Page 63 of The Sole Love

While he made his vow, Elizabeth tried to remember how they had arrived there—from the first time she had seen him in Meryton until that moment in the Pemberley chapel—but the memories seemed jumbled in her head. After all, she did not need memories. She had the man himself beside her, promising to love her for the rest of their lives.

“I, Elizabeth Bennet, take thee, Fitzwilliam Darcy, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

The ring was a simple gold band with their names engraved on the inside. The bride and groom were caught in the wonder of the moment. He placed the ring on her finger and, overwhelmed by emotion, said, “With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

“Forasmuch as Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

∞∞∞

Mrs Bennet had cried throughout the ceremony. She was happy beyond imagining; yet, as always in recent days, a corner of her heart was clouded by the anger her husband still harboured towards her.

She had observed that, following Jane’s betrothal, his anger had diminished. Still, a coldness and indifference remained that were even harder to bear.

She had tried in different ways to speak to him, but each time he had refused.

They walked beside each other as the parents of the bride, as tradition required, but there was nothing between them.

“We must return home and prepare for another wedding,” she said in the new voice and manner she had lately acquired.

The Gardiners avoided approaching them, hoping for a truce, if not a reconciliation.

This time, Mr Bennet listened to his wife. And not because of the many people present at the wedding, but because Elizabeth’s marriage had tempered his anger.

“Yes, Mrs Bennet, we shall depart in a few days.”

“It is a happy ending, is it not?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course it is. I am confident that our daughters’ husbands will give them happy lives.”

“We had a happy life, do you not think?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Please, just listen to what I have to say, and then you may decide what to do.”

Mrs Bennet tried once again to speak to her husband, and to her surprise, he agreed.

“I never loved Mr Haskett…never. It was not an unfulfilled love but a youthful indiscretion. I have not been lying to you for twenty-three years. I had not even thought about what happened until a few weeks ago.”

They walked in silence for a time, and then Mr Bennet offered her his arm.

“You are the only man I have ever loved,” Mrs Bennet said.

It was the declaration of a woman who did not know how to hide her feelings. For the first time in their marriage, Mr Bennet was pleased that his wife possessed that particular…flaw. Many times in the past, he had been embarrassed by her tendency to speak her mind too easily and too loudly. But for once, on that sunny summer’s day, it proved to be a priceless quality.

Epilogue

Darcy was hurrying down the hall, returning from his morning ride, when Mrs Reynolds appeared on the stairs with a tray and a stern expression. He tried not to smile and slowed his pace. Her mistress was about three months with child, and the entire house walked on tiptoe until she woke in the morning. He accepted the plate of biscuits she ate first thing each morning and received permission to enter his bedroom.

In recent days, his splendid wife—who had made passionate love at any time of the day or night—had simply vanished, replaced by an irritable woman he scarcely recognised but loved madly.

To his joy, he found her reading a letter, a strange smile on her face.

“Good morning, my love,” he said, hoping for a kiss.

“Good morning.” Her answer seemed full of promise. He adored returning from his ride and loving her, but lately there was only the slightest chance even of a kiss.

“I have a letter from Mama. I am an aunt: Jane and Charles have a little boy, Andrew!”