Chapter Fifteen Back to Previous Chapter Mr. and Mrs. Allen, displaying their usual generosity, opened Fullerton not only to Henry but to any of his friends who might wish to witness his wedding. The groom was the first to arrive, and he and his bride had a full day to become reacquainted before Mr. Bennet arrived, accompanied by his two eldest daughters. Catherine appeared at the Great House a short time later to find the familiar drawing-room full of strangers. She halted at the doorway, arrested by confusion and shyness. Henry, sensing her discomfort, took her by the hand and drew her into the room. "Catherine, may I have the honour of presenting my father, Mr. Bennet." Mr. Bennet rose and took Catherine's hand, smiling at her kindly. She noticed a resemblance to Henry and immediately felt disposed to like him. "And my sisters," said Henry, "Jane and Elizabeth." Here all was easy. "Henry has told me so much about you that I feel as though I already know you! May I call you Jane and Lizzy?" "Of course, Catherine!" cried Jane, taking the younger girl's hands in her own. "After all, tomorrow we shall be sisters." "It is good that you come from a large family," said Elizabeth with a smile. "You will not be discomposed by acquiring five more sisters." "Oh, no," said Catherine. "I am glad to have so many new sisters! Except for Sarah, my sisters are much younger than I." "What of Miss Tilney?" asked Mrs. Allen from her sopha, where she was ensconced with her tambour-hoop. "The Viscountess, I should say," she amended, slowly and methodically dipping the hook into the fabric. "Will we see her, Mr. Tilney?" "Eleanor and her husband should arrive later this afternoon," said Henry. "Well, before the party becomes too large," said Mr. Bennet, bringing forth a flat leather-covered box, "I have something for Miss Morland." "Thank you," said Catherine in confusion, taking the box. "What is it?" "I believe the accepted method of discovery with a gift is to open it," said Mr. Bennet. "Go on, my dear." Catherine needed no more encouragement; she lifted the lid of the box and gasped in surprise, then gingerly held up a beautiful pearl necklace. "That necklace belonged to Henry's mother," said Mr. Bennet. "It was given to her by her father on her wedding day." "How lovely!" cried Catherine. She went to Mr. Bennet and kissed him on the cheek, a salute that he received with great equanimity. "The pearls will look well with your wedding gown," said Henry. Catherine frowned at her fiancé. "You have not seen my gown." "I know it will be white and silver, and the most beautiful gown you have ever owned. Am I correct?" "You are," said Catherine, laughing. "And a white lace veil will be pinned in your hair, and you will carry…oh, white roses, perhaps? I believe you have learned at last to love a rose, and would therefore wish to carry them on your wedding day of all days. But perhaps I am wrong and you will traipse up the aisle bearing a hyacinth. I clearly recall your affection for that blossom." Mrs. Allen frowned. "That would not do at all, Mr. Tilney. A bride would not carry a hyacinth. You had much better carry the roses, my dear." "A-ha! Roses! I was right," said Henry smugly. "I am not going to show you my gown," said Catherine firmly. "He has been teasing me about it these three weeks," she added to the rest of the company. "But Mrs. Allen says that it is bad luck for the groom to see the bride's gown before the wedding, so I will not show it to you, Henry, no matter how you tease me." "Alas! I know when I am defeated," cried Henry. "I retire gracefully from the lists." Just then a manservant entered the room and announced the Whitings. The Bennets exchanged apprehensive glances, but the Viscountess turned out to be an ordinary-looking young woman with a kind smile. Catherine ran to greet her with a glad cry, and the warm embrace she bestowed on the younger girl did much to restore the Bennets' comfort. If the Vicountess felt a trifle supplanted by two unknown young ladies who suddenly had a stronger claim than she on Henry, whom she had always considered a brother, she was too well-bred to show it. When Elizabeth was presented to her ladyship, Eleanor cried, "Why, Henry, she is just like you! How did you not know you were related directly you met?" "Because I am not omniscient, my dear Eleanor." "I must thank you for taking care of Henry for us all these years," said Elizabeth archly. "It must have been difficult to bear such a paragon in the house." Henry laughingly protested, and Eleanor smiled. "I see you are not only like Henry in looks. Well, for my part I must thank you for the lend of him. He has been an excellent brother, and a comfort to me. Come, you must meet my husband." His lordship proved to be, to a precision, the most charming young man in the world, and soon all the large party, with the addition of Mr. and Mrs. Morland and several of their older children, were comfortably assembled in the Allens' dining-room. After dinner, they continued a noisy, merry, congenial party. Mr. Allen took Mr. Bennet and Mr. Morland to his billiard-room; Elizabeth took a turn at the pianoforte; and Mrs. Allen got news of the latest fashions from Eleanor. Henry caught Catherine's eye and nodded briefly at the French windows that led to the garden. They slipped away, thinking they were unseen, though Elizabeth and Eleanor at least exchanged smiles of complicity. "I think I am going to like your sisters," said Catherine, slipping her hand into the curve of Henry's elbow. "I thought you might," Henry admitted. "Eleanor is right," Catherine mused. "Lizzy is very like you, not only in looks but in disposition. And Jane is so beautiful, and yet so modest and kind!" They walked in silence for a moment, and then she added, "I wonder that your friends Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have not come. Were they not to be your groomsmen?" "They wrote to me and said they would be here," said Henry. "I hope they have not met with an accident." "Oh! Do you think that could have happened!" cried Catherine in real alarm. Henry shook his head. "I dare say we should have heard something by now. I wonder--" he pressed his lips together and again shook his head. Catherine glanced at him, her face equally grave. "You think perhaps they are trying to avoid seeing Lizzy and Jane?" Henry smiled down at her. "I forget, you are as acquainted with the circumstances as I am." His smile faded and he said, "I do not think Bingley would purposely avoid my sisters, and I do not like to think that Darcy would contrive to keep him away." "They might arrive tomorrow," said Catherine hopefully. "They might," Henry agreed. A cool breeze whispered through the garden, and Catherine pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. "Are you cold, my sweet?" Henry asked her. "A little," she admitted. Henry stopped and drew her into his arms. "Is this better?" "Mmmm." Catherine wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. "My sweet Cat is purring," said Henry softly. "I wonder, will she purr if I stroke her like…this?" He traced his finger down her cheek. "Mmmm," said Catherine, closing her eyes and lifting her face invitingly. "And like this?" He touched his lips gently to her throat just below the jawline. "Mmmmmm," sighed Catherine. "And like this?" he whispered, and then kissed her. At length Catherine said, "I cannot purr while you are kissing me, Henry." "We shall see about that, my sweet. I think you simply want proper encouragement." He disentangled himself reluctantly from her embrace. "Unfortunately I cannot provide that encouragement tonight, and you should be abed. We have an early appointment tomorrow at the church." "Until tomorrow, then," said Catherine, her eyes shining. "Until tomorrow," he agreed, and kissed her one last time before he led her back into the house. "You are complete to a shade, Tilney," Lord Whiting assured Henry, who was anxiously checking his reflection in the small mirror that hung in the vestry. "Besides, it is not your place to be fine today, it is the bride's. You are simply to show up and say your vows like a good boy." Henry laughed. "I have performed a few weddings, you know. Just because you are an old married man does not mean you can assume a superior manner, my lord." "As an old married man, I can tell you that you should have bachelors for your groomsmen." "Darcy and Bingley have not shown up, so I shall have to make do," Henry retorted as Mr. Taylor, already dressed in his vestments, came into the room. "Thank you for coming all this way to perform the ceremony, sir," said Henry, shaking his hand. "Mr. Morland wants to give away his daughter, and it is very right that he should. I hope you are not having second thoughts, Henry. Mr. Morland's clerk is quite an efficient fellow; he already has the register filled out and ready for you to sign. I should not like to see all his hard work go to waste." Before Henry could reply, the door opened and Bingley and Darcy entered in a great hurry. "Are we in time?" cried Bingley, shaking Henry's hand. "There were no horses to be had at the posting-inn, and we were forced to put up there overnight." "You are in time," said Henry, pleased to see his friends. "I confess I had quite given up on you and recruited a replacement." "Hello, Whiting," said Darcy, shaking the Viscount's hand. "It is good to see you again. Please accept my congratulations on your elevation to the peerage and on your marriage." "I thank you, Darcy," replied his lordship. "Is that Charles Bingley? I have not seen you since Oxford, sir! How do you do?" "You know his lordship is Eleanor's husband," Henry told Bingley. Bingley blinked and stared at the Viscount for a moment. "Oh, yes," he said rather lamely. "Of course. Tilney did tell me that his sister--er, Miss Tilney--well--" He bowed, and added, "I am pleased to see you again, my lord." "It appears that I am a trifle superfluous," said his lordship, quietly hiding his amusement at Bingley's distress. "I had better find a seat." There was a great deal of confusion in the vestry; everyone was milling around and waiting their turn to sign the register. Henry handed the pen to his wife and watched as she signed "Catherine Morland" one last time. She handed the pen to Sarah, who was one of her bridesmaids, and smiled at Henry. "Now it is official, Mrs. Tilney," he whispered. Catherine's smile grew even wider. Indeed she had not stopped smiling throughout the ceremony. She looked as lovely as Henry could have hoped, in her white muslin dress embroidered with silver thread and her white lace veil atop her dark curls. Her cheeks held a becoming blush at the unusual attention showered upon her. Darcy and Bingley had finished signing the register and approached the newlyweds. Henry presented them to Catherine, and Bingley took her hand with a smile of genuine delight. "My dear Mrs. Tilney!" he cried, kissing her hand. "Your very obedient, ma'am! It is perfectly delightful to meet you at last! Tilney has not stopped speaking of you these twelve months at least." "Longer than that," retorted Henry as Catherine turned to Darcy. Darcy took her hand and bowed, his eyes warm and his smile kind despite his usual reserve with strangers. "I am delighted to meet you, Mrs. Tilney," he said quietly. "May I wish you every happiness in your marriage?" "I thank you," said Catherine, blushing even pinker. She had not realized how very tall and how very handsome was Henry's friend, and his kind attentions rendered her nearly speechless. She was much more inclined to prefer Bingley's cordial, easy manners. "Tilney, you lucky dog," declared Bingley, wringing his hand. "I wish you joy, sir!" "I would see you as happy as I am at this moment," said Henry quietly, adding to Darcy, "both of you." Darcy did not respond, and Bingley threw an unhappy glance over his shoulder in the direction of Jane Bennet. At that moment Henry's attention was claimed by his father and Catherine was taken away by her mother, and Bingley and Darcy melted into the general crowd as Catherine's other two bridesmaids, Jane and Elizabeth, were signing the register. "I wish you joy, son," Mr. Bennet was saying. "Your Catherine is a delightful young lady. She will do very well for you. You are too reasonable and too well informed to desire anything more in woman than ignorance. Whereas to the larger and more trifling part of our sex, imbecility in females is a great enhancement of their personal charms." "I am sure you do not include yourself in that number, sir," laughed Henry. "I should hate to hear my mother described so." "No, no," said his father reflectively. "I would not say so." The guests were invited to the great house for breakfast following the wedding ceremony. Elizabeth, laughing over her shoulder, went into the dining room and nearly ran into Darcy. "Good morning," he said with a stiff bow. She curtseyed and said, "Good morning," in the same stilted fashion. There was an uncomfortable silence. "I hope you are well," said Darcy finally. "I am, I thank you." Elizabeth found herself unable to raise her eyes to Darcy's. All she could think of were the terrible words she had flung at him at their last encounter: the unfounded accusations, the lies that Mr. Wickham had told her. She also remembered the coldness in his manner when he handed her the explanatory letter, and her cheeks burned. Darcy saw her flush and misinterpreted it. He also remembered their last meeting, the fire that had flashed in Elizabeth's eyes when she accused him of interfering in Bingley's courtship of Jane Bennet. Darcy was still not entirely convinced that he had been wrong to do so, and he was not sure that his letter had changed her mind about Wickham's allegations. In any event, he did not want a confrontation to disrupt his friend's wedding breakfast, so he simply bowed to Elizabeth and left her. The wedding breakfast was over, and everyone was standing outside the great house, ready to send the newlyweds on their way with all the warmest wishes their friends could bestow. "Mr. Bingley?" Bingley froze, recognizing the gentle voice that called his name; then he took a deep breath and turned around. "Your ladyship," he said, making a graceful leg. Eleanor smiled up at him. "I am so very glad to see you! I had hoped that you and Mr. Darcy would attend Henry's wedding." "We would not have wanted to miss it. Unfortunately there was a misunderstanding about the horses and we nearly did so." He hesitated for a moment, and then added, "May I wish you joy, ma'am? Tilney told me of your marriage." "I thank you, sir. I believe you are acquainted with my husband?" "A little. We were at Oxford together, but not in the same college, and he is older than I…" his voice trailed off lamely. "He remembers you very warmly, I assure you." They stood in silence for a moment, then Eleanor said, "Do you remember the summer you visited Henry at Northanger?" Bingley could not help but smile. "I remember it well. Tilney has never let me forget how you abandoned me on that dark, cold path that you so like to walk, and I got all turned around and was unable to find my way back to the house for hours! How angry the General was that I was late for dinner!" Eleanor laughed and held out her hands. "I hope you have forgiven me for treating you so abominably," she said. Bingley took her hands in his own and smiled down at her fondly. He understood, now, that his affection for the Viscountess had long ago ceased to be romantic, and was now the brotherly sort of affection that he had for Georgiana Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. He was incapable of hiding those feelings behind the sort of civil façade cultivated by Darcy; and he was not aware that the only young lady who could make a stronger claim on his affections was watching him with some alarm. How he looks at her! thought Jane in despair. He used to look at me so…but Eleanor is a married woman, and Mr. Bingley would not impose upon her. She remembered the letters from Caroline Bingley, cruelly dismissing all her fondest hopes. How absurd I am, to think that Mr. Bingley could ever love me! I wonder if he looks at Miss Darcy that way… Meanwhile, Eleanor was saying to Bingley, "May I expect to hear of your wedding anytime soon, sir?" Bingley glanced around self-consciously, and his gaze fell on Jane Bennet, whose own eyes at that moment were turned away resolutely. Eleanor's eyes followed his, and immediately comprehended all. "I shall not keep you," she told him with a smile. "I commend your taste, Mr. Bingley. Jane is a lovely young lady." He beamed. "She is, is not she?" He bowed again, and kissed the Viscountess' hand, just as Jane looked round at them. By the time that he joined her, however, the stricken expression had disappeared from her face. Miss Bennet had always warmly encouraged Bingley's attentions, but now she greeted him with the cool composure of a slight acquaintance. He was unsure how to act; he remembered what Caroline, and Louisa, and even Darcy had said about Jane Bennet. She has no real regard for you; naturally, her mother encouraged her to attach herself to the first eligible male that came along. She has probably forgot all about you and is tossing her handkerchief at some redcoat as we speak. Mrs. Bennet was not present, and apparently his own charms were not sufficient to draw Miss Bennet's interest. Bingley spoke to her briefly, bowed stiffly, and joined Darcy, standing off to one side of the general throng. Catherine brushed her hair dreamily and gazed at her smiling reflection. Henry had gone into the dressing room to change into his nightclothes, and she was waiting for him, having changed first at her husband's insistence. My husband. It still sounded so very strange! Strange, yet delightful. My husband. She brushed her already well-brushed hair and smiled yet again. Henry came in and sat down next to her on the bench before the dressing-table, facing away from the mirror. He leaned back against the table and said, "I have a gift for you." "For me?" cried Catherine in delight. "But you have already been so generous!" She had been taken aback by the marriage settlements--the sum that Henry settled upon her, and the amount designated for her pin money, had taken her breath away, though Henry and her parents assured her that the arrangements were all very much in the common way. "This is a gift for both of us." He handed her a heavy package, wrapped in white paper and tied with a ribbon. Catherine eagerly undid the package and was surprised to find it contained a stack of four books. She opened the top volume and exclaimed, "It is Udolpho!" "I thought we could read it together," grinned Henry. "We have both read it before, but they were borrowed copies, so I procured a copy for our own. We have to start our family library somewhere, after all." Catherine's eyes shone at him. "This is a wonderful gift, Henry! I should very much like for us to read it together!" Her smile faded, and she gazed down at the book sorrowfully. "What is it, my sweet Cat?" prompted Henry gently. "Henry, I have been considering, and I think that a married woman should read better books than Udolpho. Do not you agree? I should read history books, and Shakespeare, things like that." She gazed up at him earnestly. "Will you make me a list?" Henry did not respond, but simply smiled; there was something in his expression that made Catherine's heart beat a little faster and a little thrill run down her spine and out to the tips of her fingers and toes. "Have you any idea," he said softly, leaning closer, "how utterly adorable you are?" Catherine found herself unable to form any coherent response, and then Henry kissed her, sending her consciousness spinning into total disarray. This was not one of the chaste lover's salutes he had bestowed on her previously; this was a husband's eager kiss, and Catherine, though startled at first, responded instinctively. It was a few moments before they broke apart, gasping for breath. "Let's to bed, Catherine," Henry whispered. All of Catherine's senses were heightened; she was acutely conscious of the rasp of Henry's evening beard against her cheek, the silk of his dressing-gown beneath her fingers, the warmth of his hands through the thin muslin of her nightdress. Her sole ordered thought was that the last thing she wanted to do at the moment was go to sleep, but unused to the married state, she was not sure how to tell Henry so in a way that would not cause offense. At last she stammered, "I-I am not tired." Henry smiled broadly. "All the better, my sweet," he said, folding her into his embrace. "All the better." In her chamber at Fullerton, Elizabeth lay awake for some time; finally she tossed back the sheets. She felt in her writing-desk until she located, by touch, two folded sheets of paper. She lit a candle in the dying embers of the fire and opened the letter; the paper had softened and the folds were becoming worn from constant handling. It was a letter she had perused countless times over the past weeks. Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you… Jane had made it through the day with no apparent loss of composure. She was genuinely happy for her brother and his wife, envy not being part of her makeup. She smiled, along with everyone else, at the events of the day; but alone in her room, she could not forget the sight of Mr. Bingley and the Viscountess, or the thought of Mr. Bingley marrying Miss Darcy, and no longer forced to show serenity to the world, she wept unabashedly into her pillow. Mr. Allen pressed Henry's particular friends to stay at Fullerton, but neither of the gentlemen were eager to be under the same roof as the Miss Bennets, so they adhered to their original plan to spend the night of the wedding at an inn in Salisbury before returning to town. Darcy spent the rest of the night in deep contemplation, unable to stop remembering his meeting with Elizabeth. He told himself that he was a fool; the way she had spoken to him when he proposed to her, and her behaviour today, showed plainly that she could never feel for him as he felt for her. He had tried to forget her these past weeks, tried to forget the sparkle in her dark eyes, the spirit in her conversation, the pleasing aspect of her figure; but he knew the moment they met that he still loved her as much as he had when he had asked her to be his wife. He could not easily forget Elizabeth Bennet. Bingley's thoughts were mixed between genuine happiness for his friend Tilney and for the Viscountess, and sorrow at the smiling complacence with which Jane Bennet had greeted him. Darcy and Caroline must be right; she could not have greeted him so if she cared for him! He had to forget her. If he could forget Eleanor Tilney, if he could feel no other emotion than pure delight at her marriage, then surely he could forget Jane Bennet. Then why did he still have that tightness in his chest when he thought of Jane, of her golden hair and skin, of the elegance of her long neck, of her shy smile and musical laugh? He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to sleep but unable to, listening to the occasional rumble of a passing carriage and the oppressive nighttime silence of the inn. Mrs. Allen lay wakeful, comparing her own gown to those of the other ladies. She was comfortable that her gown compared favourably to the Miss Bennets', but knew that she had been sadly in the shadow of the Viscountess. I must ask her where she procured that lace. I wonder if it is terribly expensive? Mr. Allen is generous with my pin-money, but is he as generous as a Viscount could be? She sighed fretfully and turned over, weary but unable to sleep with such vital matters pressing upon her mind. Mr. Bennet placed an arm-chair by the window, where he gazed out at the stars, as he often did, and had a silent conversation with his Elizabeth. How do you like our son, my love? He has chosen his wife well, I think. She loves him truly, and he loves her. We who knew such a love can sympathize, can we not? He said a prayer for his son and his new daughter, that their affection would endure and that they would always know the joy he had shared with his own true love. "Are you purring, my Cat?" "Mmmmm." "Then you are content." "Mmmmm." There was a short pause, and then Catherine murmured drowsily, "You are the very nicest husband in the world," and fell asleep to the comfortable sound of Henry's soft laughter. Continued in Next Chapter ~ Table of Contents By A Lady Comment on this story Home ~ Site Map ~ Contact Original Images and Content Copyright © 2002 by Margaret C. Sullivan. All Rights Reserved.