Page 32 of His Dark Heart
“I have won,” he said to the dashing man in the glass. “She is mine.”
* * *
The chapel doors opened, and the guests stood. Nearly all caught their breath at the sight of the bride. Even Darcy almost forgot his own dignity and sighed. In later years, many would recall the day and remark upon the utter beauty the Princess Intended possessed and the magic it added to the day. To say she glowed was an understatement, but some said that if one looked very closely, one could see an extreme sadness in the lady's eyes.
Her gown, the palest blue satin he had ever seen, seemed to shimmer and radiate its own light. Her fair hair was a complement to the pale brilliance that surrounded her. It was piled onto her head and woven with matching ribbon and small, white flowers. A curl or two may have slipped down her neck, but nobody would have dared thought they were strays.
Elizabeth, who Darcy was aware knew the ceremony was as much for the people she had come to love, smiled to the crowd and slipped down the long aisle as though she was the High Queen herself. She appeared slightly surprised when she reached the end of the aisle and saw the Queen next to her husband, the High King, in the front pew. She paused next to the pew and offered a deep curtsey to the royal couple before she finished her journey to the altar. He grinned inside at her knowledge of the proper formality and willingness to show it in front of the people.
The ceremony, with its words and presentations and crowns, dragged on. Darcy recited his vows with conviction and solemnity, trying to assure her of his sincerity. Elizabeth made her vows to Darcy, to the North Country, and to the High King and Queen. She accepted her wifely duties, her new people, and her crown with grace and dignity that would one day slip into legend. Darcy beamed with pride.
“Ladies and gentlemen, countrymen, your Highnesses, may I have the honour of presenting High Lord William Darcy of Pemberley and High Lady Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley? The Prince and Princess of the North Country!”
The church bells rang but were soon drowned out by the din of the crowd outside. Darcy, smiling slightly, offered his hand to his new wife, who beamed as she took it, and escorted her back up the aisle to the waiting carriage. The crowd pushed and shoved to get a glimpse of the newlyweds, but the carriage cut an easy path through them.
“You are so beautiful, wife.” Darcy whispered, pulling the back of her hand to his lips.
“A thousand thanks,” The timbre of her voice was icy.
“You are still angry with me?” He looked squarely in her eyes.
“Ye just made a vow to forsake others. Do ye plan to keep it?”
His anger flared. “You just made a vow to love me and yet you do not hear me questioning your sincerity.”
“This is going to be impossible. I wish I were dead.”
“Keep it up, my sweet. We might be able to arrange it.”
Her mouth dropped open, and he chuckled. “Do not fret, wife. You are entirely too stubborn to die. You would choose to survive just to spite me, I think.”
“Ye think? With thy head? I was not aware that was possible.”
He sighed, giving up. “We have guests to attend. Do you plan to behave?”
“Of course, husband. I learned to act for the crowd from ye.” She smiled sweetly and blew a kiss to him from her seat.
Her words stung him, and he flinched before he even was even aware of it. She smiled in triumph.
The Darcys' carriage followed the High King and Queen’s, trailed by the noble wedding guests from the church plus the mob of local villagers and farmers through the gates of Pemberley to the adjacent Great Hall where Darcy held court. The Great Hall, a large stone building with glass windows and a slate roof, had stood for centuries, and Darcys had ruled from within its walls for generations. It had been the site of celebration for Darcy's parents' marriage as well as his Presentation after his christening.
The throng of people gathered outside the balcony of the Hall despite the cold to await the royal couple, who always announced the start of the festivities. As the High King, with his Queen by his side, gave a speech, the Darcys stood to the side, silent and somewhat apart from each other.
“We are expected to kiss, Elizabeth.”
“I am aware of that, my lord.” She showed no emotion.
“Fine,” he snapped. Her manner had started to aggravate him.
King Richard announced them, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
“Come, my lord, we have a performance.”
She took his hand and smiled at him radiantly as they slipped onto the balcony. They waved and threw coins into the gathering below.
The crowd bellowed, “Kiss!”
Darcy, pushing aside his anger and disgust, pulled Elizabeth into his arms, circling her body firmly. It did not matter that she was playacting for the crowd. He was going to kiss her and leave her in no doubt that their marriage was going to be as physical a joining as he could make it.
