Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4
Page 3
The temperature dropped suddenly as she went into the church. The stone walls closed around her and the stone floor echoed with her footsteps.
At the front of the church stood Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam but there was no sign of the Rev Mr Pike. Neither was there any sign of Miss Anne de Bourgh.
The reason for that soon became clear when Mrs Jenkinson arrived, with a message from Lady Catherine. Miss Anne de Bourgh was unwell and could not attend the rehearsal. Lady Catherine had remained at Rosings with her daughter, but she had sent word that the rehearsal was to go ahead, although the wedding would now be postponed, so that Miss de Bourgh might have time to recover.
‘Her ladyship asked me to give you this note,’ said Mrs Jenkinson to Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Colonel Fitzwilliam opened it and read it.
‘What does it say?’ demanded Mr Darcy.
‘I would rather not read it,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam, looking embarrassed. Elizabeth guessed it was couched in her ladyship’s usual dictatorial and conceited terms. Colonel Fitzwilliam continued. ‘However, we are Lady Catherine’s guests and her wishes must be obeyed. She asks you, Miss Elizabeth, to stand in for Miss Anne. She notes the hymns and readings she has chosen and she asks me to time the rehearsal. She requires us to go through the whole ceremony, from the bride walking down the aisle to the bride and groom walking back up the aisle again as man and wife after the ceremony. Once she is aware of the timing, Lady Catherine will decide when Anne should sit and when she should stand for the ceremony.’
‘It will be a strange rehearsal, with no proper bride and no clergyman,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Who is to stand in for the Rev Mr Pike? Unless we are to wait for him all afternoon?’
‘As to that,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam, as the sound of a horse’s hooves came through the open door of the church, ‘it sounds as if the Rev Mr Pike has just arrived. I am sorry to inconvenience you, Miss Elizabeth, but it should not take long and it will help my aunt and cousin, I believe. Will you agree to take Miss Anne de Bourgh’s place?’
Elizabeth cast a saucy glance at Mr Darcy. She was mischievously alive to all the humour of the situation. She, to marry Mr Darcy! Oh, only as a charade, as a rehearsal for his real wedding, but she was amused to think that the proud and arrogant Mr Darcy would have to pretend to plight his troth to a country squire’s daughter! She could see him almost squirming with embarrassment at the mere thought of it!
Good. Let him squirm. He had caused her sister a great deal of unhappiness, and he had blighted Mr Wickham’s prospects for life. He deserved his embarrassment. So she turned to Colonel Fitwilliam and said, ‘I would be delighted.’
She looked at Mr Darcy defiantly and had the satisfaction of seeing him look back at her with a look that said he wished himself a million miles away.
‘Then may I ask you to go outside with Sir William and Miss Lucas, and come in as soon as you see that Mr Pike is inside?’ asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Elizabeth inclined her head. ‘You may.’
‘Thank you,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam with a bow.
What a courteous man he is, thought Elizabeth. So different to Mr Darcy!
Mr Darcy stood at the front of the church with a face as stony as the granite that made up the church. His visit to Rosings was getting worse by the minute. He had thought to crush his feelings for Miss Elizabeth Bennet by firming his betrothal to Miss Anne de Bourgh, but the opposite had happened. Elizabeth’s lively wit and vitality had made Anne seem a poor creature in comparison, and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s admiration of Miss Elizabeth had shown him that Miss Elizabeth was truly deserving of the admiration of a well-born gentleman. In his heart of hearts, he was now regretting his hasty action, for it could not be undone. He had formally offered for Anne and been accepted. He was caught, truly and completely. There could be no escape.
Even if there could – even if, somehow, he could withdraw his hand – it would simply be a repeat of the situation he had found himself in at Christmas. He could not marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet, not if she were a thousand times livelier and more attractive than Anne. It simply would not do. Her buffoonish cousin, Mr Collins, was as bad as her ridiculous friends, the Lucases. True Mrs Collins had once possessed some sense, when she was Miss Charlotte Lucas, but her decision to marry Mr Collins showed that she was just as ridiculous as the rest of her family. Miss Maria Lucas had already dropped her posy twice, and what a posy! Composed of a few flowers from the parsonage garden, hastily tied together with a piece of unmatching ribbon! Sir William Lucas had been rendered as speechless as his daughter by the occasion, contenting himself with bowing every time Mr Darcy or Colonel Fitzwilliam looked in his direction – not a brief, sensible bow, but a flourishing, courtly bow that was out of place in a small country church.
And Miss Elizabeth herself – lovely, yes, and with a sparkling wit to match her sparkling eyes, but not a woman he could marry.
If only Anne looked like that! If only Anne had such conversation! If only Miss Elizabeth Bennet was Miss Anne de Bourgh, in reality as she was to be now, in the wedding rehearsal.
But she was not, and wishing for such an impossible thing was pointless.
It was going to be hard, standing at the altar and practising the wedding service with Miss Elizabeth, while all the time he knew that this lovely young woman would be replaced by a cross and sickly one on the morrow, when his real wedding would take place.
The worst of it was, Miss Elizabeth had not been in the least abashed when she had discovered he was to marry Miss Anne de Bourgh. When he had thought about it beforehand, he had imagined that she would be impressed and humbled; that she would see herself as a young woman who did not deserve the illustrious Mr Darcy; that she would recognise the merits of Miss Anne de Bourgh and see what was necessary in the way of breeding, inheritance and fortune to win the hand of one of the most eligible bachelors in England.
But instead she had been amused. He had seen it on her face the night before, and in her sparkling, fine eyes. She had thought They deserve each other! Yes, that was it, he was sure. It had been written all over her face.
Had he done it to spite Miss Elizabeth? He had thought he had done it to end her ascendance and to put paid to the hold she had over him, for it was as if she had bewitched him, so attracted had he become. But had there been a desire to spite her, too? To put her in her place? To show her – as well as himself – that she was beneath him?
If so, he had failed, for Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a unique young woman with a discerning mind. She was not easily swayed or manipulated. And, as the Rev Mr Pike scurried down the aisle and took his place at the altar, Mr Darcy had to face the fact that he had lost her for ever.
It should have given him a sense of satisfaction. That had been his intention, when he had removed all possibility of ever doing something as foolish as proposing to her. But instead of a sense of satisfaction, he felt only hollow.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth stood outside the church with Maria and Sir William, waiting for a few minutes so that the Rev Mr Pike would have time to catch his breath after his brisk ride across the countryside. The old, bent sexton was tending the graves and Elizabeth wandered over to speak to him. He was carefully removing the weeds from around the graves. She exchanged a few pleasant words with him, commenting on the weather, which had turned mild, and the sun, which had peeped out from behind the clouds, and the beauty of the daffodils.
He was glad of a chance to talk to her and he stopped his weeding to share a few pleasantries.
After a few minutes, he looked towards Maria and said, ‘Not much of a posy.’ He then bent and picked some of the bright yellow daffodils. ‘Give them to the little bride,’ he said, smiling benevolently at Maria.
‘She is not the bride. I am,’ said Elizabeth with a mischievous smile.
‘And a bonny bride at that,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Here, Miss,’ he called to Maria. ‘For your posy.’
‘It is a pity there is no organist,’ said Maria. ‘Will there be one tomorrow?’
‘I dunno about tomorrow, but I can play a bit if you like,’ said the old man.
‘That would be delightful,’ said Maria.
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled. She could just imagine Mr Darcy’s face when the bent old sexton started to play! For although there was a chance the sexton was an accomplished musician, somehow Elizabeth doubted it.
‘We are about to go in,’ said Maria. ‘Could you play something as we process down the aisle?’
The old man gave a toothless grin.
‘You leave it to me, Miss,’ he said. ‘I’ll get my apprentice to pump the bellows. He’s somewhere hereabouts,’ and hobbled away.
Maria gave a happy sigh.
‘This is just like a real wedding. And the best thing is, we may do it all again when Miss de Bourgh is well.’
‘It will be very different then,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Lady Catherine will be presiding and Miss Anne de Bourgh will be wearing something more suitable than a white muslin gown. She will be dressed in silk or satin.’
‘I think you look very nice,’ said Maria stoutly.
‘Indeed, the stars themselves cannot outshine you,’ said Sir William, with a flourish.
The sound of wheezing bellows drifted out of the church.
‘Miss Elizabeth,’ said Sir William, making her another flourishing bow and then offering her his arm.
‘Here. You should have this. A bride should have a bouquet on her wedding day,’ said Maria.
Elizabeth laughed.
‘It is not my wedding day!’ she said. ‘Indeed, Lady Catherine would have an apoplexy if she thought I was to marry her nephew, instead of her daughter.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Maria, thrusting the bouquet into Elizabeth’s hand.
Elizabeth took it with a good grace. She accepted Sir William’s arm and walked over to the church door. A delicate breeze was blowing, and she could feel it putting colour into her cheeks.
Ahead of her was the church door, made of good English oak, and as she stepped inside she felt the peace and serenity of the church envelop her. This was no longer a time for levity. This was a time for solemnity. As she paused for a moment before beginning her walk down the aisle, she thought of all the other brides, over the centuries, who had stood where she was standing now, and then stepped forward into an unknown future.
She felt Sir William, beside her, starting to move, and she matched his steady steps as they walked down the aisle in time to the organ music which was filling the small church and rising to the rafters.
Then Mr Darcy turned round to look at her and there was a look of longing in his eyes, so that her breath caught in her throat. It was of such intensity that her steps faltered and she felt as if she was alone with him in a nimbus of light, looking deeply into his eyes and seeing him for the first time.
And then Colonel Fitzwilliam tapped him on the shoulder and he turned round and the moment was broken.
Elizabeth continued her progress up the aisle, the short train of her muslin gown showing white against the ancient stone. She held her head high and arrived at the front of the church just as the music ended.
The Rev Mr Pike looked rather startled, as well he might, for it was not every day he was asked to replace Mr Collins, and not every day he was asked to preside at a wedding rehearsal. But he gathered himself, put on a solemn expression, and said, ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.’
Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised at this, but Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head slightly. To interrupt the ceremony now and make Mr Pike say, ‘Miss Anne de Bourgh,’ would interfere with his timing of the ceremony.
As the service went on, Elizabeth stole a look at Mr Darcy. She wondered what was going through his mind. Was he really happy to be marrying Miss Anne de Bourgh? Did he really think it better to marry a young woman for her birth or her dowry, rather than for love? What a fool he was.
If he had been poor, she could have understood it. Men such as Mr Wickham had no choice. They could not marry for love, since they could not afford to support themselves, let alone a wife. They had to pursue women with handsome dowries. But for Mr Darcy, who was rich beyond the dreams of avarice, and possessed of a handsome estate; who was his own master and who could do whatever he wished; for him to marry a woman he did not love seemed ridiculous, and not only ridiculous, it seemed tragic. What a waste of a life. What a denial of happiness. What a stupid decision.
She thought of her aunt and uncle’s happy marriage, and thought of everything Mr Darcy was throwing away. She recalled her words to her aunt at their parting, when her aunt had invited her to the Lake District. “What are men to rocks and mountains!” What indeed.
She was brought out of her thoughts by Mr Pike announcing the hymn. The organ piped up and the singing began. Colonel Fitzwilliam had a pleasant bass voice and above it warbled Maria’s pretty soprano and Sir William Lucas’s broken falsetto.
Mr Darcy’s voice was a rich baritone. If only he lived with the same passion he put into his singing, thought Elizabeth, he would be a much happier man. He would not be so haughty and arrogant and – stuck up! Yes, the phrase was unrefined but it was true. He was stuck up.
Her own voice lacked the polish of an accomplished performance but displayed a feeling that few professional singers could hope to match. She was the voice of England; of its sunny pastures and its cool forests; of its pretty villages and its sparkling streams; of its magnificent houses and its formal gardens; of its country walks and its elegant ballrooms; of its stately dinners and its restless sea.
So lost was she in the singing that she was sorry when it came to an end. The service continued, interspersed with more hymns and several readings. To Elizabeth’s surprise, they had all been well chosen. Lady Catherine might be a dictatorial woman, but she had a feeling for ceremony and the service was undeniably well thought out. Mr Darcy carried his part very well. His responses were clear and throughout the service he was the epitome of an English gentleman.
The only thing that marked it out from a real wedding was the fact that Colonel Fitzwilliam looked surreptitiously at his pocket watch every now and again, and of course the Rev Mr Pike would leave out whatever was necessary in order to ensure that the wedding remained a rehearsal only, and did not result in a legal union.
Sir William gave the bride away; Colonel Fitzwilliam produced the ring, and Mr Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand, then slipped the ring on to Elizabeth’s finger. His touch was assured, and it made Elizabeth’s hand tingle.
‘With this ring, I thee wed,’ he said. ‘With my body, I thee worship.’
There was something in his voice when he said those words that made Elizabeth’s eyes gaze into his own and again she felt a moment of connection, like the one she had felt when walking down the aisle.
It must be the place, she told herself, some relic of the many marriages that had taken place in that church. They must have imparted their feelings of love and devotion to the stone walls, and she was feeling their resonance. She dismissed them with a determined air. She reminded herself of Mr Darcy’s many faults, and then made the responses.
The hymns and readings continued until at last Mr Pike said, ‘You may kiss the bride.’
For a moment, Elizabeth thought that Mr Darcy was going to refuse, but Colonel Fitzwilliam was again looking at his pocket watch and Mr Darcy leant in and kissed Elizabeth on the cheek. It produced a tingling sensation which was very pleasant and made her think that Miss Anne de Bourgh was a lucky woman. A moment later she banished the ridiculous thought. Miss Anne de Bourgh, a lucky woman, to be marrying this man who was taking her for her name and possessions, and not for herself? No, indeed, Miss Anne de Bourgh was not a lucky woman, s
he was most unfortunate. Elizabeth thought, for the first time in her life, how lucky she was to have almost no dowry and no useful connections. At least when she married – if she married – her husband would be taking her for herself.
The organ sounded again and Mr Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm. She took it, feeling a tingling again as she did so, and together they processed back up the aisle. They were followed by Maria, Sir William and Colonel Fitzwilliam, with a beaming Rev Mr Pike bringing up the rear.
Elizabeth emerged into the spring sunshine and turned up her face to the welcome warmth. After the cold of the church, it was good to feel the touch of the sun. The birds were singing and the almond trees were just starting to blossom, their pretty pink flowers showing against the dark brown branches. Above them was a clear blue sky. It was the kind of day to put heart into anyone.
But Elizabeth’s warmth and happiness were dashed an instant later when the Rev Mr Pike emerged from the church and, smiling benignly, said, ‘Mr and Mrs Darcy, let me be the first to congratulate you.’
‘Mr and Mrs Darcy?’ she queried.
‘Why, yes,’ said Mr Pike, looking from one to the other of them in come confusion. ‘You are Mr Darcy?’ he enquired.
‘I am,’ said Mr Darcy frostily.
Mr Pike turned towards Elizabeth, smiling again.
‘Ah, I see, you are not yet used to your new name,’ he said. ‘An understandable reaction from a new bride. You will soon accustom yourself to it, I am sure. Who would not want to be Mrs Darcy?’
‘I would not!’ said Elizabeth, abandoning Mr Darcy’s arm and stepping away from him. ‘This was a rehearsal, and nothing more. Miss Anne de Bourgh – the real future Mrs Darcy – was taken ill and I stepped in for the rehearsal, but I can assure you that I am not, and never will be, Mrs Darcy.’
Mr Pike turned as white as a sheet and he tottered backwards. He looked so ill that Elizabeth put out a hand to steady him, for she was afraid he was about to faint.
‘B . . . b . . . but . . . ’ he stammered. Then gulped. ‘No one told me it was to be a rehearsal,’ he said in frightened tones. ‘The stable hand told me I was wanted to perform a marriage ceremony.’