though he knew her. His eyes were dark and captivating. But the intimacy in his gaze perplexed her. Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, she repeated in her mind until her head whirled, and the ground spun under her feet.
The man named Mr. Darcy caught her in his arms, his silk cravat brushing against her cheek. He held her close, as though he had embraced her before. Her skin burned and tingled at his nearness, as though she had allowed it. Enjoyed it.
Not liking this helplessness, Elizabeth shook herself free of him as soon as she gained her footing. All three gentlemen looked at her expectantly, eyebrows drawn, mouths gaping.
She knew she needed to say something, but what?
Papa prompted her, “Mr. Darcy…” He waved his hand in front of him, prompting her to finish his sentence.
Mama finished for her. “Of course, she knows who Mr. Darcy is. We are wasting time, and the vicar is waiting.”
Freeing Elizabeth from her mother’s grip, Papa repeated, “Mr. Darcy … your betrothed?”
Elizabeth’s gaze flickered over to Mr. Darcy. The horror in his semblance mirrored her own sentiments. Stepping back, shaking her head, she gasped. “I am sorry, but I have never seen this gentleman before in my life!”
CHAPTER 8
Darcy could not breathe. He could hardly stand.
Mrs. Bennet swooned. “I am so vexed, I shall faint. In all my life, I have never been so sorely vexed. Such spasms taking me over!”
Mr. Bennet held her up. “I know you are overwhelmed with concern for our daughter’s welfare, as any loving mother would be, but our Lizzy needs us to keep our senses, my love.”
“You only say that because she has lost hers!” Mama wailed and sobbed.
Elizabeth shook her head, her jaw stubborn and defiant. It was a look Darcy had come to adore over the past months, and it gave him hope. Her memory loss was temporary. It had to be.
She whispered her letters before moving on to the more challenging intellectual task of namingEngland’s monarchs as she ticked them off her fingers. Her cheeks were a feverish red when she finished, her eyes imploring as she continued, “My name is Elizabeth Anne Bennet. This is the Longbourn chapel where Mr. Brown has christened me and my four other sisters.” Motioning to her parents, she added, “You are my father, Thomas Bennet. My mother, Fanny Bennet.” She continued through their group, “You are Mr. Charles Bingley, who let Netherfield Park, and will soon be my brother when you marry my dearest sister, Jane.” Her eyes finally landed on Darcy.
He would almost prefer for her to look at him in anger than this empty, emotionless confusion.
She squinted her eyes, concentrating … to no effect.
Mrs. Bennet, now standing quite well on her own, stammered. “You are to marry Mr. Darcy, today, Lizzy. Come, now! We must not disappoint all of your guests.”
“How can I marry a man I do not know?”
“Do not know! How can you say such a thing? Can you not remember anything? His name? The name of his estate? The amount of his fortune?” Mrs. Bennet questioned frantically.
Miss Bennet tried to calm her mother, but her vexation only grew with each question Elizabeth did not — could not — answer.
Darcy’s throat pinched and swelled, making speech difficult. “What happened?” he asked.
