"You made the correct choice, Caroline," Louisa Hurst told her sister.
Caroline sniffled. She had been holding back tears all morning.
"I do not understand how it came to this," she replied.
"You are being ridiculous. Charles and I have told you repeatedly not to aim so high. You could certainly have done worse than Mr Johnson."
"I should have done better."
Louisa shook her head in frustration. Caroline would never understand. Women born to wealthy tradesmen had more opportunities than poorer ones, but they were still limited. Most landed gentlemen willing to marry one of them would do so because they required her dowry to assist with their estate's finances. Great men like Mr Darcy were entirely out of reach despite Caroline's high opinion of herself.
She responded, "You will have more money than me, and perhaps he will be able to sell his business and purchase an estate in a few years. Truly, you have no cause for complaint."
Caroline sighed. Louisa would never understand. They had attended the same seminary, yet Louisa had not been taunted the same way for being the daughter of a tradesman because she was quieter and more humble. The other girls laughed at Caroline for "putting on airs"; she was only trying to fit in and imitate her peers. Nothing could please them and her years at school were unhappy ones. She promised herself she would show all of them her worth one day by marrying a fabulously wealthy man from a noble and respected family, but today, her wedding day, her dream was ashes.
Bingley bustled into the room in his usual effervescent manner.
"How are we doing this morning?" he asked them both. "Caroline, you look lovely. I am very pleased to see you well settled. You will be happy, I am sure of it."
She forced a smile. She was uncertain if he believed his own words or if he was only happy to be rid of her like Louisa.
"We must leave for the church in five minutes; are you both ready?" he continued.
Caroline had always dreamed of a large society wedding with hundreds in attendance including peers of the realm and even journalists. It was to be the event of the year. Instead, her actual wedding would have only a few relations and a quiet breakfast afterwards. Even the Darcys would not be there, having rushed off for Pemberley once again. Idly, she wondered what could possibly keep calling them there. Some made-up excuse, no doubt.
She shook her bitter thoughts of Mr Darcy out of her head. For all her shame at the turn her life had taken, she was determined to make a good wife and show her husband what a prize he had won in her. Regretting some other man would not do.
She smoothed her skirts and lifted her chin.
"I am ready," she said.
#
Jane Collins sat in the nursery at Pemberley and played with her nearly three-month-old son William. The past fortnight had been so chaotic that this was her first opportunity to truly think about it all; everything that had happened in the last year and a half to lead her to this moment.
She was a mother and a widow at the age of twenty-three. William Collins had walked into her life one August morning, whisked her away to Kent, unwittingly been the means of uniting her sister with her husband through their coincidental visit, and then died from the consequences. She almost felt as though she had lived this whole time in service of her sister's happiness; and now that Elizabeth's happiness was assured perhaps it could someday be her turn.
She had not loved her husband. They had lived comfortably together, and she had enjoyed her role as parson's wife in the community. They were fond of each other in their own ways. However, she had known all the while that this life, while satisfactory, was not the life she had always dreamed of living.
She was grateful that her husband had saved Longbourn from leaving the Bennet family. She was grateful that despite his deference to Lady Catherine de Bourgh he still did his best to make her happy. She was grateful that he had lived to see his son born, that despite the unhappiness of the last eight months of his life he could know his family would be safe and secure when he departed. She did not know what, exactly, had killed him, and perhaps she would never know, but she was grateful that his suffering was at an end.
Pemberley was now her home. Mrs Bennet had wanted her to return to Longbourn - her son was the heir, after all - but as much as she loved her mother, what she needed right now was the tranquility she found here and the close companionship of Elizabeth and Georgiana. She could not bear to spend her mourning period being gawked at by the Meryton society. She trusted her sister and brother when they promised she would be welcome for as long as she wanted to stay.
They remained in Derbyshire with her, missing the rest of their season in London due to mourning their brother-in-law, but she did not believe they minded. Jane appreciated her brother Darcy - she was still struggling to grow accustomed to calling him Fitzwilliam as he requested when she moved in - more and more as time passed. It was he who did everything in his considerable power to please his wife and her family, ever since the day they reunited at Hunsford. It was he who took charge of the situation when Lady Catherine was directing her ire towards the Collinses, and took them north to ensure the safe arrival of her child. It was he who arranged everything for the funeral and burial of her husband, even travelling to Kent to see that Mr Collins was laid to rest beside his parents and gathering their remaining belongings from the Hunsford parsonage. And he did it all simply because he was a good and generous man.
Jane wondered if such a man existed who would be right for her, as Fitzwilliam was perfect for Lizzy, then banished those thoughts in shame; her husband had only been buried days ago. Men should be the last thing on her mind for a long time.
She gazed at her son on the floor. His toy was slightly out of reach, but he persisted: wiggling, grunting, stretching, at last he grasped the treasured object and smiled his pleasure in an expression that was startlingly like his father.
Whatever William Collins was - well-intentioned, loquacious, self-important, earnest, silly - he had been her husband and she would never be the same for having been his wife. Now, all that remained of him was their son: her reminder of the past and her hope for the future. She would cherish this child as no other could.
She bowed her head and allowed the tears to fall.
#
A little while later Elizabeth walked towards the nursery in search of her sister. It was time to dress for dinner.
She opened the door and was greeted by the sight of Jane in the rocking chair, holding little William to her shoulder, both of them fast asleep. They looked far too peaceful to disturb.
"Forgive me, ma'am, for not putting him down to nap in his bassinet; Mrs Collins wished to keep him herself this time," whispered William's nurse, who had materialised seemingly from nowhere.
Elizabeth smiled and nodded to dismiss her.
She watched the pair for a few minutes. She recalled learning from her aunt Gardiner that these early months of a child's life were so precious and so fleeting. She was certain she would be the same as Jane when it was her own.
She touched her stomach, which was beginning to show a slight bulge. She imagined having a little boy, a playmate for her nephew; or perhaps it would be a girl who she could teasingly claim was destined to marry her cousin. She had a feeling her husband would not find that as humourous as she.
Jane and William did not stir. With one last glance she tiptoed out and gently closed the door.
#
It was February and Bingley was thinking about Netherfield.
Last September he had opted to renew his lease for one more year. He was fairly certain he wanted to purchase the place, but still he decided to wait.
He believed he knew the reason for his hesitation: he wanted to get married. It seemed to him that already having his own property could make him more marketable, but on the other hand, he wanted to choose where to live with his wife. He wanted to devote himself to one special woman's happiness, and perhaps that woman would be pleased with Netherfield, but perhaps she would prefer to live near her family elsewhere. Perhaps she would even have her own estate. As much as he loved Netherfield, he knew he would love his future family more.
Charles Bingley was a generous man by nature. Gregarious and carefree, he derived much pleasure from the happiness of others. He had not liked forcing his sister to marry under threat of withdrawing his support, but he knew from many years of experience with her that if he gave in to her attempts at negotiation, if he ceded any ground as he was quite tempted to do, that nothing in either of their lives would ever change. And indeed, the effort had been rewarded. Caroline was married to a man who would be kind to her and who despite working in a trade would give her the lifestyle she wanted. He truly believed she would learn to be content with him, despite her theatrics leading up to the wedding.
Though the relief he felt from no longer being responsible for her was so palpable he felt a little guilty.
Now he was free to once again think about himself, and this time it would be different. Previously he had lived his life in pursuit of fleeting amusements. Dancing, flirting, and sport filled his days. He had no responsibility to speak of. But nearly one and a half years as master of Netherfield, and his illuminating experience with Miss Olivia Churchill, had taught him what was important to him. He longed for a home of his own and a family to fill it. He wanted to find the woman who was the most suited to him, not who was merely the most beautiful in the room.
This season in Town was going much the same as the last, and he felt frustrated as he wondered how he was ever to meet this future wife of his. He did not care for any of the women he knew in London, and there were only so many new ladies debuting each year to meet.
So, he was thinking of Netherfield, and how eager he was to abscond there after spending a few more months here searching for a woman who may not exist. He had wanted to return to his country home early, perhaps as early as the start of May.
He reread the letter in his hands which he had received that morning. It was an invitation from Darcy to visit them at Pemberley for a while in May or June when the London season was winding down and before their child arrived.
He hesitated, but not for long. He missed Netherfield, but he also missed his friend. He made his decision: in three months he would go to Pemberley.