Chapter Four

'I, Charles, take thee, Jane, to my wedded wife . . .'

Rosemary sniffled. She scarcely knew the radiant woman smiling sweetly up at Mr Bingley, but they were charming, handsome, and very much in love. The shy sweet smiles on their faces could not but remind her of her own past, when she and James had become engaged. She had been deliriously happy for those months, very like Miss Bennet, now Mrs Bingley. Rosemary blinked rapidly — she had not cried over James for years — and smiled at her husband. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were best man and maid of honour to the newly-married couple, and had performed their services efficiently and amicably.

After a few days Rosemary felt no more sense of belonging than she had at first, despite Mrs Bingley's kindness. Even Darcy and Georgiana seemed more at ease, and she could not think of why she felt so terribly awkward here. They certainly were not the sort she typically associated with, and yet it was more than that, there'd been no great difficulty with the Gardiners.

Now, Darcy and Bingley were shaking hands, Miss Bennet — Mrs Bingley — and Miss Elizabeth (Miss Bennet!) were embracing each other, both crying. Mrs Bennet was trying very hard to cry, Mr Bennet was trying not to cry, the younger girls were a little bored — all in all, it was a very normal wedding.

The Bingleys were going to Yorkshire, Mr Bingley's native country, for their honeymoon. Mrs Bingley and Miss Bennet cried some more after the breakfast. 'You will write to me, Elizabeth?' Mrs Bingley asked anxiously.

'So is Baildon west of Sheffield?' Bingley said to Darcy, who — Rosemary could not keep from smiling in amusement — was suffering a case of nerves to rival Mrs Bennet's. She did not think he would appreciate being informed of his resemblance to a mother hen just then, even if only she could see it. Bingley had expressed a certain eagerness to return to Yorkshire at some point in the future, and Darcy knew of an estate that might fit his needs.

'Yes, of course,' Miss Bennet said, kissing her sister again. 'Shall you have time for writing, now that you are a married woman?'

This was apparently some sort of joke between the two of them, for both laughed and kissed each other again.

'No, no, it's north — for heavens' sake, Bingley, just ask directions — '

'What a lovely bride,' Mrs Long said simperingly to Mrs Bennet, who beamed. Overflowing with the milk of human kindness, she was delighted with the world and everyone in it, and complimented everyone from Mrs Goulding to Mr Darcy (the latter of whom looked utterly astonished but graciously extended best wishes for the couple and congratulations on the fine breakfast).

'I hope you will take good care of my friend, Mrs Bingley,' Darcy said, his look rather anxious beneath the polite detachment. Miss Bennet smiled warmly then bit her lip. The two men shook hands one last time, and Mr Bingley turned to his wife and helped her into the carriage. Amid much tears and laughter, the Bingleys set off. As soon as they could with propriety do so, the three Darcys followed suit and left for London.

Rosemary was not fond of society and longed for the day when they could leave London. She had little enough to be glad of. The Duke was in town and when separated from her husband, she could not keep herself from jumping at small sounds and looking over her shoulder. Morever after frequent visits to Gracechurch-street she grew more and more dissatisfied with the great contrast between the opulence of their lives and the misery of those they could do nothing for. After snapping at an astonished Georgiana she forced herself to explain, she was not easy here, she could not pretend she was, and from then on either brother or sister remained in perpetual attendance. She felt rather silly until the day she caught the Duke's eye from across the room. If Darcy had not been there, stepping close to her and placing one hand on her back, she might very well have fainted on the spot.

She had not conceived as a consequence of the Duke's attack, and the overwhelming relief she felt was a sharp reminder of how great her husband's charity was. She could not help but confront him, for until she knew she had not, the idea had not entered her mind that she might have.

'You did not, Rosemary,' he said; 'that is all that needs concern us.'

'But, Fitzwilliam,' she cried, 'what if I had? What if I had borne his son?'

Darcy set down his book and sighed. 'Mary, I did consider the matter. I had no intentions of keeping it a secret from any of the family. Any child you conceived might as well have been a daughter, and then I would have treated her as my own; if a son, I would have done what I could for him. Pemberley is not entailed. I probably would have left the estates to our child, should such a person come to exist, and persuade — the other —to seek his inclinations, naturally with my support. In every other respect he would have been as my own.'

Rosemary stared. 'You thought this through very throroughly, didn't you?'

'Of course,' he said calmly, 'it was a great step to make, for that and — other reasons.'

'Other reasons?' He coloured and looked down. Rosemary frowned.

'Why, what oth — ' Mary, has love brought either of us any lasting happiness? His voice echoed in her ears and she understood. How funny — in a terrible, dreadful way. It was so inconceivable. Cousin Fitzwilliam — Mr Darcy — oh, whoever he was, that he should suffer the pangs of romantic love? Impossible, surely. And yet not. It explained everything, his quieter, graver demeanour, his detachment and occasional sadness— 'I am sorry, so sorry,' she said.

He dropped his eyes. 'It is nothing, really.'

She frowned at him. 'But — if your heart was attached, how could you? Fitzwilliam, that was wrong — '

His head jerked up, eyes flashing. 'You do not understand,' he said sharply, and she flinched. His voice gentled. 'I am sorry, but I — I do not care to speak of it. Needless to say there was no understanding, no — anything. Nothing at all. It was not us, just I.'

'Oh.' What had he said? Not I, to be sure. And he was afraid of being alone. Sympathy welled up and she clasped his hand; he looked away. 'Do I know her?'

'Yes.' He inhaled deeply. 'Rosemary, I would really rather not speak of it — if you don't mind. It is better not — to think about it. You know.'

'Yes.' She touched his hand one more time and withdrew, only glancing back once, to see him staring pensively out the window, chin resting on his interlocked fingers.

They attended the third wedding in as many months. Rosemary kept a close eye on her husband, who behind his veneer of elegant composure looked positively desolate.

'I, Georgiana, take thee, Stephen, to my wedded husband — '

She could not help herself and began crying silently. If anyone deserved happiness it was Georgiana, and Lord Aldborough simply adored her. They would be happy, she was certain of it. Georgiana was lovely, for quite possibly the first time in her life, her beauty was not outshone by her brother's. She had finally grown into the strong, even features she shared with him, losing the childhood imbalance which had once marked her face. Dark eyes shining, she kissed her husband enthusiastically. Darcy looked faintly ill.

'Congratulations,' Rosemary said cheerfully, 'I hope you are both very happy.' She looked at her cousin and, lowering her voice, added, 'She had better be if you wish to keep your head. You are a good man, but she is something special. Take care of her, will you?'

Aldborough laughed softly. 'Of course. Thank you for the warning — sister. Is that on your own behalf's or Darcy's?'

'Both,' she said, smiling back. 'He is — ' Whatever wifely instincts she possessed kicked in at that moment, and she shook her head and said no more. It had struck her that her primary loyalty must be to him, and if their intimacy made his feelings easier for her to perceive, that was no reason to inform others. He would be horrified if he thought himself that transparent. And Georgiana could not bear it if she thought for an instant that she had made her beloved brother unhappy. Of course, he was not unhappy, as such, but there was certainly something —

'Oh, Fitzwilliam!' Georgiana cried, and held her brother tightly, pressing her face into his neck in imitation of her childhood habit. 'I love you so much, I don't know how I shall bear it without you — ' She swallowed and gave up the fight, sobbing softly into his shoulder.

'Oh, hush,' he chided her gently, 'you shall be happy, and I am not fifteen miles away.' He did not sound half-convinced himself, and Rosemary could see that not all the tears shed were Georgiana's.

'If you ever want me, Georgiana, you know, you have only to ask, and you are — always welcome — ' His voice caught and he rested his cheek against her dark hair, eyes tightly closed.

'I know,' Georgiana said, still clinging to him. 'Fitzwilliam, take care of yourself.'

'I will, I promise. Do not forget who — ' He drew a deep breath, and detached himself, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. 'Remember who you are, dearest.'

'I will.' She sniffled, and took her husband's arm.

'Goodbye. Oh!' She ran forward, embracing her brother again and raining kisses on his cheek. Darcy laughed unsteadily, wrapped his arms about her tightly.

'You really must go, Georgiana, the horses — '

'I love you, you know that?' she said earnestly, and he nodded, letting her go, and not daring to speak anymore — except to pleasantly deliver the expected threats to his new brother. After the newlywed couple departed, Rosemary took her husband's arm and said lightly,

'There is something very bittersweet about weddings, don't you think?'