A Little More Practice (7 of 7)

Part 19


“Sister!” The voice of Mrs. Philips rang out through the corridors of Longbourn. “Sister, where are you? Are you busy?”

Mrs. Bennet stood, barely catching her sewing as it slid from her lap. “Busy?” She rolled her eyes. “With but two days until the wedding, what else can I be?”

Elizabeth and Jane looked at each other and smiled. Mary glanced up. Kitty and Lydia, easily distracted and eager for any excuse to rest their weary fingers, shoved their work aside as Mrs. Philips charged through the door ahead of the servant.

“There you are!” She proceeded to impart her news, which could not be delayed: Mr. Collins had come to Hertfordshire to fetch his wife. “Maria Lucas told me just this morning. I saw her on the way to the butcher’s shop. Mr. Collins arrived last night at Lucas Lodge at sunset. Had I not been in my kitchen at exactly that time, I would have seen his gig from my parlour window. I try to keep watch and note who is coming and going, but I had so much to do yesterday that it simply was not possible to observe the main road at every moment.”

“Well, well, and so Mr. Collins is come, Sister.” Mrs. Bennet frowned and shook her head by turns. “Not that I care anything about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to go to Lucas Lodge, if he likes it. His presence there will keep Charlotte from calling on us at all hours.”

“Mama!” Elizabeth protested. Her friend could hardly be accused of calling ‘at all hours.’ In fact, Elizabeth had seen very little of her since their return from London. “Charlotte has always been welcome here.”

“But her husband! ”

“Mama, If Mr. Collins does not convince Charlotte to go away with him before the wedding, he may attend with her. If he does, we all shall have to do our best to be civil and welcoming to him.” The last thing Elizabeth needed was for her mother and Mr. Collins to have words at her wedding breakfast.

“I do not need my own daughter to tell me how to behave to guests! Of course I will be civil, but no more than civil. I welcomed that man into my house last year, and it ended in nothing. Had you not had the good fortune to catch Mr. Darcy’s eye, I would be furious with you still for refusing Mr. Collins. Even now I do not know how I shall bear giving up Longbourn when your father is dead.”

“My dear sister, do not despair!” Mrs. Philips sat up straight, her smile at odds with the gravity of the topic. “You may be the mother of five girls grown up, but you still have your looks. Should you have the misfortune to lose poor Mr. Bennet, it is possible that you might remarry. There are many gentlemen, respectable widows of our age, or a little older, who find themselves in need of companionship. Keep your eyes open, and do not despair.”

No one dared respond, though Lydia giggled. Elizabeth stared at her aunt in shock and disgust, resolving within herself to draw no limits in future to the vulgarity of a vulgar woman. Her father’s joining them immediately after did nothing to dispel her uneasiness.

“Mrs. Philips, I thought I had heard your voice.”

“Oh! Mr. Bennet, how d’ye do, my dear brother?”

“I am glad to know I am still dear to you. Just a moment ago, I had feared otherwise.”

“Nonsense, I…” It appeared even Mrs. Philips possessed some delicacy, though belatedly applied. Either that or the edge in Mr. Bennet’s voice had shaken her.

Mrs. Bennet certainly was not unaffected and rose from her chair with alacrity. “Mr. Bennet, are you at leisure?” Her voice was tremulous and low, and she latched onto her husband’s arm with a sort of tender desperation. “Sister,” she said, turning to Mrs. Philips, “I would love to stay and talk, but I have far too many things to attend to. I shall see you tomorrow. Girls, keep to your work; the time is short.”

Elizabeth watched her parents and aunt leave the room amidst the disappointed groans of her two youngest sisters. “Jane,” she said, “promise me we shall never behave in such an unfeeling manner to each other.”

“I cannot imagine it, Lizzy.” Jane’s smile wavered. The two of them glanced at Lydia, who was already laughing again at whatever it was she and Kitty were discussing. Mary’s quiet remonstrance, as usual, had no discernible effect on Lydia’s behaviour.

“I love this house, I really do,” Elizabeth confided to Jane in a low voice, “but there are some aspects of living here that I shall not miss at all.”

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

“My dear cousin, I congratulate you. I hope you and Mr. Darcy will be very happy together.”

For the second time that day, Elizabeth felt adrift in her own drawing room. She stared unblinking at the man in front of her, thinking surely she must have misheard him. The combination of awkward silence and Mr. Collins’s anxious but sincere expression—all the more convincing because she had never seen it on his face before—roused her to civility. “Thank you, Mr. Collins, for your good wishes. I believe we shall be quite happy.”

“Is your father at leisure? I wish to speak with him.”

“Certainly. You will find him in the library.”

“No, no; stay, please,” he said as she began to rise from the sofa. “No need to escort me. I am quite familiar with the rooms of my future…er, your lovely home.”

Elizabeth nodded and forced herself to remain in her seat, not at all certain she should not run ahead of her cousin after all to warn her father of the alteration in his kinsman, lest he faint from the shock.

“Charlotte!” Elizabeth hissed the moment Mr. Collins had left the room. “Charlotte, what did you do to him?” Luckily, she and her friend were alone, her sisters being engaged elsewhere in the house and her mother having declined to greet the visitors.

“I wrote him a letter.”

“That is all?”

“I told him the truth.”

“The truth,” Elizabeth repeated in awe, having no idea what Charlotte meant. “My cousin is quite changed from when I last saw him.” ‘I only hope it will last,’ she thought. She was desperate to know more. Her expressive look to Charlotte finally achieved her desire. With a sigh, her friend began to tell her about the letter she had penned to her husband.

“I thought it wise to put an end to any pretence that Mr. Collins and I had been impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination to marry. He knows I cannot but be aware of his previous interest in you. I am certain his decision to pay his addresses to me was due as much to his hurt pride as to his determination to follow Lady Catherine’s orders. And though my dowry was small, my being the daughter of a knight did not injure my chances with him.”

Charlotte looked down and folded her hands in her lap. “As for me, his prospects were compelling to a lady with no prospects of her own.”

“You broached all this in a letter?”

“I did.”

“Was my cousin not offended?”

“I cannot say what his initial reaction was. He has not mentioned it. But he is here, and he has begun to make amends. Is that not proof enough?”

“It is more than enough.” Elizabeth shook her head, marvelling at Charlotte’s initiative as much as the effects of it.

“I also told him there was no need to struggle for what he already had obtained. I have since come to understand that his father was a miserly, tight-fisted man, always giving a treat or a privilege only to take it back again, without warning or explanation. It is no wonder the son has never been completely secure in what he possesses.”

Elizabeth tried to picture a younger, less confident Mr. Collins suffering the whims of a tyrannical parent. She did not doubt Charlotte’s information; Mr. Bennet had never had a good word to say about the elder Mr. Collins. “I can imagine my cousin’s former experiences made your absence even more troubling.”

“You are right, Eliza. He allowed Lady Catherine’s version of events to stand uncontested—she told our neighbours that he had sent me away on some cause of disapprobation—but all the while he was terrified I would not come back. I had not written him at all, you see, not one word before last week. He tells me my father did write to him, however, and that only heightened his fears. He will not say what was in the letter, and my father refuses to speak of it. Fortunately, the two of them have been on cordial terms since my husband’s arrival last night.”

“That must ease your mind considerably.” Elizabeth thought on all Charlotte had said. “You were very bold, but I believe boldness was required. I do not know that I could have done what you did, had I been in your place.” Even with an infinitely more amiable husband than Charlotte possessed, would she be daring—and gracious—enough to make the first move towards reconciliation in a similar circumstance?

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Eliza! You, who scrupled not to argue with Mr. Darcy? You would have said that and more, only in person rather than by letter.”

Elizabeth laughed and could not deny it. “You make me quite ashamed of myself, Charlotte.”

“You should rather be proud of yourself. I have come around to your way of thinking. There is much to be said for frankness. As for letters, some of us find written communication more to our taste when faced with difficult explanations. But where is your Mr. Darcy today?” Charlotte enquired, signalling that she had said all she intended on the topic of her marriage. “And Mr. Bingley? Have your busybody neighbours frightened away your and Jane’s lovers?”

“No.” Elizabeth smiled at Charlotte’s teasing. “They are keeping themselves occupied at Netherfield as a favour to us. Mama has been at wit’s end, trying to finish all this work. I have entertained a doubt or two myself as to our ability to accomplish everything we would wish.”

“You have come far, from what I have seen. Some things can safely be left until after the ceremony.”

“Yes; we have not been negligent. All that is truly important has been done. Yet, as much as I miss Fitzwilliam, I am happy to have one full day dedicated to women’s business.”

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

The next day, Elizabeth awoke and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking on all she needed to accomplish before nightfall. Charlotte’s words about letter-writing had given her an idea, but she had not yet found time to implement it. Fitzwilliam was to dine at Longbourn in the evening, so Elizabeth resolved to make the most of what remained of the morning hours before the tasks at hand swallowed up her good intentions.

After breakfast, she returned to her room with Kitty and Lydia. She had asked her mother for some time to allow the younger girls to sort through those of her belongings that had not been packed away or given to her maid, who had got most of Jane’s cast-offs already. Both mother and sisters agreed heartily with the plan. Elizabeth marvelled at how quickly her tidy assortment of clothing was reduced to a chaotic jumble on her bed.

“Oh, Lizzy! This gown is gorgeous! You have barely worn it.”

“You may have it, Kitty. The colour suits you better than it does me.”

“I want it!” Lydia dropped the dress and bonnet she had been admiring and reached for the garment in Kitty’s hands.

“Lydia, you are too tall for it. It really would look better on Kitty. Here,” Elizabeth offered, “take this one. It is a little longer, and the shade complements your eyes.”

“Lizzy is right, Lydia,” Kitty agreed, holding her own find behind her back.

Elizabeth sighed. She would never be able to think with the girls bickering beside her. “Why don’t you take these things to your own room, where you may fight over them as much as you like?”

“Do you mean we may have all of it?” Kitty’s eyes shined in excitement and gratitude.

“I promise I shall join you later and take back anything I absolutely cannot bear to leave behind,” she answered with an affected solemnity that faded quickly when her sister’s shoulders drooped in disappointment. “Do not fret, Kitty. I am certain most if not all of these clothes will remain safe at Longbourn with you and Lydia.”

Once alone, Elizabeth sat down, armed with paper, pen, ink and Fitzwilliam’s letters. Not one to dally over a task, she began immediately to write, stopping from time to time to glean inspiration from one of the other missives.

My dear Fitzwilliam,

I have been remiss in not writing to you before now and am grieved to find myself already several letters in your debt. However, as only one of your letters to me was written within the bounds of propriety—and then barely so—I have hopes that you will find it in your heart to forgive me and consider yourself amply recompensed by the receipt of this note.

I miss you terribly. You call me ‘dearest’ often enough; let me assure you that you are most dear to me. I feel your absence acutely and can only rejoice that after tomorrow I shall be assured of your presence on a more permanent basis.

All this missing and Missish behaviour turns me melancholy, so now I must tease you and require you to account for having ever fallen in love with me. I can comprehend your going on charmingly when once you had made a beginning, but what could have set you off in the first place? My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners, my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil. Is it possible you admired me for my impertinence?

Mama has called for me once already, so I must go. I have loved my name, ordinary as it is, for as long as I can remember, yet how anxious I am to give it up for another! Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.

Yours most sincerely,

Elizabeth Darcy Bennet

No sooner had Elizabeth given her letter to a servant with instructions to deliver it to Netherfield immediately than she was waylaid by Lydia, who had been sent by her mother to fetch her. She went directly to the dining room to discuss the evening’s dinner plans with Mrs. Bennet. Her mother found a few more items requiring her daughter’s attention before their conference was declared at an end, and above an hour had passed before Elizabeth was at leisure to go upstairs again. Returning to her room, she opened her door and, to her horror, heard her betrothed’s written words spoken in her father’s voice.

“‘Having flouted propriety once in this manner…’”

“Papa! No!” Elizabeth rushed forward and grabbed at the letter in Mr. Bennet’s hand.

“You will tear it in your haste.” Mr. Bennet held it out of reach.

“Please, Papa!” She thrust out her hand, and he placed the paper in her trembling palm.

“What is the matter, Lizzy?” Jane’s voice sounded from the doorway.

“Your sister apparently received more than one letter from Mr. Darcy before her engagement.”

Jane showed no surprise on hearing this announcement.

Mr. Bennet huffed, visibly annoyed. “You knew of this, Jane? You approve of such impropriety?”

Elizabeth watched her sister’s expression harden as her father stared in indignant impatience.

“What is done cannot be undone,” Jane said. “They have harmed no one.” As she retreated, Elizabeth heard her continue, “Your time would have been better spent attending to your own correspondence.” Jane gasped and muttered, “Forgive me,” before fleeing down the hall.

Elizabeth, incredulous, turned her head just in time to see the effects Jane’s bitter words had wrought on her father’s countenance.

Mr. Bennet shuddered and turned his face away. “I had suspected she was still upset over that letter from Bingley. Now I have proof.”

“I do not know when I have seen her so affected.”

“If Jane is angry with me, it has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.”

“But, Papa, I believe she already regrets her outburst.”

“No, Lizzy. Let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough.” He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Your mother would have known better what to do with that letter than I! Bingley should have addressed his scribbles to her instead. She has patience aplenty where her daughters’ marriage prospects are concerned.”

“Papa, please! How can you make a joke of this?”

“Do not worry. I shall find Jane and set things to rights.” Mr. Bennet stopped in front of the door. “I suppose you are wondering what brought me to your room and, more to the point, how I came in possession of your private correspondence.”

Elizabeth, still discomposed by her sister’s words and very much mortified by her father’s discovery of Fitzwilliam’s letters, struggled for the appearance of composure and did not wish to open her mouth until she believed she had attained it.

Her father did not give her the opportunity. “I will not make you ask. I had come to see your room, to say farewell, in a way, to the little Lizzy I once knew. The letter fell from atop that stack there,” he said, pointing to her table. “I picked it up, and it opened in my hand. I did not read the whole, only enough to know it was not from any of your sisters. The wording struck me as suspicious. You know the rest.” He offered no apology, but there was penitence in all his looks. “I shall not question you about any of the others. Jane was quite right. After tomorrow, you no longer will be under my roof.” He sighed, and his smile was bittersweet. “Despite the occasional lapse, your Mr. Darcy is an admirable gentleman.” He took a last look about him and left the room.

Elizabeth gathered Fitzwilliam’s letters to her bosom and waited until her breathing had returned to its normal, steady rhythm.

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

Before day’s end, all seemed well again within the Bennet household.

The Gardiners’ arrival that afternoon proved something of a curative. Jane was considerably cheered, and her sisters diverted, by the presence of their young cousins. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner unknowingly eased the lingering awkwardness between the Bennets and Mrs. Philips, who had stopped by to meet her brother and sister from town. When the time came to dress for dinner, Aunt Philips took the children off to dine in Meryton with her and her husband and left the parents to enjoy their meal at Longbourn.

Elizabeth was relieved to note that Jane and her father were as easy in each other’s company as they had ever been. Her sister loved her family very much and loathed being at odds with any member of it. Apparently these sentiments extended to her new family as well, for when the dinner guests arrived, Jane welcomed not just Mr. Bingley, but also Mr. Bingley’s sisters and Mr. Hurst, with genuine enthusiasm.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst both appeared humbled by Jane’s amicable greeting, in striking contrast to Miss Bingley’s deplorable behaviour during her previous visit to Longbourn. When the Bennets were lately in town, there had been little contact between the Darcy residence (and none at all between Gracechurch Street) and Grosvenor Street, to which Miss Bingley and the Hursts had fled only days after acknowledging their brother’s engagement. Perhaps with time and distance had come resignation, Elizabeth reasoned. Whatever the truth of the matter, neither Caroline nor Louisa showed outward signs of disapprobation or discontent, and Jane was positively beaming.

Dinner passed off uncommonly well. The gentlemen rejoined the ladies after a brief separation, for they had agreed to make an early night of it to allow the brides ample rest.

Mr. Darcy asked Elizabeth to entertain the company with some music.

“I shall, if Mary will play for me.”

“Of course,” Mary acceded. The sisters made their selection and performed it delightfully, if the response of their audience was any indication.

“More, please!” Mr. Bingley begged them. “That was splendid!”

Elizabeth looked at Jane sitting serenely by Charles’s side and grinned. “If you can convince my eldest sister to join us, I shall oblige you.”

“Jane, do you also sing? Why have I never heard you?”

“I rarely ever do, and never in public.”

Jane continued to demur, but Elizabeth gently coaxed her from her chair. “We are amongst family now. Just this once and I shall not ask you again. Well, not for several weeks, at least.” She assumed a most plaintive air. “Please, Jane? You cannot disappoint dear Mr. Bingley.” Mrs. Bennet and even Mrs. Hurst joined in her plea, and Jane had no choice but to consent.

Mary started to rise from her seat, but Elizabeth spoke quietly to her, and she nodded and stayed where she was. When Elizabeth repeated the words to Jane, the latter chortled and quickly covered her mouth, but she did not protest. The girls took a minute to consult with one another and ascertained that they all recalled enough of the song to do it credit. They decided that Mary, whose voice was not so weak in the lower register as it tended to be when she aimed for high notes, would sing contralto. Elizabeth would take the soprano, and Jane would strike a harmony between the two.

The three ladies barely maintained their composure as they began a whimsical piece about a girl who, after a long and arduous search, met her Prince Charming, kissed him, and cried as he transformed into a toad and hopped away. Elizabeth turned aside from Mary and Jane in order to keep from chuckling as the tale unravelled. She refused to meet her father’s eye or her uncle’s. She noticed her mother and aunt talking quietly in the corner, or, rather, her mother talked while her aunt listened. Mr. Darcy’s puzzled brow suddenly relaxed; Elizabeth wondered if he had just recognised the melody from their playing several weeks before. Mr. Bingley sat in delighted astonishment. Mr. Hurst looked decidedly amused, and his wife ceased fiddling with her bracelets and curiously observed her husband. A sour-faced Miss Bingley stared at Mr. Darcy’s back for much of the performance.

Kitty appeared a trifle pale at one point; then she giggled and whispered something to Lydia. Lydia, who could never be quiet for long, especially when she ought to be, almost spoiled everything with her impromptu yet fitting descant of “Warty Wickham.” Fortunately for the performers, the song concluded soon after this unexpected addition, and the party, save a few, burst into laughter and applause. Even Miss Bingley could not wholly suppress a smile.

Mr. Bingley approached the trio at the pianoforte and offered his compliments. “Jane, you should sing more often! The three of you sound very well together.”

“I have heard that members of the same family often do.” Jane looked pleased at his approbation.

“Next time, my dears,” suggested Mrs. Bennet, “I hope you will sing of something more appealing than toads.”

“Princes and toads,” laughed Mr. Bennet, “and warts!” he added, glancing at Lydia and Kitty. “Truly, I must have five of the silliest girls in the country.”

“Not for long, Papa,” Elizabeth cheerfully reminded him.

“No indeed, my dear Mrs. Darcy,” sounded a familiar voice close to Elizabeth’s ear. The touch of Fitzwilliam’s hand on the small of her back made her shiver despite the heat in the room. “Not for very long at all.”

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

Part 20


“Does not she look lovely, Mrs. Long?”

“Oh, yes, quite.”

“Just as handsome as Mrs. Bingley, I dare say.”

“Mr. Goulding, Mrs. Goulding, how d’ye do?”

“Jane is a vision!”

“Mama, she is so very pretty.”

“Those Bennet women are a handsome lot, I grant you.”

“I cannot wait until I get married. I shall have bolts and bolts of satin.”

“La! Who would want to marry you?”

“Look at the lace on that gown!”

“Mrs. Darcy, are you well?”

That last voice caught Elizabeth’s attention immediately. “Very well,” she answered her husband. She had sensed, for a brief moment, his hand slipping away, and she had slowed in her walk. “Only please do not let go, Fitzwilliam.” She hoped she had whispered her request, or at least not been heard over the murmuring of the crowd. She was relieved when his strong fingers stroked hers, and she felt a sudden burst of loathing for gloves of all sorts.

Fitzwilliam looked down into her eyes. “Have no fear, dearest. I am not going anywhere without you today, of all days.”

Elizabeth could not explain to herself why she felt anxious. Her dress fit perfectly. Her hair had stayed exactly where her maid had put it that morning. Jane appeared every inch the angel she was, and her other sisters, even Mary, looked quite pretty in their finery. Her father, who was in uncommonly good humour, had refrained from teasing her and Jane before the ceremony. Even Mrs. Bennet’s nerves had resulted in nothing worse than the excessive waving of her handkerchief.

The wedding had gone by in a whirl of colour and sound. Elizabeth knew she had not missed the details, but at the moment she recalled little of what she had said and done. The one thing she remembered with perfect clarity was the tone of Fitzwilliam’s voice as he had repeated after the parson. When he had spoken the words “wedded wife,” he had looked directly into her eyes with an intensity that had stopped her breath. She had heard her heart beating loudly in her ears and could only wonder, for she did not precisely know, how she had managed to say her own vows in her turn.

They proceeded to Longbourn for the wedding breakfast. Just as they were about to reach the entrance, Elizabeth asked her husband to stop the carriage.

“Why?”

“I simply wish to walk a little before going inside.”

Fitzwilliam chuckled. “Even on your wedding day, you insist on demonstrating that you are an excellent walker.” They got out, and Elizabeth led him towards a stand of trees. “Thankfully there is no mud to spoil your gown. Your mother would be furious with you otherwise.”

Elizabeth tried to laugh but could not make herself do so. She moved quickly to her destination with Fitzwilliam hard on her heels. Finally, she reached a point beyond the view of prying eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, the comfort of being sometimes alone!”

“What, should I leave as well so that you can be perfectly comfortable?”

“No!” Elizabeth grabbed his arm before realising the he had not moved an inch. His look told her he had never intended to abandon her. “How have you become so teasing?” She turned away.

“How have you become so taciturn?” Fitzwilliam gently pulled her to himself until her back was pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her hair. “You have not acted like yourself since we left the church.”

“I do not feel like myself at all.”

“You seem almost nervous. Are you?”

“I feel…exposed. From the moment you said your vows to me, I felt as though everyone in the room knew what I was thinking. I could not look at the married women without blushing. They all knew.”

“And what were you thinking that shamed you so?” He punctuated his question with a few kisses on her cheek and neck.

“You are not helping me at all, Fitzwilliam.”

“Then I shall simply help myself. I can, you know. You are mine now; even your name is mine.” He caressed her face. “Your neck is mine,” he whispered, kissing that particular place again.

“Is that how things are now?”

“Oh, I will make no objection if you wish to stake a similar claim. My neck shall be at your disposal in a moment. Just allow me to finish this.”

“Fitzwilliam! Stop it… No, do not.” She sighed and relaxed in his embrace. She wanted nothing more than to be his, and for him to be hers. She had thought of little else all morning.

But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her, not even on this momentous occasion. The voices of their family and friends reached their miniature paradise, reminding Elizabeth of another instance when she had stood not far from this very spot, concealed by greenery as she was now, listening to other voices. Though wishing she did not have to attend the wedding guests quite so soon, she could not help but appreciate the sound of their happy chatter—such a pleasant contrast to her memories of Lady Catherine’s loud, shrill disapproval reverberating throughout Longbourn’s pleasure grounds.

With a laugh, Elizabeth turned and kissed Fitzwilliam lightly on the lips. “Come. Are you not hungry?”

“Hungry? I suppose you could say I feel a certain hunger.”

“Well, I would not wish you to starve…” The words “on my account” were swallowed as he prevented their escape from her lips in a manner which could not but delight her and make her just as ravenous as he. Still, there was the wedding breakfast, and surely the chances of someone discovering them increased with every moment they lingered!

Elizabeth resolutely disentangled herself. “My love, let us go.” The rising din of the well-wishers, amongst which the voice of Sir William could be clearly distinguished, made their situation more urgent, but it had no effect on Fitzwilliam. “Husband!” She pulled him towards the celebration, as much as a light-figured girl of twenty could force-march a man nearly twice her size.

Fitzwilliam’s reluctance shone in his eyes, but he followed her without hesitation, holding tightly to her hand.

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

“Lydia!” Elizabeth clenched her teeth as Jane let out a sigh. “Will that girl ever learn to behave?” Much to the sisters’ chagrin, Lydia was displaying little more decorum than she had shown at the Netherfield Ball many months previous. That Kitty refused to join her in her antics was little comfort to Elizabeth. “Fitzwilliam had the right of it. We should have stayed in the copse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks flushed with heat. She could tell by Jane’s look and smile that no explanation was necessary. “I do not regret being here now. I am grateful for the kind wishes of our friends. One more hour, however, and I must go. We wish to get to London before dark.” She winced as Lydia’s boisterous laughter reached their ears. “Do you think we can convince Papa to keep her under lock and key?”

“Papa is as unlikely to change as Lydia; less likely, for he is more set in his ways. Besides, I doubt our sister will be at Longbourn much longer. Lydia is a girl who will marry somebody or other. When the right man catches her eye…”

“When does Lydia not have her eye on a man?”

“Oh, well, then, when she catches the right man’s eye. Is that better?”

“Much better.” Elizabeth felt herself smiling and realised not even Lydia’s wild behaviour could spoil this day.

The hour came and went, and Elizabeth prepared to say goodbye to Hertfordshire for many months and to her former life forever. She said her farewells to neighbours, visitors and new family alike, smiling most warmly as she spoke to the Gardiners and to Charlotte.

Finally, she embraced her sisters. “Goodbye, Lydia. Try to behave yourself. Goodbye, Mary. I shall see you next in town.”

“But surely, Lizzy,” Kitty interjected, giving Elizabeth a hug and glancing at Fitzwilliam, “you will stop at Longbourn on your way to Pemberley?”

“I think you are right,” she said, and Fitzwilliam nodded his agreement. “I suppose I shall see you all very soon, then.” Elizabeth approached Jane next. Having shed tears and shared dreams the night before, there was nothing left but to revel in their joint happiness. They grasped each other’s hands and stood wreathed in smiles. “Write me soon and tell me how my new brother treats you.”

Jane laughed. “You know there is no need to worry on that score.”

“I do know it. We are so very fortunate, Jane.”

“That we are. Now go, for your husband seems a bit restless.”

Elizabeth gave a nervous laugh and walked with Fitzwilliam to where her father and mother stood. “Mama, Papa,” she began but found her words cut short as her mother swept her into her arms.

“Oh, my dearest child! You will be living so far away! It seems you have just come back from Hunsford, and now you are to go away again.”

“I shall see you before I travel to Pemberley, Mama. And until then, I shall only be in London.”

“Yes, that is true. You must write to me when you are settled.”

Elizabeth could not recall the last time her mother had requested a letter from her. She almost lost her composure as she looked into the familiar pair of eyes that were so much like her own. “I shall write to you soon, and to you as well, Papa.” She turned to her father, whose own eyes were glistening.

“You know that I shall always be glad of a letter from you.” He enclosed her in a light embrace and held out his hand to her husband. “Take care of my daughter, Darcy. Take good care.”

“I shall, Mr. Bennet.”

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy left Longbourn and rapidly settled into their equipage. Very soon Elizabeth felt the jolt that signalled the beginning of their journey to London.

Several minutes later, Fitzwilliam broke the silence. “I am shocked. Utterly shocked.”

“Why is that?”

“My wife has not said ten words to me since entering this carriage.”

“We have travelled only a few miles.”

“Elizabeth, is something the matter?”

“No.”

“Are you well?”

She nodded.

“Mrs. Darcy, please talk to me.”

“Fitzwilliam, what do you wish me to say?” She was mortified that her voice trembled.

He visibly relaxed. “Oh, love, are you afraid? Of me?”

“Not of you, not really.”

“But?”

“But I am terrified,” she whispered. “And loath to admit it. It is only a small terror, however. You need not be concerned by it.” Rarely was she intimidated by anything or anyone; yet, the enormity of what she had done, the irreversible change she had wrought, struck her forcefully at that moment and stretched before her in a way that strained her customary courage to its limits.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” To her surprise, her husband laughed and held her close.

She began to pout but could not help relaxing at the delightful sound. “I am glad you can take your amusement at my expense. I should be laughing myself. I suppose you are not afraid of…of anything today.”

“No, indeed! Certainly not of you! My fears were at their worst when I discovered at Rosings how much you had detested me. I can feel naught but satisfaction now that you are mine. Satisfaction and a great deal of happiness.”

“I am happy, too.”

“I want you to be happy.” He pulled her closer. “Does this frighten you?” He brought his lips to hers. “Or this?” He kissed her for a long time, more deeply than he ever had before.

Catching her breath, she shook her head.

“Good.” He cupped her face in his hands and looked directly, and warmly, into her eyes. “Elizabeth, darling, do not be anxious.”

His reassurance had not elevated her spirits to playfulness, but suddenly she felt a great deal more at ease.

They reached the house before dark, as they had hoped. After refreshing themselves, Fitzwilliam escorted Elizabeth to the dining room.

“Are you hungry?” His mouth turned up at the corners.

She bit her lip, unable to repress her own smile.

Dinner passed off as well as it had the night before, though there were not so many at table. The room felt full enough, however, and Elizabeth was happy to leave it in favour the music room.

“Will you play to me?”

“You must not require anything too complicated tonight. It is a special occasion and I wish I were better prepared, but as you know, I have never been inclined to practise much.” She thought over the unusual amount of time she had spent doing just that during her visit to Kent.

“Play whatever you like. I am certain I will enjoy it.”

She chose a short, simple piece and remained seated as the last note lingered in the air. She heard Fitzwilliam come closer.

“Shall we retire?”

She stiffened. So much was contained in those three little words he had spoken. “Yes.” There was nothing for it but to go. Laughing off the vestiges of her nervousness, she reached for her husband’s hand.

In less than an hour, they sat in her room on the bed, facing each other.

“You look entirely too comfortable,” she teased, noticing with pleasure how well his ready smile became him. “It is not fair.” This was her chamber, and he seemed more at home in it than she felt.

“You will be comfortable soon enough.” He caressed her cheek. “With a little more practice. We are only just beginning, dearest.” He reached for the buttons of her gown. “But as you said earlier, you have never cared much for practising.”

She stroked his helpful fingers. “I do believe you mean to change my opinion.”

Much later that night, wrapped in her sleeping husband’s arms, she smiled and hummed to herself, thoroughly persuaded that some kinds of practice were no trouble at all.

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

Epilogue


The sounds emanating from the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s parlour kept poor rhythm with the percussive clicking of a certain young boy’s boots.

“Quiet, Andrew! I am trying to concentrate!”

The owner of the boots sniffed the air, his facial expression a curious mixture of his father’s imperious stare and his maternal grandfather’s dismissive smirk. “It is so tedious listening to you playing those tedious exercises.”

“Tedious or not, you would do well to emulate your sister’s dedication to practice.” Mrs. Darcy smiled on young Sarah. “Though to be fair, I must admit to having teased my sister Mary a time or two as a child when I had heard more than enough scales for my liking.”

“But Aunt Harrison plays so well!”

Elizabeth and Mrs. Jenkinson exchanged a knowing smile. Elizabeth recalled a time when that had not been the case, and how it all had changed during Mary’s first season in town with the Darcys. Mary had enjoyed her early lessons with Mrs. Jenkinson so much that she had begged to remain in London with the Gardiners in order to continue them when Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam removed to Pemberley. She had come back a second year and a third, so that by the age of two and twenty, she truly had earned the title of ‘the most accomplished young lady in Hertfordshire society,’ musically speaking, of course.

“Your aunt does play well, Jane. And so do you, I might add.”

“Not so well as Sarah, but thank you, Mother.”

Elizabeth did not deny her eldest daughter’s claim. Sarah was the only one of the Darcy brood who seemed to have inherited Georgiana’s superior musical abilities.

“I do not see why I have to have lessons. Father never had any.”

It was always ‘Father’ this and ‘Father’ that with Mr. Darcy’s heir these days. Elizabeth was learning much about what it might have been like to have had a brother at Longbourn.

Although Jane calmly bore Andrew’s grumbling, Sarah had little patience for his frequent complaints. “Someday you will be gone, and we shall have peace at home until your holidays come.”

“I wish I were going into the navy.”

“You are too young, and besides, you would have to convince Papa to allow it, which I doubt you could do,” Jane told him. “I am glad, for this way we shall be sure to see you throughout the year.”

“I would not care if you went to sea, as long as you stayed away until you were too old to click your boots during my lessons.”

“Do not be so quick to be rid of your brother, Sarah.” Elizabeth did not want to think of how much she would miss her son once he was away at school. “And take care what you say, my dear.” She wished her youngest daughter would remember where she was and not run on in the wild manner that she was suffered to do at home. Thankfully, Mrs. Jenkinson was never perturbed by the children’s banter. She knew them all well and forgave them their shortcomings.

“I am sorry, Mama.”

“Miss Sarah, shall we get back to your lesson?” Mrs. Jenkinson kindly prodded her young student. “And, please, no metronome this time, young man.”

Andrew coloured and ran off, no doubt to the kitchen in search of cake.

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

“What are you thinking of that has you so out of sorts?”

“Am I so obvious?”

“Yes, my love, you are.” Darcy rubbed her shoulders.

“I was thinking of home.” She meant Longbourn, not Pemberley; they had returned from a week’s visit to Hertfordshire just a few days before. By Fitzwilliam’s soft touch upon her shoulders, she assumed he had understood her.

By his next words, she was certain of it. “Mrs. Collins seems a little happier every time we see her.” Charlotte, well and truly settled at Longbourn as its mistress, had appeared more content with her lot than she ever had with her poultry and her parish at Hunsford. “Your father was so generous with Mr. Collins. I could not imagine doing what he did, although I admit it seemed a sensible solution at the time.”

“Our situation is different.” They had a son, a natural successor in the eyes of the law, and, furthermore, no entail to prevent a daughter's son from inheriting the Darcy estate. Elizabeth closed her eyes. She did not like to think of death; she had done enough of that in the past year. She still missed her father sorely.

Mr. Bennet had declined slowly enough for his family to become used to the idea that he would not last forever. Still, the end, when it came, had been a blow. Almost as shocking had been the news several months earlier that he had sent an express to Hunsford, requesting that the Collinses take up residence while there was still time for him to acquaint his cousin with the particulars of running the estate. At first Mrs. Bennet had protested the idea, but Mr. Bennet had been firm. In the end, Charlotte’s assistance had proved invaluable to a woman whose own daughters, save one, no longer resided in the neighbourhood, and the presence of children in the house had been a balm during that dark period.

Mrs. Bennet’s heart had broken as the companion of her youth and middle years slowly slipped away. Mr. Bennet’s affections had revived, coaxed back to life through his wife’s tender care, and Elizabeth and her sisters, along with the sorrow of losing their father, had borne the additional pangs of regret that it had taken tragedy to reanimate the love their parents had shared.

With the assistance of her sons, Mrs. Bennet had removed to a spacious dwelling on the far side of Netherfield Park, close enough to all her friends but not so close that the view of Longbourn’s environs would be a constant reminder of her loss. With time, Mrs. Bennet’s good humour began to appear more frequently and her nerves less so, a circumstance helped along by her genuine joy in being a grandmother and her pleasure in the company of her family.

“It was good to see Mary.” Kitty and Lydia were to go to their mother within the month, and Jane and Bingley had departed for the north. At least Mr. Bennet had lived to see all his daughters marry and take the sting out of the eventual loss of Longbourn. Even Lydia, the last to wed despite being the most willing, had added joy to her father’s waning years by not only presenting him with a tolerable son-in-law, but also bringing into the world two lively children, a girl and a boy, who were openly fond of their maternal grandpapa.

Elizabeth directed her thoughts down a less personal, and therefore less painful, route. “Being in company with Charlotte’s husband was not the trial I had anticipated,” she admitted. “He has changed considerably from the Mr. Collins of Hunsford parish. He no longer seems so...”

“Pompous.”

“I was going to say silly.”

“Mr. Collins is invariably silly.”

“I suppose, but he is no longer irritatingly so. Nor is he the resentful man he once was.”

“He is your cousin. I should not speak of him in that way.” Darcy’s smile belied his true opinion; he did not in the least appear ready to take back his words describing the somewhat improved Mr. Collins.

“He is your cousin, too,” she grinned in return. “You are allowed your share in the conversation.”

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

As Elizabeth allowed the notes to fade and her fingers to rest upon the pianoforte, she felt a fleeting touch on the nape of her neck, followed by a familiar caress.

“Have you any idea,” Darcy murmured between kisses, “why that song never seems to make me the least bit sleepy?”

Elizabeth laughed: a low, satisfied rumble. “I can guess.”

“I am grateful that it has the proper effect on our children, though.” The nurse had just carried their youngest child to his bed for the night.

“I should be surprised if a man of forty years could be felled by a simple song.” She leaned into Fitzwilliam’s touch as he continued to stroke her hair.

“It was not the song that conquered me, but the singer, as well you know.”

All was quiet for some minutes. Eventually they slipped through the door and up the stairs, the conqueror and the conquered. Which one of them truly fit which role might have been a matter for debate, Elizabeth mused, smiling as Fitzwilliam eagerly drew her into her room. Then the door closed, and all thought of debate and conquest vanished, her head being full of something else entirely.

~☆☽♪♭♮♯

The End

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