Unexpected Miss Bennet (9781101552780)
Page 22
And then it was over. Mr Aikens put a ring on her finger, they signed the book, and Mary walked out a married woman, accepting the cheers and felicitations of the guests. The cold air felt good on her fevered cheeks and she was handed into the carriage with Mr Aikens beside her. They were bundled with furs, a hot brick was placed at her feet, and they set off to Longbourn House for the wedding celebration. Still in a daze, Mary looked about her and caught sight of Anne de Bourgh, accepting the thanks and good wishes of Mr Collins to herself and her mother, as if the day had been graced all the more by their deigning to participate.
There came a lull in the general hubbub, and Lady Catherine’s voice rose clearly into the air.
‘I did not want to come, but Anne insisted. Anne can be very strong-willed.’
Mary and Anne looked at one another. For a moment the young woman hesitated and then she said something to her mother and came by herself over to the carriage, the crowd parting for her.
Anne looked quite well. She was still thin and pale but her eyes were bright and her pelisse and bonnet framed her so becomingly that one could see her only as a young woman, not a sickly girl.
‘Mrs Aikens, I wish you every joy,’ she said, holding up her hand. Mary leaned down and took it.
‘Thank you, Miss de Bourgh. I am so pleased that you came today. Will you – can you come to the celebration at Longbourn?’
Anne gave a most mischievous smile. ‘I think so,’ she confided, and Mary knew that however it had happened, Anne had achieved a measure of independence at last. Anne de Bourgh turned to Mr Aikens and conveyed her congratulations as well as a pretty apology for their last meeting. Then she left them both and the carriage pulled them towards Longbourn. Under the covering wraps she and Mr Aikens held hands.
The de Bourghs did come to the wedding feast and Lady Catherine sat silently for some time until her nature got the best of her and she could be heard remarking to all and sundry her opinion of the ceremony, the feast, and the expected outcome of such a marriage; then, as the punch flowed, she began discoursing on the countryside, the household, the furniture, the servants, and, finally, the French. All in all it was a successful reception, in that at least one guest gave the rest something to talk about for years to come.
Mrs Bennet sat and took in everyone’s congratulations on getting her least likely daughter married. Mr Bennet gravely spoke with his sons-in-law, including his newest, and longed for everyone to be gone so he might have his peace and quiet. Mr Collins could be seen eyeing Longbourn until Charlotte made him stop.
Mary found the crowds unbearable. When the time came for the carriage to take them home – her new home – she was relieved and thankful. So they were once more tucked into the closed carriage, with warm bricks at their feet and wraps all around, and were sent off with cries of well-wishing. When they left Longbourn behind, she sighed with relief. Mr Aikens sat next to her, and her nerves rattled pleasingly.
‘Well, Mrs Aikens, we have done it at last,’ he said. He gave her a sound kiss, so that she could not speak, but only think, We have indeed. And then she could think of nothing else for rather a long time.
SO IT WAS that several days later, Mr Aikens and Mary sat together in the small parlour, a fire burning merrily on the hearth, not a bit of smoke coming into the room. Mary read out loud from The Mysteries of Udolpho, which had become a favourite of her new husband’s. He told her that he had never forgotten when she had read it to him at Pemberley, under the trees, sitting on his coat to keep out the damp. He could even sit quite still, only tapping one foot, as he listened, and made her start all over again from the beginning, saying that he wanted to have the whole thing fixed in his head before continuing with the tale. He exclaimed often over its strange twists and had a great deal of advice for the characters, often interrupting to say that the author could not have met such people in her life, she must have made them up out of whole cloth, they were completely out of his experience.
But after a while, Mary’s voice grew strained, and Mr Aikens said, ‘My dear, I think it’s time for bed. We keep country hours here.’
Mary smiled, marked her place and got up. She placed the little book on the shelf beside the mantel, next to Fordyce’s Sermons and her father’s book on the plants and animals of England. It was not a grand library such as was found at Rosings, or even as good as the one at Longbourn, but it was a start.
‘I agree, Mr Aikens. Time for bed.’