Page 29

P emberley was at its prettiest in early winter.

Elizabeth had spent the majority of the past two years living at the estate, and in that time, she had acquired a lot of new favourites. Her favourite season at Pemberley was early winter. The first snow often fell sometime around late November while the trees and shrubs still had some green to them and it was not yet so cold that she had to think twice about going outside. Darcy knew by now that if he wished to look for his wife, he would find her somewhere in the northern grounds (another favourite of hers!) near the barely frozen pond, more often than not, making snow angels or snowmen.

Today, especially, he was missing her presence despite having seen her for breakfast less than an hour ago. He had received an unsuspecting letter. From Mrs. Anne Willowby.

Darcy found his wife crouching down building tiny sculptures of castles and moats on the freshly snowed ground. Completely engrossed in her work, she had failed to notice his loud footsteps, and Darcy, wanting to take advantage of the rare moment, decided to stop and just silently observe his wife for a minute.

Their courtship and path to matrimony had not been easy by any means. Their wedding ceremony had been ruined. Elizabeth had woken up from her laudanum-induced sleep the next day in the morning. When the events that transpired had been explained to her, she had been outraged at his aunt and annoyed at her own naivety and so very disappointed about the entire situation, that she had insisted on getting married the very day.

Darcy had been too relieved to discover that she still wished to marry him to care for anything else. Ultimately, instead of the chapel, they had married at the Braxton House by special licence. Elizabeth had dressed in her Sunday best and Darcy, in his regular coat. Despite the simpler gown and little to no jewellery except for the headpiece that he had gifted her himself, when she grinned up at him brilliantly during the pastor’s speech, Darcy was convinced she had never looked more beautiful.

Lord and Lady Braxton, Viscount Corwen, Richard and Georgiana were their only witnesses. Rather than a lavish wedding breakfast, they had all had only a simple luncheon before Darcy had whisked his bride away to the Darcy House three streets over for the start of their newly wedded life. It had taken some time for Elizabeth to get out the details from Darcy about the cursed day. Apparently, the Fitzwilliams had taken Miss Anne de Bourgh with them to Matlock and were planning to marry her off to the first decent man they could find. It was the only way they could hope to salvage the poor girl’s reputation. Considering the large crowd that had gathered in front of the church for Darcy’s wedding, it had not taken long for the scandal to get out. The de Bourgh name was officially in the mud.

As for Lady Catherine, well, she managed to become the cause of the newly wedded couple’s first argument.

“You cannot send her off to bedlam!” Elizabeth argued, looking horrified when Darcy related to her what he was planning to do with his aunt, “She is not mad!”

“Au contraire, my dear, she concocted a hair-brained scheme to switch you with another woman on the day of our wedding. Who in their right mind would even attempt such a thing?” Darcy sighed as he tried to defend his decision. He had stood his ground against the Earl of Matlock when the Fitzwilliam family had tried to protest the same, but he was much weaker against his wife than he was against his uncle.

“A stupid person!” Elizabeth retorted, “She is a stupid, stupid person! But, Fitzwilliam, you and I both know that she is very much sane. Even if she was not, she is your aunt -”

Darcy scoffed, “She has certainly not been acting like one.”

“Regardless, that is what she is.” Elizabeth frowned up at him, her hands curled into adorable little fists and resting on her hips. Darcy pressed his lips together in an effort to curb his smile. If Elizabeth ever discovered that he found her anger more adorable than terrifying, he would never be able to enjoy it again. “Fitzwilliam, I would not wish that inhumane place on my worst enemy. She is your aunt, and because I am married to you, she is now my aunt. We cannot send her to Bedlam, my love.”

The horrors of Bedlam were known to all and sundry. The ‘patients’ in that asylum were treated less like humans and more like rabid animals. But had his aunt not been the one to start this in the first place by treating him like a breeding horse? Wanting him for her daughter solely because of his pedigree?

“She would have tied me to the worst fate had she succeeded in her scheme. How do you still have mercy for her?” He felt a little affronted. Did Elizabeth not realise how close they had come to not being able to marry each other?

Elizabeth sighed, and sensing his sullen thoughts, walked over to hold his hands in her own, “I have mercy for her because she failed. Whatever she might have planned, Fitzwilliam, I am here. I am your wife. We are going to be the happiest couple in the world for the rest of our lives. It is very easy to be merciful when I am so very happy.”

Darcy searched her eyes for a moment, then asked, “Do you promise?”

She raised a brow, “Promise what?”

“Do you promise that we shall always be the happiest couple in the world?”

Elizabeth grinned up at him, “I am more certain of our marital felicity than anything else in this world. Just being in your presence makes me feel as giddy as a child, Fitzwilliam.”

And well, he supposed the same was true for him.

“What will you have me do about my aunt then?”

Elizabeth shrugged, “Have the Earl and Countess Matlock take responsibility for her. Have her confined in Matlock’s dower house.”

Darcy raised his brows, “And do you think they will agree to such an arrangement? It would be quite a feat to have to endure Lady Catherine for the rest of her natural life.”

“I am certain that when you tell them you are no longer admitting their sister to quite possibly the worst place on earth, they will agree to any alternative however inconvenient.”

And so it was that Lady Catherine was all but imprisoned in her brother’s residence, and the Fitzwilliams’ were spared from becoming involved in yet another scandal by association. After the court presentation, Darcy and Elizabeth, along with Georgiana had decided to move to Pemberley for some much-needed peace and serenity for the rest of the season.

And Pemberley was serene. It was everything Elizabeth had imagined it to be and more. A palatial manor built with sparkling white sandstone and surrounded by lush greenery. At Pemberley, she fell in love with Fitzwilliam all over again. He was a much freer, much truer version of himself when he was in his home. He laughed more easily, moved more languidly, even flirted more boldly when he was surrounded by the people he loved and grew up around.

She, too, found herself relaxing like never before as she grew used to the place. It was startling how quickly Pemberley began to feel like her home. Elizabeth fell into a routine in her new home seamlessly. Spending time with her husband, spending time with her new sister, spending time learning the ins and outs of the mistress’ duties under the tutelage and kindness of the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds.

Only paradise could be better.

And now she was here, crouching on the ground with her hands going numb from playing in the snow for too long. She felt like time had turned back to when she was a child. Elizabeth hummed to herself, the new piano and harp piece that she and Georgiana were secretly practising to present as a gift to Fitzwilliam for Christmas, as she tried and failed to erect another turret tower to the right of her castle,

“Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth jumped, then laughed at her own surprise when she turned and saw her husband very comfortably leaning against one of the trees. How long had he been standing there? How had she not noticed him?

“Mr. Darcy!” She teased him, “Have you come to help me build my tower?”

“It had not been the reason for my coming.” Darcy pushed himself away from the bark and walked over to take a seat next to Elizabeth, ignoring the dampness he could feel seeping through the wool of his coat, “But, I am of course more than happy to help.”

His wife watched him for a moment, then turning away from the sculpture, she mirrored him, sitting in the snow across from him,

“What is wrong, Fitzwilliam?”

Darcy had stopped questioning how she always knew when something was wrong with him. He only hoped he too was just as attuned with her.

“Anne sent a letter.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, surprised, “Your cousin? What did she write?”

“She apologised. It is not the first letter she has written apologising. She is married to a man she does not like. I think it is making her realise how miserable she had almost made me.”

Elizabeth’s mouth turned down in sympathy. She was one of the few people who had shown Anne any sympathy after their wedding. Darcy still could not forgive his cousin. The threat of nunnery aside, Anne had been too scared of her mother to realise what a privileged position she had been in. She was heiress to a well-maintained estate. Had she ever bothered to develop a spine, she would never have had to live under her mother’s thumb after she turned one and twenty.

“Perhaps you ought to write her back. Let her know that you are happy, and that you have forgiven her.”

“Have I?” Darcy asked, a brow raised in scepticism,

Elizabeth matched his expression, “I would dearly hope so, Fitzwilliam. It does no one any good to hold grudges against people who have repented and gotten better. I will never convince you to absolve your aunt of any of her sins, but you must realise that Anne was only complicit under duress.”

The two of them stared at one another, a silent battle of wills taking place. Darcy looked away first, sighing in affectionate irritation,

“You are much too forgiving, Mrs. Darcy.”

“A trait of mine you ought to be grateful for, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth teased, “For how would we have married, had I decided to hold a grudge against you for calling me a woman slighted by other men ?”

Darcy groaned, though a laugh was bubbling just beneath his throat, “Considering how often you bring up my most grievous sin, I do not think you have forgiven me for it.”

“Oh, I forgave you those words a long time ago, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth giggled, “But, how can I forget them when any mention of them makes you fluster so?”

Rolling his eyes, Darcy stood, and pulled up his wife with him, “Come.” He said, and started walking back towards Pemberley,

“Where are we going?” She asked him nonchalantly,

“To our chambers. It is only fair that I have an equal opportunity to fluster you, do you not agree, my love?”

Elizabeth gasped, giggling even as she hugged his arm to hide her flush against his sleeve, “Fitzwilliam! ‘Tis barely noon!”

Darcy looked down at her, his grin rakish, “You have never complained about the sun before.”

-fin-