Beginning, Previous Section, Section IX

Chapter 33

“If you would turn your head, Miss… Yes! Just so!”

Elizabeth obediently poised her head at the required angle as Jane’s maid busied herself with securing the last lock in place, then stopped to re-arrange one of the very small silk roses braided in her hair, along with thin contrasting ribbons.

She had spent what to Elizabeth had felt like an age piling her mass of dark hair in a deceptively simple-looking arrangement on top of her head, with loose curls at the back and small ones framing her face – but the overall effect was well worth the wait.

“There, Miss! My, you do look a picture, if you don’t mind me saying! This dress, why, I declare, ‘tis just the colour of clouds at sunrise!”

Elizabeth looked up with a slightly amused smile at the poetic association she would not have chosen herself, but could not completely disagree. The dress was indeed the most unusual shade.

It shimmered in the candlelight with hints of rose and white satin and yellows – and it beautifully complimented her complexion.

She stood and walked to the full-length looking glass, the vision therein making her smile with undisguised wonder. It was, by far, the most flattering gown she had ever owned! Very simple in style, with smooth, straight lines that made it incredibly graceful, and a distinct lack of adornment, save for a small cluster of very delicate, slightly darker-coloured roses at the front, just under the rather low neckline, matched with similar ones around the hem. The sleeves were short and just a little puffy, gathered on a thin band around her arm, and the long cream-coloured gloves came high above her elbows, leaving but a narrow strip of skin uncovered.

She lifted her hand to adjust a curl above her ear, earning a look of distinct panic from Jane’s skilled lady’s maid, who feared for the fate of her handiwork. Elizabeth gave a little nervous laugh at the sight, and her eyes crinkled in amusement as she took her gloved hand away. She smoothed the sides of her dress and drew a deep breath.

“Thank you, Perry,” she said at last. “I believe I am ready.”

She had always endeavoured to present a pleasing picture, of course, for every ball and assembly, but nothing compared to the feverish excitement which seemed to course through her that night.

She wanted it to be perfect, she wanted to look perfect – for him. And as she stared at her own reflection in the looking glass, she was delighted to see that she did.

The maid curtsied and opened the door for her and Elizabeth left her room, feeling very much like she was floating on air.

The house was very quiet, surprisingly so, after the bustle of the previous days and Elizabeth could not help but wonder how was that possible. Where was everyone? There must have been some frenzy of activity elsewhere in the house, surely, but the upper floor corridor and the great entrance hallway below were perfectly still, save for… this faint, rhythmic sound, much like…

Much like the sound of slowly pacing footsteps on a wooden floor, Elizabeth decided with a smile as she reached the top of the staircase, only to see Darcy walking slowly towards its foot.

Her countenance lit up at the sight. She steadied herself with a hand on the banister and carefully made her way down the stairs.

He looked up at the sound of the first footsteps, and their eyes held. Elizabeth could not help a little soft laugh to see him stare, and acknowledged to herself that this was precisely the response she had been hoping for.

Darcy followed her progress, mesmerised. She looked positively radiant. And, Good Lord, so very, very beautiful. Breathtakingly so. And seeing this remarkable and eminently desirable woman coming towards him with such a look of unmistakable devotion in her eyes was...

Quite lost for words, Darcy continued to stare, utterly mystified as to what he had done to deserve his second chance. Suddenly, with amazing clarity, he understood that he had come full circle.

It was at the last Netherfield ball that he had chosen to walk away from her, and from the best of happiness. Yet somehow, mercifully, he had been allowed to choose again.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as she reached the bottom of the stairs and gave him her hand. He took the gloved fingers to his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly.

“What for?”

“Your love. Your hand. And my second chance for happiness.”

He placed the small hand in the crook of his arm and escorted her to the magnificently decorated ballroom, still very much deserted. There were exquisite flower arrangements everywhere, garlands festooned along the walls and hundreds of candles glowing in the glittering chandeliers - but there was little for them there, for the moment at least, so arm in arm they left the empty ballroom frozen in perfect splendour and yet to come to life, for the quiet comfort of the library, where the warm glow of a fire beckoned, and memories lingered, of earlier times.

The house slowly filled around them, with family and houseguests and, in due course, a receiving line was formed to welcome the occupants of the numerous carriages which kept drawing up to the entrance. There were greetings and smiles and polite conversation, but the two were never more than a few steps apart, and never unable to exchange a glance, or a smile.

In point of fact, it was quite plain for anyone who took the time to look, that they had eyes for little but each other – and so, when Mr Bingley asked for his guests’ attention a little later in the evening, the announcement of their betrothal came as no surprise to many, although – incredibly – not all the people present have had the privilege of hearing of it ‘in the strictest confidence’ from either Mrs Bennet, Mrs Long, Mrs Phillips or Lady Lucas.

After a flurry of well-wishes and the attending excitement, it was high time for the dancing to commence, and the young people eager to amuse themselves with the activity finally had the joy to see the newly engaged couple moving to open the first set.

It was – as it happened – a rather spirited dance, and all who had heretofore grown accustomed to regard Mr Darcy as a subdued, sedate young man with a rather solemn countenance, had the utmost surprise to see him insouciantly bounding with his partner on a merry tune – and it was whispered that many a young lady had stared in shock at the particularly breath-taking and frequently recurring sight of a certain gentleman’s smile.

The evening progressed in the fashion expected of a ball - and, not surprisingly, on this occasion, Elizabeth did not have to sit out any of the dances.

After the first set, claimed several weeks previously by her betrothed, she had stood up with Colonel Fitzwilliam and found his efforts to welcome her into the family positively heart-warming – although they also served to remind her that no other relation of Darcy’s, apart of course from Georgiana, had chosen to be present and honour their engagement.

She had stood up with Bingley, and the half-hour spent in his company was as enjoyable as she could have expected. Her brother then proceeded to admirably perform his duty as a host and dance with many of the young ladies who appeared in want of a partner, for Jane had wisely decided to limit the activity to one set. There were hardly any signs of her condition – a number of well-placed pleats in her new gown had seen to that – but there was no reason to take unnecessary risks, particularly with the more animated dances.

Later, as she advanced down the set with Mr Goulding, Elizabeth could see Jane sitting to one side, happily conversing with their friends. She smiled her thanks for the delightful evening when she caught her sister’s eye. She had not thought of it until then but, as well as a celebration of the engagement, the Netherfield ball had been the perfect occasion for her to bid adieu to Hertfordshire and all her friends, before her new life began. She looked around at the crowded ball-room, catching glimpses of familiar faces. It had been a delight to see Charlotte again, although their former intimacy had undoubtedly diminished during the intervening months. Sir William was very much his old self, which Elizabeth had found endearing and oddly reassuring. Mrs Long was as voluble as ever, and her nieces as mortified by her matchmaking attempts as they had always been. The Gouldings still kept very much to themselves – which could not be said about her Aunt Phillips. It was good to see her, though, after a fashion, and all her former neighbours and former friends. It was good to see even those whom she had never particularly liked, and take with her this final memento of her life amongst them.

Elizabeth smiled at her uncharacteristically romantic notions as she surreptitiously searched the room for Darcy. She half expected to find him amongst the standers-by but to her unrestrained delight, she saw him leading Kitty to the set and later, as they were working their way up, it appeared that they were actually conversing with a great deal of good humour! It did not take long until her gaze drew his, and Elizabeth silently expressed her appreciation of his endeavours towards amicability with her family and friends.

She would have been even more pleased to know that it had not required a great deal of effort on his part. Darcy had long established that he had either misjudged Miss Catherine upon their first acquaintance – either that or she had changed quite substantially over the passing year.

It had not been a hardship to stand up with other ladies of Elizabeth’s close acquaintance either.

The Miss Dashwoods, for instance, were both accomplished dancers, and their conversation very pleasing. The same could be said of Miss Lucas and, to a certain extent, of Miss Mary Long, although the latter was decidedly less well-informed.

All in all, Darcy had to own that the self-appointed task of showing Elizabeth’s friends the courtesy due to them – something which, in all frankness, he should have done many months ago – had not been as taxing as he would have anticipated and, even had it been, Elizabeth’s look of pleasure at his exertions was more than adequate reward.

He wandered down the set in expectation of the one to follow, for which he had secured her hand again. After a fashion, it was nearly as enjoyable now to admire her from a distance as it was to stand up with her himself. As his gaze followed her progress down the set, Darcy indulged in the delight of her rosy countenance lighting up in laughter as she bounded and turned, crossing hands with her partner, a gentleman Darcy felt he knew by sight, although not by name. It was a rare treat to observe her, the natural grace of her every move reminding him of his good fortune of having gained her hand and her heart. The exertion was adding a luminous glow to her complexion, and that long curl at the back, bouncing with every step, was still drawing his eyes to the creamy whiteness of her skin, above the V-shaped cut of the dress.

He swallowed and clasped his hands behind his back, hoping for a modicum of patience, just before a distracting thought occurred, as he took a better look at her partner. It was – he saw it now – the same personable young man whom he had once thought in possession of Elizabeth’s affections, at the time of the last Netherfield ball. He smiled and shook his head. How was he to know at the time that the distress this supposition had engendered would pale into nothingness in the face of the later despair at the thought of her already betrothed to Brandon? Yet there he was now, one year later and a decade wiser, looking back upon earlier follies with the amused smile of one blessed by fortune – and that he truly was!

“Still not inclined to dance, I see, Darcy,” Bingley’s voice tore him from his not unpleasant ruminations. “I could have wagered you were unable to keep up the pretence of enjoying it for very long!”

“And you would have lost, my friend,” Darcy replied good-humouredly, “were it not for Elizabeth already being engaged for this set. As it is, I shall have to wait until the next to prove that your boast was quite unfounded!”

“You have engaged Elizabeth for a third set?”

“I have indeed. And the supper dance. I fail to see the difficulty, in the present circumstances.”

Bingley laughed.

“There is no difficulty, of course!”

“Then what is with this rather disturbing grin, pray tell?”

“Oh, nothing of consequence, other than the vagaries of fate! Most diverting!” Bingley quipped. “And do you know what else is diverting? Decided opinions, my friend. Have you not found that they have the uncanny propensity to be disproved when least expected? ‘She is tolerable, I suppose’”, he added with a stiff manner and an assumed voice, in what appeared to Darcy a pitifully inaccurate rendition of his own arrogant stance. He rolled his eyes and dismissed his friend’s efforts with a snort – only to discover, to his dismay, that the dance had ended and unbeknownst to them, they were joined by none other than Elizabeth.

She never would have imagined that two grown men could blush like mere boys, Elizabeth thought, highly diverted, were it not for the incontrovertible proof before her.

To her increased amusement, Bingley stammered something about seeing to Jane and left them directly, followed by Darcy’s dark stare.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked innocently, earning an uncertain look from her betrothed, as he undoubtedly wondered how much it was that she had heard.

“Shall we join the others…?” he tentatively gestured in the direction of the forming set. “How improvident of me! I should have engaged you for all the dances while I had the chance!” he quipped, in an attempt to change the subject.

Elizabeth, however, was not do be distracted. In the full knowledge of being unable to reassure him that all was well by merely feigning ignorance, she turned to him with a countenance crinkled with amusement.

“You should not be overly concerned by Bingley’s sally, you know,” she said kindly. “After all, it is nothing that I have not heard before…”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“I believe the exact phrase was ‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me…’ ”, she offered without malice, and Darcy looked up in acute mortification.

“You heard me, then!” he whispered and exhaled deeply. “I was afraid you might have…”

“I most certainly did!” she smiled, without a shred of archness.

“Elizabeth, I am…”

She laid a land on his arm to interrupt what was undoubtedly going to be a profuse apology.

“Can you honestly think it is of any consequence, particularly now?” she said affectionately.

“I was… abominably uncivil!”

“So you were!” she laughed.

“Elizabeth!” he exclaimed, smiling despite himself. “How can you laugh! I deserve nothing but the severest censure for the appalling insolence!”

“Oh, fear not, I shall demand my pound of flesh whenever suits!” she quipped in response. “I shall begin perhaps by asking you to provide, at the first convenient opportunity, a detailed and very persuasive account of what made you change your mind and I reserve the right to embarrass you in any company of my choice by relating the incident with convenient embellishments! And now, if I might be so bold as to point out, Sir, I believe you have engaged me for this set!”

She smiled at him, eyes dancing, and gave him her hand. There was little for him to do but take it, and rejoice in the unrivalled wonder that was Elizabeth, as he led her to their place.

…The gentlemen bowed very low and received a curtsey in return; then, with slow, stately grace, they advanced to their partners and gloved hands met and held, and so did their eyes…

Her small hand fitted perfectly within his own, just as it did all those months ago, and as she circled around him in the pattern of the dance, the sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. He breathed in the delicate, barely perceptible scent that surrounded her – definitely lily-of-the-valley – and reached once more for her hand, as the figure required. He caressed the tip of her fingers with his thumb, his joy as powerful as the despair had once been, during that long-ago, never forgotten dance, which was to mark the end of everything they shared. He held her hand as they advanced together down the set, the look of adoration open for all to see, as happiness flooded his heart in the knowledge that, the Good Lord be praised, it had not been the end.

It had been the beginning.

The sun slanted through the tall narrow windows into the old church, surrounding her with an aura of golden light. Her eyes shone with love and with bright unshed tears as she pledged herself to him and her lips trembled, but her voice came clear and true.

“I, Elizabeth, take thee, Fitzwilliam, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

A wisp of a smile fluttered on his lips at her promise to obey, as he thought in passing of the unlikelihood of her ever obeying him without question – not that he would have wished it so, in any case – then Darcy turned to place the ring on the Book, his mouth dry in anticipation of the last words he was to say to her, before they were joined in holy matrimony.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The ring slid effortlessly on her fourth finger, gleaming softly in the morning light as they knelt to listen to the old parson’s voice, warm and soothing, yet resonant in the small church.

“O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life: Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy Name; that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made - whereof this Ring given and received is a token and pledge - and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Elizabeth’s small hand was put in his, and the hold of their fingers tightened around each other.

“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. Forasmuch as Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” (*)

The old vicar smiled affectionately in a grandfatherlike fashion as he blessed their union and prayed for the Lord’s grace upon them, unto their life’s end. He prayed for their safety, their comfort and for their protection, for the blessing of children, which they might live to see grow up beside them. And, as he instructed Frederick Bennet’s second daughter – whom he had christened, and had known ever since she was born – and her young handsome husband as to the indissoluble bond of love and respect their lifelong covenant entailed, he privately rejoiced in the knowledge that, unless he was very much mistaken, unlike some others, theirs was indeed a union just as it was ordained.

(*) The Form of Solemnization of Matrimony in ‘The 1662 Book of Common Prayer’ – a delightful read, with all the charm and sweetness of times gone by, when they used words like ‘wilt thou’ and ‘betwixt’ and ‘thee’ and ‘troth’ - even though they instructed that the husband should be the head of the wife :o)

Snow glistened around them, a fine dusting of white sprinkled on the grass, the road, the church wall, the headstones. With her gloved hand, Elizabeth brushed off the snow covering a name and a date, and affectionately rested her hand on the cold stone as she knelt to place her bouquet on her father’s grave. Then, with a distant smile, she stood and looked around once more, impressing upon her memory the delightful picture of the small, snow-dusted church, before turning towards her husband, with her hand outstretched.

Darcy clasped it silently and escorted his young wife to the waiting carriage.

The small wedding party, of no more than ten, shook off the gravity becoming the farewell they had just witnessed and made their way to the assorted carriages which were to take them back to Netherfield, for the wedding breakfast.

Elizabeth’s eyes travelled around the table, with an affectionate thought for all those gathered there – with the exception, perhaps of Mr. Collins, who was the only discordant addition to the heart-warming family picture. The Gardiners were there, of course, and her mother and Kitty and Mary, as well as Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and with a soft smile towards her husband of no more than one hour, Elizabeth acknowledged to herself that the occasion was just as she would have wished it.

The wedding breakfast was all joy and kindness, as even Mr Collins had learned a valuable lesson about the advantages of holding his tongue, and before too long, it was time for the newly married couple to depart, if they wanted to be secure of reaching town in daylight.

Elizabeth embraced her aunt and uncle with good cheer, as well as her new sister, safe in the knowledge that she will see them in town before long. She bade adieu to her mother, to Mary and Kitty, but it was the separation from Jane that tore at her heart, their connection stronger than ever, after the last months spent at Netherfield.

The carriage was readied, with rugs and warmed bricks, in preparation for the long journey in rather inclement weather, and with final adieus, the newlyweds made their way within, smiles and tears and fluttering kerchiefs left behind, as the equipage took to the road.

Darcy gathered the travelling rug and the sides of her cloak around his wife, which earned him an affectionate glance and an amused smile.

“You will soon come to see, Fitzwilliam, that I am rather more hardy than the hot-house flower you think me,” she remarked, and he leaned back into the cushions and took her gloved hand.

“I should not wish you to be cold…”

“I am not cold,” she replied softly, with a becoming blush.

“Good!” he succinctly replied and, as Elizabeth saw his dear face crinkle into a smile as he put an arm around her, she acknowledged that the chances of her being cold were very small indeed.

It was the softness of it, not the kiss itself, that took her by surprise, its tranquil, unhurried quality a delightful reminder of their current situation. They were together now and together they were to be, and there was no further need for stolen kisses, hurried whispers and secretly holding hands.

That there had been a great deal of charm in those all-too-brief moments she will not deny, Elizabeth told herself with an impish smile, but as she leaned her cheek against his shoulder, she could not find it in her heart to wish for their return.

The carriage advanced cautiously along the ruts cut by other vehicles in the freshly laid snow, its sway almost luring her to sleep, but Elizabeth fought against it, unwilling to miss anything of this precious journey. Familiar places drifted past the windows, a small village here, a grove there, snow-covered fields and neat long hedges, as they journeyed further and further away from Elizabeth’s old life into the new.

Oh, she was happy! Blissfully and incommensurably happy - but rather anxious as well. Very little – if anything – of her previous experience had prepared her for the place she will have to occupy before too long. Mrs Darcy of Pemberley. The very name suggested someone older, wiser. Someone graceful and poised – and a great deal more competent than Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who used to divide her time between tame, uncomplicated and certainly not intimidating pursuits, and whose responsibilities were never more complex than keeping the books and assisting her mother in managing a remarkably small household.

There will be a great deal more to be considered than that. Family. Neighbours. Tenants. The poor of the parish. And a household so vast it overwhelmed her to merely envisage being at its helm.

As for the image she presented to the world – she will not change, she had no wish to change, not in essentials, and hopefully he did not desire it either, yet she knew very well that she will have to do a great deal better than pert speeches and youthful impertinence in her dealings with others, and dearly hoped that she could.

A different way of life awaited her at the end of this journey - and somehow she will have to be ready for it, in spirit at least, as soon as she set foot in the imposing house in Berkeley Square.

Her new home.

Elizabeth swallowed rather uncomfortably at the thought. It will be a long time until she felt at home within its walls, that she did not doubt. It was a beautiful residence, very well appointed, very elegant, but it did not appear to her that it held the true warmth of a home. In point of fact, she had found it positively daunting some weeks previously, when a dinner invitation had brought her and some of her relations for a first visit to the Darcy town house. She could not find fault, of course. The house in Berkeley Square was devoid of fashionable nothings, gaudy finery and useless splendour - yet despite Mr Darcy’s softly whispered ‘Welcome home, my love’, the solemn, understated elegance of the tall rooms, the vastness and the grandeur, the stern countenance of ancestors looking down at her from large gilded frames hung high upon the walls made her feel very, very small indeed.

It had not been so at Pemberley and she had idly wondered why, until it had occurred to her not only that in her eyes Pemberley would hold a very special charm, surrounded as it was by beautiful countryside and in perfect harmony with it, but also that, unlike the townhouse, she had viewed it as an enchanted visitor rather than a bride to be.

For real or imagined reasons, she had no doubt that the house in Berkeley Square will appear daunting that day as well – perhaps even more so, as she would be devoid of the comfort the familiar presence of her dear aunt and uncle had earlier bestowed.

Despite herself, Elizabeth shivered, without even noticing, until a much-loved deep voice at her side brought her back from rather disquieting ruminations.

“You are cold. Come, let me wrap this ‘round you. There. Is that better?”

“Very much so, I thank you.”

The travelling rug rearranged solicitously around her, Elizabeth nestled against her husband with a smile, not quite prepared to inform him that the little shiver had more to do with wedding-day nerves than with the cold. She sighed, a faint, contented sound, at the soft touch of his lips against her brow and brought her hand to rest again in his. She held her peace – too much was there to be felt for any ease in conversation – but as they journeyed relentlessly ahead, his very presence and his tenderness slowly turned her thoughts from her earlier disquiet, and tempered nameless anxieties for the unfamiliar future.

She could not form the thought as such, not then – everything was far too new for a deeper understanding and for real comfort – but later on that night, much later on, as she awoke in the intimate enclosure of the large four-poster bed, with the curtains drawn against the winter chill, to find herself ensconced in the protective warmth of her husband’s embrace, it finally came to her that very little else mattered, and that she was always home, wherever she was with him.

Despite the very deep affection which Mr and Mrs Darcy shared for Pemberley, they were not able to travel there directly, and had spent the first months of their married life – and Elizabeth’s first season – in their house in town, so that she could be near enough to Jane, until the end of her confinement. Before too long, however, they were invited to Netherfield to meet Miss Elizabeth Louise Frances Bingley, the smallest, most wrinkled and beyond a doubt most beautiful baby that Elizabeth had ever seen - before she had laid eyes on her firstborn.

Shortly after the christening - when Mr Gardiner, Elizabeth and her husband stood proud godparents to the infant named after one of her aunts and both her grandmothers - Mr and Mrs Darcy bade adieu to Hertfordshire to travel to Devon for the double wedding of Elizabeth’s dear friends.

Whatever Darcy must have felt as he set foot in the infamous Farringdon Lodge was kept very much to himself, but his wife, well attuned to her husband’s sensibilities even before their marriage and much more so after the happy event had taken place, was eventually able to help him replace any unwelcome recollections with fond memories of their short time in Devonshire.

It was only in late April that the long-desired journey to Pemberley was finally undertaken, and the delightful place welcomed its new mistress with all the beauty of newly arrived spring.

It was at Pemberley that their married life had begun in earnest, very much as they had anticipated. There was a great deal to do and a great deal to learn about togetherness and marriage and about each other. There was joy, within the home and without - and there was of course vexation. Their Fitzwilliam relations had occasionally contributed to the later, and Elizabeth never received from them more than the semblance of cold civility - with the notable exceptions of the Colonel, his brother and his youngest sister, who had become in time almost as close to her as dear Jane, Kitty and Georgiana. There were other sources for vexation and, as Bingley had anticipated, their wilful nature ensured that many were the times when sparks flew at Pemberley. However, regardless of the grounds for displeasure, more often than not they were able to display sufficient good sense and, supported by the deep affection they had for each other, to avoid being at odds for any longer than three days together at any given time...

With her confidence in matrimony restored by the happy example of her brother’s marriage, as well as that of Mr and Mrs Bingley who, within a twelvemonth from the birth of their first child, had come to reside at their newly-purchased estate in Staffordshire, within thirty miles from Pemberley, Georgiana was persuaded to enter the married state before she was two-and-twenty. Fortunately for everyone concerned, and particularly for the bride’s brother, she was not too far removed from her ancestral home and everything that she held dear. She married a very respectable gentleman, whose family had been known to hers for the best part of two centuries, and the union was as happy as closest relations and dearest friends alike could wish it.

As to the last unmarried sister, the spiteful matrons of Barton and Meryton – for there would always be spiteful matrons everywhere – had often said that of all the Bennet girls, it was only Miss Catherine who had made a less than profitable match. And they would be right, after a fashion. Kitty who, to her very material advantage, had spent the chief of her time at Pemberley, particularly after the birth of young Master George Frederick Darcy, had eventually married the vicar of Kympton. However, although Rev. James Webb lacked fortune, as a nephew of the Earl of Pembroke, he did not lack connection. Nor did he lack understanding, charm and, what was more important in the eyes of many, with the exception perhaps of the aforementioned spiteful matrons, lasting and genuine affection for his bride.

In addition to the sisters’ many sources of felicity, Mrs Darcy, Mrs Bingley, Mrs Webb and Lady Vernon had the good fortune of being within easy distance of each other and, in the years to come, they had the joy of seeing their children playing and growing up together, as their families met for acknowledged celebrations, and frequently for no reason at all, other than the genuine pleasure such gatherings afforded them.

To add to everyone’s comfort, although she visited for many months with her daughters settled in the North, Mrs Bennet had chosen to make her permanent home in town, to be near the Gardiners, Mrs Jennings and especially Lydia, who delighted in her mother’s society, just as she always had.

Mrs Ferrars, constitutionally unable to keep herself from giving offence, had never been able to gain her mother-in-law’s favour, and many were the times when the said lady entertained - but was too proud to voice - the thought that she should not have cut Edward off for the doubtful sin of insisting to marry someone with a great deal more sense and decorum than his younger brother’s wife. Although distinctly not in the good graces of her husband’s mother and sister, the youngest Mrs Ferrars was however fortunate to keep her husband’s affection for much longer than was expected in their set. Why, it had been whispered that Mr Robert Ferrars had not had eyes for another woman for the best part of ten years at least!

Although they came to stay often enough with the Bingleys and the Darcys, Mr and Mrs Robert Ferrars never visited in Devonshire. It was never specified why, and it was only Mrs Bingley, in her earnest wish to think well of everyone, who attributed such feelings as discomfort to the younger Mr Ferrars, at the prospect of having any meaningful conversation with his elder brother, and witnessing his impoverished circumstances. Had they ever visited, they would have noted that any such concerns were for naught. Edward did not begrudge his brother his elevation in fortune any more than he coveted it. Mr and Mrs Edward Ferrars’ life in Devonshire was plentiful and very happy, and they could not have wished for more.

Marianne and her husband were very much of the same mind and, years later, during the small family service in Barton Church, which was to bound their only daughter Margaret in holy matrimony to Edward Richard Darcy, their friends’ second son, they were able to look back upon their life together and count their blessings, not least the fact that their dear child was marrying a young man of good character who loved her dearly and, thankfully, would not take her much further from her parents’ home than the ten miles that separated Delaford from Farringdon Park.

Tears came to Elizabeth’s eyes as she sat in the old church with her husband, their eldest son and their darling Anne - the sweetest girl any parent could wish for - to witness Edward making his solemn vows to his wife, in front of the congregation. He was the very image of his father, she thought with a misty smile – much more so than Frederick, who took after her own.

If she closed her eyes ever so slightly as she looked at Edward, she could almost picture her dear Fitzwilliam there, as he had stood at the altar waiting for her, almost eight-and-twenty years ago. Elizabeth’s eyes, as well as her heart, went to her husband, as dear to her now as he had been then, and she placed her hand over his.

With a start, Darcy turned to smile at her and took her hand to his lips.

His rock, his succour, his blessing. His darling wife.

There was nothing he would have wished to do with his life but be with her.

And remain steady to his purpose to cherish and protect her for all of their days.