All that I've found on regency weddings were extremely contradictory; one source said this, one source said that, and several other sources couldn't make up their minds whether their facts were true or false. In the end, I did a little picking and choosing. The one thing I will say that I think I might get some side eyes for is that according to many many sources, the father did not always give their daughter away and it was not uncommon for the bride and groom to approach the alter arm in arm. This was convenient for my idea of this double wedding situation. Also fun fact, apparently men preferred to shave themselves rather than have someone else do it which I didn't exactly find surprising, but I figured even the richest people would indulge in that kind of extravagance.
Anyway, with that being said, all I can do is leave you to enjoy (or not enjoy, it's your prerogative, of course).
I have been in the habit of offering music recommendations for each chapter on a03, so I figured I'd start doing so here.
🎵 Frihet - Peter Sandberg
Despite the late hour he had found sleep, Darcy woke as bright eyed and full of energy as he would have if he had slept a whole day away. It was barely sunrise; soft rays of light from the horizon penetrating the autumn fog that hung in the air just above the ground, the grass dusted with delicate frost, and the colors of the trees seeming more vibrant than they had the day before. He supposed there was time yet to take advantage of the prospect from the window, and settling into meditation, Darcy attempted to tame his restlessness. Pacing was of no use, for it was his mind that demanded action, his conscience that required resolution and the end to the months of yearning, uncertainty, then waiting… and waiting… But as much as his whole being wished to rush through the morning, he wanted to savor that moment and remember what the world looked like on the morning he married Elizabeth Bennet.
He would have sketched what he saw if he had been an artist, though he knew every attempt to capture it all would not compare to the original. It was more than what was before him. It was the sight and the feelings, the memories that accompanied it. From an opening in the trees across the park, he had seen her approach the house on foot, swinging a small field elm twig she had claimed then picked at the remaining leaves. In the garden below, they had ambled one day over an hour without so much as a handful of words said between them, and yet it had been one of their most intimate days with adoring looks and gentle touches. As much as she enjoyed lively conversation, she sometimes was as silent as him and though she had not always understood him, she knew now that he would not speak out of obligation, but with purpose and feeling. Beyond the trees and the borders of the park, they had traversed the open countryside where their affection had flourished to become the immovable bond between them. Their feelings at Pemberley nothing but a seedling exposed in the wilds, left to lay dormant or find root. What broke from the earth now was strong, healthy, indomitable as a mighty oak of the north.
The ticking clock upon the mantelpiece began to creep into his consciousness; Darcy knew he had been deliberating for some time. He glanced with a step toward it to see the time clearly; a quarter after seven.
Just under two hours. And with that realization, Darcy concluded his mediation with an attempt at serenity.
All is well, and all is right.
He rang for his valet who had a hot bath waiting for his master in the dressing room. Lifting his shirt over his head, Darcy asked his gentleman, "All is prepared?"
"Yes, sir. The trunks were brought down early this morning and I've received express from London that all the requests you made yesterday are in order."
"And Miss Bennet's belongings?"
"Sent here last evening and sorted along with your trunks. Will you require anything else before I return to help you dress?"
"No, thank you, Morris." The man bowed and took his leave.
Darcy was glad of the solitude as he bathed and shaved, though he called his man back in once he had finished in front of the mirror over the basin to confirm both sides of his face were even. Darcy chose to ignore Morris' clear attempt at repressing amusement. Dressed and having applied his favorite scent, Darcy stood in front of the mirror in his dressing room regarding himself with a strange sense of sentimentality that this would be the last time he saw himself as an unmarried man. He wondered if Elizabeth would do the same; no doubt there would be a bittersweetness to her last morning in the place she had always called home, where she had been raised and grown up. It struck him, not for the first time, how very much her life - their lives - would be altered from the moment her arm curled around his.
"The time, Morris?" He asked, not looking away from his reflection.
"Eight o'clock, sir." Darcy merely nodded, the lines of his features going unconsciously stern as he stared and stared. He was no longer seeing himself but the man he would be in a hour. It was unreasonable, for he would be, in essentials, unchanged. And yet, once he left that dressing room, he was forever leaving behind what he was most acquainted with; loneliness. He thought about Colonel Fitzwilliam's words the night before. The change was shockingly new, but the last month had given Darcy a glimpse of the man he would be with Elizabeth's steady companionship. That man was who he wished to be, who he had been though he had not yet known. He had conformed, succumbed to loneliness and, in turn, allowed it to mold him to be what he was, but with the gift of this love, he had found that his truth was buried within. With her, he was new. With her, his heart was open, and though vulnerable, it was kept safe with the utmost care in her tender hands.
One hour.
"Good," Darcy said with a firm nod to his reflection, then another nod of dismissal to his valet. "Good," he repeated softly to himself before he turned from the mirror. He approached the window where he had stood before one last time, seeing that the fog had lifted and the sun now shone gold over the tree tops. Only minutes now. A glance to his right presented Elizabeth's letter still open at his bedside. With a private grin, he approached, refolded it neatly with great care and placed it within his breast pocket. There it would stay; a treasured gift of her heart resting against his own as they said their vows and became one.
"You might want to try sporting a smile, Darcy," Colonel Fitzwilliam said mockingly, though with some degree of earnestness. "You look frightfully grave for a man about to be married." Darcy kept his gaze out the carriage window. His cousin's provocation, he knew, was an attempt to rouse him from his almost paralyzed state. Neither Darcy nor Colonel Fitzwilliam could remember the last time the former had been in such a state; Georgiana had no recollections to attempt retrieving. She had only ever seen her brother alert, conscious, quick. Not that he was none of those things now, but… Darcy had only smiled once since the Colonel and Georgiana had descended to meet him and Bingley in the hall for departure, and that smile was tight and short-lived even for him. Would not a groom be brimming with enthusiasm on his wedding day, even if he was known to be reserved and quiet?
The Colonel looked upon him with deliberate scrutiny and Darcy, though still not looking at him, felt his unmoving gaze. They were nearing Longbourn when Georgiana asked with no small amount of concern, "Are you well, brother?" Darcy just barely turned his head as he replied, "Forgive me, I know I may not appear as I should. I am very well." He finally met his cousin's eye and Fitzwilliam continued to evaluate Darcy's face some moments before he gave an easy sympathetic smile, a gentle nod to reassure and signify that he understood Darcy was only overcome in a way he had never been in his life. He only required time and, the Colonel conjectured, for his bride to be presented to him. Georgiana was looking between them, clearly confused at first though deciphering that all was truly well, and as the carriage turned onto Longbourn's drive, she reached for her brother's hand. She gave a gentle squeeze and he turned to her.
"Do you remember what you used to tell me when I was small and I could not sort out my feelings? 'Breathe with me, Georgie, and you will come back to yourself.' Breathe with me now, brother." Darcy did as she bade. He was not so surprised that she had caught on to his dilemma, for they were both too similar in disposition, but he was surprised by her gentle authority. It was something he had not seen in her. He had always been the one to comfort. He had always been the one take all her troubles and place them upon his own shoulders. Now, his little sister had taken up the role, albeit temporarily, and they breathed in tandem; deep inhales, slow exhales. Colonel Fitzwilliam said nothing, only watched on with that same generous smile. When the carriage came to a halt, Darcy smiled softly at his sister, and leaning in to kiss her cheek, he whispered, "Thank you, dear one."
The Bingleys and the Hursts had arrived ahead of them, alighted from their carriage just as the door to the Darcy carriage was opened. Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner were outside to greet them, providing the intelligence that the ladies would soon be out in a moment or two. Indeed, the front door was open and Mrs. Bennet's shrill tones could be heard from within giving nonsensical orders and demanding her daughters make haste. Darcy swore he heard some exclamation in regard to her 'poor nerves'. Mr. Bennet was clearly amused, though Darcy saw in his eye a gleam of wistfulness that he would have believed out of the gentleman's character were he not marrying the man's favorite daughter in a matter of minutes.
If Bingley had been ecstatic in the hall at Netherfield as they departed, he was positively buzzing with energy as he stood near Mr. Gardiner, oblivious to his unamused relations and plainly unable to hold it all in. He moved to Darcy's side once he had excused himself from his neighbor.
"Are we not the luckiest of men, Darcy?" He beamed. "And what a fine day it is! I could not have imagined a finer one."
"Nor I," Darcy replied, just affecting serenity. He knew not where the inspiration rose from, but he suddenly felt the inclination to say most sincerely to his friend, "Thank you, Bingley, for making me one of your party when you first came here." There was not more he could say, for it was all that needed to be said, and Bingley responded smilingly with a firm shake of the hand.
"Well, gentlemen," Mr. Bennet now approached them, "I cannot thank you for taking away the two most sensible ladies of the house, but I suppose I am reassured knowing they will both be respected and well cared for." Bingley was too far gone on his enthusiasm to take much heed to this half jest, but Darcy gave Mr. Bennet what was almost a smirk. He had gotten used to the gentleman's barbs, ill-natured as they sometimes were, but he could not deny the influence from which Elizabeth gleaned her wit. "And to you, Mr. Darcy," the gentleman continued, "I plan to keep my word about visiting your library as early as may be attempted, and to visit my little Lizzy, of course."
"You need only send word of your intended arrival, sir," Darcy said graciously and to himself, Though absolutely not before Christmas. Mr. Bennet only nodded with an arch smile that was all too familiar and gave Darcy a slight pat on the shoulder. As if Mr. Bennet's mention of his daughters had summoned them, the ladies all emerged from the house.
Darcy had no mind for Mrs. Bennet's effusions, or Bingley's heartfelt greetings to the family, or Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst's eyes rolling at the sight of the commotion, or the smiles of delight on his cousin and sister's faces as they watched him look upon Elizabeth for the first time. His stature and features had instantly softened as he saw only her. There was no mistaking how deeply affected he was by the sight. To the others, she looked as she always did - a simple bonnet, the autumn spencer, gloves of the same color, one of her favored dresses - but to him, there was something altered in her. She was altogether the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and he was hard pressed to steady his uneven breath. When their eyes met, he was struck with that liveliness and intelligence he had always admired; so very fine, so dark and arresting. She had been smiling as she emerged, but seeing him, that smile gleamed as if the sun suddenly shone brighter to grace her for her appearance in daylight.
Mr. Bennet approached her and took her hand as he bent to speak a private word away from the others. Her answering expression when he straightened was filled with all the affection a daughter could have for her father and Mr. Bennet placed a gentle kiss atop her head. Darcy was moving as soon as Mr. Bennet turned to go to his eldest daughter. Elizabeth's eyes had met his again before she then swept her gaze over his person, clearly pleased with what she saw. He was soon before her, bending into a bow as she curtseyed and it was some moments that they stared at each other before Darcy found his voice.
"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth."
"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," she said with a hint of laughter; she was always amused with his formalities.
"You are well this morning, I hope?"
"Very well. And you?"
"I cannot recall ever being as contented as I am now." Elizabeth's cheeks filled with color and there was something in her look that would not have been customary for her to display in company. So much joy, so much love, so much want in that look. She was to be his, he was to be hers. If only he could pause time to stand just a moment longer and delight in it all, but his desire and Bingley's haste demanded they begin the walk to church. Darcy proffered his arm, and with his other hand resting upon the one she gave him, they followed in rank behind Bingley and Miss Bennet.
He knew he stood patiently with Elizabeth at a distance behind Bingley and Miss Bennet as they first went through the ceremony. He knew that Elizabeth had stepped up with him as soon as Bingley and Miss Bennet removed to sign their names. He knew he had very solemnly repeated the correct words and he had looked down to see Elizabeth giving him a small arched smile. He would always remember the quiet sound of her voice meant only to be heard by himself and the clergyman before them, and the final words that declared them husband and wife. It would be impossible to forget watching her hand register her maiden name for the last time upon their license.
But Darcy was so incredibly overcome that it all felt like one of the many fantasies he had conjured in the last year. The reality of it only settled once they had exited the church and rice rained down upon them as they were congratulated warmly by their families and the friends that had come from the neighborhood. He was laughing and smiling and shaking proffered hands with Elizabeth's arm tightly pressed to his side. Her laughter was the song of the morning and she directed it to him after all the congratulations were addressed. She who had been his choice, she who had taught him what was right and blessed him with a chance at redemption, she who had so wholly become his heart; Elizabeth was his wife. They had only just spoken their vows and recited their prayers, but he prayed again with all the gratitude within him to what had brought them together.
There was never a man so blessed as I am.
She saw his mind, saw that there was not enough thanks either of them could give. When he saw that her eyes threatened joyous tears, he lifted her hand to his lips before placing it securely on his arm and they walked together following the new Mr. and Mrs. Bingley back to Longbourn. No words were said between them for they were both too happy to say much, but Elizabeth laid her head upon his shoulder as they went on and when they approached the house, she looked up at him with all the fervency of their connection compounded into one look and whispered, "I love you."
Should you be curious about the scent Darcy uses at the beginning, I took the liberty of creating a blend that I thought suited best based on popular scents of the time:
Top note of ylang-ylang, base notes of sandalwood and amber.
Darcy doesn't cross me as a man who walks into the perfumers and picks out whatever is on the counter. I'm convinced he would have had his own blend made.