Page 48 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

DARCY

I t should not have surprised me to learn that my friend remained as weak as ever where his sister was concerned, yet I could not help but feel disappointed by his letter.

Rather than taking action in response to the accusations Miss Bennet had made, he merely offered excuses for Miss Bingley’s behaviour.

I had not seen the lady since the evening she collapsed during my confrontation with her, so I could not judge whether her illness was genuine or simply another of her manipulations.

But the facts remained: she had engineered Elizabeth’s removal under false pretences.

That alone should have prompted outrage.

Instead, Bingley seemed untroubled by the extent of her villainy—her efforts to remove Elizabeth from my path and secure her own future leading her to kidnap and perhaps ruin the reputation of an innocent woman.

It astonished me that he was not more disturbed by her promise to Mrs. Bennet: that she would “permit” his marriage to Miss Bennet in exchange for Elizabeth being sent away so I would pay attention to her .

No scheme that she devised could ever have convinced me to marry her—but had Georgiana dared attempt something similar, I would have been livid.

The mercenary nature of such a manipulation— and the presumption that I could be steered like a pawn—was unthinkable to me.

My anger flared anew towards my friend’s sister as I read the latest letter from my aunt, which included clippings mentioning the gossip circulating London regarding me and my supposed mistress.

In the past two months, we had exchanged infrequent correspondence, but my aunt had long been aware of my intention to marry Elizabeth once I found her.

Whilst Aunt Helen had not necessarily approved of the match, she was delighted that I was finally determined to settle down.

Despite that, I had not yet written to inform her of my success—something I now realised must be remedied without delay. I had been so busy during my time in Scotland that I had not taken the time to write to her, and since finding Elizabeth, she had not even entered my mind.

The clippings my aunt had enclosed only sharpened my resolve to do something about Miss Bingley spreading lies.

When Elizabeth handed me a similar letter from her sister, containing many of the same scandalous insinuations, we agreed at once: it was imperative we travel to London as soon as possible.

Several of the more salacious pieces hinted that I had secreted myself away in Scotland with a mistress now carrying my illegitimate child.

Although none named me outright, the implications were clear enough to anyone familiar with my absence.

My aunt implored me to return to London at once and salvage what remained of my reputation.

Now, however, I would not be returning alone.

I would arrive with Elizabeth—my wife—and her presence would serve as the most decisive refutation of every whispered scandal.

She was most certainly not with child, and whilst she was an unknown, I hoped it would soon be known in society that we were a love match.

Her dignity, her very presence at my side, would silence the worst of the gossip.

It was a profound relief to know the truth would soon be visible—undeniable to anyone with the decency to acknowledge what stood plainly before them.

Although I had no desire to re-enter the social fray of the London season, I found some comfort in the knowledge that, with Elizabeth as my bride, I need never again endure the endless parade of simpering debutantes or calculating mothers vying for advantage.

The only woman I had ever wanted was already mine.

“Whilst I cannot relish the idea of deliberately tarnishing another’s reputation,” Elizabeth said carefully, “I do wonder whether we ought to make it known that Miss Bingley is behind these lies. I cannot imagine anyone else spreading such tales. And if my sister is correct—if Miss Bingley has been secretly sending letters to her friends and acquaintances in an attempt to tarnish my reputation before I even enter society—then it is the only explanation that fits. It is not as though you usually spend the entire winter in London.”

“No,” I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose to ward off the ache beginning to pulse behind my eyes. “But in past years, Georgiana and I have made a brief visit before Christmas. I did not this year since I was first in Hertfordshire and then searching for you.”

At that, Elizabeth crossed the room and came to stand behind me. Her hands found my shoulders, gently working at the knots of tension that had settled there. The relief was immediate—and not only physical. Her mere presence was a balm.

“So,” she said, her tone deliberately light, “we shall go to London, spend a few weeks acquiring a new wardrobe for me, and then dutifully attend the theatre and whatever events your aunt deems socially necessary to introduce me and show society that the rumours are mere lies.”

I knew she likely dreaded the prospect nearly as much as I, but she bore it with far more grace. Her attempt to cheer me, even whilst confronting the obligations ahead, only deepened my love for her.

“Come here,” I said, my voice low and rough with emotion as I reached for her, drawing her gently but firmly into my lap. She came willingly, her arms sliding around my shoulders as if they belonged there—which, of course, they did .

We had been at Pemberley only a short time, yet already the weight of expectation pressed in, threatening the fragile peace we had stolen during our brief sanctuary in Scotland.

In that windswept cottage, the world had narrowed to just the two of us—there was no gossip, no obligations, nothing to intrude upon the quiet joy of discovering one another.

But now, reality demanded our attention. We were forced to confront outside forces determined to intrude, to complicate what ought to have been simple happiness—all because of one jealous, bitter woman who seemed intent on spreading her own misery wherever she could.

I pressed my face to the hollow of her throat, breathing her in, anchoring myself in her warm, familiar scent. “I hate this,” I murmured, my lips brushing the skin of her neck. “I hate that the moment we come home, it seems as though we are being pulled apart again.”

Elizabeth shifted in my arms, her hands threading into my hair. “Then we must steal our moments when we can, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered against my ear. “We must claim what is ours before society tries to take it from us. We do not need to leave Pemberley for at least a few days, right?”

Her words ignited something in me, something primal and possessive. My hands slid along her back, drawing her closer still. “You are mine,” I said, my voice low and raw. “They may demand our presence to confirm what we already know, but no one will ever take you from me again.”

She tilted her head, eyes dark and daring. “Then show me.”

And I did.

We departed for London the following Monday.

None of our sisters chose to accompany us, all preferring the quiet comforts of Pemberley.

Lydia—my sisters now insisted I address them by their familiar names—had briefly considered joining us, but when we made it clear that none of them, save Mary, would be considered “out” in London society, she quickly lost interest. We promised to send along any books we thought they might enjoy, as well as new music for their practise, but on the whole, they were content to remain in the country.

Elizabeth and I made our way south, this time in our own carriage since our servants travelled in a second carriage behind us.

Morris and Taylor, Elizabeth’s new lady’s maid, were accompanied by several other servants whom I wished to take to Darcy House for the winter.

We would be entertaining there a little more often than normal since I was now married, and Mrs. Reynolds claimed she and the housekeeper of Darcy House, Mrs. Smythe, insisted that two or three well-trained maids were necessary, as well as another footman or two.

We made good use of the privacy in our carriage.

Although we had only been married a few weeks, we had learnt a great deal about each other.

Unfortunately, already much of our marriage had been spent in a carriage, but I was grateful that I had the means to afford us the opportunity to do so in comfort.

As we journeyed, we spent much of our time talking, just as we had done over the last weeks.

Unlike with some of my acquaintances, we never seemed to run out of things to say to each other.

During our brief stay at Pemberley, I had received several pieces of correspondence that I had not had time to deal with, and I had brought some other business matters with me so we could discuss them.

So far, I had not had the opportunity to speak with Elizabeth about the various sources of our wealth; she knew only that Pemberley was purported to bring in ten thousand a year.

However, Pemberley was not my only source of income.

I had two other estates, both significantly smaller than Pemberley.

One was in Scotland, which I had briefly visited during my search for Elizabeth, and the other was near Bristol.

I, or rather we, had an interest in a shipping company there, as well as several other investments that brought in significant income .

We spoke of these matters, along with the skeleton marriage settlement her uncle had drafted.

My solicitor in London already had the document; I had asked Phillips to forward him a copy of what we had written plus a few notes on what else I wished to include and a list of changes to make to my will.

“You cannot mean to settle so much on me, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth cried when I explained what I intended.

“Regardless of what my bride brought to the marriage, I would have always settled this amount on her,” I replied. “That forty thousand has been set aside for years for this purpose.”

Elizabeth merely shook her head, closing her eyes as she attempted to take it in. “I still think it is too much, Fitzwilliam, and the two thousand per annum as pin money seems an utterly ridiculous amount. I would not even know how to spend so much. That is equal to what Longbourn earns in a year.”

“I am certain you will use some of it for charitable endeavours, as well as for purchases you wish to make for yourself or for your sisters,” I told her. “We can revisit the amount later if you still feel it is necessary, or you can invest what you cannot possibly spend.”

Laughing, Elizabeth only shook her head again before changing the subject of our conversation yet again.

“What will we do about my sisters, Fitzwilliam? You have graciously accepted their guardianship, but that should not have been left to you in the first place. Will my pin money be sufficient to provide for their clothing and other things they may need? Mary is old enough now to have a Season, but I cannot imagine she would enjoy the marriage mart any more than you did. Kitty and Lydia may join Georgiana in a few years, but that will be a challenge in and of itself. Georgiana will need to be presented, will she not?”

“She will,” I acknowledged. “If the Queen is holding a drawing room this year, you will need to be presented as my wife, and then you will be able to sponsor your sisters when they enter society. ”

Our conversation lingered on the subject for a time, drifting through conversations about our sisters and social obligations until Elizabeth grew quiet again. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft I might have missed it had I not been watching her so closely.

“Will your aunt like me?” she asked, her gaze fixed on the seat across from us rather than on me.

The question caught me off guard. My Elizabeth—so full of spirit, so bold in her convictions—sounded uncharacteristically uncertain. It was rare to hear such vulnerability in her tone, and I immediately shifted to face her fully, drawing her gently into my arms.

I did not rush to answer. I owed her honesty, but more than that, I wanted to offer reassurance.

“My aunt will support you,” I said slowly, brushing a loose curl back from her cheek. “Because you are my wife, and she holds family loyalty in high esteem. But… it may take her some time to see in you what I do.”

Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching mine.

“My aunt is not unkind,” I continued. “But she has spent her life surrounded by the sort of women who dominate the society columns—elegant, calculating, endlessly proper. She values intelligence and wit, and you possess both in abundance. That will impress her. But she will likely try to shape you—to guide you into becoming the sort of woman she believes belongs at the top of society. She will seek to make you a leader in society, as she is.”

Her brows drew together faintly, and I tightened my hold on her.

“I pray you will not let her succeed,” I said firmly.

“I love you because you are not like them. You are unguarded, sincere, full of conviction and warmth and life. You challenge me, you surprise me, and you speak your mind without artifice. You are real , Elizabeth. And I would not trade that for all the polished diamonds of the London season. ”

She smiled at that, although there was still a flicker of unease in her eyes.

“I do not want to fail you,” she whispered, her uncertainty once again tearing at my heart. So much had happened, and we had not had the courtship I would wish to have had due to the manipulations of others.

“You never could,” I replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And if my aunt cannot see how remarkable you are, that is no failing of yours—but hers.”

Elizabeth leant into me, her head settling against my chest as the rhythm of the carriage wheels hummed beneath us.

We did not speak for some time after that, content in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

Words were unnecessary; instead, we communicated through the warmth of her body against mine, the gentle rise and fall of our breathing.

In the privacy afforded by the curtained carriage, we found other ways to pass the time—soft touches, shared glances, and quiet, lingering kisses that reassured us both and stirred a quiet delight.

Each moment reminded me anew that she was mine, that the trials were behind us, and that whatever lay ahead, we would face it together.