Chapter 21

June, 1812

Once again, Fitzwilliam Darcy found himself standing a few feet from the pulpit in the church at Meryton. Three months ago, he had watched Bingley marry Jane Bennet, and his soul had been a twisted mass of envy and confusion as he gazed longingly upon the woman he adored, but whom he thought beneath him as a bride.

The changing of the seasons from early to late spring, and from late spring to summer, had brought him joy beyond expectations. He had been an utter fool when he ran away from Hertfordshire, from Elizabeth, the previous autumn. He thanked God for that unexpected meeting at the library, which had brought Bingley and Jane Bennet together again and had, in time, shown Darcy that his heart and life belonged to Elizabeth.

The pews in the church were well filled, which Darcy found gratifying. It was not, of course, due to his own person, since while he was respected, he was not beloved in the neighborhood. No, it was his darling Elizabeth who drew the townsfolk here today. He could see the Lucases and the Longs, and many of the other four and twenty families who made up the gentry in this little piece of Heaven on earth, Meryton, where he had found the woman he adored, who was his perfect match. Elizabeth was not serene and calm like her older sister. She was fire and she was passion, and vigor, and intelligence, and quick wit and he loved her. Oh, how he loved her!

On the right side of the sanctuary sat a beaming Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley, along with the countess of Matlock, her eldest son and his wife, and her three daughters. The Matlocks, while not entirely pleased when informed that their wealthy nephew was engaged to the daughter of a country squire, were delighted to assist in obtaining a special license, which would permit their second son to marry Anne de Bourgh, the heiress of Rosings. The earl and countess had cheerfully conspired to keep Lady Catherine in the dark about the wedding time and location, and Darcy found himself amused at the prospect of his formidable aunt rushing about London in search of her errant progeny. By the time Lady Catherine discovered her daughter’s location, Anne would be Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and Richard would be the legal owner of Rosings. It would be good for the estate, and Anne, for Lady Catherine to move to the Dower House, and Darcy had no doubt that Colonel Fitzwilliam, accustomed to war, would manage that feat in short order.

There were no officers present, which Darcy considered propitious. The militia had been sent to Brighton for summer maneuvers, though one of their number, the former lieutenant Wickham, was currently confined in a prison hulk for theft.

The organ began to play, and the doors opened at the back of the sanctuary. Darcy glanced quickly at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was standing a few feet away, and then toward the rear of the church as the earl of Matlock stepped forward with Anne de Bourgh on his arm. The lady was dressed in pale yellow, with a wreath of pink roses in her hair and a bouquet of blushing roses in her hand. Darcy noted, with a small part of his mind, that his female cousin looked better than he had seen her in many years.

Most of his mind, of course, was focused on Elizabeth, who now stepped through the doors from the foyer, her hand tucked into her father’s arm. She was dressed in soft green with a dark green overdress, and her magnificent hair gleamed in the light streaming through the windows. Her ivory colored veil was decorated with a few yellow daisies, and she, like Anne, carried a bouquet of roses, though her roses were yellow and orange.

The earl attained the end of the corridor and carefully moved Anne’s hand onto his second son’s arm, before retreating to sit by the countess. Mr. Bennet, in turn, relinquished Elizabeth into Darcy’s care and took his place with his own family, and the two couples turned toward Mr. Allen, who was beaming down on them joyfully.

“Dearly beloved, we have gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation…”