Page 62 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

ELIZABETH

I t did not take long before Pemberley felt more like home than Longbourn ever had. Although I had once believed Longbourn the centre of my world, the peace, purpose, and love I found in Derbyshire far outshone anything I had known before.

Upon our return, my days were quickly filled with new responsibilities, but I was not alone in managing them.

My sisters, who had been learning under the guidance of Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Annesley during my absence, eagerly joined me in tending to the needs of the tenants and the running of the household.

Their enthusiasm transformed what might have felt burdensome into something meaningful and even enjoyable.

I was also pleased to see them throwing themselves into this endeavour, particularly Kitty and Lydia, who, only months ago, had been focused entirely on soldiers.

Jane, too, seemed content at Pemberley. She relished the quiet, the beauty of the countryside, and the cheerful companionship of our younger sisters.

Still, I could not help but suspect a hint of disappointment lingered beneath her gentle smiles—a disappointment that her Season in town had yielded no suitor .

A few gentlemen had shown interest, but most had withdrawn upon discovering the modest size of her dowry from my parents.

Fitzwilliam had not made public his generous promise to provide each of my sisters with ten thousand pounds, but I knew of it from the conversations he had held with my uncle Gardiner after their first meeting.

The funds had been invested and should grow to a larger sum, but Jane, as the eldest, seemed to struggle with the fact that her beauty alone had not convinced a gentleman of her worth.

The Gardiners had been frequent visitors to Darcy House during the Season.

My aunt often called before the fashionable hour, bringing my younger cousins to play in the nursery or stroll in the garden.

In those early, uncertain days, her presence had been a steadying comfort, and she had never failed to offer her own brand of practical wisdom.

I valued her involvement as highly as Lady Matlock’s and was deeply gratified that Fitzwilliam had welcomed them with such sincerity—regarding them not as social inferiors but as beloved family.

Aunt Gardiner helped me understand that Jane was still quietly wrestling with the burden of our mother’s expectations.

Those relentless declarations—that Jane “could not be so beautiful for nothing”—had taken root deep within her, shaping how she viewed herself and her worth in the world.

I had long believed that my sister yearned to be seen for more than just her beauty, to be valued for her kindness, her grace, and her thoughtfulness.

Still, her lack of any serious suitors during the Season had clearly wounded her pride more than she wished to admit.

“She has heard only of her beauty too often and for too long from your mother,” Aunt Gardiner said gently one afternoon, pulling me aside after I had tried—unsuccessfully—to coax the truth from Jane herself.

“It will take time for her to reconcile what she was taught with what she has now experienced. Just as you suffered under your mother’s endless criticisms of your behaviour, Jane has suffered in her own way—through constant praise that was no less limiting—and the effect can be just as damaging. ”

Her words stayed with me. I had always thought of Jane’s path as easier, paved with admiration and soft-spoken approval, but I now began to see the burden such praise could carry.

It had left Jane ill-prepared for rejection and unsure of how to value herself outside the lens of others’ admiration.

She had entered the Season believing, deep down, that beauty alone might bring love—now she was learning, painfully, that the world did not always reward goodness or grace in the ways we were led to expect.

I had tried to be understanding of the quiet hurt she did not speak aloud.

In time, I hoped she would come to see herself as we all did—not simply beautiful, but truly worthy of love for the whole of who she was.

Our time at Pemberley seemed to bring her some peace, but I hoped that, in the coming Season, she would meet someone worthy of her and who would love her as dearly as my Fitzwilliam loved me.

As we made ready for the harvest and planned the celebrations to mark the occasion, I discovered something far more thrilling.

Although my courses had never been entirely regular, it was unusual for me to go several months without one.

Not long after our return to Pemberley, I began to realise that I had not experienced the monthly inconvenience since shortly after Easter.

A quiet suspicion began to take root, though I dared not voice it aloud—not even to Fitzwilliam. Still, the hope lingered in my mind.

During one of her early visits to Darcy House—when Jane had been occupied with the children—my aunt had pulled me gently aside for a private conversation.

She spoke with kindness and candour about several matters related to married life.

While Fitzwilliam and I had discussed the intimacies of our union with frankness and had achieved a level of comfort with each other, my aunt offered wisdom of another sort: how to recognise the signs of early pregnancy.

Of course, I already understood that the cessation of a woman’s courses could indicate such a condition, but she explained that the most telling sign was the sensation known as the “quickening”—the first flutter of movement, like the brush of butterfly wings within.

Throughout late July and into August, I had felt vaguely unwell, a lingering discomfort that came and went but never fully disrupted my days.

It was only on the morning of the Harvest Festival, as I stood by the window watching the sun rise over the fields, that I felt it—that gentle fluttering deep within me.

The feeling was subtle but unmistakable for what it was.

In that instant, I knew what I had only before suspected: I was carrying our child.

I hesitated in wondering how best to tell Fitzwilliam.

Knowing his protectiveness, I worried that, if I told him immediately, he would attempt to insist that I allow my sisters to handle the final tasks for the dancing that would take place that evening, but as mistress, they were my responsibility.

My sisters might help, but the fact that I now knew I was carrying a child did not make me less capable than I had been the day before.

Therefore, I decided to wait until that evening to tell him.

The Harvest Festival was a great success, well attended and filled with cheer.

My sisters had been invaluable in planning a variety of activities for the tenants and their children, from games and races to music and dancing, ensuring the day held delight for all ages.

Together, we also prepared generous baskets filled with useful items for every household.

Throughout the summer, we had made frequent visits to the tenants, taking care to learn about their families, their needs, and even their small preferences.

Upon returning to the house after each visit, we recorded these details in little notebooks, which we later used to personalise each basket.

While the core contents were the same—staples for the home, preserves from the kitchens, a length or two of cloth, and some yarn—we made sure every family received something uniquely suited to them.

Whether it was a favourite sweet for a child, a pair of woollen mitts for an elderly grandmother, or a new tool for a hard-working farmer, each basket reflected our gratitude and attention.

Fitzwilliam knew of our efforts and approved them wholeheartedly. In years past, the Harvest Festival had been somewhat smaller, and the baskets for each family all identical, but we used the records from his mother’s time to make the celebration what it once had been.

At the close of the evening, Fitzwilliam and I stood side by side near the edge of the lawn, bidding farewell to each of our guests as they made their way toward carriages and waggons.

Although the sky still held the soft glow of twilight and the air remained pleasantly warm, the hour had grown late for our tenants.

Many had little ones to settle into bed or livestock that needed tending before night fully fell.

Laughter and warm wishes lingered in the air as we exchanged handshakes and grateful smiles, offering our thanks for their attendance and well-wishes.

As the last of the guests departed down the long drive, I felt a quiet satisfaction settle over me—tired, yes, but content.

When the last guest had departed, I turned to Fitzwilliam, slipping my arms around his waist and resting my head against his chest. His arms came around me at once, drawing me close, and for several long moments we stood there in the quiet hush, simply holding one another.

Eventually, he eased back just enough to look into my face whilst keeping me firmly within the circle of his arms.

“You did wonderfully today, Elizabeth,” he said softly.

“We have not hosted a celebration like this since my mother passed. I like to think that she had a hand in bringing us together this past year. A year ago, I stood at this very same festival feeling empty and alone—still tormented by what had happened with Georgiana and dreading my visit to Netherfield, knowing I would have to endure Caroline Bingley’s attentions.

I was unhappy and bitter, frustrated by the pressures that always seemed to weigh on me.

I have told you before that, had it not been for my mother’s intervention, I would have insulted you that first night.

She implied we might have eventually found our way to happiness, but not without a great many months of misunderstanding and missed chances. ”

He paused, brushing a hand lightly down my back.

“Our path was not without its own struggles, but at least we were never separated and angry out of foolish pride. I never made you hate me. We have had our disagreements this past year, but from the moment I allowed myself to hope, I have never doubted your love.”

I tilted my head up to meet his gaze, smiling.

“You are not the only one who changed, Fitzwilliam. My grandmother has been with me as well, in spirit at least. She encouraged me to care for my sisters more tenderly, to be strong, and later, when I feared I might never be found, not to give up hope. I never doubted that you were searching for me—I only feared that those who held me had hidden me too well. But you proved me right in every expectation I ever held of you.”

I laughed lightly, my voice catching just a bit on the next words. “This last year has brought more joy and wonder than I ever thought possible. And now—there is just one more thing I must add to it.”

His brow furrowed, curiosity blooming in his eyes. “One more?” he asked. “What more could we possibly need?”

I took one of his arms, pulling it from around me and taking his hand in mine. Then, I moved his hand to my waist and placed mine on top of his where it rested there.

“This,” I said, watching as he looked at me, first in confusion, but then in dawning understanding.

“You are… Are you with child?” he asked, his voice incredulous.

“I am,” I replied, smiling at him. “I felt the quickening this morning.”

“We will have a baby?” he asked again, and I watched as the thought seemed to sink in fully.

When it did, he bowed his head and kissed me, almost reverently, in a lingering kiss that felt like a promise.

He did not need to tell me how delighted he was, for the kiss said so much more than words could have done in this moment.

Then, he turned almost frantic. “Should you have done so much today? You have been standing for hours. We need to…what do you need, Elizabeth?”

I laughed. “I am well, Fitzwilliam,” I told him. “Perhaps a little more tired than I ordinarily would have been. My sisters will understand if we intend to retire now instead of sitting up with them to rehash the night’s events.”

His brow furrowed when he looked at me. “You cannot… You do not mean that we should… I cannot take you to bed now, can I?” His voice was such a mixture of concern and hope that I had to laugh.

“I am well, Fitzwilliam,” I repeated. “My aunt spoke to me while we were in London about what to expect, and I simply need to listen to my body. I do need to rest more than usual, but everything else—she said that as long as I was comfortable, we could continue as always. She did say—” I paused, and I could feel my cheeks heat as I recalled precisely what she had said to me then, but finishing in a rush “—that we may have to be more inventive in the later months to ensure I am comfortable.”

Although he took a moment to consider this, he finally kissed me again, this time with much more passion evident. When he finally released me, he hurried me up the stairs and to our chambers, not even bothering to tell our sisters good night.