Page 48 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

“ W hat is it, love?” Elizabeth asked her husband as he finished reading the letter he had just received.

The weeks since their wedding, which they had shared with her sister and his closest friend, had taught her that Darcy’s eyebrow tended to twitch whilst reading correspondence that gave him joy, whether a grin accompanied it or no.

“Wentworth has moved into Snow Hill and finds it very agreeable,” he answered simply.

“I have never been to Somersetshire; does it snow there?”

“I believe not,” he told her. “And before you ask, it is not that hilly, either. But that is beyond the point. Captain Wentworth and his bridefind that it suits their tastes and more than meets their needs.” At this bit of news, a broad smile overspread his face, and Elizabeth snatched the paper out of his hand, eager to read of her old friend’s good fortune.

Apparently, Frederick had taken her urgings to heart and, upon his return to Somersetshire, did all he could to rescue his beloved from her deplorable family.

“Write to her. Tell her you shall come for her. If her love for you is in any measure comparable to my affection forMr Darcy,” she had implored him in that corridor on the night of the ball, “she will wait for you. Tell her to do so. Beg her to do so.”

And he had. As soon as it was known that he was the leaseholder of a seven-hundred-acre parcel of land with five tenant farmers, a great house to rival Upper Cross Manor—wherever that was—and an income of several hundred pounds a year, it was decided that Anne Elliot’s attaching herself to a sea captain was not such a bad thing after all.

In short order, Sir Walter began to confess he had always had a fondness for young Wentworth and only hoped his eldest daughter might find half such a man.

Furthermore, as the captain was to head back to sea so soon, it was deemed most proper to forgo a long engagement.

The Elliot family, and indeed his nemesis, Lady Russell, it seemed, could not dispose of Miss Anne quickly enough.

“Well, good for him. And good riddance to the rest of them,” Elizabeth crowed as she set the letter down on her husband’s heavy walnut desk.

Walking about it to stand over him, she added, “And well doneyou, Mr Darcy.” He caught her about the waist and pulled her onto his lap, placing kisses on her cheek, her jaw, and her neck before she protested, “Georgiana might walk in at any moment.”

“Mm. Let her,” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of her throat. “She must get used to seeing these expressions of affection. One cannot have a wife as tempting as you and be expected to keep his hands—or his lips—to himself.”

“Tempting? Me? I did not believe you thought so,” she informed him in as serious a tone as she could muster under the onslaught of his ardour .

“How on earth could you have missed the fact that I find you tempting?”

“She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me,”she said in a mocking, manly voice.

He started, then looked into her eyes with knitted brows before asking, “What kind of unmitigated fool would ever say such a thing about a woman as charming,” another kiss, “handsome,” another kiss, “alluring,” another kiss, “and devastatingly tempting as you?”

“I confess, I wondered the same thing,”she answered as she bent her head back to accept his further ministrations.“I suppose I must have imagined it.”

“Mm,” he smiled, his lips whispering kisses along her collarbone. “Must have.”

As Wentworth made his way up the long, tree-lined drive towards the grand double staircase that would bring him hometo Snow Hill House, he pondered his blessings. Already, he was taking prizes; he had just been offered a frigate; and now he had four weeks leave to spend with his Anne.

It had taken every vestige of his humility to write to her, but he had done it.

He knew it was proper to send a letter of acknowledgment in response to her rejection, to return any correspondence or gifts she may have given him, but he could not.

How could he acknowledge sentiments so patently false?

As if he could ever return her letters! Instead, he took the only opportunity he might ever have again to put to paper everything he felt for her.

Elizabeth had begged him to lay his heart open to his beloved, to beg her to believe in him, to assure her of his constancy and his belief that, despite her family’s protestations, he and Anne would be successful.

After telling Anne of Darcy’s offer—and that only the assurance of her happiness and security could induce him to accept a proposal that smacked so much of charity—he concluded:

I am half agony, half hope.

Your letter pierced my soul with grief. Weak and resentful, I momentarily became, but never could my affection be so easily extinguished. I shall love none but you. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this?

I leave for Somersetshire on the morrow, uncertain of my fate. A word from you, a look, will be enough to decide whether I importune you for your hand once again that very moment—or never.

Perhaps your family have claimed that I shall forget you, cease to love you, as if your worth or the strength of our attachment could be diminished by time or distance. Pray know that there does exist true devotion and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in?—

FW

His missive had reached Kellynch Hall only a day before he himself did. Wentworth had not even thanked the stable boy for taking his horse before Anne Elliot was out the door, down the steps, and in his arms.

Her joy made his own complete.

Staring at the facade of the fine house they shared, he caught sight of her standing before the parlour window.

She smiled brightly when her gaze met his, and his steps quickened.

To think, if it were not for Darcy and Elizabeth, he would not be here today, knowing that the love of his life was awaiting him beyond those ornate doors.

He sent up a short prayer to thank Heaven that Anne Elliot had not been his first love.

“Shall they be here today, Lizzy?” Georgiana asked with understated eagerness.

“The note I received from Jane sets their arrival for just before tea, and your brother foresees no delays based on the weather. So, yes, with any luck they shall.” Elizabeth could not have been happier thather new little sister looked so forward to meeting her eldest. Having heard much of Jane, Georgiana no doubt wished to see the glowing paragon of loveliness with her own eyes.

As charming as Mrs Bingley was to look upon, however, Elizabeth had always been careful to extol to Miss Darcy the beauty of her character, her innate good nature, how she always sought and found the very best in everyone.

It had taken many weeks for Elizabeth to become ‘Lizzy’ to the young woman, and that only with careful prodding and personal interest. Georgiana was still so unsure of herself after her summer’s escapade with George Wickham that she did not feel there was anything of value Elizabeth might find in her.

News of that man’s having been cashiered and eventually transported to Australia for his crimes had not helped matters.

Eventually, though, as she and Darcy shared their every joy with the girl, she began to speak more freely, and soon they were a family, the three of them.

Elizabeth only hoped that Jane’s sweet and loving temperament would encourage Georgiana to be her delightful self with their guests .

It turned out her worry had been for naught. Jane and Bingley were so easy that the whole party was able to relax and enjoy themselves as if they had never parted, not a stranger among them.

Georgiana was indeed awestruck with Jane’s beauty, as had been expected, but so was Elizabeth, for added to her natural magnificence was the glow that only expectant motherhood brings to a woman.

Her eyes were brighter, her skin was creamier, and her hair was shinier.

There truly was not another woman in the land who could compare to Mrs Charles Bingley.

“And how do your sisters do?” Elizabeth asked as they were settling in after tea.

“Ah, Louisa and Hurst are the same as always—ever on the lookout to invade our home and empty our larder. And Caroline—this is news—she has married,” Bingley said, evidently having taken lessons in gossip-mongering from Mrs Philips, so eager was he to impart the intelligence.

“Married? To whom? How did this come about?” Darcy asked.

“Well, shortly after your wedding, Caroline suffered a…a bit of a turn,” began Jane sweetly.

“ A bit of a turn ? She pulled the Rembrandt off the wall and broke it over Hurst’s head!”

“It was, as we now understand, an acute brain fever. Naturally, Charles and I wished to assist her through this distress, so we made discreet enquiries throughout London and found the finest mental physiologist—” Jane continued before being interrupted again by her boisterous bridegroom.

“A bloodletter for lunatics is what he is.”

“—the finest mental physiologist, a man by the name of Herr Doctor Maximilian Schweitzenheim-Bluchenhauser, who worked with her individually for many weeks and finally helped her to understand that her worth lies in her character…” Jane shot her husband a disapproving look at the snort he let out in response to this explanation before adding, “and not in her standing in society.And he has helped her to… improve …her character so as to… find that worth.”

Darcy and Elizabeth were both awaiting the love story that must follow, whom she might have met and how, but an awkward silence fell over the party. “And?” they enquired in unison.

“And in improving her worth, he greatly improved his own—by twenty thousand pounds!” Bingley crowed.

“She married him?” exclaimed Darcy, having expected to hear that her improved character had attracted some fitting suitor or other. Bingley nodded in great motions, still finding humour in the delicious ridiculousness of it all.

“So, Miss Bingley is now Mrs Caroline Schweitzenheim-Bluchenhauser? Does she reside in London?” Georgiana asked sweetly, as if the lady had married a Shaw or a Brooke.

“Yes, and Darcy, this is the best part,” Bingley turned to his friend. “His house is not three blocks from Cheapside—right in front of Edward Gardiner’s warehouses!”

The party laughed heartily at the irony of it whilst Jane chided them for triumphing over a person whom she said no longer existed.

Her new sister, Mrs Schweitzenheim-Bluchenhauser, was now quite modest and accommodating, and “just think of how nice it will be to see her whilst visiting Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.”

When the rest of the party had retired to repose and dress for supper, Darcy whispered to his wife that he wished to show her something before making their way upstairs.

He held her hand, his expression almost giddy, and tugged her down a great corridor and into the library.

It had been rearranged, she was told, before she moved in, so that two new plush reading chairs were sitting atop an ornate floral rug, facing one another.

The great hearth cast its glow in just the same manner as the one in front of which they had spent so many hours at Netherfield.

Darcy led her to her chair and lowered her into the seat, then disappeared behind his own.

The next thing she knew, a guttural and familiar roar began emanating from Darcy’s position. Her eyebrows flew up in thrilled surprise as she watched the long-haired feline she knew so well snake between her husband’s legs and then, noting Elizabeth’s presence, bound towards her and onto her lap.

“Italics!” she cried, laughing as the cat eagerly rubbed his face against her own. “But, how?”

“Mrs Nicholls is leaving Hertfordshire, and it turns out your sister gets a bit of a tickle in her throat when he is near, so Bingley offered to bring him up when they came,” Darcy answered, kneeling before her to stroke Italics’s ears and back. “Look at him—how could I refuse?”

“Thank you,” she told him with a long kiss of gratitude. “This is a lovely surprise,”

“You are happy, Mrs Darcy?” he asked when the enthusiastic nuzzling of the animal forced them apart.

“Yes, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, reaching up from the sweet bundle before her and caressing her husband’s face. “You have made me perfectly happy.”