Copyright 2021 Elizabeth Frerichs
The rest of their time in London flew by in a flurry of shopping. Elizabeth had taken her dress sketches to Lady Matlock on Saturday, and the woman had surprisingly, grudgingly, admitted they were better than she had expected, saying that someone in the endeavour had a keen eye for design.
Privately, Elizabeth suspected that the keen eye was a result of Kitty's designs coupled with Aunt Madeleine's dressmaker, but she merely agreed with her future aunt. Lady Matlock had suggested only a few small modifications and then helpfully provided Elizabeth with a list of items she needed if she was to succeed in the ton. They had also discussed when to introduce her as Mrs. Darcy and the awkwardness and intense scrutiny that would result.
Later that same day, Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Kitty had gone to Madame Benaud's. Either William or Lady Matlock had instructed the woman to behave as though Georgiana was being fitted and Elizabeth and Kitty were mere observers. Once past the ante-room, however, she had looked Elizabeth over critically, declared what a tragedy her figure was, and begun designing a dress without any input. In short, the entire encounter had gone exactly how Georgiana had described. Elizabeth supposed the woman was able to retain clients through the ton's obsession to conform, but she could not imagine purchasing another dress from Madame Benaud—ever.
With a small smile, she whiled away her time at Madame Benaud's considering how to convince Lady Matlock to have a dress made by Madame Cluett. Perhaps Lady Matlock would be so impressed by Madame Cluett's methods that she would no longer patronise someone so rude.
Elizabeth also had the pleasure of watching William with Mr. Gardiner and Georgiana with Mrs. Gardiner. Here were relations who did not cause her to blush. Georgiana had confided that she believed it would be wonderful to have the Gardiners come to Pemberley as well this summer and hoped that Elizabeth would invite them—and their children. Aunt Madeleine had thoroughly approved of the Darcys and had introduced the children to them. Elizabeth had been amused by Georgiana's hesitancy and surprised to learn that Georgiana had never been around young children. Her future sister had quite fallen for the little darlings by the end, however, and she and the Bennet sisters spent time playing with the little Gardiners in between shopping trips.
Between William and Uncle Gardiner existed a mutual respect that left Elizabeth aching for such a thing between her father and her future husband. She had not recognised how guarded William was around her own father until she had seen him enthusiastically conversing with her uncle . Since he had returned home, her father had stopped in almost every time the gentlemen had called, but conversation was stilted—even Mr. Bingley was less jovial than normal.
Despite recognising that her father was merely experiencing the consequences of his actions, Elizabeth still felt sorry for the occasional hurt that flickered through his eyes when Jane remained cordial but not affectionate or when William glared at her father. She had determined, however, not to try to smooth the situation over in any way; her sisters (and her father) were all entitled to their feelings and would work things out or not in their own ways.
Once the week in London was up, they had returned to Longbourn, once more crammed in carriages together, and joy bubbled through Elizabeth at the happy chattering that filled the carriage. All five of her sisters were comparing notes on their favourite parts of the trip, and Georgiana kept suggesting activities for the next time they visited London. Due to the nature of their trip, the only "excursion" Georgiana had succeeded in bringing the Bennets on was a tour of Darcy House that included special attention given to Georgiana's pianoforte and raiding her supplies.
Elizabeth was convinced that her new sister would cram every day full of activities from dawn to dusk when the Bennets came to Pemberley. And, given Georgiana and William's descriptions of the estate, there would be plenty to keep her entire family, both the Bennets and the Gardiners, entertained.
More and more, she longed for the day when she would be Mrs. Darcy. She and William were able to have occasional private conversations on various walks about Longbourn's lands, but they were nearly always accompanied by one sister or another. After the wedding, they would have two weeks alone together at Darcy House while Georgiana stayed at Longbourn, and then the whole group would travel up to Pemberley. Elizabeth was ready to have William all to herself without the possibility of interruption. Only five more weeks.
Bennet stared unseeingly at the books in front of him. He had been rereading estate management books, but his thoughts wandered often. His wife had mentioned in passing this morning that it was only a month until the wedding. Despite the fact that his daughters had returned a week ago, he had been putting off the conversation Sempill had recommended. Unfortunately, he had only a month to try to repair his relationships with his two eldest daughters before they would be less accessible. Of course, he would continue to try to fix things even after the wedding, but it would not be the same.
He had, for the most part, continued the plans he and Sempill had devised: talking to Fanny every night, staying for an hour longer than was his norm whenever he spent time with his family, speaking to his daughters more regularly, and attempting to speak to their betrotheds.
Little had changed, however. His daughters were not overjoyed by his presence, and neither Mr. Bingley nor Mr. Darcy seemed willing to engage in any more conversation than absolutely necessary. Surprisingly, Fanny had become the bright spot at Longbourn for him.
Bennet still dreaded asking his daughters for their opinions on what he was doing wrong, but he did not know what else to do. And it was with that thought in mind that he put down his books and went to find Jane.
That had been another difference—rather than simply requiring his family to come to his library if he wished to interact with them, he now went to them. It was a way to remind himself daily of his commitment to covering the distance between them, and though it was not always easy to do, he had held himself to the practice so that he would not forget his resolve.
As Mr. Bingley had already come and gone, Bennet was able to propose a walk in the garden to his eldest daughter without too much opposition.
"How are you today, Jane?" Bennet began.
"Fine, Papa."
Bennet suppressed a sigh. "I have something particular I wish to discuss with you."
"Oh?"
"I have tried to apologize for my previous behaviour, but it has not seemed to make any difference. What would you suggest?"
Jane looked up at him as though searching his soul before returning her attention to the garden. "Regarding what?"
"I have-as I said before, I know that I have not been the best father, but I am trying to improve."
Jane nodded.
"Do you believe there is more I need to apologize for or something else I ought to do in order to—to repair my bond with you and your sisters?"
Jane's attention remained fixed on the flowers in front of her and she stepped up to the bush, gently caressing the petals. "I do not know that there is anything to do," she said with distant sorrow. "You were like a gardener who refused to water three of your plants, allowing the rain to suffice for them. It hurt me, you know, to watch how you treated Mary, Kitty, and Lydia—the mocking and neglect. I excused it as I knew that you were still a good man underneath. How could you be otherwise given your tender care towards Lizzy and I?"
Bennet winced. He had never considered the matter in quite that way, but Jane's analogy was most apt. He had not given his three youngest daughters attention, save when they annoyed him.
"I did not recognise how clearly that showed your flaws instead of your strengths," she continued, still not meeting his eyes. "Your care for Lizzy and I only showed our sisters that you were capable of being a loving father, but chose not to be."
"I am trying to rectify that," he said firmly, unsure what else he could say. No words could change the past—and he was fully aware of his faults; there was no need to wallow in them!
Jane shrugged. "It will take more than a month of watering your other plants for them to begin to grow properly."
Bennet took a deep breath, reminding himself that he had asked his daughter for her observations. "Do you believe I am spending sufficient time with your sisters now?"
"I believe that is a question you ought to ask them."
"And what of you, Jane?" Bennet asked, his shoulders tensing. "What should I be doing to repair my relationship with you?"
Jane looked up at him again as though assessing his sincerity. Sorrow lay heavy on her features. "I do not know," she finally admitted. "You left. You left Lizzy, and you left me."
"I was not—" Bennet huffed in frustration as he realised he had never considered how his leaving would have affected Jane. "I was not leaving you," he said evenly. "I was—I was running away from myself." He sighed. "I could not bear the fact that your Uncle Gardiner was correct: I have neglected my duties as a husband, father, and master thus driving myself and my family aground. Being here, seeing Lizzy and knowing how much I have failed her, have failed all of you—it was unbearable." He took a deep breath. "But I should have considered your feelings, and I am sorry that I did not, Jane."
A tear slipped down Jane's cheek, but she brushed it away.
Bennet tapped his fingers against one leg as his daughter remained silent. Finally, he patted her arm awkwardly, attempting to comfort her. "I know that it will take time, but I intend to prove to you and to Lizzy that I have changed. I am trying to be more involved and to take the estate in hand."
Jane nodded solemnly. "You should not have left Longbourn to Lizzy."
"You are right. I should not have. However, I am most grateful for the work that she has done."
"She spent a lot of time researching."
"It shows. But that is beside the point—I desire to repair my bond with you. I know that—you do not have much time left living at Longbourn, and I do not wish to squander it. Perhaps we may take a walk like this more often? I should like to hear more about your Mr. Bingley and whatever else you would like to share."
Jane studied him for a moment. "I believe I would like that as well."
Bennet smiled at his daughter, relieved that she was at least willing to try even if she was not yet ready to embrace him with open arms. Now, if only Lizzy would likewise accept him.
Though Jane had not told Elizabeth the substance of her conversation with their father, she had warned Elizabeth that Mr. Bennet would likely approach her about mending the distance between them. No amount of warning would have prepared Elizabeth for the conversation, however. Her feelings and thoughts were so muddled that she hardly knew what she would say or even what she wished to say or to hear from him.
When he had suggested a walk to the stream three days after he had spoken to Jane, she had almost refused. Would it even be fair to her father to have such a conversation considering how unstructured her current thoughts were? But then he had repeated his request, adding a heartfelt "please," and Mary had sent her a look of support.
Her sister's care had reminded her that her father was not the only one who had made mistakes. Yes, he had neglected his daughters shamefully, but she had neglected her sisters. Neither were her sisters blameless; they had all been self-involved and now they were having to build relationships, despite having been family for so many years. Her sisters had given her a chance to apologize and build relationships; could she do any less with her father?
Thus, Elizabeth had nodded at her father and gone to collect her things.
The walk to the creek was filled with nothings about the weather and the estate until Mr. Bennet halted. "Lizzy, I have apologised to you for my handling of Longbourn and my handing it over to you, but I do not believe I have yet told you how impressed I am with your plans. I regret burdening you with Longbourn, but I am grateful to you beyond expression for finding a way out of our difficulties."
Elizabeth merely nodded. Part of her rejoiced at her father's praise, but another, larger, part of her recalled the way he had spoken of the entail—it was not his problem; therefore, there was no "our" in those difficulties.
"You are aware that I was never trained in land management—" Mr. Bennet gave her a rueful smile. "Perhaps more so than anyone else in our family. However, it was my responsibility to ensure that I learned what I needed to anyway. I should have done as you did and worked to understand instead of simply bemoaning my fate. The loss of my beloved academia came so quickly on the heels of my father and brothers' deaths that I could not see beyond my own tragedy. I associated Longbourn with grief and resented it for the part it played in ripping me from Cambridge, but that was—short-sighted of me. My friend, Professor Sempill, whom I wish to introduce you to one day, pointed out that inheriting Longbourn might have been merely the opening of a new chapter in my story, rather than the end of it."
He took a deep breath. "I was so blind, and my family paid the price for that blindness. When I left, it was because a part of me was afraid that you and your Uncle Gardiner were right—no, knew you were right. I was running from myself and the truth of what I had done, who I had become—not from you. I am sorry that in my folly, I wounded you. I lashed out at you when in truth I was lashing out at myself."
Elizabeth stared at her father. If she had not been watching his lips move, she would have believed the words to have come from someone else. Her father had apologised, which he had done upon his return, but . . . he almost never apologised! And certainly never this sincerely. She blinked at him, wondering if she was dreaming.
"Lizzy," he said, holding her gaze, "I would ask you for another chance. I know that I have squandered many chances that you so graciously gave me when I responded poorly, but I would ask for one more." He took her limp hands. "I know that things are—are already changing. You will not long be at Longbourn; you will not even be Elizabeth Bennet for much longer. I do not wish to waste the time I have left with you living under the same roof. Is there a chance that you can forgive your foolish father and perhaps give him another opportunity to be a part of your life?"
Now she knew she was dreaming. Surreptitiously, she bit her cheek. Pain flooded her mouth. "Papa, I—" She took a deep breath. "I do not know what to say."
"I will understand if you believe my faults to be too grievous to forgive," Mr. Bennet said, looking older than she had ever seen him.
"I cannot live the way I did before. I cannot walk around on eggshells, constantly fearing that you will withdraw your favour or lash out again."
Bennet bowed his head. It was as he had feared—he had injured his relationship with his favourite daughter beyond repair. Her characterisation of their previous interactions made him wince. Certainly, he had withdrawn when she brought up topics he did not wish to discuss, but that was because he did not desire to discuss them, not because she had done something wrong in bringing up the subject.
No, a part of him whispered the truth. He had hoped to make it so clear to his daughter that she would cease inadvertently poking at his wounded parts. That was why he had withdrawn. It had been a form of punishment. And though he had seldom lashed out at Lizzy, this latest time had left a wound not easily, nor fully, healed.
Did his other daughters feel that way? In his youth, he had honed his talent for words to use them with a fencer's skill, never stopping to consider whether his sarcastic comments might injure more than another's argument. Both Lizzy and Jane had taken him to task for his words towards their sisters, but he had not stopped to consider precisely how damaging his words might have been. He had trained Lizzy in debate, and she had seemed to enjoy the parry and thrust of a good argument without being hurt. His other daughters, though . . . and perhaps even Lizzy herself at one time or another—had his sword only cut them to the quick instead of engaging or spurring them on?
How could he have made such a mess of his own life? He had been so blind! So unwilling to see what was right in front of him. Lizzy had the right of it—he had been lashing out at everyone in his path simply because he was disappointed with his life, with himself.
He deserved to lose Lizzy. "I should never have treated you so," he murmured, pain overflowing in the unconscious admission.
Lizzy drew in another deep breath. "No, you should not have. But if you are willing to build something with those conditions, I am willing to forgive. Heaven knows that I have my own faults and have had to ask for others' forgiveness."
Bennet's gaze flew up to study her expression. She seemed entirely sincere, giving him a tentative smile. "Thank you, my dear. That means more to me than you know. I shall do my best to do better."
"I would like that."
From there, Bennet led the conversation into questions about Charlotte, the tenants, what new skills Lizzy was working on, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy, attempting to choose topics of interest to his daughter rather than himself. Surprisingly, Lizzy was extremely complimentary of Mr. Darcy and said that he was someone who learned from his mistakes.
Throughout the whole, Lizzy remained tentative, as though waiting for him to mock her or to withdraw. He was reminded of the conversations he had had with Mary and Kitty. They both seemed almost unable to believe that he wished to hear their answers and waited after every question as though expecting him to take it back.
Bennet forced himself to be gentle in his responses, attempting to mimic Sempill's manner of speaking to first year students. He did not critique any of their replies, merely enjoying the fact that his daughters, particularly Lizzy, were speaking to him about anything. After the last few weeks of silence, he had been worried that his daughters might never allow him into their lives.
Watching Lizzy's guarded expression now, Bennet was hopeful that it was just a matter of proving that his repentance was sincere and lasting.
"Who would have guessed that we would have less time alone now that we are engaged?" Darcy murmured to Elizabeth as the suggestion for the party to walk out had been met with general approbation. At least their respective sisters had been kind enough to provide a semblance of privacy by walking distantly enough that they could converse without being overheard if they spoke quietly—at least for the moment.
Elizabeth sighed. "Not I. After a month of Mama manoeuvring to provide time alone . . . . I suppose she is so secure in our engagements that she no longer sees the necessity for privacy."
Darcy smiled down at his beloved. "You have certainly already caught me."
"I caught you?" Elizabeth said, one eyebrow raised.
"Is that not why your mother pushed Bingley and Miss Bennet together-and us by extension-prior to their engagement? Because she was giving Miss Bennet the opportunity to catch Bingley?"
"I do not believe she expected me to catch you," Elizabeth said dryly.
Darcy gazed into her eyes. "That is because she was so focused on Bingley that she could not see how intrigued I was with you at the first."
"Oh?"
He hesitated, not wanting to disturb old wounds, but wishing to share his realisation. "I would not have insulted you had I not felt so threatened."
Elizabeth pulled away slightly.
Darcy drew her close. "Hear me out. Bingley can attest that, though I have been known for my reserve amongst the ton, I am rarely that rude. I believe I reacted so strongly because a part of me knew you were a real threat. I did not recognise how much you intrigued me until later, but you had already caught me during our initial meeting."
Elizabeth chuckled. "You have an odd way of showing your attraction, William. I hope that any further interest on your part will be conveyed by means other than insults towards me."
"Of course! You know that I think you are lovely beyond anyone, my darling. Lovely, intelligent, witty, inventive, industrious, vivacious, altogether wonderful . . . ."
"I shall leave it to you to exaggerate my good qualities and soften my bad ones," Elizabeth said with a laugh, a blush staining her cheeks.
"I do not think such a thing will be necessary given how many good qualities you possess."
Elizabeth squeezed his hand. "Is it terrible to say that I miss you?"
Darcy shook his head, wishing they had the privacy for him to embrace her fully. "Not at all. I find myself in a similar predicament. It is—maddening to be always surrounded by people and to have our conversations regularly interrupted or curtailed."
"Only three more weeks," Elizabeth said with a sigh.
"I know you said that you do not wish to alter Darcy House, but when we are in London next week, you ought to tour it again to ensure you have not changed your mind," he said with a hint of anxiety. Elizabeth would not be driven away by something so trivial as furniture, but still, he worried that she might be uncomfortable.
"William, your mother did an excellent job with Darcy House; I see no need to change it."
"Still—for my peace of mind, will you consider the matter? I want you to feel at home in Darcy House and Pemberley—is it not customary for the bride to redo her new home to ensure it matches her specifications?" he asked, recalling the many times Miss Bingley had alluded to said custom and mused to her sister about the things she would change at her future home as compared to Netherfield.
Elizabeth smiled at him. "It delights me greatly to know that you want me to be comfortable in your homes. I, too, wish you and Georgiana to be comfortable, and I do not believe it would be in Georgiana's best interest if I were to change things simply for the sake of change. I may discover some things after living in the house that I wish to change, but for now, I do not believe any changes to be necessary." She hesitated. "Unless it would make you uncomfortable to leave the mistress's suite as it is? Will it bring up painful memories?"
Darcy shook his head. "Not at Darcy House. At Pemberley . . . I do not know." The sight of his mother wasting away in her bed filled his mind's eye, and he suppressed a shudder. "Honestly, I have not set foot in the mistress's chambers at Pemberley since my mother died. It felt wrong to enter her rooms and find her gone, but I have not been able to bring myself to get rid of its contents."
"Of course not—you would not wish to get rid of the things you still have of hers," Elizabeth said compassionately. "Perhaps we may simply rearrange some of the furniture? I wonder if Georgiana would want something of your mother's in her room?"
"I had not thought of that," he said, beginning to relax. "I look forward to seeing what you do with the rooms."
Conversation moved to Pemberley and what sorts of tenants they had and what the estate was like. Darcy had already told Elizabeth much about the improvements he had enacted at Pemberley before, but it felt entirely different now to discuss the same fields and share his hopes and dreams for Pemberley with his future wife. In a little over a fortnight, they could begin their life together in earnest.
The second trip to London seemed to go even faster than the first. Mrs. Bennet had remained at Longbourn with her husband as he had requested her presence and assistance with the tenants. The resultant blush that had covered Mrs. Bennet's cheeks had left Elizabeth wondering what precisely was going on with her parents. Mr. Bennet had been rather more attentive to his wife of late, but then he had been attentive to everyone.
Elizabeth was trying to accept her father and to allow him to regain her trust, but conversation remained stilted. Despite their commitment to building bridges, there was still too much hurt, on both sides, for real ease.
It made Elizabeth all the more thankful for the progress that had been made with her mother. Mrs. Bennet's tone no longer held the impatience and annoyance that had formerly characterized their interactions. Whether that was due to the changes at Longbourn or Elizabeth's success at snaring a wealthy husband, Elizabeth did not know. Regardless, she was grateful for the reprieve. In addition to the relational progress, her mother had visited the tenants several times over the past weeks and was gradually becoming more adept at it. She had professed a real enjoyment of chatting with the ladies, and Elizabeth's three youngest sisters had confided that their most pressing problem was to ensure Mrs. Bennet's visits did not become overlong.
For this trip, Elizabeth had managed to convince William that Georgiana ought to be fitted for a dress as well. Kitty was thrilled at the prospect and had produced heaps of sketches. After some discussion, Elizabeth and William had decided to invite Lady Matlock to Georgiana's appointment. Elizabeth hoped that seeing the dresses Madame Cluett had made and the woman's manner with Georgiana might soften Lady Matlock's objections.
It was Elizabeth's first taste of how difficult it had been for William to raise Georgiana. She was his sister, but she was also his ward. And once they were married, Elizabeth would share that responsibility. She was not sure how Lady Matlock would handle the transition. After having been so involved in her niece's life, would she resent Elizabeth's interference?
William had argued that Lady Matlock had been adamant that he marry so that Georgie would have another woman to help her mature and would be glad of the assistance; Elizabeth was less confident.
"Good morning," Madame Cluett said as they entered. Per William's instructions, only Madame Cluett and her most trusted helpers were to be present. They did not yet wish word to reach the ton, and Lady Matlock's visit would be significant.
Lady Matlock nodded regally, while Mrs. Gardiner returned Madame Cluett's greeting. Elizabeth hastily introduced her Aunt Madeleine, her sisters, and Lady Matlock to each other. After that, they began fitting Elizabeth's dresses. The moment she showed the group her first dress, Lady Matlock circled her, scrutinising every inch of the dress. She then imperiously questioned Madame Cluett about her style choices.
Fortunately, Madame Cluett was well-qualified to respond intelligently, and by the end of their lengthy exchange, Lady Matlock appeared to view the modiste with respect. As the fitting continued, in between putting on and taking off dresses, Elizabeth observed her aunt heroically attempting to chat with Lady Matlock. After a few conversational gambits, they stumbled upon the topic of Mary Wollstonecraft and became so involved in their discussion that they hardly paid attention to Jane's fitting, only putting in a comment here and there when a dress was especially becoming or needed tweaked in some fashion or another.
When it was Georgiana's turn, the older ladies paused their conversation. Georgiana was diffident, unused to being consulted about her wishes in matters of dress. As Kitty and Madame Cluett showered Georgiana with suggestions, both of them adding to the pile of dress sketches or putting details on existing sketches, and Lady Matlock occasionally added her own thoughts, Elizabeth stood next to her sister-to-be, attempting to support her without making decisions on her behalf.
Kitty finally finished her plethora of ideas with, "Now, Georgie, remember that you are the one who will have to look at this dress every time you wear it. Pick something that makes you feel most alive and most yourself."
Georgiana took a deep breath and once more surveyed the sheaf of sketches that surrounded her. "I like this one," she said, picking up a sketch of a morning dress with trembling fingers, "but I would prefer the sleeves from that other dress." She gestured to a second sketch.
"I think that will be lovely," Elizabeth enthused.
Georgiana gave her a shy smile.
"I do not know why I did not think of that!" Kitty said.
Lady Matlock looked back and forth between the sketches before nodding. "This will be very becoming on you, Georgiana."
After the fitting, Lady Matlock pulled Elizabeth aside. "I have not been able to spend much time with my niece over the past few months, but I am glad to see the changes in her. You might almost be as good for my niece as you have been for my nephew, Miss Elizabeth. I had my doubts, but whatever the ton believes, anyone who can pull my niece from the depression she was in and give her the confidence to speak to a dressmaker is a true asset to our family."
"Thank you very much, Lady Matlock," Elizabeth said, trying to remain composed despite her shock. "I cannot take credit for Georgiana's changes though—she is the one who has done the changing."
Lady Matlock studied her for a moment. "But you and your sisters have provided an environment conducive to such changes. You see, Miss Elizabeth, when children are young, you can control what they learn and can mandate their behavior. However, once they reach Georgiana's age, helping them grow becomes an even more difficult prospect because you cannot do the work for them." Her eyes filled with sorrow. "Anne—Georgiana's mother—would have done just as you have. She believed that it was vital for children to try their wings before being thrust into society."
"That sounds very wise," Elizabeth murmured.
Lady Matlock smiled and clasped Elizabeth's hands. "I believe she would have liked you, Miss Elizabeth."
Before Elizabeth could respond to this surprising pronouncement, Lady Matlock excused herself and left.
Later that night, both the Gardiners spoke to Elizabeth about the Matlocks and how much they had enjoyed spending time with them. While the ladies had been getting dresses fitted, Lord Matlock, William, and Mr. Gardiner had finished arranging Elizabeth's inheritance. After her conversation with Lady Matlock, Elizabeth felt more comfortable accepting the money and less concerned that there might be strings attached to the gift. Her uncle had promised to speak to Mr. Bennet about a loan, as Elizabeth did not feel equal to the task and did not believe her father would respond well to such an offer from her.
By the end of their time in London, Elizabeth had also toured Darcy House and once more confirmed that she did not desire to change anything about the decor. She and William had even managed fragments of privacy sprinkled throughout their week-long visit. On the whole, Elizabeth was pleased with how well the trip had gone.
Darcy stared longingly at the carriage Elizabeth was riding in. Bingley had been uncharacteristically silent, probably caught up in thoughts of how his time in London had gone. He and Miss Bennet had visited Miss Bingley, but Bingley's sister had been less than enthusiastic and they had not stayed long. They were on their way back to Hertfordshire now, and Darcy was grumpy that he would not be able to speak to his beloved for the next several hours, despite being so physically close.
He had already gone years without Elizabeth as his wife; he could wait a fortnight , he reminded himself.
At least he and Elizabeth had been able to steal a half hour alone together while at Darcy House. When Georgiana had ushered the other Bennet sisters into her room, he had taken Elizabeth, ostensibly to finish her inspection. After several kisses and a conversation about the Gardiners and the Matlocks and how the trip was going in general, they had returned to their siblings, but the time alone together had only reminded Darcy of how eager he was to be married to Elizabeth.
Darcy had stopped by to visit the Matlocks the day after the ladies had gone to Madame Cluett's, and Lady Matlock had seemed less opposed to Elizabeth purchasing dresses from that woman. In addition, she had commented that Darcy was right: Elizabeth's experience with her sisters was serving her in good stead with Georgiana; she had never seen Georgiana so at peace and enthusiastic as during their past two visits to London. Both Matlocks had also agreed to come to Pemberley while the Gardiners were visiting, which was something of a shock to Darcy. His Uncle Matlock was progressive and had been complimentary towards Mr. Gardiner, but he had not expected his relatives to be willing to form more than a passing acquaintance with tradesmen.
A part of him chafed at the idea of a houseful of people intruding on his solitude with Elizabeth, but the rest of him quite liked the idea of Bingley and his wife, the Bennets, the Gardiners, and the Matlocks all staying at Pemberley and filling the house with laughter again.
Soon.
Elizabeth Bennet could not stop smiling, despite the thread of sorrow that wove through her as she packed the last of her belongings. Tomorrow she would become Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, and finally she and William could spend time alone together. William had sweetly kissed her hand when he had said farewell today, and the depth of love that had shone from his countenance had left her nearly breathless, even when he had asked one final time if she was sure she wished to marry him—as though she were not fortunate to be doing so! He had pointed out how much she had already had to forgive and asked if she was certain she wished to continue doing so.
Elizabeth wished that William could see himself the way she saw him. Everyone made mistakes. Not everyone learned from their mistakes or tried to rectify them. Yes, he had been a complete boor when they had first met. As William had put it, pride had been his crutch, simultaneously supporting and tainting every step he took. However, he had worked hard to stand without its aid.
She in return remarked of his ability to readily forgive her of her prejudice and had asked if he was certain he wished to marry someone who had a nasty habit of relying on first impressions. William had scoffed, promising that he wished to spend many, many years with such a woman if she were the woman in question.
Rather than allow the argument to devolve into one of those lover's "quarrels" over who loved whom the most, she had merely stated that she was counting the hours until she could promise herself to him.
At the thought, a tiny bubble of anxiety appeared in her stomach. She could not wait to be allowed to speak privately whenever they wished and even for him to hold her again. However, during their second trip to London to complete the final dress fittings, Aunt Madeleine had explained to Jane and Elizabeth what they could expect on their wedding night.
Elizabeth was incredibly grateful to her aunt—her perspective would have been entirely different had her mother's instructions today been the only thing she had learned about the subject. Fortunately, Aunt Madeleine had told them more than Mrs. Bennet's advice to "endure the process while their husbands did what was necessary for heirs." She could not deny a slight anxiety over the matter though.
In addition, she missed her sisters already. A year ago she would have expected to miss Jane and her father, but . . . things had changed so drastically. She already missed their nightly chats, Jane's steady support, playing pianoforte with Mary, watching Kitty rifle through one or the other of their closets and redesign their dresses, and seeing Lydia's enthusiasm for painting and languages.
"How is it that the wedding is tomorrow?" Kitty asked mournfully as she plopped down on Elizabeth's bed.
Elizabeth smiled at her. "Greetings to you too." She had left the door open so that the others could enter whenever they were ready to chat.
Kitty leaned against Elizabeth's bedpost. "It is not going to be the same after tomorrow, is it?"
"Of course not," Lydia said as she waltzed in. "Our dear sisters will only just have managed to escape being on the shelf, and we shall have acres of room once they leave," she added with forced enthusiasm.
Mary sat down next to Kitty and put an arm around her. "It will be different, but we will still have each other. And Georgiana will invite us to Darcy House and Pemberley as often as she may."
Elizabeth chuckled. "Georgiana does intend to spend as much time with all of us together as possible. She has already declared that your visit to Pemberley shall have to be at least an annual tradition, if not more often. It would not surprise me in the least if she issues yearly invites to all of you and the Gardiners—"
"And the Bingleys," Jane added with a smile as she entered. "Well, at least Charles and me."
"And probably the Matlocks too," Elizabeth continued.
Kitty smiled. "So I ought to ensure that I am available for at least a month every summer for the rest of my life?"
Lydia laughed. "Yes." She sobered slightly. "And we must all promise to write regularly."
"I shall write you as often as I can, Lyddie, and send it over with a stableboy," Jane said teasingly.
Mary snorted, and Lydia glared at her sisters with mock rage.
"We shall all of us have to stay in touch." Elizabeth looked around at the circle of sisters, her heart aching at the thought that they would likely never again all live under one roof. "I will miss you all."
"I will too," Jane said.
"It is different, isn't it?" Lydia said thoughtfully. "I never really thought about what it would be like when one of us married."
Elizabeth nodded. "I am not sure that we could have imagined this scenario anyway—I was just contemplating how different things are now than they were a year ago."
"I am glad we started talking," Kitty said, reaching out to squeeze Elizabeth's hand.
"As am I," Mary agreed.
Elizabeth smiled. "I am too."
"I have certainly enjoyed the past few months of unity," Jane said. "I only wish we had done so earlier."
"I am not sure that we could have," Mary said thoughtfully.
Lydia flopped back on the bed, a pout on her face. "I want to disagree, but I suppose you are right. It took a while for Lizzy to realize what treasures we are," she added teasingly.
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. "Not for you to realize what a treasure I am?"
"That too, I suppose." Lydia frowned. "Are you nervous at all?"
"About what?"
Lydia sat up. "About getting married. No doubts that it shall be less perfect than you expect?" she asked, looking from Elizabeth to Jane.
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a look. Perhaps now would be a good opportunity to show Lydia that one could look forward to marriage?
"I am looking forward to marrying William—but that has more to do with who he is than with getting married in general."
Jane nodded. "If Charles were not such a good man, I would be more nervous. However, he has proven his steadfastness over the past several months and his willingness to go against his family."
Lydia waved a hand as though washing away their words. "Yes, yes, we know that your betrotheds are paragons and that you have been dreamy-eyed for weeks—no, months now. But what about . . . is there anything you are nervous about with getting married?"
"I am nervous about how I shall get on with Charles's sisters," Jane said, her forehead creased. "After learning they were so false last autumn, I am not sure how to treat them. I do not think I shall ever quite trust them."
"Well, we shall be nearby, and if they treat you poorly, they shall have to answer to us," Lydia declared stoutly.
Elizabeth smiled at her sister. Who would have thought that Lydia would one day offer to protect her sisters?
Lydia sobered. "Likewise, should either of your husbands prove to be less trustworthy than they appear."
Elizabeth put a hand on Lydia's shoulder. "Thank you, Lyddie. If you should ever marry and your husband treats you poorly, I hope you will allow us to help you as well."
Lydia fidgeted. "I do not believe I will ever marry. The thought of putting myself so much in one person's power . . . ." She shivered. "I do not like it at all."
"Loving someone does put you in their power," Mary said. "But I do not believe the solution is to never love." She smiled, looking around the circle. "Is it not sisterly love that binds us together? And that has been powerful enough to change Longbourn and perhaps all our fates?"
Jane nodded. "You are right, Mary. Despite making one vulnerable, love is powerful." She held Lydia's gaze. "But I agree that it is not to be lightly entered into. You have already learned the downside of affection—I do not say 'love' because real love does what is best for the beloved, and Mr. Wickham did not embody real love."
Lydia looked about to burst into tears, but only nodded.
"I could not marry William if I did not respect him, but the fact that he is a man who learns from his mistakes and is committed to taking care of his family . . . . I—" Elizabeth searched for the right words. "He has proven that he will do what is best for the people under his care; the way he has raised Georgiana, the way he takes care of his tenants, even the lengths he went to for you—he is not a man who will treat me poorly.
"I look forward to being his wife, to working together for our future, to simply living our lives together—working on the estate, caring for tenants, reading books together, taking walks together, taking care of our children once we have them," she said with a blush. "I just want to be with him in daily life. I do not expect marriage will somehow change everything or that my life will be perfect afterwards—it is not like a fairy tale, if that is what you were referencing earlier. I imagine that we will simply do more of what we have already been doing together."
Lydia sniffed, tears running down her face.
"That is beautiful, Lizzy," Kitty said.
Jane nodded. "I think that is what a good marriage should be: an opportunity to build a life together with someone whom you wish to spend the rest of your life with. I feel the same way about Charles. Getting married will change our relationship somewhat, but in the main, we will simply have more opportunities to enjoy the things we already appreciate about each other."
"It is far more practical than the romance novels one reads," Mary said.
Kitty giggled. "Have you ever read a romance novel, Mary?"
Mary halted. "Fine. I shall amend my statement: it is more practical than what I have heard about romance novels."
"I wish it was more like a romance novel," Lydia said forlornly. "Where the hero is never untrustworthy and the hero and heroine live happily ever after . . . ."
"I think it is because getting married is the end of the story in romance novels," Kitty said thoughtfully. "Everything seems easy when the couple finally marries, as though getting married makes everything easier, but that is because it is the end of the book."
"When in reality, it is just the beginning of the story," Elizabeth said.
Kitty nodded.
Lydia drew in a deep breath. "I suppose that is why Mr. Wickham was able to deceive me—I was looking for adventure and for ease. I did not think about what life would be like after we got married."
"You will always have a home with me and I would imagine with Jane—"
Jane nodded firmly.
"So you do not need to marry if you do not want to, Lydia," Elizabeth said. "But I hope that you will make that decision based upon your own preferences, rather than in reaction to Mr. Wickham. Otherwise, he will have stolen something from you. He will be making that decision for you, and he has no right to do so. Make your own decision when you are ready."
A tremulous smile spread over Lydia's face. "Thank you. I shall be the best aunt you have ever seen."
Elizabeth returned her smile, imagining Lydia romping around with children. She would certainly be a fun aunt, and considering that Elizabeth had made that same declaration to Jane, Elizabeth would hold out hope that Lydia would someday move past her unwillingness to marry as a result of Mr. Wickham and truly make up her own mind.
"Truly, are you nervous at all about getting married, Lizzy?" Kitty asked.
Elizabeth thought for a moment. "I am nervous that William and Georgie will suffer the ton's displeasure and that it will affect Georgie's prospects."
Kitty scoffed. "Georgie says that if someone is enough of a ninny to be put off by William marrying you, then they are too much of a ninny for her to marry."
Jane chuckled. "I am certain she phrased it just so."
"Indeed," Elizabeth said, laughing at the thought of sweet Georgiana ever calling someone a "ninny."
"Well, it was the substance of what she said!"
"She is right, you know," Jane told Elizabeth. "If someone is put off by you, then they are not the right sort of person for Georgiana."
Lydia blew her nose. "Perhaps it will act as a deterrent for the prigs. Maybe you will be doing Georgiana a favor."
"Perhaps," Elizabeth said. She had told herself something similar (and so had William), but that did not stop her from worrying. If Georgiana or William suffered because of her, she would be crushed. Lord Matlock's words came back to her: she could not get obsessed with status or chasing after the ton's approval—it would only leave her their slave.
"I am—" Mary cleared her throat. "I am nervous about leaving Longbourn this summer and about how to manage things while you are gone, Lizzy. I know that Papa has moved forward with the improvements you designed, but what if he changes his mind or becomes restless and gives up on the changes?"
"I worry about that too, Mary," Elizabeth said with a sigh. "I have reminded myself several times that worrying about tomorrow only steals today's strength. Papa has shown himself to be open to reproof when it is offered by someone he respects; I am hopeful that his current changes will continue. But if they do not, perhaps we may appeal to Professor Sempill."
"Charles and I will be nearby as well," Jane said. "And Charles intends to continue speaking with Papa regularly about what improvements he may enact at Netherfield. He is hopeful that the conversation will encourage Papa to stay the course."
Mary smiled at Jane. "It is nice to have Mr. Bingley looking out for us. I hope his involvement will help Papa."
"Papa has certainly changed over the past two months," Elizabeth said, thinking about the conversation she had had with him nearly a month ago. The fact that he had asked for a second chance was staggeringly different than how he had treated her in the past. The Mr. Bennet of last year would never have admitted fault, let alone offered the sort of apology he had given or asked for another opportunity. Had she not been so familiar with his little quirks, she would have thought a different man had returned from Cambridge.
The girls nodded.
"Have you noticed how he has been treating Mama?" Jane asked, a soft smile on her face. "She actually blushed today when he said he was certain she would put on a wedding breakfast all of Hertfordshire would be impressed by."
Lydia giggled. "It is nice to see, even if I would rather not walk in on them kissing."
"You walked in on them kissing?" Kitty asked incredulously.
Lydia nodded. "The day before yesterday. I left Mama alone in the sitting-room when I went to retrieve the ribbon for my bonnet upstairs, and when I came back, they were kissing."
Mary blinked at her. "I hope it was not indecent."
"I think it is sweet that he is wooing her," Kitty said.
"I agree!" Lydia proclaimed. "Besides, maybe it will keep Mama too busy to concentrate on finding a husband for me. That is what I am most nervous about," she said, trying and failing to seem at ease.
Mary took her hand. "Kitty and I will still be here. We will do our best to shield you."
"We will!" Kitty agreed. She glanced around the circle before turning her attention to her nightgown and beginning to pluck at the fabric. "I am most nervous about having Mama and Papa's attention too," she confessed in a low voice. "Although I am not concerned that Mama will focus on finding me a husband. Well, perhaps I am nervous about that too, but mostly I am nervous for them to pay attention to me. It has been so strange having Papa ask me how my projects are going or for Mama to compliment me on my dress. What if—" She took a deep breath, her eyes sliding closed as though she could not bear to see their reaction. "What if they do not like what they see? I am not—good-humored like you, Lydia, or beautiful like you, Jane, or clever like you, Lizzy, or accomplished like you, Mary. What if—what if they regret having me as their daughter?"
Elizabeth, who was sitting next to Kitty, gathered her tense sister in her arms. Kitty squeaked in surprise.
"Then they are fools," Elizabeth said firmly.
The rest of her sisters agreed.
"I do not think that will happen, though," Jane put in softly. "Papa at least seems willing to recognize that we have all changed in his absence and is trying to see us from a fresh perspective."
Kitty shivered, and Elizabeth held her tighter. "You will always have a home with Jane and me. All of you. If Papa does revert, you do not have to stay at Longbourn."
"And just as Lydia will not be alone, nor will you," Mary put in.
Elizabeth looked around at her sisters, marvelling at the way they had grown, both individually and together. Her heart overflowed with gratitude. Providence had been good to them.
A/N: Y'all, I cannot believe I'm saying this, but we are almost to the end! Depending on my betas, you'll get the rest of the story next week or the week after.
Thank you so much for all the reviews and engagement! I know I say that every week, but I feel so privileged to be able to share this story with you guys and for you to share your thoughts on it and to encourage me.
Thanks to my betas, Arendelle, Dawn, and Roberta who edited this chapter for me! They did such a great job!
As always, if you notice something amiss, please point it out. It really helps me with final edits and with not completely butchering Regency culture ;)