Page 39 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

Lydia’s Bedchamber

Parsonage

Later

Elizabeth closed the door softly behind herself and looked across the bedchamber. The curtains were drawn against the darkness of nighttime outside, the room aglow with the fire from the hearth and the dancing wavering flames from two wax candles. No cheap tallow lights in Lydia’s room, as their unpleasant smell exacerbated her nausea. Alexander was too thrifty to light the entire parsonage with wax, but he had gone over his budget to allocate funds for the more expensive candles for his ill wife’s bedchamber and their shared sitting room, and Elizabeth was appreciative of his kindness.

Lydia looked up as the door clicked shut. She was already in her dressing gown and curled up on a loveseat pulled near the fire, a small table with a cold cup of tea and candles at her elbow, a Gothic novel loaned from Pemberley in her hands.

“How was your visit, Lizzy?” Lydia demanded, casting aside her book and sitting up straight. “Do sit down and tell me!”

Elizabeth obediently took her seat next to her sister and spent a moment carefully studying her sister’s face. She was pleased by the inspection, as Lydia’s face was plumping up nicely. Her sickness from the pregnancy was, while not entirely over, definitely diminishing, and Lydia was able to eat more, which was good for both mother and unborn child.

“The visit was excellent,” Elizabeth replied and felt her own cheeks flush. “We spoke plainly on a number of topics, am confident that I know and understand Mr. Darcy and his expectations for his wife substantially better.”

“Will you marry him, then?” Lydia asked baldly.

Elizabeth hesitated and then said, “I think that he is exactly the sort of man, in disposition and talents, who will most suit me. His understanding and temper are unlike my own, but I believe we are thoroughly compatible. He is a very good man, Mr. Darcy; kind, honorable, hardworking, diligent, and intelligent.”

“Not to mention rich and very handsome,” Lydia pointed out with a soft laugh.

Elizabeth chuckled and nodded. “Yes, not to mention those qualities.”

“Do you love him?” Lydia asked timidly. “Really love him? I thought that I loved George, but I did not. I was a fool caught up in my excitement about a handsome face and a red coat.”

Elizabeth blew out a breath and said, “I think I do, yes. I have never been in love before, but surely this is what love is? To admire, to respect, to wish to be with him when we are apart? Yes, I am confident I am in love.”

“It seems you have made up your mind then,” her sister said.

Elizabeth nodded. “I believe I have, yes. I will sleep on it, but if I think the same tomorrow, I will tell him so when next we see one another.”

“I am happy for you, Lizzy,” Lydia said, leaning back against the back of the couch. “You are very clever and intelligent, and I believe you will make an excellent Mrs. Darcy. And rather selfishly, I am also pleased that you will be settling in this part of Derbyshire, so we can visit together often.”

Elizabeth reached out a hand to take Lydia’s in her own and smiled. Even a few months ago, she would have welcomed the prospect of living far away from her noisy, silly, boisterous, youngest sister. But Lydia’s tragic and misguided elopement with George Wickham, and her subsequent marriage to Alexander, plus the added complication of pregnancy, had resulted in a new gravity in the young Mrs. Wickham. And through these events, she and Lydia and grown much closer.

“I am glad we will be living nearby one another,” she said. “Very glad.”

***

The Gardens

Pemberley

A Week Later

Darcy closed the door – a small side door – behind himself and Elizabeth and offered his arm. The world was alive with birdsong and frogs croaking and the chitter and hum of insects and the zipping and bobbing of the earliest exploring bees, darting from daffodil to forsythia to pussy willow to crocus. A green haze sat on the branches of trees and bushes, the tiniest new leaves starting to unfurl and stretch up towards a warm spring sun. Green spears bristled up out of the ground, the top of an army of seeds just starting to sprout.

A white gravel path wound away from the door and into this wilderness of nascent beauty only beginning to grow. A squirrel ran across the path, scolded the two humans watching, and ran on about its own business.

Elizabeth tucked her arm into Darcy’s and lifted her face to the blue skies above, with the sun cheerfully shining down on her. The rains of a week ago, when she had last seen Darcy, had lasted three full days, by which time the road between Kympton and Pemberley was a quagmire. It had taken three more days for the road to dry out properly, and thus it had been an entire week since last she had seen Mr. Darcy.

In some ways, the wait had been difficult, and in others, it had been a blessing. She had been given time to ponder and pray and think and consider and, yes, she was entirely confident now. She wished to marry the master of Pemberley.

“The gardens are lovely, even with only the early flowers blooming,” she remarked, looking around with admiration as the pair strolled along. “I can only imagine how incredible it will be in a month or two.”

“Thank you,” he replied, and when she looked his way, he was gazing at her intently. “I hope that you will have the pleasure of seeing it often.”

She let go of his arm, turned toward him, and said, “Mr. Darcy, do you still wish to marry me?”

“With all my heart, yes.”

“Then may I suggest you ask me again?” she said with an expectant smile.

He stared at her in wonder and then reached out his gloved hands to take hers in his own. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, and the passion in his voice made her shiver. “I love and respect and adore you with all my heart. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“I will, Mr. Darcy,” she said, smiling up at him, and somehow the gap between them lessened and his lips met hers, carefully, gently, delicately, and she felt her heart beating faster…

“Mr. Darcy, oh, oh, I am so sorry, oh…”

The newly engaged couple sprang apart in surprise, and Darcy turned a fierce look on a young maid, who retreated a few feet, obviously horrified at her interruption.

Darcy’s expression was thunderous for but a moment, and then his face relaxed into a rueful grin. “What is it, Beatrice?”

“Oh, sir, miss, I do apologize, but a Lady Catherine de Bourgh has arrived and demanded that you be called at once. I truly am sorry, sir…”

“It is quite all right,” Darcy replied immediately, though his brow was furrowed.

“Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth said. “Your aunt from Kent?”

“Yes, and why she is here, I cannot tell. You may return to the house, Beatrice. I will be along shortly.”

“Yes, sir,” the girl said and quickly walked away.

“That poor girl,” Elizabeth murmured, and Darcy sighed and said, “I fear that sort of distress is common when my aunt is nearby. She is a difficult woman, unfortunately.”

He pulled her close and kissed her again, quickly, and said, “My dear Elizabeth, you have made me the happiest man in all the world. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Fitzwilliam,” she replied. “Now, shall we see why Lady Catherine has arrived?”

“I suppose we must,” Darcy said with a sigh.

***

Sitting Room

Pemberley

The east sitting room was Georgiana’s favorite, with light blue furniture, a blue and green oriental rug on the floor, matching gauzy curtains, and a cheerful painting of Brighton beach hanging over the fireplace.

The charming and familiar surroundings were a slight comfort, but mostly Georgiana felt anxious and unhappy, because her least beloved relative, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was sitting on the best seat by the fire and declaiming in her usual authoritative tones about any topic that struck her wandering fancy.

At the moment, it was music, and Georgiana had never been so thankful for Mrs. Annesley, who provided most of the responses to her aunt, not that either woman was required to speak much, as Lady Catherine was entirely enamored with the sound of her own voice. She had already discussed the furnishings of the room, which she found lacking, and the roads north, which had been dreadfully bumpy and muddy. And why was the government not doing more to make the roads better? And now she had settled, horrifyingly, on the subject of music.

“My dear niece,” she proclaimed, “I must tell you that, of all subjects, music is my greatest delight. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learned to play, I should have been a great proficient. And so would your Cousin Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. How do you get on, Niece?”

This seemed to require an actual response, and Georgiana said meekly, “I practice often and do my best.”

“I see,” she said with obvious disapproval. “Well, I must inform you that you cannot expect to excel if you do not practice a great deal.”

“I assure you, madam,” Mrs. Annesley said, “that she does not need such advice. Miss Darcy practices very constantly.”

“I am pleased to hear it, as it cannot be done too much. I often tell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice.”

At this moment, to Georgiana’s great relief, the door opened to reveal her brother, with Miss Bennet on his arm. The pair stepped into the room together, and Fitzwilliam said, “Lady Catherine, this is a great surprise. Why did you not inform me ahead of time that you would be visiting Pemberley?”

Georgiana was startled at such a blunt question, which was uncivil, but then their aunt’s sudden arrival was rude as well, was it not?

Lady Catherine rose to her full height, which was considerable for a lady. Georgiana was a tall girl herself, but her aunt was at least two inches taller than herself.

“Who is this woman?” the visitor demanded, scowling at Elizabeth Bennet.

Fitzwilliam’s expression grew even steelier, but after a moment, he turned to Miss Bennet, who nodded, and said, “Let me introduce you. Lady Catherine, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth, this is…”

“So it is true!” Lady Catherine snarled, interrupting Darcy’s words. “I had not imagined that such a thing could happen, that you could set aside your engagement with Anne, the last and only true desire of your own dear mother…”

“I am not and have never been engaged to Anne,” Darcy interrupted, and Georgiana, hearing the genuine anger in her brother’s voice, was insensibly cheered. She found Lady Catherine a fearsome individual with her proud proclamations and obvious sense of superiority. Fitzwilliam Darcy was, however, their aunt’s equal in determination, and he was the master of his own life.

Lady Catherine’s face turned an interesting shade of plum, and she snapped, “You are engaged, Darcy, and you know it! Now the engagement between you and my daughter is, I confess, of a peculiar kind. From your infancies, you have been intended for each other. It was the favorite wish of your dear mother,Lady Anne, as well as mine. While in your cradles, we planned the union. And now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished, is your marriage to be prevented by a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family?”

Darcy was now pale with fury, but he clamped his lips shut for a brief time, obviously struggling for control, and then turned toward his sister’s companion.

“Mrs. Annesley, will you kindly escort Miss Bennet and my sister to Miss Darcy’s dressing room? Perhaps you could call for tea and refreshments?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Annesley said, her expression calm. “Miss Darcy, Miss Bennet, shall we?”