The canon characters do not belong to me. They are the creation of the inimitable Miss Austen, to whom we all owe a great debt.
In my dream it is always spring. One of those rare glorious days when the sky is clear but the air retains the barest scent of rain. It smells of water and earth and fresh flowers newly blossomed. And we walk in a lush green field, our children running ahead of us. They have our dark hair and his dimples and my eyes which I always heard he admired. And they run and they laugh and we laugh with them. He bends to accept a crown of woven daisies from our daughter and swings our son onto his shoulders while I cradle an infant in my arms. Sometimes, at the end of the dream it rains. On those mornings I awake with tears in my eyes and I wonder. If I had only waited five minutes, if I had allowed him up on that terrible day, if I had told him the contents of that wretched letter; I wonder what might have been.
But I did not wait five minutes and I did not allow him entrance. I sent him away. I sent him away and we returned to Hertfordshire and we never again saw Lydia and the scandal was so great we were forced to leave Longbourn. My father had to lease it out. We were so shamed and shunned in the neighbourhood we had no choice. We had to go where we were not known. While the Gardiners provided some assistance; they could not take us in. My uncle's business could not withstand the scandal. The income from my father's estate was hardly enough to sustain my mother, much less four unmarried daughters. After several months, Kitty, tired of the deprivation and the boredom slipped away under cover of night to seek her younger sister. Like our poor, foolish Lydia, Kitty was not seen again. Mary wed a country parson, Mr. Smythe, who forbid her having any contact with her family after the wedding. I daresay she did not consider it a deprivation. Before Lydia, Mary was overlooked. After she was simply one more mouth to feed, one more body to clothe. Her marriage bought her freedom I suppose. Jane and I took in mending and learned we had a heretofore undiscovered talent as seamstresses.
Eventually we found a modiste who cared little for our past so long as we were able to fill her orders on time. She brought us to work in her shop and when the name Darcy or Bingley came across the appointment book we stayed far in back away from prying, curious, condemning eyes. We sewed the wedding clothes when Miss Bingley became Mrs. Michael, when Miss Wilson became Mrs. Bingley, and again when Miss Darcy became Mrs. Asher. Of Mr. Darcy I heard very little and saw not at all. If there was a Mrs. Darcy, she was not shopping on Bond Street. And so we continued shifting for ourselves and seeking happiness wherever it might be found. Jane married the first shopkeeper to offer for her. It can be said of Mr. Stephens that he is kind and respectable and looks well to the needs of his wife and children. When my father passed Mr. Smythe would have none of Mary's portion and only reluctantly allowed her a brief visit. She was not pleased to see us and made it very clear she came as a matter of duty. Mr. Stephens refused more than the £1,000 promised in Jane's settlement. So there was only my mother and I to share the remainder and what had once seemed so little felt like riches beyond imagining. It would not purchase back our place in society, but it eased many burdens. One year and one day later, the widow Bennet became Mrs. Worth but Mr. Worth had no use for another unmarried lady in his house and I continued to shift for myself. I would occasionally hear the name Darcy and wonder and dream and to pray that if there was a Mrs. Darcy I might never have the misfortune of meeting her. But I was resigned to never have more than my dreams until that day.
Madame Fontaine bid me deliver several packages and as I was exiting the shop a young lady of some consequence was entering. Though I moved quickly from her path it was not quick enough and in retaliation she sent the packages flying from my arms and called me a stupid, thoughtless girl. I was six and twenty, she could not have been more than eight and ten. As I stooped to pick up the packages I came in contact with a gentleman's hand. Looking up I found myself gazing into the eyes that had haunted my dreams these many many years. He said nothing, only handed me the package, keeping his hand on mine just a moment longer than was necessary. Then Madame called out and the spell was broken and I turned away and he vanished.
That night when I left to begin the long walk home I heard him call my name. "Miss Bennet" and I stopped. I dared not turn around. It was him. It was my dream, my nightmare, my fantasy come to life and the pain was so great I thought I might die and again he called, "Miss Bennet."
At last I turned to face him and he said to me, "Are you still Miss Bennet?" I could only nod my head and watch as his eyes filled with some emotion I could not identify and he said, "I wish you were not."
I did not understand, but suddenly it was four years ago and I was young and carefree and we were at Netherfield. And in a voice I had not used in all those years I teased him and said, "Pray Mr. Darcy. If I am not to be Miss Bennet, then who would you have me be?"
He smiled at my impertinence and said, "Surely you know, Miss Bennet." And I did not dare to hope. I only raised my eyebrows a fraction in question and he said, "Surely, surely you know. I have only ever wished for you to be Mrs. Darcy."
I looked and I could not speak. At last I told him, "That is a cruel joke, Mr. Darcy. It is a terrible and unkind thing to say."
He asked what unkindness there could be in truth. "I love you, Elizabeth Bennet. I always have. I always will."
He stepped forward and when he reached for my hand my heart began to beat and only then did I understand it had stopped doing so all those years ago. I could not draw away. I did not wish to. I told him of my family's shame and he said it mattered not and apologized. The silly man, still trying to take responsibility for Wickham after all these years. We braved the wrath of his relations and the pleading of my mother. He assisted Mr. and Mrs. Stephens and offered a more prosperous living to Mr. and Mrs. Smythe and we learned that righteous condemnation could not survive such generosity. Mrs. Asher and General Fitzwilliam gave their blessings and stood witness to our vows.
When Catherine Elizabeth was born we did not tell Lady Catherine it was not she for whom our daughter was named and when at last the heir was born we called him Bennet George for his Grandfather Darcy, and according to my love, for me. My beloved says it is the name of the strongest person he has ever known and I can only shake my head at the notion. If the new babe is a girl we will call her Mary Jane and a boy will be William for his father who is still the very best of men.
And now when I dream and it rains and I wake with tears in my eyes, they are tears of joy and I look on my beloved Fitzwilliam and know that I have at last discovered what might have been.
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