Dunchurch Coombe, Feb 1820

He wrote to his Mamma and to Dunchurch to ask to come home and let them proclaim themselves to each other at Dunchurch Coombe. His brother almost broke his heart with his ready answer saying he and Elizabeth were to come and come quickly and with his blessing.

His mother's letter made him weep for a half hour to think he could have finally given her happiness after far too many years of despair and worry. She had feared he would be too like brother Richard and unable to live without love. Perhaps that was true. But he had found it, captured it, and secured his future.

Susanna and her little family, for Miss Clarion and Mrs. Heene were Susanna's family, wished to come too. He was not sure what Ladbroke—father of six—would consider of this venture, but he and his sister Clara wrote to say they would meet him and Elizabeth at Dunchurch Coombe Hall in a week.

Elizabeth wrote to her own family of her intentions and invited them to come. She did not expect anyone from her family to really consider it. Mary Crockford did write to say she wished her happiness after her sorrows; she had perhaps had details from Catherine. Mr. Watson, clergyman, perhaps thought to not allow his wife to send any blessing to Elizabeth about the prospect of living in sin with another man for that is what it was in the eyes of the church. She heard nothing from Jane, Lydia or her parents. It was a beam of light to hear from one sister, to be wished joy from one family member, however, and she clung to Mary's letter

She, Amelia, Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Parker as a chaperone left for Dunchurch Coombe.

They were met with welcoming arms. His mother was on the steps of the hall as they alighted from the carriage. Elizabeth held her daughter and curtseyed to the Dowager Countess who smiled at her and held her own arms open for a hug.

"He has gone around the dark side of the moon and come back to us because of you, dearest Elizabeth," and the Dowager Countess kissed her gently then. Elizabeth blushed.

"Mamma," cried Amelia.

"She is a beautiful girl and I welcome her as another granddaughter," and the Dowager Countess led them into the Hall.


The family were gathered in the largest drawing room to receive them. Elizabeth knew most of them but it was the Earl's home, the new Earl, and she knew him the least. She had met him and his wife at their wedding four years ago but not seen them since. The Countess Frederica was warm and received her with a handshake and then asked, "may I?" and hugged her. The Earl shook her hand too and then asked after her daughter who stood with her doll at her mother's side, quiet, taking in all the people.

Elizabeth prompted Amelia to curtsey and she did it as well as a two year old could attempt such a thing. The Countess exclaimed over her, "she looks like a Fitzwilliam! Such dark coloring. You should see Francis, they could be brother and sister! Almost twins!"

Elizabeth looked at the Countess then. She had never considered that the dark coloring of her daughter was due to Lady Anne's side of the family. Not so much Darcy, as Fitzwilliam. Part of Elizabeth smiled inside.

Lady Susanna came to greet her; Miss Clarion and Mrs. Heene were there was well. They talked for a while, Amelia sitting next to her with her doll until the other two women left for more tea.

"You have made Ned so happy, Elizabeth. I do not know how I can ever thank you," said Susanna, her voice tinged with emotion.

"I am happy myself. I thought I might be have trepidations to be doing this a second time but I have not had a second thought or doubt—and even though this is not exactly a wedding," answered Elizabeth.

"I cannot tell you how happy we are to have our old Edward back," said Lady Susanna.

"Very true," said Lady Clara who came to sit with them. "Elizabeth, we love our brother very much; he took such good care of us when we were in the nursery, was a special playmate and a protector that it warms my heart in a way I cannot describe that he has found peace and happiness."

Elizabeth did not know what to say but accepted their words and their praise, and let them wrap around her like a mantle and she knew was joining with him because of a deep and abiding passion she had for her mate.

"I should like to introduce someone to Elizabeth if I may," said Fitzwilliam who stood a little ways outside their circle. "Elizabeth, this is my nephew, James. James, this is my lady, my most beloved lady, Elizabeth," his voice was dark with love and devotion as he introduced his most beloved souls to each other.

"How do you do?" asked James as he bowed.

"How do you do?" replied Elizabeth looking at another dark Fitzwilliam.

"You are very pretty and I am pleased Uncle Ned is so happy," said Jamie.

"I thank you," said Elizabeth.

"Boy," said Amelia who stood on the sofa next to her and clutched at her shoulder looking at Jamie as she seemed to realize there were children here and not just adults in the room.

"Who is she?" asked Jamie, his eyes widening.

"This is my daughter, Amelia," said Elizabeth.

"She is very pretty too," said Jamie.

"I thank you," said Elizabeth and smiled at James who stood still and stared at the little child next to her mother with her halo of dark curls around her head and who seemed to stare back at him with an equal curiosity.

Jamie looked at the dark child next to his uncle's lady. All of his siblings were Ladbrokes, fair of hair and blue-eyed, even his new sister, Honoria. Here was another dark child like him. He tugged at his uncle's arm dragging him away from the women.

He pulled at Fitzwilliam's sleeve so he had to lean down so Jamie could whisper in his ear.

"Is she my sister?" he asked.

"No, she is a sort of distant cousin," explained his uncle.

Jamie was thoughtful for a second.

"Can she be my special lady?" asked Sir James with intensity.

"Do you wish her to be?" asked Fitzwilliam, surprised. "Does she have your heart?"

"Yes," answered Jamie, "very much."

"Then she can be your special lady," answered his uncle.


The morning was cold and gray and rain set in just after breakfast. This was not to be a garden ceremony. It was, after all, February. The parlor had been decorated with some hot-house flowers. It was the sunniest of rooms at that time of year and in the morning.

Elizabeth thought the arrangements were beautiful and could not have wished for anything more. There was no vicar to preside over them but they were to stand in front of their family and clasp hands with and declare themselves to each other.

They were to begin, everyone was gathered, when a footman announced Mr. and Mrs. Smith and suddenly Elizabeth was being hugged and kissed by Lydia who exclaimed over her and laughed and then hugged her some more.

Introductions had to be made around, long stories were promised after the ceremony, of how they all knew each other, of why—the Ladbroke sons wanted to know—the lady walked with a wooden leg and a limp and why they had come.

Edward Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy nee Bennet pledged themselves to each other before the assembled company and all the women wept. Even the Dowager Countess shed tears in company for her beloved son for whom she felt she no longer needed to worry.

The meal was not actually a 'wedding' breakfast, it was closer to dinner and as the children sat with them far nosier than any similar meal. Elizabeth was constantly on the verge of tears, but happy tears.

Her nephew George was so much grown since she had last seen him and by all appearances a fine young boy, shier than she would have suspected for being Lydia and Wickham's son, but he sat with the older Ladbroke sons and settled in well enough with Dickie.

Dickie was impressed that he had a soldier for a father and a mother with a wooden leg, so was Sophia. Their eyes went wide when he said she had been at Waterloo. A lady at Waterloo! Injured there as well! And then to hear that he, George himself, had been there though a baby! Their respect for Uncle Ned came back full force when George related that it was their Uncle Edward who had saved her and baby George and brought them safely home to England.

"My own, real father died there," George said with a small voice. "But I did not know him and Mr. Smith is the best father any boy could ask for," he concluded.

It was real and perfect because Lydia had come. To have one of her own family standing before her made any last doubts disappear for Elizabeth. Mary's letter had been a help, bolstered her up but to have Lydia and her still infectious laugh among them made it special.


Walsh had come. He had felt it important to come and see his master through his day though his own daughter was small yet and at home with Mrs. Keep. He had come to bathe his master that morning, scrape his cheeks, dress him to see him to the ceremony and that evening he bathed him again, let him beg off being shaved a second time but left him smelling of soap. His hair was tousled with a towel, a dressing gown put on his shoulders and his man could not but grin at him and Fitzwilliam could not but grin back. Then he saluted him and took his leave.

Mrs. Parker helped Elizabeth to bathe, helped her dress her hair and get into a nightgown and a dressing gown. Elizabeth thanked her for all that she had done, helped her to get her to that point. For it really was the effort of many who had brought her back through the winter to find the sun.

He was waiting for her. On the end of the bed lay a single rose.

"Why Edward, thank you," she exclaimed.

"It is not mine, or rather I must disclaim having left it," he cried. Rather than have her speculate that it was the consideration of one of his sisters, or run through a list of his relatives he explained, "I believe, young Jamie left it; he believes flowers are for ladies, for the giving of happiness."

She pricked a finger on the rose as she picked it up and licked a drop of blood off of it and he took her finger and tasted it; there is something about that that made her cry. She admitted then that she was nervous.

"I think that I have forgotten how to find pleasure; I believe the last time I had pleasure making love was with you."

She supposed she felt nervous, perhaps like a maid would feel on her wedding night, in some ways it was a wedding night but she was no maid.

She supposed her biggest error in life had been in reasoning herself away from love. Darcy had been in front of her, Fitzwilliam had been leaving, no matter how she had felt about the two men at the time. Darcy restored Lydia to her and then proclaimed himself. Fitzwilliam had not said anything of his love then, that had been his error or flaw, but he was also being a gentleman when his cousin had asked for his help and stated his own intentions. And she had feared being an officer's wife. So she had accepted what Darcy had offered, thought that she would be happy with it, but it had proved to be an increasingly lonely life. And after Amelia's birth it had become an ivory tower—and then she had found out about Ralph and it had all faded.

She wanted, she realized, what she had known, that small familiar life she had grown up with, not being a grand mistress of some estate, but the comforts of a home, a happy home with children. She wanted Amelia to have siblings. She did not want Amelia to be the sad, isolated and melancholy child like her Aunt Georgiana. It was why she had reluctantly agreed to try for a second child with Darcy before separating. Elizabeth had loved being a sister.

But here was someone she had loved since she first met. It had taken years to get to this point. To get to love. And then she was not nervous. She was no maid. She unlooped her dressing gown and pulled it from her shoulders; let it slide to the floor.

She grasped at his belt and tugged it apart and ran her hands beneath his gown not surprised at his nakedness this time.

"I love you Ned," she whispered as she snaked her hands over his chest running her fingers over his saber scar. Another hand went to his other shoulder dancing over his grapeshot scar. "I do not wish to ever be parted from you."

She thought about character, and how she had always equated it with being read on one's face, but here was his character to be read on his body, under her fingertips as though it were a book. His actions had stood the test of time as well. Character was more than just simply a visage to be painted and captured on canvas, handsome or plain. It was the measure of what one did, what one did for others.

"I love you, Lizzy," he said as he led her to bed; their passion was fierce and intense. Tears fell from his eyes, down his cheeks as he saw her dark eyes exactly as he had recalled them all those years ago, would always recall them.

He wept on her shoulder, kissed her cheek. They slept. He dreamed of Elizabeth and then would wake to find her in his arms and could pull her close, kiss her cheek and sleep again. Dream again of her and wake to still find her by his side.