By the time the documents were prepared for execution, the winter afternoon light had begun to fade.
As Darcy rose, Harding allowed himself a faint smile. “You are marrying a fortunate lady, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy paused only a moment before replying, “I am the fortunate one, Mr. Harding.”
From there, he had one final errand.If I hurry, I may be able to complete everything today and return tomorrow… if Bingley is amenable, that is.
The common license could not be obtained without the proper authority, and that authority rested—most conveniently—on Bishop Ashford, who happened to be Lady Anne’s godfather.
Darcy was shown into a warm, book-lined study in the bishop’s London residence. The man who rose to greet him was broad of frame, silver-haired, and possessed of eyes that twinkled with perpetual amusement.
“Fitzwilliam!” the bishop boomed. “Come to confess your sins?”
“If I were, it would not be to you,” Darcy replied with a smile.
Bishop Ashford was well aware of Darcy’s Catholic beliefs, and he was one of the few clergymen in England who did not decry him for it. It had become something of a jest between the two of them over the years.
Chuckling, Bishop Ashford waved Darcy into a chair. “I received your note yesterday. It seems you are getting married, then, eh? What does my goddaughter think of your betrothed?”
“Lady Anne approves of her.” Darcy could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “She and Georgiana both have enjoyed making her acquaintance.”
“And this young woman is aware of your… beliefs?”
“Yes, she is. She has consented to allow our children to be raised in the tradition of my ancestors.” Darcy’s words were delicate, knowing that even a bishop’s office had walls with ears.
“Is she of age?”
“No, she is not yet one-and-twenty. I have brought a letter from her father that grants his permission. Should you need it, my friend Mr. Bingley was present and can attest to its authenticity.”
Darcy produced the sealed letter from Mr. Bennet, as well as that of Bingley, who had stood dutifully as witness to the request. The bishop broke the seal, scanned the contents, and made a low humming sound.
“Very convincing,” he said at last.
Darcy stiffened slightly. “Convincing?”
The bishop’s brows rose innocently. “One must always be cautious. Young men in love have been known to forge signatures.”
Darcy’s posture straightened at once. “I assure you, sir, I would never—”
The bishop’s deep laugh cut him off. “My dear boy, I am jesting!”
Darcy blinked once, then felt the faintest heat rise to his collar.
“You take matters of honor seriously,” the bishop continued, still smiling. “A commendable trait in a husband.”
Darcy inclined his head, recovering his composure. “Marriage is not a matter to be trifled with.”
“No, indeed.” The bishop dipped his pen into ink. “And this young lady—does she understand that she is marrying a man who debates legal phrasing before breakfast?”
A faint, reluctant smile touched Darcy’s mouth. “She understands me better than anyone.”
“Then she must be a formidable woman.”
“She is.”
The bishop signed the necessary papers with an exaggerated flourish. “There you are. A common license. You may be married at once, wherever you please, without the inconvenience of banns.”
Darcy accepted the license with careful reverence. It was a small sheet of paper, unassuming in appearance. Yet it removed delay, uncertainty, and the hazard of worsening winter roads and calling the banns in Derbyshire.
