Pamela Aidan - These Three Remain

She shook her head. “Such a wealth of books, who can remember? I was there only a few minutes.”

“You were there long enough to drive me to distraction! I believe it took me three attempts to get the sense of every page! No, you were there quite long enough, and left a token to mark your place.”

The memory lit her face. “A few threads…in a volume of Milton. I remember!” Her brow wrinkled. “I returned for the book but could not find my place.”

“That was because of my theft. I took them…and kept them for months afterward…here.” He patted the pocket of his waistcoat. “Rolled about my finger and tucked in my pocket when I was not using them as a mark myself.”

“And where are they now?” She looked up at him, her smile gentle.

“Providing some fledglings a nest, I hope. When I could stand to tease myself with them no longer, I left them to the wind last spring on my way to Kent.” He laughed ruefully. “I had finally determined to forget you. Putting away those threads was to be the beginning. Much good it did me.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it reverently. “For there you were, dearest Elizabeth, the reality behind those threads, and I was completely and utterly lost.”

“Here now, Fletcher, the man must breathe!” Colonel Fitzwilliam came languidly to his cousin’s rescue from the safe distance of a chair across Darcy’s Netherfield dressing room.

“My dear Colonel, I assure you he can!” Fletcher protested. “There now, sir,” he directed his master, “one more twist of the cloth and you may bring down your chin, but slowly, sir, slowly!” Darcy groaned but complied. “There now, sir. Yes! Behold, sir!” Fletcher held up a mirror to reveal an exquisite array of folds, knots, and twists gracing Darcy’s neck and falling elegantly upon his waistcoat.

“What do you call it, my good man?” Dy inquired, his lorgnette held superciliously to one eye as he looked over the new masterpiece with interest.

“The Bonheur, my lord.” Fletcher inclined his head.

“Happiness? That is bold, but then so was the Roquet.” Dy tucked his eyepiece into a waistcoat pocket. “Fletcher, I congratulate you.” His Lordship turned to his friend and tapped him on the shoulder. “You must promise to lend him to me, Fitz, when it is my turn for leg shackles, or I shan’t invite you.”

“Done!” the bridegroom replied and turned back to the mirror. For all the annoyance, it looked rather well; and it was, after all, his wedding day. He turned his head this way and then the other, testing the restriction. It was bearable. “Richard, what do you say?” he called over his shoulder.

Colonel Fitzwilliam unwound from his comfortable observation post and cautiously approached. Crossing his arms, he studied his cousin thoughtfully. “It’s not a uniform” — the men hooted at the jibe — “but Fletcher is a genius, as everyone knows.” He grinned and laughed. “You look quite well, Cousin. Miss Elizabeth shall say ‘I will’ on the basis of your neckcloth alone!” Darcy threw a towel at him.

“Thank you, dear Richard.” Darcy looked up to his valet. “Fletcher, excellent work.” He rose from the seat, checked the clock on the mantel, and motioned to his new blue frock coat. “Are we ready for that now?”

“Yes, sir.” Fletcher went to the wardrobe and retrieved the coat, handling it with the utmost care.

“So, tell us old bachelors,” Dy addressed the valet, “how is married life, Fletcher?”

The valet colored, but his chest puffed out and his shoulders straightened. “Very fine, my lord, very fine indeed, I thank you.” He held the frock coat out to his master. “Mr. Darcy?” Slipping the sleeves up his arms, he came around him, bringing the front down snugly over his shoulders and waistcoat and buttoning it.

“And Mrs. Fletcher is waiting upon the bride, I understand.”

“Yes, my lord, and very happy to have the honor.” Fletcher smoothed the back and twitched at one of the coattails before beginning his examination for stray threads or lint. When he had finished, Darcy went to his dresser and opened a book that lay atop it, turning the pages until he came to what he was looking for. There, from between the pages and lying next to the note in Elizabeth’s hand, he retrieved her first wedding gift to him. Smiling down at the knot of threads in his hand — three green, two yellow, and one each of blue, rose, and lavender — he stroked them once, then wound them about his finger and secured them in his waistcoat pocket.

The clock struck, and Darcy’s companions straightened from the lax stances they had adopted. “It is time, Fitz.” Richard’s voice shook slightly. He cleared his throat. “Damn me if you are not the most fortunate of men! You know I would knock you over the head if I thought otherwise.” They all laughed at that but sobered quickly as Richard took his cousin’s hand in a tight grip. “I have never seen a couple more suited in the usual respects, but the depth of emotion you share…” He paused. “Well, it gives me hope.” He released Darcy’s hand and added with a grin, “And now that you are off the marriage mart…”

“Move along, there, you!” His Lordship shouldered Richard roughly aside with a laugh and offered Darcy his hand as well. “My good friend.” Dy’s smile turned into a solemn yet affectionate regard as he looked him squarely in the eye. “I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am for this day.”

“Dy…” Deeply moved, Darcy began to thank him; but Brougham cut him off.

“No, allow me to finish.” Dy breathed in deeply. “Fitz, I have valued your friendship, envied you your good family, and generally admired you since we first met, you know. But this last year I have watched as you were shaken to your very core. I love you, Fitz, but you were in great need of something that would shake you out of your damned cool complacency. Thank God, it was love” — Dy swallowed hard — “and the love of an extraordinary woman that did so.”

Darcy gripped his shoulder. “If you had not confronted me…”

“For what other use is a friend?” Dy whispered and, stepping back, glanced at the mantel clock. “Now, it truly is time.” He gripped Darcy’s hand even tighter. “There were moments when I almost despaired, but you, my friend, faced the worst a man’s mirror can reflect and have shown yourself one of the best men I have the privilege of knowing.” He then smiled broadly and with a wave of an elegant hand commanded, “Off with you now! Claim your bride, for you have won her heart in the best possible manner.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church…”

They were all there: those who loved him and those whom he loved in turn: Georgiana, his Matlock relations, Dy; and those whose coming was politic: members of his various clubs, university friends, the Bennets’ neighbors, and Bingley’s relations. All together. Yet he could look nowhere but into Elizabeth’s eyes as she stood beside him. Her calm beauty worked on him, soothing his own racing heart as the words of the wedding service flowed over and around them, filling him with wonder. “This man,” he thought, he, himself, and “this woman,” this amazing, precious woman! Light streamed through the stained-glass windows there at the front of Meryton Church, illuminating their small circle in a benediction of softly colored glory. It lit Elizabeth’s hair, her eyes, her whole being, so that when the minister spoke of “mystical union,” Darcy felt the words swiftly and keenly pierce him to the heart.

His first sight of Elizabeth at the door of the sanctuary had left him in a perilous state. Such loveliness! The smile that graced her lips and the flash of her eyes as she and her sister Jane neared him and Charles, showed her joy and confidence in him. He must have stepped back or swayed, he knew not which, but he had felt Richard’s hand briefly on his arm. Elizabeth, Jane, and her father took their places and Darcy turned to face the minister, devoting those faculties he could spare to absorbing the words that would unite him to Elizabeth in truth as they were already in heart.

“Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife,” the Reverend Stanley addressed him solemnly, “to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her…”

Yes, Elizabeth, his heart sang.

“…comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health…”

Yes, my love.

“…and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will,” he responded, his vow strong and resonant. Gladly, completely, always.

The priest now turned to Elizabeth. Her eyelashes fluttered down, but Darcy could sense her happiness. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will.”

“Who giveth these women to be married to these men?”

“I do.” Mr. Bennet turned to his daughters and slowly brushed their cheeks. Darcy could see tears forming in Elizabeth’s eyes as her father took up her right hand and, stepping back, placed it in the minister’s. At the reverend’s nod, Darcy came to Elizabeth’s side. Gently, the priest placed her hand in his. The words flowed on…to have and to hold…for better for worse…. His heart swelled with love and pride — proper pride, now — as he spoke each line, looking deeply into her eyes. “…to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Slowly, he unwound his fingers from hers. Elizabeth took his right hand. “I, Elizabeth Bennet, take thee, Fitzwilliam George Alexander Darcy, to my wedded husband…” The import of her whispered vows, that it was in him she placed her trust for all her future days, threatened to undo him. Richard leaned toward the minister and placed Elizabeth’s ring upon the book he held. Darcy took it up.

“With this ring I thee wed,” he promised, vowing into her keeping all he was or ever would become, “with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” He slipped the ruby-crowned band up her fourth finger, seating it gently before bringing her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving her face. The pain of the past — the rejection and revelation, the self-conceit and self-pity, his consuming loneliness — was finished! And upon that blessing, compounding all others, was the trust and devotion of this woman. For all their tomorrows, they would be one in body and spirit. It lacked only one last benediction. They both turned back to the minister.

“Forasmuch as Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet and Charles Bingley and Jane Bennet have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company…” The Reverend Stanley had read through each line of the service, but coming now to the close, he paused and encompassed them in a warm smile of blessing. “I pronounce that each couple be man and wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

“Amen,” the assembly responded.

Sweeping up her other hand, Darcy brought both to his heart. She was his; he was hers. He was in want of nothing more. “Elizabeth,” he whispered. She looked up into his eyes. “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”

The publishing of this volume brings to a close an eight-year labor of love that began as an experiment, became an education, progressed into a vocation, and finally transformed my life. It has brought me innumerable new friends and associates, and best and most wonderful of all, my husband, Michael.

An immense debt of gratitude goes to my friends Susan Kaye and Laura Lyons, fellow writers who encouraged and supported me every step of the way.

Finally, I must mention my readers. Your letters and notes through these many years have encouraged and humbled me more than you could ever imagine.

Bless you all!

Pamela Aidan

1. What first led you to suspect that Lord Brougham’s feelings for Georgiana Darcy went beyond protectiveness on behalf of her brother?