Chapter 40

Willicot, Derbyshire

The Darcys collected Mary on their drive north, grateful her husband had decided to remain home with his parishioners and children; Mary moralised far less when parted from him. It was a strange, short visit for Elizabeth, who realised she could not be certain she would ever return to this neighbourhood again for any length of time. They would stop on the way to or from Derbyshire to visit with Mary and her family, but the Darcys would not have the patience for a multi-day visit with just the Thompsons. Someday Charlotte Collins would live there again, but there was no certainty that she would invite the Darcys to stay at Longbourn – Elizabeth and Charlotte had grown apart since their marriages. Perhaps she should write to Charlotte, Elizabeth thought. Perhaps in this season of renewing friendships, one of her oldest should be revisited.

Mr. Darcy carried the special license for the couple and handed it over to Henry upon their reception in the great hall. They found Henry looking both healthy and happy, while Kitty was positively glowing with anticipation.

"You will find your father with my father in the library, Mrs. Darcy," said Henry. "The two of them are already thick as thieves."

Elizabeth embraced her sister tight, whispering her congratulations, then left them to go to the library. Unlike Pemberley, Willicot made little attempt to hide her age; some rooms had been updated during the late countess's tenure, but otherwise it was a large, rambling old place, and Elizabeth traversed its rooms with a faint smile upon her face until she reached the library. Her smile broadened as she found Mr. Bennet bent over a chess table opposite the Earl of Sudbury, both of them focused upon their game.

Kitty's marriage to Henry had filled her with happiness on Kitty's behalf, but beyond this, Elizabeth had recognised the benefits it would bring to much of her family. No longer would Kitty be Mr. Bennet's sole companion, and he now lived far closer to the majority of his living daughters.

Quietly, she approached him, the earl's eyes twinkling as she came up behind her father, laying her hands down on papa's shoulders and leaning over to kiss his forehead.

Papa started just slightly, then chuckled. "Lizzy, my dear – I am so glad to see you healthy – and free." With effort, he rose to give her a tight hug, then Elizabeth encouraged him to resume his seat and his game, promising to return after she had ensured the children were settled in the nursery.

That nursery, having not been occupied for many years, began to fill in the coming days. The Bingleys arrived two days after the Darcys, and the day following that brought the Colbournes. They entered as a family, little Julia nestled in Georgiana's arms and Philip's arm on his wife's back as he ushered them into the hall. Elizabeth watched them carefully, searching herself for any maternal regret. She found none. Julia was a Colbourne now, a deeply loved child, and while Elizabeth could still recall the night she was conceived, could still recall carrying her, that time had faded in Julia's absence. It did not renew itself in Julia's presence.

She looked over to William and noticed him watching her with concern. Quietly, she reached out for his hand and clasped it. "All is well," she murmured. "Julia is where she belongs."

Its elderly contingent had long since gone to bed when Henry finally entered the library. He felt a little unsettled, knowing he was to be wed the following morning, but the sensation was not unpleasant. Tonight was the last night of this bachelor vigil; come tomorrow, there would be a warm, sweet bedfellow awaiting him.

Kitty. Dear, sweet Kitty! It had never occurred to him that he could merit that sort of devotion, and he wished he had comprehended it sooner – even if this comprehension would not have coincided with the means to marry.

"I thought I might find you in here," stated Darcy. "Do you wish to be alone?"

Henry turned to his cousin and grinned. "You are welcome to join me, so long as you do not intend some drunken send-off into married life. My constitution is not yet ready for that."

"Fortunately for you, a second brandy still makes my head swim. Will you have one, though?"

Henry said that he would and waited as his cousin poured them out and then came over with the glasses.

"To Kitty," Darcy said, raising his glass.

"To Kitty." Henry clinked his cousin's glass and took a sip. His father's best, perhaps sent up from town for the occasion. It was the sort of thing papa would do.

"I must admit it was a surprise, when first you turned your attentions towards her," said Darcy. "But of course I had seen nothing of Kitty over the past few years."

"I had not seen much more of her – I wish that I had. I might have known my own heart sooner."

Darcy nodded, but there was something of scepticism in his brow.

"I know what you are thinking, Darcy. It would be unnatural, were you to think otherwise. There are qualities of your wife's that I like very well, but I love them still better in her sister, and Kitty has other qualities that I prefer. So do not fear I am settling for the available sister."

"You have hit upon it rather more accurately than I could wish."

Henry chuckled. "You got the best Bennet sister for yourself, I got the best one for myself, and I dare say Bingley would state unequivocally that he got the best one for himself."

"If Mrs. Bennet were still alive, she would be tremendously pleased, to hear you speak of three such marriageable daughters. Although she would still like Bingley the best."

"Ha! If she did, you know I would make it my mission to charm the lady."

"Hmpf. You might well succeed. Bingley is not making his lady a countess."

"I try not to think about that too often."

"I am sorry, I should not have mentioned it. Of course it would be a sensitive topic."

"You meant no harm, and I know it."

Darcy sipped his brandy. "I am so pleased for you, Henry. To both myself and my wife, you have been the dearest friend possible, and I am more grateful to you than I can ever say. You deserve every possible happiness in your marriage, and I wish you shall have it."

Kitty awoke the morning of her wedding, her stomach churning with anticipation as she realised the day was finally there – her life was about to wholly change. Tonight, she would go to bed as Henry Fitzwilliam's wife. She missed her mother in that moment, and had some few moments of amusement as she thought of how Mrs. Bennet might be if she was still alive, fluttering about Kitty's bedchamber in nervous excitement, exclaiming over her daughter's noble marriage. She missed mama, and she missed Lydia, even if she was no longer the person who had got on so well with her younger sister.

Instead, Kitty had the calm presence of her sisters and their maids, aiding her in dressing in her lavender silk gown. The dress was lovely, the first of many required to form the trousseau of a viscountess, the colour a concession to her new family's status of half-mourning, but such a lovely silk that Kitty did not mind. In truth, she was glad the Fitzwilliams would still be in half-mourning for some time, and that it seemed likely they should reside primarily at Willicot for the next few years. It would give her time to adjust to her new station, and while running a house of this size would be some challenge after Longbourn, Lizzy and Jane had given her much encouragement, and thus Kitty felt optimism in her ability to do so.

The special license enabled them to hold the ceremony in the great hall, making attendance easy, even for the eldest in the party. Mr. Bennet had not felt confident enough in his knees to walk his daughter to the makeshift altar, and so Kitty walked thither on Charles Bingley's arm, her brother-in-law as chipper as ever he had been, to perform such an office.

She almost stopped walking, upon first sighting Henry, standing there beside Mr. Darcy. Her younger self would have wanted him wearing his regimentals, his broad shoulders encased in his red coat. Her present self was very well pleased by his black coat and trousers, for his countenance bore good colour and showed no sign of lingering pain. He still had a little stiffness from his wounds, Kitty knew, and likely would for some time, but she could still remember that awful night in the library with perfect clarity. On that night, she would have been grateful simply to know he could return to health. Instead, she was meeting him as his bride.

He smiled, and Kitty's heart swelled.

The ceremony was quick, but the wedding breakfast was a long, leisurely affair. Such events were ordinarily the first, formal melding of two families, but this one was formed of one extended family that had already been joined by the Darcys's marriage, and revelled in the strengthening of their ties. Still more, after the events of the past few years, they could finally celebrate the peace within their lives, and celebrate they did. Some might have said that it was not appropriate, given the groom's portion of the family were still in half-mourning for the former Viscount Ashbourne, but since no-one who would have said such things had been invited, they were all left to happiness.

It was evening, by the time Henry took up his new bride's hand to lead her off to their chambers, Kitty's countenance sweetly tinged with pink. Elizabeth had left it to Jane, to communicate with their sister as to what she might expect from her wedding night. Although Elizabeth had every certainty of Henry's being a considerate husband – in that and every other matter – her own experiences had been so varied, she did not wish to leave herself open to questioning by Kitty, questions that would not always have good answers, if answered honestly. The marriage bed could be the most awful place in the world and the most wonderful place in the world; Elizabeth assumed it would always be the latter for Kitty, and there was no need for her sister to consider that it could indeed be otherwise.

Mr. Bennet and the earl were next to indicate an intent to depart, and Mary took it upon herself to lead them off, having sat through far more revelry than was her usual wont. Georgiana and Philip remained for some time after this, but eventually her desire to check on Julia in the nursery won out, and Sir Philip followed his wife out, leaving the Darcys and the Bingleys.

Despite all the changes in Elizabeth's life, the Bingleys remained two of the dearest people to her heart, and she was glad to be there, just the four of them drinking tea (and ale) in family conviviality. She gazed at them each in turn: dear, sweet Jane, who had sought to protect her younger sister, who had been Elizabeth's staunchest supporter through the good times and the difficult times; dear, good-hearted Charles, who had set into motion Elizabeth's marriage to her husband, then brought about their reunification. They did not speak of such heavy topics, instead focusing their conversation on the children, on their hopes for the future.

It was late, by the time they all agreed it was time to go up to the nursery and check on those children, then retire. The children were all well, although very amenable to snuggles from their parents. William took up his wife's hand as they left the nursery, quietly walking back downstairs to their apartment.

"Today has been a wonderful day," Elizabeth said, as they entered the bedchamber. "They both deserve all of the happiness I hope shall come to them. I must admit the match surprised me at first, but it should not have. Both of them have devoted so much of their time to the welfare of others."

"As have you."

Elizabeth bowed her head, moments later feeling his hand on her cheek.

"Do you avoid my praise, or do you not wish to think on this topic?"

"A little of both, I think. Not that I would not do anything, to ensure the welfare of the children, but – "

"But if there is anything to be done in the future, I hope you will leave it to me. You have fought hard for our family. If there is any fighting left – and I pray there is not – you must give it over to me. You must let me take on such endeavours."

Elizabeth smiled, her heart peaceful and deeply content. "And what am I to do?" she asked, archly.

"Be happy and be loved," he stated simply. "Take that inner spark of yours and let it glow – let your family rejoice in how it glows."

"Very well, then. Take me home to Pemberley and love me, and all else will follow."