When everyone was finally in place, the ceremony commenced. Armin-arm with her uncle, Caroline stared straight ahead and softly repeated the three words she needed to remember. As she approached the petrified groom, he was horrified to hear, “Aisle-altar-hymn. Aisle-alter-him. I’ll-alter-him.” On the other hand, the rest of the tiny congregation hoped it just might be possible.
It was done. Caroline Bingley became Mrs. George Wickham during a wedding ceremony conducted by candlelight. Unfortunately, their passion burned for only a wick. In spite of that, with her marriage Caroline got a new name and a-dress. She should have been pleased by the fact her new address was a cottage on a three-hundred-foot cliff at the very edge of Pemberley’s border; and perhaps Caroline was content, or it might have been a big bluff. Regardless, one thing was certain … the Wickhams were a fastidious couple. He was fast, and she was tedious.
Any thought of those two actually reproducing would be almost unbearable and rather inconceivable; so, fortunately for the world, Caroline proved to be quite impregnable. Mr. and Mrs. George Wickham remained childless and childish. Of course, people may only be young once; but they can be immature forever.
While Jane and Elizabeth shopped with their mother and Mrs. Gardiner, Darcy had arrived at the Bennet townhouse and was directed by Baines to the sitting room to await Elizabeth’s imminent return. Mr. Bennet read the newspaper while his two youngest children sat on the floor, under the watchful eye of Miss Edwards, the governess. Lydia played with her favourite porcelain doll, Miss Michelle, which Robert’s tin soldier was persistently attempting to engage in a kiss.
“Papa, please tell Robert to stop. Mish does not care to be kissed. Gag a maggot, boys are icky!”
“You keep on believing that for another fifteen years or so, Lydia. However, I highly doubt your eldest sister would agree with you about kissing a soldier. I am reasonably certain Jane does not consider Colonel Fitzwilliam the least bit icky. Robert, leave Miss Mish alone.”
Darcy was more often at the Bennet home than his own and was already considered another member of the family rather than a visitor. Mr. Bennet nodded as the young man entered the room and picked up a discarded section of the newspaper. Cato the Philoso-fur immediately leapt onto his lap, and Darcy stroked its gingery coat as he perused the articles. After a few moments he commented, “I see the Prince Regent has coined a new phrase. Whenever someone curses luridly, ‘Prinny’ says, ‘He swears like Lady Lade.’ I daresay Lady Letitia Derby’s profanity could not hold a candle to my aunt, Lady Catherine der Bug … I mean de Bourgh. Her long-winded cusses would make a sailor blush.”
Prissy and missish Miss Catherine entered the room, frowned with reproof at the mention of bad language, curtsied to Mr. Darcy, and then said to her sister, “Lydia, as requested, I have done a reproof, edited, and written out a good copy of the foolish folly you and Robert composed.”
Mr. Bennet put down his Morning Chronicle and reached for the handwritten sheets containing the story, which was titled The Hanson Barberin. The tale was inspired by Robert Bennet and composed in collaboration with his precocious seven-year-old sister, Miss Lydia. The anecdote was then edited by strait-laced one-and-ten-year-old Miss Kitty, who somehow missed expurgating a certain section pertaining to where a young lady was kissed. Their father settled back in his chair, adjusted his spectacles, and began to read aloud:
“Once upon a time there was a handsome barbarian. A barbarian is a barber who works in a library. His name was Mister Daresay because he always said, ‘I daresay’. Mr. Daresay loved books. He slept between the covers, wore a dust-jacket, ate from a bookplate, and put a bookworm on his hook when he went fishing. One day his dog-eared hound, Mythter E. Tail, started to eat a spine-chilling mystery novel; and Mr. Daresay had to take the words right out of his mouth.
Mr. Daresay did his barbering in the library. He shaved and cut hair for lots of customers who were aristocrats. The library had more nobles than the royal court because of all the titles.
Mr. Daresay had a good friend who was a Knight. Sir Cular wrote handbills for Mr. Daresay’s excellent barbering. Whenever Sir Cular read a book from Mr. Daresay’s library, his Page was always at his side. Sir Cular had a sister, Miss Bizzy Lennet. Mr. Daresay and Miss Lennet loved one another very much. One day the handsome barbarian got all gooshy and kissed her in a very private place.
They were hiding behind a bookshelf. They thought no one saw them, but her brother and sisters all did. Mr. Daresay gave each of Bizzy’s siblings a pony. Then they all lived happily ever after. The end.”
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and looked over his spectacles to the spectacle of his blushing future son. “Is this enlightening account a product of my children’s over-active imaginations; or is it, in fact, based on fact?”
His fiancée had just entered the room and saved Darcy from further embarrassment as she spoke with enthusiasm of the new establishment she, her sister, mother, and aunt had discovered. The combination draper and bookshop had provided hours of material enjoyment as the ladies browsed amongst the text-aisles. Many volumes of ware to wear and read had been ordered.
Red-faced Fitzwilliam Darcy was thankful for the diversion, and he desperately hoped the other gentleman would believe the entire Hanson Barberin story was fiction. Non-friction between Lizzy’s father and himself was vitally important. Of course, the notion of him being a scissor-wielding barber was shear nonsense; nevertheless, the truth was he had gotten all gooshy and kissed Elizabeth in a very private place, indeed … behind the bookshelves. Drawing on his masterly command of the English language, Darcy said nothing.
The Darcy and Fitzwilliam families were the first arrivals at Pemberley, with the two de Bourgh ladies and Ellis Fleming close on their heels. Bingley showed up early the next day from neighbouring Staffordshire, and the three carriages conveying the Bennets and Gardiners were expected to roll in late that afternoon. The Anglican clergyman, Reverend Mr. Godfrey, was not expected to present himself until the eve of the wedding; and all the guests would arrive following the early-afternoon marriage ceremony. Because the three fiancés had each procured special licenses, their solemnization of matrimony rites did not have to take place in the morning or, in fact, even in the parish church.
The grand estate was in a state of organized chaos. Gardeners, huntsmen, labourers, cooks, maids, footmen, valets, coachmen, and the gamekeeper all had a hand in the preparations. Weeks previously, a steady stream of delivery carts had begun traveling the road to Pemberley from Lambton and London. Although Ellis Fleming and the Bennets were fairly flush in the pockets, it was not every day three members of two illustrious families such as the Darcys and Fitzwilliams were wed in the same ceremony; so no expense was being spared for the special event. Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds directed the flow of traffic as provisions flowed in for the nuptials and a lavish celebration to follow.
Heavy crates of fine wine, spirits, and champagne, courtesy of Mr. Gardiner, were carried to the cellar under the direction and watchful eye of Owen Reynolds. When told where to store the white wine, one footman gave the butler a blanc stare while another servant was ordered to lock up the vintage red wine in a cabernet. Unfortunately, the latter fellow accidentally broke a bottle, and the ruby-coloured liquid ended up on his livery, which earned the young man a scathing look of dis-stain from Mr. Reynolds. The clumsy servant winked at the other footman and said, “This drink is on me.”
During the days, hours, and minutes leading up to the wedding, Pemberley’s massive kitchen was a very heated place. Tempers sizzled, workers were steamed, and the new chef, Mr. Eggleston, lambasted his cooks. Despite being a cantankerous supervisor who often beat eggs and whipped cream, Mr. Eggleston was undeniably a very gouda chef who created grate delicacies from Cheddar, Cheshire, as well as Wensleydale. Nevertheless, the kitchen workers often referred to ‘Eggy’ as a munster or some other equally cheesy name. One emotional onion-mincing minion, Mrs. Culpepper, was particularly astir and mixed up; yet she took
it with a grain of salt when Eggleston had a beef with her lumpy gravy. He grilled and roasted the poor woman and called her ham-fisted. While Mrs. Culpepper inwardly simmered and stewed, she was inspired to calmly ask what the chef thought about serving honeymoon salad.
Tetchy Eggleston haughtily inquired, “And just what, pray tell, is honeymoon salad, Culpepper?”
“Lettuce alone, sir!”
Eggleston sniffed, lifted his chin, and looked down his nose at the baker, “You need to knead the dough faster, Mrs. Butterfield. It is the yeast you can do, and you should know batter by now.”
The baker may have been a gluten for punishment; all the same, when her shift in the kitchen ended, she left with a loathe of bread. The next morning when she started work again, Mrs. Butterfield noticed one of the large fruitcakes she had made days previously had been cut. She was not, however, the only woman one slice short of a loaf. The half-baked guilty party, in her toasty guest bedchamber, chastised her seasoned maid for not having pinched, poached, or purloined another crumby slice; and the harridan’s leavened, unsavoury language was most distasteful until the Lady’s daughter, Anne de Bourgh, arrived with a glass of laudanum-infused sherry.
It might be supposed he would have been of a disposition in which happiness overflowed in mirth the days before being united in wedlock with Elizabeth Bennet. However, his family, relatives, friends, and servants hardly knew a more awful object than perfectionist Fitzwilliam Darcy on that particular occasion, at his ancestral home with nothing to do but fret. He drove Mrs. Reynolds to distraction with his concern for Elizabeth’s comfort while under Pemberley’s roof, and he interfered in every minuscule detail of the preparations for the celebration. Darcy vexed Crispin Knott, his elderly valet, when he changed attire no less than four times before finally being satisfied with his appearance the day of her arrival; and he worried and paced because the Bennet carriage had not arrived precisely at the expected hour.
“Fitzwilliam George Darcy!” admonished his mother. “Do cease being such a niggling, nagging, nettling nuisance and simply allow the servants to do their duties without making each and every little triviality into a monumental issue. They are beginning to wonder if royalty is actually expected, and I imagine Elizabeth would be horrified if she knew how you have been absolutely agonizing over her arrival.”
Georgiana agreed with her mother. “Really, brother, Elizabeth is quite easily pleased, does not have unreasonably high expectations, and cannot possibly be so very fussy. After all, she has agreed to marry you.”
“My, my, you are rather whimsical in your civility today, Georgie; and my pitiable friend, Fleming, obviously has extremely low standards to be willing to wed such a termagant.”
“Children, behave! Fitzwilliam, why do you not go for an invigorating walk or a ride to expend some of your jitters? Take Romulus and Remus with you. Your foxhounds have been underfoot almost as much as you and would surely benefit from the exercise. I believe Mr. Bingley, Ellis, James, and Richard are playing cricket on the back lawn. Please join your friends and cousins. Please.”
“But what if the Bennets should arrive while I am not here?”
Georgiana was more than happy to provide the answer. “Elizabeth would certainly never forgive such a blatant transgression. You would subsequently be forsaken by her, left at the altar, ridiculed by society, and forced to live out the rest of your miserable existence as a lonely recluse.”
“Leave your poor brother alone, Georgiana. He is beside himself. My dear son, you shall not be jilted; and I do believe your father, your youngest sister, this dear, sweet, sarcastic young lady here, and I can all manage the Herculean task of welcoming the royal family to Pemberley without your invaluable assistance. Go. Physical activity will provide a respite from nervous tension.”
Darcy obediently called for his hounds and made his way outside but not before he heard Lady Anne mutter, “Your being outdoors will provide a much needed respite for the rest of us, and we shall endeavour to somehow muddle through without your precious guidance.”
“I heard that, Mother!”
Darcy and his canine companions took a stroll along the meandering stream, but the young man remained attuned for the sound of carriage wheels descending the hill or sight of the Bennet equipage crossing the bridge. With no sign of Elizabeth’s imminent arrival, he decided to spare a few minutes to check on the backyard cricket players. Regrettably, Darcy and his dogs were about as welcome at the game as they had been inside the house, for Romulus took great delight in fetching the leather-seamed ball, thus ending the closely scored match.
When his beloved bride-to-be finally appeared through Pemberley’s front door, roughly forty-seven and a half minutes late, Fitzwilliam Darcy became overwhelmed by her very presence at his ancestral home; and he then drove himself to distraction with unbridled thoughts of connubial bliss. Unhappily for him, Elizabeth was almost instantly whisked away from his side; and he began to wonder why he had not considered whisking her away to Gretna Green.
Our journey to Northumberland would have been much shorter from Scotland than from Derbyshire, and I would have been spared hearing any further descriptions of lace and finery from all the females gathered above stairs.
Darcy was subsequently besieged by rampant visions of Elizabeth in satin and lace and deluged with pleasurable fantasies of further wedding-night conjugal delight.
Upon arrival, Elizabeth had been immediately caught up in a whirlwind of welcome, introduction to servants, and an inordinate amount of fussing from Georgiana, Anna, Lady Anne, and Anne de Bourgh. She was swept away to her sumptuous chambers and presented with her newly appointed abigail, Ann Cillary.
Yet another Anne? Surely the number of Annes associated with Fitzwilliam’s family is an ann-omaly.
Although her opulent rooms were spacious, the bedchamber, sitting room, and dressing areas were inundated with a flurry of activity as her trunks were unpacked and refreshments served. Mrs. Reynolds and a bevy of maids saw to her every comfort; and Lizzy suspected her perfectionist fiancé was behind all the fluster, fuss, and foofaraw.
The Bennet children thought Pemberley was almost as fine a place as Longbourn, and Lydia and Robert enthusiastically met the numerous Darcy pets with squeals of glee that sent the poor creatures running for cover. When he was denied access to his fiancée, Fitzwilliam Darcy invited the two youngest Bennets to the barn to show them the tabby kittens that had been born in the summer, several weeks before their sisters’ first fateful visit to the estate. Darcy cherished time spent with the siblings of his beloved Elizabeth especially Robert, who was adorable, and Lydia, who was a younger version of Lizzy.
The youngsters already loved their sister’s tall, handsome fiancé like a brother; and as they walked, Darcy held their tiny hands and envisioned having his own family.
The dark-haired little girl looked up and said, “Mr. Darcy, your family certainly has quite a maginary of animals.”
“Miss Lydia, I believe you mean we have a menagerie; because I assure you Pemberley’s pets, birds, reptiles, amphibians, barn cats, horses, sheep, and cattle are quite real rather than imaginary. In fact, can you imagine an imaginary menagerie manager imagining managing an imaginary menagerie?”
“Good grief, sir. Sometimes I cannot easily make sense of all your wordy words. I may not be able to say maginary min … whatever you said, yet I can spell it.”
“Really? Very well, spell it for me.”
“I - T.”
Tare an’ hounds! I am such an easily caught gudgeon. “You are perfectly right, Miss Lydia; and no one admitted to the privilege of hearing your impertinent wit, so like your sister’s, can think anything wanting.” Darcy then turned to the little boy on his other side. “And you, my fine young man, are much too quiet this afternoon. Is everything well with you, Robert?”
“Yeth, Mither Darthy.” The wee tot walked along in silence for a few moments, with his thumb in his mouth, and then said, “Do you hafta kith Libazeth on
your marrying day?”
Good God, what now? “Well, Master Robert, that is certainly not a subject a gentleman normally speaks of with another. To kiss and tell is just not proper, you see. That said, I love your sister very much; so, yes, I do hope to … ah, kiss Elizabeth tomorrow after she becomes my wife.”
“But why? It hurts to kith on the lips!”
Bloody hell! This is not a conversation one wants to be having with one’s three-year-old soon-to-be-brother-in-law. “Ah, poppet, why are you under the impression it hurts?”
Lydia quickly answered, “Oh, I know what he means, sir. That day we caught you kissing Lizzy behind the bookshelves you were moaning and groaning and said ‘Oh, Elizabeth!’ as if you were in terrible pain. And then you kissed her neck, and then you … ”
“Enough! This is exceedingly inappropriate!” Darcy dropped their hands in order to run his own through his hair but stopped short of pulling it out. Thank God, we are at the barn. I shall surely be the world’s worst father if these two are any indication. The imps have me wrapped around their little fingers already. “Did you know we have a number of ponies here at Pemberley? Perhaps, if you are both very well behaved today and tomorrow, you might be allowed to choose one to take home with you to Longbourn.”
Lydia happily skipped behind the gentleman’s back to reach her brother’s side. While Darcy hastily strode on toward sanctuary in the barn, Lydia whispered to Robert, “See! I told you it would work.”
Darcy and Elizabeth had not been granted a private moment since her arrival, and they both suffered a bereft afternoon of longing for the other’s company. Lizzy, agitated and confused, rather knew that she was happy, than felt herself to be so. She had always imagined being at Longbourn to prepare for her wedding day; and although she was pleased to be at Pemberley again, her life suddenly seemed overwhelmingly unsettled. It was a comfort to be surrounded by the familiar faces of loved ones, friends, and new relations while in strange surroundings; yet knowing she would not be leaving with her beloved parents and siblings when they journeyed home to Hertfordshire was fairly disconcerting. Elizabeth experienced an evanescent sensation she was totally unready to leave her father’s affection and protection for that of a man with whom she had been acquainted for such a short time. There was no uncertainty in Lizzy’s heart regarding her love for Darcy, yet so much remained for her to learn about the man.
Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge Page 28
