Page 75 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“Better than wine,” I murmured. “So much better than wine.”

“I must go,” I whispered. “If I stay a moment longer, I will not be able to leave.” I turned, my vision blurred by tears. I did not look back—I would see Fitzwilliam soon enough as we both stood by the altar in the church.

* * *

Mama and Papa had been married in this church. Mr. Smythe, the vicar, had read from the Book of Common Prayer—The Form of Solemnization of Matrimony. This was where he had baptised Jane and me, and where Jane had married Charles Bingley. Now, he was to marry Mama and George Darcy.

Uncle Edward handed his sister to Mr. Smythe, then stepped back to sit with Aunt Madelaine. I stood with Mama, just as Hattie had stood with her when she married Mr. Bennet. Fitzwilliam stood with his father.

Was that amber and sandalwood? The scent still lingering from when he had kissed my lips on Oakham Mount. My eyes, of their own will, sought his face, his dimples, his lips, now slightly pursed as he listened to Mr. Smythe begin the litany that would bring such joy and comfort to Mama, but steal away our felicity.

My mind wandered. Each minute seemed like an hour. Mama was radiant; truly, she was a beautiful woman, certainly come into her prime. Jane was sitting beside Aunt Hattie, tears in their eyes, that Mama had found another man to love her, to admire and comfort her…

“…both in prosperity, and adversity.”

George Darcy looked at his bride with such affection. I had seen that look before—this morning, when Fitzwilliam held me in his embrace; by the lake at Pemberley; at Wastwater—at a dozen places from the first moment I had laid eyes on this beautiful, handsome, comely man.

“…if any man can shew any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined so together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” Mr. Smythe paused, looking up from his text, smiling benevolently at those gathered in the church.

My breath caught—my heart warring with my love for Fitzwilliam and my duty to secure Mama’s happiness.

‘Lizzy, you must! Say something! You cannot let them go through with it.’ Lydia was whispering, pulling at my arm.

Hush, Lydia, this is not the place.

‘But you love Fitzwilliam! We all know it. If Mama marries his father, you never can.’ Oh, Kitty, that is my heart. But I love Mama too much.

‘But Lizzy, he is the most beautiful man,’ Mary’s voice was so very soft. ‘You must speak.’

And what would you have me say? That I would sacrifice my mother’s happiness for my own?

Lydia stamped her foot. ‘But what of your own happiness? Are you to give it up forever? For a law, for a custom, for—for—’

For my mother’s peace. For her hope of comfort, of security, of a companion in her later years. Do not ask me to rob her of that, Lydia.

‘What of true love, Lizzy?’

True love is not selfish, Mary. If I have learned anything, it is that.

‘But is it not selfish, in its way, to let Mama marry and ruin your own happiness, and Fitzwilliam’s?’ Oh, Kitty, please desist, you break my heart.

Fitzwilliam was staring at me—had he heard my muttering?

‘You must speak, Lizzy! Mr. Smythe has called for it! If ever there were a just cause, this is it!’ Was it Lydia or Kitty who had spoken? My mind was in such turmoil.

Mama took my hand, gazing at me uncertainly. “Oh, Lizzy, please dearest—you must tell me, tell all of us what troubles you.”

“I cannot. To stand up now, before all these people, and shame you? To declare your marriage wrong, because I—Oh! Because I am weak, because I cannot let go of my own attachment? No. I would never forgive myself.”

“Wrong… I do not understand.” Mama stepped back, her countenance furrowed in consternation. There was a rustle of unease. Jane clutched Aunt Hattie’s hand; Aunt Madelaine, that of Uncle Edward.

At that moment, Mr. Philips stepped forward. “I believe I can shed light on Elizabeth’s distress. Forgive me, my dear,” he said, looking at me with great concern, “I must break my promise to you.”

“No, no! Please, you assured me!” I glared at him, shaking my head.

Darcy, unnoticed, was standing beside me. “Elizabeth, let your uncle speak.”

Uncle Philips’s voice filled the chapel, echoing off the cracked stone walls and ancient oak beams that spanned the nave. “Let me come to the point. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam have made the cardinal error of falling in love. It is not up to me to question their hearts, however disruptive they are of this assembly. When Fanny and George marry, their children become brother and sister—ineligible to marry under either ecclesiastical or civil law; that is the case for our dear couple.