Eventually he untangled his fingers from hers, tenderly grasping arms, and pulled her onto the bed beside him, instantly enveloping and burying his face between her breasts. “I would die without you, Elizabeth,” he mumbled. “I fear my heart would cease to beat. Words do not exist in the English language to convey how deeply I love you. You are my life and breath, my very soul. Thank you for today.”

Lizzy smiled, stroking through his thick hair. She had no need to reply, his articulations precisely stating her heart. The heart that belonged wholly to him and survived in him. All too soon they would need to rise and part for the day's scheduled event. For now they reveled in their sweet communion, allowing senses to be restored to normalcy at a gradual rate. Softly they caressed, speaking of love and marriage and children and Pemberley until the clock insisted they leave their bed and begin preparations for their second wedding.

Approximately a mile west from Pemberley Manor, along the avenue that connected to the main road leading to Lambton, nestled a small cluster of buildings amid a shallow valley in the midst of which stood Pemberley Chapel. The accompanying structures primarily consisted of resident dwellings for Pemberley workers in addition to a handful of simple business establishments. The tiny hamlet did not have a proper name, traditionally referred to as Pemberley Village or just the Village. It existed for the sole purpose of providing the most basic necessities for the tenants of Pemberley so as to avoid traveling the additional miles to Lambton during a busy day, and as a central meeting place for socializing. A modest assembly hall was located across from the church, and the orphanage was situated on the northern edge of the settlement.

For most Sundays during the warm months the Darcys walked to the chapel for services. Today, however, they would not only travel by carriage but would travel separately. Once parted for their dressing rooms, they adhered to the time-honored custom of remaining secreted apart until reconnecting inside the sanctuary.

The Bingleys had arrived the afternoon before. Charles was clearly harried and displeased to vacate Hasberry so soon after moving in, but the general air of frivolity that inevitably surrounded Col. Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy bolstered his spirit. They, naturally, were having tremendous fun with poor Darcy, regurgitating every pre-matrimony jest known to man up to and including giving intimate relationship advice about the wedding night; the latter especially ridiculous as neither were married. Before an hour passed Bingley's native gaiety was revived and he readily joined into the amusement. The evening's “bachelor party” was lively, Darcy unobtrusively slipping away sober and long before the other three.

Darcy owned several outfits of a highly formal cut and weave, allowing Samuel to pick one at random. The end result was nearly identical to what he wore for his official wedding day, or at least he thought so. The truth was he had taken no particular note as to his attire on that day either, trusting Samuel to provide the best. Darcy may have owned an obscene amount of clothing, but he honestly paid little attention to what he wore on a daily basis. Samuel chose a jacket and matching breeches of deepest blue wool, almost black, with a waistcoat of the same color, but accented with an edging of burnished auburn.

Darcy fingered the vest with a faint frown. “I do not recall this waistcoat,” he mumbled, glancing at Samuel's inscrutable visage. “Have I always possessed it?”

“As you say, sir,” Samuel replied flatly, avoiding his Master's eyes.

Darcy smiled inwardly, suddenly suspecting the color of his wife's gown, but making no further comment. The proffered white silk cravat also sported a faint glistening of interwoven auburn threads.

Richard wore his best dress uniform, Bingley in a fine suit of beige wool, and Dr. Darcy for once in full English gentleman's attire. His lanky frame was encased in a tailored suit of bluish-grey with long trousers to match, the reserved effect counteracted somewhat by the florid Kashmir scarf of innumerable colors utilized as a neckcloth.

“Dashing, Uncle,” Darcy proclaimed sardonically upon entering the parlor where the men gathered. George grinned, lifting his teacup in salute.

“How is the groom this morning?” Richard asked. “Feeling well? No last-minute jitters? I am sure we could find a way for you to bow out gracefully.”

“Hysterical. Have you been rehearsing these witticisms all week?”

“Only for a day or two.”

“I daresay, Darcy, I am yet astounded that you of all people are purposely placing yourself on ceremony a second time,” Bingley declared with a shake of his head. “I could never force myself to go through with it again.”

Darcy smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “It is not quite the same, Bingley. It would require a far stronger man than me putting a pistol to my head to induce me to stand before all of Meryton society a second time. This is vastly different. Although enduring these two jokers and their clever barbs for the past week has been torturous.”

“It is becoming ugly in here, Colonel. We better get him to the church where the aura of God will halt his tongue. Besides, I am starving so we need to hurry along. Knowing Mrs. Langton, she has a special breakfast planned for after the festivities.”

Lizzy, in contrast, was inundated with female approbation. Jane, Georgiana, Lady Matlock, and even Marguerite were effusive with praise for the dress, hair, jewels, and the entire concept. Lizzy's dressing room was a veritable hotbed of feminine giggles, perfume, and romanticism with the ladies exchanging sentimental musings of husbands and amour. Emotions were high and the air thick with excitement. Mrs. Reynolds played the part of commander, assuring the men were well away before Mrs. Darcy departed for the church.

Reverend Bertram had nearly collapsed from overwhelming delight when Darcy approached him regarding the renewal ceremony. Like Mr. Darcy, the good Reverend had also suffered an acute case of disappointment at having the marriage of his patron, a man he had known since birth, wed so far away. Naturally he would never have voiced this dismay to Mr. Darcy, but the intense happiness expressed left no doubt how he felt about the matter. Now he stood at the altar of his beloved chapel, wearing his best formal vestments, beaming at Mr. Darcy and the entire assembly. Outwardly he was sedate and composed, but the rosiness to his cheeks and broad grin revealed his enthusiasm.

The small chapel was decorated with a dozen bouquets of fall flowers and two large candelabras. No other adornments were necessary, the interior lovely as is. Aside from the family no other guests had been invited. After much debate, both Darcys wishing for several of their friends to be present, it was unanimously decided that if they invited anyone then all of Derbyshire would feel slighted. Neither wanted their private affair to become a countywide social extravaganza. Those of their closest friends understood. As a compromise, they planned a dinner party for that evening as a way to share the occasion with their intimates without causing an uproar.

The moment Darcy assumed his proper station to the left of Reverend Bertram, facing the gathering of his dearest relatives smiling at him from the richly polished oak benches, peace infused his soul. All niggling thoughts of the foolishness or inanity of his desire for this ceremony vanished. He gazed upon the beloved persons before him, and as if by magic he saw his mother and father sitting in their customary spaces in the front pew. There too was the vision of his grandfather, unruly grey hair and bushy eyebrows framing gentle eyes of midnight blue. He could feel the presence of all the long generations of Darcys etched into the very beams and floorboards of the sanctuary. Somehow he knew that just as surely as God Himself watched this holy ritual, so did the innumerable ancestors who had been baptized, married, and eulogized in this room. Peace, contentment, and supreme happiness were the ruling sentiments. None of the nervousness from before plagued him. Everything was different this time.

Until Elizabeth appeared on the threshold. Instantly Darcy was struck with the identical paralyzing awe and breathless wonder from November past. His heart constricted and the room faded as his eyes peered through a narrow tunnel focused exclusively on his stunning wife. Was she more beautiful than on their wedding day? Nothing would supplant the vision of Elizabeth Bennet in her wispy white wedding gown with golden ribbons braided through her hair.