Page 51 of Moments of Truth
Happy indeed, beyond all her maternal ambitions, was the day when Mrs. Bennet at last beheld two of her most deserving daughters respectably and, in her estimation, magnificently married.
The proud appellations of Mrs. Bingley and—far greater still—Mrs. Darcy never grew stale upon her lips.
She found a thousand occasions to recount their triumphs to neighbours who might, in her fancy, envy but could never equal her.
Yet even such great events as these could not wholly transform her into the composed and reasonable matron her family sometimes wished for.
Her nerves and her exclamations remained as lively as ever; but perhaps Mr. Bennet, who valued the comforts of habit, found in her unchanged folly a certain familiar solace, and might almost have been startled had her manner grown truly sensible.
A singular honour attended their wedding: the Marquess of Salisbury himself, who had long been a friend to the late Mr. George Darcy, accepted with pleasure the invitation so earnestly pressed upon him.
Having only to journey from his seat at Hatfield, he came with gracious good will and extended, in return, an invitation of his own.
Mr. Bennet and all his family were requested to visit Hatfield House—a distinction which Mrs. Bennet was never weary of recalling.
From that day forth, no lady in Hertfordshire could rival her pride, for she had not only given her daughters in marriage to two of the finest gentlemen in Derbyshire, but had been entertained by a Marquess into the bargain.
Mr. Bennet, however, discovered within himself a surprising tenderness for Elizabeth.
Deprived of her lively conversation, he missed her society more than he could once have admitted.
To the astonishment of all, he undertook journeys into Derbyshire far more frequently than his neighbours thought consistent with his love of indolence.
At Pemberley, Elizabeth greeted these visits with joy, for she perceived more clearly than ever the depth of her father’s regard.
As for Jane and Bingley, the first months at Netherfield were idyllic, yet the perpetual bustle of Meryton and the unceasing attentions of Mrs. Bennet soon began to pall.
Bingley, whose cheerful spirits could bear much, at last perceived that Jane’s serenity was too often disturbed by local gossip and maternal interference.
In the second year of their marriage, they purchased a pleasant estate in Derbyshire, not more than thirty miles from Pemberley.
Thus, the two sisters who had ever been each other’s closest companions found themselves once more within easy distance—a circumstance that filled them both with gratitude and delight.
At Pemberley, Elizabeth and Darcy entered upon a new existence, no longer shadowed by doubts or divided by misjudgements.
The candour that had once been so difficult between them now flowed with ease, and the affection that had struggled against pride and resentment blossomed into a union of mutual trust. Their evenings together, whether enlivened by spirited discourse or softened by tranquil silence, spoke of a happiness rooted as much in respect as in love.
What once had been sharp encounters now settled into affectionate teasing; and the ardent declaration that had once shocked Elizabeth by its presumption was daily renewed in the gentleness of a man who had learned humility through love.
On a soft spring evening at Pemberley, Elizabeth walked with her husband along the terrace overlooking the gardens, where the scent of lilac mingled with the last warmth of the sun.
Below, Jane and Bingley approached arm in arm, their laughter rising lightly in the still air.
Elizabeth paused, leaning gently against Darcy’s arm, her eyes bright with affection.
“How strange,” she murmured, “that so much should have grown out of a single letter, and all the pride and misunderstanding that once divided us. I scarce know whether to call it folly or fortune.”
Darcy bent his head, his voice low and fervent.
“Call it providence, dearest. For without those trials, I might never have learned humility, nor you the strength of your own heart. And had I not kept my promise to the Marquess, I should never have been brought to Longbourn that morning.” His hand closed warmly over hers.
“Every circumstance conspired to lead me to you.”
Elizabeth smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude. As the two couples joined together before the great house, the sisters exchanged a look of deep contentment—Jane serene, Elizabeth radiant, each secure in the love they had chosen and been granted.
The last rays of daylight faded, but in Elizabeth’s breast there glowed a certainty as steady as the stars soon to appear: that the dance she had begun with Mr. Darcy was one she would never wish to end.
So began a chapter of life written by the hand of love itself; and in that story, Elizabeth and Darcy found no end, but only the sweet unfolding of days shared in perfect harmony.
THE END