Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge
Page 30
The others groaned, and the Earl of Matlock cast his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. This Bennet family fondness for wordplay is quite out of control and obviously contagious. When the nobleman then asked if anyone was up for a game of billiards, Mr. Bennet stood, wobbled a bit, and said, “I do not have a cue how to play. All the same, I would certainly like to give it my best shot.”
Lord Matlock and Thomas Bennet walked unsteadily together toward the billiard room, and the former suggested his eldest son join them. James declined because he liked to play cards, though his father had been nagging him to re-deuce the amount of time spent gambling. Fitzwilliam Darcy knew of the Viscount’s checkered past and challenged him instead to a game of chess. The board was set up in front of the fireplace; and while they played, Darcy was surprised to hear his cousin speak glowingly of his expectant wife, Isabelle. Not to be outdone, the groom warmly praised Elizabeth, his lovely fiancée with the sparkling, intelligent eyes. Bingley came over to watch the match; but because of their proximity to the hearth, he soon became overheated and also grew tired of listening to chess nuts boasting by an open fire. If asked for an opinion, Charles would have favoured Miss Elizabeth Bennet as the more beautiful of the two women being discussed. The truth was plain and simple: Isabelle was plain, and her husband was simple.
Before retiring for the night, some of the older gentlemen gave the grooms a few words of advice. Thomas Bennet’s speech was a trifle slurred as he said, “Gentlemen, I offer you a small pearl of wishdom that has served this old married man well through the years. Can you guessh the three magic words you must use to ensure a happy and healthy marriage?”
Both were rather reluctant and embarrassed to voice the words aloud; nevertheless, his two sons-in-law, Fitzwilliam Darcy and Richard Fitzwilliam, dutifully gave the obvious answer in unison. “I love you?”
“Excellent answer! Please feel free to shay those words to my daughters often, but the three I recommend mosht are ‘You are right, dear.’”
Edward Gardiner rather gleefully pointed out the fact that had actually been four words and then saluted the three young men with his glass of port. “Here’s to a good sense of humour and a short memory.”
As they all staggered their way upstairs, Richard asked his older brother whether he had any advice for domestic felicity. James put his arm around his sibling’s shoulder and answered, “Sorry, Rich. As far as I know, the secret of a happy marriage remains a secret.”
The ladies, having long since retired, were not, however, all asleep in their own bedchambers. Lady Anne engaged an apprehensive Georgiana in a heart-to-heart conversation about matters of the heart and other hearty organs. Jane, Lizzy, Mrs. Bennet, and Mrs. Gardiner gathered in Jane’s room for a further discussion of what the brides could expect the following night and during their marriages in general. Mrs. Bennet hoped the physical side of their relationships would be as pleasurable as hers had been with her dear husband of twenty-two years, and she had already given her two eldest daughters separate talks on that aspect of married life soon after their engagements.
During that earlier preparatory tutelage, Elizabeth had been flummoxed. “Mama! You were in the middle of explaining wifely duties and marital relations and abruptly changed the subject. What is this nonsense about not having to settle for only a missionary position? I am getting married and am not at all interested in spreading God’s word in a foreign, heathen country. Not once has Fitzwilliam mentioned our taking on such a mission. In fact, he would most likely consider it quite beneath him. Although it may imply we are wrapped up in ourselves, I cannot imagine he and I ever being satisfied in doing such a deed.”
Mrs. Bennet had set her straight on the matter but had difficulty keeping a straight face while doing so, and she also assured Lizzy she could be rather nicely satisfied in such a position.
Although Lizzy was still a tad uneasy and Jane eager, their mother was more concerned with their emotional well being. “Girls, I am giving you some literature I hope you will consult. The first two are Sermons to Young Women by Dr. James Fordyce and A Father’s Legacy to his Daughter by Dr. James Gregory. Please read both books, and then ignore everything those two pompous asses have instructed, particularly the former. This author, however,” Mrs. Bennet held up Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, “is an inspiration.”
Elizabeth said, “I have already read Wollstonecraft and have even discussed the work with Fitzwilliam. I am entering into marriage with a man who respects women and considers us rational beings worthy of education. Lady Anne has been a strong influence in his life, and he cares very deeply for his sisters and wants them to be well-rounded individuals. If we are to be blessed with a daughter, I know he will feel the same about her. Fitzwilliam will be an excellent father.” Having voiced her thoughts, Elizabeth began to relax again and look forward to a happy life with a wonderful man.
Madeleine Gardiner hugged her and remarked, “Lizzy, you are very fortunate to have found such a fine gentleman. Then again, men are like coffee: the best ones are rich, warm … and can keep you up all night long.”
Jane and Elizabeth coloured and laughed; and the former exclaimed, “Aunt, I am shocked! But you still have my deepest affection. Lizzy and I are both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards you. By taking us into Derbyshire, you have been the means of uniting us with the very special men we shall wed tomorrow. We never wanted to marry solely for status or for the matri-money; and your marriage, and Mama and Papa’s, influenced our hope we could really marry for love. Thank you both for setting perfect examples.”
Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, “Oh, my dear Jane, no marriage is perfect. We all have our share of vexation, so please do not enter the married state with expectations of perpetual bliss and perfection. Arguments will certainly occur; so take my advice, and never go to bed angry. Just go to bed with him … a lot.”
“Mama!”
“I am teasing, Jane. Yet, truthfully, never go to bed angry. Always stay awake and argue until your husband realizes you are right.”
“Mother!”
“I am sorry for being so silly. You have found a gentleman who loves you very much, dear; and I am sure your Richard will be a sensible husband willing to discuss, understand, and respect your views.”
Jane nodded in agreement and decided to share a story she had recently heard from him. “Although Viscount Wentletrap and his wife are now behaving in a more civil manner toward one another, my future brother and sister-in-law were not always so thoughtful. Richard told me of the time he was traveling by carriage with them to Rosings Park, and the couple said not a word to the other for many miles. Before departing, they had been involved in a rather nasty argument; and both stubbornly refused to concede their position. As they passed a barnyard of mules, goats, and pigs, the Viscountess sarcastically asked, ‘Relatives of yours, James?’ Her husband replied, ‘Yes, my in-laws.’”
Their laughter filtered out into the hallway; and as the Viscount stumbled toward his wife’s bedchamber, he wondered what in the world the ladies found so vastly amusing at that ungodly hour of the night.
Elizabeth Bennet was in a bed, under his roof, so near and yet so far. The union would take place in a matter of hours, yet Fitzwilliam Darcy wanted her as his wife then and there. He paced in his bedchamber, restless with unexpended energy, unfulfilled needs, and vascular congestion. Lusty yawns aside, he doubted he would sleep at all that night and knew it would be extremely hard in such a turgid state of frustration. His ravenous appetite was aroused; and although that hunger would not be sated, perhaps there was something he could do about a craving for something sweet and warm. Darcy headed for the kitchen and the desired hot chocolate.
As he had expected, workers were still astir; and loyal Mrs. Reynolds was on hand to supervise last minute arrangements. When the housekeeper inquired why he had not simply rung for a tray, Darcy replied, “Well, in addition to having a hard … time getting to sleep, I was hor … hor
ribly hungry and also wanted to check on preparations for tomorrow.”
“Sir, I assure you everything is proceeding as it should. You must not concern yourself with such matters. It is very late, and you should be asleep. Now, what can I fetch for you?” Once his request was made, Mrs. Reynolds prepared his hot chocolate just the way he preferred it and set the mug before her young master at the large wooden table.
“Mrs. Reynolds, will you and Mr. Reynolds be at the wedding ceremony?”
“Of course, sir. Your parents have already kindly requested our presence, and Owen and I are honoured to attend. Now, please excuse me. I really must continue with my duties.”
She hurried to her office and went over the list of tasks to be accomplished before she could catch a few hours of sleep. Darcy sipped his warm drink and thought he might abscond with a scone and retire to his bedchamber.
The workers hustled and bustled around the enormous room, nervously glanced at their young master, and wondered why, of all places, he was in their midst on the eve of his nuptials.
Darcy’s family, friends, and fiancée were all in their beds, snoozing, snuggling, snogging, or snoring; but the young man did not want to be alone with his wayward thoughts. The servants’ chatter, however, did nothing to alleviate his torment; and he caught segments of their conversations as they scurried about the kitchen.
“ … and where’s the tureen fer that blasted clear meat soup? What’s it called? Consummate?”
“Nay, it’s consommé, mate.”
“Ain’t there larger punch bowls? I thought we had a couple.”
“They’re on the top shelf. Careful of your noggin. You don’t wanna get bonked.”
“Ah, Susie me luv, if yer offerin’, I wouldn’t mind gettin’ boinked.”
“Oh, shove off, Randy, and go to bed!”
“I’ve done finished the cider, Kate. Now what should I make, luv?”
“Lud, I can’t remember what vegetables bloody Eggleston wanted me to pick. Was it potatoes, turnip, carrots, and ravish?”
“That’s radish, corkbrain! And if Eggy hears you, he’ll be givin’ you a headache to sleep with.”
“Why can’t I just leave them apple cores and peelings here tonight? Them horses can wait fer a treat. It’s too bloody cold out, the stable’s too far, and I don’t want to go all the way.”
“Oh stop bein’ such a baby, and just go do it!”
“See this here iron pan? Keep pesterin’ me, and it and yer backside are gonna become intimate!”
“Well, now, that’s a fine way to talk, ain’t it? You need to learn gooder social intercourse.”
“Don’t dare touch them biscuits! I’m savin’ ‘em fer Nick, Kate.”
“AARGH!!!” The astonished servants froze in their places and gaped as Pemberley’s heir sprang from his chair and ran out the kitchen door into the frosty night without first donning a coat.
After cooling off in the frigid air, Darcy returned to his lonely bedchamber and attempted to get his mind out of the smutty gutter by familiarizing himself with the beautiful words he would have to repeat during the wedding ceremony. He located his well-worn Anglican Book of Common Prayer and found next to it his copy of the ‘good book’. He picked up the latter and muttered, “Better yet, I should peruse this one; there are certain passages I should know, in the biblical sense.”
The gentlemen had thought the previous evening’s female clamour was rather diverting; however, on the morning after the night before, their aching heads wished for quietude and calm. George Darcy was not suffering from the repercussions of imbibitions of spirits but rather from the spirited activity rampant in his home. A giggling bridesmaid, giggling maids, and giggling maidens joined the cacophony of yipping, yapping, and barking dogs. Shrieks of laughter followed shrieks of shock as a wet Maltese, that resembled a drowned white rat, shook itself in Georgiana’s chamber; and squeals of delight resounded as the beautiful brides presented themselves to admiring family, friends, relatives, and one another.
Ellis Fleming, Thomas Bennet, the Earl of Matlock, and the Viscount Wentletrap were all a little worse for wear; and Mrs. Reynolds, who was already overworked, was asked to prepare a batch of her remedial elixir. Pemberley’s excellent housekeeper had not been bestowed that accolade without having earned it, and the tincture had already been brewed the evening before in anticipation of its requirement. The remedy was in the gentlemen’s hands and upset stomachs post-haste; and as the morning wore on, the men’s mental capacities proportionally increased from bags of hammers to their normal intensive intelligence.
Mrs. Bennet had heard a new wedding rhyme that was supposed to be lucky, and she insisted her daughters and Miss Darcy should have every advantageous start to good marriages. Therefore, each bride incorporated into her preparations something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a silver sixpence in her shoe.
Georgiana proudly wore her late grandmother’s strand of lustrous pearls, and the required silver coin had been sewn into the lining of the left foot of her new pair of dainty slippers. Pretty jewelled hairpins, belonging to her mother, held her blonde tresses in place; and both her silk gown and the ring Ellis had given when he proposed were blue.
Jane and Elizabeth wrapped delicate pieces of lace from Mrs. Bennet’s own wedding gown around their fragrant bouquets, and sixpences had been sewn into satin slippers. They donned pearl earrings borrowed from their Aunt Gardiner and blue ribbon garters. The mother of the brides watched as pretty new bonnets with lace veils were carefully placed upon her daughters’ coiffed tresses. Mrs. Bennet lovingly kissed her daughters’ cheeks and tried her best to hold back tears, to no a-veil.
In Fitzwilliam Darcy’s dressing room he and Crispin Knott argued, as usual, over the gentleman’s attire. The elderly valet had been chastised over his choice of cravat and knot and was quite put out. “Sir, with all due respect, there is no need for such a tie-rant on your wedding day. Please stop fidgeting and allow me to finish this complicated new knot.”
“Knott, I am the one who will actually tie the knot this afternoon. The choice is mine, and I insist upon a white silk knotted in the Oriental. Please fetch that neckcloth; and while you are at it, these trousers have been de-pleated. Please have them pressed again.”
Behind Darcy’s back, the valet made a face and asked, “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Well, what do you think about the plain ivory waistcoat? I know you prefer the embroidered one; but I have a vested interest in looking my very finest today. Yes, despite your worthwhile advice, I shall wear the less fussy one.”
Knott sighed and peevishly capitulated to his singularly fussy master. “Suit yourself, sir!”
The newest structure on the manicured grounds of the grand estate known as Pemberley was a small wooden chapel with a pretty bell tower. Its construction had been ordered immediately following London’s scandalous ball at Matlock Manor, and the local Anglican bishop had consecrated the building just days before the Darcy family returned to Derbyshire. The chapel was a freestanding edifice erected on the vast lawn near a certain seven-foot hedgerow where, one sultry summer afternoon, four handsome young men had encountered four lovely young ladies and three romances had blossomed. The estate’s staff had worked long and hard to have the place of worship prepared in time for the wedding. Hugh Wickham, Pemberley’s steward, had jokingly mentioned they were all in a steeplechase against time.
On the morning of the wedding, the pretty little building smelled of freshly hewn timber, paint, polish, flowers, and greenery from the orangery. Chimes rang out from its gabled belfry in a most a-pealing and in-spiring manner. A young hawk sat, unnoticed, atop a nearby tree and watched as the group of finely dressed humans flocked to the chapel’s front door.
The senior Mr. Wickham had designed, supervised, and physically worked on the construction of the little church; and because Pemberley’s exemplary steward was also an accomplished organist, he was asked to play the chapel�
�s small pipe organ during the wedding. Although he had a Bach-ache from so many hours of manual labour, he was honoured to provide the music for the ceremony. Through correspondence, the three brides had selected their favourite pieces from Mr. Wickham’s repertoire; and as soon as people began to file into the chapel, he performed Air on the G String.
Miss Mary Bennet sat in the left-hand second-row pew with Lydia, Robert, and Kitty. Her youngest sister listened to the pretty piece of music for a while and then whispered, “Mary, is that song by Mozart, the opera-tunist?”
Mary whispered back, “No, Lydia. The composer is Johann Sebastian Bach; and because it is very lovely, please be quiet and appreciate the music.”
Miss Lydia tugged at the sleeve of her sister’s pretty white frock and asked, “Do you know why Mozart killed all his chickens?”
“Good heavens, Lydia! What a morbid question to ask in church. Oh, very well,” she whispered. “Why did Mozart kill all his chickens?”
“Because they kept saying, ‘Bach! Bach! Bach!’”
Mary tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter, and the prissy Miss Catherine admonished her older and younger sisters with a stern look and a hissed “Hush!” Three-year old Robert Bennet then began to cluck like a chicken just as the Earl of Matlock entered. Kitty was mortified and leaned down to speak into her brother’s ear. “Robert, do you remember why you must be quiet in church?”