Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge (37 page)

It had been a heart-warming wedding ceremony, charged with emotion; and many of the ladies, not to mention a few weepy gentlemen, needed their handkerchiefs before the service was finished. Tears of happiness were still being wiped away during the celebration that followed, and even the pretty wedding cake was in tiers.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh blissfully sat alone at a table near the balcony and watched the world go by. After the hawk and hat debacle, Charles Bingley had been thoughtful enough to inquire whether she required a dose of her special sherry; and the medicated woman was pleased Anne's suitor was so excessively attentive to her needs.
Why, here is my dear Mr. Bing now with a piece of fruitcake for me. So sweet, full-bodied, spicy, rich, spirited, delicious, and sinfully tempting.
She began to cackle hysterically when she could not recollect whether she was, in reality, describing the man or the wedding cake.

After his delivery to Lady Catherine, Charles Bingley fetched two more plates of cake and passed one to Miss de Bourgh as he sat down across from her at a small table near the balustrade. The ceremony had filled the lovesick fellow with hope and enthusiasm for his own future happiness, yet he was concerned about Anne's unusual quietude since they left the chapel. He eagerly watched as she daintily lifted her fork and tasted the fruitcake.

Anne Catriona de Bourgh, who had witnessed the three marriages alongside Mr. Bingley, was pleased to have performed that honour for her relatives and friends. However, she longed for her own special day.
Yes, a beautiful dress, a new pair of shoes, a golden ring, and a Charles Bingley would set me up forever.
She noticed her mother was already going back for a second serving of fruitcake and that her beau was staring. "Mr. Bingley, why do you scrutinize me so? Do I have bird droppings on my shoulder, unsightly nasal hair, or something stuck in my teeth?"

"Anne, you are so elegantly eloquent and classy. I was merely wondering whether you like the fruitcake, for I believe your slice contains a very special ingredient."

Miss de Bourgh scoffed and took another forkful. Bingley's blue eyes grew even wider than usual, and he feared his scheme had been an ill-conceived one. "Ah, perhaps you should not ... ingest that particular ... No! Anne, do
not
eat that piece!"

"OW!! What in blazing ... blazes is in this blasted cake?" She daintily spit a mouthful of fruitcake into her handkerchief and extracted a shiny piece of metal. "This is an outrage! How in Hades did ... ? Oh! This obviously does not belong to the baker. It is far too valuable." She turned the unexpected object to and fro in the sunlight. "Is this actually an emerald? How extraordinary! But I could very well have broken a tooth. Heads shall undoubtedly roll over this!"

At her initial exclamation Bingley had risen and hovered by her side. He worriedly wrung his hands as he stuttered, "Miss de Bourgh, I am so, so sorry. I ... I thought you would notice it before ... I n-never intended for you to ... Are you injured?"

"Stop fussing. I am fine. But ...
You
are responsible for this?
This
is the special ingredient?"

Bingley glanced sheepishly at her as he sat back down and said, "My father gave it to my mother when he proposed. She always referred to it as her engagement ring ... "

"Well, I just about en-
gagged
on it, sir. Why on earth would you do something so bizarre? You, Mr. Charles Bungley, are as nutty as this fruitcake and twice as crumby."

"Please forgive me. It was a cork-brained plan." He reached across the table for the ring, but Miss de Bourgh quickly snatched it away from his grasp.

"Wait. You say this was an
engagement
ring?"

Bingley rubbed his hands up and down his flushed face a couple of times before he loudly exhaled and softly replied, "Yes, and I was hoping it could again serve the same purpose; so I planted it in your slice of wedding cake. It was, indeed, a very crumby idea; and I am certifiably a nut." The abashed young man attempted another grab at the emerald-encrusted band.

"Not so hasty, if you please, Mr. Bingley." Anne held the sparkling ring away from his reach. "Let me rightly understand this. You deliberately implanted a so-called
engagement
ring into
my
particular slice of
wedding
cake because ...?"

Bingley coloured up again and blurted, "Because I am in love with you and want us to spend the rest of our lives together." He calmed and spoke softly once more. "Could we not have our own wedding cake, Annie? Will you please enrich my life by becoming my wife?"

"Oh, Charlie Bing!" She flung herself across the table and her arms around him. "Yes, yes, yes! I would very much love to be your strife ... I mean your wife."

Bingley placed gentle kisses upon her forehead and finally the ring upon her finger. "Thank you, Annie. I expect you will, indeed, do an exemplary job of being both my wife and an endless cause of strife for the rest of my life."

Bingley's sister, Caroline Wickham, had suffered through the indignities of the hounds from hell in church and pigeon poop on her tangerine turban with, in her opinion, considerable aplomb. She could not, however, keep at bay her feelings of resentment, envy, and regret when she compared her own simple wedding to the finery on display that day at Pemberley. Her husband, George Wickham, also experienced feelings of resentment, envy, and regret as he leered at the three fine-looking brides.
Darce, Fitz, and Fleming have found women who are more than tolerable and certainly handsome enough to tempt me.
He glanced at his tolerable wife and was tempted to drown his sorrows in the handsome glasses of liquid refreshment slighted by other men.

His father, Hugh Wickham, watched George ogle his friends' brides and felt shame and regret over his daughter-in-law's situation. He planned many lengthy talks with the lad before handing the stewardship reins over to George in the New Year and would impress upon him the importance of keeping strictly to the straight and narrow. For his own part, Hugh Wickham felt justifiably proud of the jobs he had done for the Darcy family in his service to them over the years, the building of the chapel, and even his performance on the small pipe organ that day. He planned to stay in tune with the goings-on at Pemberley after his retirement.

Owen Reynolds and his wife, Pemberley's butler and housekeeper, watched the happy proceedings with relief that everything was going so splendidly. As much as they enjoyed the ceremony and celebration, the couple was glad it would soon be over so they could rest after weeks of preparation for the very special day. Mrs. Reynolds became teary-eyed at the thought of two cherished Darcy offspring leaving Pemberley but was instantly cheered when her husband said, "Esther, you must now anticipate all the little Darcy and Fleming children bound to frequently visit their grandparents here in the years ahead." The housekeeper dried her eyes, planted a kiss on Owen's cheek, and daydreamed of the esteemed estate's future.

Another wistful servant sat in the background and slowly sipped a mug of Pemberley's robust ale. The Darcy men had insisted Crispin Knott attend the celebration after his final duty for the family had been performed, that of preparing the groom for his wedding day. The valet, with a tear in his eye, proudly watched as his former master escorted the lovely Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy around the ballroom. Knott had thoroughly trained Bladen, his replacement, and knew the young fellow would serve Pemberley's heir proficiently. Bladen had been a cut above the rest of the candidates for the position and seemed to appreciate it when Knott dispensed invaluable tips on how not to provoke Darcy's pique. The elderly valet advised the lad to wait a few years, however, before putting to use his pointers on how to ruffle the master's feathers and get his goat.

Wine, spirits, negus, ale, and hot chocolate flowed like water, tables were laden with delicacies such as white soup and fruitcake, and Pemberley's ballroom was bedecked with evergreen boughs as well as flowers from the orangery. A string and wind orchestra had been hired to perform from the time the ceremony ended until the last guests departed, and the waltz made its debut to many in Derbyshire. The violinist drew his bow across the strings, gentlemen bowed, and ladies curtsied as the opening strain of waltzing music began. Three newlywed couples led the daring dance, and bystanders were enthralled by the grace and beauty of both the waltz and the young lovers. Other pairs soon followed, including Mr. Bingley and Miss de Bourgh, the Bennets, George Darcy and Lady Anne, the Gardiners, the Earl of Matlock and his wife, and even Mr. and Mrs. George Wickham.

An infatuated Evan Gardiner stood restlessly on the sidelines and wished he could invite a certain young lady to stand up with him; however, she was not yet out in society. He kept glancing at her as she gleefully watched her older sister, brother, and cousin glide across the floor with the partners they had wed that day.

Miss Darcy was, indeed, observing the beaming newlywed dancers. Bright, late autumn sunshine slanted in through the windows, casting a warm glow on the room and its occupants. Anna recalled the candlelit night of the ball at Matlock Manor ... Fitzwilliam's dilemma, Richard and Jane's scandalous kiss, Georgiana's bliss, and three joyous engagement announcements. That special evening had been responsible for the love and happiness she witnessed at that moment, and Anna was bound and determined she would only marry for the deepest affection as well.

Miss Bennet was tasked with minding her younger siblings - missish Kitty, wide-eyed-with-wonder Lydia, and little Robert. The boy watched the proceedings with curiosity for a while, quickly became bored, and then wanted to go to the nursery.

Mary said, "Kitty, would you please take your brother upstairs and leave him in Alice's capable hands until it is time for us to depart. I do believe Robert has had quite enough merriment."

The sleepy little boy nodded and muttered, "Yes, I had enough marryment for one day."

Kitty smiled, ruffled his flaxen curls, and said, "That is not what Mary meant, poppet."