As she walked towards him upon her father's arm, he could think only that every road he had travelled, every mistake he had made and every improbable turn of fortune that had brought them together had been worth this single moment.
As Mr Bennet drew nearer, he felt Elizabeth's eyes never once leave his own. She smiled just a little wider and, without the movement being obvious to anybody else in the church, gave the smallest shake of her head.
Darcy frowned in puzzled enquiry. Her smile deepened. But it was only when they reached the chancel steps that he understood. She had been trying not to laugh.
"Steady," she whispered as her father placed her hand in his.
"I am perfectly steady," Darcy murmured.
Elizabeth's eyes danced. "Liar."
???
If the ceremony had been marked by quiet happiness, the wedding breakfast was loud and joyous.
Mrs Bennet declared every quarter of an hour that she was the happiest mother in Hertfordshire, weeping over one daughter before embracing the other. Mr Bennet bore it all with remarkable composure, observing only that two weddings together seemed a remarkably efficient way of doing things.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had somehow established himself at the centre of proceedings. Before long George, Lucy and Edward had persuaded him to demonstrate the correct method of fencing with a cake knife, whilst Kitty and Lydia declared themselves perfectly convinced that no officer in England could possibly be half so entertaining. Even Mary, though she attempted to maintain an air of proper reserve, was obliged to conceal more than one smile behind her wine glass.
Darcy watched it all with quiet satisfaction. The room was louder than any gathering he would once have chosen to attend, yet he found himself unwilling to miss a single moment of it. Wherever Elizabeth was, disorder seemed to acquire a curious charm.
Elizabeth caught his eye from across the room. Without a word she inclined her head very slightly towards the open terrace doors.
The gardens lay warm beneath the afternoon sun. Somewhere beyond the orchard a blackbird sang, whilst from the house came the muffled sound of laughter and Mrs Bennet announcing to somebody that she had always known Mr Darcy would make an excellent husband.
Elizabeth smiled and they wandered a little farther, neither in any haste to return to their guests. The old oak beneath which Elizabeth had so often sought refuge with a book during herchildhood cast a broad patch of shade across the grass, and it was there that Darcy stopped and turned to face her.
"It seems impossible," he said quietly, "that this morning you were Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
"And now?"
His expression softened with that look of quiet wonder which had scarcely left him since the ceremony. "Now you are my wife."
She smiled, lifting one hand to smooth an imaginary crease from the lapel of his coat. "I rather like the sound of that."
"So do I."
He cupped her face with such tenderness that it seemed a question rather than a touch. His thumb traced lightly along her cheek before slipping behind one soft curl that had escaped from her intricate coiffure. His hand lingered for a moment at the nape of her neck, his fingers warm against her skin, and he smiled as though he still found it extraordinary that he was permitted to touch her so freely.
"You are looking at me as though you cannot quite believe I am real."
"I am still deciding whether I might be dreaming."
She laughed, the sound low and affectionate. "I assure you, Mr Darcy, I am entirely real."
"I know, Mrs Darcy. My heart."
He bent his head then and kissed her, slowly, as though they possessed all the time in the world. She met him before their lips touched, rising instinctively to him until one of his arms encircled her waist and drew her gently against him. There was nothing hurried in the embrace. It carried none of the uncertainty of the inn, nor the desperate relief of their reunion in Gracechurch Street. It was simply the deep certainty of two people who had found the place where they belonged.
His lips lingered against hers and she answered him with gentle confidence. When he deepened the kiss she welcomed him without hesitation, her fingers slipping from his shoulders to rest lightly against the back of his neck. He felt her smile against his mouth and answered it with one of his own, a happiness so complete that it seemed almost to overwhelm him.
His hand drifted slowly from her waist, following the graceful line of her back before settling once more at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. The faintest shiver passed through her and she closed her eyes, leaning a little nearer still.
"I have spent an unconscionable amount of time," he murmured against her lips, "wondering what it would feel like to kiss my wife."
"And?"
"I fear it has ruined me for every other occupation."
