Author's Note: This is an extremely silly piece of fluff which I wrote the other day. I hope you'll be very indulgent, since this is my first story in a year, and written on two hours of sleep. This story is not supposed to be taken seriously, since nothing in it is treated that way :-)
Part One and Only
The bride was radiant as she approached the altar, the groom resplendid in his regimentals. The flowers were of the most elaborate and expensive kind, and the guests had the air of hushed expectancy. It was all as it should be, for it was not every day that fortune and rank married each other, especially when they provided the refreshments.
The solemnity of the occasion, must have gotten even to the clergyman, for he stumbled in the middle of the sonorous sermon about the true uses of matrimony. Of course it could have been the snort emitted by Mrs. Wickham when he got to the "soberly, discreetly" part. Or maybe it was the basilisk stare of the bride. Losing his glasses, Rev. Bertram muttered nervously that he must have lost his place, and stooped to pick them up. "Don't dawdle, man! What are you about?" snapped the bride. "Why did I agree to let YOU pick the minister?"-turned she on her future Lord and Master. "From now on, I take care of ALL the details!"
Rev. Bertram gulped hastily and continued. Under the pressure he was beginning to wish himself back at the parsonage, swapping chicken stories with his colleague Ferrars, while his dutiful wife in the corner knitted his socks (he sometimes wondered why they always had holes), copied his sermons (he sometimes wondered why they always needed to be copied), and undertook the education of their five children (he was beyond wondering why they all looked like Henry Crawford).
By now, half the guests were getting restless. Colonel Fitzwilliam, sporting a bottle-green coat, dark glasses and a nervous twitch was gently endeavoring to remove Caroline Bingley's clinging hands from his sleeve, without much success, probably because he knew that if he moved too much he would be enveloped in the eagerly waiting claws of Elizabeth Elliot. Darcy and Elizabeth, over in the corner, were behaving in a way guaranteed to pollute the shades of Pemberley beyond redemption (and give this story a PG-13 rating). And the sonorous silence in the center isle was punctuated only by the melodious sound of Mr. Hurst's nasal apparatus at work.
Finally "I do"s were exchanged and the ceremony was over. As the guests stampeded to the dining room, the married couple were finally alone. The bride wore a happy smile. And why should she not? She had married a man of rank and title, of wealth, a man with a blooming estate. A military man in a scarlet coat. And he was fortunate as well. A lady of breeding, birth and fortune at once. The passionate silence was interrupted by a kiss. "Shall we rejoin our guests, darling?" lovingly asked the groom. "Let's!" answered the bride.
Holding hands, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and General Tilney walked out to the waiting throng.