M. Darcy Takes a Wife
© 2006 S. Faith
Standard disclaimers apply: the whole toy chest belongs to Helen Fielding. I'm just playing with her dolls.
I'll be moving next weekend, so next weekend's update may be late or may not happen at all I apologize in advance.
Part 9: Be Still My Beating Heart
Monday 5 Nov (cont.)
"Are we here to…?" Bridget began, trailing off. Surely not. Surely not!
"You are," confirmed Jude. Shaz nodded.
Christ alive—it was true. They were in Scotland to be married.
Bridget's mouth could only flap up and down like a landed cod's, no words coming out. The room began to wobble and spin in a most surreal fashion.
"Oh fuck, oh fuckohfuckohfuck, she's going to faint," she vaguely heard Shaz's voice say from a million miles away. As if outside of her own body she watched as they helped her sit on the bed.
"Bridge. Bridge! Here, drink some coffee. Have some chocolate croissant."
As she did, her ability to use the English language began to return. "How long has—when did—who's here?" Her first thought was of her mother, roundly strangling her upon sight for not being able to attend the wedding.
"Apparently, the consultant called on the twenty-fourth of October with an 'all systems go'. He wanted to arrange the whole thing for as soon as possible," began Shaz.
"Thankfully, November is not a busy time of year and Mondays even less so," added Jude smartly.
Shaz continued, "While the planner made all of the arrangements here for a civil ceremony, Mark made phone calls to all of us, hired the plane, bought our tickets…"
"Tickets?" Bridget managed.
"Come now, Bridge. We couldn't very well fly with you - that would have been a dead giveaway." Tom had appeared at the still-open door of the hotel room and entered with great flourish, closing it behind him. He had a bundle under one arm which he set down beside the bed, then arose with a smirk and a digital camera. The flash went off, temporarily blinding her.
"Who's 'we'? Who's here?"
"Well, us, of course—"
"Dangerous thing, giving Mark our mobile numbers," interrupted Shaz darkly.
"And Magda and Jeremy, and Admiral and Mrs Darcy, and your parents."
"And your brother," added Shaz with a smile.
Bridget sighed with relief.
"Certainly took a load off of you, didn't it?" asked Jude, still smirking.
The significance of the date hit her square between the eyes again, and with an involuntary intake of breath, she asked, staring at her friends, "Do you know what today is?" When they shook their heads, Bridget explained. They gasped and looked to each other, then back to Bridget with moony looks on their faces.
"Oh my God," Bridget said softly, eyes suddenly soaking with tears. "This is really happening."
"It is," said Jude, her eyes also going soft and misty.
"Now let's not all start crying," said Shaz, fighting back her own tears. "We have work to do."
……………
Jude had been right after all: it took Herculean effort to get the croissant and cappuccino down.
After a shower she barely remembered taking, Shaz claimed her to blow dry and fix her hair, sitting her down at the bathroom vanity before an enormous mirror. As Shaz was brushing Bridget's hair back into an upsweep 'do, another piece of the puzzle clicked into place and comprehension washed across Bridget's face. "The spa day was my hen party, wasn't it?"
She watched Shaz's reflection in the mirror, saw her grin. "Close as we could come without totally giving it away."
Hovering at Shaz's side, Jude added, "Although you almost did give it away, with your mad snickering."
Looking sheepish, Shaz changed the subject. "We were sorry Tom couldn't be there, but they have this thing about mixed gender groups."
"Unenlightened philistines," Tom said in a huffy tone, leaning against the doorjamb. "I was there in spirit, and that's all that mattered."
"Well, your contribution was there, which very much mattered."
Another realisation struck her. "Mark… Mark got me pissed off my arse last night on purpose. Bloody cheek!" Bridget was still gibbering like a two year old. "I can't believe it. Can't believe any of it."
"Believe it, darling," drawled Tom, smiling. "How many people do you know have a surprise wedding?"
Surprise. Suddenly it occurred to her that surely all of Grafton Underwood would have been speaking of nothing else if her mother was in on it. "How on earth did he get my mother to stay so quiet?"
"Easy," said Jude with a sly grin, locating the right shade of eye-shadow from the kit. "He didn't tell her. He told your father instead, who handled things quietly on his end. He told your mother last minute that he was taking her for a mini-break; they got here yesterday morning. Mark was going to meet them down at breakfast and break the news to her."
"Oh God." Despite the shock, Bridget laughed. "You know the minute she finds out, she'll be up here like her hat was on fire."
"Speaking of… listen!"
They heard footsteps approaching, and heard a sound she thought at first was an air raid siren going off: "Bridget! Oh my godfathers! Bridget! Bridget!" This was followed by a good, solid pounding on the door, which Tom opened.
It was Pamela Jones, eyes red with happy tears, face pale with shock.
"Mum." She stood and embraced her mother as the friends slipped discreetly into the hallway.
"I don't think I've ever been so happy!" she burbled into Bridget's cheek, then pulled back to look her daughter in the eyes, framing Bridget's face with her hands. "He is such a wonderful man, and to think, you didn't even like him at first…"
"To be fair," she said with a smile, "he didn't like me either."
"Pish tosh. I knew you were meant to be. Mothers know these things," she announced, tapping the side of her nose with a forefinger. She then stepped back to take in the totality of her about-to-be-married daughter. Bridget winced; her hair was only partly coiffed, the makeup was incomplete, and she was still dressed in a robe.
Anticipating the criticism, she said, "They're not finished with me."
"Chuh. You look radiant."
Bridget's face softened with a grin. "Thanks."
Her eyes connected with the open garment bag. "Is that your dress? My stars, it's… different, isn't it? Not what I would have picked, to be sure—"
"Mother…"
"It's lovely. It's very lovely," she clarified. Thoughtfully, she asked, "You really didn't know, did you?"
She smiled. "I had no idea. I mean, we'd done the notice with the consultant, but here I thought we were going to Carlisle."
Her mother embraced her again. "I am so happy for you, Bridget."
Bridget whispered into her mother's ear, "I'm glad you're here."
She really was.
……………
"I brought these for you, Bridge."
Digging into her handbag, Jude pulled out a pair of gorgeous gold and pearl drop earrings. Holding one up to admire the dangle, Shaz commented drolly, "How very… Vermeer."
Bridget took the second, holding it up. It was not nearly as heavy as she thought it might be. "Slight problem. My ears aren't pierced, and I am not driving an awl through my lobes at this point."
"I know. They're not for pierced."
"Really? Excellent!" Jude showed her how to open it and she fixed one to her ear. The illusion was flawless. "Give me the other."
All the while, Tom was snapping pictures with his camera. "You'll thank me for this later," he said.
Bridget stood at the bathroom mirror. Still in her robe, she was now fully made up: eyes subtly shadowed in copper, honeyed cheeks and neutral peach-pink lips, hair swept off of her neck and pearl headband with flowing silk veil in place. The drop earrings swayed as she moved her head side to side. "Gorgeous," said Shaz breathlessly from over one shoulder, and Jude nodded in assent from over the other.
She felt her eyes get moist, but willed the tears back. She was not going to ruin this makeup job. "I don't know how I can thank you." Tom continued snapping away.
"Twenty minutes until the car comes," said Jude, consulting her watch. "We should get ourselves dressed and made up." They pushed the bride out of the bathroom to sit on the bed while they dug out their own dresses from behind Bridget's (which was wisely not going to be slipped on until the very last minute). Tom being Tom, he'd refused to leave his own room without dressing and fixing his hair.
Sitting idle, waiting to dress and then leave for the ceremony, the knot in her stomach pulled itself tighter and tighter, so that when the telephone rang, it scared her out of her skin. Tom, Jude and Shaz each stopped what they were doing to watch as she reached over and picked it up with a shaky, "Hello?"
"Hello, love."
She smiled, cradling the phone in her hands. "Mark. You sneaky bastard." The three friends also smiled; Jude and Shaz returned to the bathroom and Tom went onto the balcony for a cig.
"Did you enjoy your breakfast?" The teasing edge to his voice was unmistakable.
"I could barely eat… Oh, Mark. I can't believe you did this. Today of all days."
"It was serendipitous for you to remind me of that date so soon before I found out we had cleared the legal hurdle. I had a feeling you'd approve." He was quiet; she imagined his devilish grin. "Are you almost ready?"
"I am. The girls and Tom are here helping. And my mother came by, but she made me even more nervous so the girls persuaded her to leave."
"I bet they did." He was silent a moment, then said tenderly, "I can't wait to see you."
"I'm a nervous wreck."
"At least you didn't have much time to be nervous." Did she detect a quaver in his own voice?
"True. Could you imagine how weird the dreams would have been then?" She managed a small laugh. "I still can't believe you—" As she twisted her ring nervously, she was abruptly reminded of a small but crucial detail. "What about rings?"
"Asprey was very accommodating based on our previous purchase. I just hope you like them."
"There wasn't anything in that place I didn't like." Bridget sighed, at the same time feeling shocked, contented and strangely guilty for being so wonderfully pampered. "You've taken care of it all. I just… I don't know what to say."
"Well," he said sensibly, "when the time is right, just say 'I do'."
……………
Shaz appeared at the hotel room door, winded from her sprint.
"The car's here! The car's here!"
Just as quickly she disappeared.
Bridget felt faint once again.
She didn't know where in this day and age the girls had found silk stockings and garters, but they had, and they felt heavenly. After Jude fastened the zip on the back of the dress, she stepped into the low slung kitten-heeled satin shoes and did a turn before the full length mirror. With a certain level of amazement she realised how well she'd inadvertently planned her bridal ensemble, considering the gravity-well that tended to shadow her: the heels were not very high (less likely to twist ankle), and the dress was tea length (impossible to trip and fall on the hem). She'd managed to find an utterly unique vintage dress that looked nothing like a frosted wedding cake, and it fit well while not sheathing her like a sausage casing. The headpiece (Shaz's contribution, which she had never seen before that day) was intricately beaded with pearls and the veil was pretty, softly-flowing shoulder-length silk and not stiff, ugly beekeeper netting. And she looked a bit nervous but overall well-rested. And slim!
It was, she thought, the best she'd ever looked.
Tom was encircling her in the manner of a paparazzo, clicking away. "Bridgeline! You look so bloody glamourous! He is not going to be able to take his eyes off of you."
She lifted her chin and smiled, stretching her arm out and striking a diva-like pose. "Hand me my coat, please."
He set down the camera, helped her into her coat, then said as he reached behind the bed, "Here. This is for you too."
He presented her with a small bouquet of tiny, faultless white roses. She got teary once again and put her arms around him.
Into her temple Tom murmured, "Something old: the dress. Something new: the veil. Borrowed: the earrings. And blue on your bouquet."
She pulled back, saw that the flowers were bound with a blue satin ribbon around the paper encasing the stems. The care that had been taken to make this day as amazing as possible touched her deeply. She sniffed and met Tom's eyes, mouthing a silent, "Thank you."
Tom smiled, putting his arm about her shoulder. "Come on. That cute little arse is waiting for you at Edinburgh Castle."
She looked up to Tom, freezing in place. "No. Really?"
Tom nodded. At her astounded look, he said, "Bridgeline, it's not like he bought the bloody thing. Jude! Come on!"
Jude rushed out of the bathroom from her last-minute sweep, and they gathered their things to head down to the car, a silver Bentley. This made her do a double take, but it was not in fact the same car, nor was the driver Jeffrey. The ride to the castle - Tom, Shaz, and Jude accompanying - was not more than fifteen minutes away, but it seemed like an eternity filled with nervous anticipation. Jude had one hand, Shaz, the other, and they both squeezed tightly, while from the front seat, Tom lamented having set the camera down to help her don her coat and forgetting to pick it up again.
Suddenly Jude's voice reverently cut through the auto-wittering: "We're here."
The castle itself was resplendent and imposing, rising up over the city like a beneficent queen. Seeing it sent a whole new round of butterflies ricocheting around Bridget's stomach. As they approached the receiving area, they spotted a remarkably pretty Asian woman, sleek black hair pinned into a neat chignon. She was dressed a smart suit jacket set of celadon green. She began smiling and walking towards the car as it slowed to a stop at the kerb. The driver emerged and opened the kerbside door. Jude was out next, and turned to assist Bridget out of the car. As the bride-to-be got to her feet, the woman said with an easy smile, "Welcome to Scotland, Bridget."
"Nice to see you again, Harumi." Introductions were made all around. Harumi then indicated they should head inside.
Jude asked, "Is Mark here yet?"
"Not yet, but he should be here soon. I want to get you all situated into the Ante Room so that he doesn't see you." They each agreed wholeheartedly as Harumi added with a soft smile, "I may do this for a living, but I still find myself hanging on to the old superstitions."
Upon entering the Ante Room, Bridget commented, "Is it usual for you to be present on the day of the wedding?" Jude took Bridget's coat and folded it over the back of a chair.
"No. But It's not every day when the groom wants to surprise the bride with the arrangements. I had to be here."
Feeling somewhat emotionally overwhelmed again, Bridget said in a small voice, "Wow."
"So the wedding takes place in…" asked Jude, looking about herself.
"The Court Martial Room."
"That's a bloody ominous name," blurted Shaz.
Harumi could not stifle a small laugh. "You're not the first to comment on it, believe me," she said. "But it's just right for a small, civil ceremony… and you'll have a terrace all to yourselves for photos."
Bridget looked to Tom, disappointment in both sets of eyes.
Quickly the planner added, "Don't worry, I've arranged a photographer." Relief. Bridget might have liked the small, private, elopement-like atmosphere of this whole thing, but she did want photographic evidence that it wasn't all a figment of her imagination.
Bridget heard bustling beyond the door of the Ante Room and felt a surge of adrenaline course through her as Mark's distinct voice rose above them all. Jude took her compact out and touched Bridget on the nose and cheeks with the powder puff. "Lipstick looks good," she advised.
Harumi spoke up. "Bridget, it's a civil ceremony, but if you would like your father to walk you into the room, he may."
No tears, she told herself. "I'd like that very much."
Harumi nodded, then said to the friends, her voice slipping into a professional timbre, "You three should leave now. Please send in Bridget's father."
When her father stepped into the room, she ran to him and embraced him. Harumi left to afford them time together. "Dad," was all she could say.
He kissed her cheek. "My darling girl, you look magnificent."
"Thank you," she sputtered.
"Are you ready?"
"I've been ready for a long time," she said softly.
"That's all I really needed to hear," he said with a smile and a sigh. "I couldn't have parted with you to anyone less worthy."
There was a short, sharp knock and the door opened a very small amount. "It's time," came Harumi's voice.
She took in a deep breath as her father pulled the veil down over her face. Then she threaded her arm through his, and they strode through the door, roses in her free hand.
At the front of the room was a table upon which sat a vase filled with beautiful white roses. There by that table stood a man she presumed to be the registrar, and facing him was Mark (she'd recognise him from behind anywhere). He turned at the quiet murmur that began at her appearance. He looked unbelievably dashing in black tails, dark grey trousers, a white vest, and a grey ascot tie. The expression on his face was one of quiet, reserved contentment, if slightly anxious.
The room went silent, and a violin began playing 'Here Comes the Bride'. Holding on to her father for support, she took the first unsteady steps. The stretch to the table suddenly seemed miles long and her shoes, stilettos.
Upon reaching Mark's side without incident, her father raised her veil and kissed her cheek again. Colin Jones then turned to Mark and clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way before taking his seat.
"Hi," she mouthed. Mark smiled, took her hand, and the registrar began speaking.
……………
"Following the binding declaration which you have made before me in the presence of these witnesses, I hereby declare that you, Mark Darcy, and you, Bridget Jones, are now husband and wife."
The registrar was about to speak again but could not for the roar of applause as the two of them met for a chaste kiss, then turned to smile at the assembled, Bridget fighting back happy tears once again. After patiently waiting a moment or two more, the registrar requested that the Marriage Schedule be signed. Mark stepped around the table and reached for the pen to sign where required, then offered the pen to Bridget. She signed, had just gotten to the "t" of her first name when Mark gently reminded her under his breath that she needed to sign "Jones". She shot him a 'durr' look, but smiled.
As the registrar signed the Schedule, Mark leaned to Bridget. "I asked Jeremy to sign as a witness. I hope that's all right."
Two witnesses would need to sign for it to legally stick. She looked to him with panic in her eyes: who could she possibly pick that wouldn't ruffle feathers?
He was following her train of thought: "How about your brother for the second?"
Instant relief. "Yes. Very good." Clearly he was in possession of the smarts on this day.
Mark turned and called for Jeremy and Jamie to sign the Schedule.
……………
In stark contrast to the car ride to the castle, the drive back to the hotel seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye. After photos on the balcony, she and Mark had the car to themselves and were able to share a lovely kiss. However, their time alone was not to happen quite yet, for Mark had reserved tables at the hotel for an early dinner / mini-reception. Now that the hotel staff was no longer under a gag order about the surprise, they showered Bridget with compliments and congratulations. With dinner they had even presented a lovely chocolate gateau that they had fashioned into the shape of a tiered wedding cake.
After the cake and coffee, Mark's mother astutely pointed out that they all had flights back to London at eight, and they should gather their things and head to the airport. At once the party began to break up and each and every one of them took turns saying their goodbyes to the bride and groom before filing out of the hotel restaurant, making promises to keep the event close to the vest until they returned, for as much as most people knew, Mark and Bridget were in Carlisle. No reason for the congratulatory calls to begin just yet.
Shaz and Jude (who had relayed best wishes from Vile Richard, of all people) started to cry happy tears; Bridget promised them she would never be a Smug Married.
Tom, ever dramatic, clung to her and proclaimed it the end of an era until Shaz, Jude and Bridget talked him down out of his tree.
Magda hugged her and whispered she couldn't be happier for them, while Jeremy, silent as a stone, aloofly placed an arm around Bridget's shoulders.
Her parents had no words that they hadn't already shared with her; Bridget had never seen her mother rendered as speechless as she had been that day.
His parents embraced her fully and welcomed her to the family with broad and genuine smiles.
Jamie grabbed her and held her tight, whispering to her how he aspired to being as happy as they looked that day.
Mark then claimed Bridget's hand, waved goodbye to the lot of them, and pulled her towards the lift. They stepped inside and the doors whooshed shut.
After punching in the button for the top floor, he took her other hand, facing her. "I don't think I ever got to tell you how exquisite you look today," he said, his eyes flicking down to appraise her. "You are the most beautiful bride I've ever seen."
She allowed the tears to come at last. "Not that you're biased or anything," she said with a smirk as she sniffed. "Mark. Today has been absolutely perfect in every detail."
He wiped her cheek dry, then reclaimed her hand as he said, "Except for me trembling so badly I nearly dropped your ring."
"I don't think anyone noticed." She thought of all of his busy, lonely nights, running himself ragged not only to make this all come together but to clear his busy schedule for two whole weeks, and her heart burst with overwhelming love. "I don't know how you did it all."
He smiled knowingly. "I had help."
She raised her right hand, bringing his left hand up with it. She looked at the band on his finger closely for the first time: platinum, shiny, and brand new, a twin to her own. She drew his knuckles to her lips, kissing just above the ring. It still didn't seem real.
The lift doors parted and he led her out towards their room, a penthouse suite. As they reached the door he unlocked it but then stopped. He leaned down and said to her, "Shall I carry you over the threshold?"
"I don't want you to hurt yourself—" she joked.
"I will not," he began in a mock stern tone, "have my wife denigrating herself in such a manner." Her heart aflutter, he swiftly swept her up into his arms, then nimbly carried her into the room, kicking it shut with his foot.
Bridget didn't think it possible for the room she'd spent the previous night in to be out-swanked, but this one was in fact more sumptuous, as evidenced by the grand four poster bed that had been decorated with chains of roses, the scent of which permeated the suite. A delicate glass lamp by the bedside and the amber glow of the fireplace were the only sources of illumination, revealing drapes like distant dark squares against ivory walls and rendering the furniture mere silhouettes. "Oh, it's lovely," she said quietly as he set her down on top of the pillowy linen duvet. He reached over and twisted a knob on the gas lantern, lowering the wick.
He bent to delicately remove the pearled headpiece from her hair and briefly attempted to slip her earrings off, but they confounded him. With a grin, she reached up, removed the pearl drops and handed them to Mark. He set them on the bedside table. He then crouched down, took one shoe from her foot, then the other.
She realised the girls had overlooked one small detail in preparation for this day, and a quiet, disappointed "Oh" escaped from her lips.
"What's wrong?" he asked, concern in his voice as his hands traveled up and over her calves.
"I don't have a pretty wedding night bra and pant set on under this dress."
He looked up to her then sat beside her on the bed, running his finger along the pearled collar of the dress, up to her earlobe, then forward to her chin. "Are you sure? I'd better check." His hand rounded her shoulder, tugged the zipper down gently and slipped the sleeve down, revealing the strap of her bra. He then ran a finger down to the plain cream-coloured satin cup, then placed a tender kiss just where the strap connected to it. He looked back to her, the firelight dancing in his dark eyes. Decisively, he said, "Unacceptable. It will have to go."
She laughed lightly, running her fingers over his hair. His free hand slid under the hem of her dress, fingers playing upon the garter belt then moving to the elastic of her pants at the crease of her leg, planting kisses on her exposed neck. "I strongly suspect these will have to go as well," he said throatily.
"Yes, sir," she said, trying to effect a chastened tone but instead quickly losing herself in desire for him after so many days without physical intimacy. He looked up to meet her eyes, his countenance becoming suddenly serious, almost wistful.
"If I were to never say anything else to you again in my life," he said quietly, "know that—"
As his voice cracked, she supplied, "I know," but no sound came out for the emotion that had suddenly closed her own throat. So instead, a kiss said it all.
Tuesday 6 Nov
Hushed voices caused Bridget to rouse from sleep. She opened her eyes and lifted her head to see Mark, in rumpled dress shirt, trousers and bare feet, at the door speaking to (presumably) a member of the hotel staff. With a curt nod of the head, he backed into the room with a wheeled tray.
She sat up on her elbows, for a brief moment thinking about how horrific her once immaculately coiffed upswept hairdo must have looked, then smiled, remembering that it wasn't important to Mark. She mused that her personal mantra should have been 'just as you are' for months now. She didn't say anything, only watched him lift something from the cart then turn towards her with it. He had in his hands a tray; all she could see from her vantage point were the tops of the coffee cups. Their eyes - and smiles - met.
Looking almost apologetic, he said, "Well. It is a special morning, after all." He lowered the tray and she saw a plate full of eggs and bacon, buttered toast points on the edge of the plate. He set the tray across her lap, then went back for the second, joining her on the bed to eat.
"It's funny," she said after a few, biting off a crispy length of bacon.
"What is?" he asked, after a sip of coffee.
"I don't feel any different."
"Why would you?" he asked, knitting his brows.
In a moment of panic, she raised her hand, thinking perhaps she'd dreamt the whole thing. No; there was the platinum band nestled happily atop the engagement ring. Relief washed over her.
He laughed. "Darling, it was not another dream."
She pouted. "You're taking the piss out of me."
"I would never do that," he said sternly, a slight smile touching on his face as he added, "Mrs Darcy."
She grinned, but could not resist teasing him. "How do you know I won't be one of those Marrieds who never changes her name?" Not Smug. Never Smug.
"Because I remember you once lamenting the fact that you only had two names," he explained, returning to his breakfast. "I can't imagine you'd turn down the opportunity to add another."
She laughed. "All right, you've got me there."
After sipping his coffee, he asked "So… what now?"
"What do you mean? After breakfast? Showering? Shagging after breakfast and showering? Our Ruby Wedding?" Mmm. How she loved thinking long-term about him.
He chuckled. "I meant where you'd like to go after we check out of this place. Pick a location."
Her fork clinked against the elegant china as it fell from her fingers; she looked up to him in astonishment. "Do you mean…" She trailed off, unable to say the words, as obviously she must have misheard.
He elaborated with a smile, "I had to leave some of the decisions to you."
Realising she had understood him correctly, she found her voice. "Mark… you're serious, aren't you?"
Absolutely deadpan, he asked, "Do I look like a man who would kid his wife about something as consequential as a honeymoon?"
His wife. Her insides danced at the sound of him saying it.
As for the honeymoon concept, her first impulse was to say that she wanted to spend two weeks right there, not leaving the bed except to use the toilet, to shower or to eat, but then her brain pummeled her with thoughts of sunny Italian villas or lounging on a Caribbean beach. "Could we… you know… go abroad?"
"You will find your passport in my attaché, where I ferreted it away for you."
"Such a clever husband, you." It felt slightly strange for her to say 'husband', but instantly she decided she liked it very much indeed.
Their plates now devoid of food, he stood again to remove the trays back to the cart before crawling up to her again. "So." He patted down a stray wisp of hair. "You mentioned something about after breakfast. How fixed are you on the order of those events…?"
There was definitely something marvelous to be said for the 'staying in bed' option.
Friday 9 Nov
"You utterly spoil me."
Bathed in sunshine, reclining on a deck chair on the glorious patio beside the sapphire pool, Bridget lowered her sunglasses to meet the eyes of, and to bestow a smile upon, her doting, lovely husband. Mark stood there looking delectable in beach trunks, and while he wasn't a bronzed god yet, he was well on his way. In each hand he had a tall glass of lemonade.
He bent to kiss her, gave her one of the glasses, then took the chair beside her. "Told you it was my fondest hope."
She sipped her lemonade and smiled.
After deciding she wanted a honeymoon in a warmer, more southerly climate - it being November and all - but not wanting to spend a lot of time actually traveling, Mark had suggested Lisbon, Cascais specifically, where he'd gone for a business meeting several years ago. A few phone calls later they were booked on a flight to Portela Airport and later that night were crossing the threshold of their suite in the upscale Albatroz Palace.
The laptop had actually made the journey, but as of yet she had not cracked it open. They'd spent their days relaxing by the pool or strolling on the beach, visiting a museum or a church, or luxuriating in bed enjoying each other immensely. When the hotel staff discovered they were newlyweds they brought Bridget and Mark specially decorated chocolate mousses each night with dinner. It was the best chocolate mousse she had ever eaten in her life.
Well, he did want curves, after all.
"Are you having a good birthday?" he asked, sipping his own drink.
She pushed her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose, replying, "Best one yet, although I'm oddly disappointed to not spend it making dinner with you."
He grinned, leaning his head back against the chair and closing his eyes. She was quite content to simply sit and admire the way the sun glinted off of his skin.
……………
As the maitre d' led Mark and Bridget to their table for dinner that night, Bridget looked in silent awe at the grandness of the main dining room, and not for the first time she felt humbled by the lavishness of everything, from the consultant to Edinburgh Castle; family and friends flown out and put up in the hotel at Mark's expense, not to mention their own hotel rooms; the cost of the trip to Portugal, the lodgings, and even the little things like meals, sunglasses and swimsuits.
He noticed her distant expression and asked, "Are you all right?"
"Hm, yes, I'm fine," she said thoughtfully. "I was just thinking about the enormous amount of money you must have spent on all of this."
He reached across the table and took her hand. "Believe me when I say it is not a hardship. Put it out of your mind."
"That's easier said than done," she said sullenly. "I've never had such generosity heaped upon me before. And what I make writing freelance is a pittance in comparison."
"You work because you enjoy it, not because we need the money. I certainly don't require that you make a salary equal to mine in order for me to love you."
She snorted a laugh involuntarily. "Obviously, as I never have. It's just hard feeling so… unequal."
He leveled his eyes at her. "Stop thinking in terms of 'mine' and 'yours'. It's ours. All right?" He leaned back, grinned impertinently, then winked. "Rejoice in the fact that you've married well."
If he hadn't winked, she would have thrown her napkin at him for sounding eerily like her mother. But as it was, she just continued to smile at him until she heard the waiter approaching. He held a tray bearing two bowls. Funny, she didn't remember ordering. "Mrs Darcy? Your appetizer per Mr Darcy's request."
She looked around, half-expecting to see Mark's mother. Being addressed that way would really take some getting used to, and she shared a secret smile with Mark. Overcome with emotion again, she felt a lump forming in her throat, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and she swallowed hard in an effort not to cry and ruin dinner. However, when the waiter set one of the bowls down in front of her, she saw the contents and could not help but laugh.
It was cream soup. And it was blue.
She looked back up to find him grinning from ear to ear. "Happy birthday, Bridget Jones Darcy."
Notes / Reference / Links:
Section title: "Be Still My Beating Heart" by Sting. I really wanted to use "The Secret Marriage" as the title, but thought that might give away far too much to people who hadn't gotten to this section yet. (Yes, I have a thing for …Nothing Like the Sun. Shup.)
There's another song that has a PERFECT refrain re: this section: In the presence of all my friends / You stood there holding my hand / And you promised me faithfully / That you would be my only man. But the title of the song is "Super Duper Love (Are you Diggin' on Me?) Part 1" by Joss Stone (from the EOR soundtrack), which is unfortunately a tad unwieldy, and doesn't convey the sentiment of the refrain at all. Bummer.
According to a site I found online, "taking the piss (out of me)" "to ridicule, to tease, to make fun off." Now you too can laugh in the right places during Britcoms. :)
The Gatehouse suite (including the Court Martial Room and the Ante Room) in Edinburgh Castle. (There's a link here that got munged. Grar.)
Yes, what Bridget's father says to Bridget in the Ante Room is (almost verbatim) from "Pride & Prejudice" by Jane Austen. :)
There were some other notes/references, but they were merely links which aren't allowed on this site, so I removed them. If you're really interested in them, see my LJ post of this same story section.
