Page 28 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“The English couple,” he said, wiping his hands on his leather apron. “Come for the marriage, have ye?”
“We have,” Darcy said, composed, though Elizabeth sensed a tautness beneath his calm.
“Right then.” Brown gestured towards the large anvil that stood at the centre of the shop, its surface polished by years of use. “Come forward and stand by the anvil. The Campbells will witness.”
The Campbells moved to stand opposite them, their expressions showing the practiced solemnity of those who had witnessed this scene many times before.
“Place your hands upon the anvil, joined together,” Brown instructed.
Elizabeth reached out, and Darcy’s warm fingers enveloped hers as they rested their clasped hands on the cool iron surface.
“Now then,” Brown said, his voice carrying the cadence of a man who knew his role well. “Ye must declare your intentions before these witnesses. Do ye come here freely and without coercion to enter into marriage?”
“I do,” Darcy replied.
Elizabeth took a breath, the reality of the moment washing over her. “I do,” she echoed.
“And do ye, sir, declare this woman to be your lawful wife?”
“I do,” Darcy said.
“And do ye, miss, declare this man to be your lawful husband?”
Elizabeth paused, then: “I do.”
Brown nodded, satisfied. “Have ye the ring you bought to mark the occasion? Not necessary by our law, but most prefer it.”
Darcy withdrew a plain gold band from his waistcoat pocket. “I do.”
“Place it upon her finger, then.”
As he slid the ring onto her finger, Elizabeth was struck by how smoothly it fit, as though it had always belonged there.
“By the ancient custom of Scotland, and in accordance with the law of this land, I declare ye to be husband and wife. There now. ‘Tis done and proper,” Brown said.
Elizabeth blinked. Like any young woman she had entertained thoughts of her wedding day—but never had it taken place in a lowly blacksmith’s shop, and never without her family present..
Darcy’s gaze sought hers, silent in its question. He too, seemed bewildered by the ease in which their lives had been bound together. She gave the smallest nod.
It was done.
The blacksmith scribbled something in a book and then straightened. “My records. Many English couples want something official to take them with. You?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth exclaimed without thinking.
Brown nodded and bent down again, writing something. Then, he handed the document to Darcy.
“That’s one and six for the ceremony,” Brown said matter-of-factly, “and another shilling for the marriage lines.”
Darcy paid him, adding an extra coin that made the blacksmith nod in appreciation.
“May your union be as strong as iron,” Brown said, returning to his forge.
***
Back in their chamber, the reality hung between them like a held breath. They were wed. And yet, they did not speak on the matter, instead returning to their previous easy conversation.
“I’ll request a private parlour for supper,” Darcy said. “You must be tired.”
