The Unexpected Miss Bennet (33 page)

THERE WAS MUCH to be done. Mary had no trousseau for she had never had any interest or skill enough to sew one. Jane and Lizzy conferred and put one together themselves.

The wedding was held on what proved to be the first frosty day of winter. The only sour note was that Mr Collins had assumed that he would officiate, and he sent a long letter to Mr Aikens, whom he had met under such unfortunate circumstances, and to Mr Bennet, explaining that he would be happy to join the couple in blessed matrimony and in some small way make amends for their sins against Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mr Aikens read the first sentence, and unable to make any sense of it, tossed the letter aside, thinking no more of it and having forgotten who Mr Collins was. Mr Bennet, on the other hand, said to himself in his study, ‘Good God. We can’t allow this.’ He wrote to Mr Collins, sternly warning him that he would be welcome at the wedding but that the service would be held at the village church in Longbourn.

The day dawned. Mary stood in her wedding dress, closed her eyes and swallowed many times, hoping she would not faint or be ill. Her sisters and mother bustled around her; she let them curl her hair and arrange her veil and she hoped that it would soon be over.

‘Are you not happy, Mary?’ Kitty asked artlessly. ‘You look as pale as your gown.’

‘Now hush, Kitty!’ her mother told her. ‘You’ll only make Mary more nervous than she is. Oh my dear, you look as pretty as a picture. Who would have thought it, Mary? You have a very good figure, you know, and that makes up for all kinds of showier beauty. Though Jane is the loveliest still. But try not to think of that. Dear, you are pale. Remember to pinch your cheeks.’ She took matters into her own hands, taking Mary by surprise and causing her to flinch.

‘Mother!’ Lizzy and Jane both said. Remonstrating with her, they managed to get Mrs Bennet to leave off frightening her daughter to death before the wedding.

At last the moment came. Mary felt an unexpected peace when she walked up to the altar, with Mr Aikens waiting for her. He gave her a smile, she smiled in return, and her nerves settled at once, though it was still hard to be the focus of so much attention from all of her friends and neighbours. There was Charlotte and Mr Collins, sitting in the Lucas pew. There were her family, with the exception of Lydia and Mr Wickham. The curate opened his mouth to begin.

There was yet another delay as a great noise was heard at the entrance of the church. Mary and every one else turned around to look. In came Lady Catherine, quite grand in her travelling garments. Behind her came Anne, with a look of resoluteness, and behind them, restored to her former place, stood Mrs Jenkinson. Anne stands straighter, Mary thought. And when Anne met Mary’s eyes, she gave the smallest of smiles. Mary smiled back, but her face was hidden by her veil.

The congregation watched as Lady Catherine and her daughter made their own processional up the aisle to the front pews. There was no room, so Sir William and Lady Lucas gave up their places and squeezed in next to the Bennets. There was yet more of a delay as the de Bourghs settled themselves. As they did, Mr Aikens looked very hard at them but a hand on his arm from Darcy managed to settle him down.

He and Mary turned back to the altar, and allowed the curate to compose himself.

What composure Mary had found when she saw Mr Aikens waiting for her was now lost. She heard nothing of the service. She could not concentrate and found her mind wandering. Time after time she had to drag her attention back to the present moment. Mr Aikens too, seemed more nervous than usual, if that were possible for him. Perhaps aware of the young couple’s discomfiture, the curate rushed through the service as if he thought they would flee before saying their vows.

And then it was over. Mr Aikens put a ring on her finger, they signed the book, and Mary walked out a married woman, accepting the cheers and felicitations of the guests. The cold air felt good on her fevered cheeks and she was handed into the carriage with Mr Aikens beside her. They were bundled with furs, a hot brick was placed at her feet, and they set off to Longbourn House for the wedding celebration. Still in a daze, Mary looked about her and caught sight of Anne de Bourgh, accepting the thanks and good wishes of Mr Collins to herself and her mother, as if the day had been graced all the more by their deigning to participate.

There came a lull in the general hubbub, and Lady Catherine’s voice rose clearly into the air.

‘I did not want to come, but Anne insisted. Anne can be very strong-willed.’

Mary and Anne looked at one another. For a moment the young woman hesitated and then she said something to her mother and came by herself over to the carriage, the crowd parting for her.

Anne looked quite well. She was still thin and pale but her eyes were bright and her pelisse and bonnet framed her so becomingly that one could see her only as a young woman, not a sickly girl.

‘Mrs Aikens, I wish you every joy,’ she said, holding up her hand. Mary leaned down and took it.

‘Thank you, Miss de Bourgh. I am so pleased that you came today. Will you – can you come to the celebration at Longbourn?’

Anne gave a most mischievous smile. ‘I think so,’ she confided, and Mary knew that however it had happened, Anne had achieved a measure of independence at last. Anne de Bourgh turned to Mr Aikens and conveyed her congratulations as well as a pretty apology for their last meeting. Then she left them both and the carriage pulled them towards Longbourn. Under the covering wraps she and Mr Aikens held hands.

The de Bourghs did come to the wedding feast and Lady Catherine sat silently for some time until her nature got the best of her and she could be heard remarking to all and sundry her opinion of the ceremony, the feast, and the expected outcome of such a marriage; then, as the punch flowed, she began discoursing on the countryside, the household, the furniture, the servants, and, finally, the French. All in all it was a successful reception, in that at least one guest gave the rest something to talk about for years to come.

Mrs Bennet sat and took in everyone’s congratulations on getting her least likely daughter married. Mr Bennet gravely spoke with his sons-in-law, including his newest, and longed for everyone to be gone so he might have his peace and quiet. Mr Collins could be seen eyeing Longbourn until Charlotte made him stop.

Mary found the crowds unbearable. When the time came for the carriage to take them home – her new home – she was relieved and thankful. So they were once more tucked into the closed carriage, with warm bricks at their feet and wraps all around, and were sent off with cries of well-wishing. When they left Longbourn behind, she sighed with relief. Mr Aikens sat next to her, and her nerves rattled pleasingly.

‘Well, Mrs Aikens, we have done it at last,’ he said. He gave her a sound kiss, so that she could not speak, but only think, We have indeed. And then she could think of nothing else for rather a long time.

SO IT WAS that several days later, Mr Aikens and Mary sat together in the small parlour, a fire burning merrily on the hearth, not a bit of smoke coming into the room. Mary read out loud from
The Mysteries of Udolpho
, which had become a favourite of her new husband’s. He told her that he had never forgotten when she had read it to him at Pemberley, under the trees, sitting on his coat to keep out the damp. He could even sit quite still, only tapping one foot, as he listened, and made her start all over again from the beginning, saying that he wanted to have the whole thing fixed in his head before continuing with the tale. He exclaimed often over its strange twists and had a great deal of advice for the characters, often interrupting to say that the author could not have met such people in her life, she must have made them up out of whole cloth, they were completely out of his experience.

But after a while, Mary’s voice grew strained, and Mr Aikens said, ‘My dear, I think it’s time for bed. We keep country hours here.’

Mary smiled, marked her place and got up. She placed the little book on the shelf beside the mantel, next to Fordyce’s
Sermons
and her father’s book on the plants and animals of England. It was not a grand library such as was found at Rosings, or even as good as the one at Longbourn, but it was a start.

‘I agree, Mr Aikens. Time for bed.’