Ellis Fleming, Thomas Bennet, the Earl of Matlock, and the Viscount Wentletrap were all a little worse for wear; and Mrs. Reynolds, who was already overworked, was asked to prepare a batch of her remedial elixir. Pemberley’s excellent housekeeper had not been bestowed that accolade without having earned it, and the tincture had already been brewed the evening before in anticipation of its requirement. The remedy was in the gentlemen’s hands and upset stomachs post-haste; and as the morning wore on, the men’s mental capacities proportionally increased from bags of hammers to their normal intensive intelligence. 

Mrs. Bennet had heard a new wedding rhyme that was supposed to be lucky, and she insisted her daughters and Miss Darcy should have every advantageous start to good marriages. Therefore, each bride incorporated into her preparations something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a silver sixpence in her shoe. 

Georgiana proudly wore her late grandmother’s strand of lustrous pearls, and the required silver coin had been sewn into the lining of the left foot of her new pair of dainty slippers. Pretty jewelled hairpins, belonging to her mother, held her blonde tresses in place; and both her silk gown and the ring Ellis had given when he proposed were blue. 

Jane and Elizabeth wrapped delicate pieces of lace from Mrs. Bennet’s own wedding gown around their fragrant bouquets, and sixpences had been sewn into satin slippers. They donned pearl earrings borrowed from their Aunt Gardiner and blue ribbon garters. The mother of the brides watched as pretty new bonnets with lace veils were carefully placed upon her daughters’ coiffed tresses. Mrs. Bennet lovingly kissed her daughters’ cheeks and tried her best to hold back tears, to no a-veil. 

In Fitzwilliam Darcy’s dressing room he and Crispin Knott argued, as usual, over the gentleman’s attire. The elderly valet had been chastised over his choice of cravat and knot and was quite put out. “Sir, with all due respect, there is no need for such a tie-rant on your wedding day. Please stop fidgeting and allow me to finish this complicated new knot.” 

“Knott, I am the one who will actually tie the knot this afternoon. The choice is mine, and I insist upon a white silk knotted in the Oriental. Please fetch that neckcloth; and while you are at it, these trousers have been de-pleated. Please have them pressed again.” 

Behind Darcy’s back, the valet made a face and asked, “Will there be anything else, sir?” 

“Well, what do you think about the plain ivory waistcoat? I know you prefer the embroidered one; but I have a vested interest in looking my very finest today. Yes, despite your worthwhile advice, I shall wear the less fussy one.” 

Knott sighed and peevishly capitulated to his singularly fussy master. “Suit yourself, sir!”

The newest structure on the manicured grounds of the grand estate known as Pemberley was a small wooden chapel with a pretty bell tower. Its construction had been ordered immediately following London’s scandalous ball at Matlock Manor, and the local Anglican bishop had consecrated the building just days before the Darcy family returned to Derbyshire. The chapel was a freestanding edifice erected on the vast lawn near a certain seven-foot hedgerow where, one sultry summer afternoon, four handsome young men had encountered four lovely young ladies and three romances had blossomed. The estate’s staff had worked long and hard to have the place of worship prepared in time for the wedding. Hugh Wickham, Pemberley’s steward, had jokingly mentioned they were all in a steeplechase against time. 

On the morning of the wedding, the pretty little building smelled of freshly hewn timber, paint, polish, flowers, and greenery from the orangery. Chimes rang out from its gabled belfry in a most a-pealing and in-spiring manner. A young hawk sat, unnoticed, atop a nearby tree and watched as the group of finely dressed humans flocked to the chapel’s front door. 

The senior Mr. Wickham had designed, supervised, and physically worked on the construction of the little church; and because Pemberley’s exemplary steward was also an accomplished organist, he was asked to play the chapel’s small pipe organ during the wedding. Although he had a Bach-ache from so many hours of manual labour, he was honoured to provide the music for the ceremony. Through correspondence, the three brides had selected their favourite pieces from Mr. Wickham’s repertoire; and as soon as people began to file into the chapel, he performed Air on the G String. 

Miss Mary Bennet sat in the left-hand second-row pew with Lydia, Robert, and Kitty. Her youngest sister listened to the pretty piece of music for a while and then whispered, “Mary, is that song by Mozart, the opera-tunist?” 

Mary whispered back, “No, Lydia. The composer is Johann Sebastian Bach; and because it is very lovely, please be quiet and appreciate the music.” 

Miss Lydia tugged at the sleeve of her sister’s pretty white frock and asked, “Do you know why Mozart killed all his chickens?” 

“Good heavens, Lydia! What a morbid question to ask in church. Oh, very well,” she whispered. “Why did Mozart kill all his chickens?” 

“Because they kept saying, ‘Bach! Bach! Bach!’” 

Mary tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter, and the prissy Miss Catherine admonished her older and younger sisters with a stern look and a hissed “Hush!” Three-year old Robert Bennet then began to cluck like a chicken just as the Earl of Matlock entered. Kitty was mortified and leaned down to speak into her brother’s ear. “Robert, do you remember why you must be quiet in church?” 

The angelic little boy with the golden curls looked at Catherine with wide, innocent blue eyes and nodded contritely. Kitty was pleased with him until he took his thumb out of his mouth and said in a very loud voice, “I haf to be quiet ’cos people sleep in church.” Missish Miss Catherine wondered whether she might possibly have been adopted, while laughter rang out from the pews behind her. 

Hugh Wickham was very proud of the little place of worship that had been built in such a short time. As he played the chamber organ, he looked out over the chapel fondly while he also watched his pews and keys. Upon receiving a pre-arranged signal from Mrs. Reynolds, the organist began a section of Bach’s Wachet Auf as young Evan Gardiner escorted Mrs. Frances Bennet and Lady Anne Darcy to their seats in the front rows. 

Reverend Mr. Godfrey, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Ellis Fleming, and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam entered the chapel from a side door while Hugh Wickham played Bach’s Largo. The clergyman led the three grooms to wait nervously, excitedly, and eagerly at the front of the church for the women who would soon be their wives.