I want to say a huge wonderful can't seem to put into words, thank you for the reviews on this story. There really was no negativity, except for trolls (and they don't count). I loved the feed back even with it was critical as it was offered with kindness. This is their Friday, I hope you enjoy it as much as they do.
Chapter 29 Wait, what day is it?
A clock chimed six.
One. Two. Three. The rhythm became more distinct, resonating in his chest. Four. Five. Six.
Darcy blinked against the dim light, his breath slow and steady as wakefulness settled upon him. Something was different.
Reality drifted in, not with the weight of despair, but with something softer, something lighter. Elizabeth had accepted his hand. He had held her in his arms, kissed her for the first time beneath the glow of the lanterns in the Rosings garden. He had won her love, and no matter what day it was, that knowledge filled him with a quiet, aching joy.
He turned his head toward the bedside table, where the candle stood. The wax was barely melted, the wick hardly burned. He stilled. A strange thing to note, yet it gave him pause. He had not burned a candle so late last night—or had he? His hand hovered above the sheets for a moment before he pushed them back and sat up.
No gust of wind rattled the windowpane. No distant dog barked into the morning air. It was quiet, still, expectant.
Was it Thursday? Was it Friday? Had time finally relinquished its hold, or was he merely looking for signs where there were none?
He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. The day ahead would tell him soon enough. But whether it was the end of the loop or another beginning, one thing remained certain—Elizabeth was his, and he was hers.
And that was everything.
"Good morning, sir," Wentworth said with a slight bow as he entered the room, his movements measured and precise. "I trust you slept well? Your bath is ready." Wentworth moved about the room with quiet efficiency, straightening Darcy's desk as he continued, "John returned late last evening with correspondence from London. I've placed it here for your attention. Lady Catherine has requested your presence at breakfast at seven."
The warmth of the water soothed his tense muscles, though it did little to quiet the storm in his mind. The day loomed before him like an unanswered question. Was it still Thursday? Or had time finally moved forward? The thought circled in his mind, but he had no answer, nor any way of knowing. And truly, did it matter?
Elizabeth had accepted him. That was all that mattered.
A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned back in the bath, letting the water ease away the tension in his shoulders. The memory of her words, of the way she had looked at him, the way she had returned his kiss—nothing could take that from him now. Whether it was Thursday or Friday, he had won her heart, and with it, he had found peace.
When Darcy returned to his chambers, a towel draped over his shoulders, Wentworth stood ready with a fresh robe and his usual unspoken precision. Darcy allowed himself a rare moment of gratitude for Wentworth's discretion. The valet's calm competence was a welcome contrast to his own chaotic thoughts.
Wentworth began the familiar ritual of shaving Darcy, his steady hand a quiet anchor in the room. The rhythmic scrape of the blade against his skin allowed Darcy's mind to wander—to Elizabeth.
His gaze drifted toward the dressing table where his waistcoat and coat lay prepared. He stepped forward, barely paying attention as Wentworth assisted him into his shirt. His mind was still elsewhere when he reached for the waistcoat—only to pause. His brows drew together. The fabric was different.
"Wentworth," he said slowly, running a hand over the material. "This is not the blue waistcoat I expected."
Wentworth hesitated before responding, "You wore that yesterday, sir. I assumed you would prefer a change."
Darcy looked up sharply, his pulse quickening. Yesterday. The word settled over him like a quiet revelation. His waistcoat had always been blue on Thursday. Today, it was green.
For the first time, Darcy allowed himself to believe.
He caught Wentworth's mildly confused expression and forced a composed nod. "Yes, of course. That was… sensible of you."
As Wentworth adjusted the waistcoat over Darcy's shoulders and set to fastening his coat, Darcy caught his reflection in the mirror. His outward appearance was as it always was—impeccable. Yet the man staring back at him was a stranger, torn between duty and longing.
"Very good, sir," Wentworth said at last, stepping back. "You are ready."
Darcy nodded absently, his gaze lingering on his reflection for a moment longer. Then, with a resolute breath, he turned away.
Descending the grand staircase, his steps were measured and deliberate, though his thoughts were anything but composed. He entered the breakfast room, expecting the familiar scene, yet somehow, everything felt subtly altered.
Anne sat at the table, a cup of tea in her hands, she held herself with the quiet confidence of someone who had found her place. Fitzwilliam lounged beside her, sipping his coffee with his usual air of amusement. The three of them exchanged knowing glances—this was still Rosings, still Lady Catherine's domain, but something had changed. They had changed.
Moments later, Lady Catherine swept into the room with all the regal authority of a monarch, her sharp eyes scanning the scene as though expecting to find something amiss. Fitzwilliam sat up a little straighter, though his smirk remained. Darcy, too, felt an odd sense of anticipation, as if the very air in the room had shifted.
"Good morning, Darcy. Anne," Lady Catherine said briskly, taking her seat. "You are both punctual today—most commendable."
Anne offered a simple nod, her expression unreadable. Fitzwilliam, however, leaned slightly toward her and murmured, "Perhaps punctuality should be rewarded, then. Shall I pour your tea, Anne?"
Anne shot him a sidelong glance, amusement dancing in her gaze. "A most gallant offer, Richard, though I believe I am quite capable of managing it myself."
Darcy noted the exchange, the easy familiarity between them, and the way Fitzwilliam did not immediately draw back, but rather seemed to consider her words with something new in his expression—something softer, more thoughtful.
Lady Catherine waved a dismissive hand. "Sleep is hardly a concern when one has the responsibilities I bear. Rosings requires constant vigilance, as you well know. Anne, I trust you have not overexerted yourself? You look well enough, though I am sure that is only because I take such great care to ensure your comfort."
Darcy and Fitzwilliam exchanged a glance, but before either could speak, Anne answered with a calm authority neither of them had ever heard from her before. "I am quite well, Mother. In fact, I have never been better."
Fitzwilliam's gaze flickered toward her again, something unreadable in his eyes, though he said nothing.
Lady Catherine blinked, clearly unprepared for such a response. But before she could press the matter further, the moment came. Darcy tensed, waiting for the inevitable—the footman dropping the silver tray, the loud crash that had echoed through so many mornings before.
But it did not happen.
The footman moved with perfect grace, setting the tray down smoothly. The room remained silent, undisturbed.
Darcy's breath caught. Across the table, Fitzwilliam's hand froze on his cup, and Anne's eyes widened. They turned to one another, realization dawning in perfect clarity. It was Friday.
A stunned moment passed before Fitzwilliam exhaled a quiet laugh. Anne's lips parted, her eyes shining, and Darcy felt a slow, victorious smile tug at his lips. Relief, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of triumph filled them all at once.
"What on earth are you three gawking at?" Lady Catherine snapped, her gaze bouncing between them. "Cease this ridiculous display at once! Such nonsense is unbefitting of this house. I will not tolerate it!"
Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and Anne looked at one another again, barely able to contain their delight. Lady Catherine's irritation only seemed to embolden them further.
Then, Anne did something none of them expected—she turned to her mother, squared her shoulders, and in a voice clear and unwavering, said, "I am the mistress of Rosings, Mother. And I will act as I please."
Lady Catherine stiffened, her lips pursing in displeasure. "You are my daughter, Anne. You have always been fragile, too weak to—"
"I am not fragile," Anne interrupted, her tone unwavering. "Nor am I weak. And your time controlling Rosings is coming to an end. I found Father's papers."
Lady Catherine's nostrils flared. "What papers? You have seen your father's will. I have allowed you to do so, but you have always been too sick to manage Rosings, and you have always entrusted me with its affairs."
Anne's expression did not waver. "Not those papers. I mean the ones in the locked bottom left drawer of Father's desk."
Lady Catherine's features remained schooled in neutrality, but something flickered in her eyes. "That is where your father's will is stored. That is why it is locked. There is nothing else of consequence there."
Anne tilted her head ever so slightly, watching her mother intently. "No, Mother. I mean the papers stored in the false bottom of that drawer."
The blood drained from Lady Catherine's face.
Fitzwilliam sat forward slightly, watching her closely. There was something proud in his expression, something almost… protective. Darcy did not miss the way Anne's hands trembled slightly before she steadied them, or the way Fitzwilliam's fingers tightened subtly around his cup, as though resisting the urge to reach for her.
For the first time in Darcy's memory, Lady Catherine was speechless.
Anne held her gaze steadily, waiting, daring her mother to argue. But Lady Catherine only inhaled sharply, her composure cracking. Without another word, she rose from her chair, straightened her skirts, and declared, "I must go lie down."
She swept from the room, her usual imperious stride faltering ever so slightly.
As soon as the door shut behind her, Anne let out a breath and turned to the others. "Well. That went better than expected."
Fitzwilliam threw his head back and laughed, clapping his cousin on the shoulder. "Anne, I do believe you have just won the battle of Rosings."
Anne tilted her head toward him, her lips twitching. "A battle, perhaps, but not yet the war."
Fitzwilliam grinned. "Then I suppose you shall need an ally."
Darcy studied them both, his expression turning serious. "What exactly did you find?"
Anne and Fitzwilliam exchanged a glance before Anne spoke. "About eight Thursdays ago, while you were rescuing Violet and walking with Elizabeth, we discovered the papers. We decided not to show you immediately because—" she hesitated, casting a glance toward Fitzwilliam.
Fitzwilliam picked up the explanation, his voice laced with quiet fury. "Because Lady Catherine has been bribing officials to evict tenants without legal grounds, forcing them to either pay her exorbitant rents or leave with nothing."
Darcy stiffened. "What tenants?"
Anne swallowed. "The Bendricks were next."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
The impact of those words settled on all of them. If Thursday had not repeated, they would never have found the paperwork. They would not have come to love and care for the Bendricks. And most of all, they would not have known that Violet—bright, clever, fearless Violet—was at risk of losing her home.
Darcy surged to his feet, his fury barely contained. "Then I shall take them to Pemberley. They will want for nothing. I will not allow—"
"Darcy," Fitzwilliam interrupted, standing as well. "You cannot let your anger rule you. You are not the only one who will protect them."
Anne nodded, steel in her voice. "Violet calls me 'my Lady,' does she not? She trusts that I will take care of them, and I will. Rosings is my home, and I will not allow my mother's greed to destroy what should be mine to govern."
Fitzwilliam placed a steadying hand on Darcy's shoulder. "And I am staying. I will write to my father and make it clear that I intend to remain at Rosings and the reasons why, he will used his influence to make sure Lady Catherine's power ends here. She will never do this again."
Darcy took a long, measured breath, forcing himself to calm. "You are right. We will handle this properly. The Bendricks will not suffer."
Anne reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "No, they will not."
Just as the tension in the room eased, Fitzwilliam glanced at the clock. "We are late. Elizabeth will be waiting."
That was enough to push all other thoughts aside. Darcy nodded sharply. "Then let us not keep her."
The three of them moved toward the entrance hall, stepping out into the morning light—only to be halted by the sight of a carriage pulling up to Rosings' grand entrance.
They all froze, exchanging wary glances.
"Well," Fitzwilliam murmured, "it seems the day has more surprises in store."
Darcy narrowed his eyes, watching as the carriage door swung open. There was something familiar about it, a carriage he had not seen in some time. His breath caught as realization dawned, his grip loosening at his sides.
"Could it be?" he murmured, a flicker of hope rising in his chest.
He stepped forward, his heart pounding as he peered into the carriage. There, seated inside, was his sister, Georgiana, with her ever-composed companion, Mrs. Annesley. The sight of her nearly took the breath from his lungs.
"Georgiana!" he exclaimed, reaching up to offer his hand. She grasped it eagerly, allowing him to help her down, and the moment her feet touched the ground, he pulled her into a firm embrace, holding her as though it had been an eternity since they last saw each other.
She laughed softly against his shoulder. "Brother, you are quite determined to crush me."
"It has been far too long," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Fitzwilliam and Anne were not far behind, watching with warm smiles as the reunion unfolded. Mrs. Annesley, ever the quiet chaperone, was assisted from the carriage by a footman and waited patiently, allowing the family their moment.
Darcy finally pulled back, looking his sister over as though ensuring she was truly there. "Georgiana, what are you doing here?"
She held up a folded letter—the very one he had written on the last Thursday. "Your words made me so curious that I could not help but come and see for myself what was happening."
Darcy exhaled a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief, but before he could respond, Anne stepped forward. "Come inside. You must be exhausted from your journey."
Just as the invitation left her lips, movement from the side of the house caught their attention.
Elizabeth had expected to meet Darcy in their usual lane, but when he did not come, a flicker of worry crossed her face. Had she only dreamed the perfect Thursday? Had he forgotten, after all? She had forgotten so many times—was it possible that now, when she finally remembered, he did not?
Her steps slowed as she took in the unfamiliar carriage, her confusion evident. Her gaze shifted, searching, until she finally saw him—Darcy, standing beside Anne, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and two strangers—a young woman standing close to him and an older woman slightly behind.
Uncertainty flickered across her features, but the moment Darcy spotted her, his entire face transformed with a grin. Without hesitation, he strode toward her, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips in greeting.
"I am sorry, Elizabeth," he murmured, his voice warm. "My sister arrived unexpectedly."
At his words, her expression softened completely, all worry melting away. Of course. That was all.
Darcy turned slightly, keeping her hand in his as he gestured toward the young woman. "Allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, and her companion, Mrs. Annesley."
Elizabeth curtsied politely, Georgiana dipping in response, her eyes full of curiosity as she studied the woman her brother had written so ardently about.
Anne stepped forward then. "Come, Miss Darcy. I will show you and Mrs. Annesley to your rooms so you may refresh yourselves after your journey."
Colonel Fitzwilliam, ever the gentleman, offered his arm to Anne. "Shall we? I believe there is much to discuss."
As they departed, Darcy and Elizabeth remained behind, standing close as a comfortable silence settled between them.
After a moment, Elizabeth spoke, her voice quiet. "When I did not see you in the lane, I—" She hesitated, then took a steadying breath. "For a moment, I feared I had only imagined everything. That I had dreamt it all, and that you had forgotten."
Darcy's grip on her hand tightened slightly, his gaze full of understanding. "I know that fear well. But I could never forget, Elizabeth. Not now, not ever."
Her lips parted slightly at his words, emotion flickering in her eyes. But before either could say more, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted them.
Mr. Collins came striding up the drive, his expression eager, no doubt on his way for his daily meeting with Lady Catherine.
Darcy exhaled through his nose, casting Elizabeth a rueful look. "It seems we shall not have a moment's peace just yet."
Elizabeth laughed softly, her fingers still entwined with his. "No, but I suppose after so many Thursdays, we are well prepared for interruptions."
Mr. Collins, however, did not share in their amusement. His expression darkened as he took in how close Elizabeth stood to Mr. Darcy, his mouth pressing into a disapproving line. He cleared his throat dramatically, puffing up with self-importance before addressing them both.
"Cousin Elizabeth!" he declared. "You must be mindful of appearances. Lady Catherine has often spoken of the understanding between Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. It is most improper for you to stand so closely, let alone in such an intimate manner!"
Darcy's expression tightened, his patience already wearing thin. "Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine's opinions on my future are neither law nor obligation. I have never been engaged to Miss de Bourgh, nor have I ever given any indication that such an arrangement was to my liking."
Mr. Collins's eyes bulged slightly at such a direct contradiction to his patroness's long-standing claims. "B-but, Mr. Darcy, you must understand that Lady Catherine—"
"—has no say in the matter," Darcy cut in smoothly, his voice firm but measured. "My future is mine to determine, and it is in no way improper for me to speak with my betrothed."
Elizabeth's breath caught slightly at how effortlessly he said it, as though daring Collins to challenge the truth of it. But Mr. Collins, ever the sycophant, was not so easily deterred.
"I-I am certain Lady Catherine would be most distressed to hear of such a—such a deviation from her expectations! Indeed, it is most unseemly, and I must urge you, Cousin Elizabeth, to reconsider—"
"That is quite enough, Mr. Collins."
Anne's voice rang out, carrying with it a note of authority none of them had ever heard from her before. She had returned with Fitzwilliam just in time to hear the latter part of Mr. Collins's speech, and her patience had evidently worn thin.
She stepped forward, her posture unwavering. "You have no right to address my guest in such a manner. As for my mother's opinions, they do not dictate my future, nor do they dictate Mr. Darcy's.""
Mr. Collins sputtered, clearly taken aback. "But—but Lady Catherine has always—"
"Is unwell," Anne interrupted. "And she is in no position to receive visitors. You would do well to take your leave."
Mr. Collins hesitated, his mouth working as though he wished to argue, but Anne's unyielding gaze silenced him. With a stiff bow, he conceded. "As you say, Miss de Bourgh. I shall return when Lady Catherine is feeling more herself."
As he shuffled away, Fitzwilliam let out a dramatic sigh. "I swear, if we had been forced to relive the same day until Mr. Collins gained some sense, we would have been trapped forever."
Anne smirked. "Or if my mother had to learn her lesson."
Elizabeth grinned. "Or mine."
They all laughed—except for Darcy, who exhaled softly, turning his gaze to Elizabeth with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I cannot say I would be thrilled to find ourselves back in that loop, at least not at this moment. I do not think I could wait that long for us to be married. I feel as though I have waited forever for you, and now that I have you, I cannot wait a moment longer to make you mine."
Elizabeth's cheeks warmed, her heart swelling at his words. She reached for his hand, her fingers lacing through his. "I know I have not loved you as long as you have loved me, and it took me far too long to realize it. But I would like nothing more than to give you what you want—what we both want."
Fitzwilliam groaned dramatically. "Oh, for heaven's sake. This is entirely too sappy for so early in the morning. Must you make the rest of us suffer?"
Anne shot him a withering look. "Honestly, Richard, must you ruin a perfectly romantic moment?"
He grinned. "It is my duty as the only sensible one here."
Elizabeth laughed softly, her fingers still entwined with Darcy's.
Anne clapped her hands lightly. "Well, let us not stand in the front of the house all day. Come inside for tea."
She led them back to her favorite parlor—the very room they had gathered in yesterday. The space was warm and inviting, a far cry from the more formal rooms of Rosings. Soon after they settled, Georgiana joined them, offering a small smile as she took her seat. "Mrs. Annesley is resting after the journey," she explained. "She insisted I join you all, though. She knows how eager I was to meet you, Miss Bennet."
Elizabeth returned the smile warmly. "I am very glad you did."
As Anne poured the tea with practiced ease, the conversation turned lively. Georgiana and Elizabeth spoke easily, each eager to know the other, while Fitzwilliam interjected with his usual wit, earning both laughter and exasperated sighs. Darcy mostly observed, watching Elizabeth and his sister grow more comfortable with one another, his heart full at the sight. For the first time in what felt like forever, the afternoon passed without urgency, without the weight of repetition pressing upon him.
An hour slipped by unnoticed, and just as Elizabeth began to think it was time to leave, Darcy turned to her with quiet intent. "May I walk you back to the parsonage?"
Elizabeth met his gaze, her smile softening. "I would like that very much."
As they set off, they took the longer path back to the parsonage, the late afternoon sun casting golden hues over the fields. The air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of fresh earth and budding blossoms. The quiet rustle of leaves accompanied their measured steps, a companionable silence settling between them before Darcy finally spoke.
"Do you truly wish to marry as soon as possible?" he asked, his voice careful, measured. "I know that for you—" He hesitated before continuing, "That is to say, it has not been as long for you as it has for me."
Elizabeth turned her head toward him, eyes alight with warmth and certainty. "Fitzwilliam," she murmured, squeezing his arm reassuringly, "if you believe me in any way less impatient than you are, you are very much mistaken. I want nothing more than to be yours, in name as well as in heart."
Darcy exhaled, a breath he had not realized he had been holding. Her words settled into him, wrapping around his very soul. He turned his head slightly, bringing the hand that rested upon his arm to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her gloved fingers.
Encouraged by his tenderness, Elizabeth ventured, "You were to leave for London on Saturday. Now that Georgiana has arrived, have your plans changed?"
Darcy hesitated before answering, his thumb lightly tracing along the edge of her glove. "They have changed," he admitted. "Only in that I have no wish to be parted from you."
Elizabeth felt her heart quicken at his quiet confession, but she pressed on, her voice thoughtful. "I was meant to remain here another week, but with all those Thursdays… it does not seem unreasonable to leave earlier, unless you think it unwise. And what of Georgiana? Would it be unfair to her after she has only just arrived?"
Darcy considered her words for a moment before replying. "When we travel to Pemberley, we are often on the road for three days. Turning back after only one night in Kent will not trouble her. And with Mrs. Annesley here, you would have a proper companion. I could escort you to your uncle's house myself."
Elizabeth's face brightened with excitement. "Then we can have the banns read as soon as this Sunday and be married in just over three weeks!" The very thought filled her with a kind of giddy anticipation.
Darcy's steps slowed, and he turned to her, studying her expression as though committing it to memory. "Elizabeth," he said softly, "if I have your father's permission, I can secure a common license within seven days."
Her breath hitched slightly at the suggestion, her eyes searching his. Then, with a soft laugh, she whispered, "Then by all means, let us not delay."
A slow, unrestrained smile broke across Darcy's face before, in a moment of unguarded joy, he caught her by the waist and spun her around, drawing a surprised laugh from her lips. As her feet touched the ground once more, he held her close, his hands resting firmly at her waist. His voice was hushed but fervent as he murmured, "I do not know what I have done to deserve you, but I love you most ardently."
Elizabeth, breathless and overwhelmed with happiness, let her fingers trail lightly along his jaw before whispering in return, "You got it right."
Darcy stilled at her words, the weight of them settling deep within him. A slow, reverent smile curved his lips before he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss—soft, lingering, filled with the promise of forever.
The End
As this story comes to a close, I want to take a moment to thank each and every one of you who have read, liked, followed, and supported this journey. Your kind words and encouragement have meant the world to me. Now, many of you have requested an epilogue, and while I could go on for pages with endless possibilities, I think I can sum it all up in one neat paragraph (or perhaps less, if I'm feeling particularly succinct). So you get that today too!
Darcy and Elizabeth, of course, marry and live happily ever after, with a handful of adorable children. Anne and Richard also tie the knot and have at least one child of their own—perhaps even a future little lord or lady! Violet grows up to become a highly respected midwife, serving the good people of Hunsford with skill and compassion. As for Lady Catherine, well, she's now living in a quaint little cottage on the property, courtesy of the Earl, who made sure she didn't end up on the gallows for her many transgressions. The shame of the family will forever follow her, but she's keeping a stiff upper lip (as much as her pride will allow). Meanwhile, Mr. Collins, in a most fitting and tragic end, chokes on a boiled potato—let's all take a moment to appreciate the irony. As for Charlotte, well, I leave her fate to your imagination. She'll find happiness in her own way, perhaps in unexpected places.
And finally, as a special birthday gift to myself (and to you all, of course), I'm posting this chapter and epilogue today instead of waiting another day. Because why wait when I can celebrate with all of you? So, here's to a final chapter and a little epilogue to round it all off. Thank you once again for your amazing support—it has been an absolute pleasure sharing this story with you!