Darcy returned to Netherfield from Meryton church the next morning to report to Jane and Elizabeth that the vicar had agreed to marry Lydia and Chamberlayne the very next day.
When Elizabeth went to Longbourn to apprise her sister of this happy news, pleasure that she would be wed soon enough to depart with the militia warred with anger that she had no dress fine enough and there was not enough time to have one made up new.
It wasn't until Elizabeth had promised to supply her own favorite gown that afternoon, in time for Sarah to fit it to the bride-to-be, that Lydia accepted matters as they were.
Darcy had gone again into Meryton to tell Chamberlayne that he would wed on the morrow. The lad assented, overcome again by this proof of Darcy's power. He promised to be at church promptly on the morrow and Darcy returned to Netherfield, relieved but still fearing something must go awry.
By the time Elizabeth left Longbourn, Lydia had commandeered not only Hill and Sarah, but Mrs. Gardener, Mrs. Phillips, Kitty and her mother in her wedding fervor.
Elizabeth brought Mary and Georgiana with her, sure that their practice would be better served by the quiet of Netherfield than the chaos that now reigned at Longbourn. Having settled the girls at the instrument, and sent a servant to Longbourn with the gown, she sought out her husband and claimed him for a walk.
"Oh Mr. Darcy," she said, breathing deep of the balmy summer air as they walked away from the house. "I have never been so eager for church in my life."
"Tomorrow they will be wed and she off your hands, dear Mrs. Darcy," he assured her, with more confidence than he inwardly felt. "Then we can leave the Bingleys to their honeymoon and take ourselves north to peace and quiet."
"Peace and quiet. I don't think I have ever heard of anything more desirable," she replied, and he reassured her that she would find Derbyshire quite peaceful.
"We have had naught of peace since we married, Mr. Darcy," she said, swaying closer. "I sometimes wonder what we would do with ourselves in the quiet and alone."
He reached for her and pulled her into his embrace, their passion flaring as their lips touched.
She slowly pulled herself away from him, eyes locked with his. "We need not wait to journey north, need we?"
They headed back to the house, Darcy scarcely able to keep pace.
Mary's fingers deftly danced across the keys of the pianoforte. The twin charms of Georgiana's kind attention and knowing that none of her family would complain about her playing wrought a strong effect on her playing. None of those that had heard her play at her aunt Phillips' house would recognize the sounds that came forth as music of her making.
Georgiana took her turn and was similarly pleased with the improvement in her playing. As she completed the last page, the girls smiled at each other happily.
"It is a good instrument," Mary pronounced. "Much better than the one at our home."
Georgiana agreed, though finding some slight fault with its tune.
"I do not think Mr. Bingley thought to have a tuner come from town when he came into Hertfordshire," she said. "He is not musical, himself. My brother bought me a Broadwood Grand for Ramsgate, and has a tuner come each year to make sure it is in the best tune. You will hear the difference greatly, I think."
"When do you think of going?" Mary asked.
"I had thought of going after the Bingleys wed, but now with… everything, I had not determined. When would suit you?"
Happiness filled her with the thought of being a desired guest of this delightful young woman. Being wanted was a thoroughly novel sensation to her, and one she cherished.
"Lydia marries but tomorrow, and I must stay until she goes from home two days after. Your brother obtained for them a bishop's license, which allows them to marry as soon the vicar agrees. It is shocking that they be wed without the banns read, though, is it not?"
Georgiana agreed that she had never heard of her married acquaintance being wed so.
"It seems like something from a novel, the sort that Mrs. Annesley would not let me read," she confessed.
"Elizabeth says they must wed immediately to be able to travel with the regiment," Mary explained. "And I suppose that is true. Then mother says I can go as soon as you like."
"Shall we go on Saturday, then?"
Mary inwardly flinched from the notion of so soon going from her home, but quietly acquiesced, the excitement of going with her new friend rallying her.
Hearing his familiar step in the hall, Georgiana hastened to Darcy to tell him of her plan. She found him and Elizabeth hurrying upstairs.
"Brother!" she cried happily. "I have decided to return home on Saturday. Will that suit you?"
Arrested, Darcy paused and faced her. "I can see nothing wrong with that," he said. "Miss Mary Bennet will travel with you and Mrs. Annesley?" he said, catching a glimpse of Elizabeth's studious sister.
Georgiana happily affirmed this and chattered about their mutual musical progress until the bell rang to dress for dinner.
Georgiana sought Bingley's permission to invite Mary to stay for dinner and happily helped her into one of her dinner dresses. Shame at the pleasure she found in the fine fabric warred with the joy of being the object of her friend's attention, and she found relief in thanking her and in helping Georgiana dress.
"Warm colors suit you so well, Mary," Georgiana enthused. "May I make a present to you of it?"
Mary flushed with pleasure at this proof of friendship and regard but said that she could not deprive her friend of such a possession.
Georgiana denied that it was any deprivation.
"I loved the rose color on the bolt, but I am too fair to really look well in it. You look ten times better in it than I. It suits you. Please, do take it, for my sake."
Mary could only accept with thanks, and the two descended to dinner.
It would have been a silent meal except for Georgiana's enthusiastic talk about music and her anticipated return to Ramsgate. Bingley and Jane shared a silent rapport that, along with a certain flushed look, told Elizabeth plainly that they had spent the day as she wished that she and Darcy had. She felt her husband's presence with a magnetic pull, and only long-studied politeness made her graciously accept Georgiana's offer that she and Mary play for them after dinner.
Elizabeth could scarcely focus on her eyes on the music when Georgiana urged her to play, and the minutes crawled by until supper was over, Mary was sent back to Longbourn, and it was time for bed.
Romney returned to his fellow sailors and sought his bunk, bewildered by his conversation with his captain. Never would he have thought the thoroughly sensible sea man would be so consumed by petty details of life on land.
He nudged one of his fellows.
"Charles," he called urgently.
"Wha?" the sailor replied, already half asleep.
"Did you ever hear that the captain thought of marrying?"
It took a couple of repetitions, but Romney eventually got his question across.
"Nah, he's a confirmed woman-hater. Can't stand even have them aboard."
"Because it's bad luck, right?" Romney asked.
"More than bad luck. He's polite enough to 'em when he's got to take 'em somewhere, but he hates it like fury."
The first mate laid back on the canvas, his head abuzz, wondering why a woman-hater would ask so many questions about land-lubbers' concerns. And their daughters.