One month later…
E lizabeth drew her shawl closer around her shoulders as she climbed the last incline of Oakham Mount. The early December air stung her cheeks and bit at her fingers, despite the thick gloves she wore. Snow crunched beneath her boots, packed and slick in places, and more than once she had to pause to catch her breath.
She used to make this walk with ease. That had been before the fire—before the smoke and ash had left their mark on her lungs.
Still, she pressed on.
When she reached the top, she closed her eyes and turned her face into the wind. The sky stretched wide and pale blue above her, the last hues of dawn still clinging to the eastern horizon. The chill air filled her chest and made her eyes water—and she promptly doubled over in a fit of coughing.
“I could have told you that would happen,” a familiar voice said from behind her, warm with wry affection.
She spun around.
Darcy sat atop his dark gelding, wrapped in a fine wool coat with his collar turned up against the wind. His expression was amused and altogether too handsome for so early in the morning.
“You rode,” she accused, laughing breathlessly. “That is cheating.”
He dismounted with easy grace, boots crunching on the snow as he walked toward her. “Well, if you want me to actually be able to make it to our wedding in a few hours, I had to.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “You would not want me fainting halfway through the vows, would you?”
Elizabeth laughed again. “I suppose I must accept your excuse, weak though it is.”
“Generous as ever,” he murmured.
Before she could reply, he leaned in and kissed her.
Her eyes fluttered closed. The world dropped away—the cold, the snow, the tightness in her chest. All of it vanished under the warmth of his lips. His hands cupped her cheeks, gloved but firm, steady, and the kiss deepened. Her stomach flipped and fluttered, and her hands rose instinctively to grasp the front of his coat.
When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath clouding in the space between them.
“In a few hours,” he said softly, “you will be my wife. And I will kiss you as often as I please.”
Her heart soared.
She slipped her arms around his waist and held him tightly. He wrapped her in his embrace, and she closed her eyes again, breathing in his scent—leather, pine, and the faint trace of cloves. It grounded her. Made her feel safe. As if, for once, everything was exactly as it should be.
They stood there in silence, watching the colors of sunrise fade into full morning, but then a loud caw shattered the moment.
Elizabeth turned toward the sound, where a large black bird glared at them from a snow-laden tree. “I suppose that is our cue,” she sighed. “If I do not return soon, my mother will send out a search party.”
“Georgiana will worry, as well,” Darcy said with a smile. “She was most put out when snow delayed her arrival. I believe she intends to make up for lost time.”
“I am very glad she arrived safely,” Elizabeth said warmly. “And I look forward to being her sister.”
Darcy offered his hand. “Ride back with me?”
Elizabeth tilted her head playfully. “Are you offering from chivalry or because you fear the wrath of Mrs. Bennet?”
“Both,” he said solemnly.
“Then I accept.”
His touch nearly burned her as he put his hands on her waist to lift her onto the horse in front of the saddle. He swung up behind her with ease, then pulled her towards him until she was practically in his lap.
The warmth of him at her back, the pressure of his arm anchoring her, sent a delicious shiver through her. She leaned into him slightly, allowing herself to savor the feeling.
As the horse picked its careful way down the snowy trail, Darcy bent his head to murmur near her ear, his breath warm against her chilled skin.
“Did you sleep well last night, my love?” he asked softly. “No nightmares?”
Elizabeth smiled and tipped her head back slightly against his shoulder. “No,” she said truthfully. “They have been easing. It grows better every day.”
He pressed a tender kiss to her temple, and she closed her eyes, letting herself bask in the simple comfort of being in his arms.
For a few moments, they rode in easy silence, the cold air brisk against their faces, the sound of the horse’s hooves muffled by the snow. Elizabeth watched the sunrise fade, the last pink and gold streaks melting into a pale winter blue.
“I cannot tell you how proud I am of you, Elizabeth,” Darcy said at last. His voice was low, but rich with emotion. “What you endured, what you survived. I am in awe of you.”
She turned slightly in the saddle to look up at him, her heart full. “We endured it together. I was never alone.”
He gave a slight, disbelieving shake of his head, his eyes fierce with feeling. “You have no idea how often you have been my strength.”
Elizabeth smiled and reached up to touch his cheek lightly with her gloved fingers. “Then let us agree that we are stronger together.”
He caught her hand and pressed a reverent kiss to her knuckles. “Always.”
At the bottom of the mount, they came to a fork—left toward Longbourn, right toward Stoke Estate. They turned right, and Elizabeth looked wistfully in the opposite direction as they rode towards the Gardiner’s home.
It still felt strange to her, even a month later. Left had always meant home. Now it led only to a burned shell of a house. Longbourn had not been insured. There were no funds to rebuild, and no word yet from the investigators about whether a new heir would be found.
The past, it seemed, had been claimed by fire.
But the future rode with her now— solid and steady behind her.
When they reached Stoke House, Darcy pulled the horse to a gentle stop at the edge of the estate gardens. Elizabeth reluctantly slid down from the saddle, and he dismounted beside her.
She began to walk towards the house, but he caught her hand and pulled her into his arms for a slow, lingering kiss.
This time, there was nothing restrained or hurried about it. His lips met hers with a hunger that stole her breath, yet with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
The world melted away—the cold, the snow, the trials of the past months. There was only the feel of his mouth on hers, the taste of him, the heat of his body against the chill of the morning.
Her arms crept up around his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned low in his throat as his arms wrapped tightly around her in return, lifting her slightly off the ground.
Elizabeth’s stomach swooped in the most delightful way, and she felt as though she were flying. Her fingers curled into his thick hair, savoring the solidness, the reality of him.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, and her cheeks were pink from more than just the cold.
Darcy rested his forehead against hers, his voice rough. “That is the last time I shall kiss you as Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
She gave a breathless laugh. “Then I hope you will not waste much time once I am Mrs. Darcy.”
He chuckled, a sound so warm and rich it sent a fresh wave of butterflies through her chest. “No, my love. I intend to make up for every moment we have lost.”
He pulled her close again, and for a few moments they simply stood there, hearts beating in rhythm, sharing the quiet wonder of all that lay ahead. Then, reluctantly, she pulled away. “It would not do to be late to my own wedding, else we shall have to wait until tomorrow. I had best go upstairs and prepare.”
Darcy mounted his horse and looked down at her with a tender expression. “I will see you at the church, then, Mrs. Darcy.”
“Not yet,” she teased. “A few hours more.”
He smiled and watched as she slipped inside through the kitchen entrance, snagging a muffin to eat on her way up to the stairs. Once there, she opened the door to the small bedchamber she shared with Jane. Her wedding gown hung from the wardrobe, the ivory silk glimmering faintly in the morning light.
On the bed, Jane stirred beneath a heavy quilt and blinked awake.
“We are getting married today,” she whispered, her face breaking into a radiant smile.
Elizabeth laughed and climbed onto the bed beside her sister, her whole body tingling with joy. “Yes, dearest Jane. We are.”
For a moment, they simply sat together in the soft morning light, two sisters on the cusp of a new life. Elizabeth let her head rest against Jane’s shoulder, both of them smiling like schoolgirls with a shared secret.
Below stairs, she could hear the faint sounds of bustle—footsteps hurrying across the flagstones, the clatter of pots, the hurried voices of servants preparing the breakfast and assembling trunks for the afternoon departure.
Today, they would be married.
Today, they would leave the past—the ruins of Longbourn, the terror of smoke and fire—and step into the future.
Elizabeth looked up at Jane and whispered, half in wonder, “Can you believe it?”
Jane’s blue eyes shone. “I can. You deserve it all, Lizzy. Happiness, love, a true home.”
Her throat tightened. “And so do you.”
They sat for a moment longer, wrapped in the quiet, breathless magic of the morning.
Then a loud, impatient knock sounded at the door.
“Come along, girls!” called Mrs. Bennet’s voice, bustling and imperious. “We have not a moment to lose if you wish to be beautiful brides!”
Elizabeth and Jane laughed, springing to their feet. The room soon became a flurry of cheerful activity as Mrs. Gardiner and a pair of maids came in, bustling about with ribbons, pins, and flower sprays. Elizabeth allowed herself to be led to the dressing table, where Jane was already seated.
Mrs. Gardiner helped brush out Elizabeth’s hair, smoothing the dark curls with a loving hand. “I never thought someone I knew would marry the master of Pemberley,” Mrs. Gardiner said, her eyes misting. “You will be greatly missed, my dear.”
Elizabeth smiled warmly at her aunt in the mirror. “You have always been like a mother to me. I will miss you, too.”
“No, once you get your first look at the beautiful grounds at Pemberley, you will forget all of us entirely!”
The room filled with giggles as the maids began weaving fresh winter roses and myrtle into their hair. Once their coiffures were completed, Elizabeth and Jane stepped into their dresses, and the maids stood back in admiration.
“You look like angels,” Mrs. Gardiner said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
There was a knock at the door. Mr. Bennet’s voice, dry and affectionate, drifted in.
“Are my daughters ready to ruin two perfectly good gentlemen’s lives?”
Elizabeth laughed and hurried to open the door. Mr. Bennet stood there, looking rather fine himself in his best coat, though his cravat was slightly askew. His eyes softened as he looked at her.
“You are beautiful, Lizzy,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Darcy is a lucky man indeed.”
She blinked back tears and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”
He offered his arms to his daughters. “Shall we?”
Arm in arm, they made their way down the sweeping staircase to the front hall, where the carriages waited to take them to the little church just down the road.
As Elizabeth stepped outside into the crisp December air, snowflakes began to fall lightly around them, dusting the ground in a soft, sparkling white.
Jane laughed in delight. “A Christmas snow! What could be more perfect?”
Elizabeth lifted her face to the sky, letting a few flakes land on her cheeks. A new beginning. A new life.
In the carriage, she and Jane clutched each other’s hands, whispering last-minute reassurances.
“I am not nervous,” Jane said with a laugh that belied her trembling fingers.
Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “Neither am I.”
But her heart was pounding so hard she was sure the others could hear it.
When they arrived at the little stone church, it was already filled with family and friends. Mrs. Bennet was crying loudly into her handkerchief, flanked by Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Hurst. Lydia and Kitty sat giggling in the back pews, while Mary sat primly beside them with a prayer book clutched in her hands.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, resplendent in his dress uniform, stood with Darcy and Bingley at the front. Wickham sat nearby with the militia officers, looking rather proud of himself.
Elizabeth’s breath caught when she saw Darcy turn toward her.
He looked devastatingly handsome in his dark coat and crisp white cravat, his eyes never leaving hers as she made her way up the aisle on her father’s arm.
As she drew nearer, she could see it in his face—love, devotion, and awe. Her knees wobbled slightly, but she smiled and held his gaze.
Bingley, beaming from ear to ear, looked every inch the man in love as Jane approached him.
The vicar smiled warmly at them all, and the ceremony began.
Elizabeth scarcely heard the words—it was all a blur of vows and promises and tender glances. But when Darcy took her hand in his, she felt the weight of it, the certainty, the deep rightness of it.
When he said, “I do,” his voice was rich and steady, and she thought her heart would burst with happiness.
When it was her turn, she managed a clear, confident, “I do,” though her voice trembled slightly with joy.
And then it was done. They were husband and wife.
Mr. Bennet wiped his eyes discreetly as the congregation erupted in cheers and applause.
As they stepped out into the snowy morning together, Darcy pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, and whispered against her ear:
“My wife…now I can kiss you whenever I like.”
She laughed through tears of happiness. “I hope you intend to start now.”
He did not need any further encouragement. Right there on the steps of the church, with snowflakes clinging to her lashes and the morning sun gleaming off the fresh white drifts, he kissed her thoroughly—slowly, reverently, and with a passion so deep it made the world spin away. Elizabeth clung to him, feeling as though her very soul had found its home.
Around them, the crowd laughed and cheered again, but she barely heard it.
The snow swirled around them in a sparkling dance, and Elizabeth knew that whatever fires may burn in the future, she would face them all—so long as she faced them with him. Arm in arm, they made their way to the waiting carriage, Darcy’s hand resting over hers with tender protectiveness.
If they arrived at Stoke House with swollen lips and hair slightly mussed, Darcy’s cravat a touch askew and Elizabeth’s cheeks glowing far more than the brisk weather warranted, no one dared comment. The laughter and glances were fond rather than mocking.
And as they stepped into the warm, welcoming brightness of the Gardiners’ ballroom, Elizabeth gasped. It had been transformed into a beautiful celebration of light and warmth. A roaring fire blazed in the hearth, wreaths of holly and ivy decked the walls, and a long table groaned under the weight of meats, pastries, jellies, fruits, and pies. Crystal glasses sparkled in the light from the chandeliers, and the air was filled with the scents of cinnamon, roasted meats, and sweet wine.
Elizabeth scarcely knew how she to get to her seat. The room swirled with smiling faces, well-wishers, and excited chatter. Mrs. Bennet, resplendent in a new gown of lavender silk, was already telling anyone who would listen about “her two married daughters,” while Mr. Bennet stood at the sideboard, calmly surveying the chaos with a glass of claret in hand.
Darcy guided Elizabeth to the head of the table with a hand at the small of her back, a touch so light and yet so grounding that her heart fluttered anew. He pulled out her chair for her, bowing slightly as she took her seat, and then seated himself beside her.
Jane and Bingley sat across from them, their heads bent close together, whispering and laughing so sweetly that Elizabeth could hardly look at them without smiling herself.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, seated nearby, raised his glass in a silent toast to her and Darcy. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he mouthed, Finally across the table, making Elizabeth chuckle under her breath.
Wickham, sitting further down with several of the militia officers, gave her an exaggerated wink when he caught her looking, then feigned swooning against his neighbor's shoulder, causing the nearby footman to nearly drop a plate.
Elizabeth felt as though she floated above it all, light and buoyant with happiness. Yet every time she glanced sideways and caught Darcy’s gaze—so steady, so full of fierce, quiet joy—she was brought back down to earth, grounded in the miracle of the present moment.
As the meal continued, laughter and clinking glasses filled the room. Bingley rose to make a short, effusive speech about happiness and blessings, and the health of his lovely new wife. Darcy stood afterward, a little stiffer, but his voice was rich and steady.
“I have no great talent for speeches,” he began, his dark eyes locking with Elizabeth’s, “but I can say with full certainty that this is the happiest day of my life. I am blessed beyond anything I ever deserved.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed as everyone raised their glasses in a hearty cheer.
When he sat back down, he leaned close, his breath tickling her ear.
“I am tempted to steal you away this instant,” he murmured. “I doubt anyone would dare stop me.”
She smiled, her hand finding his under the table and squeezing it tightly.
“I might not let you bring me back,” she whispered.
He kissed her knuckles reverently, the gesture hidden from the crowd by the table linen.
Desserts were brought out—fruit tarts, gingerbread, marzipan—and after the final toasts, people began to rise and wander the room, forming little laughing groups near the fire and windows.
Elizabeth found herself momentarily separated from Darcy, surrounded by a cluster of well-meaning neighbors offering advice on married life. She laughed and nodded, accepting their suggestions without really listening; but her eyes sought him across the room instinctively.
He stood near the window, speaking with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bennet, but even from that distance, she could feel it: the magnetic pull between them. As if he sensed her gaze, he turned—and smiled.
A small, private smile meant for her alone.
Her heart caught in her throat, and a flame began to burn warmly deep within her. In that moment, Elizabeth understood—this was what life was meant to be.
Not without hardships, no. They had faced danger and terror, loss and fear, walking through the fire. They had stared death in the face and fought to survive, watching as the world crumbled to ashes around them.
But as Elizabeth crossed the room to take her husband's hand, she knew with perfect certainty: whatever storms might come, they would face them together—with courage, with hope, and with a heart full of gratitude for all they had been given.
They had been tested by fire, but from the ashes, they had found something that even flames could not consume: trust, truth, and a love that endured.
From ashes, they had forged understanding.
And in understanding, they had found forever.