Chapter One

'Fitzwilliam, you must not be rash — '

'My dear cousin, please be rational,' Aldborough interrupted, exasperated with his relations' tactful manoeuvring. 'We cannot be anything but rash.'

Lady Rosemary smiled faintly. 'I am very grateful to you both, but this matter is my concern.'

'Rosemary,' Georgiana said gently, 'if this becomes public knowledge, it will not only be your concern. It reflects on all of us.'

Rosemary lowered her eyes, playing listlessly with the fringe on her shawl. 'I cannot ask such a sacrifice of you, cousin.'

'I did not hear you ask anything,' Darcy replied easily. 'Rosemary, it is a good match for both of us. I am almost surprised I never thought of it before.' He did not mention what everyone present knew; Rosemary's betrothed had died ten years before and since then, she had refused to entertain even the idea of another attachment.

'You gain nothing,' she said, raising her cool grey-blue eyes to meet his own. 'You do not need the connection, not with Stephen and Georgiana's engagement; you could have someone far wealthier if you wished it, but you do not need fortune in any case; and you do not love me.'

'Do you think, my dear, that I would do this for someone I did not love?' Darcy enquired softly. 'No, Mary, I am not in love with you; but love is not enough for a good marriage in any case. Perhaps it is even better to base a marriage on solider principles.'

Rosemary looked down, her slender, almost transparent hands settling on her lap. 'Be that as it may, you gain nothing, and I — I receive everything. I could not enter into such an unequal union.'

'It is not unequal. You are in rank and fortune my equal, or almost so; your connections are nearly identical to my own; and if I may say so without sounding unduly melodramatic, I believe you would bring something of substance to my life.'

She threw him a sceptical look. 'I cannot believe it. What do you suppose I could give you?'

'Companionship,' he said, simply. 'When Georgiana and Aldborough marry, I will be left to myself; and if there is one thing above all others I do not wish, it is that. I am happy for them, but selfishly dissatisfied for me. Rosemary — ' he leaned forward intently, 'I do not wish to be alone. I want a family, Mary, a wife I may hold in the highest esteem and respect, children. No, I am not in love with you, and I would hazard to say that you are not in love with me; but, Mary, has love brought either of us any lasting happiness? Not I, to be sure. I hope, I believe, that a more steadfast attachment — for we have always been fond of each other, have we not? — will grant us both some degree of contentment.'

The other three stared at him, Georgiana's expression faintly guilty.

'I — I had not thought of that,' Rosemary said. 'Fitzwilliam, you are certain? You will not regret it? I do not think I could live with myself if I knew I had made you unhappy.'

'I shall not, I promise,' he said, briefly clasping her hand.

Rosemary laughed, suddenly. 'This shall be a story to tell our children. I do not think I have ever received a more unromantic proposal of marriage.'

'I have a rare gift.'

To avoid any and all complications, Lord Aldborough procured a special license, before the Duke had so much as guessed whither Lady Rosemary had gone. The only possible touch of scandal to the affair was its unseemly haste; they were married within three days of the engagement. It was a small, private affair, attended only by the six surviving members of the Darcy-Willoughby clan (including the bride and groom), the clergyman officiating, and the Fitzwilliams, who overcame their (entirely reciprocated) antipathy towards the Willoughbys in order to lend their support to Darcy. 'You are a fine man,' the Earl told his nephew, clasping his shoulder. Darcy only smiled.

'Dearly beloved,' the bishop began, with a proud look for his favourite godchildren, '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 . . .'

Rosemary inhaled deeply, glancing over at her cousin's — betrothed's — tall, upright form. His dark blue eyes were fixed on the bishop, without any shadow of regret or melancholy, or ill intent. The great weight she had carried on her shoulders since the Duke's attack lightened, a little. He was too good for her, but she would try, she could be a good wife to him. With a guilty flush, she returned her attention to the words of the marriage ceremony, although she knew them so well she could have recited them by heart.

'First, it was ordained for the procreation of children . . .'

Children. She had always loved children, and almost more than James' death, she had regretted that loss. And Darcy, too, he had been wonderful with Georgiana, and later on, his own godchildren and cousins. The realisation struck her without warning; it was a gift, this marriage, a second chance for her, and perhaps for him.

'Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin . . .' To avoid fornication. Never again, she thought; no man would dare lay a hand on Fitzwilliam Darcy's wife. The burden lightened still more, and her sharply-drawn breath startled the bishop, who threw her a reproving look. Rosemary tried to feel penitent and lowered her eyes, but the relief spreading through her was too much for words.

'Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.' Darcy's voice echoed in her ears. Companionship . . . I do not wish to be alone. I want a family, Mary. She blinked rapidly, holding tears back, and thought, So do I. She had always been a little solitary, but the company of no-one but a series of companions who endured her eccentricities for the generous wage she paid them, that was not company at all. He would understand — he was so much that way himself —

He was speaking, in his clear, unwavering voice, 'I, Fitzwilliam, take thee, Rosemary, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.'

Rosemary smiled brilliantly, and repeated the words: 'I, Rosemary, take thee, Fitzwilliam, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.'

He replied, slipping Lady Anne's ring on her hand, 'With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.'

At the end of the ceremony, her ring warm against her finger, she signed her name, Rosemary Darcy.