Page 77 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived
Tuesday, November 19, 1816—5 years after Tuesday
Elizabeth sank onto the settee in her and William’s bedroom with a grateful sigh. She was thirty weeks pregnant with their third child and any opportunity to put her feet up was a welcome one. Clumsily, she slipped her aching feet up onto the footstool, wishing she were not quite so tired. Most days, she had plenty of energy right up until evening, when she suddenly ran out. Today, though, she had busied herself in an attempt to avoid thinking about the date. As a result, she was now exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and hopefully wake up on November 20th. Unfortunately, her mind refused to settle.
Elizabeth glanced around the room, trying to find something to occupy her thoughts. Paper crinkled as she shifted. Her letter! She had not had a moment to herself all day to read it. Smiling, Elizabeth drew the letter that had arrived this morning out of her pocket and settled in for a good read. Lady Matlock was one of her favourite correspondents. In addition to informing her of the latest on-dits, Aunt Margaret had written to remind Elizabeth to take it easy, despite their impending visit.
It had been a long and sometimes bumpy road, but Aunt Margaret was now one of Elizabeth’s favourite people and vice versa. When they had first met, Aunt Margaret had not been at all impressed. In fact, she later admitted that she had agreed to sponsor Elizabeth only because William had remained firm in his decision to marry her and had pointed out that Georgiana would be the one to suffer should Lady Matlock refuse.
That first season had been most difficult. Trying to learn the rules of the ton, to suddenly catch up on all the latest on-dits and understand the history behind them, to learn to present herself (mostly) as one befitting the title of Mrs. Darcy.... Elizabeth had nearly despaired. At least Lady Matlock had been impressed with Elizabeth’s accomplishments, thanks to those many Tuesdays of practice.
But somewhere between that first uncomfortable meeting and Georgie’s coming out ball, Aunt Margaret had been won over. On that day, the lady had announced how glad she was to have Elizabeth help launch Georgiana, and, after that, had inserted herself firmly into their lives. She had even taken the trouble to get to know Elizabeth’s family and stood in place of a second grandmother to Elizabeth and William’s children.
Lord Matlock had been rather less difficult to win over, though, according to William, that had been entirely due to Elizabeth’s charm. Elizabeth maintained that it was entirely William’s fault; Uncle Stephen loved her because of the joy she brought his favourite nephew.
Darcy smiled down at his beloved wife as he entered their bedroom. “You really ought to put on your nightgown before I rub your feet, my love.”
Elizabeth sighed but made no attempt to rise from the settee.
He held out a hand. “Come on. I shall help you change.”
Reluctantly, she took his hand. “Are you certain I cannot stay right here?”
“You could,” he said with a laugh. “But you will complain if I have to wake you up so you can get dressed and then move into our bed.”
“I could sleep here and―”
“Have a miserably sore back in the morning?” he said, turning her around and beginning to unbutton her dress.
“Fine,” she said grumpily.
He gently rubbed her shoulders. “It will not last.”
“I know.” She leaned back against his chest. “I just wish I was not pregnant today. If Mrs. Engel―”
He put his arms around her, drawing her close. “I know. But it has been five years, and no other day has repeated. Not only that, but I believe we have done a fair job of fulfilling Mrs. Engel’s mission.”
“Our sisters do seem happy, don’t they?” she murmured.
Darcy nodded. “It will be good to see them again.”
As a result of Elizabeth’s new connections, the Bennets had agreed that something needed to be done to prepare their daughters for a more advantageous position in society. Surprisingly, Mr. Bennet had argued for hiring a governess, as he was not ready for all his daughters to leave Longbourn at once; Mrs. Morehead had been perfect for them.
After two years of her instruction, the whole family had changed. Mrs. Bennet still fell afoul of social conventions at times, but the Darcys had no qualms about including her and Mr. Bennet in invitations to ton events. Even Lydia had harnessed her willingness to flout convention, her strong personality, and her love of fun, and had become a force for good. She was currently campaigning to raise money for abandoned girls.
All four young ladies had married worthy young men: Georgiana had married a good man who did not care a whit for the mistakes of her youth, the second son of a viscount. Mary had recently wed the youngest son of a baron; Mr. Hampton was a clergyman with an excellent living and, from their letters, Mary appeared to be thriving as a parson’s wife. Kitty had fallen in love with an Italian count whose paintings were the talk of Rome, and she was rarely able to return to England. Mrs. Morehead had nurtured Kitty’s love for fashion though, and Kitty now designed her sisters’ wardrobes regularly. Lydia’s fire had attracted a young man who was even now taking parliament by storm, and Darcy would not at all be surprised if they enacted quite a few changes in their lifetime. Lydia had proven to be a perfect hostess for political events, charming people and arguing fiercely by turns.
In short, Mrs. Engel’s intervention had saved all their sisters from miserable, wasted lives.
“I am looking forward to their visit,” Elizabeth said. “And Mrs. Engel cannot say you are still weighed down by your past,” she added, as though reassuring herself.
Darcy nodded.
Though Wickham was not charged for desertion (as he had not succeeded in deserting), he had been shipped off to the colonies for his debts. According to Colonel Forster, George Wickham had suffered an ignominious end after trying to cheat the wrong person; Wickham did not even make it off the boat before dying from a head wound. Darcy had still mourned the man’s death, but he had made his peace with the matter. Wickham had chosen his own fate and no one else would ever suffer from his machinations.
Lady Catherine, too, had absented herself from their lives. Though she had done her best to make things miserable for them, the only people who rejected Darcy and his new wife were those who valued wealth and position above all. It had actually made for a much more congenial Season after they were married. Eventually, the ton had moved on and Lady Catherine had been forced to look to her own house; Lord Matlock had removed Anne from Rosings, discovering that though she was ill, she did much better without all the medications Lady Catherine’s physician had been prescribing. Or perhaps it was the absence of her mother and her companion constantly treating her as though she were a frail, incapable human being. Regardless, Lord Matlock had exiled Lady Catherine to the dower house at Rosings, installed a trustworthy steward, and had threatened to ruin her reputation if she so much as stepped out of line.
Mr. Collins remained at Hunsford, as Mrs. Collins had been doing an excellent job of taking care of their parishioners. The man had tried to spread rumours that Darcy was engaged to Miss de Bourgh when he returned to Hertfordshire for his wedding, but Sir William and Mr. Phillips had squelched his troublemaking. Elizabeth had often expressed her sorrow at never seeing Charlotte, but at least they were able to carry out a clandestine correspondence, despite Mr. Collins’s disapproval of the Darcys.
Miss Bingley had attempted to worm her way back into their good graces by pretending her interference had been naught but a simple misunderstanding. Bingley and Jane had not welcomed her with open arms. Eventually, she had married Sir Gilbert Townen, an eighty-seven-year-old baronet who, though he possessed a large estate, was firmly in dun territory and in desperate need of funds.
Elizabeth groaned as Darcy kneaded a tight place on her shoulders. “I hate being this tired,” she complained. “At least everyone is used to me turning into a pumpkin right after dinner.”
Darcy kissed the top of her head. “No one minds. They love you. That is why they wanted to spend Christmas here this year.” Elizabeth might have energy for visiting with their family, but he refused to allow her to travel any length of time, especially not over the jolting roads of winter in northern England. The Matlocks were only fifty miles away, but fifty miles of frozen road was too far for his beloved, very pregnant wife. Besides, everyone was glad to come.
She chuckled. “We shall certainly have a houseful. Robert and Anne are over the moon at the idea of sharing the nursery with all their cousins, but I am not sure anyone will sleep.”
“Those two will sleep standing up if they get tired enough,” Darcy said ruefully, as he gently pulled Elizabeth’s nightgown down. His two older children, like their mother had been, were full of energy and liable to get into scrapes without sufficient entertainment. Fortunately, they would have a surfeit of doting adults and cousins to keep them entertained as the Matlocks, Fitzwilliam and his wife, the Gardiners, the Bennets, Georgiana and her husband and son, Jane and Bingley and their twins, Mary and her husband, and Lydia and her husband and son were all scheduled to arrive in two weeks.
She poked him. “Rather like their father.”
Darcy swept Elizabeth up into his arms and carried her to their bed, depositing her on it. “I beg to differ, Madam.” He sat down by her feet and began rubbing them.
She sighed as the tension leached from her. “What would I do without you?”
“Hire a servant to rub your feet?”
She kicked him lightly, then sobered. “It has been five years today.” Her brow furrowed. “Sometimes it feels like a dream.”
Darcy nodded. “Another life. Yet whenever I look around at our family, I know it was not a dream.”
“You do? Why?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Can you imagine your father turning into such an attentive man without supernatural intervention?”
“I suppose not,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I certainly never would have imagined that Lydia would turn out so well.”
“Nor I.”
Elizabeth snorted. “You thought my family was the worst from the first moment of our acquaintance.”
Darcy laughed. “I did, but that was not what I was referring to. I meant that I never would have imagined myself turning out so well.”
“Ah. Then I shall forgive your slip of the tongue. This time.”
He leaned forward and drew her into a deep kiss, then slipped back far enough to look into her eyes. “I said it back then and I will continue to say it until I die. I love you, Elizabeth Darcy. You inspire me to be a better person. Without you in my life, I would be poor indeed.”
“I feel the same way, William,” she said and kissed him again. “I would never have chosen such a drastic intervention from Providence, but I am still grateful for Tuesday.”
“As am I.”