Page 26

Elizabeth

T he sparrow perched on the Netherfield garden wall paid no mind to Elizabeth’s approach, continuing its morning song with cheerful indifference to human concerns.

She envied the creature its freedom, and its uncomplicated existence.

Today she would face her family as Mrs Darcy for the first time—a prospect that had robbed her of sleep and settled like lead in her stomach. She’d hoped a morning walk would bring her peace of mind, but thus far it eluded her.

Gravel crunched nearby and she looked up to find Darcy standing there.

“I was looking for you. Are you ready?” he asked.

Elizabeth hesitated. “I believe it might be best if I were to call at Longbourn alone today.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “Alone? But we agreed to face your family together.”

“And we shall,” she assured him. “But perhaps not for this first meeting. My mother will be in a state of considerable agitation. My father, too, may find it easier to speak freely without your presence.”

“You fear they will not welcome me,” Darcy said, his voice deliberately even.

“No,” Elizabeth replied quickly. “But our marriage was sudden, and they have had no opportunity to become acquainted with you. It might ease their adjustment if I were to visit alone this once, to prepare the ground, as it were.”

Elizabeth felt a flicker of guilt at her dissembling. The truth was more complex—she feared her mother’s loose tongue, her younger sisters’ wild behaviour, and her father’s cutting remarks. She wished to shield Darcy from the potential mortification of such a first encounter.

“Very well,” he said at last. “If you believe it best.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I shall return by midday.”

Darcy raised her hand to his lips, a gesture that had become dear to her. “Take the carriage,” he said. “And remember that whatever reception awaits you, you return to me afterwards.”

“I shall remember.”

***

Half an hour later, Elizabeth approached the familiar drive to Longbourn. Its modest facade appeared smaller than she remembered, the garden less extensive. Had Longbourn changed, or had her perspective been altered by Pemberley’s grandeur?

As the carriage rolled to a stop, the front door opened, and Jane appeared, her face alight with welcome. Elizabeth descended quickly, rushing forward to embrace her sister.

“Lizzy,” Jane said with a beaming smile. “How good to see you arrive in such style.”

“I dare say, I would have walked but Darcy insisted. The skies are rather grey,” she said, glancing up at the gathering clouds.

“He is quite correct. But come inside—everyone is waiting in the drawing room. Mama has been in a flutter since dawn,” Jane said.

The drawing room fell silent as Elizabeth entered.

Mrs Bennet sat near the window, her best cap adorning her head, her expression a curious mixture of resentment and calculation.

Mr Bennet stood by the fireplace; his face inscrutable save for a slight tightening around the eyes.

Mary sat primly at the pianoforte, while Lydia and Kitty occupied the chaise, their heads together in whispered conversation.

“Well, Lizzy,” Mrs Bennet said. “So, you have finally deigned to visit your family. How kind of you to spare us a moment of your valuable time.”

“Mama,” Jane said, but Elizabeth shook her head.

“It is good to see you, too, Mama,” she said, crossing the room to kiss her mother’s cheek. “You look well.”

“No thanks to the worry you have caused me,” Mrs Bennet replied. “My nerves have been in tatters since your disgraceful flight from the church. Such a scandal! Poor Mr Blackfriars was mortified beyond bearing.”

Elizabeth turned towards her father, who had yet to speak. “Papa.”

Mr Bennet inclined his head, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Lizzy. You look well. Marriage appears to agree with you.”

“I am well, thank you,” she replied, unsure how to interpret his tone. The ice thawed gradually when her younger sisters approached her, embracing her one by one.

“Where is Mr Darcy?” Mary asked.

“He is at Netherfield, I wanted to make this first visit on my own.”

“Well,” her father said. “He will have to come for dinner tonight then. And you, of course,” he said and laughed which further eased the tension. “He might be frightened on his own if we do not have you also.”

“Papa,” Elizabeth said and chuckled.

“A man like Mr Darcy would not be frightened by anything, I imagine,” her mother called, having missed the jesting tone between father and daughter.

“And how is Pemberley?” Mrs Bennet asked, her voice suddenly honeyed.

“I understand it is a most impressive estate. Ten thousand a year, at the very least, and two hundred bedchambers!”

“Pemberley is indeed beautiful,” Elizabeth said carefully. “Though I fear Mrs Long has exaggerated its scale considerably.”

“Is it very grand?” Lydia demanded, leaning forward eagerly. “Are there many fine furnishings? Do you have a carriage of your own?”

“And servants,” Kitty added. “How many do you command?”

“The house is well-appointed,” Elizabeth answered, feeling more at ease now. “And there are indeed carriages and servants aplenty, though I make no claim to commanding them.”

“And how is Mr Bingley?” Kitty asked. “Is he coming to dinner?”

“I imagine not, but we will have him another time,” Mrs Bennet’s eyes lit with calculation. “Such a fine gentleman, Mr Bingley. So attentive to our Jane.”

Jane flushed delicately. “Mama, please.”

“Well, it is true,” Mrs Bennet insisted. “And why should I not speak of it? We have had little enough good fortune since Lizzy ran off and ruined our prospects with the Blackfriars. And Mr Darcy has been less then forthcoming in terms of filling the gap left by the Blackfriars departure.”

Elizabeth wanted to put her mother in her place, sudden anger soaring through her but as always, her sister smoothed the waves.

“I believe the tea is ready,” Jane interjected, rising swiftly. “Shall I pour?”

The next quarter of an hour passed in strained conversation.

Elizabeth recounted her journey north to Pemberley, describing the estate in modest terms that nevertheless failed to dampen her mother’s fascination.

Lydia and Kitty peppered her with questions about Derbyshire society, clearly disappointed when Elizabeth admitted she had made few acquaintances beyond the immediate neighbourhood.

“But there must be assemblies,” Lydia protested. “And officers! Surely you have met some officers?”

“Derbyshire is not currently hosting a militia regiment,” Elizabeth replied, unease striking her at the mention of officers. “Our social circle is rather limited.”

“How dull,” Lydia pronounced, sinking back into the sofa.

Mr Bennet, who had remained largely silent throughout, now cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Lydia, not everyone measures a location’s merits by the quantity of red coats it contains.”

Elizabeth caught his eye, a flash of their old understanding passed between them.

“Lizzy,” he said then. “Would you mind joining me in the library?”

Elizabeth followed her father with relief. Her mother’s eyes had been burning into her all evening and she feared Mrs Bennet was simply waiting for a chance to corner her.

This was a welcome escape. The library remained unchanged. Shelves lined with familiar volumes, the scent of leather bindings and paper hanging in the air. This room had always been her refuge, a sanctuary of rational thought amid the chaos of the household.

Mr Bennet settled into his usual chair, gesturing for Elizabeth to take the seat opposite. For a long moment, he simply regarded her, his eyes searching her face.

“You seem well, Lizzy,” he said at last. “Truly well, not merely putting on a brave face.”

“I am well, Papa,” she replied. “My situation is not what you had planned for me, but I have found contentment at Pemberley.”

“And your Mr Darcy? Is he kind to you?”

“The kindest of men,” Elizabeth said with complete sincerity. “My happiness is of great importance to him.”

Mr Bennet nodded slowly. “I am glad to hear it.” He paused, then continued with evident difficulty. “I owe you an apology, Lizzy. I should never have pressed you towards the Blackfriars match.”

Elizabeth remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I was blinded by the advantages it offered—not merely financial security, though that was a consideration, but the elevation in our family’s standing.

The connection to a respected London family seemed…

desirable.” Mr Bennet sighed, removing his spectacles to polish them with his handkerchief.

“I failed to consider your happiness, which should have been my primary concern.”

“You were thinking of the family’s welfare,” Elizabeth said.

“At the expense of my favourite daughter’s future,” Mr Bennet countered.

“A poor bargain, and one I have regretted every day since you left.” He replaced his spectacles, his gaze direct.

“Your uncles have been more generous than I deserve. Both Gardiner and Phillips have extended loans to stabilise our situation.”

“They are good men.”

“Better than I have been, certainly.” Mr Bennet’s lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile. “Tell me truthfully, Lizzy—are you happy in your marriage? Not merely content, but happy?”

Elizabeth considered the question. Two months ago, she might have hesitated. Now, however, the answer came easily.

“Yes, Papa. I am happy. Mr Darcy is everything good and honourable. Our marriage began unusually, but it has grown into something neither of us anticipated.”

“Love?” Mr Bennet asked, his eyebrow raised.

Elizabeth felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “Yes. Love.”

Mr Bennet nodded; satisfaction tinging his expression. “Then I am content. Your happiness is worth more than any financial security or social advantage.”

After leaving the library, Elizabeth sought out Jane, finding her in the garden among the late summer roses. They walked together along the familiar paths, the sun warm upon their shoulders.

“I am glad Papa has made amends,” Jane said when Elizabeth recounted their conversation. “He has been troubled by his conscience these past weeks.”

“I can imagine,” she replied. “But he need worry no more. All shall be well now. And perhaps soon he shall not worry at all for both his daughters will be married to fine gentlemen.”

A gentle blush suffused Jane’s cheek. “I do not wish to presume, but I hope Mr Bingley will make an offer.”

“He is hosting a ball so he can be near you and dance with you again, I should imagine he will want to make an offer. Perhaps even at the ball.”

“I dream of it, Lizzy. He is wonderful indeed,” Jane replied, her voice soft with feeling.

“Darcy speaks highly of Mr Bingley’s constancy once his affections are engaged.”

“And you, Lizzy? When you speak of Mr Darcy, there is a warmth in your voice that was absent from your letters at first.”

Elizabeth took her sister’s hand and beamed before telling her all that had occurred over the last few weeks. “I have found a man whose character I admire deeply.”

As they reached the house, Elizabeth glanced at the sun’s position. “I should return to Netherfield. Darcy will be wondering what has become of me.”

“I shall see you at dinner?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Elizabeth promised. “I do feel much better about dinner now that Father and I have smoothed our differenced and the girls have asked every perceivable question about Pemberley.”

Jane chuckled. “Yes, it was a good idea to come alone. So Mr Darcy will not suffer through an extended interview this evening.”

She bade farewell to Jane and the rest of her family then and departed, the Darcy carriage bearing her back towards Netherfield.

As the familiar landscape of Longbourn receded behind her, Elizabeth contemplated the curious nature of homecoming.

She had returned to the place of her childhood, only to discover that her true home now lay elsewhere—at Pemberley, with her husband.

The realisation brought both joy and a curious melancholy. One chapter of her life had closed, perhaps more decisively than she had understood until today. Another had opened, full of promise and unexpected happiness.

How would Darcy fare when he accompanied her? How would her family receive him? And what if someone mentioned Mr Wickham?

Elizabeth frowned, her hand rising unconsciously to her temple.

She had not yet told Darcy of her acquaintance with Wickham, though she had resolved to do so upon their return to Pemberley.

Perhaps she ought to speak to him before then.

Caroline Bingley had spoken of the militia and the way she had formed her words had made her wonder if she knew something, held back something. But how could she?

She had not been here when Wickham had been. And did she even know who he was? Perhaps Darcy’s friendship with Mr Bingley might have caused her to have some understanding of the situation. Was that a chance Elizabeth wanted to take?