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now, William. I would like to converse with some of the guests at my own wedding breakfast. There will be time enough for kissing later,” she teased in a low voice.
These words alone were enough to stir the blood in Darcy’s veins and make him long for nighttime.
He had been right to decline Mrs. Bennet’s plea for a long engagement. He had waited long enough for his bride, and a month was all he had been willing to grant for the sake of wedding preparations. Scarcely less eager, Bingley and Jane had taken advantage of Darcy’s impatience and decided to make it a double wedding.
Thus, Jane and Elizabeth Bennet were wed to the loves of their lives within seconds of each other. Nothing could have made the sisters—or their bridegrooms—happier.
Mrs. Bennet had spent the last month in a frenzy of preparation, but now she seemed a bit overcome by the proceedings. Rather than gadding about the breakfast to chat with guests, she had collapsed into a chair and babbled tearfully about how fortunate she was that her daughters had found such fine gentlemen to marry.
Darcy surveyed the room in satisfaction, watching the people he loved most in the world enjoy each other’s company—or at least tolerate it. In one corner, Richard had been trapped by Kitty and Lydia as they vied for his attentions. He was the only man in regimentals, so naturally he drew their attention.
Darcy had learned to his satisfaction that Wickham had been cashiered out of the militia after abandoning his regiment in Brighton to escape some debts. His whereabouts remained unknown. Elizabeth had discovered that Lydia had harbored some partiality for Wickham, but Elizabeth’s untimely “death” had required the youngest Bennet daughter to return to Longbourn, undoubtedly escaping further meddling from Wickham.
Then Darcy’s eye was caught by a most welcome sight: Adele—her niece and nephew in tow—moving in his direction. They had only arrived in Hertfordshire the previous day and still showed signs of fatigue from their journey. Adele and Marie were clearly delighted to be in England, and even Bernard had lost some of his sour demeanor when he learned his aunt might permit him to join the English army. He felt destined to be a soldier, but Adele had forbidden him to fight for Napoleon.
Darcy also had written to Mr. Martin, inviting him to leave France and come to Pemberley. The older man was considering it. The town of Lambton needed a doctor, so Darcy hoped that the Martins would accept his offer.
Adele embraced Darcy and Elizabeth, who introduced the French visitors to Jane and Bingley. “You will be remaining in Britain?” Bingley asked with a wide smile.
“Yes,” Adele responded. “For now we will live at Pemberley, but we cannot remain indefinitely.”
Darcy shook his head. “I have told you I would love for you to stay, and I always say what I mean.”
Adele considered this. “That is true, but if I live at Pemberley, I would wish to contribute to the household. Mrs. Reynolds hardly requires any assistance.”
Darcy exchanged a look with Elizabeth that made the latter blush. “We are hoping we could soon offer you a suitable occupation.”
Adele frowned in confusion, but Marie covered her mouth, her eyes dancing with merriment. Apparently Darcy needed to be more explicit. “Mrs. Darcy”—how he loved the sound of those words—“and I are hoping to have the nursery occupied within a year.”
The older woman’s eyes lit up. “Oh, magnifique! I would love to help raise another generation of Darcys. Someone must teach them proper French.”
“As you say,” Darcy agreed. He had seen Marie entertain some of the children at the wedding breakfast and had no doubt she would make an excellent governess when her aunt retired.
Adele clasped her hands to her bosom, surveying the crowd. “I cannot believe you are wed, Will! It seems like only a few days ago you were sliding down the banister and spilling ink over your father’s papers.”
“Oho!” Bingley chortled. “So he did get into scrapes just like other boys! I had always wondered.”
Darcy rolled his eyes at his friend, but Adele’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed, he did. I could tell you stories…”
As the Frenchwoman involved Jane and Bingley in tales of Darcy’s childhood hijinks, he drew Elizabeth away. He had been sufficiently sociable for a while; now he wanted a bit of time with his bride.
He drew her to a corner of the room where a window overlooked the garden. “William,” she laughingly protested, “we should talk to our guests.”
“We will in a moment,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I just needed to take a moment to remember how fortunate I am that I traveled to France and that you survived the shipwreck. I could have lost you so easily.”
She regarded him with serious eyes. “Even when you found me, I was still lost—at least for a while.”
He shook his head. “Not truly lost. I always knew you belonged with me, even when you had forgotten me.”
“I must have slipped into the role as your wife so easily because part of me always knew I was destined to be yours. My soul knew what my mind had forgotten.”
“So you are saying you never truly forgot me in your heart?”
“Precisely.” She gave him a wide, wicked grin. “You are truly unforgettable, Mr. Darcy.”
The End
