Page 27 of Old Boots (Pride and Prejudice Variations #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
E lizabeth and I married out of Longbourn at Easter. Only Richard, Georgiana, and Mrs Annesley came from my family, while the Gardiners and the entirety of the neighbourhood came for Elizabeth.
Jane Bennet produced an exceptionally tasteful and understated wedding breakfast, the only evidence of unnecessary luxury being the wedding cake made by my London cook, which had been transported with two attendants in a coach hired solely for the purpose.
Elizabeth claimed the cake garnered more attention than the bride, and to be sure, Mrs Philips was reported to have marvelled over it for weeks after it was eaten.
To our surprise and delight, Bingley came as well.
He opened Netherfield Park and hosted a good many gatherings before the nuptials.
It was during these parties that Mr Bennet threw my cousin Richard and Jane together, and I spent some time ensuring that Bingley was seated next to Kitty.
Elizabeth took us both to task for our vulgar matchmaking, but she herself constantly made sure that Mary and the vicar’s brother were never far from one another.
Caroline Bingley was nowhere to be found, and no one asked after her.
The servants at Netherfield treated Bingley with something near to affection, perhaps because he did not bring his sisters along with him, and soon after the wedding he decided to buy the place and settle permanently in the country.
My family did not much care for my match.
Lady Catherine wrote threatening to have the marriage revoked by the archbishop, and I returned her letter in pieces with a curt note suggesting she try to do so and see what it cost her.
Richard’s father and mother were marginally more civil, and I did not doubt they would soon accept my choice, since I made it clear that I did not particularly care what they thought.
I had, you see, become a protégé of Mr Bennet, and learnt to care only for the opinions of those I loved.
The old gentleman shocked the neighbourhood and married Mrs Annesley, a lady perfectly suited to managing him, his estate, and his daughters.
Georgiana stayed with her companion for half a year and soaked up the ease and homeliness of Longbourn with her new sisters for friends and a neighbourhood of nosy and inelegant well-wishers to nudge her out of her shyness.
When Mrs Bennet, née Annesley, who was nearly forty years of age, produced a miracle in the form of a son, Mr Collins may or may not have had an apoplectic fit when he learnt of it for all we knew.
My aunt Catherine did succumb to a fatal episode of that ailment and died suddenly after a rage over a broken vase.
Lord Matlock assumed the management of Rosings on behalf of Anne, who was perpetually unwell, and after meeting his sister’s parson, had the bishop send Mr Collins on hiatus to parts unknown.
The result of this was that the poor curate of Hunsford who had been more used to penury and the rector’s abuse, suddenly found himself living in improved circumstances at the vacant parsonage.
Elizabeth’s youngest sister Lydia had also suffered at the hands of fate when her expectation of motherhood after first marrying Mr Fields ended in a miscarriage that left her severely ill for half a year.
It had been the severity of her condition that ultimately fostered a reconciliation with her father and a reunion with her sisters.
She has since been required to care for her husband, who has lately been ill.
And while I believe his private pursuits have likely contributed to his debility, I have never spoken this aloud.
Much of this Elizabeth and I heard second-hand in letters from our families.
We spent the first years of our marriage travelling from Pemberley to any place my wife wished to see.
We toured Wales, and Scotland, Oxford and Weymouth, Bath and Manchester.
We looked into random spots on the map, and we spent many weeks in the Lake District.
But it was the Peaks that called to Elizabeth, and often, and when we went out walking, I wore my old boots.
“But where are your shining black spurs today, Mr Darcy?” she asked me one morning. When she was being droll or teasing me, I was Mister Darcy to her.
How Elizabeth managed to be ten times more beautiful in the years after our wedding, I could not fathom. She dazzled me with her arch smile, and I struggled to think of something clever to say.
Nothing came to me, and so I simply confessed, “I prefer my old boots.”
“Surely not.”
“I shall never throw these boots away, so forcibly do they remind me to be humble. I do not deserve you, you know.”
She walked along in silence before she tossed her curls and said, “You have scored a point unfairly. Must you be so loveable?”
“You have made me so, my darling scold,” I said, playfully pulling her into a rough embrace and kissing her nose. “Have you written to Jane and Richard to secure us one of Bandit’s pups? Perhaps if I am constantly harassed by a witless hound, I shall be more interesting company.”
Elizabeth paused and some prickle of intuition told me I was about to be struck by a flash of lightning. With a peculiar note in her voice, she chuckled and said, “I have asked for two puppies, Mr Darcy. A male and a female to be precise.”
“Two? What are we to do with two absurd and witless mongrels, much less the inevitable litter?”
We stopped to catch our breath, for the path we trudged up was challenging. Behind us, the glories of the Peaks, and the valleys and fields that framed them, spread out in shades of luxurious velveteen greens and gold.
Elizabeth stood before me in all her radiance, aglow with some secret happiness as she gathered herself to reply.
“I believe, sir,” she said, struggling mightily not to laugh at my bewildered face, “we had better set up a kennel for the pleasure of our future children.”