Page 70 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

Elizabeth sat curled in her usual place by the hearth, her hands resting loosely in her lap. Mr. Bennet’s voice carried softly as he read aloud from the family Bible, the cadence warm and familiar, though she barely heard the words.

Her mind wandered.

She had tried not to dwell on it. Truly she had. All through church, she had smiled and nodded and replied to pleasantries. She had engaged in conversation during luncheon and praised Kitty’s embroidery work when it was shown. But beneath it all… the ache remained.

That look on his face. The quiet regret in his admission. I am not inexperienced.

She knew it was not unusual. She had told herself so a dozen times. He had been honest. Respectful. Not cruel or careless. It had happened before he loved her. She had no reason to feel this… this ache.

And yet she did.

It was not jealousy—at least, not in the ordinary sense. It was something deeper, more fragile.

What if she could not be enough?

What if he compared her, even unintentionally? What if he remembered the practiced ease of other women, and she—with her nerves and blushes and inexperience—disappointed him?

She had tried to pray the unease away last night, but it had clung to her like fog, low and heavy, curling in her thoughts.

A knock at the front door startled them all.

Moments later, Hill entered, cheeks a little pink. “Mr. Darcy, ma’am.”

Elizabeth sat upright at once, her heart leaping in her chest.

Darcy entered the room, snow still clinging to his boots. He bowed to the assembled company, but his eyes found only her.

“Might I have a private word with Elizabeth?”

Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth, clearly about to protest such boldness, but Mr. Bennet spoke first.

“The study is free,” he said mildly, closing the Bible and standing. “Elizabeth, you may take Mr. Darcy there.”

Elizabeth rose, her knees slightly unsteady, and led Darcy down the hall to the familiar room lined with books and memories. He closed the door softly behind them, disregarding propriety. Well, we are engaged, after all, she thought. Besides, it would not do to be overheard.

For a long moment, he did not speak.

Then he exhaled slowly, his voice low. “I owe you an apology.”

She turned to face him.

“I thought I had spoken honestly yesterday,” he said. “But I did not realize how much pain I caused until I saw the look on your face.”

Her breath caught.

“Last night,” he continued, “I could not sleep. I thought about everything—what I would feel if our roles were reversed. What I would think if you had been with other men before me. And I realized the depth of my hypocrisy.”

He stepped closer. “I hated that look in your eyes. That fear. That self-doubt. And I realized I had never truly considered how the past can wound the future—even without intent.”

Her eyes burned.

“This morning, I stayed behind after service,” he said. “I went to Mr. Sanderson. I confessed everything. Not just to him—but to God. And I believe I have been forgiven.”

He took another step toward her, his gaze steady and full. “But now I must ask forgiveness from you.”

She blinked quickly, willing the tears back. “Darcy—”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know you want to say it is nothing. That you understand. That it’s reasonable. But your feelings were wounded, Elizabeth. And they matter. I never wish to dismiss or ignore them. You are… the most precious thing in my life.”

Her lip trembled.

“I do not want to enter our marriage with even the faintest shadow,” he said. “If ever you feel insecure, if ever you wonder whether I regret or compare, I promise I will remind you with my words, with my actions, how wrong that fear is.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

“I am not ashamed of you,” he said. “I am ashamed of myself. That I ever lived a life where I could not see how deeply these things would matter.”

“I just…” she whispered. “What if I cannot please you? What if—what if you find me wanting?”

He stepped forward and gathered her gently into his arms. His embrace was warm and sure, his breath soft against her hair.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, “even the few kisses we have shared mean more to me than anything I ever experienced before. Because there was no love in those past encounters. No connection. No reverence. I want you—but not only in body. I want your laughter. Your fire. Your faith. You.”

She leaned into him, her face buried in his chest, her arms circling his waist.

“I will never compare you to anyone,” he said. “Because there is no comparison. You are the beginning and end of my desire. You are my home.”

She looked up at him, tears still clinging to her lashes. “Then yes,” she whispered. “You are forgiven.”

He lowered his head and kissed her gently—slowly—his lips brushing hers with reverence. She melted into him, and the kiss deepened, blooming into something richer, truer.

The ache inside her stilled.

In his arms, she felt whole.

She felt loved.

She felt home.

∞∞∞

The next two weeks passed in a whirl of ribbons, receipts, the last of the banns, and relentless bustle.

Elizabeth had hoped for long walks and quiet talks with Darcy before the wedding—perhaps an afternoon or two alone in the drawing room, even a shared stroll in the pale winter sun.

But such hopes were soon drowned beneath an avalanche of fittings, lace samples, trousseau ordering, and guest arrangements.

Mrs. Bennet threw herself into the wedding preparations with a kind of manic delight, orchestrating everything from the embroidery on Elizabeth’s gloves to the precise arrangement of the bride’s cake.

Mr. Darcy, it seemed, had all but vanished into thin air—but Elizabeth knew it was not by his own design.

Instead, he had taken refuge in her father’s study as Elizabeth battled her mother, with Jane playing peacemaker.

“I do not see how I can spend an entire morning arguing over table linens,” Elizabeth had murmured once to Jane.

Jane had only smiled and said gently, “Mama must feel useful somehow.”

And so Elizabeth submitted herself to the chaos.

Mrs. Hurst, to everyone’s mild surprise, offered the use of Netherfield for the wedding breakfast, which Mrs. Bennet seized upon with grateful enthusiasm. With so many guests expected, and the Gardiners bringing all four of their children, Longbourn would have been stretched well past comfort.

At last, the morning of Monday, December twentieth came, and it was time to greet Mark and the Gardiners.

The sun was bright but pale, and the air crisp with frost. The lane had been cleared, but patches of white clung to the hedgerows and sparkled on the tree branches overhead. The Bennet family stood bundled outside the house, breath puffing visibly, all eyes fixed on the turn of the lane.

“I can see my breath,” Lydia announced dramatically. “If they do not come soon, I shall perish of frostbite.”

Kitty let out a sharp cough.

“That is enough,” Elizabeth said gently, drawing her sister’s shawl tighter. “Back inside with you, before that cough becomes something worse.”

Kitty scowled but obeyed, and moments later, the distant crunch of wheels on packed snow made them all turn.

“There they are!” Jane said, her voice alight.

The Gardiner carriage rolled into view, little Joseph and Harriet’s faces already pressed against the windows. Elizabeth’s heart swelled at the sight. Mark leapt out the moment the door opened, grinning and wind-tousled, carrying Joseph in his arms while the girls tumbled out after.

“Cousin Lizzy!” cried Harriet, flinging herself at her.

Elizabeth caught her with a laugh, staggering slightly as Harriet’s legs wrapped around her waist.

Behind them, Aunt Gardiner stepped down gracefully, cheeks pink with cold. Uncle Gardiner followed more sedately, brushing snow from his shoulders and lifting his hat to Mr. Bennet.

Georgiana had come to the door to watch, her expression radiant. “So many!” she whispered with delighted awe. “And all at once!”

“Do not get used to it,” Elizabeth said, squeezing her hand. “Chaos is only delightful in short bursts.”

Lydia, however, was not to be left out.

“Lizzy,” she said brightly, “once you are married and respectable, you must host me in London. I wish to go to parties and balls and visit Bond Street at least twice a day.”

“We shall consider it,” Elizabeth said dryly, “depending on behavior.”

Georgiana laughed softly, leaning against the post. “I have two whole years until I come out. I cannot decide if I am pleased or horrified at having to wait.”

“Pleased,” Elizabeth assured her. “I promise.”

Inside the house, pandemonium reigned. Coats and cloaks, hats and bonnets flew in all directions, the Gardiner children ran shrieking down the corridor, and Aunt Gardiner attempted, in vain, to wrangle them into something resembling civility.

Mark, of course, only egged them on.

“I think your brother is more trouble than the little ones,” Mr. Bennet said to Elizabeth with a resigned look.

∞∞∞

The following day brought another arrival—their cousin, Mr. William Collins.

The tone in the household shifted subtly the moment his carriage was seen. Jane straightened her spine. Mrs. Bennet pulled her shawl tighter. Even Lydia stopped chattering.

But Mark strode forward and embraced the stiff young man with genuine warmth. “William! At last. How fare you in Kent?”

“I have been most blessed,” Mr. Collins replied solemnly. “The patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh is the crown of my ministry.”

Darcy’s brows lifted ever so slightly. He turned to Elizabeth with a murmur. “He is your father’s cousin?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile.

“And Lady Catherine is his patroness?” At her nod, he groaned. “God help us all—she is my aunt, and a more formidable woman you will never meet.”

When Mr. Collins discovered that Mr. Darcy was the man expected to wed his cousin, he nearly choked on his tea. “My patroness must be informed!” he cried. “Surely she would expect—”

“She will be informed,” Darcy said calmly. “After the ceremony.”

Elizabeth arched a brow, amused. “You are brave.”

“I am discreet,” he replied, “and determined not to have my wedding commandeered by the family theatrics of my titled relatives. Having Fitzwilliam and Georgiana at my side is all I need.”

The next days passed in a warm blur—children underfoot, last-minute alterations, excited whispers and small, stolen glances between engaged couples.

And then it was the night before the wedding.

The house had quieted at last as everyone retired early. The fire in Elizabeth’s room burned low, casting gold across the quilt and flickering along the mirror.

She brushed her hair slowly, staring into the glass. Her heart fluttered with anticipation and nerves and something deeper—something stiller.

She was ready.

Tomorrow, she would become Mrs. Darcy.

She slipped into bed and drew the covers to her chin, the firelight dancing across the ceiling above her.

Sleep took her gently, her last waking thought wrapped in the memory of Darcy’s kiss, and the promise of everything that lay ahead.