by Beth Massey
As they watched the proceedings, Marianne whispered to the two men that the gowns worn by the sisters were very similar. Mr Hunt determined that if the need arose to report on the wedding for the Examiner, he could rely on Marianne to provide a full description of the brides’ clothing. He noticed the personification of fashion sense; Mr Beau Brummel was also present—with the hopes of borrowing some blunt from one of the other attendees. Surely, he would be happy to weigh in on the attire of the two grooms—if need be. Mr Hunt was correct in his assessment of Mrs Hunt’s ability to notice in minute detail what the brides wore. She pointed out the disparity in the necklines of the two dresses. The taller of the two—Miss Lydia Bennet—wore a dress that had a bit more daring décolletage than the petite Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Neither gown had a train. Both were quite simple in their adornments. The fabric was of the finest quality silk and the colours varied slightly… Miss Lydia’s gown was ivory and Miss Elizabeth’s had the slightest blush of pink. Neither wore a bonnet nor a veil. Each wore a circlet of roses in their simple upswept hair. Again the colours of the roses matched their gowns. Later at the wedding breakfast, Mr and Mrs Hunt and Lord Byron, discussed their impression that the romanticism of the age in the visual arts, music and literature had been influential in inspiring the restraint of their gowns and the simplicity of their hair. They both had the idyllic look of the numerous paintings of a very young Emma Hart. Neither bride resembled the infamous Lady Hamilton in countenance, but both had brought to Saint James a certain classical, appreciation for nature as depicted by Romney in his paintings of that beauty.
Mr Sterling had determined a similar assessment of the brides. To him these sisters seemed to feel no need to pretend wealth or status. They stood at the altar glowing with health, blushing with emotion and both had a look of breathless anticipation. His appraisal of the grooms seemed similar to that of the brides. The most striking difference from the young women was the consequence of the two men. One was a viscount—the heir to an earldom—and the other owned a vast estate. As he watched the ceremony, he wondered whether he should write about the event as indicative of the new age that was dawning.
The wedding breakfast, organized by the mother of the brides and the aunt of one of the grooms, was as exceptional as the couples being wed. Mrs Bennet and Lady Sarah Rowley had truly become the best of friends while bringing to fruition one of the most unique celebrations London had ever seen. Each brought an array of strengths and weaknesses to the work, and the decision was made to divide the labour to emphasize each of their special qualities. Mrs Bennet had an eye for flower arrangements. Her taste tended to be excessive on many matters, but when it came to bouquets she insisted that the beauty of the blooms and the nature from which they sprung be allowed to take centre stage. The flowers of autumn were in abundance in her arrangements… mums of many shades and purple asters combined with turning Dogwood leaves and berries… liberally enhanced by roses of every hue. When Mr Philips was forced to return to Hertfordshire to attend to a business matter, she put him in charge of returning to London with jugs filled with the roses she and Jane grew at Longbourn. They ranged in colour from the deepest red to the starkest white. The ballroom at Blessing House was festooned with ivy at a stage when the unripe berries resembled yellow stars. Mr Darcy’s estimation of his mother-in-law grew considerably when he saw the elegance of the rooms dressed for the celebration.
Lady Sarah took charge of the food. She pulled into service Maximilien Lacombe who had at his disposal the staff at Blessing, Darcy and Teasewell Houses in order to create a feast of epic proportions. Mr Hunt from the Examiner noted the standard British fare of eggs in numerous guises, potatoes, kippers, ham and sausages were expert in their preparation. However he also observed, tucked in among the ordinary, were some decidedly unpatriotic offerings. He was beginning to think an article on this wedding might, indeed, tickle the fancy of his readers.
Lady Sarah had referred Mr Hunt to the man who supervised the creation of the many dishes offered at this auspicious wedding breakfast. The chef was, indeed, from the country with which they were at war. Maximilien Lacombe introduced himself as a baker by trade who had taught himself to cook. He had read and reread the books of the great chefs from the time of Louis XIV to perfect his art. François Pierre de la Varenne—along with Nicholas de Bonnefons, and Francois Massialot—had been responsible for a culinary revolution that even the participants of the recent social revolution had embraced—despite their origin in the era of le Roi Soleil. Max was supremely eloquent as he explained how these chefs heralded a move away from the use of heavy spices and toward the more liberal usage of herbs. These refined techniques had ushered French cuisine into a modern era. Max did not tell the Examiner’s editor of his secret conviction that the British envied all things French. He did, however, tell Mr Hunt with a completely serious demeanour, that he had prepared several succulent dishes that represented the higher cultural level of the land of his birth.
The young Mr Sterling, of a decided English palate, noted the oysters baked with a topping of shallots, chervil and béchamel seemed to continually need replenishing… as did the simply steamed cauliflower and asparagus with a hollandaise sauce. He and Mr Hunt conversed briefly on the diversity of the dishes. Their conversation took place in the vicinity of another popular dish of thinly sliced potatoes layered with cream and cheese that Max referred to as pommes de terre dauphinoises. It was this dish that caused Mr. Sterling to remark to his older and more well known colleague; the conviction that some of the celebrants’—including his own editor—were certain to experience a flare-up of their gout. He was sure tomorrow their toes would be as depicted in James Gillray’s famous etching of a bout of that ailment. Mr Hunt laughed heartily and told the young man of meeting the famous caricaturist and print maker a few years back… before Mr Gillray lost his sight. They both concluded the flamboyant man—who had inspired the Prince Regent to pay a great deal of money to suppress one of his prints—would have enjoyed attending and perhaps even depicting this wedding and its slightly seditious repast. The conclusion of their conversation was a discussion of the rumour of Gillray’s attempt to kill himself. Mr Sterling proved to be the more knowledgeable in the details. “I heard Mr Gillray threw himself out of an attic window above Humphrey's shop in St James's Street last year. Though he survived… he has subsequently lapsed into lunacy.”
Max had been proud to point out to Mr Hunt, that la Varenne had written the first comprehensive work on pastry making, and he had become a master of his technique. Le Pâtissier François had provided Max with the knowledge and this celebratory breakfast the occasion to show off his skills. Huge batches of pate a choux had been made as well as custards, creams and pastes with which to stuff the puffy pastry. Max and Lady Sarah had decided to set up one table to show off his petite pastries. There was a tower constructed to display the bite-sized delectables. On the tiers, were tiny éclairs and puffs, there were mille-feuille layered with any number of concoctions, tiny cakes robed with fondant that were decorated to provide a feast for both the eye and the mouth, luscious fruit tartlets, baked meringues filled with lemon curd, delicious almond macaroons, and lovely shell shaped madeleines.
Max’s specialty breads seemed to please the celebrants and at least one of the brides… croissant, brioche buns, pain au chocolate, and warm from the oven crusty rolls were mingled with scones and tea breads of all variety of fruits and nuts. His apricot walnut scone was very popular. There was something to delight all palates… even the most jaded.
The rooms at Blessing House—the name seemed so very appropriate for the occasion to Mr Sterling—abounded with Whigs and Tories, men with titles and men without, those whose wealth came from the land and those whose wealth came from trade, men whose birthright put them in the House of Lords and men who had been elected to the House of Commons. Mr Sterling observed rich men speaking to poor men. Undoubtedly among those conversing were some beggars attempting to borrow and certainly some
thieves attempting to steal. Through the course of the wedding breakfast, he conversed with doctors, lawyers and even an Indian Rajah. He met poets, playwrights and one artist, Mr Thomas Lawrence, who was painting portraits of the two brides in their wedding gowns. There were saints and sinners, but it was bit difficult for Mr Sterling to tell who was who. He had heard the wealthy McFurtive brothers were of dubious character, but he knew not why. There were an inordinate number of unattached beautiful young women who he had never before seen at any event he had previously attended. He assumed they were friends of the brides who had travelled from Hertfordshire. The odd thing was that some of the most important men in the room seemed to be quite familiar with those young ladies.
Mrs Bennet and Lady Sarah had both lent their talents when organizing the dancing. The orchestra kept the celebrants busy for hours. The two women had discussed whether to have a waltz, but decided to forgo the scandalous dance in the interest of not creating any untoward gossip. Both knew the wedding was the subject of enough speculation already without raising the stakes. They did decide to mix more formal dances prized by the ton with country-dances those from Hertfordshire enjoyed. Their goal was to encourage those of all tastes to participate.
Anne de Bourgh had never before danced publicly… not even at her cousin James’ wedding. This time she was free from her mother’s restrictions, and her family applauded her daring. Anne stood up with all three of her cousins, her uncle, Mr Lawrence Holmes and shared two sets with Dr Parton. The young woman, who had been allowed to go nowhere, found it quite easy to talk to this young man who had travelled extensively.
Because Kitty was already out, Mr Darcy agreed Georgiana could dance as long as it was with family. Since the number of eligible partners had increased dramatically since her brother and Elizabeth had exchanged vows, she was kept quite busy for the duration. Mr Bennet danced with Georgiana after first dancing with his wife, but he gave her precedence over dancing with any of his other daughters, including Elizabeth and Lydia.
Once again, Mrs Bennet marvelled at the change that had come over her husband. For twenty years she had been unable to convince him to dance, and now he felt compelled to enter every set. She became certain this was an omen for a better life ahead… a life that would perhaps continue to improve as each of their other three daughters wed.
Elizabeth and Will had danced most of the early sets, but for the last few they sat together and spoke quietly of their plans to travel to Hertfordshire; to be followed by their journey to Pemberley and the anticipation of time spent in their cottage. Darcy’s watch told them the sun would set within the hour and they decided to make their way across the square through the park to Darcy House. They said their goodbyes to family and friends before spending time expressing their gratitude to those most responsible for the success of the day—Lady Sarah and Mrs Bennet. Elizabeth pulled her mother aside to bestow a kiss to seal the new phase in their relationship. She watched in awe as her husband kissed her mother, complimented her on the beauty of the flowers and expressed how pleased he was to, once again, have a mother. The smile he bestowed on Mrs Bennet left no doubt as to the genuineness of his feelings.
Next the newlywed Darcys made their way down stairs to the kitchen to thank the many who had worked so diligently to ensure the success of the celebration. Both housekeepers, Darcy House’s Mrs Richards and Mrs Leahy of Blessing House were celebrating with all the staff that had put together such an auspicious event in such a short amount of time. Darcy spoke for the couple. “Thank you to everyone for the most beautiful and scrumptious wedding celebration Imaginable. Mrs Richards, we will need nothing more for the rest of the evening except the fruit I requested earlier in the day.” He smiled at Max as he said, “I am not even certain we will be able to eat the fruit… considering the amount of food we tasted today.”
Elizabeth broke in to add, “In fact I am unsure I will ever be able to eat again.”
Max replied, “Mrs Darcy, believe me, you will be ravenous soon. I will ensure that fresh from the oven croissant will be awaiting you for tomorrow’s breakfast. There will also be some pastries sent over to accompany your fruit this evening. Your big strapping husband did, indeed, eat and he will probably not be hungry…” He paused for dramatic effect with just a hint of a twinkle in his eye before he completed his thought. “…for food tonight.”
Mr Darcy struggled to retain his composure in front of both his and Lord Blessing’s staff. He realized what a great breach of etiquette and propriety Max had committed, but what he really wanted to do was laugh. Besides, today he was in a forgiving mood, and oh yes, the man was French.
Max continued to speak directly to Elizabeth. “But you… ma petite choux… you barely touched a thing.” He saw her begin to blush and rushed to reassure her. “No need for embarrassment as I know it was not because you disapproved of the fare. You have made it clear how much you love my bread. Poor little one, I assume it was just wedding nerves. But, you must eat something more than fruit before you sleep.” He turned his attention to Darcy as he said with that same impertinence, “Mr Darcy it is now your right to insist your wife obey. My pastries are the perfect size to feed to your beloved.”
Elizabeth and Will had decided when they arrived at Blessing House to send the carriage away. The loveliness of the day had inspired them to anticipate a final walk through the park. Lizzy donned her spencer, but no bonnet. Will had convinced her earlier she need not wear one today. The roses in her hair were just too enchanting to cover. Besides, they would only be outside for minutes as they made their way across the square. Reminiscent of their stroll this morning, he spied observers at several windows.
They spoke of the events of the day, Lord Blessing’s invitation to the press, the rumours that Lord Byron had spurned Lady Caroline Lamb, their introduction to Mr Sheridan, Mr Brummel’s elaborately knotted cravat and the Rajah’s turban with its magnificent ruby adornment.
Elizabeth held tight to Will’s arm as they walked toward their home. She asked the question she had been wondering about for hours. “Will was the petite woman sitting with Bella and Lady Sarah, Susan.
“Yes, she is a lively one. She has devised the most interesting personas to explain who all three of them are when she, Bella and Max open their bakery and live together. During her years at Teasewell House, she has learned to hide her Yorkshire accent but still slips into it with Bingley. Sometimes she pretends to be Suzette from France.”
“She has spent time with Mr Bingley?”
“Yes, they are close friends; but believe me, Lizzy—her love is only for Bella.”
After time spent contemplating the information, she decided to move away from the topic. She began to speak of the dancing. “The participation of Anne and Georgiana was unexpected, but most of all I was surprised by my father’s. Mama looked particularly pleased to take a turn with him.”
Just as they reached the middle of the park, Will said, “I had hoped there might have been a waltz. Now that we are married it would not have been so very scandalous to dance holding on to my wife as we whirled about the room.”
Lizzy’s voice reflected a bit of curiosity as she pondered the image he had described. “My mother and Lady Sarah thought it best not to promote any unnecessary talk. Although some of our guests must have prompted some tongues to wag. I do not know how to waltz, but it sounds enjoyable. Would you teach me someday?”
He stopped their progress, turned and captured her gaze as he moved very close and whispered, “May I show you now?” There was a look of desire in his eyes that caused her to almost lose sight of proper behaviour.”
Somewhere amidst the shivers his stare had released, she managed to say, “Here in the middle of Grosvenor Square?”
“Yes, twilight is upon us and provides a bit of privacy.”
She seemed confused as to what was proper, but he convinced himself he saw a slight nod and then he noticed what seemed to be a trembling of her body that was oh so very arousing. He threw c
aution to the wind when remembrance of her recent words came to him. “If we had only acted, and I had allowed you to kiss me—your first proposal would have been accepted.” That memory prompted him to begin his instructions, “I put my hand on your waist… like this. You put your hand on my arm… here. Our other hands touch with your fingers resting on my palm, just so. Once in this position, we just whirl around in time to the music. My hand on your waist is your guide.” Their circular pattern continued for several moments as he hummed a tune.
Lizzy smiled with pleasure as she mentally evaluated this new dance. No wonder it was considered scandalous. There was something very sensuous about their twirling in the twilight, and it brought to mind other activities awaiting her upon their arrival at Darcy House. She was attached to him in an almost embrace… as they moved as one… their scent and breath intermingling as they swayed.
He halted their movement, but did not remove his hands from her body. She heard the lush sound of his voice whisper. “We must return home. I desire a dance of another kind.”
A fifteen-year-old Lady Colton sat at her dressing table and peered intently at her image in the mirror. A few hours before, she had just been Lydia Bennet; and now she would rarely hear her name spoken without it being preceded by ‘Lady.’ The increase in her consequence was not without its appeal, but it had brought with it duties, responsibilities and obligations. She sighed as she realized she had not the knowledge of what they all were… what to do… how to act… or what to say. He had whispered to allay her fears that he would teach her. She supposed she was as ready as she would ever be to begin.
