“Stand firm, Darcy.” Richard was on his left, checking his pocket watch. “I faced the French artillery at Talavera. The noise level was comparable, but we have the high ground here near the pulpit. And the flowers provide excellent cover.”
Darcy offered a low, breathless chuckle.
“I am perfectly well.” He smoothed the edge of his cuff, his voice thick with emotion. “I merely wish the organist would start playing.”
“Patience, Cousin.” Robert adjusted his own cuffs, his eyes also fixed at the back of the church. “Perfection cannot be rushed. Besides, I need a moment to fortify my own nerves. I intend to ask Miss Bennet for the first two dances at the assembly next week, and I need my courage intact.”
The grand pipe organ finally let out a resounding chord, and the congregation scrambled to their feet. The rustling of silk and muslin was deafening, followed by a collective hush.
Then, the world narrowed to a single point of focus.
Elizabeth stepped into the aisle, her hand resting on her father’s arm.
She wore an ivory gown of flowing muslin, overlaid with delicate, spiderweb-fine lace. Her dark curls were arranged beneath a simple, sheer veil, but her eyes, those impossibly bright, intelligent eyes, were uncovered and fixed upon him.
Darcy forgot how to breathe. He forgot the heat, the crowd, the twenty-eight years of pride and duty that had defined his existence before she laughed at him at an assembly ball.
This incredible woman who challenged his mind and warmed his soul was walking towards him. She offered a smile that held a thousand private jokes, a tender curve of her lips that made his chest ache with the magnitude of his love.
Jane and Georgiana followed close behind. Jane wore pale blue silk, her golden hair swept into an elegant knot, while Georgiana walked with her head held high and a confident, beautiful smile upon her lips.
Robert inhaled sharply.
Darcy spared a brief glance at his cousin. The great Viscount Keathley stood rigid, staring at Jane with such unguarded devotion that Richard had to nudge him with an elbow to remind him to breathe.
Darcy felt a surge of pride as he regarded Georgiana, a sting of moisture prickling his eyes. His sister was no longer the timid, broken girl of Ramsgate; she was a vibrant young woman walking towards a future filled with light.
Mr Bennet brought Elizabeth to the communion rail, where she took her place beside Darcy before the vicar.
Her nearness grounded him instantly. She brought with her the scent of jasmine and the intoxicating warmth of her presence.
“You are clenching your jaw, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth pitched her voice for his ears alone.
“I am entirely overcome, Miss Bennet.” His voice dropped to a rough, reverent whisper. “You are the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld.”
The ceremony began in a blur of ancient words and resonant echoes. When the vicar called upon the person who gave Elizabeth in marriage, Mr Bennet stepped forward. His cynical mask slipped, revealing a deep fatherly affection as he placed his daughter’s hand into Darcy’s.
“Make my girl happy, Darcy,” he murmured, his voice tight with emotion. “She deserves the world.”
“I shall give her that and more, sir.”
Darcy’s long fingers closed securely around Elizabeth’s.
He spoke his vows in a clear, unwavering baritone that carried to the very back of the nave, silencing even Mrs Bennet’s joyful weeping. He meant every syllable, engraving each one upon his soul, and when it was Elizabeth’s turn, her voice rang out with certainty.
Darcy retrieved the gold band from his waistcoat pocket and gave it to the vicar. His hands trembled only slightly when it was returned to him and he slid it onto Elizabeth’s finger.
The vicar joined their right hands and declared them man and wife.
Darcy bent his head, framed her face with his hands, and kissed her.
It was a tender, sweet kiss that drew scandalised gasps from the congregation. It tasted of devotion and melted away every misunderstanding and every barrier that had ever stood between them.
When they broke apart, Elizabeth was laughing, and Darcy intended to spend the rest of his life listening to that sound.
“Mrs Darcy,” he whispered against her temple, the title forming a crown upon his lips.
“Mr Darcy,” she replied, her smile radiant enough to rival the sun. “Shall we escape this crowd and inspect your cousin’s catering?”
