Page 23 of More Than You Know (The Love Conquers Pride #3)
Chapter Twenty-Two
Early April 1812, Hertfordshire
F our weeks after their understanding was sealed, Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, along with Charles Bingley and Jane Bennet, were married from Longbourn in a joint ceremony.
The small church brimmed with warmth and light, its simple elegance adorned with garlands of spring greenery and delicate blooms. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting a soft wash of colour across the pews filled with family and friends. The air was rich with joyful anticipation, murmurs of admiration, and the rustling of fine muslin and lace, as all gathered to witness the union of two devoted sisters to two equally besotted gentlemen.
After the ceremony, the newly wedded couples and their guests returned to Netherfield Park for an elaborate breakfast, assiduously arranged and overseen with pride by an enraptured Mrs Bennet.
Although it had taken the matriarch some time to fully comprehend that it was Elizabeth who had ensnared the wealthy Mr Darcy, while her most deserving daughter, Jane, was to marry the affable Mr Bingley, at length, Mrs Bennet had come to realize that the precise pairings mattered little. Both gentlemen had been caught, and in the end, that was all that truly mattered.
As Elizabeth moved through the crowd, she could not help but marvel at the transformation Netherfield had undergone in only a few short weeks. The principal rooms overflowed with fragrant arrangements of spring flowers—tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils—their radiant hues lending a romantic air to the bright morning. Laughter echoed through the halls as guests mingled, offering well wishes and basking in the glow of the occasion, while servants made their way through the throng, balancing trays of sumptuous confections and glasses of sparkling wine.
Across the room, Elizabeth caught sight of her new husband, and a genuine smile lit her expression. Mr Darcy stood in relaxed conversation with his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Walsh. All three gentlemen appeared equally pleased with the celebrations, and Darcy’s expression—so often composed and guarded—was now wholly unreserved. His laughter was easy and unaffected, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes softening his countenance in a way that made Elizabeth’s heart swell with joy.
Nearby, she could see Georgiana standing with her new companion, Mrs Annesley, a genteel older lady whose gracious and steady presence Elizabeth had come to admire in their brief acquaintance. She was pleased to see her new sister perfectly at ease, conversing quietly with a small circle of guests, her cheeks flushed with happiness, the earlier strains of anxiety replaced by serene contentment.
Elizabeth’s attention drifted around the room until it settled on Jane, who stood in a corner, engaged in conversation with Mr Bingley.
With steady purpose, Elizabeth moved in their direction. Mr Bingley, ever attentive, straightened at her approach.
“Elizabeth,” he greeted warmly, though there was a trace of distraction in his smile. “I shall leave you two to talk.”
Fixing his bride with a tender gaze, he gave Jane’s hand a reassuring squeeze before disappearing back into the crowd.
Elizabeth turned to her sister, her brows lifted in gentle enquiry. “Is everything well?”
Jane offered a gentle smile before casting a cautious glance around, as if ensuring they would not be overheard. “Yes, of course. It is just…well, I was not to speak of it until matters were more certain, but…Charles has had a letter from Mr Wainwright.”
Elizabeth tilted her head in mild surprise. “The owner of the stud farm, in Derbyshire?”
Jane nodded. “He and Charles have been corresponding regularly since our visit. It seems that Mr Wainwright is looking to sell. He is advancing in years, and his daughter has been urging him to join her in Somerset. Mr Wainwright had hoped to keep the land in the family, but he has no sons, and his daughters are well settled elsewhere… So, he has offered the farm to Charles.”
For a moment, Elizabeth could only stare, her delight rendering her briefly speechless. “Oh, Jane! That is wonderful! I know it has long been his wish to explore something along those lines, and I dare say you will be happy in such a venture as well. And, selfishly, I cannot help but rejoice at the thought that you might be settled so near to Pemberley. Do you think Charles will accept?”
Jane’s smile deepened, her earlier unease dissolving. “I believe he will. He seems very much inclined to pursue it. By the time you return from Dublin, I hope all will be settled to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Elizabeth, overcome with emotion, drew Jane into a tight embrace. “I am so very happy for you. Truly, this is the best possible news.”
As they stepped apart, a familiar voice interrupted their quiet moment. “I hope I am not intruding,” came Charlotte Walsh’s warm greeting.
Elizabeth turned with a smile for one of her dearest friends.
Charlotte, now the picture of contentment as Mrs Walsh, extended her hands to each of the sisters. “My sincerest congratulations to you both. What a lovely ceremony.”
Jane thanked her friend before excusing herself to return to Mr Bingley.
Left alone, Charlotte shifted her attention fully to Elizabeth, saying with heartfelt admiration, “Eliza, you look beautiful.”
Elizabeth smiled back. Months ago, she might have deflected such a compliment, insisting that Jane was the true beauty in the family. But now, with a heart overflowing with joy, she could only grin more broadly and say, “Thank you, Charlotte. As did you, at your own nuptials last month. I am only sorry that remaining in Hertfordshire for the ceremony meant that you and Mr Walsh were forced to postpone your journey north.”
A light laugh escaped Charlotte’s lips. “Nonsense,” she said, shaking her head. “Henry would not have heard a word about missing your wedding. Nor would I. You know that you and Mr Darcy will always be family to us.”
Elizabeth felt a swell of emotion and fought to keep her composure. “As you will be also,” she replied softly, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall.
Shaking away her melancholy, Elizabeth regarded Charlotte with a lifted brow. “So, are you ready to be Mistress of Pemberley?” she teased lightly.
Charlotte laughed. “You know I shall never be that. Nor would I wish to be. But I shall do my best to be a helpmate to Henry and to serve your tenants until you and Mr Darcy return—which I hope will be very soon!”
“I hope so too, as I shall miss you and Jane desperately. But who knows? Perhaps I shall become enraptured with the beauty of the Irish countryside, and we shall never leave.”
“Bite your tongue!” Charlotte chided playfully.
Elizabeth grinned. “Well, whether our stay is long or short, I know we shall rest easier knowing that Pemberley is in such capable hands. Fitzwilliam already trusts your husband implicitly, and by the time we return, I have no doubt you will know the estate far better than I do!”
Charlotte’s cheeks coloured as she demurred, “You know we shall not be residing at the manor house. Though, from what Henry has told me, the dower house is every bit as large as Lucas Lodge, so I think I shall have quite enough to keep me occupied.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly, but her amusement softened when she caught the telltale sheen of tears in Charlotte’s eyes.
Concerned, she reached for her friend’s hands, leading her gently to a quieter corner of the room. “What is it, Charlotte? Are you uneasy about moving to Pemberley? I imagine it will be difficult, being in an unfamiliar place with new people, but?—”
“No, no. It is not that.” Charlotte sniffed, wiping away her tears with trembling fingers. “It is just… Oh, it is silly, really!” She shook her head, but Elizabeth gave her a patient, urging look.
“If you must know,” Charlotte continued hesitantly, “I am crying because I am so happy! Lizzy, never in a million years did I believe I could be as happy as this.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but Charlotte pressed on. “Oh, I know how I used to talk. I always proclaimed I was not romantic, and that all I desired was a comfortable home. But that was only because I believed that was all I could expect. I have never been handsome, and at seven-and-twenty, my chances of making any match—let alone a love match—were painfully slim. But now, I have found a gentleman I respect and admire—as he does me—and all I can think about is how differently things might have turned out for me.”
Elizabeth gave Charlotte’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “Nonsense. You were never destined for spinsterhood. You are far too clever and kind not to have secured a husband eventually.”
Charlotte offered a watery smile, dabbing at her cheeks. “Perhaps. But now I know that there are far worse fates. In truth, I shudder to think whom I might have accepted under different circumstances.”
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood slightly apart from the jubilant crowd, his dark gaze sweeping over the scene before him. Netherfield’s principal rooms were festively adorned, and the great hall rang with cheerful chatter. Yet despite the revelry surrounding him, Darcy felt an unexpected stillness settle within. Never in all his imaginings had he thought he could be so content—so filled with eager anticipation for the life that lay ahead. And all of it, every precious second, was owed to Elizabeth Bennet.
His musings were interrupted by a firm clap on the back, and a moment later, Bingley’s grinning countenance came into view beside him.
“So, Dublin, is it?” he enquired, his eyes alight with good humour. “How long will you be gone?”
Darcy turned towards his friend, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We set sail in a fortnight, and I do not think we shall return until the autumn, at least. Georgiana wishes to see some of the Irish countryside, and Fitzwilliam has already arranged to visit when next he is on leave.”
At the mention of his name, Colonel Fitzwilliam sauntered over, a glass of wine in hand and a wry grin brightening his expression. Raising his glass slightly, he said, “To your health and happiness, gentlemen. And may Dublin survive the Darcys.”
Bingley chuckled, shaking his head. “You really should have said something before arranging such a grand wedding trip, Darcy. I had only thought to take Jane to Bath this summer!”
Darcy’s cheeks heated slightly as he said, “It was rather a last-minute decision. But tell me, what are your plans after your return? Will you remain at Netherfield for the time being?”
Bingley’s gaze flickered across the room to the spot where Mrs Bennet held court, loudly extolling the virtues of her new sons-in-law to anyone within earshot, and he winced slightly. “Ah…I am not certain. Jane and I have discussed the matter and believe we may find it more comfortable to settle a bit…farther afield.”
Darcy and his cousin exchanged an amused glance before the colonel leaned in slightly, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “And what of Miss Bingley? I could not help but notice that the lady is not in attendance. I hope her absence does not signify her displeasure with your choice of a wife?”
To Darcy’s surprise, Bingley’s expression instantly brightened. “Oh, not in the least! Caroline wished to be here, but she has been detained in Scarborough for the most delightful reason—she is engaged to be married! My sister is to wed Lord Ashcombe as soon as the banns can be read.”
“Indeed?” Darcy enquired with a lifted brow. Although he was not intimately acquainted with the gentleman, Lord Ashcombe—a widower of some five-and-thirty years who held the barony of Moorhaven—was known to be a steady, respectable man. “A most advantageous match,” he added, shaking his friend’s hand. “I am pleased for her.”
Fitzwilliam grinned broadly. “As am I. Who would have thought Miss Bingley would so swiftly settle?”
They shared in Bingley’s obvious delight for a few moments more before Jane’s gentle voice called to him from across the room. Bingley smiled fondly at his bride.
“Ah, if you gentlemen will excuse me, my wife awaits.”
He had taken but a few steps when he paused, turning back.
“Oh, Colonel! I nearly forgot. Caroline asked me to deliver a message to you. She wrote that I was to say ‘thank you’ when next we met. She did not offer any further explanation, but indicated that you would understand.”
Fitzwilliam’s easy smile faltered for just a moment before he recovered, raising his glass in silent acknowledgement.
Bingley, intent on rejoining his wife, offered a final grin and disappeared into the crowd.
Darcy cast a sidelong glance at his cousin. “Should I enquire?”
Fitzwilliam smirked, swirling the wine in his glass. “No, Cousin. I believe some mysteries are best left unsolved.”
Afternoon sunlight bathed Netherfield’s drive in golden hues as Darcy assisted Elizabeth into the waiting carriage. The crisp spring breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the cheerful murmur of family and friends gathered to bid them farewell. Darcy cast one final glance over the assembled crowd—Jane and Bingley stood arm in arm, Mrs Bennet was dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief, and Mr Bennet offered a rare, approving nod—before climbing in after his wife.
Elizabeth settled onto the forward-facing seat, smoothing the folds of her travelling gown. After the briefest hesitation, Darcy ducked his head, choosing the seat beside her. As the vehicle swung into motion, the rhythmic clatter of hoofbeats against the gravel drive echoed behind them. Elizabeth leaned into his side, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. To his delight, she nestled into his embrace, the gentle rocking of the carriage blending with the steady cadence of her breaths.
For a time, they rode in silence, watching the countryside unfurl beyond the window in a rush of verdant green fields and budding hedgerows. Darcy tilted his head, gazing down at the woman by his side. He breathed in the subtle fragrance of lavender and rose that clung to her, and his heart swelled with quiet wonder. She was his. Elizabeth Bennet—now Elizabeth Darcy—was his wife.
The thought still astonished him. From the moment he had first laid eyes on her, on that Yorkshire moor, she had unsettled him, challenged him, and ultimately transformed him. Her wit had pierced through his pride, and her warmth had melted the walls he had built around his heart. And yet, it was more than that. She had introduced him to a different way of seeing the world—of seeing himself. Her encouragement to seek counsel from her uncle, Dr Harper, had irrevocably altered the course of his life. He felt lighter, freer, more himself than he had ever been.
Today was the first day of their future, and tonight, there would be no more secrets, no more barriers between them. He would know her fully, just as she would know him.
Elizabeth stirred beside him, tipping her chin to look up at him with a winsome smile. Her dark eyes, bright with curiosity, met his.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her voice scarcely rising above the gentle clatter of the horse’s hoofs.
Darcy’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You,” he admitted simply. “How fortunate I am. And how profoundly grateful I shall always be to have you as my wife.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened, tenderness flickering in her fine eyes as she gazed back at him with obvious affection.
He studied her intently for a moment before his thoughts turned inwards. A contemplative stillness settled over him as he murmured, “I looked for you, you know.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered, her forehead creasing in confusion at the unexpected shift in the conversation.
“Of course,” she answered, sitting straighter against the plush squabs. “And I am very grateful for it. Had you not ventured out to find me I cannot imagine?—”
“No,” Darcy interrupted. “You mistake my meaning. I do not refer to the day of the storm. I looked for you, after our first meeting, all those years ago.”
For a moment, Elizabeth said nothing, her eyes widening in surprise. Darcy glanced away, his gaze drifting to the passing scenery before continuing in a low voice, “Once I returned to Pemberley, I could not stop thinking of you. I knew—or believed—that there could be no future for us, yet the idea of never seeing you again…” He swallowed hard. “It was unthinkable. I told myself I was being foolish, that I ought to put you from my mind, but still, I searched. Every time I had cause to travel to London, I took a different route through Hertfordshire, stopping in village after village, hoping against reason that I might find you.” A wry smiled touched his lips. “Of course, with nothing more than your approximate age and Christian name—which ultimately proved to be incorrect—to go on, it is no wonder that I never had any success.”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth whispered, lifting one hand to caress his cheek, “can you ever forgive me? If I had only known…”
Her voice faltered, and Darcy reached for her hand, placing a reverent kiss to the back of her wrist.
“It is of no significance now, and I do not tell you this to burden you with regret. I only wished for you to know that meeting you that day…it altered me. You mattered to me from the very beginning. You always will.”
Elizabeth nodded solemnly, momentarily silent before lifting her eyes to his.
“As we are sharing confidences, there is something I have been meaning to ask you.”
Darcy inclined his head, regarding her with quiet curiosity. “Of course. You must know that you may ask me anything.”
“Well,” she began hesitantly, “it is to do with that evening, in my uncle’s garden?—”
“When you proposed to me?” Darcy interjected. To his satisfaction, Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, might I remind you that you solemnly swore never to speak of the circumstances surrounding our engagement?”
He chuckled, tightening his arm around her shoulders. “I believe, madam, if you recall our conversation, I only promised never to reveal those details to another soul. I did not surrender the right to tease you on the topic from time to time.”
Elizabeth sighed, though her eyes sparkled. “You are incorrigible.”
“So you have told me.”
She shook her head in mock exasperation. “In any case, I have been wondering… When I…asked you to marry me, what made you agree so readily? When we parted ways at Pemberley, you seemed determined to avoid marriage at all costs, so I cannot account for your change of heart. I confess, I thought I would need to exert far more effort to persuade you.”
Darcy smiled back at her with quiet amusement. “To tell the truth, I had already realized that I could not bear to let you go. That evening, when I came to Gracechurch Street for dinner, I intended to ask whether I might make my addresses once Georgiana and I returned from Dublin. You simply spoke before I had the chance.”
Elizabeth shifted in her seat, blinking up at him. “Are you saying that you had already changed your mind about marrying me before you even arrived in town?”
From his seat beside her, Darcy gave a sheepish nod. “I had.”
Elizabeth drew back, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Do you mean to tell me that I made a complete cake of myself for no reason at all? Why on earth did you not stop me and speak your piece?”
A rich chuckle escaped Darcy’s lips. “It is not often that a gentleman is made love to by the woman he admires, and rarer still to receive an offer of marriage. I was enjoying myself immensely. Besides, once you had begun, you were going along so charmingly that I did not have the heart to interrupt.”
Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment before releasing an incredulous laugh. But before she could speak, Darcy leaned in and captured her lips in a tender, lingering kiss. The steady rhythm of the carriage faded into the background as the world narrowed to just the two of them.
When he finally drew back, Elizabeth was breathless, her dark eyes lit with passion.
“You are incorrigible,” she whispered again, and Darcy smiled against her temple.
“And yet, you still married me.”
Elizabeth sighed, sinking deeper into his embrace. “Yes, I did. And I shall never regret it.”