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Chapter One

As young women will, Elizabeth Bennet had envisioned her wedding day in quite some detail more than once in the years since she came of age to marry.

However, she had never imagined it would eventuate quite like this, though she was not displeased by the lack of pomp and circumstance.

The parlour at Longbourn had been transformed with pretty greenery and summer flowers, creating an atmosphere of simple elegance that suited her tastes far better than any grand cathedral.

She stood before her looking glass, hardly recognising the serene bride who gazed back at her, dressed in a gown of finest pale golden silk that Jane had helped her finish only yesterday.

“It is strange,” Elizabeth murmured to her reflection, “to think that in an hour’s time, I shall be Mrs. Darcy.” The name still felt foreign on her tongue, though not unpleasant. Indeed, there was a certain music to it that caused a flutter in her stomach whenever she heard it spoken aloud.

The events that had led to this hastily arranged ceremony by special licence were not what any young lady might have planned, yet Elizabeth could not bring herself to regret a single moment.

The scandal surrounding poor Lydia had been contained through Mr. Darcy’s intervention, though at the cost of George Wickham’s life.

That Lydia herself had been the instrument of his demise was a secret that weighed heavily upon those few who knew the truth.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her reverie. “Lizzy?” Jane called. “Are you ready? Papa is waiting.”

Elizabeth drew a steadying breath. “Yes, come in.”

Jane entered, looking picture-perfect in her pale blue dress, her golden hair arranged in elegant curls. “Oh, Lizzy,” she breathed, her eyes filling with tears. “You look beautiful.”

“As do you,” Elizabeth replied, embracing her sister. “Is everyone assembled?”

“Yes,” Jane confirmed, wiping away a tear. “Mama is fluctuating between weeping joyfully and instructing the servants about the breakfast. Mr. Darcy arrived with his sister and cousin half an hour ago. Miss Darcy is quite lovely, though terribly shy.”

“Lydia?” Elizabeth asked quietly.

A shadow crossed Jane’s face. “She is present, though unusually subdued. She has kept to her promise not to speak of... recent events.”

Elizabeth nodded, grateful for small mercies. “And Mary and Kitty?”

“Mary is plucking at her new gloves and murmuring what appears to be biblical quotations about matrimony, while Kitty is trying very hard to appear grown-up and solemn, though she cannot help glancing at Colonel Fitzwilliam every few minutes.”

This drew a laugh from Elizabeth. “Some things never change, even on wedding days.”

A second knock heralded Mr. Bennet’s arrival. As Jane slipped away to join the others, Elizabeth turned to face her father.

“Well, my Lizzy,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion, “it appears the time has come for me to give you away.” He surveyed her with a mixture of pride and melancholy that brought a lump to Elizabeth’s throat.

“Not entirely away, Papa,” she assured him, taking his offered arm. “For Mr. Darcy is rich enough that even though Pemberley is a great distance away, we shall be able to regularly travel to Longbourn.”

“Not often enough,” he replied with a sad smile. “I shall miss your good sense among the general nonsense that prevails in this house.”

Elizabeth squeezed his arm affectionately. “You still have Jane, and Mary has improved considerably these last months. Even Kitty shows signs of developing into a sensible young woman.”

“And Lydia?” Mr. Bennet asked, his expression darkening briefly as he met her eyes.

The knowledge of Lydia’s pregnancy, and what she had done to Wickham, was a carefully held secret, and they were two of the only people who were aware of it, the others being Lydia herself, Jane, Mr. Darcy, and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Lydia will have her own path to walk,” Elizabeth answered carefully. “We can only hope that recent events have taught her the value of prudence.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, then straightened his shoulders. “Come then, my child. Let us not keep Mr. Darcy waiting any longer.”

The walk down the staircase and into the parlour seemed to Elizabeth both interminably long and shockingly brief. Time itself appeared to ebb and flow unpredictably, stretching certain moments into small eternities while compressing others into mere heartbeats.

And then, suddenly, she was there, standing beside Mr. Darcy before the local vicar, who had been persuaded through a generous donation to perform the ceremony at such short notice.

Elizabeth barely heard the familiar words of the marriage service, so consumed was she by the nearness of the man who was to become her husband.

She stole glances at his profile, noting the firm set of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, the slight tremor in his hand as he took hers.

“I, Elizabeth, take thee, Fitzwilliam...” The words came clearly despite her racing heart, and she marvelled at the steadiness of her own voice when everything within her seemed to tremble with emotion.

Mr. Darcy’s responses were low but unwavering, his eyes never leaving her face as he pledged himself to her for all eternity.

When he slipped the wedding ring onto her finger, a simple gold band he had told her once belonged to his mother, Elizabeth felt a sense of rightness so profound it nearly overwhelmed her.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the vicar declared, and in that moment, Elizabeth Bennet became Mrs. Darcy.

The first kiss as husband and wife was brief and proper, given their audience, but the look in Darcy’s eyes promised more once they were alone. Elizabeth felt colour rise to her cheeks at the thought.

“My dear, dear Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, surging forward to embrace her daughter. “Or I should say, Mrs. Darcy! How well that sounds! Ten thousand a year! I knew you could not be so clever for nothing!”

“Mama,” Elizabeth murmured, gently extracting herself from her mother’s clutches. “Thank you for arranging everything so beautifully on such short notice.”

“Oh! It was nothing, nothing at all,” Mrs. Bennet insisted, though her satisfied expression betrayed her pride in the accomplishment. “Though I still say we might have had a larger celebration if not for... circumstances.”

The circumstances being that less than two weeks before, the first banns had been called for Elizabeth to marry an entirely different man. But George Wickham was dead and gone.

Jane was next to offer congratulations, her embrace gentle and sincere. “I am so very happy for you, Lizzy,” she whispered. “You have found a good man.”

Mary approached with solemn dignity. “Marriage, sister, is a most sacred institution,” she began, but then, to Elizabeth’s surprise, she simply added, “I wish you joy,” and briefly squeezed her hand.

Kitty was more effusive, though she kept glancing over Elizabeth’s shoulder at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Your husband is so tall and handsome, Lizzy! And his cousin is quite dashing in his regimentals, is he not?”

“Quite,” Elizabeth agreed, amused by her sister’s transparency. “Though I believe the colonel returns to his regiment shortly.”

Kitty’s face fell, but she recovered quickly.

“Well, perhaps he shall visit Pemberley while on leave, and we might see him when we visit you.” She cast a quick, jealous glance behind her.

The decision that Lydia would be the sister to accompany Elizabeth on her wedding trip had seemed an odd choice to everyone who did not know the true circumstances; the best explanation Elizabeth had been able to invent was that she had felt sorry for Lydia over being denied her Brighton trip with the Forsters.

Jane emphatically agreed, saying she was far too busy at Longbourn, and Mrs. Bennet had praised Elizabeth for her generosity, but Kitty had clearly been bemused.

Lydia approached with uncharacteristic hesitation once Kitty had moved on. The girl who had once been the most vivacious of the Bennet daughters now seemed diminished, her former exuberance replaced by a wary caution that spoke volumes about her recent experiences.

“Congratulations, Lizzy,” she said quietly. “Mr. Darcy is... he has been very kind.”

Elizabeth understood the depth of meaning in those simple words. “Yes, he has,” she agreed, taking Lydia’s cold hands in her own and keeping her voice very low. “And we shall continue to be kind, Lydia. You are not alone, I promise you.”

Lydia’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away quickly. “Thank you,” she whispered, before retreating to a corner of the room.

A gentle touch at Elizabeth’s elbow announced the arrival of Miss Georgiana Darcy, who looked both nervous and determined.

“Mrs. Darcy,” she said, testing the name shyly.

“I... that is, I wanted to welcome you to our family. My brother has spoken of you with such admiration, and I... I am so pleased to have a sister at last.”

Elizabeth was touched by the girl’s obvious sincerity. “Thank you, Georgiana, but you really must call me Elizabeth. I look forward to getting to know you. Your brother speaks of you with great affection.”

Georgiana blushed prettily. “He is the best of brothers. I hope... that is, I trust you will be happy at Pemberley.”

“With such a welcome from you, how could I be otherwise?” Elizabeth replied warmly, and with a sense of relief.

She and Darcy had discussed seriously how much he should reveal to Georgiana and had eventually concluded that it would be best to tell her everything.

Darcy had promised to do so when he went to fetch his sister from London, and Elizabeth had been a little worried what Georgiana might think, but the sweet, shy girl seemed to have no reservations about his brother marrying a woman from a family touched by a scandal of such magnitude.