Page 87 of The Last House in Lambton
The rest of the morning was something of a trial, and I was left craving a moment of silence, a spell of calm reflection in which to ponder the enormity of committing myself for life to a man who would now claim all rights over me. But no—Mama had predictably worked herself into a lather of anxiety interspersed with odd little sounds that might have been stifled shrieks of joy. Never mind that this wasmyparticular day, for she required a great deal of attention lest she suffer a case of the vapors on the steps of the church.
I looked into Mr. Darcy’s face as he stood in front of the vicar and offered him a rueful smile. He winked at me in the spirit of commiseration, for had we not once agreed that a wedding was the least romantic occasion in the world? Yet, time was our friend, and reminding me a little of Doreen, it shuffled interminably through the wedding breakfast until, suddenly, we were in the coach—shaded, cool, silent, and alone.
“Is it over?” I asked in a tone of benighted fatigue.
“Yes. Perhaps I have you to thank for the fact we are on our way an hour before I expected to be?”
“What? Did I indeed exhibit unseemly haste in leaving? My word, I certainly hope I did not do so for reasons I once attributed to Mr. Collins.”
“Do you mean lust and an urgent desire to be home? For if you do, I pray you might just this once take his example, Elizabeth.”
Mr. Darcy, who once condemned me as a person whose first object in life is a joke, had somehow come around to the realization that the most direct means of securing my admiration was to make me laugh. And as we continued what he called our ceaseless flirtation, we laughed a great deal indeed.
But we also had the privacy to revert to rather more ardent expressions of our regard, and we continued the exploration of desires that had flared in the darkened doorways of Brighton.The journey to Pemberley is long, yet we were very well occupied and utterly immune to the days as a result, and before I knew what had happened, we were surrounded on both sides by the chalk hills.
“I remember,” he said reflectively, “once riding through this cut after a most dreadful night, thinking that I would not die of love. Yet, I now know that I had never really lived without it.
“Hush,” I replied in a whisper, kissing his bare knuckles. “You overwhelm me.”
“Do I? Perhaps I should raise your spirits and tell you I have a strong feeling that Mrs. Jennings will recognize you today.”
“No, how could she? I have been away for several months. She will have no greater recollection of me than she did of Mrs. Burke, who was a mere stranger to her.”
“I shall wager you a guinea I am right,” he said mysteriously.
“Done! Now explain why you are so certain?”
“She will greet you as Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” he said on a chuckle.
I laughed and lamented the loss of my bet all in one jumble of happiness, for the notion of being greeted by Auntie as Mrs. Darcy genuinely thrilled me.
And then we were suddenly flying down the valley and past the lake in my husband’s elegant coach, pulled by a matched team of Newmarket’s finest. And since Keller was in the habit of showing away his skill with the ribbons, we came to a flashing stop, scattering a bit of gravel behind the wheels, in the circular drive at Pemberley.
“We are home,” Mr. Darcy said with sweet relief.
“We are home,” I echoed with a deep sigh of contentment, stepping out and blinking in the brilliant light of summer.
There, lining the steps and spilling out in all directions stood the entire household to welcome me, with Auntie also blinking in the sunlight and beaming her innocent smile of incomprehension. Keller, Sam, and the grooms—save one to hold the horses—jumped down and took their places in the crowd. I had never dreamed of such a royal welcome, and I stood stock-still to meet their smiles; so many were now dear to me already. And then Mr. Wood, the kennel master, came forward, and I once again broke into tears when Queenie, overjoyed to see me, flew into my arms.
