Rebellion at Longbourn

Given the hasty and secretive nature of the event, Darcy was astonished at the size of the congregation. Surely every tenant family at Longbourn was represented. He also recognized many townspeople—who had received invitations just that morning to ensure secrecy: Mr. and Mrs. Long, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, Sir William and Lady Lucas, and other neighboring gentry whose names he did not recall. He saw the milliner and the couple who ran the inn, as well as a few officers from a local garrison.

At the front of the church, the Bennet family occupied two pews. Mrs. Bennet wept copious tears of joy—with Mary and Kitty flanking her, prepared to manage any unseemly outbursts. Darcy’s family was not as well represented on the other side of the aisle. His cousin Richard had not been able to join them, but Georgiana and Anne were grinning broadly. They had taken responsibility for decorating the church that morning, and it was festooned with ribbons and white flowers. Bingley, who was standing up for Darcy, stood on one side at the front of the church while Jane stood on the other.

Darcy had anticipated anxiety on his wedding day; ordinarily he did not perform well to strangers. But in that moment—with Elizabeth’s arm as a warm weight on his—he only experienced an overwhelming sense of relief. After all the obstacles strewn in their path, they would finally be wed, and nobody could separate them ever again.

They reached the end of the aisle and stood before the rector, who had managed to arrange his features into a rather frosty smile. The familiar words of the marriage service rolled over them, taking on new meaning. Darcy had heard them many times before but never when they would alter the course of his entire life.

Only five minutes into the service, the door of the church was thrown open with a bang, casting a beam of bright sunshine into the dim interior. “Stop this farce at once!” Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s voice rang throughout the church.

Elizabeth gasped while Darcy suppressed an oath. He had been too quick to presume they were safe from familial interference. Mr. Thomas stumbled to a halt as every eye turned toward the entrance.

Pivoting slowly, Darcy discovered his aunt silhouetted in the doorway, with Collins huddled cravenly at her side. Darcy’s hands clenched into fists as he fought the temptation to ignore the interlopers and order the rector to continue with the service. But his aunt believed it was her prerogative to command everyone’s attention, and she would not hesitate to interrupt again.

“Aunt Catherine,” he said, striving to sound calm. “You wish to register an objection?”

“Yes!” Her tone could not have been more imperious. “You, Fitzwilliam, are promised in marriage to my daughter, Anne de Bourgh. Will you abandon your promise to her?”

This accusation provoked murmurs throughout the church. Breaking a promise of marriage was an egregious social sin.

Darcy sighed. “You know very well that Anne and I never agreed upon any engagement.”

“That is not—” Aunt Catherine started.

Darcy interrupted. “In addition, it would be impossible for me to wed Anne.”

“Why is that?” She peered down her nose at him.

“She is already married. Mr. Thomas wed her to Peter Landon yesterday in this very church.”

The rector nodded eagerly in agreement; he had been quite pleased to officiate the wedding of such an august personage.

Anne rose in the front pew while her new husband, seated behind her, did likewise. They joined hands and glared defiantly at Aunt Catherine. “It is true, Mother,” Anne said. “Peter and I are married.”

Her face went ashen, and Darcy was immediately concerned about her health. “No!” she cried, her voice rising in pitch. “It is not possible—I will have it annulled! I will—”

“It is already accomplished,” Darcy said, gentling his tone. “I know this is quite a shock, but it secures Anne’s happiness.”

His aunt’s voice grew weaker. “You must cease at once. I order you to stop. You must—” Her mouth continued to open, but no sound emerged, as if her voice had passed into a register beyond human hearing. She gestured emphatically but seemed miraculously at a loss for words.

“Mr. Collins,” Darcy said, “would you be so kind as to help my aunt outside and locate a place in the shade where she might rest?” Although he did not respond, Collins guided her ladyship toward the entrance, bearing most of her weight as they lurched out of the building.

Darcy waited until the door had closed behind them and his eyes had readjusted to the dimness. Then he turned back to Mr. Thomas. “I pray you, resume the service.”

***

The remainder of the service continued without interruption, and soon they were joined together as husband and wife. After all their tribulations, Elizabeth was relieved to have a bond to William that nobody could ever sunder. As they stepped through the church door into the sunshine, Elizabeth murmured to her new husband, “That did not go quite according to plan.”

He smiled grimly. “I should have anticipated she would arrive today. I suspected my aunt had a spy among the Netherfield staff. Anne and Peter went to the inn last night, but the report of her absence from Netherfield may have alarmed Aunt Catherine. I apologize for the disruption.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I only wanted to wed you. All’s well that ends well.”

He gave her a grateful smile and kissed the back of her hand before they plunged into a churchyard full of well-wishers. It seemed to Elizabeth that every person in Hertfordshire was bent on congratulating them individually.

Charlotte and the Longbourn servants had departed quickly so they could ready the house for the wedding breakfast. Elizabeth found herself envying their quick escape. Although she was pleased to be among friends, the day had already been

a long one.

It was a beautiful late spring day—warm but not too humid—as if nature celebrated along with the bride and groom. During those moments when her attention was not demanded elsewhere, Elizabeth allowed herself to take pleasure in the fresh spring breezes and the soft yellow light filtering through the overhanging branches.