Flames and Passion at Netherfield: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Author: Gold, Florence
Date: 2023-10-06

Flames and Passion at Netherfield
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Florence Gold
Editor: Ariana Thompson

Copyright © 2023 Florence Gold

All rights reserved

This work is in copyright as stated by
Berne Convention for the Protection
of Literary and Artistic Works.
Text: Copyright © 2023 Florence Gold
Cover: © 2023 ana damian powered by https://discord.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

A special thank you to Tish Holmes

I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.
Elizabeth Bennet
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Contents

Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Books By This Author

Chapter 1

Thursday, 25 June 1812

It was rare that Elizabeth and Jane found themselves alone at home, and they intended to celebrate their brief freedom.

“Almost alone,” Elizabeth smiled, “let us not forget Mary hidden in Papa’s study.”

At an early hour of the morning, their father and Uncle Gardiner had set off for some sport on the estate of a long-time friend fifteen miles away. They had left the house with the exuberance of young boys on their first holiday from school. Shortly after breakfast, Mrs Bennet, Aunt Gardiner, and Kitty had departed on a different sort of expedition—to Meryton—to procure ribbon, bonnets, and lace from the milliner’s shop.

“I need some fine lace for an old dress that I wish to improve,” Mrs Bennet had informed her sister-in-law while Kitty impatiently waited in the carriage.

“Hurry up, Mama,” she called to Mrs Bennet, who was searching for her yellow parasol. “I want us to be the first to arrive; today, everyone will be out to see the new arrivals!”

Her mother merely smiled as she settled herself into the carriage. She enjoyed visiting Meryton, meeting other ladies, and learning about those little events that took place in Hertfordshire that made her life so delightful. And there were more reasons for her happiness, for her youngest Lydia was already married, living with her handsome husband, whilst Jane—engaged to one of the wealthiest men in the county, the amiable Mr Charles Bingley—was set to marry in a few days. It was a promising start, for as she held low expectations of Mary’s prospects in matrimony, only two of her daughters remained without husbands. She was confident that the forthcoming season would bring about the desired changes.

Meanwhile, Netherfield was preparing for the impending nuptials, Mr Bingley intending to provide his guests with an unforgettable stay. Some of them, such as Mr Darcy and his sister, Miss Darcy, had already arrived.

Elizabeth and Jane plotted to remain home, claiming they required the time to prepare their gowns for that evening’s dinner and the following day’s party at Netherfield. “We must ensure that they are elegant,” Jane declared with a bright smile.

“Are you certain Mr Darcy and his sister will be at Netherfield?” Elizabeth asked, feeling her cheeks flush slightly.

The news intrigued her, though she resolved to abstain from confiding her intentions to Jane and possibly overshadowing her sister’s joy with the complications of bygone misadventures.

Haunted still by the memory of what had happened in Kent—the peculiar proposal and her angry retort—Elizabeth wanted to apologise to Mr Darcy for her outburst and the unkind words she had uttered…and then forget everything. And when it was about apologies, her sister could give her good advice.

To her astonishment, Jane looked up from the ribbon she was sewing onto her dress. “You seem exceedingly curious about this gentleman, Elizabeth. This is the third occasion on which you have asked! Mr Darcy is Mr Bingley’s dearest friend, who had already arrived to contribute to the preparations. Why are you so curious about him?”

Clad in their day gowns, they relished the leisurely morning alone in the cosy drawing-room that had always been their refuge. Yet their conversation was interrupted when a maid entered and implored, “Miss Elizabeth, Miss Jane, please go to your room and dress as your mother has requested. Someone may appear at any moment.”

Jane beamed, her beauty and joy radiating throughout the room. Everyone knew that by ‘someone,’ her mother meant her betrothed, who had the habit of calling in the morning and again in the afternoon. If it were possible, he would undoubtedly come again in the evening. Mrs Bennet was so eager to witness her eldest daughter’s marriage that she was willing to turn a blind eye and allow the lovers to see each other as many times as Mr Bingley wanted.

“I am elated about this evening’s dinner,” Jane murmured. “Mr Bingley asked me to take the place of the mistress of the house.”

The position held by his sister, Miss Bingley, Elizabeth ruminated. This change might bring novel hostilities. Fortunately, Jane would see nothing except her love for Mr Bingley.

Many times had Elizabeth observed Jane’s disposition and mien, at times with concern, yet more often with admiration. Jane appeared to float through life, only to be grounded by misfortune, such as the sudden loss of Mr Bingley’s interest and his departure from Netherfield. It was during Elizabeth’s stay in Kent that she learned it was mainly due to the actions of Mr Darcy.

Though tempted in the past to reveal the truth to Jane, after Mr Darcy played a crucial role in locating Lydia and Mr Wickham following Lydia’s imprudent conduct, Elizabeth had to concede that Mr Darcy possessed praiseworthy traits, prompting her to reconsider her previous judgment of him.

Then Mr Bingley had remarked, on many occasions, that it was his friend who persuaded him to return to Hertfordshire, and Elizabeth could not help but think that she might have played a role in improving Mr Darcy’s perception of Jane. She greatly appreciated those who recognised their mistakes and tried to rectify them, a testament to their good character and honesty. Acknowledging Mr Darcy’s intelligence, refinement, clever and subtle conversation, and sense of humour, Elizabeth could imagine him as a potential friend, yet never a man she would desire to marry.

“Why are you suddenly silent?” asked Jane, eager to uncover the cause of her sister’s reflective countenance.

“We have indeed discussed this subject at great length, but of late, I find myself pondering once more whether one ought to marry solely for love,” Elizabeth mused.

“Of course! What are you saying?” Jane replied with that ardour that was uniquely hers. “I cannot imagine anyone besides Mr Bingley being by my side!”

“My dear,” her sister said, smiling, “just imagine if you had not encountered Mr Bingley.”

“Oh, I cannot, I cannot,” Jane cried. “Why would you wish for me to have such a dreadful notion? Mr Bingley was…is the one, and he ultimately appeared…as it was written in the stars.”

“Then imagine that my chosen one is late to appear—or never comes.”

Jane let the dress tumble to the ground. “I do not want you to think this way,” she said affectionately, embracing her sister. “I am certain he will come soon, and you will be as happy as I am now!”

Elizabeth smiled indulgently as she often did when confronted with her sister’s aspirations.

“Like many other ladies, I am in search of him; nevertheless, if such a love never appears, do you reckon a lady could marry a gentleman who is very respectable, affluent, and of good character without being blissfully in love on her wedding day?”

Jane gazed at her with incredulous eyes. “Are we discussing someone you have already met?”

Elizabeth concealed her eyes in the lace she was applying to her sister’s gown, surprised by Jane’s astute observation. “No, no, you would be the first to know. However, it is possible to marry without love. Recall Mr Collins...I could have been in Charlotte’s position, living in Hunsford.”

“This morning, you appear to be somewhat too mournful. You have such melancholy thoughts.

“Mr Collins? How could you ever have accepted his proposal?”

“Well, firstly, it would have resolved our parents’ predicament since married to Mr Collins, I would have become the mistress of Longbourn.”

“You cannot marry to resolve a predicament. It would be unjust to live with a man you do not love! And of all the men we know, Mr Collins would be the worst!”

“You are correct regarding Mr Collins; my first impression of him only worsened when I visited him and Charlotte. However, I could meet a man of character and have a pleasant marriage founded on companionship and respect!”

“Nonsense, Elizabeth! I know that in bygone times or even currently, some ladies marry to attain a certain status or are forced by their families. Fortunately, Mama and Papa have granted us the freedom to choose our spouses. Remember, they did not impose anything on you when Mr Collins was lurking in Hertfordshire.”

“Lurking?” Elizabeth laughed heartily. “What a peculiar word in your mouth, my dear sister,” she smiled, “but I cannot deny that you are correct.”

“To answer your question, I believe that in certain circumstances, a woman could accept a worthy and honourable man’s proposal without feeling love for him. However, for me, love is of the utmost importance. I dare say it would be impossible for a woman to love her betrothed more than I love Mr Bingley.” Her words flowed like a bird’s trills, her eyes distant as she remembered her lover and their embraces.

Then, in a whisper reminiscent of their childhood, she said, “There is so much you need to know about...love!”

Elizabeth sensed her sister’s hesitation and suspected what she meant. Love was not just a feeling, a heart matter, but also the gestures and actions accompanying it. Both sisters blushed but hoped to continue the conversation. They worked on the dress, combining ribbons and laces to create miniature roses that they carefully applied to the hem. Although wholly dedicated to this task, they secretly yearned to debate the intimate aspects of marriage that they had never dared to imagine and even less to discuss.

“At fifteen years old, Lydia had no shame. She was...well, she was like a wife to Wickham before their marriage,” Elizabeth remarked, recalling with a sense of shame her brother-in-law and the friendship they had shared for a short period. Once, she had preferred Wickham to Mr Darcy, but that was long gone.

“How do you know they...did things...before their marriage?”

“It seems they were in…bed together when he found them,” Elizabeth revealed.

“He? Who are you speaking of?” Jane asked with great curiosity. “Our uncle?”

Elizabeth hesitated, unsure of what to do. She did not like lying, yet telling Jane such a secret would mean breaking a promise. But, after all, Jane was to marry Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy’s best friend, and for certain, such a secret would not endure. And Elizabeth hoped that once Mr Bingley became a member of their family, he would return Mr Darcy the money he had to pay Wickham’s gambling debts and the money he gave him to marry Lydia.

“Well, my dear, it is odd news, but our uncle was helped in every way possible by Mr Darcy when he went in search of the runaways,” Elizabeth disclosed.

Jane’s surprise was so great that she could not continue their work, her hands trembling. Fortunately, her dress required no further attention. Elizabeth finished the last four roses before taking her sister upstairs to dress.

They sat silently on the little bench at the main window, looking at the garden below.

“I am sorry, but I had to tell you this,” Elizabeth said, taking Jane’s hands. “Papa wants me to thank Mr Darcy on behalf of our family.”

“Of course, Elizabeth, you did the right thing by telling me, even if it was not pleasant news for our family,” Jane replied.

She was silent for a long moment, trying to comprehend and accept such a difficult circumstance—a stranger so involved in her family’s most disturbing event.

“However, it is interesting how this revelation answers a difficult question I had for Mr Bingley,” Jane spoke, somewhat reflective but calm. “I did not understand his friendship with such a man as we believed Mr Darcy to be!”

“Yes, we were all mistaken, but I was mostly wrong. I can usually discern a person’s character, yet I was never more mistaken than in his case. He knew how to find Mr Wickham and how to persuade him to wed Lydia. He even provided him with funds to marry our sister…after paying his debts!”

“What?” cried Jane. “My poor sister! What a burden you had on your shoulders! Do not fret. I shall speak to Mr Bingley, and we shall find a way to give him at least a part of the money. I am certain Mr Bingley will agree, as devoted to Mr Darcy as he is!”

They sat hand in hand, unable to dress, attempting to console each other. Elizabeth wished Mr Bingley would not arrive as he often did, for she needed more time to spend with her sister, who, while appearing to read her thoughts, said, “Mr Bingley is not coming. He dispatched a letter last night informing me that he had to receive new guests. It appears that besides Mr Darcy and Miss Darcy already arrived, Colonel Fitzwilliam and some relatives from Nottingham are also coming. This evening will be a rather large gathering, and from now until the wedding day, it will be the same.”

The maid knocked at the door, asking whether they needed assistance dressing, but they giggled and declined. It was delightful to be together, their mother not present to rush or scold them, free to discuss the matters they desired, which was so difficult when their sisters were around.

“Lydia is our sister, but I must confess she is a terrible person,” Elizabeth said. “So spoiled and thoughtless. It was pure luck to meet Mr Darcy the day we discovered her elopement. Imagine her fate if they were not found in time to compel Mr Wickham to marry her.”

“Imagine our situation!” Jane said, turning pale. “Endless disgrace and no suitors for us for a long time. Yes, we owe much to Mr Darcy and our uncle. It is not nice to say this but I am glad she is not here for my wedding.”

“There is more, my dear!” Elizabeth said, gazing at her sister. “Mr Darcy proposed to me when we met in Hunsford!”

That was more than Jane could bear—so pale that Elizabeth feared she would faint—but Jane was stronger than her family believed. She looked at her sister, finally understanding Elizabeth’s torment during the previous weeks. She blamed herself for being distracted and not noticing the drama around her.

“My mission is difficult this evening,” Elizabeth said, “as my conduct was so reprehensible in Hunsford! Declining a proposal is always a delicate matter. And, instead of being considerate, I was dreadful, saying the most awful things. I despised him then; I dare say I had reasons since his proposal was rather…unusual. Let us say we both acted inappropriately. When we met at Pemberley, I wanted to discuss the matter with him and settle it one way or another. But then the shocking news about Lydia arrived, and I no longer had the opportunity.”

Jane listened, feeling guilty, her mind consumed for weeks only by her upcoming nuptials and her future husband. She had assumed that everyone around her was equally content. Elizabeth continued to speak, ignorant of her sister’s inner turmoil. “I have come to learn of his boundless generosity and selflessness and must admit that I had misjudged Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “Tonight, I intend to apologise for my behaviour at Hunsford and express my gratitude for his kindness.”

“A difficult undertaking indeed,” Jane agreed. “But I trust that a pleasant atmosphere can contribute to a pleasant ending. Henceforth, we shall regard Mr Darcy as an esteemed and valued friend.”

They dressed in silence, aiding each other. They did not need the maid to intervene, sensing that their conversation was far from over.

“Now I understand your words about marriages without love,” Jane remarked. “There are certain men, such as Mr Collins, with whom one could never envisage being wed.”

“Yet there are also extraordinary individuals,” Elizabeth added, “and some women might conceive of life alongside such a man without the sentiment we call love. One may make a rational decision to establish a union founded on friendship and benevolence.”

“Indeed, you speak truthfully,” Jane conceded. “Sadly, in such a marriage, one may forfeit that...yearning...which I experience.”

“You have such desires?” Elizabeth spoke with interest, hoping to surmount their natural bashfulness on the subject.

“Yes,” Jane whispered in the same hushed tone, trying not to meet her sister’s gaze. “When he kisses me or embraces me, or even when his eyes are upon me, I yearn to be his wife, and with each instance, my desire grows stronger.”

Elizabeth gazed at her sister in astonishment while Jane hastened to her bed, burying her face in the pillows. “Stop, stop; I am not at ease speaking of such things!”

“I understand,” Elizabeth said. “But you must promise to tell me more after you are wed, and your new life eventually diminishes your shyness.”

Jane looked at her with a vow, although she doubted whether she could ever discuss such intimate matters with her sister.

“Shall we walk and resume our conversation?” Jane suggested, still hoping that her lover might appear, despite his earlier message.

It was a bright, sunlit morning following several days of rain. Jane looked around, happy that the day matched her sentiments. Yet, when she thought of her sister walking silently beside her, her heart filled with anguish and apprehension. Elizabeth was not happy. Her questions betrayed the agony she had concealed all this while. Was she ready to marry a man solely in order to have a husband, regardless of love?

Jane took her sister’s arm, trying to draw closer and invited her to speak about her concerns. But Elizabeth refused to shadow the lovely day for her beloved sister.

“I am immensely gratified to see that you have found love and a gentleman deserving of your affection. I deem Mr Bingley to be an ideal match for you,” Elizabeth remarked. “However, I cannot help but feel a sense of melancholy at the thought of our life together at Longbourn coming to an end.”

“I know what you mean, dear sister! I am happy now, but occasionally, I find myself apprehensive about my new role—not frequently, mind you, only when I contemplate the multitude of tasks that a household mistress must undertake,” Jane replied.

“You do not have to worry. Netherfield is admirably run, and I perceive no reason why that should not continue. For now, you ought to concern yourself only with selecting a splendid gown and having a flawless complexion on the day of your nuptials!”

“Promise me that you will be present to assist me if I require your aid…after the wedding.”

Elizabeth chuckled heartily. “I shall be at your disposal as often as you need…or want!”

“Nevertheless, you must think about your future, dear Lizzy! It takes great courage to accept the possibility of marrying a virtuous gentleman despite lacking affection for him. Yet, I still hope you discover a love that equals mine.”

Elizabeth was reluctant to be confident. Since Jane’s betrothal, she fantasised about finding love and having a husband and a life outside her parents’ abode. Yet, lately, her perception of things had altered. They had spent their life dreaming of love as a necessary condition for matrimony. Still, despite Jane’s conviction, there was no guarantee that love would manifest itself. Unmarried ladies who had reached a certain age were living proof that love did not always appear. Jane had a pure and uncomplicated outlook on life, which may have aided her in finding a suitable gentleman. On the other hand, Elizabeth was different; she analysed life, relationships, and men constantly, though she may have failed to observe the minor signs that could lead her to love.

“Charlotte has married Mr Collins and appears content with her life,” Elizabeth observed.

“You persist in mentioning Charlotte, but do recollect that we did not agree with her decision since it was not a love match,” Jane interjected.

“I know, but sometimes one must accept what life offers. How many years must I wait for love? Time moves forward, and eventually, all things change. Although we are young, our friends who are thirty years or older are gradually losing their youth. I assure you, no gentleman would want a woman in her thirties without a substantial fortune or estate.”

“In that case,” Jane said tentatively, looking at her sister, who seemed lost in thought, “are you contemplating marriage to Mr Darcy?”

“No!” Her sister vehemently replied, her outburst shattering the tranquillity of their surroundings. “No!” she repeated, her voice now softened, “I simply reflect upon the course of my life.”

Yet Jane probed further, “But you do not harbour any tender sentiments towards the poor man?”

“Whilst I do possess a fondness for him, it is not of the romantic nature like the love that binds you and Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth confessed. “This joy of living together, this urge to form a couple. When you are together, love flows all around you.”

“Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley are vastly dissimilar; they obviously feel differently—” Jane laughed as she forgot what she wanted to say, her thoughts always running to her lover.

“Indeed, they are different, but having discovered Mr Darcy’s qualities, I now agree with the admiration Mr Bingley holds for him,” Elizabeth replied, grinning as she found herself lost in thought about that man who had proposed her to be his wife.

“In any case, dearest Lizzy, consider this—were you to unite with Mr Darcy, we will be two best sisters married with two best friends!” Jane uttered with huge joyfulness.

Elizabeth laughed, but it was different than Jane’s, her thoughts preoccupied with how she could marry without love. The gentleman she would consider for marriage must possess certain qualities, education, and affluence. Without the warmth of love, she would need to secure financial independence to ensure a life of freedom.

Yet, if love should one day bloom, material wealth would be of no consequence.

Chapter 2

“Shall we take a turn along the path to Meryton?” Jane proposed, her heart yearning to meet Mr Bingley during their stroll, as was their custom each morning.

“Your musings run deep this morning, Lizzy,” Jane gently chastised Elizabeth, eager to prolong their conversation. “Let us instead contemplate the delightful days ahead and the pleasant company awaiting us at Netherfield. I hope you might find a gentleman who win your heart. Have you considered Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Elizabeth blushed, indeed having done so. “Yes,” she replied, “but it appears that the colonel does not seek such an attachment.”

“Perhaps that is because you tend to engage the gentlemen in spirited conversation rather than gentle discourse,” Jane jested with a playful smile. “Try employing a more expressive gaze that hints at your interest in his company.”

“Alas, it is not so simple. Colonel Fitzwilliam is the second son of Lord Matlock, and he must marry a woman of means. As he disclosed in Kent, younger sons cannot marry solely for love or inclination.

“But speaking of gazes, my dear Jane, I cannot recall you resorting to such...gazing tactics. On the contrary, I remember Charlotte remarking that you were quite reserved in Mr Bingley’s presence.”

“Regrettably, that is true! I must confess my shortcomings. When I first met Mr Bingley, my nature did not permit me to convey my admiration, and I genuinely considered my conduct commendable—”

“By not showing anything,” Elizabeth teased.

“Yes, indeed. But I was mistaken, just as you are now. You are clever, Lizzy, but sometimes your behaviour appears rather unconventional in the company of a gentleman. I recall how you spoke with Mr Darcy, how sharp and reproachful you were, always desiring the last word. I know you think women must feel equal to men, but society does not always embrace such sentiments. A man chooses his bride, and he is the one who proposes. Why would a gentleman court you when you display such defiance?”

They continued their walk silently, Elizabeth not yet ready to concede that her sister might be right.

“Nevertheless, despite my conduct, Mr Darcy found me appealing,” she declared.

“Aye, he was drawn to your wit and beauty and perhaps chose to overlook your cutting tongue,” Jane laughed. “Perhaps you should consider marrying him. Few men would truly appreciate your progressive views.”

Though Jane’s words stung, Elizabeth could not help but sense a grain of truth. Love had granted her sister a new perspective that she herself lacked. She needed to find a man who would value her intelligence and independence, whether or not love was a part of the equation. Glancing about, only one man who possessed such qualities came to mind—Fitzwilliam Darcy. The colonel shared her open-minded outlook on life, but he did not have ardent feelings for her.

As they strolled along the lane, Jane’s wish was fulfilled as two riders appeared, none other than Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy. Jane stopped in her tracks, eagerly anticipating her beloved’s dismount and greeting.

Aware that they had just been discussing Mr Darcy moments ago, Elizabeth blushed, feeling a peculiar mixture of shame and animation. She composed herself, for they were to walk together ahead of the happy couple. Elizabeth dared not look back, imagining what was unfolding—most likely hand-holding and affectionate gestures. That was love, she mused. Mr Bingley could not bear to be apart from Jane for half a day, and despite any contrary messages, he had come.

They had nearly half a mile to cover as she walked alongside Mr Darcy, heading back towards the Longbourn. This distance with Jane had seemed fleeting, but walking close to a gentleman she knew not how to approach transformed the walk into an almost burdensome affair, Mr Darcy’s feelings for her and her ungraceful refusal of his proposal undoubtedly contributing to their silence.

“Pray, did you enjoy your ride?” Elizabeth enquired, looking at him as they strolled together, his horse’s reins tight in his grasp.

“Yes, thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I did attend to Bingley’s impetuous wish to pay his respects to Miss Bennet. I chose to accompany him as the preparations for the nuptials at Netherfield are in full swing.”

Darcy remained cautious in Elizabeth’s company, uncertain of her sentiments towards him. He had long yearned for this moment, contemplating it throughout his journey from Pemberley. However, he dreaded that her feelings remained unchanged.

“Did Miss Darcy accompany you to Netherfield?” Elizabeth enquired.

“Yes, she did,” Darcy responded, his countenance becoming more serene. “Georgiana seems quite delighted about this wedding. It has been our main subject for the past few weeks. I hope the ladies here will relieve me of this constant discourse!”

A slight smile played upon his lips as he recollected the pleasant atmosphere during Elizabeth’s stay at Pemberley. Georgiana had praised Elizabeth’s charm and unpretentious attitude in his presence, a rarity among the young ladies they knew. Though too discreet to pronounce names, Darcy was aware that Georgiana referred to Miss Bingley and other ladies in their social circle. Georgiana often expressed her hope during their journey that Miss Bennet would be as amiable and genuine as her sister.

“She secretly hopes that Miss Bennet will seek her advice on her gown and coiffure for the wedding day!” Darcy revealed.

“What a splendid idea!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I am certain Jane would welcome Miss Darcy’s assistance!”

“May I assume you will stand as Miss Bennet’s witness?” Darcy observed her, his eyes alight with hope, as he was Mr Bingley’s witness.

“I shall indeed,” Elizabeth replied, a contented smile gracing her features. “I look forward to being near them as they exchange their vows.”

“It will be a most beautiful wedding,” Darcy declared. “Witnessing two young people in love embarking on a life together is a rare event and great pleasure.”

Suddenly, Elizabeth’s mood shifted as the conversation took a delicate turn. She sought to avoid a topic such as the wedding, as she held nothing but respect and gratitude towards Mr Darcy, hoping he would find a lady who would answer to his feelings.

“Well?” Jane said impatiently after their return home once the gentlemen had departed for Netherfield.

“Do you wish to know if my feelings towards him have changed?”

Jane waited with hope for her sister’s reply.

“I am sorry, my dear,” Elizabeth continued, “my regard for him as a gentleman remains excellent, yet…for more fervent feelings, I am afraid they do not exist.”

“But do you still believe that a lady could marry for a gentleman’s qualities?” Jane enquired.

“Indeed, it is a possibility that every lady must reflect upon. However, I am inclined to seek out love elsewhere.”

“But you must decide regarding Mr Darcy soon,” Jane urged.

“Do you think he still entertains hopes?” Elizabeth looked at her sister surprised.

“Yes, he does!” Jane replied, blushing, as she had promised her betrothed never to divulge their conversations about Mr Darcy. “It is only natural to suspect that his feelings did not change in such a short time.”

“But I refused him so...awkwardly!” Even after months, Elizabeth was still embarrassed by the memory.

“I know, but that could be in your favour, as you plainly showed you were not interested in his wealth or position…But...Hurry up! A gentleman of his standing is forever surrounded by women eager to become his wife. Miss Bingley, for one, has had her eye on him for some time. And then there is his cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh, to whom he has been betrothed since birth.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth exclaimed in surprise. “I have had the misfortune of meeting that poor creature. She is a timid girl seeking her mother’s approval for every word she utters. Mr Darcy could never be content with such a wife. Furthermore, the practice of betrothing infants is on the decline. Mr Darcy is a man of strong will, and such outdated traditions cannot bind him.”

“I agree,” Jane nodded, “yet Mr Bingley informed me of an estate near Pemberley where a certain marchioness resides. She was married for only a few weeks before her husband died in a riding accident. It is said that Mr Darcy greatly helped her during the mourning period.”

An odd sensation came over Elizabeth. She had been convinced that Mr Darcy still sought her acceptance. It had never occurred to her that other women might aim for his affection. She analysed her reaction to this news, acknowledging that it was nothing more than selfishness. She enjoyed being admired, even by a man she did not love.

The best course of action would be to accept Mr Darcy’s new interests and be fair. However, as they prepared to leave for Netherfield, she looked forward to their conversation at dinner and afterwards.

Chapter 3

“Miss Elizabeth, I bid you join me!” exclaimed Miss Darcy with visible joy. Mr Darcy’s sister was reading in the Netherfield library, far from the noise and bustle.

“I pray I do not disturb you from your reading,” Elizabeth said, but the young lady made a gracious gesture inviting her to sit.

“This is my favourite place to seek refuge from the people,” Georgiana whispered as if someone might overhear their conversation, demonstrating once again her well-bred manners—a quality Elizabeth had observed when they had met in Pemberley that summer.

“I feel the same, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth agreed, for books were her most faithful companions whenever she sought comfort or solitude. The library was also an excellent way to become acquainted with a household and its occupants. She loved the grand room with three sides of bookcases and two elegant tables where one could read or write.

Seated on a black leather sofa, Miss Darcy relished the peace and quiet, recovering from the four-day journey from Pemberley to Hertfordshire. She had been eagerly looking forward to this wedding. Still, the lady guests were not the congenial company she had imagined, mainly Mr Bingley’s sisters, who seemed preoccupied only with gossip. They were friendly and obliging when Georgiana was around, but only because Miss Bingley harboured hopes of marrying her brother, something so obvious that there were times when Georgiana felt embarrassed. Without that interest, they would have treated her as they had treated Miss Elizabeth and her sisters. Georgiana left the drawing-room when they began openly blaming Miss Elizabeth for all the ills they had supposedly encountered in Hertfordshire.

Her spirits lifted only when Mr Bingley informed her that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were expected for dinner and would spend the night in Netherfield so that they could prepare for the next night’s ball.

If the women in the drawing-room intimidated her, Georgiana genuinely enjoyed Miss Elizabeth’s company. She admired her education and intelligence and secretly praised how unaffected and self-assured she was in her brother’s presence, unlike the other ladies who sought only his attention or admiration.

“This is an intriguing library Mr Bingley has here,” Elizabeth observed while perusing some titles. “But I must confess I was most impressed by the library at Pemberley.”

The book she plucked from the shelf happened to be Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, a novel she had adored during her early years of voracious reading. She admired the splendid edition, bound in a golden cover, almost untouched. At the same time, the ‘Crusoe’ from home had been passed down from her grandfather, read and re-read by every generation. Their book, worn from too much reading, was alive, unlike the one in her hands, which she considered a prisoner in a golden cage.

“I pity these beautiful books that no one reads,” she said, displaying the book to Georgiana.

Elizabeth recollected the library at Pemberley, with its magnificent books housed in luxurious mahogany bookcases protected by Venetian glasses. Though many open shelves and scattered books invited one to read at any time of day or night.

“I admired not only the imposing room,” Elizabeth said, “but also the books you possess. I presume the library results from generations of Pemberley’s masters who shared a common love of reading.”

“Oh no, Miss Elizabeth, the library in our abode owes mostly to my brother’s merit,” Georgiana stated, her delicate voice tinged with sincerity. “When we travel to London, he spends days upon end seeking out and procuring rare tomes.”

Elizabeth observed the young lady lounging on the sofa with a keen curiosity. She wondered if she might glean some insight into the man who had so thoroughly upended her family’s life. While it was no secret that Mr Darcy was fond of literature, his avid interest and zealous dedication to amassing a collection had escaped her notice entirely. With a tinge of regret, she realised that her perception of him had been relatively shallow, formed as it was through idle parlour talk amongst those who concerned themselves only with the mundane details of their daily existence and those of their acquaintances.

Miss Darcy’s imploring tone interrupted Elizabeth’s introspection. “Please, Miss Elizabeth, do me the honour of sitting next to me at the dinner this evening. My brother has left us to visit some friends on a nearby estate, and I find myself somewhat lost in his absence.”

Elizabeth admitted to feeling likewise in that unfamiliar company, and the two young ladies exchanged warm smiles.

She had accepted the invitation to stay at Netherfield the night before the upcoming party at Mr Bingley’s request, fulfilling a condition set forth by her father. Moreover, she wished to express her gratitude to Mr Darcy for his role in discovering the runaway Lydia and compelling Mr Wickham to marry her, thus saving her family’s honour. Elizabeth resolved to convey simple yet heartfelt thanks for his assistance, with an added note of contrition for her behaviour at Rosings. And who knows, she thought perhaps they might even become friends.

Alas, Elizabeth now learned that Mr Darcy would not attend the dinner, and there was no certainty as to when he might return. She reproached herself for not mentioning the subject earlier but found it difficult to start such a conversation after being separated from him for some time.

∞∞∞

Pleasantly surprised Elizabeth discovered that they had been assigned an apartment, so different from the room they had shared a year ago. But now that Jane was betrothed to Mr Bingley, she was regarded as the future mistress of the house, and all the privileges were already bestowed upon her. And in a few short days, Elizabeth would be elevated to the same status as Miss Bingley by the mere virtue of being Jane’s sister.

Until then, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst greeted her with feigned friendship but soon forgot about her, engrossed as they were in their own discussions. Elizabeth greeted the other guests with a polite smile and curtseyed as Mr Bingley made introductions with Jane at his side.

Fortunately, Miss Darcy rescued her from this dull gathering by gesturing gracefully and leading her into the garden. It was a comfort to be in the company of a kindred spirit amid the throngs of strangers she had encountered in the drawing-room or on the terrace, where a lavish table had been set for no fewer than forty people.

The two young ladies strolled through the verdant grounds for some time, admiring the exquisite hues of the sunset, far from the madding crowd, until Jane invited them to partake of a glass of Cotswold sparkling wine before dinner. Mr Bingley wished to begin the evening’s festivities by reminding their friends that there were only three more days until the wedding.

“We must raise a glass in celebration now, my dears, for as soon as the wedding reception concludes, the future Mrs Bingley and I will depart for a secret location!” He smiled at his betrothed, who looked ravishing in her blue gown that showed discreetly her splendid complexion.

∞∞∞

Ultimately, Elizabeth found the dinner a tedious affair, bereft of interest or enjoyment. In the absence of Mr Darcy, she had no companion but Miss Darcy, who proved to be highly timid even if, in the afternoon, she conversed pleasantly.

By good fortune, the evening was saved by the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose presence enlivened a dinner that risked collapsing into the depths of monotony. With his tanned countenance and carefree manner, the colonel eagerly joined Elizabeth and Georgiana at the table, causing a stir he did not notice. He laughed heartily, ate with gusto, and poured wine into Elizabeth’s glass, insisting she drank. He was a veritable force of nature, a cheerful soul who brought colour and merriment to the table.

“Pray tell, where is my cousin?” The colonel uttered, looking around the table for Mr Darcy.

“He left to visit the Earl of St. Albans and may well stay the night,” replied Mr Bingley.

The colonel bellowed with mirth. “My impish cousin knows well where to seek beauty in St. Albans. The earl has a lovely daughter who may soon be invited to the wedding!”

Elizabeth smiled, enjoying the colonel’s frankness, noting with satisfaction Miss Bingley’s blush, a dangerous red that showed her anger. She still hoped to win Mr Darcy’s heart and regarded every woman as a potential rival. This was one of the reasons why she disliked Elizabeth, and the discovery that she had more competition filled her with rage.

However, as she retired to her room that night, Elizabeth was forced to admit that she, too, regretted Mr Darcy’s absence. The dinner would have been perfect for conversation if he had been around. In truth, her disappointment was even greater; now it was possible not to have a companion she could rely on at the ball and at the wedding, as it seemed that Mr Darcy had other company.

Jane’s engagement had shown her how wonderful love could be. She recalled what her sister had said during the carriage ride to Mr Bingley’s estate, “Love is no longer just a sentiment but a hunger…yes, a hunger or thirst, not like what one reads in books, but something that hurts the whole body.”

Elizabeth praised Jane for revealing such intimate thoughts. However, she longed to experience love for herself and understand what happened to a woman’s mind and body when she was in love. She had always despised Mrs Bennet’s tiresome, if not outright vexing, diatribes on marriage and the necessity of every woman to wed. Yet, for the first time in her life, Elizabeth felt that marriage was a real-life event that would eventually happen to her. Her sister’s wedding had sparked a lively preoccupation in her mind.

From what Jane had said, marrying was blissfulness, but then neither could she ignore the unions gone awry—dramas, tragedies, or mere annoyances. She could neither dismiss the dangers nor the joy that, in certain circumstances, the union brought. Suddenly, she yearned for and feared marriage at the same time, but there seemed to be no one around who could answer her turmoil.

Whilst her mother would have been mortified to learn that Elizabeth had declined a proposal from one of the most affluent gentlemen in their acquaintance, her father would have approved her decision. He had faith in her judgment. Nevertheless, what if his trust was misplaced, and she acted unwisely in refusing Mr Darcy’s offer?

Ultimately, was love as vital as Jane believed, or could emotions develop after marriage, as Aunt Gardiner had experienced upon discovering her husband’s admirable qualities?

Elizabeth imagined the prospect of sharing a bed with a man, but how would she choose a partner? Should she follow Jane’s example or her aunt’s? And where was she to find such a man? These queries raced through her mind dizzily without respite for answers. The only recourse would be to encounter a gentleman with excellent qualities and permit fate to lead her towards love before marriage.

Jane’s nuptials promised to be a splendid occasion, with many guests in attendance. Perhaps among them, she might discover the love she longed for.

Then she pondered how long she could wait for love and when would she accept to marry, even without the felicity of Jane’s ardour?

She resented the heiress from St. Albans as strangely and selfishly, she regarded Darcy as her possession, a man who would always be willing to wed her...which proved untrue. Once Elizabeth had refused him, Darcy was at liberty to court another lady without concern for her. She was tempted to visit Darcy in the morning and say, “I esteem you, respect you, and believe we could be a happy couple. I accept your proposal.”

Nonetheless, she was not ready for such a commitment, at least not while meeting strangers like Mr Watford, who had been glancing at her throughout dinner.

“He is not a stranger, my dear,” Jane interjected at the dinner’s conclusion. “He is the son of one of Papa’s old acquaintances, who owns an estate near St. Albans and is also friends with the Bingleys.

“He has just finished his studies at Oxford,” Jane continued, introducing the young Watford, hoping to pique Elizabeth’s interest.

During the meal, Elizabeth had ignored this gentleman. Still, later, she recollected his smile as one of the few pleasant moments of the evening.

Who knows? Elizabeth speculated as sleep overcame her. The young Watford is intelligent and well-educated, and he smiled charmingly, mainly directed towards me. Perhaps there is still a chance to find love! And at the ball and wedding, I am not without companionship.

Chapter 4

Elizabeth fell asleep directly from those thoughts, drifting into a dream which took place on the lawns of Netherfield. Jane was already married, kissing her husband amid the throng, while Elizabeth, her heart aflutter, scoured the dense crowd searching for a gentleman. In the distance, a figure resembling the young Watford was approaching, his visage alight with a warm smile, but the throngs made his progress slow, yet with every step he drew closer, she fell deeper under his spell. At last, he made a gracious bow, took her hand, leading her into a grand ballroom, where they took to the floor in an unusual dance that looked more like an embrace.

In each other’s arms, they swayed to the distant melodies, their movements in perfect harmony, until his lips met hers in a passionate kiss that left her breathless.

“Pray, stop,” she murmured, her voice a faint whisper. “I am unable to catch my breath,” but he merely smiled in reply, and in that moment of rapturous bliss, she felt a strange unease creeping over her. She struggled to break free from his embrace, sensing an unseen force intruding upon their happiness, a barrier that threatened to tear them apart. Her heart heavy with despair, she cried out in anguish, feeling the weight of a terrible regret upon her. For she was already wed to Darcy.

Overwhelmed with emotion, she wept bitterly, her cries echoing through the chamber. But even as she wept, she heard other voices calling out to her, distant cries of alarm mingling with her own. She tried to wake up from this new terrifying dream while the voices persisted, growing louder and more insistent by the moment.

Suddenly, she realised that the screams were real, that the commotion was not a figment of her imagination. The breath hurt, and she coughed with pain, and that was real—she could tell. The room was filled with thick, choking smoke, and she struggled to catch her breath. She stood up, but the effort was so great that she leaned on a wall.

People were running through the halls, calling her name, and a sudden, overwhelming panic gripped her heart.

She held her breath, her lungs close to exploding, coughing with a colossal spasm. Something terrible was happening; it was not a dream. Was it a blaze somewhere in the house? Without hesitation, she threw on her dressing gown, her lungs burning with each laboured breath, to escape her room when the door was violently smashed. Darcy entered, looking for her with a desperate face. He calmed down only when he saw her standing; an instant later, she was in his arms. He carried her, hoping she was not wounded; he only wanted to see her out of that inferno.

“There is a fire in the parlour,” he gasped, his voice thick with emotion. “We must leave this place at once.”

As they traversed the halls, they crossed Bingley, who asked if people were still in that part of the building. As Darcy did not know, he continued the search. Elizabeth fainted or fell into a dream-like state for a fleeting moment as she finally felt safe in his arms.

Darcy bore her weight effortlessly, enveloping her in his protective arms with formidable strength, shielding her from danger. The surroundings were dimly lit, but his bearing remained unwavering. He did not falter or hesitate, his grip secure around her frame. “I cannot breath,” she whispered, her face creased with tears as she coughed.

As they descended the stairs to the principal hall, she finally saw the light spilling from the outside world. When they arrived on the lawns, finally a safe place where the guests and servants were gathered, a ghastly sight greeted her eyes. People, scantily dressed, most having been sleeping when the inferno commenced, carried buckets, toiling under the colonel’s firm direction, to quell the blaze ravaging the parlour below her room.

Elizabeth frantically searched for her sister, although, as long as Mr Bingley searched for the guests, it meant his betrothed was safe. And indeed, she spotted Jane working harder than ever before. She was alive and unscathed. They embraced for a long moment beneath the colonel’s gaze, who paused to witness their tender reunion.

“Wash your eyes!” he exclaimed to Elizabeth. “Thank the heavens, you are unharmed!”

She briefly reclined on the grass to recover, her chest wracked with coughs but safe. Dirty and scared, breathing with difficulty, she had no apparent injuries. She washed her eyes, as the colonel had instructed, and then stood, accepting a bucket from a servant’s hands.

A long line of individuals passed buckets brimming with water from hand to hand. They arrived at the colonel, who instructed his men to douse the flames within the parlour. Some brought sand and dirt, yet the atmosphere had become more peaceful, with no one screaming. It appeared as if all the guests were safe, but they continued to work. Many of them were engaging in strenuous manual labour for the first time in their lives, all like one attempting to rescue the house and helping Bingley, who appeared shaken and desperate. He flitted from group to group, asking if anyone had been wounded or required special attention.

The colonel restored a semblance of order and confidence. He spoke in a loud, resonant voice that echoed throughout the area. Then Darcy joined him, lending a hand and continuously searching the scene for Elizabeth.

The flames were finally extinguished, and a bright, perfect moon appeared in a sky dotted with stars. The once-beautiful parlour, boasting a spectacular view of the forest and park, was reduced to ruin. The furnishings lay in a heap of charred wood, and shattered glass littered the ground. Water, dirt, and sand were everywhere. Elizabeth’s heart ached at the devastation, especially when she spotted a painting she had cherished, now hanging in tatters, enveloped in soot. She pitied her sister, who had anticipated a joyous celebration of her nuptials but instead had encountered this horrific ordeal that threatened even the wedding.

Elizabeth scrutinised the throng in search of Darcy, eager to express her gratitude. That gentleman seemed always ready to save her or her kin at every turn. She found him embracing his sister alongside the colonel; the three engaged in lively discourse. He alone was fully attired, which led Elizabeth to surmise that he had been caught up in the fray while returning from his trip.

Passing through groups of weary and frightened men and women who greeted her with smiles and caresses, it was apparent that the catastrophic incident had forged new bonds between individuals who, only a few hours before, were strangers or at odds with one another. Even Miss Bingley displayed a degree of sadness and benevolence, though Elizabeth did not stop to talk to her.

“What has occurred?” Elizabeth murmured still incapable of discerning reality.

Shortly after they had retired to bed, a fire had ignited in the parlour. The colonel confided in Darcy that it was likely a cigar that had sparked the flames brought about by the carelessness of the guests and servants alike. They had no desire to put the blame on anybody, for the intention was to remedy the situation and carry on with the nuptials.

“Pray, listen to me!” The colonel’s voice was grave and commanding as he addressed the assembly on the lawn. “I have inspected the house with Darcy and Bingley, and it is secure. The only chambers affected were those above the parlour. The staff shall escort each of you to your respective chambers or new rooms, as there are ample accommodations in anticipation of the arrival of further guests tomorrow. Rest assured, you are safe. Two men shall patrol the premises to ensure your security as you sleep. We have two individuals who have sustained minor injuries and two ladies who have fainted; however, the physician is presently tending to their needs. Please retire to your chambers and await fresh water to be delivered for washing. Sleep soundly, and we shall decide the best course of action in the morning. Let us thank Providence that no tragedy has befallen us. It is a matter of walls and furnishings no more. Perhaps our bride-to-be would have preferred a change in decor in any event!”

His serene countenance served to calm the concerns of those assembled. Under his command, nothing could go amiss. At long last, they were grateful that the colonel had been present in their crisis.

The colonel gazed at his cousin’s arm, noting that his shirt was torn and a ghastly wound visible through the tear. His coat and shirt were stained with blood, seeping from the wound onto his hand.

“I shall take care of him,” Elizabeth whispered, though with some difficulty, as her throat still ached.

“And I shall look after my dear cousin,” the colonel smiled at Georgiana, seeking to reassure her that her brother was in capable hands. “Come, I shall show you to your chamber, and if you wish, I shall sleep on the sofa. My girl was the bravest of all present!”

Georgiana’s face, along with her white dressing gown, was sullied by the ashes. Yet, she smiled, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. New gestures and actions were possible on the lawn as if they were all friends now that they were all united in adversity. In her candid manner, Elizabeth caressed Georgiana’s cheeks, relieved that the girl was not hurt.

“Go, go and rest. Colonel Fitzwilliam will keep watch! Nothing else could happen now. We must find the doctor to clean your brother’s wound,” she whispered, embracing her affectionately.

Chapter 5

“The doctor is in the kitchen!” the colonel said to Darcy and Elizabeth as he readied himself to escort Georgiana to her chambers; he gazed deeply into Darcy’s eyes, making Elizabeth ponder the possible secret conveyed between them. It was curious, for although the two men were akin in visage, their characters were vastly dissimilar, while their bond remained remarkable.

Upon reaching the kitchen, they found none other than Mr Moriarty, the esteemed physician of Meryton, whom Elizabeth had known since her infancy. Mrs Bennet placed great confidence in him, the sole physician trusted to care for her daughters. Indeed, he was a regular visitor, tending to various maladies suffered by the Bennet children over time. Elizabeth was delighted to see his familiar face and greeted him warmly while he tore his gaze from the burn he was treating to ask with concern, “Are you injured, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Nay, Doctor Moriarty, I am well, but Mr Darcy has a grievous wound upon his arm.”

“Is it a burn?” he wanted to know.

“Nay, I believe it is a cut,” Elizabeth answered confidently.

They approached the table where the doctor had laid out his bottles and boxes of ointments, which Elizabeth remembered so well.

The doctor examined Darcy’s wound, addressing only Elizabeth sternly, “I must attend to this young man. Are you able to follow my instructions?”

Elizabeth’s hands trembled, for the sight of the burns on the servant’s arms was a harrowing image. She was courageous and had often assisted the doctor in treating her sisters, but Mr Darcy’s injury appeared severe. She wondered if she was capable of tending to it alone. Yet she realised that she was the sole assistant available. Concealing her fears, she responded, “Yes, Doctor Moriarty, I shall do as you instruct me. Pray, tell me what to do!”

The doctor smiled admiring her courage and determination..

But he was not the only one to admire Elizabeth. Darcy silently watched the scene unfold, admiring the relationship between the doctor and Elizabeth. He praised her bravery and fortitude above all.

He had returned from his friends’ company around midnight to find chaos in the peaceful home he had left only hours before. From a distance, he had heard screams and commotion. Later he could not recall how he had rushed back with his heart pounding in his chest and his temples throbbing. His first concern was for Georgiana; he blamed himself for not taking her on the visit, but the girl enjoyed the gathering in Netherfield. He had always encouraged her to meet people and overcome her natural shyness. He handed off his horse to the servant, who spoke tremulously, “Sir, there is a fire in the parlour!”

He hastened towards the principal entrance, and to his great relief, the first persons he saw were the colonel and his sister. Covered in soot, she laboured behind the colonel, but as long as she was near his cousin, he had no fears on her account. Then he beheld Bingley rescuing a lady from the dwelling, whom he assisted in settling upon the turf. Chandeliers lay scattered upon the lawn, and the servants already bore buckets of water, yet all, together with the colonel, laboured to extinguish the flames.

At that precise moment, he heard Jane’s piercing cry, “Mr Bingley, where is Elizabeth?” and then again and again, “Elizabeth, Elizabeth!”

His heart halted, but he knew he must summon all his strength, and turning to Bingley, he shouted, “Where is Miss Elizabeth’s chamber?”

“Above the parlour, the fourth on the left!” Bingley cried in great concern.

In just a few strides, Darcy ascended the staircase, calling out her name with wild abandon, refusing to lose her in such a manner. Far from being a religious man while he ran, he prayed to God to keep her safe, and indeed, when he opened the door, he discovered her standing, attempting to put on her dressing gown. In that room filled with smoke, she scarcely breathed when she suddenly began to cough and nearly fainted just before he swept her into his arms.

But she was alive and appeared to have sustained no injury. Bingley hastened past them, but Darcy did not halt in his headlong rush. Finally, they emerged into the open air, where she could breathe more easily.

“Can you stand?” He observed her with worried eyes, still holding her.

Between two coughs, she nodded as she touched the ground, looking in despair at the ghastly sight of the parlour still ablaze and the room above from which she had escaped. They stood side by side in silence, and then in a frenzied and desperate impulse, Darcy embraced her, trembling at the thought of nearly losing her.

Moments later, when she saw her sister, he released her into Jane’s arms, feeling as though he had lost the world but cherishing that unique moment when they had been so near. Covered in ash, her beautiful hair dishevelled, nearly undressed, she was a peculiarly lovely creature who captivated him even more than before. He imagined seeing her every morning, with her splendid tresses upon the pillow beside him. The colonel’s cry for help broke his reverie, and he turned to help his cousin. There was much to be done, yet all the while, he kept watch over her to ensure that she was safe and recovering.

Unaware that he was injured, he noticed the wound only when Elizabeth and the colonel looked at his arm. It was not a severe injury, and he savoured the moments he spent in her company as she accompanied him to the kitchen, where the doctor awaited.

Finally, Darcy was free to gaze upon her, so absorbed was she in her duties that she paid no heed to his regard.

The afternoon appeared so distant in the past that he scarcely recollected why he had resolved to visit his friends. In truth, he could not yet confront her. During their morning promenade, she had displayed such polite indifference that his heart ached with sorrow, convinced her feelings remained unchanged from Kent. Perhaps she was grateful for his help finding her sister but did not regard him as a suitor worthy of her affection. Profoundly disheartened, he even contemplated inventing a pretext to leave Netherfield. St Albans was but a respite, allowing him to gather the fortitude necessary to face her once more. And yet, fate had brought them together in such a dramatic ordeal.

She tended to his wound with such care, mindful not to cause him pain, that it was difficult to believe she had been in such peril only moments before. Elizabeth washed and dressed the wound, applying a powder that halted the bleeding. With her hair restrained by a ribbon, every aspect of her exquisite countenance was visible, from the slightest grimace when she did not apply the bandage correctly to the triumphant smile she bestowed upon the doctor upon completing her task.

The doctor acknowledged her skill and declared to Darcy, “She is my best assistant.

“Elizabeth, one last task! Pour thirty drops from that bottle into a glass of water and give it to Mr Darcy, then do the same for you, but pour only twenty,” instructed the doctor, indicating a bottle on the table.

“Even I?” Elizabeth paused incredulously, the bottle in her hand.

“Aye, you as well,” he affirmed, employing the same tone he had used on any of Elizabeth’s sisters who had been reluctant to follow his prescriptions.

Despite her trembling hands, Doctor Moriarty observed as Elizabeth counted out and poured the drops. She was one of the bravest ladies he had ever known. Most would have fainted at the sight of such burns and blood.

“You can go now. Please, Mr Darcy, walk her to her chamber and ensure she rests well.”

They ascended the stairs in silence, Elizabeth pondering where she might sleep. As they neared the master bedroom, they saw Bingley and her sister. She tended to approach them, but Darcy quietly detained her, whispering, “Please, let them have their privacy.”

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, Elizabeth smiled. Sometimes, a tragedy revealed the true nature of people. Darcy was a gentleman of exceptional character and abundant generosity.

“I will need my belongings from that room,” she said, knowing she could not venture there alone.

“I shall not leave your side,” he replied calmly, his intent to remain with her stronger than ever.

Though her chamber had remained untouched by the flames, a pervasive scent of smoke lingered, with ashes strewn throughout. Elizabeth noted the lace curtains still fluttering in the breezes flowing in from outside. Reality and her dreams seemed to meld inexplicably.

No longer preoccupied with concealing his interest, Mr Darcy watched with great pleasure as she retrieved her belongings from the wardrobe. He found himself irrationally delighted, considering the chaos that had happened only an hour ago. Yet his elation was justified by the simple fact that he liked being in her company, and furthermore, it seemed that she needed him there as well.

Finally, he opened the door to a chamber quite distant from the previous one.

“Although the danger of the fire rekindling has passed, you will be as far removed from that infernal parlour as possible!”

That night, for a few hours, the prejudices and conventions of society faded away. They were merely human beings offering support to one another. In this sincere and uncomplicated relationship, one could aid a person in need and receive help in return.

As he gave her the small parcel with her things, he observed her smile flicker in the candlelight. But as they entered her new room, she hesitated. A strange tremor seemed to overcome her, making her shiver. Any barriers that had previously existed between them were quickly dissipating. They enjoyed each other’s company and were grateful that the night had not ended in tragedy. Her immense gratitude for everyone being unharmed made Elizabeth feel as if she were walking on a cloud. The reality of the situation no longer mattered, any fear changed into a feeling of peace.

“Please do not leave,” Elizabeth murmured, her boldness surprising even herself.

“Are you afraid of being alone?” He murmured his gaze fixed deeply upon her own. He held the candle aloft to illuminate her face. Her answer was evident; she was not afraid but rather wished for the moment to last. Setting aside the parcel and candle, Darcy showed her the fresh water without a word.

“Wash, and I will come back later to sleep on the sofa,” he whispered, making her shiver again.

A wave of emotion crashed over her, as powerful as the morning tide. Too tired to wash, the last thing Elizabeth remembered before drifting off to sleep was the sensation of his lips upon hers, brief yet intense, real—or was she already in a dream?

The following image, though unusual, was her father sitting beside her bed in the whole light of day. The morning had arrived.

Chapter 6

Since awakening, Elizabeth’s world seemed to turn on its head, and seeing her father beside her bed was the first shock. His anxious face and kind words brought to mind the previous night’s ordeal.

As she washed and dressed with the aid of a maid, her memories slowly returned. Yet, the sensation that her dream had blended with reality persisted, even as she went to the dining room. The fire was real, but the dance hall had been a dream, as had her partner and all that had occurred in that awful dream. The screams of fear, pain, and moments of joy or blissfulness were difficult to piece together into a coherent story.

She was among the last to arrive for breakfast. Confused once more, she found Mrs Bennet in the dining room, acting as the mistress of the house and issuing orders to the servants. Yet, everyone seemed content with this arrangement. Despite the shocking events from a few hours ago, the atmosphere in the room remained friendly, thanks to the joint effort to extinguish the blaze and rescue those in danger.

Even Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were silent, with dark circles under their eyes.

Elizabeth was warmly received with friendly greetings; a pale smile graced her countenance as Georgiana ran to embrace her with childish affection. Jane then joined them and took Elizabeth in her arms, a gesture uncommon for their relationship, as it had always been Elizabeth protecting Jane in the past.

Looking around the table, Elizabeth’s gaze fell upon Mr Watford, and memories assailed her like a furious tempest. He had been her dream partner. Overcome with weakness and dizziness, she could barely keep from fainting and sank into a chair. Since the beginning of the fire, she had struggled to distinguish reality from her dreams. She still experienced a disconcerting sensation of floating amidst strange events beyond her control. Elizabeth had always prided herself on her rationality and composure. Still, the fire had played a cruel trick on her, robbing her of those essential qualities.

“Are you ill, my dear?” Mrs Bennet scrutinised her with concern, those eyes Elizabeth knew from her childhood.

Elizabeth shook her head and replied, “No, I am simply exhausted. Why are you here, Mama?”

Her mother placed a slice of bread and a piece of meat on her plate, encouraging her to eat. She wore the same expression as in their childhood when one of her daughters refused to eat. Elizabeth had no appetite and glanced from her mother to her sister. So many changes had occurred that morning that she could scarcely comprehend.

“What is happening here?” She had an unusually hesitant voice, causing both ladies to look at her with anxiety.

Jane stroked her hand, attempting to ease her mother’s concerns. After all, Elizabeth’s emotional state was understandable, considering the danger she had faced the previous night.

“Mama and Papa arrived early this morning,” Jane whispered with infinite kindness. “Imagine what they found here—this disastrous situation, guests needing to wash and eat, the house needing cleaning...and decisions to be made about the future.” Tears streamed down her face, yet she remained stoic, a marble statue weeping but maintaining her composure.

Mrs Bennet handed her a handkerchief and commanded, “Stop crying, girl! Mr Bingley promised that the wedding would take place!”

For once, Mrs Bennet found herself more apprehensive about Elizabeth’s health than Jane’s nuptials, which was quite strange as the marriage had been the most momentous occasion of her life until that morning. However, Elizabeth’s mien was peculiar; she looked pallid and unwell and nearly swooned upon entering the room.

“Please eat, my dear,” Mrs Bennet urged, her voice laced with unusual sweetness.

“I cannot, Mama. What brings you here?” Elizabeth asked, her tone edged with confusion.

“We were dreadfully frightened and worried, my dearest. A servant, sent by Mr Bingley before dawn, arrived to inform us of the situation. We could not tarry at home another moment and hastened here to discover the place in a state of chaos beyond belief. Only Colonel Fitzwilliam made any attempt to restore order. He requested my assistance.”

Elizabeth faintly smiled—her mother secretly longed to be the mistress of her future son-in-law’s estate. Yet, she was ashamed of her thoughts. Her parents were always kind, putting their five daughters’ well-being first. Moreover, her mother’s efforts were significant, as the servants appeared to be resuming their duties, and the house was returning to some semblance of order.

“Where is Mr Bingley?” Elizabeth asked when, in truth, she longed to know of Mr Darcy’s whereabouts.

“Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam are surveying the house, and Mr Darcy departed for London a few hours ago,” Jane responded.

Elizabeth dared not glance at her sister, wondering if her interest in Mr Darcy was evident or if Jane merely provided an account of the morning’s news.

Recalling Mr Darcy’s arms, she blushed deeply, and once again, her dreams and reality entwined in a dizzying dance. Even if it happened at the border of the dream, that kiss had been real. It was an instant in a rough night of powerful emotions and unanticipated closeness, wholly unconnected with the light of day. She pitied the man, for he undoubtedly gleaned new hope from that kiss. Although relieved that Mr Darcy was no longer present, she felt let down by his absence at the same time.

“Why did he journey to London?” She spoked, trying to maintain an air of composure, not letting anyone, not even Jane, perceive her inner turmoil.

“My dear, I had nearly forgotten. He left a message for you, which I regret to say I neglected to send to your room amidst all the commotion.”

Elizabeth hoped that her sister could not see the whirlwind of emotions that ravaged her. She accepted the letter gratefully, thankful that Jane was otherwise occupied with the other guests.

Dear Miss Elizabeth,

My sentiments towards you remain unaltered, as does my proposal. I venture to hope that last night marked the shift in your affections that I have been anticipating since Hunsford. I depart for London to rescue Bingley’s wedding when my thoughts are all consumed by Netherfield. But I yield to your decision, whatever it may be!

Yours eternally,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

She hid the letter, intending to throw it away as she seethed with anger...about everything—his overly intimate words that held no weight, his absence, and her regret about not catching a glimpse of him that morning. Her mind raced with a jumble of thoughts and emotions, creating an impossible inner turmoil she had never experienced before.

She yearned for his presence in a fleeting moment, but in the next, she wished to unleash her harsh words upon him anew. Nothing of significance happened between them; their kiss in such a dramatic moment did not signify her sentiments but merely her relief at being unharmed and fatigued after a trying night. Why, then, did he presume a kiss to be a change in her disposition or emotions?

Once she returned home, she planned to reply to his message and reassure him that nothing had changed. Above all else, she wished to forget the events of the previous night, recover her composure, and resume her life.

As Mr Bingley entered the room with her father, she diverted all her attention to them, striving to temper her restlessness. Curiously, both men appeared pleased and unconcerned with the events that unfolded merely a few hours ago. They were finally father and son, the son Mr Bennet yearned to have for many years.

The gentleman standing next to Mr Bennet was Mr Bingley. Still, he was distinct from the man who, only last night, laughed like a child, possibly imagining a lifelong paradise with Jane. The flames and perils had an irreversible effect on him, causing him to see life as it was for the first time. Mr Bingley was prepared to answer all the inquiries the individuals around the table had.

In many ways, Elizabeth pondered, Mr Bingley had matured; he had become a man. She gazed at her sister, who hastened to his side; they held hands before all, demonstrating that they were bound to each other more than ever, determined to marry and live together forever.

But then, as Elizabeth observed Jane, her sister whom she believed to know so well, she detected the subtle transformation that had also taken place within Jane. She was a woman beside her man. Elizabeth recalled how Mr Darcy prevented her from talking to Jane. They stood before the master’s chamber door, and...Jane and Mr Bingley entered together. Elizabeth blushed profusely, overwhelmed with delight and apprehension at the notion that Jane and her future spouse had the wedding night. It was evident to her, yet no one else in the room seemed to suspect, least of all Mrs Bennet, whose concern reached new heights. “Lizzy, my dear, what is happening to you?” she asked but her daughter tapped her hand, asking her to be quiet as Mr Bingley began to speak.

“My dear friends, I cannot express how regretful I am for the calamity that happened. I was devastated and had lost all hope. Nonetheless, my dear friends Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam implored me to bury my concerns and anxieties and seek a solution. I promised this courageous and remarkable lady that I would marry her. Despite the obstacles, we intend to have our wedding!”

The individuals around the table gazed at each other in astonishment, their despair replaced with amazement. Someone clapped his hands, and the others followed suit. Bingley had uttered the words they longed to hear.

He smiled and kissed Jane’s hand, who shone beside him with pride and, if conceivable, even more in love with her future husband than a day before.

“We shall hold the nuptial ceremony in London!”

A murmur swept through the gathering, a new hope filling the room; some nodded, while others wanted further details. That brilliant idea transformed the devastation and dismay into a distant memory, powerless to sway the future.

“Darcy has saved our wedding. He departed early this morning for London to arrange the preparations; he will speak with Vicar Warden regarding the ceremony, as our houses are in the same parish, and then prepare the reception. I am certain you are eager to make way for London. We shall have many chambers at our disposal in all our London abodes. We shall confer with Miss Darcy and Mrs Hurst on how we might accommodate you, and the carriages will soon be ready to convey you to London. Today is reserved for rest, but on the next evening, I propose we convene once more for a celebration before the nuptials that I hope will take part in four days!”

Bingley’s proposal was met with fervent applause. In a corner, the colonel smiled at the joy that now permeated a room previously so melancholy.

As he drew nearer to Elizabeth, he discovered her regarding him with a friendly countenance, where admiration shone through. In the end, the colonel was the hero of the night, and all were grateful. He kissed her hand and took a seat beside her. “I must eat. I am famished!” he proclaimed, and Mrs Bennet clapped her hands in her usual manner, and a maid appeared to serve the colonel a hearty breakfast.

He ate in silence, evidently exhausted. Elizabeth mused over whether he had slept at all the previous night. He was hungry but still in surprisingly good form for a man who had battled the fire with tactics borrowed from the battlefield. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a force of nature!

Their rapport had been amiable from the beginning, devoid of the bitter ironies or vexations she had exchanged with Darcy countless times. Observing him as he ate, she pondered why she had never regarded him as a potential suitor. She was convinced he had numerous qualities, and his alleged poverty was more a gentlemanly affectation, accustomed to living in luxury. She attempted to imagine herself at his side but then scolded herself mercilessly, Are you mad, Elizabeth Bennet? What is amiss with you, seeking a husband at every turn?

“What is happening with you?” Mrs Bennet spoke again, vexed yet concerned by her daughter’s silence.

“I am merely exhausted, Mama.”

She spoke the truth; her entire body ached as if she had undergone a Herculean effort. Last night, the heavy buckets she could scarcely lift under ordinary circumstances appeared as trifles. She had contributed to the arduous efforts to quell the blaze for many minutes.

Nevertheless, she recalled only disparate scenes of the last night’s events—the fire, the heavy smoke that had filled her chamber, causing her lungs to sear with pain, the devastation and the frightened people on the lawns.

Then the kiss! That kiss lingered in her memory, and she could not forget it. And then came a dream, haunting and vivid, yet fading in the face of overpowering exhaustion.

The colonel’s touch jolted her out of her reverie, his gentle but commanding voice rousing her from her thoughts. “Come, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “Your mother has commanded me to escort you and your sister back home, and Mrs Gardiner is waiting there to help you pack. You must prepare to depart for London.”

∞∞∞

With the help of the colonel, Elizabeth and Jane made their way to the carriage, their journey a far cry from the one they had taken to Netherfield just a day earlier.

“I am so grateful that nothing terrible occurred,” murmured Jane, her gaze lingering on the house they were leaving behind. Despite her words, Elizabeth could sense her sister’s joy.

“What happened, dear sister?” Elizabeth wanted to know, but Jane merely shook her head, waiting to arrive home.

They were received in the hall by a worried Mrs Gardiner who tried not to cry although they were tears of happiness for her beautiful nieces were unharmed.

“The wedding will take place in London!” Jane cried.

“I know, my beautiful. Your mother sent a note. Go and sleep for an hour or two, and then I will help you prepare.”

Perhaps for the last time in their lives, their bedroom at Longbourn became the haven they both sought. They pulled the blanket overheads to impart a secret as they did so many times in the past. In that familiar and safe place, they could finally talk.

“I...I am married!” Jane exclaimed, her face flushing with happiness. Elizabeth pulled back the covers, eager to see her sister’s expression. Jane’s smile was pure contentment, and she nodded as if to confirm her words. Yesterday, Jane was still a shy girl incapable of speaking about her first timid love experiences. Today, she was a woman who wanted to tell the world about her happiness.

“How? Why?” Elizabeth exclaimed, the memory of Jane and Bingley hand in hand coming to mind again.

“How?” Jane replied, her confidence shining through. “Easily! I had not imagined it could be so natural, wonderful, or magnificent. We had heard only lies from those who did not understand or appreciate pleasure. And as for ‘why,’ it was simple. After the fire, we were both terrified of losing each other. Our fear was so intense that nothing else mattered. I wanted to know what love truly was...if I would not be marrying Mr Bingley.”

“You must not speak such nonsense, Jane Bennet!” Elizabeth exclaimed, but Jane silenced her with a gesture from their childhood, those occasions when she was too shy to speak.

“We realised last night just how fragile life is. At any moment, something might happen, and we might be torn apart. But now, I am the woman of the man I love and will be forever, and I hope he will soon be my husband.”

“He will be, my sweet sister, he will,” Elizabeth reassured her, embracing her with warmth and comfort.

“Was it...difficult?” Elizabeth continued hesitantly, her curiosity piqued.

Jane’s laughter filled the room, a trill of pure joy. “Yes and no,” she replied. “It was beyond pain, a glorious moment. My body was ready for him. It is a crime not to let every woman know such pleasure. We are taught it is a sin when it is a blissful state of mind and body. I cannot bear to be apart from Mr Bingley.”

“And? What happened next?” Elizabeth was eager to learn of the events that had happened, yet at the same time, hesitant to hear the entirety of the truth.

“And...it became natural. I knew what to do,” replied her sister.

They sat in silence for a long moment before she resumed her speech. “Do you know what convinced me to take this step?” she asked but did not pause for a response. “Even before the fire, I had decided to venture into his chambers after Mr Bingley told me the woeful tale of the marchioness living near Mr Darcy, the lady who lost her spouse merely two weeks into their marriage.”

My rival, Elizabeth thought, but quickly she scolded the voice that spoke those foolish thoughts. After all, Mr Darcy was a stranger, and she had no intention of changing that. If he had indeed found happiness, she could only be pleased for him.

“What a sad story, indeed!” remarked Elizabeth. “But why did Mr Bingley share such a terrible story before your wedding?”

“That is precisely what I wondered,” replied Jane. “And when the fire broke out, it seemed his tale might have been a harbinger of the impending calamity!”

“Cease!” Elizabeth interjected, placing her hand over her sister’s mouth. “You must not have such dreadful thoughts. Instead, let us find Mary and Kitty and prepare for our journey to London and the wedding.”

“But wait!” exclaimed Jane as she turned to face her sister. “Tell me, did you have the chance to talk to Mr Darcy?” She was already standing before the wardrobe, perusing her gowns. Fortunately for Elizabeth, she did not witness the blush that stained her cheeks.

Elizabeth tried to conceal her embarrassment, hoping it would go unnoticed. Her face burned with heat, and she struggled to find the words to reply. Yet Jane was already preoccupied with her own preparations.

“I did not,” Elizabeth finally managed to utter. “You remember that he was absent from dinner and returned only after the fire had begun.”

“I remember,” Jane said as she removed her clothing from the wardrobe. She was more attentive to her task than to her sister’s words. “He saved you, and together you searched for Doctor Moriarty. The chaos of the fire was no occasion for idle chatter. You did not discuss such things, of course! It must have been frightful, being nearly trapped in that room. I wished to go up myself, but Mr Bingley restrained me. When Mr Darcy appeared, he shouted your name like a man possessed...That man has deep feelings for you, Lizzy—”

With a quick halt, Jane paused.

“It is solely your choice as to how you will answer Mr Darcy’s sentiments. You are sagacious and careful enough to thoughtfully manage your life. Amongst our company often a gentleman had taken an interest in you...yet you have never accept to be courted. But that must happen…eventually.”

Elizabeth admitted that Mr Darcy was the most suitable. Nevertheless, she declared with force that she was not interested in him as a man. There was the colonel who had sat beside her at breakfast. He appeared engrossed in his dish...however, he frequently gazed towards her. Even Mr Watford, a fine gentleman from an esteemed family, was also an option. Only yesterday, the gentleman’s persistent glances in search of Elizabeth had prompted Miss Bingley’s notorious malice towards Elizabeth again.

“What of Mr Watford?”

“Mr Watford?” Elizabeth asked, well aware of whom her sister spoke.

“Yes, the young gentleman who watched you rather intently last night, obviously captivated by you, the son of Papa’s friend.”

Elizabeth nodded, recalling that first dream...Mr Watford. He had been seated at the table opposite her, and then she had discovered him in her dream...in the ballroom. The physician had told her that she might experience migraines, headaches, or other symptoms due to inhaling smoke. She had not inquired what other symptoms might entail, preoccupied as she was with tending to Mr Darcy’s wound. Perhaps all of her bizarre dreams were caused by the smoke she had breathed in for an extended period before waking up. She still felt dizzy, and her head ached almost incessantly since she awoke in the morning.

“Elizabeth, what happened to you? How could you forget him?” Jane looked at her sister, worried, as Elizabeth had a comprehensive memory and was attentive to everything around her.

“I did not! He sat in front of me at dinner. But, we did not talk,” Elizabeth answered, wishing to alleviate her sister’s concerns. “Please do not endeavour to find me a spouse this morning,” she added, attempting to sound jocular so that Jane might resume her merriment about her nuptials to take place in London.

Then, much to Elizabeth’s relief, Kitty burst into the chamber, followed by Mary. “We were forbidden from entering your room until you awakened, but we overheard your voices. You must divulge everything,” she exclaimed, bounding onto the bed beside her sisters, while Mary seated herself on the bench by the bed, curious to hear their sisters’ stories.

"It was truly dreadful," Jane exclaimed. "I was never in peril, for my chamber remained untouched by the fire. Yet, imagine the depths of my anxiety when I discovered that Lizzy was not amidst us on the lawn. I began running to the house to find her when Mr Bingley showed me Mr Darcy, making his way towards the house. I was convinced he was in search of her!"

"But why, Jane?" Kitty asked Jane in her usual candid manner.

Elizabeth, her cheeks aflame, attempted to conceal her visage from her younger siblings.

"Because Mr Darcy had caught sight of his sister in our vicinity, and only Elizabeth was absent—"

"No," Elizabeth interjected softly, "I believe Mr Bingley or the colonel had urged him to find me..."

"It is difficult to remember," Jane admitted. "I cannot recall with absolute clarity how events transpired, but by an unfortunate turn of events, Lizzy was one of the last to emerge from the house."

"So," Mary said, "Mr Darcy helped you exit your chamber."

Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a meaningful glance, for Mr Darcy had carried her in his arms. However, such intimate details remained unspoken, for the night of the fire had been unlike any they had ever experienced. Now, back at Longbourn, life had resumed its usual course.

With a hint of regret, Kitty remarked, "What a disappointment that the ball had to be called off!"

But Jane offered a reassuring smile. "Oh, dear Kitty. The cancellation of the ball is the least of our misfortunes. There will be countless other opportunities for you to attend such festivities, as the fire has only marred Netherfield while we are all unharmed, and our plans remain unaffected. I am going to marry!”

Chapter 7

It was Darcy’s idea to hold the wedding in London.

“Dear friend,” he spoke on that sad morning, feeling his friend’s distress, “let us not forget that your banns were likewise read in the Grosvenor Chapel!”

Such was the truth! When the betrothed dwelt in distinct parishes, the banns were proclaimed in each congregation, and attestation in the form of a certificate was required by the vicar who would preside over the ceremony.

“All that remains is to furnish the certificate from Meryton to the Grosvenor Chapel.”

Amidst the harrowing tumult, Mr Bingley had overlooked that his banns were also read in London.

In late spring, he had obtained a delightful residence within the very parish of Darcy, for he found it impossible to continue residing alongside his sisters. At that time, his prospects for happiness seemed dim, yet a mere month hence, it became evident that his affections remained firmly rooted in Longbourn, and no power on earth could erase Miss Bennet from his soul. With the unexpected assistance of Darcy, he resolved to journey to Hertfordshire in pursuit of the lady who had captured his heart.

Straightaway after the engagement, he prepared the house as a surprise for his betrothed. Suddenly, that house intended to bring felicity also became their salvation.

“You have just to move the wedding from here to London. And I am ready to leave and prepare for your arrival,” he spoked determined, looking at Bingley, who almost choked by surprise and gratitude.

“I know not how to thank you for rescuing my wedding…what am I saying…my life!” he uttered as he escorted his friend to the carriage.

“Fret not; I shall come up with a request,” rejoined Darcy with his usual jest, signifying that order had been restored to the world. The events of the previous night had not culminated in catastrophe.

It was decided that the Bennets should reside in that fresh and exquisite dwelling, so close to the Grosvenor Chapel that they could walk on the day of the ceremony.

To give the Bennets the chance to be between themselves those last days before marriage Bingley moved to Darcy’s house, an additional cause of vexation for his sisters who, upon arriving in London, returned to their daily routine of idle chatter and prying. They could not imagine how their brother chose not to stay with them and instead opted for his friend’s company.

The pretext given was that Darcy and Bingley resided in the same parish, and it was expedient to be near the church while making preparations for the wedding. But truth be told, Bingley was weary of his sisters’ gossip and malevolent thoughts. For the first time, he resolved to do what was best for himself and Jane and pay no heed to his family.

∞∞∞

The Grosvenor Chapel fully compensated for the effort of moving the wedding to London. White, elegant and radiant, the church was an exquisite jewel that matched the bride’s beauty.

“Why, it is like St. Paul’s Cathedral!” exclaimed Jane, overjoyed as she contemplated the church’s ample space. “Compared to our modest chapel back home, it is grand indeed! And there is an organon! Imagine, we shall have a small choir accompanied by the organon for the hymns!”

Mr Bennet smiled and assented. He had experienced a moment of enormous despair and shock upon learning of the fire. His initial thought was that the wedding would have to be postponed. In truth, he was more apprehensive about Mrs Bennet than Jane, uncertain whether his wife could bear such a setback after all the preparations she had made. Ultimately, he was grateful to Mr Darcy—again to him—who had suggested this excellent idea and, in so doing, had saved the peace of his domestic life.

∞∞∞

“Why, this dining room could easily accommodate fifty guests, yet the table is for less than twenty. We must do something about this!” declared Mrs Bennet, to which Bingley readily agreed.

“Please, do whatever it takes to ensure a splendid feast. Do not hesitate to ask if you require more staff or anything else. I wish for Jane to shine and take pride in her home.”

As promised in Netherfield, they all gathered at Bingley’s new house for dinner, yet another occasion for Mrs Bennet to reign as mistress of the house. The dinner was splendid, the servants most affable, responding promptly to the beck and call of their temporary mistress.

This was Mrs Bennet’s preferred circumstance, to be the mistress of a grander family, wielding all the means she could only have dreamt of in the past. Yet, her nerves and headaches remained unchanged. “Pray, have a little compassion for my nerves!” she exclaimed, the leitmotiv repeated hourly.

Nevertheless, everyone agreed that the dinner was a triumph. Only Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst grumbled in dissatisfaction, accusing the ruthless conqueror of transforming their brother’s residence into her personal domain. Nonetheless, they were the sole dissenters.

Seated around the table were friends and family present during the fateful night at Netherfield, along with friends from London, all eager to share in their happiness.

Elizabeth sat beside Mr Watford, though she would have preferred the colonel’s company. Her mother and Jane had arranged the seating, and she suspected some plot. Yet, Jane appeared too elated to be chastised, while her mother was entirely convinced of her good intentions, rendering any reproach futile.

Mr Darcy was once again seated on the opposite side of the table. Amidst the boisterous laughter and lively conversations, they had no opportunity for a meaningful exchange. Elizabeth had replied to his letter, expressing her gratitude for his assistance in Lydia’s misadventure and rescuing herself from the fire. Yet, she let him understand quite clearly that her feelings remained unaltered. She esteemed his friendship greatly and wanted to continue their relationship in the same way.

Elizabeth hoped that her cordial yet formal reply would urge him to forget the disturbing incident of their kiss, which she could neither explain nor wish to recollect and decided to conduct herself in his presence as if it had never occurred.

Darcy’s eyes remained fixed upon Elizabeth all night long, eagerly searching for the slightest indication that she observed his interest. Though she conversed amiably with those around her, particularly with the affable Mr Watford, Mr Darcy held out hope for a moment alone with her.

Alas, the dinner dragged on interminably, and the tales of the recent fire held the attention of those not present during the calamity. The convivial atmosphere was unsuitable for the private conversation Mr Darcy so ardently desired. Frustration and anger boiled within him while Miss Elizabeth appeared weary but composed.

As the evening wore on, music filled the air, and Mrs Blade, a talented songstress, performed with the accompaniment of Miss Darcy.

Despite his attempts to enjoy the music, Mr Darcy could not help but notice Miss Elizabeth’s smile directed toward Mr Watford. He reluctantly accepted that a tête-à-tête was not for that evening. Despite Georgiana’s protestations, he departed soon after the music ended, leaving behind a lively gathering.

Darcy retired to his library, only wanting to be alone and have a glass of brandy. He needed time to ponder his next course of action. He could not imagine why Elizabeth had seemingly spurned him again after the events and those ardent feelings they imparted the night of the blaze. His determination to make her his wife remained unwavering, but her persistence in that indifferent demeanour left him dumbfounded and desperate.

He read her cold letter repeatedly, unable to comprehend how the passionate young woman of their earlier encounter had become so distant.

He was stupefied and shocked…he was utterly desperate as Elizabeth seemed another person. All his plans were shattered, and for some moments he hated her, thinking she was playing a rather odd and unfair game. She could not joke and laugh with that young man when…Yet, it seemed that for her, their closeness did not matter.

Her behaviour toward Mr Watford only added to his confusion and frustration. He struggled to accept that the night of the fire held no special significance for her, despite the intimate moments they shared.

Such a realisation was difficult for a man of Mr Darcy’s character. He had held Miss Elizabeth in high esteem as a virtuous and worthy lady, but her actions suggested otherwise. With his plans for their future together shattered, he felt a profound sense of loss and disappointment.

∞∞∞

Upon first learning of Darcy’s early departure, Elizabeth was surprised but soon relieved. Conveying her family’s gratitude to him, as well as her own, now appeared unnecessary, having already communicated her feelings in a letter, suddenly uncertain whether she could muster any more words. Nevertheless, she hoped that some future meeting would offer an opportunity to demonstrate her gratitude to him.

The party was delightful, her mother’s success finally allowing the guests and the family to cast off the past. Having fully recovered from the harrowing night spent at Netherfield, Elizabeth enjoyed the evening’s festivities with those around her.

Mr Watford, in particular, had won her attention with his kindness and courtesy. Despite his evident education, he remained modest and unassuming. His sincere admiration for Elizabeth left her longing to pursue a relationship with him further. When he inquired if they might have the pleasure of meeting again by chance in Meryton, she replied, whispering so as not to be overheard, that it was indeed possible. Though others might not have perceived it, the smile that lit up her face was plain for two individuals who grasped the significance of the situation—the colonel and Miss Bingley.

The colonel was sad. He suspected how passionately his cousin loved Miss Elizabeth. There were few confessions between them, but a man could tell when his fellow was in love. Alike and yet so different, Miss Elizabeth and Darcy could keep the flame of love forever. For them, love would be a continuous search and not a platitude arising from a social custom as marriage was in most cases.

Alas, Miss Elizabeth was not in love with his cousin, and nothing was to be done. He greatly admired her; still, that evening, he was disappointed by her. Not a feeling to be easily suppressed. He was not entirely fair to Miss Elizabeth yet sensed she took the easy way. Between two men she did not love, the young lady seemed to prefer the one less complicated and perhaps more cheerful…something his cousin rarely was…almost never! So, likewise, for his cousin, the party was over for him too. Long before the feast reached its end, he left, hoping to find Darcy awake and accompany him in silence to sip a drink or two.

As Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst travelled in their carriage homeward, they could finally vent their wrath and vexation. The evening’s meal had been devoid of refinement, more suited to an assembly in Meryton than a sophisticated London dinner. Nonetheless, Miss Bingley felt a measure of relief, having observed the penchant of ‘that Bennet woman’—as she referred to Elizabeth—to Mr Watford. In her estimation, it was the most promising development she could hope for.

“She has finally ended her pursuit of Mr Darcy,” she informed her sister, even as Mrs Hurst struggled to rouse her sleeping husband.

“I am so sorry,” her sister lamented, “that our dear brother introduces such individuals into our family. Miss Bennet, of course, is an exception, but the others...I hope we need not encounter them frequently.”

“Miss Elizabeth’s attentions to that poor Mr Watford were entirely inappropriate,” Miss Bingley declared with a shudder.

“Perhaps his father would intercede if matters were to progress any further. The Watfords are a nice and respectable family and we have known them for so long,” Mrs Hurst murmured before succumbing to sleep beside her spouse.

Miss Bingley remained the sole wakeful occupant of the carriage. She did not dare to voice her genuine desire—that no obstacle should impede the union of Archibald Watford and Miss Elizabeth. The Watfords were of little consequence to her, and the possibility of an unsuitable match held little sway. After all, old Mr Watford was a landowner, content to spend his days managing his estate. He was hardly a man of society, though he had ensured his son received a sound education at Oxford, eventually leading to his ordination as a vicar. The Bishop of St. Albans had designated a vacant vicarage as Archibald’s future post, and all he still needed was a wife to complete the picture.

“Let them wed and be done with it,” Miss Bingley thought to herself as the carriage arrived at the destination.

∞∞∞

At least one more person was content concerning the preference of young Watford for Elizabeth. However, unlike Miss Bingley, Mrs Bennet was genuinely delighted. Mr Watford possessed the qualities she might expect in a suitable husband, and Elizabeth appeared to value him. Often uncertain of Elizabeth’s sentiments, that evening, she hoped that her daughter’s interest lay in St. Albans.

“The parish is splendid,” Mrs Bennet informed her husband the next day. They were alone in the house while the young people visited the Darcys. Mrs Bennet felt at ease in her future son-in-law’s London residence. It had always been her secret desire to own a place in London. It seemed she was not far from accomplishing that goal, as Jane was content to have her nearby and take advice on household duties.

“Mrs Bennet,” her husband spoke with his usual sarcastic tone, “let us allow Elizabeth to make her own decisions!”

“And what role should parents play in that case?” Mrs Bennet responded sharply.

Mr Bennet, with his vast experience, knew that any answer he gave would not be in his favour. Thus, he left her to answer and considered which books to peruse from the library.

“Is not our role to advise and keep them sane and sage?” she questioned.

For a moment, he contemplated bringing Lydia into the conversation and their obvious failure in her education. However, he valued his peace more than anything else in the world, and he kept silent. After all, with Lydia far north, no other cloud could be seen in his family’s sky. Even Kitty, guided by her elder sisters, would find a respectable direction in her life that Lydia had governed until then.

He tried not to remember the horrible days and nights he spent until he saw Lydia married and the awful marriage settlement they had to agree upon.

In Jane’s situation, the marriage settlement was already signed a while ago, and Mr Bingley, with his usual kindness, had agreed on more than acceptable terms to Mr Bennet and his family. He was a generous and honest gentleman who would bring joy to Jane. Occasionally, Mr Bennet pondered how the same family could raise a decent son like Mr Bingley and two shrewish daughters like his sisters. He never intervened in such discussions. Nevertheless, during dinner, he was tempted more than once to respond to the hurtful remarks of one sister or the other.

Chapter 8

Following the tradition, the union of Jane and Bingley was publicised in a newspaper, and as such, their forthcoming nuptials were announced in The Times. Some notices merely disclosed the name of the bride’s father, withholding the maiden’s identity. This one, however, specifically named Miss Jane Bennet and Mr Charles Bingley, prompting Jane to dance about the sitting-room with the newspaper clutched tightly in her grasp.

Mr Bennet’s heart filled with joy seeing his daughter’s unclouded happiness. She was his dear Jane—the little girl who greeted Doctor Moriarty with a smile, who took responsibility for Elizabeth’s faults and the precious woman she had become who forgot that her own marriage had been in peril only a few days ago. Jane was a perpetual source of wonder and a blessing. Mr Bennet mused that this quality would surely aid her in leading a contented life, and with that settled, his attention turned to Elizabeth. He could tell that the fire had left a deep impression on her. That young gentleman, Mr Watford, lifted her spirits on occasion, but the serenity that settled upon her countenance never lasted.

It was Mr Bennet’s ardent desire that all his daughters find joy and fulfilment in life. Still, it was his fondest wish that his beloved Lizzy marry a clever and prosperous gentleman who would value not only her beauty but her wit and spare her the trials and tribulations that accompanied poverty. And if he were to heed the counsel of his wife, who was rarely mistaken in such matters, then the young Mr Watford was suitable for that particular purpose to perfection. For a time, Mr Bennet had hoped Mr Darcy would capture Elizabeth’s heart. In his estimation, Mr Darcy was the most suitable suitor among all the young men they had encountered. However, Elizabeth had chosen to ignore whatever feelings she may have harboured for that gentleman. Such was her decision, and though she possessed uncommon intelligence, her obstinacy led her towards not-so-excellent results...sometimes.

“Do you not think Mr Darcy would suit Lizzy well?” Mr Bennet ventured to ask his wife, breaking his own self-imposed rule to avoid discussing his daughters’ affairs with Mrs Bennet. Such breaches often led to interminable conversations, typically centred around his wife’s fanciful dreams that she tended to consider reality. But when it came to Elizabeth’s happiness, Mr Bennet was willing to ignore any rule. Mr Darcy had made no secret of his regard for her, while Elizabeth had seemingly buried her feelings for him for reasons Mr Bennet could not tell.

“Absolutely not!” his wife retorted, her voice betraying her passionate conviction. “What idea do you have? It is clear that you do not comprehend the workings of a woman’s mind.” With that, Mrs Bennet brought the discussion to an abrupt close, confident that her perceptions and information were beyond dispute.

I may not comprehend the workings of the female mind. Still, I do possess an understanding of men...and on occasion, I even surmise what Lizzy is thinking, ruminated Mr Bennet silently. He recollected the intense glances Mr Darcy cast in Elizabeth’s direction, not only those from a few days before but even from November when all believed he ignored her. They were all in error; that gentleman was fighting with his attraction, and it appeared he had finally come to acknowledge his love for her. It was a deplorable circumstance that Elizabeth failed to perceive his virtues, which were at times obscured by his proud comportment. And then—Mr Bennet concluded his reflection, contemplating Lydia and her spouse—what sort of man would expend such a sum of money to aid a family he did not much appreciate? No, he did everything for Lizzy, and she remained blind to the truth!

“I cannot believe how we find ourselves in front of Jane’s nuptials and so much still to prepare, and yet here you are, fixated upon Lizzy,” his wife scolded him as she left the chamber to attend to her duties as the mother of the bride.

Nonetheless, with Jane’s wedding fast approaching, Mr Bennet felt that it was for Elizabeth’s well-being that he needed to worry. Despite what others may think, she was not in good spirits; she was experiencing some regret regarding Jane’s departure from Longbourn, but it was much more...he could sense it.

∞∞∞

As with all others, Elizabeth eagerly anticipated the day of the wedding. However, she experienced an unusual agitation about the moment when she would sign as a witness to Jane and Mr Bingley’s union alongside Mr Darcy. Though not one to typically be timid, the thought of those five minutes at the end of the ceremony unexpectedly tormented her.

Elizabeth attempted to temper those peculiar sentiments and asked her father and Uncle Phillips countless questions regarding the signing process. Mr Phillips, being a solicitor, found her inquisitiveness unsurprising. Nonetheless, Mr Bennet watched her closely and pondered whether the source of her fret was Jane’s marriage or the other witness, toward whom she harboured uncertain feelings, that tormented her despite her wish to accept them.

“After the marriage ceremony, the clergyman, the newlyweds, and their witnesses retire to the vestry of the church,” Mr Phillips explained in his customary precise manner, “where the minister records the marriage as prescribed by the Marriage Act on the ‘lines’ ruled in the registry book kept for the purpose, and all parties sign it.” Mr Phillips said, and Mr Bennet nodded in agreement.

“Your uncle is correct. The same marriage record is then transcribed onto a document known as proof of marriage, which is also signed by all those present at the ceremony. According to tradition, this certificate is entrusted to the best man, who then presents it to the newlywed bride. It is never given to the groom. The certificate of marriage is regarded as the property of the bride.”

Elizabeth was already aware that the proof of marriage held considerably greater significance for a woman than a man. She had often conversed with her father about the fact that a wife was utterly dependent on her husband’s will and wealth.

“You see, my dear,” Mr Bennet remarked, “your mother is not entirely wrong in urging you girls to wed. However, I suspect she does not fully see the importance of this ‘proof’ of marriage. She thinks solely of the wedding ceremony, the breakfast, and the bride’s attire. In contrast, for your uncle and me, it is critical that you understand your rights, which are, unfortunately, few in number!”

“A woman can rely on her husband for support only if she can prove that she is legally wedded to him. The ‘marriage lines’ represent one of the most significant accomplishments of her life and could serve as her best safeguard against the vicissitudes of life.”

“If I understand right,” Elizabeth responded, “our sole right is marriage.”

As strange as it may sound, this was a truth that both men understood, one from having five daughters, the other from being a solicitor.

Later, in her chamber, Elizabeth ruminated on the conversation. However, despite the significance of her sister’s marriage, her thoughts persisted in returning to the moment of signing. The only thing that caused her concern was, in truth, the other witness.

Chapter 9

On the wedding day, a few clouds dotted the sky. Yet, not a single droplet of rain descended, allowing the party to walk from Bingley’s abode. An array of flowers, herbs, and rushes were scattered upon the church porch, resembling a rainbow that joyously welcomed the bride. Although the ceremony was scheduled as early as eight, Jane was so eager to unite with her betrothed that she did not protest, even if she usually did not like to wake up so early.

Inside the church, every pew was adorned with fresh blossoms that filled the air with their fragrant scent. The altar was draped in a pristine white fabric, and a splendid arrangement of roses and summer flowers lay at its centre. Golden candelabras stood at either side of the altar, casting a gentle radiance upon the joyful gathering.

As Jane Bennet entered the church, tears welled in her eyes, and the choir began to sing, diaphanous voices filling the church with joyful and reverent music accompanied by the solemn sound of the organon.

The wedding party, which appeared numerous in Bingley’s dining room, looked lost on the vast church, still endowing the ceremony with an aura of solemnity rarely witnessed in matrimonial rites. The sweet-scented flowers that engulfed the church, the intense emotions felt by the bride and groom, and the hymn played by the choir, accompanied by the organ, all contributed to a perfect ceremony. Such splendour was a delightful compensation for the sufferings and dangers that had threatened Jane and Mr Bingley’s love from its inception.

The bride’s gown was white, adorned with intricate golden embroidery and laces along the bottom, imparting the impression of an angel flying at Mr Bennet’s arm. Her hair was fashioned in a slightly loose style, held together with a golden ribbon, accentuating the beauty of her perfect visage. She was like a china figurine bearing the most beautiful smile Mr Bingley had ever seen.

As Mr Bennet gave his daughter, Mr Bingley wondered whether he was worthy of such a precious gift.

The groom appeared handsome, although it was not his merit. His butler, Darcy, and the colonel had to fight for nearly two hours to help him dress, so impatient was he. Like a child, he rushed to see if the rings were prepared every ten minutes, making it impossible to complete the dressing. The groom wore a white shirt made of muslin and a white silk cravat. His dark cutaway-tailed jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a brightly-hued, richly embroidered waistcoat reminiscent of his bride’s broderie anglaise.

Elizabeth marvelled at the unique pair, both beautiful and elegant, yet appearing like two children before a wondrous miracle. She could scarcely contain the joy within her heart for her sister’s felicity, yet she felt a twinge of sadness as she realised that Jane would never return to Longbourn. Their childhood and adolescence ended within that beautiful church, and a new chapter was to begin for both sisters—Jane as a wife, while Elizabeth to return alone to the chamber they had shared since they were toddlers. Her heart ached as she imagined the void created by her sister’s absence. Kitty was a careless girl, impressed only by wealth and finery, while Mary was too absorbed in her own world to be a cheerful companion. Elizabeth had to admit that her life would be empty without Jane…and she needed to fill it somehow.

∞∞∞

The ceremony ended in the blink of an eye, and they made their way to the vestry. Even if Elizabeth was well aware of what would follow, she had not anticipated her elation while leaning upon the arm of Mr Darcy, suddenly wishing for that moment to last forever.

Her heart throbbed in a frenzied beat as she affixed her signature beneath Mr Darcy’s own, admiring once more his handwriting she had glimpsed upon the letters he had sent her in Kent and Netherfield.

Yet her father had been right, for the signing ended in mere moments. A copy of the records, transcribed and signed by those present at the ceremony, was presented to the new bride. Only in front of her sister’s smile was some of Elizabeth’s serenity restored, allowing her to fully embrace the enchanting scene. The felicity of the bride and groom was a wellspring of mirth, Jane gazing contentedly upon the document within her grasp and her spouse walking proudly beside her.

As they made their way out of the church, the attendees trailed after the joyous couple. Eventually, the groom distributed a handful of coins to several boisterous children who had gathered, confident in their prospects of receiving such a bounty. The wedding had been a refined and emotional occasion, with everybody marvelling at the impressive accomplishment of having the ceremony so soon after the blaze.

Mr Darcy had offered to host the wedding breakfast in his dining room, as it could accommodate more guests than Bingley’s residence. A renowned cook, rumoured to have served the Regent himself, had prepared a sumptuous repast to be savoured within the resplendent dining room, where the table was set for more than sixty individuals. Delicate porcelain dishes were accompanied by elegant silver cutlery, while the glasses gleamed like thousands of stars in the well-lit room.

“It is truly exquisite,” Jane murmured in admiration to Mr Darcy, who performed a gracious bow at such a compliment. “I shall always remember your kindness,” she continued. In the days preceding the wedding, she had secretly harboured the hope that Mr Darcy might win Elizabeth’s heart. Still, seeing her seated so distant from him, close to Mr Watford, her expectations died.

The menu boasted a plethora of meats, hot rolls, buttered toast, tongue, ham and eggs, served in unison by a veritable army of servants.

The crowning glory of the delectable feast was the wedding cake, borne forth by four attendants upon a silver platter and set before the bride and groom. The cake was fashioned in the traditional fruitcake style, soaked in a generous quantity of wine, brandy, and rum, and cloaked in pristine white icing, symbolising the purity of the bride.

A portion of the cake was to be delivered to the homes of family and friends, distributed amongst neighbours, and even sent afar to those who could not partake in the revelries, such as Charlotte and Mr Collins, who could not attend.

At the end of the wedding breakfast, the groom wanted to say a few words. In his eagerness to leave with his bride he failed to deliver a logical or coherent speech, yet his kinsfolk and friends understood. They all smiled, relishing their joy.

“I...” he uttered, then gazed at Jane, forgetting to speak for a long period, “I wish to thank you, my friend, all of you...Darcy and the colonel, then Mr and Mrs Bennet.” He blushed but persisted, “...my, my parents-in-law, for their contribution to such a splendid event. I thank you all for gracing us with your presence!”

Jane smiled, and again, he was at a loss for words. But he continued, “I invite all those gathered around this table to inaugurate the new Netherfield Park in one year with a grandiose ball!”

The assembly erupted into applause, but Mr Bingley made a hasty gesture to quiet them—he was eager to be alone with his bride. “We shall then celebrate our first year of marriage and our new house. Over the past few days, I have made an offer to the estate owner to purchase Netherfield Park, and my proposal has been accepted.”

“Are we the owners of Netherfield?” Jane exclaimed in astonishment.

“Yes, we are! It is my gift to you!” he proclaimed, and then he could not continue as she rose and kissed him on the cheek, disregarding all decorum.

And with that, they were off!

Although Bingley did not mention it, it was Darcy’s idea to buy Netherfield. His friend believed it impractical to invest money in a residence that was not his own, and the fire had inflicted considerable damage that needed extensive repairs.

“You must renovate it anyway, so why not do so for you and your wife?” he proposed, and as it was a splendid idea, Bingley agreed.

“And I promise it shall be the last instance in my life when I meddle in your affairs,” Darcy continued with a smile.

The newlyweds departed for Sidmouth in the Sid Valley the next day. Mr and Mrs Bennet decided that Kitty would accompany them. Initially, Jane objected; she would have preferred Elizabeth to accompany her, but for once, her parents were united and resolute—Kitty would go or...Mary! Ultimately, Jane relented, not without regret and tears. She embraced Elizabeth for the last time, whispering in her ear that the following nuptials would be hers.

Chapter 10

Elizabeth did not regret the missing the wedding trip, for she was tired and sad, an unsuitable companion for the newly married couple. Her parents had made a wise decision. Troubled by dilemmas regarding her future, she hoped to find solace in solitude. Yet one thing was certain—she could not go on with the wearisome life of their household, hearing the same stories and gossip day after day in the vicinity of Meryton, a place where nothing occurred!

In times past, she discussed all her distressing problems with Jane and found comfort in her sister’s serene attitude. But now that Jane had departed, Elizabeth found herself alone, burdened with unfamiliar circumstances. She attempted to converse with Mary, but the girl was interested only in books, fictional characters, and literary questions. Her dear Jane inhabited a better reality, while Mary seemed unaware of reality. Elizabeth tried to explain how life functioned and what was expected from her once she reached marriage age. However, the girl seemed unable or unwilling to understand Elizabeth’s perspective on life.

Elizabeth had so many subjects to discuss but needed someone with whom to impart. She tried to write her musings in a journal, but they flowed so rapidly that her hand could not keep pace. She decided to contemplate her thoughts while strolling in the garden, but that, too, proved to be unsatisfactory. She yearned for Jane’s company but had several weeks to wait before the newlyweds returned.

The sisters planned to meet in London as soon as the honeymoon concluded. Elizabeth even obtained Mr Bennet’s complicity, who swore he would accompany her to London. He was the only one to observe—and partially understand—Elizabeth’s state of mind as he also missed Jane. Her departure had created a void that he had yet to fill. He missed her joyful countenance in the morning, her laughter, and watching her stroll with her sisters in the garden. He missed her wise and happy nature, her way of solving problems with a smile and an embrace. He knew Elizabeth was equally distraught, for they had been inseparable since childhood. Still, he could not imagine the depths of her agony.

Elizabeth’s entire life had been turned upside down. Her former friends no longer held any appeal, and she seldom visited her aunt in Meryton. She spent most of her days reading, almost as much as Mary did. She missed Jane terribly, but her greatest torment was her uncertain future. Living in Longbourn, she would never have the chance to meet new people or establish a deeper connection with a man.

“You will have a delightful life, much like Jane’s. Just be patient,” Mrs Bennet attempted to console her in every possible way, as she suspected the deep cause of Elizabeth’s distress. However, nothing assuaged her melancholy; her mood only worsened.

She corresponded at length with Mrs Gardiner, who knew most of her secrets and had the patience to respond to many of her queries with a light-hearted tone that also contained the necessary depth required to address Elizabeth’s problems.

Elizabeth blamed herself for how she had handled her life. Whenever she ruminated on this subject, Mr Darcy presented himself as proof of her failure. While in Hunsford, her anger obstructed her ability to make a rational decision. She had hated him on behalf of Jane, and even when that issue was resolved, she remained in a state of unnecessary fury instead of seeking to clarify the situation between them.

She scolded herself for failing to speak to him. Her letter appeared cold and inappropriate in retrospect. His unwavering gaze upon her only deepened her sadness. After everything he had done for her and her family, he had only hoped for a few moments alone with her. Regrettably, it had been impossible during their time at Netherfield and London due to her actions.

Even during the wedding breakfast, she did her best to evade him. Then, without delay, her father insisted they return to Longbourn for some pressing business. They bid each other a formal farewell, but when their eyes met, she remembered blushing so intensely that she had to conceal her red cheeks in a deep curtsy.

What is wrong with me? she kept asking herself; the answer evaded her.

Only Mrs Gardiner, with her sharp wit and life experience, found the answer. She penned a lengthy letter to Elizabeth, answering her myriad of questions.

Feeling guilty is your way of not expressing your regret to him for your behaviour in Hunsford. It’s as simple as that. I don’t understand why you have not apologised in a proper manner that would have satisfied your candour. As, my dear, you are an honest woman who acted imprudently. Your sense of propriety is causing you to agonise over not asking for forgiveness. It is not too late to have a candid conversation with him about what happened in Hunsford, not just a mere note of thanks for his assistance to your family.

Elizabeth read her aunt’s letter at least three times and agreed that she was tormented by remorse. This explained Mr Darcy’s strange power over her; he merely gazed at her, and she lost her composure, troubled by the intensity of his eyes. While when he spoke to her, he appeared to have knowledge she did not comprehend.

As their time in London drew close, he invited her family to visit Pemberley. Georgiana enthusiastically supported his invitation.

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth, please plan a trip to Pemberley as soon as Mr and Mrs Bingley return from their journey. You will see how lovely it is this season.”

However, a visit to Pemberley was not part of Elizabeth’s plans. Even though she had enjoyed spending time there in the past, she intended to keep her distance.

Not long after returning home, another nuisance invaded her life. For two consecutive nights, she had troubling dreams. It was not the first time this had occurred, but Jane had always been there to dispel the demons. This time, however, she was not sure if it was a dream or a fantasy that escaped in the realm of the night. Nonetheless, she woke up feeling exhausted and consumed by a constant sense of guilt and sometimes even shame that she tried unsuccessfully to conceal.

Mrs Bennet regarded the darkened circles encircling Elizabeth’s eyes with mounting anxiety and, as always, sought a remedy. What better tonic for a young lady’s ill humour than a chance to meet and be courted by a gentleman of her own age and station?

“Mr Watford is the obvious choice,” she declared to her sister, Mrs Phillips.

“Do you have a sufficient acquaintance with the family to pay them a visit?” asked Mrs Phillips.

“We were friends in our youth, but alas, Mrs Watford passed away, and we grew apart.”

“In that case, you must overcome Mr Bennet’s usual reluctance and urge him to compose a letter to Mr Watford senior, seeking a renewal of your acquaintance. A visit is the most felicitous way to reconnect, and St. Albans lies within easy reach of Meryton. You can journey and comfortably stay in an inn by nightfall, returning home the next day.”

Mr Bennet tended to resist his wife’s endeavours to alter his daily life with visits and other amusements. Nevertheless, he eventually wrote to his old friend, inviting him and his children—his son Archibald and two young daughters—to visit them. To his great astonishment, he received a reply sooner than he anticipated. Mr Watford’s tone was so enthusiastic that even his morose nature was overcome with a cheerful mood anticipating a delightful visit to his old friend. The letter spoke of hunting and fishing in a nearby wood or having leisure time between gentlemen.

With that letter in his hand, he sought out his wife and daughters in the drawing-room. “Well, Mrs Bennet,” he said with surprising good humour, “your wish has come true. George Watford has invited us all to spend a few days at his estate near St. Albans.”

It was indeed good news. Mrs Bennet hoped it would make Elizabeth smile again and be the happy and enjoyable girl she used to be as Elizabeth’s unexplained condition of late deeply worried her. But when awoken by noises in Elizabeth’s room, Mrs Bennet found her weeping in bed, disquietude overwhelmed her soul. Elizabeth never cried; she slept like an infant and ate what was on the table, never complaining about the food or menu. The new Elizabeth was so changed that Mrs Bennet hardly recognised her only daughter, whom she believed would never give her a hard time. She looked sad, refused to eat, and could stay all day long in her room with a book in her hand but evidently dreaming. In her inner self, Mrs Bennet suspected what was happening. It was indeed Jane’s marriage that triggered that change. She was not longing for her sister as much as she was longing for a husband. It was so natural for a young woman of that age to have certain urges she could not explain.

Mrs Bennet called the doctor, but at the same time, she began preparing for the visit to St. Albans.

Doctor Moriarty arrived one morning, brought by Mrs Bennet’s anxious note. Elizabeth, his favourite patient, was melancholic—as her mother explained her state, a description much too vague for the good doctor to imagine a severe illness. Yet going to the Bennet house was also a pleasure. His medical visits ended with a long discussion with Mr Bennet and a glass of brandy, which he much enjoyed.

Unfortunately, this time, Mrs Bennet—who was prone to be concerned for no reason about imaginary illnesses—had seen right. The girl he knew was not in sight. He was greeted by a pale and indifferent Elizabeth who hardly opened her mouth to answer his questions. She did not have a fever, a cold, or a typical stomach ache.

“Yes, dizziness and nausea...fretful dreams and headache occasionally,” Elizabeth responded in half-sentences. Still, for the doctor, it was enough.

“I think that fire is culpable,” he told Mrs Bennet. Mother and doctor talked as they used to, not paying attention to the patient, so no one could see how Elizabeth blushed. “Miss Elizabeth inhaled much more smoke than I initially believed! These symptoms are from that kind of event.”

“At nearly a month after the fire?”

“Yes, I am sorry we did not pay more attention, but now you must take some measures.” Mrs Bennet invited him to sit at Elizabeth’s desk.

“She must drink two cups of milk daily, and you must visit a location near the sea or a vast woodland. Fresh air and strolling for three or four hours daily are essential for her well-being. Her lungs require purification, and solely the fresh air can achieve that, even if it means walking in the rain.”

Mrs Bennet nodded with a resolute expression. Her daughter would take the walks she needed in the woods, accompanied by the young Watford. Elizabeth required a male presence. The walks in the wood may assist her health in both aspects—as prescribed by the doctor and as Mrs Bennet believed to be Elizabeth’s problem.

Determined to surpass all the rules or obstacles, Mrs Bennet knew Mr Watford as the solution. She would not do the same for any other of her daughters. However, Elizabeth was sufficiently mature and intelligent to control such a circumstance and not endanger her reputation. She required time with young Archibald—sufficient time for him to propose. And Mrs Bennet was confident that her daughter’s illnesses would instantaneously vanish during the wedding day and night.

With those thoughts, she exited the room, allowing the doctor to organise his bag, while Elizabeth arose and gazed at the bottles neatly arranged in a row at the bottom of the bag.

She took one and asked the doctor, “Mr Moriarty, what manner of decoction did you prescribe on the night of the blaze?”

The doctor smiled and showed a bottle, saying, “It was Laudanum.”

“And what is Laudanum?” Elizabeth asked with great interest taking the bottle to read its label.

The doctor retrieved the tiny bottle from her grasp and placed it in a box. “It is a tincture of opium. I only gave it to you and the wounded gentleman because you both suffered so much anguish. But it is not meant for daily use if you desire more.”

“No, absolutely not!” Elizabeth stated vehemently. “But I wish to know what occurs when one takes that...tincture?”

“It depends significantly on the individual who consumes it. It was meant to give you a sound sleep, as I knew the smoke you inhaled might cause deep discomfort.”

“One might have peculiar dreams?” she asked, attempting not to appear as interested as she was.

The doctor was already contemplating Mr Bennet’s brandy and the tranquil environment of his study. Thus, he answered in a hurry, lacking interest, “Yes, it is composed of opium. It can have some dramatic effects, but only if consumed daily and dependent upon it. The dosage you took must have provided you with deep sleep, along with vivid dreams. One might become quite content and lose control, but there is nothing to be concerned about; the effect dissipates as soon as you awaken!”

That was enough information for Elizabeth; she finally comprehended the events of that fateful night—the kiss she had yearned for, the bold step she took to draw closer to Darcy, and the dream that continued their impassioned embrace. All of it was the result of that cursed potion.

Her cheeks still aflame, she allowed herself to recollect the dream for the first time since that night. Its obscurity, yet its intensity, sent shivers down her spine, just as it had in the bedroom at Netherfield. Yet, she halted her thoughts, as she had done so many times in the past weeks, unable to delve deeper into the depth of that maze.

In the end, it was a wise decision to change her surroundings. Perhaps the doctor was correct; she ought to take walks in the fresh air...and possibly meet Archibald Watford, the future vicar searching for a wife.

I like his slender stature.

Elizabeth wrote to Jane.

He is a man who did not dwell in the outdoors and has spent the last years in the libraries and classrooms of Oxford. He is intelligent and perhaps the most educated person I have ever encountered, apart from Papa. He is courteous and attentive. Naturally, he lacks the refinements that a gentleman who lives in society possesses, but that is a trifling matter. I will enjoy our stay at their estate.

She did not divulge all her thoughts, for she was fearful that her sister would read her letters to her husband. But she imagined Archibald being fond of his own family, polite to his wife, and highly invested in his children’s education, even that of his daughters. He had the qualities that made for a suitable husband, and she was inclined to allow him to court her.

Resolved not to make plans but to let the relationship develop between them, Elizabeth relished the chance to converse and discover more about one another for a whole week. For the first time since the fire, she felt hopeful that the future would alleviate her dreams while her aches, nausea, and dizziness would dissipate in the pure air of Watford’s woods.

Jane’s honeymoon had ended, and they had by now returned to London. However, their plan to meet had to be postponed, as going to St Albans was of greater importance...a decision that everyone agreed upon.

The excellent news is that Mr Bingley has decided to visit Netherfield to accompany Kitty home and discuss the works we wish to do with the architect. We shall have ample time to talk. Prepare yourself, dear sister, to stay with me as long as we remain in Netherfield and then return to London with us!

Jane wrote to Elizabeth from London.

Chapter 11

The Bennet family was received at Mr Watford's estate under a magnificent blue sky and cheerful birds chirping as they made their way through fields that lined the road from St. Albans. The estate was vast and impeccably maintained, a proof of the diligence of its master, who oversaw everything from the park to the fields he owned all around, as well as the deep woods that lay beyond the backyard.

The change that Mrs Bennet had hoped for was soon evident. After their first walk, accompanied by Mary as a chaperone, Elizabeth regained her natural colour, her previous pallor vanquished by the fresh air and the excellent company.

Mrs Bennet would have preferred to find a Mrs Watford to keep her company during the long discussions that the men had. Still, finally, she found that the situation was ideal as she could arrange walks in the woods as she pleased.

The gentlemen trusted her with all matters regarding the young people or the household. They were invited to spend their mornings in the spacious gazebo in the backyard park while the 'children' took their walks. The gentlemen were graciously asked to keep an eye on them, as Mrs Bennet demanded with a smile. However, they often forgot, lost in a world of men, recounting stories and familiar memories.

"Mary and Elizabeth require long walks in the forest; it is the doctor's prescription. I hope young Mr Watford would not find it inconvenient to accompany them."

Archibald Watford tried to conceal his satisfaction beneath a stern attitude, but Mrs Bennet's vast experience detected favourable signs. He was more than pleased to be alone with the two ladies and silently thanked Mrs Bennet for her way of arranging things.

"While you, young ladies," Mrs Bennet said, addressing Violet and Jane Watford, "for you, I have some other plans!"

Only one day after their arrival, Mrs Bennet established new rules, bringing joy to a household that lacked a mistress.

In addition to being well cared for, Mr Bennet and Mr Watford had the freedom to pursue activities that were dear to gentlemen of a certain age, while the Watford sisters were thrilled at the prospect of spending time in St. Albans. Deprived by their mother's early death, they rarely had the pleasure of spending a whole morning in St. Albans looking for gowns, pelisses or hats. The old lady who had cared for them since their mother's death had been interested only in pianoforte lessons and was oblivious to the latest fashion.

Mrs Bennet's plan, though it appeared complex, had a single aim—to secure a betrothal by the end of their stay.

∞∞∞

"We must prepare for yet another wedding, Mr Bennet!" exclaimed Mrs Bennet joyfully once they were alone in their chamber.

"I hope this time there will be no fire involved!" Mr Bennet responded in his characteristic sardonic manner, causing Mrs Bennet to gently strike him on his arm while rolling her eyes. "Take care of your tongue, Mr Bennet! Your words may bring misfortune!" She hurriedly left the room as though to erase his words from the air.

∞∞∞

The decision to explore the wood proved to be a brilliant one. Unlike in Longbourn, Elizabeth, Archibald, and Mary did not encounter a single soul during their leisurely strolls.

Elizabeth was content with all the arrangements. For the first time in her life, she had allowed her mother to intervene dramatically in her affairs. Mrs Bennet was right for once; Elizabeth needed to overcome the grief that had weighed on her since the fire. She wished to forget that dreadful night...and the kiss that had made her so melancholy and fearful.

Archibald, educated and respectful, possessed a kind of innocence that Elizabeth had rarely encountered. Men of their society—whether genuine gentlemen or fortune hunters—often pursued ladies for sport, conquering them for fun. But Archibald was sincere and devoted.

Elizabeth discovered a man who was interested in the mundane matters of life as well as philosophical conversations. A man who matched her in every way. In the past, she had been overly critical and had found flaws in every man she met, thus discouraging any potential suitors. But this time, she resolved to be natural and candid, allowing the gentleman to be at ease in her presence. She did not know what her feelings would be by the end of the week, but she would not hinder any relationship he might desire.

They conversed at length and occasionally walked in silence, simply listening to the sounds of the wood. He told her of the various birds they encountered, and Elizabeth laughed, confident that he had learned about them from books in Oxford's extensive libraries. He was witty and fun, but more importantly, he was a man—not a boy. Archibald was an open book, unlike Darcy or the colonel, who were skilled at concealing their thoughts and emotions. He desired marriage, and his intentions were evident to all.

As they walked, he occasionally brushed against her hand, a ruse that other men had used in the past but one that Elizabeth appreciated when he did it. He picked a beautiful violet flower and handed it to her, their fingers touching briefly. Later, she lost her shawl, and he gallantly retraced their steps to retrieve it as though it were a prized trophy. But when he returned it to her, he hesitated to place it on her shoulders, revealing his timidity.

"You have a solid education, Miss Elizabeth," he remarked, his voice sincere. It was an excellent compliment from a man like him. She realised that in other societies, she had only received attention for her attire or piano playing. Even Darcy rarely praised her for her love of books or her intelligence. She was inquisitive and perceptive, but nobody acknowledged those qualities until Archibald. Some aspects of her life would be lacking. Still, she was confident that Archibald could offer a delightful existence to a woman like herself.

She still desired love to be a part of her future, but she was content knowing that if she married Archibald, his family would live a joyful life of abundance.

∞∞∞

"Father has promised a ball on Friday," Archibald declared, glancing at Elizabeth from the corner of his eye. He admired how the wind had given her cheeks a lovely hue and the genuine smile that graced her countenance. Miss Bennet was not like the other young ladies he had known before. She was intelligent and independent, a worthy partner in discussion, and a dear friend. However, after the fire, he noticed a sadness in her eyes that weighed heavy on his heart.

"I thought an Oxford alumnus such as yourself would not take pleasure in a frivolous activity like a dance!" Elizabeth jested.

"You are mistaken, Miss Bennet," Archibald replied, "there were various parties in Oxford, and I can assure you that all students yearned for dances."

"What kind of parties could there be in Oxford?" Elizabeth asked, her astonishment evident. She pictured college life as a never-ending pursuit of knowledge, free of trivial amusements.

"May Morning at Magdalen College, for example," Archibald began, "there was much revelry and festivity, but the all-night balls held the night before May Morning were the most enjoyable."

"Then you are an accomplished dancer, Mr Watford!" Elizabeth continued her playful teasing.

"I am," Archibald answered, hoping to show Elizabeth his skills at the party. He bowed as if inviting her to dance, and she smiled, offering her hand. Archibald did not touch her hand but bowed again, and they both laughed, causing Mary to look up from her book in wonderment.

∞∞∞

Mrs Bennet's remedy for restoring a young lady's joyous spirit proved effective for Elizabeth. On the night of the ball, she felt much better. She stood on the terrace, waiting for the guests to arrive, and admired the vast garden bordered by the woods she had grown to know. In the distance, she spotted her father and Mr Watford savouring wine in the gazebo, thrilled to reconnect after nearly two decades of separation.

Elizabeth relished that moment at sunset when the scents of the flowers and trees melded into a harmonious symphony. It was so quiet that she could not imagine the music would start in an hour or so and the guests would soon rush to the dance floor. She was torn between wanting to preserve that moment and anticipating the party's excitement when Archibald approached her. Suddenly, she felt his presence, his breath on her skin, and her whole body tingled. She assumed it was due to the night's chill, but it was because of Archibald. Shivering, she wondered if he had noticed her agitation. She knew so little about men and their emotions and thoughts regarding love. But things seemed less complicated with Archibald. They stood together silently, relishing their common emotions and sensations long after a man and a woman could stay so close. Both hoped they could soon dance and enjoy the party.

Archibald's presence stirred up a torrent of feelings and sensations that Elizabeth was unprepared for. She wanted to cry out No, as, unfortunately, Archibald's closeness reminded her of another man. She fought her memories with all her power, but Darcy's kiss came flooding back to her; the overwhelming pressure of his lips, how she leaned into him and surrendered to him. It all felt as if it was happening that night. For the first time in weeks, she knew the kiss had been real, no doubts, and she blushed violently under that terrible memory.

He is the past, Elizabeth cried within her soul. Archibald is the future.

Yet her instincts suggested that as a husband, Darcy could take her on an adventure that Archibald could not. Elizabeth attempted to calm her racing heart and live in the present moment. She hoped that the secret Darcy had revealed to her with his kiss would enable her to explore forbidden territory with Archibald in the future.

Suddenly, a movement behind her caught Elizabeth's attention, imperceptible yet palpable. She sensed the man's breath close to her ear, and her name tumbled from his lips. Her mind whirled violently from the terrace in St. Albans to Netherfield with Darcy. And this time, uncontrollably, memories assailed her at tremendous speed. Those were memories, not dreams! she pondered in despair, trembling on the verge of a terrible turmoil.

She remembered herself in bed, Darcy's hands caressing her body, exploring her most intimate parts, whispering at her ear like a maddening leitmotiv, "Are you sure, Elizabeth?" And she replied with a near-cry, "Yes!" She still felt his touch on her body and then the pain. How could that be possible in a dream? Yet her memories of that strange dream suddenly assaulted her, intact, lively, maddening…impossible to repress. There was much more to remember after that kiss. The kiss was real, and she forced it to become a dream, not knowing anymore what was real and was her imagination. She felt both agony and ecstasy, recalling his body, his face above hers, his voice urging her to open her eyes and look at him. And then, his naked form on top of hers, a shiver of pleasure and surprise coursing through her, his hand covering her mouth, his smile, and the love in his eyes. "Hush, my beloved, you'll wake the entire household. This time, for a different kind of fire."

Darcy once again fulfilled her in a way that she had never deemed possible. It could not be a dream, not with such clarity, coherence, and ecstasy.

No, no! It cannot be real, she thought, on the verge of madness, yet it had occurred. She had been with Darcy that night, and it was not a dream but a reality that she had transmuted into a dream. Her blood rushed to her head and heart, and everything went black.

∞∞∞

She awoke in her chamber, Mrs Bennet peering at her with concern and despair, a mother uncertain of her child's plight. Her mother tapped Elizabeth's hand, yet even the gesture was fraught with suffering. Elizabeth heard the voice of a stranger, likely the physician. She wished to rise and assure her mother not to fret, for no malady could snatch her away. It was something else, and for the first time, she acknowledged that it was not a dream or a product of her imagination. Darcy's hands on her bare flesh were real...him—tenderly loving her...she shut her eyes again, incapable of facing her mother.

"I cannot discover anything wrong with our young lady; please, madam, be not anxious. It is a common occurrence, you know, at that time of the month."

"But it never befell her. She was the most robust of all my five daughters; even when I was with child, I knew not. While for all the others, I had incessant giddiness and nausea and persisted in vomiting for weeks."

As Elizabeth heard her mother's words, she arose in haste, rushing to the basin to expel, long and painfully. Her mother assisted her to her bed while the physician spoke almost jubilantly. "And we have the explanation, the young lady suffers from a stomach ailment; perhaps, she ate something disagreeable, which accounts for her fainting and malaise. Let her eat toasted bread with butter and good old-fashioned herbal tea, and tomorrow she will be hale again.

But soon after the doctor's departure, Mrs Bennet returned to the room with the same worried countenance. She stood by the bedside, scarcely speaking, faintly encouraged by the physician's words.

"I must return home, Mama!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

Feeling surprisingly well, she leaned against the headboard as she spoke with her aged voice. "I have a letter from Jane, Mama."

"Yes, my dear, I know. They have returned to London and shall come to Netherfield. In all likelihood, they have already arrived...yes, you are right; we must leave for home. Staying with Jane for a few days may prove beneficial for you!"

Besides concern and apprehension, Mrs Bennet, for once, was uncertain. Perhaps she had arranged for Elizabeth to meet the young Archibald too hastily, or the forest walks had not been such an excellent notion.

"Where is everyone?" Elizabeth asked, fearing that the visitors were already apprised of her tale. "Has the ball been cancelled?"

"No, indeed not, Mr Watford laments your malaise, but the last I saw him, he was dancing with Mary or some other girl...Can you imagine? I am uncertain of what is happening in the ballroom. So concerned am I about you.”

"I am well, Mama. You heard the physician. It is solely a stomach ache. I promise I shall be well, but I must leave for Netherfield to meet Jane. Please, for once, just do what I am asking you!" Elizabeth's tone betrayed no trace of the anguish she had just undergone.

Mrs Bennet yearned so ardently for Elizabeth to be in good health that she was willing to do anything to appease her.

"Yes, my dear, we shall do as you wish," her mother began in a tone that showed compliance. "We shall leave as soon as it is possible. But..." Here, she hesitated, and Elizabeth waited anxiously for the completion of her mother's thought, for it concerned a matter close to her heart. "What, pray tell, will become of Mr Watford?"

That very question tormented Elizabeth as well. Regrettably, she was all too aware of the answer. As disconcerting as it was, she could only proceed with Mr Watford after first speaking to Mr Darcy.

Never, for a fleeting moment, was she tempted to erase the past and pursue their blossoming relationship. To embark upon marriage without an honest foundation was inconceivable to her virtuous principles. Elizabeth Bennet was a woman of integrity, willing to acknowledge her missteps. The dream that haunted her did not come from mere fancy but from the undeniable reality of her free will and desire. Whether it was the effect of smoke or Laudanum, she could not mask the yearning and the blissfulness she experienced. She felt ashamed with every fibre of her being, yet the longing for that extraordinary sensation remained.

"Mother, I fainted because memories of the night of the fire resurfaced. Before considering Mr Watford further, I must speak with Mr Darcy." Her mother's astonishment was palpable, and Elizabeth feared she might swoon in turn. Thankfully, Mrs Bennet held her composure and pressed for more information. "Did anything improper transpire between you and Mr Watford?"

Elizabeth blushed and smiled at her mother's suggestion of a kiss or a chaste touch. If her mother knew she had shared the bed with Mr Darcy.

"No, Mother, nothing of the sort occurred," she replied, allaying her mother's concerns. "Nor did I make any promises to him."

"But...what of Mr Darcy?" her mother enquired after a lengthy pause, evidently wary of broaching the subject further.

Elizabeth dared not reveal the full extent of her relationship with Mr Darcy.

"Do you...at least like him?" her mother ventured.

"Yes, I do," Elizabeth responded, though uncertain of the truthfulness of her own words. She chose not to think further, needing only her mother's unwavering support in whatever path she chose.

"Very well, then. We shall leave St. Albans at once, even tomorrow. You must meet with Mr Darcy," her mother accepted, a hint of worry evident. She had come with many hopes, yet the alarming state of Elizabeth's emotions left her willing to accept her daughter's decisions without further inquiry.

"Indeed, Mama. Please arrange for our hasty departure. I must see Mr Darcy."

Until then, Elizabeth felt bound not to entangle herself with another man, even in the most chaste way possible.

"Are you considering a certain relationship with him?" her mother hesitated, avoiding directly mentioning marriage.

"Perhaps. I do not know yet. But, Mama, please trust in me!" Elizabeth implored. "He is a true gentleman, and...he possesses considerable means," she added, eager to cite the reasons that had once mattered so much.

"Enough with talk of income, Elizabeth Bennet!" Mrs Bennet interjected fervently. "Do you genuinely like him? Can you imagine a life with him? Marriage is not a trip to Bath...there are complexities you can hardly imagine now, and it is best to marry a man you truly esteem and trust."

Such sentiments were unusual for Mrs Bennet, who had always judged people based on their fortunes and estates. Yet, in the case of Elizabeth, she hoped for love.

"Yes, I can imagine it, perhaps a different kind of affection—"

But before she could proceed, memories of Darcy's touch enveloped her, rendering her incapable of uttering a word of love while desire consumed her instead.

"I have some regard for him in certain ways, Mama. I promise you that I shall marry...I do not yet know whether it shall be Mr Darcy or Mr Watford, but I assure you, nothing untoward shall occur, and by autumn, I shall be wed."

Mrs Bennet, relying on her trust in Elizabeth above all else, found solace in these words.

"This is no trivial matter, Elisabeth. At times, your intelligence and daring render you too bold. Nevertheless, do what you must...as for marriage, I will trust your decision.”

Elizabeth could have married Mr Darcy when he proposed, but she declined, confident in her lack of feelings for him.

Yet, what had occurred at Netherfield? she asked herself, pondering whether his actions had been driven by love or revenge for the humiliation at Hunsford. She swiftly dismissed the latter thought. For throughout that night, he had whispered words of love, tender and attentive, guiding her firmly towards bliss. The intensity of their union dissolved into a haze of oblivion, and the enormity of her actions obscured reality, transforming it into a dream. "I do not love him," she wished to declare. But then, why had she yearned so intensely to be with him?

Even after hours of torment, she remained uncertain whether any of it had been true. To dispel her doubts, she needed to return to that room. Against all odds, her scepticism persisted, or perhaps, in her heart, she merely wished the night had not been real after all.

"I must journey to Netherfield without delay," she confided to Mrs Bennet, who nodded simply, understanding her daughter's unspoken urgency.

Chapter 12

After more than a month of separation, Elizabeth and Jane were joyfully reunited. They embraced each other with indescribable delight, cherishing the bond between sisters.

“I misbelieved Mrs Bingley was first, my wife,” Bingley said with unexpected humour to his father-in-law, “but first and foremost, Mrs Bingley is Miss Bennet’s sister.”

Mr Bennet nodded and replied, “You will get used to that, my son.” He grew fonder of his son-in-law with each passing day and considered sharing some marital wisdom. However, in excellent spirits, being back at Longbourn, close to his beloved library, he decided to postpone those revelations for a few months and let them enjoy their love.

“Have you put on weight?” Mrs Bennet asked, examining her eldest daughter with a discerning eye.

“A little, perhaps!” Jane replied, warmly embracing her sisters and mother.

“Papa,” Jane said once the greetings were exchanged, “please accompany Mr Bingley to meet the architect. We must finish Netherfield as soon as possible.”

Mr Bennet had limited skills in rebuilding, and it appeared that Mr Bingley shared the same lack of exceptional talents in that area, yet he knew that his ladies wanted some private time. With a joyful smile and a relieved countenance, Mr Bingley agreed, and the ladies retired to the drawing-room, far away from the parlour that had been damaged by the blast.

“This has been the best time of my life!” exclaimed Kitty with enthusiasm. Elizabeth noticed her sister’s elegant new gown and hair styled almost like Jane’s. Listening to Kitty’s spirited conversation, Elizabeth could tell that her sister had undergone a transformation. During Lydia’s time, Kitty had been reserved and quiet, merely following her sister like a shadow. But now, under Jane’s guidance, she exuded confidence and learned to be reserved yet amiable in society. She even garnered the attention of some of Mr Bingley’s friends, something that had never happened when Lydia was around, always attracting the gentlemen’s attention.

The family gathered for a delightful early dinner, eager to hear Jane and Kitty continuing their stories. Both sisters were entertaining and joyful, relishing their time together.

Despite pleas to prolong the pleasant evening, the Bennets, except for Elizabeth, returned home that night. Perhaps Kitty and even Mary wished to stay. Still, Mrs Bennet was resolute, “You come home with us this evening, and we shall see about tomorrow.”

∞∞∞

The reunion of the two sisters was an emotional affair. However, Elizabeth’s dreams of spending cherished moments with Jane were swiftly dashed. Her sister was now married, and her life revolved around her husband.

“We shall talk at length in the morning,” Jane said just after dinner, and they retired to their apartment, leaving Elizabeth perplexed. She had imagined that their lives would continue as they always had, filled with their merry complicity and endless conversations at all hours of the day or night. Yet, to her dismay, she had to accept that Jane’s marriage had brought an end to their old way of life.

Feeling somewhat melancholy, Elizabeth found herself in the same room where Mr Darcy had led her after the fire. At first, she considered requesting Jane to arrange for her to stay in a different room, but she gathered the courage to confront her fears instead. The room was well-lit, adorned with chandeliers she had not noticed during her first visit. Seated in an armchair facing the bed, she shivered as she wondered about the events that had unfolded there. Despite lingering doubts and vivid memories, she found it nearly impossible to discern the truth. The room appeared pristine, the sheets immaculate, with no remnants of that terrible night to recall.

The room held no revelations, yet it felt both the same and transformed. As Elizabeth settled into the bed, a new memory suddenly inundated her mind—the sheets. She remembered her father leaving the room to give her privacy to prepare for breakfast. As she stood up, still feeling dizzy and tired, she noticed the sheets...stained with ashes, sweat, and blood. It had seemed ordinary at that moment, given her knee wound and restless sleep. But now, she recalled the aftermath of that night with startling clarity. Someone had cared for her, tenderly washing away the ashes, sweat, and blood from her naked body with a damp sponge. The memory of Mr Darcy attending to her intimate needs left her unsettled and spellbound. It was as if they had shared a profound ritual, with him whispering words of love while cleansing her.

She was clean in the morning because he had washed her and then…

Overwhelmed by the revelation, Elizabeth hid her head under the pillow, attempting to dispel another memory—her washing him with the same sponge. Eventually, he took her into his arms, undressing her once more...The recollection of their passionate encounter was undeniable…he was atop her…his movements, she seemed to know already as she was also moving in his rhythms.

It happened!

She had been with him that night, and the realisation brought forth a torrent of tears that Jane heard. She hurried to embrace her, assuming Elizabeth had had a bad dream, understanding how difficult it was for her sister to be in the same house where a tragedy had almost occurred.

“Don’t cry, my dear. It was only a bad dream,” Jane whispered soothingly. “Do not worry; nothing could happen now! I will stay with you if you’re scared. I am so glad to be with you again, but we must forget that dreadful night.”

Despite Jane’s comforting words, Elizabeth could not hold back her tears. She had to confide in Jane; she was the only one she could trust. But even as Elizabeth attempted to speak, Jane continued to talk, wiping away her tears, “And I have another reason to rejoice, my dear. Can you believe I have been eating constantly, feeling nauseous every morning, and even gaining a little weight? I dare say I might be with child after less than two months of marriage!”

Only then Elizabeth stopped crying, but her countenance was far from the joy Jane had hoped to witness when announcing her situation. Elizabeth passed from astonishment to terror in mere moments, leaving Jane perplexed and sorrowful. Instead of a cheerful smile, her sister appeared as a frightened stranger before her. Jane shook her gently, deeply concerned, and said, “Elizabeth, what has happened?”

At her cries, Mr Bingley rushed to the door, alarmed. Only then did Elizabeth seem to return to reality while Jane attempted to explain to her husband, “Go to sleep, my love! Elizabeth had a bad dream!”

But as she looked again at her sister, she shouted in despair as her sister’s face was a mask of terror, “What is wrong, Elizabeth?”

The words seemed inconceivable to utter, yet Elizabeth managed, “I am with child, too! I am sure of it!”

And it was Jane’s turn to be shocked by that revelation. “Has someone forced upon you?” she wanted to know, her mind racing through potential culprits, though only the timid Mr Watford came to her recollection.

“No,” Elizabeth replied hesitantly, realising she could no longer withhold the entire truth. She needed help, and her sister was the only one who could provide it. “It was Mr Darcy,” she revealed. Jane released her from her embrace to scrutinise her face, asking incredulously, “Mr Darcy? But how? When?”

“Here, in Netherfield, that night,” Elizabeth whispered.

Jane struggled to comprehend the situation and implored, “Please, Elizabeth, tell me the whole story, or I will go mad! Did Mr Darcy take advantage of you?”

“No!” Elizabeth cried as her tears continued to flow. “It was not like that. The doctor had given us a sleeping potion, and it seems that its effects can lead to unforeseen consequences under certain circumstances. I was in a state of excitement and fear, and the smoke I inhaled only added to my disorientation. When Mr Darcy came to my room, I felt...” Her voice trailed off, unable to fully articulate the emotions of that night.

Jane blushed briefly, momentarily recalling her own passionate night with Mr Bingley. She could not blame her sister entirely, yet Mr Darcy was not her intended husband.

“Why did you not say anything afterwards? Did he not propose to you in the morning?” Jane asked, still trying to grasp the situation.

“That was the most perplexing part of the whole affair. Mr Darcy departed for London in the morning!” Elizabeth explained.

“I remember now,” Jane said, realisation dawning upon her. “Oh, my God, I remember! It was Mr Bingley who asked him to leave so abruptly!”

“Yes. I found myself alone in the morning, and everything felt like a hazy dream. I could not remember what had happened,” Elizabeth admitted.

“You forgot? How could that be possible?” Jane exclaimed, finding it hard to believe her sister’s account.

“Well...I did not forget; I convinced myself it was a mere dream! I have lately dreamt of kissing a man,” Elizabeth blushed as she looked at her sister’s face.

“Do not be ashamed, dear. I have had similar dreams,” Jane reassured her.

“I believed it was merely one of those fantasies,” Elizabeth continued.

They stood silently for a long while, contemplating the events that had transpired.

“So, you did not confront Mr Darcy about what occurred between you two,” Jane concluded.

“No, he wrote to me expressing that his feelings remained unchanged and that he still wished to marry me. Now I comprehend his letter; he must have been alluding to what had happened between us. Afterwards, during his time in London, he likely endeavoured to approach me and, perhaps, propose again. But I did everything in my power to avoid him. I even flirted with Mr Watford...Oh, Jane, I am so ashamed and frightened. I penned him a letter as if nothing had happened between us! He must have thought I was either insane or a woman of loose morals,” Elizabeth cried, her anguish evident.

“Come, my dear, stop crying. We must find a solution!” Jane declared, determined to support her sister in this distressing ordeal. “But first, we shall travel to Pemberley!”

Chapter 13

The journey to Pemberley was an infinite procession of sombre interludes, interspersed with occasional tears and unrelenting indisposition. The unfortunate Mr Bingley found himself in the company of two disheartened women, yet his spirits exulted, for Jane, his adored wife, was bearing his child. Such was his elation during the trip that both sisters were tempted to forsake him at a coaching inn. In the highest spirits, he described the landscapes, the towns, and even the fields they traversed; despite all obstacles, striving diligently at each stop to secure the most favourable conditions for his ladies.

Upon arriving at Pemberley, the two sisters felt liberated, having endured the discomfort of the journey and the perpetual ailments that plagued them. A contented Jane retreated to bathe away the dust accumulated from four days of tormenting roads and precarious accommodations, looking forward to resting for hours in the splendidly prepared apartment.

As for Elizabeth, she felt like a princess in her quarters, attended by maids who assisted her in bathing in the opulent marble tub, an indulgence she had never before experienced. She longed for a long repose in a splendid, canopied bed, but alas, she was compelled to dress and descend for dinner, a less than delightful prospect.

Her thoughts drifted to her previous visit to Pemberley with the Gardiners, recalling how warmly Mr Darcy and his sister had welcomed them and how she had revelled in the beauty of the estate. Though she had not ventured into the private rooms then, she had often imagined the library, the parlours, the chambers, and even the ballroom. Pemberley had lingered in her mind ever since, a place where she could have been the mistress of the house and spared from her present predicament. How uncomplicated life might have been if she had consented to his proposal.

But in those days, her impression of Mr Darcy stemmed solely from their encounters at Netherfield and Hunsford, and she had regarded him as a man with numerous faults. The notion of becoming his wife had repulsed her, and she had declined his proposal in a most ungracious manner.

Nonetheless, when they met again, he persisted in his affection for her, hoping she might eventually change her opinion of him and his offer. Though he had attempted to converse with her during Jane’s wedding, circumstances had conspired against them.

Now was not the time for happy reminiscences. Even Lydia’s elopement seemed like a fairy tale compared to her own story. He must have deemed her mad or, worse yet, a woman of questionable morals. How else could he interpret her behaviour, spending an entire night with him and then vanishing from his life?

Throughout the four-day journey, she had been consumed by the dreadful fear that he might suspect her of such conduct before. Despite recalling his concern for her and his evident affection, she was overwhelmed with shame. No honourable lady would have engaged in such intimacy with a stranger, yet she had surrendered to him that night.

The impending encounter with Mr Darcy filled her with constant trepidation; she knew not how to compose herself in his presence.

He stood, awaiting their arrival, upon the grand steps of his house—grave and elegant, just as she had recalled him. Georgiana greeted her with a joyous smile, and amidst a bustling throng of people, servants bustling with their burdensome loads, Jane’s laughter resonating through the air, and Mr Bingley’s ever-delightful presence, the moment finally arrived when they faced one another. It was a fleeting exchange of glances, a mere instant when they bowed and curtsied, but it nearly overwhelmed her; her heart pounded with fury, her cheeks ablaze, while a tremendous chill enveloped her entire being.

Was he conscious of the effect he had upon her? She could not tell that, for his eyes revealed nothing on this occasion. He maintained his courtesy and even smiled in the presence of Bingley’s joy at being in Pemberley. Yet, when it came to her, his gaze was distant and detached, void of personal connection.

The genuine encounter would come during dinner. Unfortunately, her recent experiences proved she could not command her emotions or suppress her feelings. Her sister, well-versed in matters of confinement, opined that their situation was to blame. Her readiness to discuss the matter clashed with Elizabeth’s wish to forget. How could she possibly divulge such enormity to Mr Darcy? Knowing the past between them, her news might not shock him. While her demeanour in London, acting as if nothing had transpired, must have left him in utter astonishment.

Guided by a maid, Elizabeth made her way into a cosy sitting-room, where the assembled guests were already engaged in mirthful conversation. As she entered, her eyes met Mr Darcy’s, and he hastened towards her, a fleeting moment of apparent delight crossing his face. However, it vanished so swiftly that she could not be certain of its authenticity.

She had anticipated a small gathering for dinner, but to her surprise, the sitting-room was filled with numerous guests, and the first to be introduced was a marchioness. It was evident that Mr Darcy intended to convey the message that he was moving on with his life. The Marchioness of Derbyshire was a lady so well-suited to him—elegant, sophisticated, and intelligent; this impression lingered with Elizabeth throughout the evening. She was also friendly, as everybody called her Lady Cassandra, ignoring her formal addressing protocol.

Although Darcy seemed content in her presence, Georgiana accompanied Elizabeth to dinner while the marchioness was by his side. They appeared at ease with each other, and their genuine laughter only pained Elizabeth’s heart. She had prepared herself to confess the truth for days, yet witnessing his happiness with the lady made the task even more daunting.

Regret filled her heart as she recalled not speaking to him in London, though she also remembered when she had searched for him at Netherfield, only to discover his sudden departure. She could not help but think that meeting him that morning could have turned her perceived dreams into reality. Yet, she understood why he rushed to London to aid Jane’s marriage.

Upon entering the dining room, Elizabeth was stunned by its elegance and spaciousness. Tall windows revealed a breathtaking view of the magnificent park, illuminated by a dozen flares, like a scene from a fairy tale. The round table seemed ideal for their gathering, and a lively discussion about travel ensued.

Georgiana noticed Elizabeth’s wonder and cheerfully explained that they had different dinner tables. On a previous occasion, they had hosted a hundred guests when the Prince of Wales graced them with his presence. Pemberley was, indeed, a treasure befitting royalty. Concealing her emotions, Elizabeth focused on her plate, determined not to reveal her sorrow and fears, as returning to Hertfordshire unmarried and with child would be a tragedy.

Despite her fatigue, fear, and shame, she knew there was no time to waste—tonight was the night she must tell him the truth. Without a plan or a rehearsed speech, her embarrassment overwhelmed her. Yet, her resolve to end her suffering spurred her on.

When Darcy invited her for a walk in the park, she quickly accepted, surprised, at first, as the marchioness was left alone.

Unable to utter a word, she followed him as other guests wandered the garden or enjoyed the night on the terrace.

Silently, they strolled away from the mansion and the other guests. The unusual solitude did not matter to Elizabeth, for she had long abandoned her inhibitions. Occasionally, Darcy shared snippets about the garden or the house, even pointing out her own guest room, a gesture that stirred a faint glimmer of hope within her. To have been given the most beautiful guest room meant she still held a special place in his heart.

Summoning her courage, she finally said, “Fitzwilliam, we must talk.”

She addressed him using his given name to give him a glimpse that their conversation would be rather intimate, but then she knew she had the right to do so, carrying his child.

“We definitely need to talk, Elizabeth.” He nodded in acknowledgement accepting that way to have that conversation.

“But not now,” Elizabeth whispered. “We must go back and meet later this evening.”

Under cover of night and the dance of torchlight, their friends’ distant laughter and chatter obscured any signs of surprise on his part. Once again, he assented, and she felt a sense of relief she had not experienced in a long while.

Elizabeth rejoined her sister, attempting to evade Jane’s inquisitive gaze as the evening progressed joyfully around them. The familiarity and informality of the gathering even prompted her to offer a smile now and then.

Impatience gnawed at her, yearning for the evening’s conclusion and the chance to finally meet with Mr Darcy. The impending conversation filled her with dread, but she clung to the hope that it might hold the solution to her predicament.

Chapter 14

Shortly before midnight, she heard a knock at her door—the one she had both anticipated and dreaded. The moment of truth had arrived. The man awaiting her was Darcy's valet, presumably the servant he trusted most, and she appreciated his delicacy. Such a man was so devoted to his master that he would never commit an indiscretion.

"Your name escapes me," Elizabeth said kindly.

"It is Scott, madam. I serve as Mr Darcy's valet. Please, follow me," he replied, guiding her through well-lit halls, even at such a late hour. He courteously opened a door for her, bowed, and silently vanished, leaving her alone with Darcy.

Dressed casually, likely his attire for indoor pursuits, Darcy held a glass, which he set down on a nearby table upon her arrival. To her surprise, he did not bow but instead brought her hand to his lips, studying her with an enigmatic gaze. She met his eyes with all the courage she could muster; she was not fearful of him, but rather embarrassed by the awkwardness between them.

Casting her eyes around the room to gather her thoughts, she recognised it as a woman's decor, possibly his mother's parlour preserved since his mother's passing. Her attention was drawn to a painting dominating the room, depicting a woman cradling an infant with boundless affection. The poignant image moved Elizabeth to tears, which she struggled to contain.

"This is my mother's parlour. I have cherished many happy moments here throughout my life. Since her departure, I often come here to find the peace she left behind," he spoke, and Elizabeth listened without uttering a word, sensing a change in his tone.

"So, Elizabeth, we are alone now. Finally, just the two of us, or shall I say, alone once again?" Yet this time his words held a touch of sarcasm, as if he no longer desired this reunion.

Seeing her blush, he softened his expression and added, "Forgive me; I am still surprised by your demeanour. You fled from me, offering no hope, and yet here you are, two months later, in Pemberley, addressing me as Fitzwilliam. Do you wish to talk…about what happened in Netherfield?"

Nodding, she finally found her voice, "Yes, I do wish to talk, and I understand that you were shocked." Struggling to begin, she continued, "You have a close relationship with the marchioness."

His surprise gave way to a harsher tone, "I hope you did not come all this way to discuss my relationship with Cassandra!" He referred to her as Cassandra to eliminate any ambiguity; they were indeed intimate. Her heart pounded, her cheeks flushed, and she found herself unable to articulate further, "No, I apologise; I did not mean to be indiscreet."

Darcy sighed deeply, his anger evident in his gaze or the way he poured himself another glass of brandy.

"Why did you leave without a word?" she asked, avoiding his eyes.

"Oh, dear God!" he exclaimed, his voice entirely different from a few moments ago. "It was not my intention, but…I had to leave the room in the morning—you understand—and you were sleeping so soundly that I could not bring myself to wake you up and explain my departure."

She closed her eyes, struggling to hold back tears. It was no mere dream; that occurrence had become undeniable. His words shattered any hope of illusion. He had been close, affectionate, intimate, and now she carried the undeniable evidence of their encounter—she was with child. There was no room for doubt, as she experienced symptoms like her sister and mother during similar circumstances. Moreover, an inexplicable inner feeling confirmed her expectation. The abruptness of it all left her bewildered—how could one night lead to such a consequence? Yet, the presence of his child within her was irrefutable proof of their shared moment.

"I am with child," she confessed. He turned towards her so abruptly that his glass fell to the marble floor, shattering the silence of the house.

He was stunned. He was stupefied.

His valet knocked at the door, "Do you need me, sir?"

He coughed to regain his voice and replied, "Go to rest, Scott; I no longer require your assistance!"

Silence engulfed them.

She dared not look at him but suspected he was pouring himself another glass of brandy. Eventually, she heard him settle into an armchair just a few steps away from her. Only then did she raise her eyes to meet his, finding him devouring her with his gaze. She could not decipher whether it was love or hate she saw in his eyes.

"When I woke up that morning, my father was by my bedside, watching me," she revealed, and he nodded.

"I know; I had planned to return and wake you up. I was worried that it was not just a normal sleep, and I wanted to bring you some roses." His voice trembled as he spoke.

"When I came to my senses, I suspected I had dreamt as well. I remembered nothing. Perhaps, had you been there, I might have recalled. But awakening in that room with my father watching over me made it seem impossible, and I believed it to be a mere dream."

A pale smile touched Darcy's lips, a change coming over his face. "I should be flattered that you dreamt of me in such a manner."

They sat in silence for a long while before he spoke again, "Are you certain you are...with child?" His hesitation mirrored the enormity of their extraordinary situation.

"Yes, well...a woman can never be entirely sure, but I have many of the signs," she responded, hesitating slightly before adding, "It is your child."

He looked at her, a mix of anger and pride in his expression. "I know it is my child. Do not speak foolishly, Elizabeth!"

Curiosity led her to ask, "How...how could you know?"

He laughed lightly, understanding the nature of her question. "I was your first man."

Her cheeks flushed under his gaze; his scrutinising eyes left her no place to hide.

"I am sorry for your suffering," he said, showing genuine concern that brought some comfort to her troubled heart.

"And I am convinced Elizabeth, of your incapacity for any treachery,"

“Thank you,” she replied showing a small smile. It lacked the radiance of her past smiles, reflecting the turmoil in her soul. Yet, his concern for her offered solace.

"How was it possible for you to forget?" he said softly, hoping to uncover the answer to that mystery.

He could not imagine how it occurred, but observing her anguish, he was certain of her sincerity.

"The doctor mentioned that I inhaled smoke, and then...you recall how he gave us some potion to drink?" she asked.

He nodded, fully aware of what she referred to. In fact, every minuscule detail remained etched in his memory, in stark contrast to her obliviousness. He remembered their embrace upon entering the room, the astonishment he felt when her stiff form suddenly relaxed, drawing near until he lost all control.

"It was Laudanum," she disclosed.

Darcy was shocked again; Laudanum was opium. How could the doctor have prescribed such a thing and allowed Elizabeth to prepare it herself?

"You are familiar with Laudanum!" she remarked.

"Indeed, I am. In my youth, I lost more than one friend to opium, and it all began with Laudanum. It is undeniably dangerous," he replied.

"It may offer an explanation for my behaviour. Then, perhaps, the fear, the smoke I inhaled, the shock. It does seem plausible," she mused.

"And waking up alone..." he said, finally comprehending and accepting.

"Not seeing you at all made me wonder if it was all in my imagination," she confessed.

He briefly covered his face with his hands to conceal his distress, then gazed at her again. "I could not be by your side as I wanted. Your parents were already there when I got down, and then Bingley appeared too. He was utterly lost, unlike anything I had ever seen. I felt such pity for him that I was willing to do anything to see him happy again. I suggested he prepare for a marriage in London, and he implored me to help him and leave for London. Your mother was delighted with the idea, and your father approved it with a relieved countenance, while Bingley clung to it as if it were his last chance at matrimony. I longed to wait for you, but it proved impossible. Every five minutes, someone beseeched me to depart."

"And you wrote that letter!" Her tone carried a clear reproach.

"What did you expect me to write in a letter, that I was jubilant and fortunate to have you?" he replied.

Elizabeth remained silent, but the most delicate part of their conversation still lay ahead.

"I thought you were mad. Not like a whimsical woman, but like one afflicted with insanity. One moment, you were mine, giving me a woman's most precious gift, and the next, you shunned me. It was illogical; it was not you, the young lady I once knew."

"I understand," she replied, her heart torn with regret.

"And you turned to another man entirely just two days after being...mine!" he uttered with a harsh tone, betraying his inner turmoil.

She blushed again, unable to contradict his words or his reasoning. Her behaviour had been hectic and, ultimately, irrational.

"What became of that man?" he asked, his voice tinged with anger that revealed the torment he endured.

"You did not divulge anything about the marchioness, if I recall correctly!" she retorted, using the same tone.

"Well...the marchioness appeared long after your recent refusal," Darcy uttered, casting his eyes upon her.

The situation seemed impossibly complicated, and he proceeded cautiously, step by step, towards full comprehension. Within the confines of his mother's parlour, she stood near Anna Darcy's and infant Fitzwilliam's portrait, recounting the night he deemed the most wondrous of his life—a night he had tried to forget since—which had yielded an astonishing consequence.

He longed to place his hand on her stomach, not out of uncertainty, but to feel the tiny life within her, a life that was undeniably part of him. However, Elizabeth remained unyielding like a marble statue. She had come to him with sincerity and propriety, concerned with the truth rather than love.

"I had considered the possibility...that I might allow him to court me!" she finally spoke. "What about the marchioness?"

He hesitated briefly before responding, "I am currently courting her."

The revelation devastated her. She had abandoned Archibald Watford for a man who sought to marry another woman; her disappointment was evident on her countenance. Exhausted and burdened, she could not conceal her emotional state.

"What did you expect, Elizabeth? For me to pine for you all my life, watching you marry another man?"

"No," she replied, "of course not! In truth, I do not know what I was expecting."

"Now, Elizabeth, the point is, what do you want now?"

She stood before him in utter disbelief. He knew the reason for her presence at Pemberley, yet he asked her to provide a solution?

All she wished for was to retreat to her room, weep, sleep, and forget everything. However, tears could not offer a solution.

"Elizabeth Bennet, will you accept to be my wife?" he proposed in a tone like asking for a glass from the table. The first time he hesitated due to her family, but this time, he did not hesitate anymore but was forced to marry her.

Yet, once again, she could not utter a Yes.

As silence lingered between them, he rose and addressed her in the coldest tone she had ever heard from him, "Allow me to escort you, madam, to your room!" And with those final words, he did not even bid her goodnight; he simply bowed and vanished.

A part of her yearned to follow him, to implore them to find a solution, but she had no idea where his quarters were within the vast mansion. So, she sat on her bed, immobilised by indecision. She could not imagine why she had not accepted his proposal, thereby ending her misfortunes. But she could not see herself waking up beside him each morning, let alone spending her nights with him. The Elizabeth who had emerged at Netherfield was not the same as now. She found herself in one of those situations she had once imagined, admiring a man she deeply respected, yet not wanting to marry him. Nevertheless, she had no choice but to marry him, for no other solution presented itself.

How could she reveal to a man she had, in one way or another, rejected twice, that she now wished to marry him, solely because of the child? She could imagine the shock and hurt he must feel. She had come to marry him, yet she was unprepared. She carried his child, but she had not envisioned a life with him. Yet, as sleep finally overcame her, she was plunged into total confusion, as if her feelings and states of mind, heart, and soul no longer belonged to her.

Chapter 15

At breakfast, Elizabeth found herself surrounded by familiar faces from the previous night, except for the marchioness who lived some distance away. She recognised Lady and Lord Deighton, along with their daughter Lady Eleonore Deighton, who were close friends of Darcys and had come to Pemberley to enjoy riding and hunting. Then, Major Robert Everleigh, a former comrade-in-arms of Colonel Fitzwilliam, was also present. He had left the army and was looking for property in the area and a potential wife.

The most pleasant surprise for Elizabeth was the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. He warmly greeted her upon seeing her, exuding his usual exuberance and expressing his delight at meeting her again.

Elizabeth noticed that Jane seemed to thrive in the company of their guests, and it was evident that everyone knew about the happy news of the Bingleys expecting a child. Jane was treated with the utmost care, which she enjoyed.

Elizabeth felt happy for Jane, yet she could not help but envy her situation. Jane could openly enjoy her excellent news in the daylight while she had to hide her own condition. Moreover, she still had not found the right words to present her predicament and make him understand her deep anguish. The presence of so many people around made it impossible for her to talk to Darcy, and she was forced to wait until nightfall to have a chance to see him.

Throughout the day, they explored the beautiful grounds of Pemberley and rested on its vast terraces, taking time to recover from their tiring travels. Despite spending time together, Darcy made no effort to approach Elizabeth for more than a brief moment. His anger towards her was still evident, and he seemed determined not to give her any chance to get closer or engage in conversation with him. However, Elizabeth noticed that he occasionally glanced at her, only to quickly avert his gaze, suggesting that he was still conflicted about their situation.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth searched in vain for Mr Darcy's presence at dinner, to her great dismay. He was gone, and she dared not inquire of his whereabouts. The colonel seated beside her made every effort to bring a smile to her face. Eventually, Elizabeth resolved to set aside her troubles and relish the evening.

Jane observed her sister with worry, but little could be done in Mr Darcy's absence. Throughout the morning, Jane vehemently reproached Elizabeth, and it was undeniable that she spoke with wisdom. The sisters strolled leisurely along the lakeshore beneath the venerable trees, attempting to appear composed, though Jane's irritation was evident; Elizabeth did not remember ever to have seen her in that disposition.

"I am at a loss, Elizabeth! Look at all this, which could be yours and your child's. Let us abandon our old notions about love."

"But you did not abandon them," Elizabeth retorted.

"Good heavens! Our situations are different; you are desperate and must wed your child's father with your pregnancy still concealed. How long do you think you can keep the secret? Put aside your indecisiveness and marry the man. Strive to find happiness with him. You cannot return to Mr Watford now, having made your intentions known to Mr Darcy. My dear, there is only one path for you." Jane gestured toward the imposing mansion.

"And what a path it is! Look at this grand house and the genteel company. What a splendid life awaits you here."

Their conversation was interrupted by Mr Bingley's approach, expressing concern that his delicate wife had exerted herself too much.

"Say yes!" Jane commanded, her tone unfamiliar to Elizabeth—reminiscent of their mother's voice. But, in the end, Jane was right. Even their mother was right; Elizabeth needed to make a decision. Her choice seemed clear, yet she could not utter that affirmative answer last night. Marriage was imperative, yet she struggled to make him understand that she required time to adjust. It was a peculiar predicament—she had implored him to marry her, and now she hesitated.

As the dinner concluded and Mr Darcy remained absent, Jane led her sister to the garden, almost ordering her to accept the proposal. "What nonsense is this, Elizabeth? Absolute nonsense! Can you not see it? Perhaps, as Mama informed me, expectant ladies are often whimsical. But you cannot afford such behaviour. Women have married for protection and the prospect of bearing children for centuries."

"I know, but we had hoped for a different life."

"Well, it is not your case! Simply marry and decide later how you will live within the bonds of matrimony."

As they returned to the house, Jane halted and performed the gesture they had shared as young girls—a secret cross drawn upon their palms. "Swear, Elizabeth Bennet, that you will say yes!"

Elizabeth pressed her palm to her sister's, yet she uttered not a word. Upon seeing her husband, Jane became blissfully oblivious to the outside world, ignoring that her sister avoided fulfilling the oath.

Chapter 16

By then, Elizabeth had become certain of Darcy's complete trust in his valet, Scott. Thus, shortly after dinner, she summoned her maid to fetch the valet to her room. He arrived with a glass of milk and a cookie, a gesture that made Elizabeth smile.

"Yes, my lady!" he replied after she expressed her gratitude. "What can I do for you?"

"I wish to await your master's return, no matter how late it may be. Lead me, please, to that parlour, and when he arrives, announce him to join me there."

"I wonder, my lady if you might prefer to wait in the library. It is a splendid room with a private garden, and I shall ensure you are undisturbed."

Elizabeth appreciated the valet's suggestion and, most significantly in their current circumstances, his care for her. She wondered how he had guessed her love for reading until she remembered the books she had brought along on her journey.

The library, a room she had grown fond of during her previous visit, delighted Elizabeth. She selected a book and settled onto a comfortable leather sofa. It was the first time since her arrival that she felt truly at ease, facing the future with renewed confidence. Without her knowledge, she drifted into sleep, the book gently resting on her chest. A distant sound disturbed her dreams, prompting her to open her eyes and discover Darcy observing her from an armchair opposite the sofa. It was his shift in the chair that had caused the sound. She rose quickly, embarrassed to have been caught napping, searching his eyes. There he was, the proud gentleman she had encountered months ago, gazing at her once more, and he made a gesture inviting her to sit.

"What do you wish, Elizabeth? I believed our conversation had concluded last night...with your renewed rejection."

"I did not reject you this time!" she protested.

"Granted, your silence is only a partial rejection. Should I anticipate the complete version from you?"

"No!" she exclaimed, revealing evident distress. "I did not reject you last night."

"And what caused your hesitation...?"

"Please, Mr Darcy, please, I am so unhappy and disoriented that my responses are not as they should be. This situation," and for the first time, she gestured to her stomach, "is so unreal, and I feel wholly unprepared...I do not know what to do, and I am frightened."

"This situation," he said, indicating her stomach, "is also my child! Marry me. It is all I can offer you and her!"

"Her?" she asked in astonishment, "Why do you refer to our child as 'her'?"

In truth, it was the first time she had acknowledged the reality of bearing a child, be it a girl or a boy, while the man before her had already calmly accepted this certainty. The dreadful situation of her unwanted childbearing would bring forth a child in less than seven months.

"Well, what say you? Will you remain silent, or will you give me an answer?" he asked impatiently, his temper rising again.

"Yes," she replied.

"Is it a 'Yes' as in 'Yes, Darcy, I will marry you'?"

"Yes, Mr Darcy, I will marry you!"

In that moment of silence, he sensed her hesitation, confident that the matter was far from settled. With a watchful gaze fixed upon her, he waited patiently, aware that she would speak again.

“But—" she finally uttered.

"I am sorry, Miss Bennet, but our union has no room for ‘buts,’” His temper flared, a fit of seething anger difficult to contain, “I seek your hand in marriage without reservation, without doubt. I wish you to be my wife, share my life, my bed, and bear our children. I desire genuine happiness, not a facade to shield you from public disgrace."

"Then, you do condemn me to public disgrace?" she questioned with a quiver in her voice.

"No, my dear, you condemn yourself by denying a life with me, a life of respectability and contentment," he replied sternly. "Your hesitation weighs heavily upon us. I fear we cannot endure on such uncertain ground, no matter how passionate our intimacy in the bedroom proved to be."

Her cheeks flushed crimson at his unceremonious words, yet she did not yield. "It was the Laudanum!" she pleaded.

"Perhaps it was, or perhaps not; alas, we may never know for certain," he retorted.

With a bow reminiscent of the previous night, he took his leave, leaving Elizabeth in turmoil. The notion of returning home unwed, burdened with a child, gnawed at her thoughts. Yet, she recognised the misery such a decision would inflict upon her parents and unmarried sisters, not to mention the potential hardships for Jane until the scandal subsided.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was a respectable man possessing vast estates and wealth, and he was correct—she had enjoyed the bliss of being his woman. Nevertheless, she could not dismiss the Laudanum the doctor prescribed for them. She could hardly imagine facing him again in such an intimate situation. But women often married men they did not love, enduring everyday marital lives. She knew what such ‘normality’ entailed. Closing her eyes, waiting for the man to finish, and conceiving a child as soon as possible to avoid further interactions. She recalled overhearing these words from an older lady at a party and not fully comprehending their meaning. Yet, she did not want such a life.

A knock at the door jolted her from her musings. She sprang to her feet, hoping it was Darcy, but instead, it was Scott who had come to accompany her to her room.

Chapter 17

The following day, Elizabeth found herself at a loss on how to convey the news to Jane that no marriage prospects were on the horizon.

When she finally did, her sister burst into tears, exclaiming, "You are mad, Elizabeth Bennet! Mad, mad!"

Overwhelmed by the news, Jane sat down and spoke in a calmer tone, "It is not just about you, Elizabeth."

"I know, I know! Many people will suffer," Elizabeth acknowledged.

"Yes, but you must be selfish. Do not think of others; consider yourself and your child. What kind of life do you imagine for yourself, and what future can you assure your child? Longbourn is not ours, and Papa can barely manage the income he has. Let us assume that Mr Bingley would be willing to have you and your child in our home, but he or she would forever bear the stigma of being illegitimate. Is that what you want?"

∞∞∞

Distressed, Elizabeth prepared for breakfast when she received another blow. Darcy departed once more without a word or a glance in her direction.

“Georgiana and the colonel will serve as your hosts, conveying further details of my plans,” he declared before vanishing from sight.

“My brother is arranging a hunt,” Georgiana chirped, her countenance glowing with delight, for she relished her role as mistress of the house.

“Where will it take place?” asked someone in the assembly.

“Near Pemberley, on the estate of Lady Derbyshire, for the forest lies predominantly on her side,” Georgiana answered. “You may choose to ride, or carriages have been prepared for our journey.”

Elizabeth made an effort to conceal her disappointment and unease. Since her arrival, their interactions had been limited, as Miss Darcy was preoccupied with attending to the guests. In truth, though, Elizabeth intentionally avoided her company, finding it difficult to engage in the leisurely conversations they once shared at Netherfield. Her predicament was intimately tied to her brother, and she believed any casual exchange with Miss Darcy would be deceitful. Thus, she used the noisy and bustling gathering as an opportunity to keep her distance from Georgiana.

Elizabeth struggled to hide her disappointment and concern.

"Would you like to accompany us?" the colonel asked with his pleasant voice. Elizabeth wondered how much he knew about her and his cousin. She could not imagine what men talked about or if they confided in each other like women. But if he was aware of the situation, his demeanour towards her was commendable, considering she was causing his cousin distress.

She declined the invitation, "Thank you, but I do not ride!”

The colonel looked at her in astonishment. In their world, women rode from a young age.

This, perhaps, was another reason for Mr Darcy not to marry me, Elizabeth thought. Yet, in the end, she was glad not to have completely lost her sense of humour.

“There are carriages ready to take you,” the colonel insisted.

“Thank you, but I prefer not to go!” she answered and he nodded with an understanding expression on his face.

He knows, she thought and blushed. But, luckily, the colonel was already gone.

∞∞∞

She retreated to her room, hoping the others would leave, relieved to finally find some rest, as the past two nights had been far from peaceful.

Amidst the turmoil, she experienced another pain to add to the existing ones. For the first time in their lives, Jane was growing distant. From her perspective, Elizabeth felt utterly alone.

Jane had visited her room, but she was not the same sister she had known all her life. "We might be out late this evening as we have been invited to dinner at Lady Derbyshire's house. Are you sure you do not want to come? A carriage could be arranged to take you there," Jane spoke coldly while her eyes still bore anger.

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, thank you. I must rest as I am still exhausted," she said, though it was not entirely true. She did not wish to go to the marchioness's house.

She was not envious or jealous, yet she did not want to be in the same room with that beautiful lady, as the marchioness might inadvertently sway her return to Longbourn unwedded, not through direct entreaties, but merely by displaying her affection for Mr Darcy with smiles or glances that betrayed true love.

Perhaps the marchioness wished or dreamt of marrying Mr Darcy, but her unborn child compelled her to wed Fitzwilliam Darcy even if it was unfair for Lady Derbyshire.

She had to marry and this time she would just say a simple yes.

It was not a false union that she sought, but merely some respite, some time, and space to confront her own troubles. The prospect of marrying him, and merely resigning herself to close her eyes and endure, as that lady suggested, was not what she wanted from a husband. After the night spent in Netherfield, Mr Darcy would not be so easily deceived by such a ruse.

In the afternoon, she slept, and upon waking, felt a hunger she had not experienced in weeks. Listening to the sounds surrounding her, she imagined the bustling activities typical of a grand household. Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper made the house live, managed all the servants according to her orders, and then there was Scott, Darcy's valet. Scott appeared to be superior to anyone else, as he conveyed his master's instructions through him. She wondered what her role as the mistress of such a well-organised home would entail.

She summoned a maid to lead her to dinner, but to her surprise, it was Scott who arrived. Clearly, his master had instructed him to attend to her every wish and ensure Elizabeth was well taken care of.

"Shall madam be dining with Mr Floyd?" he asked as they descended the stairs.

She knew little of Mr Floyd, recalling only a young and somewhat timid gentleman.

"Mr Floyd is my master's secretary, a student from Cambridge. During the holidays, he stays here and assists my master with the library and his research."

Elizabeth's heart filled with genuine interest and appreciation. Scott smiled, seldom vexed with his master, but concerned for Miss Bennet being left alone, he endeavoured to make her stay as pleasant as possible.

∞∞∞

Though they ate alone, their dinner was pleasant and lively, as Mr Floyd proved to be a cultivated and engaging conversationalist. Elizabeth relished their discourse, reminiscent of her conversations with Mr Watford. They delved into literature, art, and history, far from the usual banal chit-chats of a typical dinner. She regretted the prospect of losing such meaningful conversations and despised the notion of a lifetime filled with vapid gossip and discussions about others—a waste of time and energy in her eyes. Back home, conversing with her father saved her from boredom and futility. Regrettably, Mr Darcy's society seemed to revolve around such matters. Though she recognised Mr Darcy was different, she would have to relinquish many of her joys to assume the role of his household's mistress. Mr Floyd represented hope that even then, she might find like-minded and interesting souls to befriend.

"Would you care to accompany me to the library, madam? I have some intriguing albums to show you," Mr Floyd proposed.

Elizabeth nodded, grateful for an evening that had started on an unfavourable note. Thrilled to uncover his world Mr Floyd unveiled ancient manuscripts that demanded delicate handling.

"This is a manuscript from the 12th century, hailing from Antwerp," he informed her with evident expertise. Furthermore, he revealed a section of the library that was not yet catalogued, exclaiming with pride, "There's much work yet to be done!"

“Well, not tonight, Rowan!”

They turned surprised when Darcy entered the library, attired in his hunting garb. He had come directly to them, or perhaps to her.

Young Rowan departed the room, his heart filled with regret, for it had been an unforgettable evening for him as well.

Chapter 18

“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth spoke, her lips curved into a jesting smile he recalled from their time at Netherfield, “you have returned home so soon?”

He regarded her with an inscrutable countenance and replied, “Indeed, I do care about the well-being of all my guests.”

“Have they all returned?” she asked, her thoughts turning to her sister.

“No, when I departed, the dinner had not yet commenced. It will continue late into the night, and I am certain they will spend the night there,” he explained.

Her concern was evident, prompting Darcy to smile reassuringly before saying, “I disliked the thought of leaving you alone here, and we also have important matters to discuss! Come, let us dine together.”

He led her to the familiar parlour on the first floor, where a table had been set up on the little terrace overlooking the forest. They took their seats, and Darcy, hungry from his journey, began eating with relish. He invited her to eat as she had a plate and cutlery before her.

“No, thank you,” she declined politely, “I have just finished my dinner.”

Observing her as she watched him eat, Darcy suddenly found himself surprised when, in an unexpected move, Elizabeth swiftly took a piece of meat from his plate. She swallowed it hurriedly, realising her own audacity only moments later. Unperturbed, Darcy cut another piece and placed it on her plate, enjoying the playful scene between them. They continued eating silently, with Darcy occasionally offering her more morsels from his plate or the dishes before him, fostering a certain ease between them.

After the maids had cleared the table, they lingered in silence, sipping brandy and gazing at the garden as if trying to preserve the tranquil atmosphere of the moment. It could have been any evening, any time in their future, just the two of them sharing an intimate evening together.

“We must talk, Elizabeth,” he finally broke the silence, bringing them back to the present reality where she was alone and with child. She had resolved to accept his proposal, to become his wife, and let go of any dreams of love or a life that might have seemed more suitable.

“I am all ears,” she whispered, her heart fluttering with anticipation.

Lost in his contemplations, Darcy failed to notice the transformation in her attitude. He did not grasp that she was prepared to acquiesce and accept his proposal, any proposal. He had endured a torturous day, unable to hunt, eat, or engage with others; he sought a resolution. When he finally arrived at a decision, it was not ideal, but he could not bear to inflict any more suffering upon her.

“I presume you are aware that near Netherfield, about five miles away, there is another estate,” he began.

Elizabeth nodded, recalling the estate in question, rarely inhabited by its owners, who seemed to dislike mingling with the rest of the country.

“It is a modest estate, but it provides a steady income from mills and other industries, a mansion boasting a dozen rooms, and a beautiful park; all the essentials for a respectable life. We had visited it before Bingley chose to purchase Netherfield.”

Elizabeth remained as still as a statue, unable to utter a word, though her heart yearned to interrupt and confess her decision to marry him and be his wife.

“I have instructed my solicitor to make an offer and acquire that property for you,” Darcy continued, confident in what was to follow.

“We shall marry, my dear, for the sake of this child’s welfare. The estate shall bear his name, and you will reside there and oversee its affairs. I am confident you will excel at this responsibility, ensuring a comfortable life for yourself and the child. Naturally, I shall offer my support as needed in due time. We shall remain wed until the plan is accomplished. My solicitor assures me we may eventually find a path to divorce, and an annulment might expedite the process. According to the law, a prior contract with another party qualifies as valid grounds for annulment. I can prove that such a contract existed, and the divorce will be granted in due course, granting you your freedom. Yet, I must inform you that you will not have the liberty to remarry, for if you do, I shall claim custody of the child!”

He spoke with a composed and indifferent tone, desiring neither to make her unhappy nor to put in danger the future of his child.

“This is my final decision. The marriage license has been applied for and shall be in our possession within a week. The only complication is that the property will only be transferred to the child’s name a year from now. So, after the wedding, you may return home to your parents or travel to London; our house awaits, and the choice is yours!”

“What will you want me to do?” she asked.

He gazed at her with weary eyes, revealing the weight of his own troubles. “You ask what I want? I wish this situation to conclude as swiftly as possible, with a healthy child and our separation! However, for now, I request that you stay here to have the child and then spend a few months with my child at Pemberley.”

With confidence and contentment, she replied, “I agree with all you have proposed. I shall remain at Pemberley for a year, and then the child can visit whenever you and your future wife desire.”

“Thank you,” he said.

In truth, she wanted to thank him from the depths of her heart. Though she regretted not being able to offer him what he yearned for, she felt relieved that she had secured a promising future for her child. No matter the circumstances, her child would have a father and bear the name Darcy.

As he prepared to rise and depart, Elizabeth laid her hand upon his, resting on the table.

Observing their hands, she began, “The last thing I want is to bring you suffering. Thank you for everything, but I am concerned about...”

She could not bring herself to utter the marchioness’s name, yet he understood her meaning perfectly. That was Elizabeth—hovering on the brink of disaster yet always considering others around her. She was impossible, obstinate, and not in love with him, but the lady from Longbourn was genuinely remarkable. He did not meet her gaze as he replied, “Lady Derbyshire has a choice, but I am quite certain she will remain in my life.”

Her mouth felt dry, and nausea crept up from her stomach, making her grasp the nearest ornamental jade vase. She thought it was probably worth hundreds of pounds as she struggled not to fall while retching. Darcy rushed to her side, helping her. Overwhelmed with shame, she wished the earth would swallow her whole, but he cradled her in his arms and gently placed her on a sofa. When her vision cleared, Mrs Reynolds was at her side, soothing her with a cold towel, and Elizabeth began to feel a little better.

“The doctor!” Darcy called urgently. “Scott, fetch the doctor at once!”

“I am not ill,” Elizabeth murmured with effort. “Please, Mrs Reynolds, tell him that I am not ill. I have no need for a doctor!”

Mrs Reynolds turned towards Mr Darcy, her countenance adorned with a cheerful smile, “Sir, please have faith. The mistress is not ill!”

In a brief moment, the elderly and devoted servant realised the implication of her words. Observing this exchange, Elizabeth marvelled at how swiftly secrets spread throughout the household.

Darcy, though, was not angry or surprised with Mrs Reynolds for addressing Elizabeth as “mistress.” After all, she was his future wife, a fact suspected by those trusted and loyal servants who intimately understood their master’s affairs.

“I understand, but I wish your mistress to occupy the apartment adjoining mine. At once. Please send someone to move her belongings, and I shall carry her,” declared Mr Darcy.

“Do you think it is wise?” Mrs Reynolds dared to ask, not looking at her master.

“Miss Reynolds, I think we have long gone beyond social conventions. Miss Elizabeth is my future wife, and we have only close family and friends in this house. I assure you Miss Elizabeth’s reputation is safe!

“Come, Miss Elizabeth, let me help you!” he said with unexpected warmth.

“I can walk; I am perfectly well,” Elizabeth attempted to persuade him. However, the intensity in his eyes signalled her to acquiesce, allowing him to act as he saw fit. He then enfolded her in his arms and carried her to the apartment that had always served as the mistress’s chamber at Pemberley until that moment, unoccupied, awaiting its new mistress.

Thus, their story began with her in his arms, rescuing her from the fire, and now, here she was, held once again in his embrace, about to embark on a new life as the mistress of Pemberley. Safe and cherished in his arms, she admired his concern for her and his seriousness in addressing their delicate situation. She had unwittingly caused turmoil in his life, disrupting his plans. Yet, he had devised a remarkable solution for her. She pondered how much burden she posed to him and how much it meant to him to have her here.

“This was my mother’s bedroom, and now it shall be yours,” he said, and in her dizziness, she imagined that his voice took on a strangely warm tone.

As she waited for the maid to prepare her bath, Elizabeth cast her eyes around the room with reverence. It was the same bed in which Anne Darcy had once slept and where Darcy was born. Though she might only occupy this room briefly, it felt like home.

Darcy had transformed the ancient mansion into a modern dwelling. While she had no knowledge of how the house appeared a decade ago, he had undoubtedly made changes to ensure its comfort for its inhabitants. The dressing room had a remarkable element- a tub with water flowing from taps, a sight she had never encountered—a modern marvel that greatly pleased her. The mistress’s dressing room was impressive, in green marble, and she smiled as green was her favourite colour.

Mrs Reynolds continued to oversee her bath, prompting Elizabeth to request, “Please, Mrs Reynolds, go and rest. I have all the help I need.”

In good spirits and content to serve her, the elderly lady smiled, “I would not dare to leave now!” She was not afraid of her master but touched by his concern for his lady’s well-being.

A grand double door remained closed between her room and his, yet snippets of conversation reached her ears. Darcy was speaking to his valet, though she could not make out the particulars of their exchange. It felt odd to be so near to him in this way.

The entire circumstance was most strange, for she found herself thirty feet away from him in a room where she had no rightful claim, being not his lifetime companion. Nevertheless, a sense of ease and tranquillity enveloped her as though he had relieved her of some burden, leaving behind curiosity tinged with a touch of sadness.

She could not understand how she had come to be in this situation. Among her sisters, she had always been the one to contemplate the consequences of every life decision, considering herself a moral and prudent young woman. And yet, there she stood, in a foreign bedroom close to a man she had once scorned, prepared to play the role of his wife while also expecting his child.

The values she had held dear in the past now seemed shattered, and in the darkness, she wept—something she seldom did in her past life and never since this all story had begun. Her emotions confounded her, and she struggled to grasp the actions that had led her into this predicament. They seemed immoral and uncharacteristic of the woman she once was.

Tears streamed down her face as she rose and paced the room as if seeking an escape from her fears. Suddenly her composure dissolved in fear; she yearned to flee that place, feeling isolated, still wondering how that situation could happen from the first night. Behind the imposing door stood a man whose influence on her life would be everlasting. Her plans for the future had been annulled, and she now faced a hasty marriage to a man she esteemed but did not love.

A gentle knock interrupted her reverie, and before she could utter a word, he entered her room—the source of her miseries, yet also a victim of circumstances.

He appeared dressed for sleep, yet he must have sensed her agitation and decided to come to her aid. Without speaking, he drew her into his arms and settled her on the bed, gently wiping away her tears, though she tried to hide them. Then he lit more candles.

“I wish for you to see me, Elizabeth, and I wish to see you as well! It pains me to witness your restlessness and distress. I can imagine the loneliness and bewilderment that haunts you, but please rest assured that you and the child are safe here. This is the most secure place in the world for the two of you. Do you believe me?”

His gaze upon her was probing yet tender and caring.

“Speak to me, Miss Bennet. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and her tears ceased to fall.

“Are you aware that many women around us bear children before marriage?”

His words astonished her, and she recollected the whispers circulating in Meryton regarding such ladies. However, it was deemed shameful and condemnable, even to discuss such matters.

“You lived in your society, unaware of what was transpiring beyond its boundaries. I can hardly name a lady or two in London who entered marriage as a virgin. It is a common occurrence, yet society continues to denounce it, displaying the highest level of hypocrisy.”

He fell silent for a moment, observing her. She appeared stunned by his words, leaving him to wonder about her knowledge of the realities of life.

“Allow me to draw near and take you in my arms. I promise nothing untoward shall occur. I find myself in an uncommon position, being fond of one woman while marrying another. Nevertheless, we could be friends.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, “Yes, that is what I want. I do not wish for you to hate me!”

Darcy gently laughed, and looking at his calm expression, the world seemed a brighter place for her. “My dear Miss Bennet, I am so far from hating you!”

He nestled into the bed, tenderly enveloping her in his embrace. She was happy he did not see her face as she asked, “Did you divulge this matter to the marchioness?”

Once more, his laughter reverberated, filling the tranquil room with an air of serenity that soothed them both. “Of course I did. What kind of man do you take me for?” he jested.

Elizabeth freed herself from his arms, her concern and anguish apparent. “No,” she implored, “Did you tell her…about the child?”

“My dear, it is not a secret we can keep!” he maintained, his demeanour incredible cheery.

“She hates me!” Elizabeth said, and she let her fall into the sheets.

Undisturbed by her distress, he continued, “Probably! Yet she has feelings towards me, and I admire her true self, and I assure you, she is not an easy individual.”

Elizabeth longed to shield her ears from hearing more about the love she was thwarting. How could a woman willingly endure such a situation, waiting for a man who was about to marry another? Yet, it seemed the enchanting marchioness was an extraordinary lady.

“Nothing will alter the bond between her and me; a year will pass swiftly,” he asserted.

Her heart ached once more. She lay in her bed with a man who belonged to another, struggling to imagine the intricacies of her current life. This was not how she was raised; she had always adhered to principles and norms. Perhaps she had erred, but it did not alter her essence. She refused to transform into a different woman, and accepting her circumstances was arduous, even if marrying this man was her sole recourse.

“I do not hold you responsible for this predicament, Elizabeth; we were together that night in Netherfield, and we are both culpable,” he admitted, tenderly placing his hand on her stomach, “but I find solace in the prospect of having a child, and I must say, you are the perfect mother for my offspring!”

Embarrassed, she attempted to withdraw from his touch, seeking to halt his caress. Yet, the sweet sensation of tranquillity and security enticed her to rest her head upon his shoulder, closing her eyes. Ultimately, the marchioness resided miles away, and soon, Darcy would be her husband. She was on the verge of sleep when his voice roused her again.

“I must first speak with Georgiana,” he exclaimed.

Georgiana! Not a single thought had crossed her mind for the poor girl. At another time, she would have been attentive to his dear little sister.

“Yes, indeed, you must. No one else should know before her,” she replied.

“I need to prepare her, to help her comprehend the impending changes.”

Elizabeth felt sorry for the poor thing, recalling how distressed she had been upon her return from London, alone in the room she had shared with Jane since their infancy. And Georgiana’s circumstances were far more dramatic, for she was more of a child to Darcy than a sister—having depended on him as her sole parent for so long.

“Fear not, for her world shall remain unchanged once we are wed,” Elizabeth tried to console his concerns.

“Yet, changes there will be, which we cannot deny. She must grow and think about her future as a young lady pursuing her own path. However, these transitions shall occur gradually,” he explained.

“As long as I am by her side, I shall gladly assist her on this new journey...if you agree,” Elizabeth said, as Darcy held her close, whispering in her hair, “As long as you are by my side...I agree!”

It was the most refreshing sleep she had experienced in weeks. As she awoke, she found herself alone in her bed, but the doors connecting their rooms were open. Hastily, she jumped out of bed, her bonnet lost, hair cascading over her shoulders, and creases on her face from the pillow. She hurried to close the doors, just as Darcy intended to do the same. Their eyes met briefly, and he finally said, “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

“Good morning,” she replied quickly, “Wait, do not close the door. We have not discussed what we will tell the others.”

He looked at her in surprise, “What is there to tell? We are marrying in a few days, and everyone is invited! No one shall know our arrangement until the time comes—neither friends nor family!”

She smiled and said, “Thank you.”

His smile emerged, captivated by the sight of her finally finding happiness.

“I shall bring our guests home, and in the meantime, I shall have all the time to talk to Georgiana. We will likely return home in the afternoon. Scott and Mrs Reynolds are here to care for you!” he reassured, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Chapter 19

The party returned from the marchioness’ estate only in the late afternoon, wearied but elated, regaling each other with jokes and remembering the splendid time they had. Elizabeth warmly welcomed them in the hall, happy to have them back.

In the midst of the gathering, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Darcy, accompanied by his sister Georgiana. Observing the young girl’s sadness, Elizabeth surmised that they might have already discussed the matter of marriage.

“The hunt was nothing short of fantastic!” Bingley exclaimed, in his characteristic elation,

“And Lady Derbyshire’s house is absolutely fabulous!” Jane added, her eyes searching for Elizabeth. Taking her sister’s arm, she drew her swiftly into the library.

Though Elizabeth attempted to extricate herself, Jane’s grip proved tenacious. “You are hurting me, Jane!” Elizabeth whispered, pleading for release.

Jane’s response was unyielding, “Good! For you hurt me as well with all your behaviour. I saw Mr Darcy leaving the marchioness last night, and I assure you he did not seem pleased. If you do not hasten, she might ensnare him.”

Jane Bingley, no longer lost in the clouds of her own happiness, demanded an answer.

“He asked me to marry him, and I accepted!” Elizabeth confessed.

In an instant, Jane’s anger dissolved into pure joy. She laughed, danced, and embraced Elizabeth wholeheartedly with the library doors wide open. Bingley, witnessing the scene with astonishment, drew the attention of all the other guests present. Even the colonel and Darcy, engrossed in conversation in another corner of the hall, turned to observe the jubilant display.

“What is the cause of this grand joy, Mrs Bingley?” Mr Bingley asked, like always remembering everybody around that Jane was Mrs Bingley.

Jane halted before the gathered company, her radiant smile captivating all. “I cannot tell you, my dear, but I am overflowing with happiness!” she exclaimed, enveloping Elizabeth in her arms once again.

Meanwhile, Darcy sought the counsel of the colonel in silence, unsure of how to proceed. Eventually, the colonel made a cheerful gesture, encouraging his cousin to approach the joyous gathering. With his arms crossed, the colonel looked around, a satisfied air about him, as if he were privy to their secret. But soon after, he hastened to be by Georgiana’s side, anticipating that this moment might be difficult for his little cousin, who was accustomed to having all her brother’s attention.

Approaching Elizabeth, Darcy gently raised her hand to his lips, addressing the assembled guests, “Friends, I had intended to keep this announcement until dinner, but it seems impossible now!”

He turned to the audience while Elizabeth took his arm. “Here, at Pemberley hall, I am delighted to announce our impending marriage. Miss Bennet has accepted my proposal, and we intend to be wed in a few days, as we want Mr and Mrs Bingley to be present.”

“And we invite all of you to join us in celebration!” Elizabeth said, igniting a wave of collective joy and an endless stream of well-wishes and congratulations.

Amidst their delighted family and friends, Elizabeth forgot their arrangement, and she simply became a young lady overjoyed to be married. She looked up at her future husband while, in the distance, the colonel beamed, relieved that these two individuals were finally united.

Georgiana, accompanied by the colonel, approached with a bit of courage and a smile. She had a few words to share with them, but Elizabeth drew her into a warm embrace before she could and whispered, “You are not allowed to be sad. You are not losing a brother; you are gaining a sister in me!”

A brighter smile emerged on Georgiana’s face as she replied, “Indeed, I am delighted to have you as my sister, Miss Bennet!”

“Elizabeth...not Miss Bennet!” Elizabeth said, and Jane made the same offer.

“You see, Georgiana,” the colonel declared with his persuasive and commanding voice, “yesterday, you had only one brother, and now you have two gracious sisters!”

∞∞∞

“Lady Deighton, Lady Eleonore, Miss Darcy,” spoke Jane with an air of enthusiasm, “we must find my sister the most exquisite gown for her nuptials.”

A gallant and smiling Darcy approached the trio and bowed courteously, saying, “I am sorry, dear ladies, that Miss Bennet and I have some urgent matters to solve. May I suggest that you retire to your chambers, rest for a while, and later discuss the arrangements for the days ahead?”

Elizabeth willingly followed him into the library, curious about the pressing matters that demanded their attention. As Darcy closed the doors behind them, both seemed to be moved by an inexplicable impulse, drawing Elizabeth into his warm embrace. They stood there, locked in a tender embrace for what felt like an eternity, and then he gently cupped her face in his hands, bestowing upon her lips a light and meaningful kiss. It was far from the passionate kiss they had shared the night of the blaze. Yet, it conveyed a message: he intended to be her friend and partner, devoted to raising their child, regardless of the circumstances surrounding their marriage.

Despite the tender moment, a tinge of disappointment lingered within Elizabeth. Deep down, she had hoped for a kiss as passionate as the one they had once shared. It took her some time to gather her senses and focus on Darcy, who held some papers in his hands.

“Elizabeth,” he began, and his tone sent a shiver down her spine. Grateful that Jane had compelled him to announce their marriage—a course of action that left no room for any untoward developments—she prepared to hear something she might not relish.

“After the events of that night,” he paused, seemingly hesitant to give a name to the bliss they had experienced, prompting Elizabeth to say a simple “Yes,” and save him.

He smiled, visibly more at ease, “I resolved to marry you when you arrived in London. It seemed that you had consented to our union by being with me.”

Elizabeth’s sigh did not escape him, prompting him to jest, “You appear as astonished as if I were some kind of Wickham, dishonouring Bennet ladies and eloping! I told you that my feelings were unchanged!”

He was right; that had indeed been the essence of his letter. Still in love, he had sought to marry her, and most likely, on that morning brimming with emotions, she would have agreed...if only she could recall any of it. Her memory loss, coupled with his absence, had contributed to her obliviousness. Feeling somewhat embarrassed by what she considered a dream, she had sought to avoid him. There was no need to discuss a dream, nor was he bound to account for what had occurred while sleeping.

“I was convinced of your sentiments after that night,” he confessed, confirming her musings.

“But, in your letter, you asked to decide at my discretion!” she exclaimed, perfectly recalling his words.

“That was mere formality...I was certain. After experiencing such bliss, what lady would not want to marry?” he asked, causing Elizabeth’s cheeks to flush. But he looked at her with benevolence as he had also understood what happened to her after that wondrous night. His tone had no reproach; instead, he seemed eager to impart something to her.

“I must confess something,” he declared.

“Please, let it be good news,” she implored, suddenly anxious that her trials were over.

“It is indeed,” Darcy reassured her with a smile. “On that early morning, I sought Mr Bennet’s permission to marry you.”

Her astonishment knew no bounds. Once again, her life seemed to be guided along a path she could not entirely control.

“My father did not breathe a word of this to me! How is that possible?”

“I asked him not to divulge the matter as I wished to ask you first, but I deemed it my responsibility to inform your father of my sincere intentions. Then, in London, I received your missive, your message! I felt you were insane, and the best course of action was to put you out of mind and make a hasty retreat!”

“And you did so promptly and hastily!” She jestingly remarked, once again assuming the demeanour of the lady he knew from Netherfield parlour, always ready to defend herself at every utterance he made.

“I was disheartened and deceived, do not jest; you cannot imagine the agony of being refused twice.”

“I did not reject you the second time, for I was unaware of your wish to wed me!”

“Elizabeth,” he implored, “do you believe we could engage in a decent conversation without imputing or reproaching, merely discussing to untangle the past?”

She nodded, conceding that he was right and that she need no longer defend herself.

“I understand, but I have grown accustomed to sparring with you.” She smiled and tenderly caressed his hand, a testament to her new attitude towards him. He, in turn, pressed it to his lips. Perhaps their union would not be a blissful happiness, but they held enough affection for each other to find contentment in companionship, should they finally make peace.

“I asked your father for his support in obtaining a Bishop’s License—”

“Good heavens!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “And you got it?”

“Yes. Many in my circle choose to marry by common license rather than banns to avoid public announcement. I received it the day before your sister’s wedding! Alas, it was already futile!”

“Ah!” Elizabeth responded, conveying immense regret in that single utterance.

Darcy remained silent, observing her closely.

“Things might have been different if you had informed me!”

“Or if you had consented to speak to me!” Darcy said, yet his tone bore no reproach. “I received a letter from your father as soon as I returned to Pemberley,” he explained, handing her the missive.

Dear Mr Darcy,

I cannot claim to fully comprehend the situation between you and Elizabeth. I suppose times have drastically changed, rendering many old conventions obsolete. It is not meant as a rebuke but rather an observation. You sought my consent for Elizabeth’s hand, but it seemed she was unaware of your proposal. I implore you to resolve this matter face to face and not through correspondence. As for my blessing, it will be granted solely to the man who can bring happiness to Elizabeth. I have every confidence that she will discern such a man, for she has always been a wise woman who possesses the power to shape her destiny!

Sincerely yours,

“Ah, dearest Papa,” she uttered with a voice that bore the traces of imminent tears, “I cannot bear to disappoint him so!”

“Fear not, my dear. Soon enough, your parents will learn about our marriage, and all problems will be solved,” he reassured her.

“But—”

“Elizabeth, let us dwell on the present, dismiss the past, and disregard the future. I hold the marriage license in hand. Pray, do not question nor protest for a moment, Miss Bennet, allow me to speak my mind!” With averted gaze, he handed her another letter.

“Oh, I deeply regret not that you did not insist on speaking to me as you did yesterday,” she lamented.

He smiled, “How could you expect me to do so when you avoided me for days, fleeing each time I sought to draw near!”

She sighed, a sound he had become familiar with.

“Yet obtaining a license was not easy,” she remarked.

“Not when one is desperate, as I was,” he confessed, his smile gracing the room. “I sought the aid of the Duke of Blandford, a close friend of my mother; he approached the Archbishop of Canterbury on my behalf—”

“No!” Elizabeth interjected, her curiosity piqued.

“Oh, indeed. The license was acquired, but alas, all in vain!”

Her heart swelled with sorrow for the hardship and distress she had brought upon him and herself.

“So, can we be wed tomorrow?” she asked, devoid of irony or sadness yet eager to resolve this not-so-pleasant matter.

“My dear, such an attitude is hardly what I expected from my bride,” he remarked.

“Perhaps you will find a more suitable attitude in your next bride,” she retorted, immediately regretting her words upon seeing the hurt in his eyes. He rose from the sofa, casting the license beside her.

“Though I endeavoured to change, you have accused me of every flaw imaginable. While you, Elizabeth Bennet, remain as ironic and prejudiced as ever. You may decide whether you still wish to marry or the day of the ceremony. Neither Lady Cassandra nor I deserve your irony. I must remind you that both our lives were disrupted based on your decision!”

As he moved to depart, Elizabeth hastened to stand before him, reaching out to touch his forearm, yet he evaded her caress. “I implore you, forgive me!” she pleaded. Only at those words did he face her again.

“Thank you for all you have done for me!” she said.

“I did nothing for you, Elizabeth. My actions are for the child you carry; in my family, children are held in high regard and nurtured with love and care.”

And with that, he left the room.

Chapter 20

Elizabeth pondered at length, seated in the library with the two documents clasped in her hand. She found herself unsure of how to proceed, how to tell him she was happy to marry him.

A discreet knock on the door broke her reverie, and there stood Scott, seeking entrance. “Excuse me, madam,” he said with utmost politeness, “I just wished to see if you need any assistance.”

“Why, indeed I do,” replied Elizabeth. “Would you please place these letters on your master’s writing desk?” And she handed him the documents.

Scott took the letters but hesitated to leave. His gaze rested upon her as he spoke gently, “If I may, madam, allow me to congratulate you on your marriage.”

Surprised, Elizabeth looked at him, a warm smile playing on her lips. She was touched by the gratifying reception she received from the household. “Thank you, Scott,” she said, her heart touched by such kindness. “It means a great deal to me that I am received in such a manner.”

Bowing slightly, Scott began to withdraw, but Elizabeth halted him with a query, “I intend to write some letters before dinner. Could you suggest a place where I may find solitude?”

“The master instructed Miss Reynolds to prepare the violet parlour as your study,” he responded promptly. “Allow me to lead you there, madam.”

The violet parlour was where they had engaged in discussions, its walls adorned with a beautiful pale violet hue. However, what caught Elizabeth’s attention was a delicate mahogany study with writing tools prepared especially for her.

She was already accustomed to the house, so she realised they were close to her bedroom.

“Indeed,” Scott confirmed, “In Lady Anne’s time, the bedroom and this room were connected.”

“What a splendid idea,” she murmured, but her joy waned as she suddenly remembered that her tenure as the mistress of Pemberley was to last only a year. Swiftly, she turned towards the window, concealing the melancholy that welled up within her.

“Shall I open the windows, madam?” asked Scott, ever attentive.

“Yes, please,” Elizabeth replied softly.

“Once you are finished, madam, please ring the bell, and your lady’s maid will attend to you,” Scott offered helpfully. He had his instructions from the master, yet his considerate nature extended beyond mere duty, for he held a genuine fondness for her. Being welcomed with such warmth by those in service at Pemberley was a comfort.

Elizabeth accepted that Darcy’s anger had been justified, given her previous inappropriate behaviour. The dire situation had ultimately reached a reasonable resolution, saving her from dishonour and securing a decent future for her child. Darcy’s generosity and concern for their child were beyond doubt, and he had even risked his future with another lady to accommodate her conditions.

Though she knew her time at Pemberley might be brief—only a year or more—she was determined to embrace her role as its mistress with pride and responsibility. Gazing upon the rose garden beneath her balcony, she felt a twinge of sadness, yet it was much better than the fear and worries that had plagued her in recent weeks.

Leaving Pemberley would be difficult, she mused, before turning her attention to the study, sitting to make her correspondence.

∞∞∞

Delighted to impart the joyful tidings to her parents and sisters, she decided to pen separate missives for each, with distinct messages. Her dear mother, she knew, would be filled with joy to learn that she had indeed kept her promise and would be married before autumn. As for her father, her marriage meant that the entail hanging over Longbourn would no longer threaten their family’s future. While the whole truth could not be divulged, she sought solace, knowing that a property near Netherfield would ease his distress as she was resolved to care not only for her child but also for her beloved family.

Each letter had a different tone, inviting her sisters to visit and inspiring pride in her mother at the prospect of her daughter having such a generous and powerful husband.

Her father, in turn, received a heartfelt letter imbued with sentiment, expressing gratitude for his kindness and diplomacy. The epistle concluded with a resolute declaration of her intentions to ensure the welfare of her family, and Mr Darcy had readily acceded to all her wishes.

Seated on the balcony, a tinge of melancholy tugged at her heart as she regretted the absence of most of her family at the wedding. But soon, she smiled when spotting the jade jar placed nearby, visibly set there for her if she needed it.

All these thoughtful gestures moved her deeply; the devotion of both servants and master to her happiness were evident, and she resolved to embrace her new life with joy. She wanted to think about the wedding and the child, eschewing thoughts of a future beyond the forthcoming birth. Then, deciding to consult with Mrs Reynolds, she rang for her presence.

“Please be seated, Mrs Reynolds,” Elizabeth said, motioning toward the chair opposite her at her study. Astonished, the lady murmured hesitantly and somehow worried, “Madam?”

“Please, Mrs Reynolds, I shall now govern by my own rules. Let us discuss the matter at hand. I gather from Mr Darcy that, following the wedding breakfast, the household staff and estate’s residents shall gather for a celebration.”

“Yes, Madam,” Mrs Reynolds replied, still somewhat uncertain. “It is the custom at Pemberley; we come together to celebrate Christmas, marriages, and...births,” she added hesitatingly.

“Come now, Mrs Reynolds, let us not pretend you are unaware of the truth. My mother is far away, and I shall require all the guidance and support I can obtain.”

A radiant smile graced the woman’s countenance, and Elizabeth knew she had gained another ally. With Scott and Mrs Reynolds now on her side, her life would be perfect.

“There is much I must acquaint myself with regarding the household and estate, but we shall have ample time for that. I wish to ensure that the celebration you arrange for the staff adequately reflects my happiness at being here and becoming your mistress. I would appreciate it if you could make a menu and present it to me tomorrow.”

“Certainly, Madam, thank you!”

“And Mrs Reynolds, please send someone to inform your master that I wish to speak with him. I shall await him here!”

She resolved to reveal her heartfelt intent to be his wife and to seek forgiveness for any past follies.

“The master is away; he instructed me not to expect him for dinner, but I can summon the colonel; he is always present when Mr Darcy is absent!”

With great effort, she shook her head, unsure if she could trust her own voice. The desire to seek solace behind the closed door of her room overwhelmed her. Darcy was now with the marchioness, and she knew it was her doing. In the most trying moments of her life, she had not shed a tear for two months. But now, in the comforts of Pemberley, the tears flowed uncontrollably.

Yet, it was not the most opportune time for such emotions, for Jane burst into the room in high spirits. She relished every moment of her happiness. Now that Elizabeth was also content, Jane could openly display her joy.

“My dear, you have changed your room! I went to your previous quarters only to discover Miss Bennet had moved!” Jane exclaimed.

Elizabeth looked around at the exquisite bedroom, adorned with honey brown furniture, walls upholstered in a grey fabric with delicate stripes, and pale green curtains that complemented the decor impeccably. The room was filled with precious objects and works of art, exuding elegance and sophistication. The only thing that seemed out of place was a mahogany bookcase, undoubtedly brought in for the new mistress’s collection.

Jane settled into the bed beside her sister, as she had done countless times before. Gazing around the room, she continued to speak with her loving and composed voice. “My dear sister, I love you dearly, and I am delighted that you made the right decision. Mr Darcy may come across as cold or severe, but I am confident he will be a dutiful husband and a caring father. Marrying without love may seem daunting, but your sacrifice will bring its own rewards.”

Suddenly, Elizabeth could no longer hold back her tears, and Jane attempted to wipe them away gently. “Don’t be foolish, Lizzy! Love is wonderful, but look around—all couples eventually lead similar lives, regardless of how they began.”

For once, Elizabeth could not tell the exact reason for her tears. The truth eluded her. Was she miserable because she had to marry Darcy or because she had not had the chance to tell him she wanted to be his wife?

Jane told her more than once that they were so emotional because of the babies—a convenient explanation Elizabeth was willing to accept, for it shielded her from confronting the truth.

But an inner voice persisted, urging her to be honest with herself. No! It insisted. Your misery stems from a different reason altogether. Admit it, Elizabeth Bennet! You admired his demeanour, his ability to make you feel at ease, his attentiveness, his constant care...and you suffer when he is not around.

Chapter 21

She descended to the dining room unaccompanied, attempting to remember every corner of the house.

"Do not fret, madam," the lady's maid reassured her with a gentle smile, "you will always find a servant nearby to guide you."

Indeed, scarcely had she left the room when a maid or footman appeared to offer assistance. She marvelled at the number of servants Darcy kept and resolved to acquaint herself with the household and its staff, aspiring to become an adroit mistress of the house and estate.

In the sitting-room, she found Georgiana, the colonel, and their guest in the most cheerful spirits. Lady Eleonore was laughing heartily, thoroughly enjoying the company of Major Everleigh, while not far off, her parents engaged in conversation with Jane, while Bingley entertained the Trollope family, father and daughter. Elizabeth noticed that Emily Trollope, a young lady of her own age, remained shy and reticent, barely uttering a word. Deciding to make her feel more at ease, Elizabeth chose to sit beside Miss Trollope and engage her in conversation. She recalled her encounters with Bingley's sisters, how appallingly they had behaved during her visits to Netherfield.

Upon her arrival, she had been received like a queen, her friends eager to offer once again their congratulations on her betrothal. Lady Eleonore, taking her by the arm, ushered her to a sofa, demanding, "You must regale us with how you met Mr Darcy. Your future husband made his escape just as I sought more particulars about your enchanting story!"

The voices of her friends mingled as they all spoke at once, and Elizabeth found herself curious about what Darcy might have said. She had never imagined him as a storyteller, but it appeared she had yet to grasp all there was to know about her future husband. In the company of his old friends, he seemed open and amiable. Elizabeth sought support from the colonel, who interjected casually, "He told us about the marriage license you obtained two months ago."

Elizabeth sighed, saying, "I suppose he neglected to share the tale of my rescue!"

Lady Eleonore clapped her hands with delight. "Ah, now this is a true story, not merely about a marriage license! Why men are so sparing with enjoyable details, I cannot imagine. Pray, Miss Bennet, do tell us all!"

The colonel began recounting the tale to give Elizabeth time to decide what she wished to disclose. "Miss Bennet's misfortune was having her bedroom above the parlour where the fire broke out."

"Poor you!" Lady Deighton exclaimed, visibly disturbed by the narrative.

Surveying the smiling countenances surrounding her, Elizabeth realised that these were people of high society. Yet, they displayed a natural and enjoyable manner, shattering her preconceived notions and prejudices. They accepted her and Jane with warmth and consideration, in stark contrast to individuals like Bingley's sisters or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who might be mere exceptions rather than representatives of London society.

"It was indeed a dreadful experience, I must confess!" Elizabeth admitted. She recalled that night without trembling for the first time since the blaze. She had come to terms with her memories, especially the night they had spent together. It was not a mistake, and she became increasingly yearning for the sensations she had experienced in his arms.

"Imagine," she continued, "I was lost in a beautiful dream, dancing in a grand ballroom, when suddenly the voices around me turned to shouts—and those shouts were real cries of alarm. My room, situated above the blazing parlour, filled with smoke through the open windows. I could hardly breathe."

She paused, a contented smile gracing her lips, relieved that Mr Darcy was not present in the room, for she had every intention of regaling their guests with a tale of his remarkable bravery.

Acting on a sudden impulse, Georgiana sat beside her, offering silent support as she knew recounting the story was still painful for Elizabeth. Gratefully, Elizabeth clasped Georgiana's hand in hers and, with great resolve, began to speak. "When Mr Darcy rescued me, the first person I saw was Miss Darcy. She diligently assisted the colonel in his command, just like everyone else on the lawns."

"I was utterly terrified to see you lifeless in my brother's arms; I feared you were gravely injured!" whispered Georgiana, hesitant to admit the dreadful thought that Miss Bennet might have been lost to them.

Their guests admired Mr Darcy's courage and Elizabeth's unyielding spirit as the story unfolded. "The true hero of the night was the colonel," Elizabeth continued, "for he organised the efforts to extinguish the fire and save everyone from the flames. But, forgive me, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said, smiling mischievously, "my hero is Mr Darcy!"

The colonel laughed heartily and offered a playful bow. "I shall gladly accept second place, dear Miss Bennet!"

"Mr Darcy and I had decided to marry only days before the blaze; we had hoped to keep it a secret and have a double wedding with Jane and Mr Bingley. Alas, the fire dashed our plans. I was unwell for some time, but as soon as I regained my strength, I journeyed to Pemberley as we had agreed."

Elizabeth glanced nervously at her brother-in-law, fearing Mr Bingley might detect any falsehoods in her story. However, he seemed genuinely convinced, and the happiness shining in Jane's eyes was all the assurance he needed.

"An engaging story, Miss Bennet," Lord Deighton complimented. "All's well that ends well! We wish you a long and happy life together, as you most assuredly deserve!"

As the guests made their way to the dining room, Elizabeth beckoned to Mr Floyd, Darcy's secretary, and asked him to entertain Miss Trollope. He willingly agreed, though he secretly wished he had the chance to amuse Lady Eleonor. Elizabeth would have told the young gentleman that Lady Eleonore would soon be wed to at least a count. At the same time, Miss Emily would bring joy to any young man studying in Cambridge. Such matters were all about finding the right match.

Elizabeth could not help but ponder whether she was the right match for Mr Darcy or if the marchioness would be a more suitable partner for him. Suppressing her feelings, she turned her attention to Miss Trollope, determined to put her at ease.

In truth, Elizabeth did not like the notion of the marchioness being the perfect match for Mr Darcy. Yet she attributed such selfish thoughts to her current condition and the preoccupations of impending motherhood. She refused to dwell on the matter further, reminding herself of Lord Deighton's wise words: ‘All's well that ends well!’

Just as the dinner drew close, Darcy swept into the room with the force of a storm, exhausted yet radiating the energy that a spirited ride could bring to a man. Joyfully, he greeted his betrothed with a tender kiss on her hand and then extended his warm regards to the guests, inviting them to stay in his company.

As any future bride would, Elizabeth stole glances in his direction, but she concealed the tumultuous emotions swirling within her heart. She longed to draw near him and inhale the lingering scent of his clothes as the remembrance of the marchioness' fragrance—a musky blend of roses—left her feeling ill at ease. Yet, she controlled herself and continued to laugh and converse with the guests, exerting considerable effort to maintain her composure.

The dinner had been a resounding success, yet Jane, perceptive as ever, discerned the sorrow concealed beneath Elizabeth's countenance. Leaning in close, she whispered, a hint of concern in her voice, fearful that prying eyes might observe her sadness, "What troubles you, Lizzy? You have now all that a woman could want!"

Attempting a semblance of a smile, Elizabeth questioned herself, her heart still heavy, Do I truly have everything? But, she dared not confront the answer to that query.

∞∞∞

Darcy rapped gently on the connecting door between their chambers, finding Elizabeth completing her nighttime preparations. Adorned in an elegant burgundy robe, his customary half-sarcastic smile graced his countenance as he observed her taking refuge under the blanket. "Well, madam, have you decided if you still wish to marry?"

Astonished, Elizabeth stared at him, replying incredulously, "Of course, I intend to marry you, sir. Have I not already conveyed as much!"

She yearned to ask about the marchioness but wisely restrained herself from speaking. Was he now recanting his promise? The dreadful thought insinuated itself into her heart as she scrutinised him. Nevertheless, she enquired with a sternness that belied her inner turmoil, "Do you still want to marry me?"

Though her words bore an air of resolve, they also contained her apprehension, and she knew that Darcy was astute enough to discern it. Perhaps the marchioness had managed to dissuade him from their union.

"Excellent," he responded, satisfaction evident in his demeanour in the face of her unease.

"Then, madam, our vicar requests the presence of our witnesses and us tomorrow at noon.”

"And who will be our witnesses?" she asked, surprised, having entirely forgotten this crucial detail.

"We had little time for deliberation or selection, but I believe the colonel and Lady Eleonore shall suffice as witnesses, given the circumstances."

Relieved that their plans remained intact, she smiled at last, and at that moment, she glimpsed an understanding on Darcy's countenance—awareness of the turmoil within her.

"Goodnight, madam; may you rest well and be prepared for tomorrow!"

Though her heart yearned to whisper, Stay! knowing what could happen if he lingered, she instead uttered, "Good night," and watched as he closed the door dividing their rooms.

Stay, her heart incessantly pleaded, while her body, wherein his child now resided, longed to be reunited with him. It was not the love she had longed for all her life but an unknown emotion birthed during that night at Netherfield—a sensation of incompleteness without him. In a few days, they would be husband and wife, but now, with the marchioness casting her shadow, what would he expect of her? Did he still intend to live as a man and wife?

The pain she felt had a name, yet it was an emotion she had never encountered. She could conceal her jealousy no more. He was the father of her child, and yet, his heart belonged to another.

Her ensuing dream was a tapestry woven with memories of him—of them—their first encounter, her complete surrender of that night, the perfect match they experienced and the bliss that followed. When she awoke, weariness enveloped her, and she questioned whether it had all been a dream. Alas, the door to his chambers remained closed, and he did not appear for breakfast.

Chapter 22

The preparations for the wedding, imagined as a pleasant time, proved to be less delightful than she had imagined. Darcy's often disappearances left her with haunting visions of him in the company of the marchioness, thwarting her joy at every turn. She pondered the depths of a woman's love required to accept such circumstances and wondered if he would continue such behaviour after their marriage. Though she dared not ask him, the question persisted in her mind. But then, if he continues to see the marchioness I will not accept to his wife in bedroom, she thought, leaving her torn between desire and pride. She disliked every moment of his absence, and her heart soared with happiness as soon as he returned. She knew she would be too weak to resist him and despised herself for this perceived weakness.

With each passing day, her confidence in resolving her inner turmoil grew. Yet, she dreaded his return home, fearing the marchioness could sway his decision.

Her impatience grew for their visit to the vicarage, as it was about their marriage, now so close to realisation.

"The vicar is an old friend of our family," Darcy informed her as they prepared to depart. They embarked on a light carriage, only the two of them, while the colonel and Miss Eleonore decided for horseback to cover the mile or so to the chapel.

In the last days, moments of solitude between them had been rare, making their time together all the more pleasant. The radiant morning and the picturesque road to the chapel filled their journey with delight. Elizabeth leaned her head on his shoulder, an unusual gesture that sparked his concern. "Are you unwell? Should we take a moment to rest?"

"No," Elizabeth replied with a contented sigh, "I simply relish riding in the open air!"

Although she couldn't see his smile, he affectionately wrapped his spare arm around her shoulders. They paused the carriage near a stream, ostensibly to show her a distant water mill, but in reality, Darcy worried about her well-being. Yet, her rosy cheeks and radiant smile reassured him.

"Look, a fish!" she exclaimed, childlike in her joy, pointing out the waters.

"Do you enjoy fishing?"

"I do not," she responded. "I thought it unbecoming for a lady to partake in such activities."

Darcy laughed, unaware of any restraint in his future wife. "Well, on her own property, a lady may do as she pleases," he cheerfully replied. The short trip and peaceful moment brought joy to both of them.

Seated on a tree trunk by the water, she leaned on him, seemingly seeking support but secretly yearning for his embrace. And indeed, his arms enveloped her, providing the comfort and protection she desired. After a while, he turned her to face him, their feelings intensifying with each passing moment. She caressed his face, and he kissed her palm, causing her to close her eyes in surrender. Yet, the kiss she longed for did not come.

In the hushed serenity of that glorious morning, they rode together in silence, each still under the enchantment of the moment. But eventually, he could not resist breaking the quietude.

"I know you had not prepared a dress for the wedding, and given the tale we presented, you have to look prepared for the event. My mother's wardrobes are replete with gowns, and I am certain you shall find something suitable, modern enough for your liking. We have skilled seamstresses who can perform any transformation you desire. Your talent for making stories is evident; you may also weave one about your gown."

Elizabeth did not respond for a stretch, causing him to worry that his offer had somehow offended her. Yet, as he assisted her in front of the vicarage, he found her countenance adorned with an astonished yet lovely smile.

"Are you saying I may choose a dress from your mother's wardrobe?" she asked, stunned.

"Of course, Elizabeth. Many of her dresses remain in the wardrobe. And must I remind you, it is your room, your wardrobe? You are the mistress of Pemberley!"

For how long? she mused, a melancholic shade casting over her soul.

"Do not be sad, Elizabeth," he whispered, again demonstrating his deep understanding of her. He could discern her moods, but fortunately for her, he did not imagine the reason.

"I promise you shall have your clothes as swiftly as can be arranged and some jewels destined solely for you."

Their conversation was interrupted by the vicar, who warmly welcomed them, and they all entered the chapel, where the colonel and Miss Eleonore were already waiting for them.

"I extend my greetings to all," exclaimed Vicar Thomson with joy. "To celebrate your union is an honour and a pleasure." He then directed his words to Elizabeth, "St. John the Baptist Chapel was erected in the 13th century and, for the past two hundred years, it has shared a profound connection with the esteemed Darcy family. Countless weddings and baptisms have been sanctified within these walls."

Instinctively, Elizabeth's hand rested upon her stomach. At that moment, Darcy's smile radiated, seeing the perfect image: his wife-to-be, carrying their child while the ancient chapel prepared to witness a wedding and, very soon, a baptism.

Chapter 23

Elizabeth discovered far more gowns in the spacious wardrobe than she had imagined. Lady Anne, a woman of refinement and elegance in her day, treated herself with dresses direct from the ateliers of Paris. But above all, she had embraced the simplicity of the new fashion, making it her distinctive emblem. Elizabeth found herself unable to choose from the array of dresses that caught her fancy. Helped by the ladies, she settled on two exquisite silk gowns adorned with delicate laces—one a pale blue, the other a light lavender. Strikingly, she discovered that their silhouettes bore a remarkable similarity. Though Lady Anne had been a touch taller, minor adjustments could swiftly be made to accommodate the difference. Georgiana and Jane admired her as she donned the gowns, almost fitted and splendidly chosen.

“Mama would have been overjoyed to see you, I am certain!” Georgiana remarked, tears welling in her eyes. But in an instant, Jane embraced her, murmuring, “Come, dear Georgiana, do not let your beautiful eyes be red on your brother’s wedding day. Remember, you now have two sisters and a brother!”

The ladies were asked to give their opinions; they admired for a while the beautiful dresses from Paris—a luxury that the European wars had denied to the ladies of London—incapable of choosing.

“Mr Darcy adored his mother,” began Elizabeth, “and when he asked me to be his wife, he graciously proposed that I wear something old…from Lady Anne’s wardrobe to have his mother present with us on this day.”

Lady Deighton, a close friend of Lady Anne, reached out and caressed Elizabeth’s face, an unexpected and uncommon gesture from someone almost a stranger.

“My dear,” she spoke with eyes moistened, “may God bless your sensibility! I scarcely know of another young lady who would make such a touching gesture for her future husband. Lady Anne was an exceptional woman; you have made a splendid choice! If I were in your place, I would choose the violet one.”

And indeed, the lavender gown became Elizabeth’s choice too.

The skilful seamstress worked to clean and transform the beautiful gown, ensuring it embraced Elizabeth’s form as if tailor-made for her.

∞∞∞

Just as Elizabeth prepared to dress on the morning of their wedding, Darcy appeared in her room with a velvet jewellery box in hand. Seated at her dressing table, her hair gathered in an amusing ponytail, she awaited her maids to dress her hair, clad in a diaphanous nightgown that she swiftly covered with a robe upon hearing him approach. As he opened the box, Darcy asked her maids to leave them alone, revealing an emerald necklace of unparalleled beauty. Elizabeth hesitated, overwhelmed by the gift.

“Allow me to assist you,” he offered, prompting her to rise, her cheeks flushed with emotion. And he carefully fastened the necklace around her graceful neck.

“This was one of my mother’s treasured jewels,” he spoke with profound emotion.

“I cannot possibly accept it. I shall return it after the ceremony!” Elizabeth protested.

“Silence, Elizabeth, just this once!” he replied. “The emeralds are rightfully yours, passed down from my mother to you, as you now carry her first grandchild. I wish to see how they look on you!”

He led her before the grand mirror that adorned one side of the room. There, with a gentle touch, he unfastened her robe, revealing the brilliant emeralds that adorned her slender neck, shining like radiant suns, the same colour as her eyes. Unexpectedly, he leaned in and placed a tender kiss on her neck, then slowly turned her to face him, enveloping her in his embrace. The sensation of his lips upon her skin lingered as his kiss transcended the bounds of coldness and timidity. It ignited within her a storm of emotions; she could hear the thunders of her own heart echoing in her ears, and she imagined that were she to open her eyes, she would see the lightning. He caressed her with an intensity that left them both sighing in delight. In his arms, she recalled the moment at Netherfield when she had become wholly his.

Yet, as quickly as it began, it ended, leaving her dazed before the mirror. This time, there was no doubt—the kiss had been real, his lips pressed firmly against hers, his hands seeking to draw her closer, to meld her into his very being.

Seated at her dressing table, she could not regain her composure, but as the maids entered the room, she no longer cared if her turmoil showed. After all, it was her wedding day, and it was only natural to feel elated on such an occasion.

Helped by Jane and Georgiana, she dressed, and then the room filled with all the ladies eager to participate in this delightful ritual and offer assistance.

Adorned with braided ringlets, her hair was embellished with small white flowers. Finally, she emerged dressed in Lady Anne’s elegant lavender gown and the emerald necklace that perfectly complemented her eyes. The ladies could not help but applaud, their hearts overwhelmed by emotion. She was wonderful, and an aura of radiance surrounded her like a mist of light.

In a hushed whisper, Lady Deighton leaned in and spoke into her ear, “You are with child, my dear.” For the first time since learning the news, Elizabeth openly acknowledged, “Yes,” her heart brimming with happiness and fulfilment.

“God bless you, my dear, for the precious gift you are giving this family,” Lady Deighton continued, her countenance reflecting the joy by the prospect of Lady Anne’s first grandchild.

∞∞∞

Darcy and the guests, already assembled at the chapel entrance, awaited the bride while the colonel helped Elizabeth out of the elegant white chaise adorned with flowers and ribbons.

“I am delighted by your union, Miss Bennet,” he said warmly, already considering her as a cherished member of the family.

“Thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she responded, grateful for his support.

With the colonel by her side, Elizabeth entered the chapel, overwhelmed by emotion. As she stepped from the sunlit outdoors into the shadows of the church, the mystery and sacredness of the moment enveloped her, casting aside any lingering doubts, questions, or dilemmas that may have accompanied her there. She was now a bride, and that profound truth was beautiful and irrevocable.

Waiting close to the altar, Darcy’s eyes were fixed on his bride, observing her graceful walk as she made her way down the aisle. She appeared so exquisite and delicate that his heart swelled with awe. But only he knew that the subtle curve of her stomach beneath the silk gown was a testament to their forthcoming child. Pride and elation coursed through him as he accepted her hand from his cousin, and together, they stood alone before the vicar, ready to embark on a new chapter of their lives.

The church resounded with a general joy, and as they exchanged their vows and received the minister’s blessings, the hearts of family and friends swelled with delight.

Thus, they became man and wife.

As the newlyweds stepped outside, Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand, his gaze lingering on the ring he had just placed on her finger. When he looked at her, a surprising happiness sparkled in her eyes.

His tenants, peasants, and workers from distant miles came to meet their new mistress. Children eagerly awaited Darcy’s benevolent toss of coins, believing it would bring happiness to the couple.

Among the well-wishers, a little girl dressed in a white gown with flowers in her hair gave Elizabeth a charming bouquet of white flowers. The sight was so endearing that Elizabeth embraced the child while Darcy observed the scene with delight. It was a perfect portrait and one Darcy had lately dreamt of— a young girl in a white dress awaiting him on Pemberley’s grand staircase.

“Mrs Darcy,” he murmured as he helped her into the chaise.

Elizabeth nodded, all thoughts of others fading away, for he was her husband, and that day belonged solely to them. Just before they approached Pemberley’s grounds, Darcy veered onto an unfamiliar path. They halted near an enclosure with majestic gravestones within.

Hand in hand, they settled on a bench facing two imposing stones in black marble, which bore the names of Anne Darcy and William Darcy. Elizabeth leaned her head upon his shoulder, and he held her tenderly, saying, “Mama, Papa, this is Elizabeth...and our child!” He laughed with joy. Then, before his parents’ resting place, he kissed her as he had longed to do since the moment she had become his wife.

They remained still for a while; only birds’ chirps disturbed the silence around them while butterflies flew in an exquisite dance. A frog observed them from the pond’s edge at the heart of the cemetery. Elizabeth waved playfully at the emerald creature, causing it to leap and croak, seemingly perturbed by her gesture.

“You cannot stay still, can you? I wonder what sort of playful girl our child will be.”

Elizabeth made no reply, only desiring to seek out the frog and apologise for disturbing its sanctuary.

“Why do you always refer to the child as a girl?” Elizabeth wanted to know as they continued their journey to Pemberley.

“Because I wish for a delicate, intelligent, and mischievous girl.”

∞∞∞

As it was late September the nuptial breakfast took place in a vast barn situated at some distance from the grand estate of Pemberley, where the abodes of most of the personnel stood. As Elizabeth traversed the park and the gardens, she chanced upon a quaint village nestled not a mile away—a village that exuded cleanliness and well-order, adorned with charming, thatched cottages, where the sweet fragrance of wallflowers mingled with the scent of surrounding trees.

“I did not know the servants did not live within Pemberley,” Elizabeth murmured to her new husband, Mr Darcy.

“Well, my dear, there is much about Pemberley and myself that remains unknown to you,” he replied with an affectionate smile. “In this village dwell not only the servants but also the peasants who toil the fields,” he said.

At the heart of the barn stood a table of such remarkable length that it left Elizabeth in awe, and as soon as Mr and Mrs Darcy arrived, a charming orchestra started playing, serenading the couple, their family, and the cherished guests from Pemberley.

Elizabeth and Darcy were directed to their table, adorned with verdant garlands and colourful flowers.

To Elizabeth’s delight, all their guests wanted to participate in the village celebration and found their places at the festal table. Before taking her seat beside her husband, Elizabeth sought the company of Darcy to accompany her in the presentation of each person gathered. The women curtsied with genteel grace, and the men bowed with due reverence, while Elizabeth, with a bright smile, received flowers from the hands of adoring children. She engaged in amiable conversation with everyone, thoroughly revelling in the joyous occasion.

∞∞∞

Their wedding day ended with a sumptuous supper in the grand dining room of Pemberley. Gathered around the table were family, friends, and neighbours who had attended the church to witness and celebrate Elizabeth and Darcy’s wedding.

“Never before have I witnessed such a lavish feast at Pemberley!” Georgiana confessed to Lady Deighton.

“Ah, my dear, you are too young to remember, but in your beloved mother’s time, grand festivities were a common occurrence at Pemberley,” replied Lady Deighton. “And I hope that with the new Mrs Darcy, this house will once again be filled with life and merriment.”

As the supper concluded, an orchestra began playing on the ballroom, enticing the guests to dance. Georgiana caught up in the joyous atmosphere, declared, “What a splendid idea! I wish this day could last forever!”

All agreed with her except for Elizabeth, who yearned for rest. Mrs Reynolds came to her rescue, whispering something to Mr Darcy, who silenced the music.

“Thank you, all my dear friends, for gracing us with your presence on this exceptional and joyous day. My bride and I shall retire for the night and miss tomorrow’s festivities. Georgiana and the colonel will take over as the masters of ceremonies henceforth. Goodnight, and thank you all!” Darcy spoke with heartfelt gratitude.

Elizabeth waved in response, eager to escape the noise and finally rest.

As soon as she was out of sight, she confided to Mrs Reynolds, “I’m feeling unwell.”

Mrs Reynolds tenderly held Elizabeth’s hand and turned to Mr Darcy, “Please, sir, carry her to her room. She’s on the verge of sleep.”

“I am accustomed to this, Mrs Reynolds. She falls asleep at every momentous event in her life!” Mr Darcy replied with a touch of sardonic humour, yet he smiled, seeing how angry his housekeeper was with him.

“You cannot know, sir, how difficult it is having your first child!”

With Elizabeth cradled in his arms, Darcy laughed softly. Mrs Reynolds had been in his family for as long as he could remember, and her parents had served his parents before that. Yet, lately, it seemed she had acquired another master—her mistress, Elizabeth Darcy.

He carried Elizabeth to her bed, where she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Darcy lingered, watching her sleep, tenderly caressing her face. For a fleeting moment, she opened her eyes and softly uttered, “Thank you.”

Throughout the night, he remained close, occasionally holding her in his arms. Even when he was not in immediate proximity, she could hear the reassuring rhythm of his breath.

But as morning light crept in, she awoke to find herself alone in bed, and suddenly a surge of anxiety overtook her.

Where was he? Could he have dared to leave his bride on their first night together and go to the marchioness?

Distressed and upset, she rang the bell frantically, summoning her maid, who brought Mrs Reynolds. “Where is he?” Elizabeth cried, still confused from sleep.

“Who, madam? Who are you searching for so desperately?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Elizabeth replied harshly, “My husband!”

“Please, calm down, madam. He is downstairs, preparing for your journey.” Mrs Reynolds said reassuringly.

Relieved, Elizabeth allowed her to help her dress, the old lady marvelling at how wonderful it was to see such profound love between two people on the first day of their marriage.

Once comfortably settled in the chaise, Elizabeth said, "Where are we heading?" Her curiosity was precisely the frame of mind he had hoped to bring out since her arrival at Pemberley. He recalled the spirited lady she once was, eager to explore the world around her, eager to engage in every endeavour and ready to fight at every step, word or gaze.

∞∞∞

They embarked on a secret journey, the chaise larger than the one they had used the day before, now laden with boxes and luggage at its rear.

"It is a surprise, my dear!" he exclaimed, satisfied as Mrs Reynolds had informed him of his wife's morning request for him.

"We seem to be going too fast," she remarked, though Darcy had no intention of slowing down. He rode at the front while a footman travelled at the back; any word she uttered could be easily heard, so she chose to close her eyes and relish the gentle caress of the wind.

For an hour, they journeyed through small hills, the mild September sun still shining, but autumn's arrival was evident. She fell asleep, as she had done quite often lately. Darcy allowed her to rest, even when they arrived at their destination. At first, he had contemplated carrying her, but her eyes opened, and the gaze she bestowed upon him filled his heart with happiness. The servant was busy unloading the boxes amidst the dense forest.

"It is not so much a forest," Darcy explained, "more of a stand of trees. You will see, but we must walk a few minutes. Do you think you can walk?"

Elizabeth smiled warmly, replying, "I am not ill, my dear! Of course, I can."

But she was happy to find him worried about her. Perhaps it was the concern for their unborn child that weighed on him, but as long as the child was with her, he took great care of them both.

In silence, they walked side by side, occasionally blessed with the sun's rays permeating through the trees and lighting their path. Elizabeth cherished this kind of walk—the sun, the trees, and the joy of being together, alone in that perfect setting. It took no more than ten minutes to reach a quaint cottage. The trees parted unexpectedly, prompting Elizabeth to turn to Darcy with delight and exclaim, "It is amazing!"

The footman had completed unloading their belongings and was ready to depart; Darcy instructed, "Thank you, John; we expect you back tomorrow at noon!”

"So, we shall stay here alone, in the midst of nowhere, until tomorrow? Are you not afraid, sir?" she teased. Darcy noted her playful tone with pleasure, glad to see that her penchant for playful banter had not waned. Beneath her sarcasm lay a sense of enjoyment. She relished being in that remote location with him, the only lady he knew who found greater happiness in a forest than in a parlour.

"Come," he said, taking her hand, "let me show you the cottage.”

Though the cottage was secluded from civilization, it boasted tasteful furnishings, beautiful curtains, and a generously sized bed that brought a smile to Elizabeth's face—a mischievous smile that betrayed her inclination for jest and wit.

"No, my lady," he chuckled, "I have no intention of undressing you and carrying you to bed, if that's what you were thinking!"

Embarrassment tinted Elizabeth's cheeks, as she had not expected him to perceive her thoughts. She had indeed imagined that their sole purpose in coming to this cottage was to enjoy each other's company in the solitude it offered.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" he jested, laughter in his eyes.

"Why?" she asked with a false touch of innocence, her cheeks still tinged with a blush that she no longer minded. "I am your wife!"

Darcy was in the midst of unpacking some clothes, but he turned to face her, leaving the garments forgotten on the floor as he embraced her tenderly.

He kissed her passionately until her lips began to ache. "Stop," she whispered, "you are hurting me." However, her radiant countenance betrayed her words. He ceased for a moment, gazing into her eyes, as she recognised the familiar sensation, his hand caressing her just as he had done on that first night they spent together.

"Come," he whispered.

Taking her hand, he led her outside. They took a few steps when suddenly an incredible sight unfolded before them—a small, clear blue lake no more than thirty feet wide, with a small cascading waterfall on the opposite side.

Elizabeth stood motionless, enchanted by the view; it was the first time she had witnessed such a natural wonder—a cascade and a lake so perfect that seemed painted by the most talented painter.

"It is paradise!" she breathed.

"It is indeed the name of this place—Paradise Lake! My mother had this house built and furnished, and I suspect she occasionally accompanied my father on his hunting expeditions," he explained thoughtfully.

He paused abruptly, seemingly lost in thought, and she could not resist her curiosity. "What are you pondering?"

His gaze turned distant, as though he were traversing the realms of another time or perhaps a dream. His late mother often asked him that question, but since her disappearance, he had rarely heard it and even more rarely answered truthfully. Yet, this magical place seemed to elicit genuine emotions and unfeigned responses.

"For the first time in my life, I thought of my mother as my father's wife...you understand what I mean," he confessed, making Elizabeth blush once again, understanding the depth of his contemplation. He spoke of the intimate meaning of being a wife, not merely the mistress of the house or the mother of his children, but the woman whom a man loved in his bedroom.

"It is almost irreverent," he admitted, a smile gracing his lips as he envisioned the sublime image of his parents' love. He knew they had loved each other deeply, but in that glorious moment, standing close to his new wife, he grasped the profound nature of their relationship.

"The lake is splendid, but the cottage...it is the ideal hideaway for...lovers," Elizabeth murmured, and he nodded as it was his thought.

She glanced at Darcy, wondering why he had brought her to this secluded spot. But the question lasted only for a fleeting second, for she cared not about the reason. What mattered was that she was there with him, as his wife, and joy overflowed within her, enveloping her entire being.

"Come," Darcy invited once more as he spread a blanket on the pier, "now you may undress."

A crease formed on her forehead as she watched him.

"What troubles you, Mrs Darcy?" he teased, gesturing towards the cottage. "Back there, you were ready to disrobe!"

"You are an insufferable man!" she playfully retorted.

"At your service, madam!" he laughed, drawing nearer.

In one moment, he was close to her, and in the next, he disrobed, leaping into the lake, splashing and laughing, before returning to the pier.

“Come,” he said, inviting her with a smile.

“Are you out of your mind? It is almost October.”

Instead of any words, he splashed her. “Try the water, Mrs Darcy, before speaking.”

Elizabeth reluctantly dipped her hand into the water, crying in shock, “It is warm!”

“Did you ever heard about Buxton, Mrs Darcy? And its thermal Roman Bath?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, surprised as her aunt often told them about that place she often visited as a child and young girl.

“Well, a similar spring feeds this small lake here. Are you coming or risk for me to come and plunge you in the lake dressed as you are?”

He jumped on the pier in one supple movement to help her remove her gown. She was thankful she had a beautiful silk slip to cover her body.

With a bold gesture, he showed her the beautiful lake.

"What do you want from me?" she shouted, resisting his obvious intension even if the water secretly enticed her.

"To have you swim to the cascade," he proclaimed, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Swim?" she continued to protest, " I do not know how to swim!"

He halted abruptly, nearly causing her to tumble into the lake. "You do not know how to swim?" he cried more than astonished. "You cannot ride, nor can you swim. What sort of child were you?"

Surveying her like an odd creature, he then asked, "Do you trust me?"

Elizabeth shook her head, her arms hanging loosely by her side. "Almost!" she replied. "Is there no boat or vessel of any kind?" she asked, only to be met with his boisterous laughter.

"A boat! On this lake, scarcely larger than a bathtub! Look what we are going to do," he declared, pointing to a log floating nearby in the water. "I shall bring the log here, and you will grasp it with your hands while I guide it to the cascade."

Without further words, he plunged into the water, swimming with ease. Elizabeth watched as his agile and powerful body cut through the water, the body she remembered now from Netherfield.

Soon, he returned, inviting her to join him once more. Though a tinge of fear lingered, she was eager to embrace the adventure he presented. She had to learn to swim and ride; she had to learn to love this remarkable man.

With a smile, he assisted her into the lake to seize the log. "Remember the frog at the graveyard? Do you know how a frog swims?" he queried.

Nodding, speech eluded her as the warm, velvet water enveloped her. She was enthralled by this extraordinary sensation of floating weightlessly while following his instructions.

"Simply do the frog's movements with your legs," he advised.

To her surprise, even without his support, the log glided forward, and in no time, they approached the cascade.

"I am swimming!" she exclaimed, overjoyed.

"Yes, my love, you are," he confirmed.

She was too concentrated on what she was doing to wonder why this man called her my love. And then, standing beneath the cascade, as he finally enfolded her in his embrace, all other thoughts dissipated.

It was a paradise; the gentle mist of the falling water caressed them, a sensation Elizabeth had never felt before.

"Are you my wife, Elizabeth?" he asked, his voice filled with emotion.

She nodded, but he demanded more from her.

"Do you wish to be my wife at this moment, Elizabeth?" he asked, his touch leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

"Yes!" she cried out, "I want it with all my heart."

"What is it that you desire, Elizabeth Darcy?" he persisted.

As she hesitated, he pressed again, "Tell me what you desire, or I shall depart!"

She could not imagine a life without him; the yearning for his presence within her was undeniable.

"You, I want you!" she proclaimed, a surge of passion rushing through her entire being. Trembling like never before, she surrendered herself to his embrace, overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings.

She shouted as burning river began to burst throughout her whole body; she shivered in his hands and trembled as no other woman had before.

Chapter 24

“Is it proper what we are doing?” Elizabeth enquired on their journey back from Paradise Lake.

“Proper? I confess I am at a loss to understand your meaning. You have been my wife for two days now,” he replied.

“Under certain conditions,” she countered.

“Nay, under no conditions; you are my wife. What the future may bring is a different matter altogether,” he asserted.

“You know that is not what I meant.”

“I know, but I wished to be with you,” he hastened to reply.

“Even if your heart belongs to another woman?”

“Elizabeth,” he interrupted with urgency, “I am ill at ease discussing this matter. It is my concern. A man is not like a woman; we can be with a woman without being consumed by love.”

She concealed her disappointment under a smile. He could be with her without loving her. Nonetheless, her desire persisted; she yearned to be with him...without loving him.

They were alone in the chaise, slowly journeying onwards. Observing her face, he secretly enjoyed the faint dark circles under her eyes, a testament to their happiness.

“The question becomes even more intriguing,” he remarked, “why did you consent to become entirely mine?”

She hesitated, although she longed to speak the truth.

“Our agreement forbids me from marrying again. Perhaps a woman could also be with a man without loving him, merely considering it might be her only opportunity to be with a man.”

He tittered at her words. “Then, my lady, I shall ensure you remember this time we share. But for now, let us embrace this year we have together without ruminating on the problems surrounding our marriage. You are content at Pemberley, we are friends—I hope—and this day at Paradise Lake has shown that we can be intimately united. I daresay we possess much more than many other marriages!”

“Most marriages hold the promise of a life spent together!”

“Well, my dear, you have chosen otherwise, so let us make the most of what we can have.”

∞∞∞

Georgiana was the first to greet them, her countenance calmer than her thoughts. In their absence, she had moments of difficulty. Lady Deighton, Jane, and Lady Eleonore remained by her side throughout the day, explaining that Darcy’s marriage only meant she gained a new sister and certainly did not lose a brother.

“I have two brothers,” Lady Deighton assured her. “Each time one got married, I felt a pang of sorrow. Your fortune lies in your sister-in-law, who is a remarkable lady. The two of you can have a fine bond, whilst Mr Darcy will remain your loving brother forever!”

“Indeed,” Lady Eleonore smiled, “and when it is your turn to marry, he will suffer as well.”

They shared laughter, imagining Mr Darcy’s distress at her wedding.

“And you have two sisters, not just one!” Jane chirped, inviting Georgiana to divert her mind from sorrow. “Moreover, two more ladies at Longbourn are eager to become your sisters.”

“Of course, Mrs Bingley is entirely right. Real life is sometimes difficult to bear. Now, you must come to London and prepare for the future! It is a momentous period in your life; you are no longer a child but a young lady who must learn to be independent!” Lady Deighton spoke to her with maternal tenderness, and Georgiana endeavoured to appear at peace, although the turmoil in her soul remained scarcely quelled.

Fortunately, the day was filled with activities: they rode and strolled, and in the evening, the marchioness invited them to a late dinner. Georgiana seemed to grasp her new situation, while her family and friends helped her see she had arrived at adulthood.

∞∞∞

Upon their return, the foremost concern of Elizabeth was to seek a tête-à-tête with Georgiana in the violet parlour. The young girl remained guarded, although she tried to present a greater joy than she truly felt.

“My dear,” Elizabeth spoke confidently, “I have news of significance for your brother and myself, and we hope it will extend to you as well! It is a felicitous event,” she hastened to add so as not to cause any undue apprehension.

“Now that you have come of age, we wish you to partake in all the events of our lives. You must understand that your brother and I had resolved to marry some time ago, but alas, the fire disrupted our immediate plans!”

Elizabeth saw fit to employ that tale as it was convenient for making that rather difficult announcement so soon after her wedding.

“To be brief, since our commitment to wed was steadfast, we chose to commence our life together before the marriage.”

Georgiana’s face changed to profound surprise as she gazed at her sister-in-law. It was a particularly intimate conversation, and she felt somewhat embarrassed yet pleased.

“Well, my dear, you shall become an aunt!” Elizabeth declared.

The young girl’s eyes sparkled with delight. The revelation of this secret demonstrated that her brother and his new wife now regarded her as a grown lady. She felt entirely accepted into their family life all at once, and many of her doubts and uncertainties dissipated.

Though somewhat bashful, she observed Elizabeth’s stomach, pleased to know the truth. She tried to forget that terrible affair involving Wickham but could not help pondering how her life might have unfolded had she experienced motherhood at the tender age of fifteen. The thought sent shivers down her spine; it was an absurd notion. She had nearly despised her brother for his seemingly severe demeanour, but now, she approved of his evident wisdom in resolving the issue. As for that man, he had proven to be a deplorable character, motivated solely by her wealth, and he had even schemed Elizabeth’s sister into marrying him.

“How do you feel?” Georgiana whispered, even though they were alone in the room. She cherished having a sister and sharing a secret—a mark of her recently found adulthood.

In a calm tone, Elizabeth replied to please the girl, “He or she sends their regards to their aunt!”

They seemed in the best possible mood when Jane and the other ladies entered the parlour—an encouraging sign that Georgiana had come to terms with her new role and situation.

∞∞∞

Jane suspected the topic of their conversation, but her interest lay elsewhere. She scrutinised her sister, trying to discover if she was happy and whether the journey had been a success in a particular aspect. To her profound delight, Elizabeth looked fatigued but glowed, not because of the child but because she had evidently relished her one-day honeymoon.

The ladies spent the afternoon on a shaded terrace with cold drinks and biscuits while marvelling at the enchanting place Elizabeth had visited.

“I can hardly believe you went swimming! And besides it is almost October,” Jane exclaimed with concern, fearing for her sister’s infant, as she knew Elizabeth to be adventurous.

“Fear not, Mrs Bingley. It was a small thermal lake that keeps its temperature all year and I am certain my brother took good care of her!” reassured Georgiana.

Indeed, everyone present agreed with Georgiana’s confidence in Mr Darcy’s carefulness. Yet Elizabeth’s slight blush reminded Lady Deighton of her youth while Lady Eleonor’s mind wandered to a certain baronet awaiting her return to London.

“Yes, Mr Darcy attempted to teach me how to swim, but it seems I require more than one lesson!” Elizabeth jested.

“Are you planning to swim again?” Jane spoke, outraged.

“Oh yes, my dear sister. It is a pleasure we had never before experienced, in Hertfordshire!” Elizabeth replied, her eyes shining with delight.

Young Miss Trollope interjected for the first time, saying, “We also have a little lake near our home, and I used to swim with my nanny quite frequently.”

Elizabeth remained silent as the ladies engaged in a discussion about the merits and drawbacks of swimming.

Memories of their past moonlit swim lingered in her mind. When she closed her eyes, she could almost sense the night’s fragrances and the gentle embrace of the water, creating a magical cocoon around them. He had loved her in the water even if she had not imagined it was possible.

The next day, just before leaving, enthralled by profound sensations and yearnings, she entered the water, calling for him. He smiled from the lake’s edge, wasting no time joining her, and then he whispered, “You little enchantress, you surely know how to attract a man!”

She hoped her cheeks did not betray the turmoil within her body—she would have climbed directly to his bedroom.

It was what she did after the dinner, but to her despair, Darcy was not in his room. She thought at first he stayed longer with the colonel and the other men; however, when the clocks from downstairs beat one o’clock, she knew where he was.

She went to her room and cried, then fell asleep so angry with him, yet she forgave him in the morning when he woke her up with a kiss, whispering, “Mrs Reynolds sent me to bring you tea and biscuits!”

He watched her eating, but he was in a hurry, so he took the cup from her hand and the half biscuit from the other, undressing under her astonished eyes. She was still shy to see him naked, but she did not have time to protest, he loved her, whispering in her ear how beautiful she looked in the morning.

“Next time, please be naked in the morning,” he joked.

Next time, please do not come in my room after being with the marchioness, she wanted to say but did not. Happy that, in the end, he returned to her.

Chapter 25

Living between despair and happiness, she suffered when he was away, and her heart leapt with joy when he was near. Trying hard not to care that he was not entirely hers, she found solace in their togetherness, and his ardour made her forget his absence.

Nearly every afternoon, when the house was at rest, Darcy would enter her room and lie down nearby. He would enquire about her well-being, scrutinising her with a worried countenance before embracing her. Often, it was she who let him feel that she did not want to rest but to be loved. In those intimate moments, she came to suspect that he cherished her presence and her body close to his.

“Mrs Darcy,” he would say, his voice tinged with playful reproach, “you have become a temptress.”

“Is it a bad thing, Mr Darcy?” she playfully enquired, feigning concern.

“In our bedroom, it is the finest role my wife could embody!” he replied with a teasing grin.

Many a laugh was shared, and jests were exchanged. They indulged in playful teasing, yet in the end, their ardour conquered their spirits, and they succumbed to the enchanting realm discovered by their passion.

During moments of solitude while waiting for him, she attempted to understand the enigma that bound them together. Elizabeth often reassured herself that it was nothing more than mere lust, a powerful passion compelling her into his arms. But of late, she pondered the distinction between love and lust.

He would make love to her in the mornings and sometimes during the day, yet the nights were often spent apart, making her heart ache with longing and regrets. Awake for long hours, she would contemplate their arrangement—a situation she had once deemed desirable.

Upon arriving at Pemberley, she had been certain she did not love him. His proposition appeared the most sensible resolution to her predicament—an alternative to the shame she would have endured living in her parents’ home with an illegitimate child.

Grateful for his generosity and willingness to accept her terms, she had been content to have her own house, a comfortable income, and the means to care for her mother and unmarried sisters if something happened to her beloved father. It had been the perfect arrangement in the face of a disastrous circumstance. She recollected her satisfaction and optimism when he had proposed the agreement.

Unfortunately, that time now seemed distant, and the woman she had been then no longer resided within her. Her heart was no longer merely filled with gratitude for Mr Darcy’s benevolence; it now brimmed with emotions arising from their intimacy. It was vexing not to confide in Jane, but she knew her sister would not understand nor support her this time. And so, she bore the secret of her marriage’s conditions until she could depart Pemberley. However, the mere thought of leaving filled her with distress and anxiety. She cherished every one of her surroundings—the library, the bedroom, the parlours, the immense parks, and the memories of the picturesque cascade she longed to revisit. Pemberley was a splendid home, but only for a fleeting period.

Sleep eluded her as the hours ticked away while she contemplated his sentiments for her. He had once loved her deeply, but her conduct had driven that love away. Still, he sought her company. As he had confessed, a man could love more than one woman. Did he hold genuine affection for her, or did desire merely drive him? Such a dilemma was difficult to unravel, especially when he behaved perfectly throughout the day, only to retreat from her chamber nearly every night.

He found her appealing as a woman, but he pursued the lady he loved.

The marchioness was a reality, and he had professed his love for her. How could she compete with such a beautiful and intelligent woman? In a few months, she would have to depart. She had often wondered what might have happened if she had wholeheartedly said yes on that first night when he proposed in the violet parlour.

∞∞∞

They found themselves alone after their guests had departed one by one. Georgiana received an unexpected invitation from Lady Deighton to spend the autumn in London, which delighted her. Darcy could not hide his sadness, a rare emotion that Elizabeth had seldom witnessed. Though he tried to appear cheerful and encourage his sister’s departure, his true feelings were evident.

“She did not even ask my permission to go,” he confided in Elizabeth, a rare occasion when he chose to spend the night with her.

Elizabeth laughed softly and caressed his hand. “You are genuinely troubled,” she observed.

“Mostly worried,” he confessed, revealing that blend of fraternal affection and parental concern he felt for Georgiana.

Elizabeth reassured him, “She will be well cared for. Lady Deighton will look after her, and remember, she has your family—Lord and Lady Matlock and your cousins. Georgiana is a young lady now and must think about her future.”

Darcy felt torn, pacing the bedroom, “What should I do? I cannot simply grant her permission without a second thought!”

“Come, lie beside me, my dear,” Elizabeth comforted him.

Surprisingly, he consented, allowing her to hold him in her arms. “She does not need your permission, my dear,” Elizabeth whispered, caressing his face. “She is an adult now.”

“It’s just so strange to be alone at Pemberley…every time we were apart, it was me leaving,” Darcy lamented.

“I am here with you,” Elizabeth reassured but stopped abruptly as she wanted to add, and I will never leave you!

Jane was the last to take her leave as they sought to reach London, and the road was a hard try for a woman with child. The sisters shed copious tears, promising lengthy correspondences and hoping their offspring would be born almost on the same day.

“My dear sister,” remarked Jane with a playful countenance, “our little ones shall be near twins, it seems.”

Their laughter flowed more freely, no longer so shy about those matters.

“I shall tell Mama and Papa how happy you are!” exclaimed Jane.

Upon Mr Darcy’s invitation, Mrs, Mr Bennet, and Mary were expected to join them at Pemberley before the child’s birth. Meanwhile, Kitty would travel to London alongside Jane and Mr Bingley.

Even the colonel, who had once been a perpetual guest, now found his regiment in Matlock, drawing him nearer to his family’s estate.

They were alone. Save for the nights they spent almost all the time together. Elizabeth enjoyed accompanying him on his rounds around the estate, admiring his ways of resolving matters and conversing with his tenants. Firm yet benevolent, he was well-informed about his people’s predicaments. He enquired about their work in the fields and the fishing in the lakes, yet he also showed genuine concern for some tenant’s wife or child who had not been well lately.

When he was not around, Elizabeth’s thoughts often turned to the impending arrival of their child and the duties she would undertake as mistress of a large house like Pemberley.

“I am truly grateful for your assistance, my lady,” Mrs Reynolds said.

“I fear, Mrs Reynolds, I am not much help these days,” Elizabeth replied, recalling the long periods she spent sleeping on the sofa in her parlour. When she was up and about, she preferred accompanying Darcy on his errands rather than being confined to home, overseeing household affairs.

“Do not say such a thing, my lady! This is your first child, after all. However, I cannot express how essential it is for me to have your counsel on daily matters. It was what the late mistress used to do with my dear mother.”

Elizabeth entrusted the household to Mrs Reynolds as it had always been, her mind preoccupied with other matters.

“I wish to meet the people living in Pemberley Village,” she confided in Mrs Reynolds one day. “Though I have seen them at our party, I want to know them better.”

Mrs Reynolds assumed a severe countenance, reminding Elizabeth of her mother. “But you cannot walk so far now. I shall not permit you to exert yourself in such a manner!”

Elizabeth smiled and agreed, allowing her to arrange for a chaise.

She wanted to know the people from the village, those in their employ, to understand their struggles and ultimately leave a lasting impression upon Pemberley. Compassion, sympathy, and genuine concern were inherent traits of her character, driving her interest in the lives of those dwelling in her vicinity. Yet, within the peculiar circumstances surrounding her, she found herself entangled in competition with the future mistress of Pemberley—the one who would assume her position when she was gone.

It is pride, not genuine concern for others, she would reprimand herself, but she could not escape the feelings that plagued her. Overwhelmed by sorrow and regrets, she longed for Darcy to compare her to her rival.

It is vanity when your wish to help others does not spring from compassion, she scolded herself. But, she wished to be a perfect wife, far superior to the one who would succeed her and, perhaps, make him regret her absence.

During afternoon repose, she would daydream of a future moment when Darcy would visit her new home to see their child, confessing that he had erred in his affections, pleading for her return to Pemberley!

∞∞∞

“I spoke with some of the villagers in Pemberley,” she told him one day as they spent time together in the library, engrossed in their reading—a moment she cherished above all others.

“I know. You took them away from their work,” he said, a smile playing on his lips, contradicting his words. He meant no reprimand. On the contrary, she reminded him of his mother, who planned Christmas parties for the whole village and distributed gifts familiar to every resident on their vast estate, whether newborn or unwell.

“I am sorry! I merely wished to get to know them. Curiously, they told me little about their daily struggles, but many were eager to contribute to their children’s welfare,” she explained.

He did not fully comprehend her point, inviting her to continue, “I intend to establish a school…if you approve!”

Worried that he might object to her proposal, she hastened to add, “The parents will construct the schoolhouse and the benches, and we shall provide only the teacher!”

Laying aside the book he had been reading, he joined her on the sofa, embracing her. “Elizabeth Darcy, you are an exceptional woman!” he declared, his voice resonating with admiration, filling her heart with joy.

“Do you agree, then?” she asked.

“I do, as long as it does not disrupt my affairs,” he jested teasingly.

“They would not; I promise!” she assured, preparing to divulge all her plans. However, just then, Mrs Reynolds entered with the maids, bearing tea.

“You know your mistress intends to build a school?” he questioned Mrs Reynolds.

Mrs Reynolds appeared preoccupied with the tea, not meeting his gaze. “You were aware!” he stated, turning to one of the maids. “Did you know about this plan?” The young maid blushed and meekly responded, “Yes, sir.”

“I am the last to be informed! Kept in the dark!” he jestingly exclaimed, flashing a smile at Elizabeth, who remained untroubled, and the two women breathed sighs of relief.

“Then you shall have your school, Mrs Darcy!” he declared, willing to do anything to ensure her happiness.

Chapter 26

On certain evenings, he would choose not to depart. Instead, he reclined on her bed, his gaze fixed upon her burgeoning stomach, delighting in the sight of their child’s movements, his palms feeling the strange sensations he had discovered only a few days ago. Even on a late October night, the windows often stood wide open, inviting a gentle breeze from outside.

“You have changed the curtains,” he remarked, admiring the delicate lace drapes that adorned the room.

“I hope you are not angry,” she replied. “I did not seek permission! It was, after all, your mother’s chamber.”

“Nonsense, Elizabeth,” he retorted. “It is your room now, your domain. You may do as you please!”

∞∞∞

She lived a brief thrill, revelling in the transformation of the old room into her own. However, this joy was quickly overshadowed by regret, for with each passing day, her departure drew nearer.

He remained oblivious to her turmoil, holding her close as he recounted tales of a mischievous little boy and his indulgent mother, who forgave his every mistake.

“She spoiled me each day more, seeing my mistakes as necessary adventures. I believe it is why I became so proud—”

Elizabeth tenderly interrupted him, placing a hand on his lips. “Anne Darcy was a wonderful mother, raising you with love! I hope I can be like her.”

“You will,” he reassured her, “you will!”

Whispering, he knew Elizabeth would soon drift off to sleep. She was often drowsy lately, struggling through restless nights and tiresome days. As he caressed her face, he discovered it damp with tears.

Gently urging her away from his embrace to see her face, he was shocked by her attempts to conceal her sadness with great determination. “Elizabeth, my love, why are you crying?”

“I am not your love!” she managed to say between sobs, her body wracked with emotion.

“Elizabeth, you frighten me! Of course, you are my love!”

Mrs Reynolds had forewarned him about the deep emotions and tears that came with her situation, but Elizabeth had been so composed and joyful until now.

He longed to enfold her in his arms again, but she leaned against the headboard, keeping her distance. “I cannot bear it any longer!” she cried amid her tears.

“What can you not bear any longer?” His face contorted with worry, wanting to comfort her, but she resisted once more.

“I wish to return to my home. Did you acquire that property?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“What property?” he asked, utterly perplexed.

“Now?” Looking at her, he wanted to laugh as her five-month-old stomach began taking impressive shape.

But she was serious, while the sincerity and pain evident in her expression left him bewildered.

“How can you possibly imagine going anywhere now?”

“I can go wherever I please,” she declared, her tears finally subsiding.

“What happened?” he asked, growing concerned.

“Did you acquire that property?”

It took him a moment to grasp her meaning. “I did not—”

But before he could finish, a deep sob escaped her chest.

“Stop, Elizabeth, stop; you’re hurting yourself and the child. Allow me to explain!” He embraced her forcefully, almost struggling with her, and waited until her sobbing abated.

“That property will not be available until next year, in June or July!”

And the sobs resumed.

“My darling,” he said, “you are safe here, surrounded by people who love you.”

“But not you!” she retorted.

At that moment, he began to comprehend, a peculiar smile played upon his face that resembled triumph. However, as she sought to face him again, he concealed his joy and let his love emerge. “Elizabeth, I adore you!” he exclaimed, “I am deeply in love with you!”

She could not believe it, even though she knew he was never deceitful.

“But then why did you go out every night to—” The sudden tears interrupted her, preventing her from finishing her sentence.

“Please, my love, stop crying.”

He summoned Scott and issued some quiet instructions that Elizabeth could not hear, nor did she care to. The notion of leaving Pemberley devastated her, yet she could no longer bear it. She could not keep searching for him each night, only to find that he had gone to love another woman.

He returned to the bed, but this time a new expression appeared on his face, one she could not interpret. He scrutinised her with that familiar arrogance. “So, Elizabeth Darcy,” he said, as if discussing a business matter, “you cannot handle this situation!” He gestured toward the direction of the marchioness’s mansion.

“No!” she cried.

Elizabeth had not planned this crisis. She had no intention of discussing it with him. Despite the occasional difficulties, she adored staying in Pemberley and did not want to leave. Even the school was a reason she hoped would keep her there beyond July of next year.

Yet suddenly, she could not bear it any longer. It was a spontaneous outburst.

She pondered why she felt so miserable when her life was as she had wanted to be. She had asked herself the same question countless times, and the answer was obvious. She had accepted that her sadness and jealousy stemmed from his affair with another woman, but that was not entirely true. She was jealous because she loved him. Her heart was overwhelmed by a sentiment she had tried to avoid acknowledging. It was love; it had been love all along, at Netherfield, the night they conceived the child, in London when she could not look at him, every day and night since her arrival at Pemberley. Yet she had been too stubborn to admit it, and now she had to leave to avoid descending into madness from sorrow and regret.

“No, I cannot take it anymore,” she said in a calmer voice.

“And why cannot you handle this situation anymore? I thought it was the perfect choice for you.”

As she remained silent, he drew nearer, gazing so intensely into her eyes that she could not withstand his penetrating stare.

“I have fulfilled your every wish, acquiesced to all your imprudent requests, Elizabeth, and I require an answer now!” he determinedly ordered.

“Your kindness and generosity prevent me from disrupting your life once more,” she replied with gratitude.

“Disrupt my life again, Elizabeth. I am commanding you!” His words thundered through the chamber, resonating with authority.

“I am consumed by jealousy!” she retorted, matching his fervent tone. Like a long-suppressed volcano finally erupting, she could no longer contain her emotions. “Jealous every night and every day!”

His countenance suddenly transformed, revealing pure contentment. She recognised this satisfaction from the first moment, hardly believing her eyes. But it was too late to retract her words. He welcomed her jealousy with delight, relief, and many other emotions on his face.

“You, despicable man!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her anger still ablaze. “You knew all along!”

“What? What did I know, Elizabeth?” he asked, appearing both curious and intrigued.

“That I was jealous and—” she paused briefly before mustering the courage to continue, “—and I love you!” The confession slipped from her lips as he pulled her into his embrace, whispering.

“You...you enchantress, you nearly had me at death’s door!” he confessed, overwhelmed by happiness. “Do you trust me?” he asked as he sometimes did.

“No…yes!” she said.

“Then we go to bed, and you will have all the answers in the morning.”

“And you will stay with me?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course, I will; where do you imagine I can go?”

And for once or perhaps for the first time, she did not answer in her old quarrelsome way but closed her eyes and let him take her into his arms.

Pemberley was home, Darcy was her husband, and the five-month predicament had ended, whatever awaited her in the morning.

Chapter 27

Scott found his masters in the breakfast room. His mistress exhibited a flushed countenance yet maintained an air of composure, while his master appeared as if he had stumbled upon the gates of paradise.

He presented the Marchioness of Derbyshire and Colonel Fitzwilliam, obviously satisfied that he had fulfilled the mission his master had given him that night.

Elizabeth rose to her feet, feeling the very breath escape her lungs. She stood frozen, unable to move or utter a word, while the others rejoiced, nearly dancing around her.

“What is the meaning of this?” she enquired.

Darcy felt sorry for her and enfolded her in his embrace, but Elizabeth disentangled herself, determined to take in the entire situation.

“It is precisely what you see,” he explained, “Lady Derbyshire just arrived from her home accompanied by her future husband, who lives at Matlock!”

Elizabeth looked from one to another in a mix of disbelief and anger.

“You cannot be serious!” she directed her sharp words at the colonel, starting to comprehend.

“Yes, my dear cousin, we certainly are,” the colonel replied, kissing her hand. “Without a doubt!”

They all shared a hearty laugh. Lady Derbyshire approached Elizabeth and took her hand. Elizabeth wanted to resist, but her emotions left her too shaken to move.

“I apologise, Mrs Darcy, but you had almost driven this poor man to madness,” the marchioness stated, indicating Darcy.

At last, Elizabeth managed to sit down, attempting to regain her composure. “You are all adults!”

“Most of the time!” Darcy jested with a playful expression, yearning to approach her, yet she made a firm gesture to halt him.

“The marchioness is...?” she asked with an intense tone.

“The colonel’s betrothed!” Darcy responded with the face of a schoolboy facing his teacher.

“Since?”

“Since July!”

“She was never—?”

“Never!” Lady Derbyshire interjected, looking at the colonel, who nodded in agreement.

“So everything was a charade intended to...?”

“Come, Mrs Darcy…Elizabeth,” Cassandra interjected, “why all the questions? You were the woman for him; he loved you from the beginning; he wished to marry you. Just observe how well you complement each other; the only one who failed to recognise the truth was you.”

“The divorce?” Elizabeth turned her gaze from the marchioness to Darcy.

“What divorce, Elizabeth? I feared you might discern the deception during that puerile divorce tale. Have you ever encountered a divorced person?” he enquired, observing her with earnest eyes. “You are an intelligent woman, yet you believed such absurdities.”

“Because I trusted you!” she exclaimed, still aggrieved, but her fury only caused him to smile.

“The property near Netherfield?” Elizabeth pressed on.

“A lie!” Darcy asserted. “I never intended to acquire a property or allow you to leave Pemberley!”

“Never?”

Elizabeth was in shock, though, in the recesses of her heart, she could not help but admit a sense of relief as the burdensome weight that had plagued her for weeks now seemed to dissolve into the ether. The three of them stood before her, each bearing a facade of guilt, yet she recognised that it was her impetuous nature, her unyielding pride, and at times, the sway of prejudice that had driven them to concoct this audacious scheme. She, with all her stubbornness, had been the instigator.

Then her stubbornness could not bring herself to admit that she loved him simply because she had once believed him unworthy.

With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, she turned her gaze towards Darcy. “And pray, sir, what course of action would you have taken had I remained resolute in my decision to leave for my imaginary estate?”

“I would have had no choice but to lock you in your chamber with the assistance of Mrs Reynolds and Scott,” replied Darcy in a playful yet resolute manner.

Elizabeth could not determine whether his words were uttered in jest or earnestness, and she probed further, “And where did your wanderings take you on the nights when you were absent?”

“Know that I spent those evenings harbouring ill feelings towards you, whether it be while riding with reckless abandon, venting my frustration at Lady Cassandra’s abode or Matlock Manor, or even in the company of Floyd,” he confessed.

Though she appeared to accept the situation, her enquiries were far from over. “And what of the contract I signed, wherein I pledged never to enter into wedlock again?”

“It was but a fabrication, my dear,” Darcy revealed.

A sudden anguish gripped Elizabeth’s heart, and she implored, “Are we truly married then, Mr Darcy?”

“We are, indeed, my love, we are,” he reassured her.

Her emotions seemed to waver between sorrow and joy, and she declared, “I shall never forgive you!”

A hint of a smile graced her lips, and Darcy responded in kind, “And I am certain that you shall not, my love.”

In a more practical tone, Elizabeth insisted, “You are going to pay for my school!”

“Yes, that I shall,” Darcy conceded, “though we must engage in some negotiations for the matter.”

She understood his meaning but maintained her composure. “And the salaries for two teachers, as well as the necessary books, paper, and other supplies?”

“Let us eat,” Darcy suggested with a laugh. “Then, I believe we may secure a more favourable arrangement!”

In this manner, their conversation ended, leaving Elizabeth’s heart and mind to grapple with the implications of their clandestine alliance, all while the corners of her mouth betrayed the growing contentment within her.

Chapter 28

Lady Derbyshire became Elizabeth’s confidante in her ventures, for she possessed a keen skill in negotiating with the opposite sex. Long before Christmas, their friendship had blossomed into an inseparable bond, prompting the decision to solemnise her and the colonel’s marriage at the Pemberley as, for Elizabeth, it was impossible to go further than the house.

In the last months, Elizabeth’s condition raised concern, displaying uncommon peculiarities to other ladies. The doctor’s knowledge offered little solace, leading Mrs Reynolds to summon an older woman of renown, Beulah, the midwife and village witch. This mysterious woman was famed for her craft, adept at predicting the genders of infants and saving countless mothers during childbirth.

“What ails your mistress?” enquired the old woman.

“Nothing, but her stomach has grown rapidly, hindering her movement even though she has a month left before delivery,” replied Mrs Reynolds.

With an unsettling demeanour yet kind eyes for those she favoured, Beulah observed Elizabeth, who felt a comforting warmth envelop her. Suddenly, Elizabeth found herself placing utmost trust in the mysterious woman.

“Where is the father?” Beulah asked further, causing Mrs Reynolds to gasp in shock, for such matters were not usually discussed with men. However, Beulah asserted, “We cannot proceed without the father, for he completes the other half.”

After taking a seat, Beulah scrutinised Elizabeth’s swollen stomach, mumbling something. She then turned her attention to Darcy, who had arrived, timid and uncomfortable. Beulah regarded him with sympathy and beckoned him to approach, indicating the other side of Elizabeth’s bed.

Despite the peculiar atmosphere, no one dared to raise objections. Beulah proceeded to palpate the prominent stomach while continuing her incantations. After a considerable duration, she addressed Darcy in a composed and confident tone, “Your lady carries twins!”

Both Darcy and Mrs Reynolds were stunned by the news, thrilled yet perplexed, as twins were rare.

“You are blessed,” Beulah declared, “though I must warn that the delivery may not be easy. However, if you place your trust in me, I shall ensure the safe delivery of the boys.”

“The boys?” Darcy exclaimed, “Two sons! You are killing me, Elizabeth!”

“Good,” Elizabeth finally said. “This is the punishment for playing that comedy for so long. Two Darcy boys at once might indeed require you to buy a property, after all!”

Epilogue

Seven years later, Darcy was returning from his estate tour amid a glorious autumn. On the grand steps of Pemberley, a cherubic princess no older than four years wept inconsolably. Clutching an apricot in her tiny hands, she had besmirched her beautiful lace dress with the sweet, succulent juice, and her delicate face was dirty with a blend of tear and dust.

Her nursemaid observed the scene from afar, yet Alethea, as was her wont, wanted to wait for her papa’s arrival alone. She hastened to his side at the sight of him dismounting his horse. Her cries became sobs as she embraced Darcy’s head with her little arms, compelling him to witness her distress.

The nanny smiled, pondering how a young girl like Alethea could wield such influence over a man of her father’s stature. Nevertheless, it was a well-known truth at Pemberley.

“Why does my princess weep so?” he asked, his voice laced with a fierce determination to defeat any adversaries that had aggrieved his daughter. “Who has caused you distress, my adored elfin?”

“The devil brothers!” she replied amidst her sobs.

Darcy tittered as he gazed at her delicate, honey-coloured curls. He and Elizabeth often referred to the mischievous twins with that name when they were alone. However, the little elfin seemed always nearby, understanding their secret words.

“And pray, may I ask why?” he enquired.

“They say girls are not meant for going to school...and besides, I am too little,” she replied, her determination shining through her eyes.

Darcy struggled to suppress a laugh. “You should tell your brothers that Mama’s school is primarily for girls, but you are only four years old.”

“That does not matter!” she cried, and he saw in her the fearless spirit of his beloved wife, ready to confront any challenge. “I want to go!”

He looked at her with astonishment. “You wish to attend school?”

She nodded firmly as he attempted to take the apricot from her tiny hand.

“Why would a young sprite like you desire to attend school?”

The little girl’s face, almost clean as all the dirt smudged on his shirt, was so beautiful that Darcy smiled bewitched. “I must learn to write,” she said earnestly, “for I have a story to tell!”

In due time, Alethea mastered reading and writing and passionately pursued her destiny. Besides cherished activities like swimming and riding with her family, she devoted her days to her literary pursuits.

From the age of eleven, and perhaps earlier, Alethea wrote poems and stories for her and her family’s amusement. In these works, she detailed the daily life in Pemberley. She wrote about all the persons that ever entered their property friends, family, and servants. Sometimes she wrote stories full of anarchic fantasies of female power, licence, illicit behaviour, and general high spirits.

At family gatherings, one could observe that men predominantly populated the table. The colonel had three sons; Jane and Bingley had two, while Elizabeth and Darcy were blessed with twins. Amidst this sea of men, Alethea stood as the only daughter, growing more cherished with each passing day.

Therefore, when she arrived at a family dinner on the verge of tears, her uncle, now a general but still fondly addressed as the colonel, wanted to reach for his rifle, and the other men prepared for action. Yet, her father calmly inquired about the reason for her distress.

“Benjamin Crosby did not publish my novel and has no intention of doing so, even if he bought the manuscript for ten pounds!” she exclaimed vexed.

“And who is this Benjamin Crosby?” roared the colonel.

Cassandra gently touched her husband’s, reassuringly saying, “My dear, there’s no need to kill him!” A smile was exchanged between her and Elizabeth.

“He is an editor,” Alethea responded.

“We will not kill him…literally!” jested one of Alethea’s cousins, a prosperous businessman. “Instead, we kill his literary business. The family will establish a new Publishing House for the princess, and she will be our first author. Furthermore, we shall entice all writers away from that infamous Benjamin Crosby.”

Six months later, Miss Alethea Darcy’s debut novel adorned bookshelves across the kingdom. The book, entitled ‘From Pemberley to Paradise,’ bore the heartfelt inscription on the first page, ‘For Mama, Papa, and the Devil Brothers.’

Elizabeth delicately took the book from her husband’s hands, their eyes shimmering with emotion, teetering on the brink of tears. It had been two decades since they were married, yet the memories of their early trials remained etched in her heart. The charade she endured at the beginning of their life together still lingered in her memory. The benevolent master of Pemberley had found himself repeatedly seeking her pardon by supporting her when she embarked on a noble endeavour, establishing a school for young ladies in London, which soon expanded to five other cities across the kingdom, bearing the name of ‘Althea Academy.’

“My love,” Darcy spoke with elation, “I am truly proud of our daughter!”

“You have every reason to be, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth replied. She possesses a gift for the written word and embodies a novel kind of womanhood that aspires to be more than merely a wife.”

Darcy smiled and kissed her. Familiar with Elizabeth’s wit, he thought better than to indulge in any jesting remarks. But deep within his soul, a profound sense of contentment enveloped him, for he knew Elizabeth had never once complained about her choice to be his wife.

Books By This Author

Shadows over Pemberley

‘Shadows over Pemberley’ is a dramatic Pride and Prejudice variation that dares to bring a character from Darcy’s past into the present. Love, hate, longing, deception and happiness, all human feelings mingle in a low angst plot which unexpectedly fulfils one of Darcy’s most secret wishes.
A visit to Derbyshire occasions Elizabeth and Darcy to meet in the splendour of Pemberley, both eager to forget and be forgiven.
But in the middle of their promising reunion, clouds gather in the clear sky of their love. News from Longbourn interrupts their path to happiness with doubts and questions, while a solution is sought to prevent Lydia from besmirching the Bennets’ honour.
When a new journey to Pemberley is decided upon, nobody suspects that it will only be the beginning of an eerie quest for a past that has not died and cannot be forgotten.
More in love than ever, Elizabeth and Darcy start an adventure together that will mark a powerful beginning for their life together at Pemberley.

Excerpt
They began their strange journey a week later, leaving a happy Jane and an ecstatic Bingley as master and mistress of the house, eager to practise the roles they would have in their new home in London.
“Do not worry, please,” Jane said. “We shall take care of the children.” There were many ‘children’. Besides Georgiana and their sisters, the young Morrison gentlemen preferred to stay at Pemberley while their parents were gone. Mr Morrison was also part of the group making the journey to the Isle of Man. Elizabeth was happy about that decision, fearing Darcy’s reaction if they found the physician alive.

Tacitly, they decided not to speak about what they could find in Douglas. It would be a painful discussion that would yield no result other than useless torment.
They had postponed their trip until the men Darcy had sent to Liverpool sent a message to say that they had found a ship to take them to the Isle of Man.
“I hope we shall not have to row!” Elizabeth spoke in her usual mildly sarcastic way when in fact she was excited, this being her first time on the sea.
Mr Morrison laughed at her words while Darcy, with a funny grimace, said to his godmother, “This is how my life will be. This lady has no kind words.”
But, for once, the Morrisons were not on his side as they liked Elizabeth, sure by now that the new mistress of Pemberley would restore the peace and happiness that had once dominated that house.

The trip was an excellent occasion to get to know her better, while their presence made Darcy less tense, as though they carried a part of his difficult burden for him.
“Have you spoken to Lydia?” Mrs Morrison asked as the men discussed estate issues.
“Yes, quite a lot. She still hates me as she holds me responsible for her failure to marry Wickham…although, when we spoke, she seemed angry rather than regretful…I do not know. Lydia was not a very complicated girl, but now I cannot tell what she thinks. I hope Jane will find out more.”
“My dear,” Mrs Morrison said. “I do not know how to put this…but you and Mrs Bingley are mature ladies, but not because of your age. I suspect you were the same even at Lydia’s age. It is your nature. You are altruistic and responsible, and these attributes also influence how you love. You are wholly dedicated to the men you love—”
“And you think that Lydia is not?” Elizabeth asked, less surprised.
“My feeling is that Lydia just needed a reason and an opportunity to escape her former life—”
“At sixteen?” Elizabeth asked, but Mrs Morrison’s words made much sense. It was like she was beginning to understand Lydia. She disagreed with her behaviour, but at least she could accept that urge to change the life that also had overwhelmed her more than once. The difference was her responsibility towards her family and, finally, to herself. But as strange as it might look, that responsibility towards her family had almost made her lose Darcy.
“What do you think we shall find there?” Elizabeth murmured, observing Darcy, who was finally sleeping, overcome by the excitement of the last few days.
Mrs Morrison did not answer for a long time. She turned to Darcy to be sure he was asleep and spoke only then. “I am trying not to show it, but I am worried. That is why I wanted my husband to be with us. He is here in George’s stead, and I am sure that in any difficult situation, he will take the lead as a father would do to save Darcy from any trouble.”
“But if we find that man—”
“We will not go back without an answer, and Anne will finally rest in peace.”
“What if we find Lady—”
In a surprising gesture, Mrs Morrison covered Elizabeth’s mouth with her hand, incapable of listening to that possibility.
“I am sorry,” Elizabeth said once Mrs Morrison removed her hand. “I am not very patient. I like everything to happen in haste.”
But she could tell Mrs Morrison had the same state of mind, hastiness mixed with worry and a bit of fear.
“How long will it take to cross the sea?” Elizabeth asked.
“Ten to fourteen hours,” Mrs Morrison answered, keeping the same low voice of their previous conversation. A sign that in the carriage, all conversations could be heard by everybody. But Darcy was still asleep, and Mrs Morrison covered him with a blanket as any mother would.
They had both agreed with that hasty trip, yet Elizabeth regretted they were not married. She did not like to leave him alone during the night as, obviously, he was not sleeping.

Elizabeth D'Arcy

When Darcy is attacked in his own home, almost everybody supposes that it was the work of a common thief searching for expensive objects.

Not his aunt, Lady Antoinette Darcy. As the only object stolen is the family bible, she is forced to admit that she had something to do with that terrible circumstance.
It is the beginning of a touching story about true love and family values, about Elizabeth and Darcy walking together in an audacious quest for the past and their feelings. And finally, it is the chronicle of two families, the Bennets and the Darcys, which intertwine their destinies despite obstacles.

Excerpt
Darcy climbed slowly up the few steps of his London house with a sore heart that had been his perpetual state lately. He loved his home in London and adored Pemberley, yet he detested being alone. Both places were meant for families and children. He remembered escaping his nanny to run down the steps when his parents’ carriage arrived in front of the house late at night after the theatre or a supper engagement. His mother had always received him in her arms while his father, in vain, had tried to look angry. They had friends to dinner and parties, his mother received callers each Wednesday and his father’s library was always immersed in a cloud of smoke and laughter.

That merry existence had been in his mind when he had proposed to Elizabeth less than three months ago—a noisy family, happy people around him and Elizabeth’s love to accompany him through his life. And what a disaster had followed. Abrupt and unforeseen, the woman he loved had displayed her anger in bitter words towards him and his proposal. Not even after many days and nights could he accept her refusal, and the silence around him was not helping him recover. Three weeks ago he had sent an urgent message to Pemberley asking for his aunt and sister to join him at once. In his present state of mind and soul, he feared that Pemberley would only accentuate his nostalgia while the noise of London would help him to recover. In the last few days, he had partied like he had in the past when his father was still alive and he was nothing but a carefree bachelor.

He sent the footman to bed with a friendly gesture, heading to his library on the first floor to have a last glass of cognac. As was the custom at night the main rooms were lit, the library and parlour always ready to receive him and his friends for a late drink or a leisurely chat. Surprised, he hesitated in the library door as he found his favourite place in darkness. The light in the hall cast a shadow that made his heart stop in stupefaction as the room was in an incredible mess. He hesitated to enter, shouting for his valet in anger as he did not understand what could have happened. His papers and precious books had been thrown to the ground as if someone had searched through them in haste. Then from beneath the curtains, a shadow appeared and all he could discern in the dim light was the black mask on the man’s face. Instinctively he looked for a place to hide and that move saved him as the bullet—intended for his head—did not find its mark but instead wounded him in the shoulder. His cries finally alarmed the house and when the servants arrived, they found only their master in a pool of blood.

“Quickly,” he croaked to his valet, “fetch the colonel from his club and a doctor, they will know what to do.”
And then he blacked out, sinking into a realm where he had never been before.

As always, in the foreground, you will discover Elizabeth and Darcy’s love story that evolves far away from foreign eyes, a sweet secret made of complicities, blissfulness and a perfect time spent together.

List of Books by Florence Gold

FORCED ENGAGEMENT
SHADOW OVER PEMBERLEY
LOVE BLOSSOMED AT ROSINGS
MR DARCY GETS ANGRY
STRUGGLE FOR LOVE
ELIZABETH D’ARCY
MR DARCY’S LEGACY
THE BENNET UNCLE
MR DARCY GOT MARRIED
THE BENNET UNCLE
THE LONGBOURN HEIR
AND OTHER