Page 99 of The Scarred Duchess
“Shall I? Whatever for?” she asked.
“To obtain a common licence so that we may wed.”
“How interesting.” She reached for the jam, still intent on teasing him. “As I assume this is a matter of business, is my presence required? Not that I would eschew the chance to spend the morning by your side.”
“Nor would I, my dear,” he said, smiling. “You are needed. Your part—the pertinent matter—is to sign a sworn statement you are of age and free to marry.”
“And then?”
“And then I shall take you to Gunter’s for a cup of chocolate. And, of course,” he added, “once we have the licence, we are free to exchange vows in the parish designated by the presiding official.” He sipped his coffee. “It is customary that the bishop allows the groom to stipulate the parish.”
“There is no waiting period for the banns to be read?” she asked.
“No, there is not. A se’nnight later, we may exchange vows. Are you certain you wish to be wed in London?”
Elizabeth smiled at his endearing look of concern. “I am, truly.” She squeezed his hand. “I must write to my mother and father of our plans upon our return.”
Two hours later, Darcy handed Elizabeth from the carriage at Doctor’s Commons. They entered the ecclesiastical office, where a familiar grey-haired man sat in a chair.
“Good morning, Darcy,” the robed man said with a cheery smile.
Darcy was uncertain whether to kneel or bow. He reached for the priest’s hand, then drew back.
“What is it?” Elizabeth whispered.
“It is our cousin, the archbishop,” he said, weakly.
The older man clarified somewhat mischievously, “The Archbishop of Canterbury, if I may be so bold.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened and she quickly curtseyed. “Your Excellency.”
Darcy regained himself. “Your Grace.”
“Imagine my surprise. I come to town to see to church business and I spot your carriage from across the lane.” He paused. “Shall you apply for a licence, frommyhand?”
Darcy pressed his lips together. The archbishop’s dry humour was legendary in their family circle. He gathered himself, now that his shock had dissipated and he was on more familiar territory. “Allow me to introduce my betrothed, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”
The archbishop’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “How long have you known Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Your Excellency,” Darcy replied with gravitas, “I fear your premise is incomplete.”
“What should my question be?”
“I would ask you to amend your enquiry to ‘How long have you searched for your betrothed?’”
The archbishop seemed to savour the wordplay. “And your reply, my dear boy?”
“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.”
“Aristotle. How delightful.” The archbishop opened a large leather book. The pages were filled with names, numbers, and parish designations. “I heartily approve.”
Upon their return, Elizabeth commandeered Darcy’s study. She later handed him a letter for her father. The following morning, she opened his prompt reply, which brought her desires to fruition—the Bennet family would arrive at Darcy House two days hence.
The Bennet carriage entered the city and continued at its sedate pace towards its destination. As the lanes crowded, the carriage moved at a crawl.
“Remember Jane’s guidance,” Franny told the younger girls. “Miss Darcy is a delightful young lady but naturally shy. We must present ourselves well to dissuade her reticence.”
“Miss Darcy is fortunate to be gaining Lizzy as a sister,” offered Kitty. “I hope she will like our gift.”
