part0033

Elizabeth obediently poised her head at the required angle as Jane’s lady’s maid busied herself with securing the last lock in place, then stopped to rearrange one of the very small silk roses braided in her hair, along with thin contrasting ribbons.

She had spent what to Elizabeth felt like an age piling her mass of dark hair in a deceptively simple-looking arrangement on the top of her head, with loose curls at the back and small ones framing her face, but the overall effect was well worth the wait.

“A most becoming dress, Miss Bennet,” the lady’s maid quietly observed as she removed the fine silk shawl draped over Elizabeth’s shoulders to protect her attire during the elaborate endeavour. “If I may say so, ‘tis just the colour of the sky at sunrise.”

The poetic association made Elizabeth glance up with a smile, but she could not disagree. The dress was indeed of a most unusual hue. It shimmered in the candlelight with hints of rose, cream and gold, and beautifully complemented her complexion.

She stood and walked to the full-length looking glass, the vision it reflected making her eyes widen in delighted wonder. It was by far the most flattering gown she had ever worn. Very simple in style, with smooth, straight lines that made it incredibly graceful, and a distinct lack of adornment save for a small cluster of very delicate silk roses at the front, just underneath the low neckline, matched by similar ones around the hem. The short sleeves were gathered on a thin band around her arms, and the long cream-coloured gloves came high above her elbows, leaving but a narrow strip of skin exposed.

She raised a hand to adjust a curl above her ear, earning a look of unmistakable panic from Jane’s skilled lady’s maid, who must have feared for the fate of her handiwork. Elizabeth gave a little nervous laugh at the sight, and her eyes crinkled in amusement as she duly lowered her hand. She smoothed the sides of her dress and drew a deep breath.

She had always endeavoured to present a pleasing picture at every ball and assembly, of course, but nothing compared to the feverish excitement that coursed through her tonight. She wanted it to be perfect, she wanted to look perfect – for him. And as she stared at her own reflection, she was thrilled to see she had achieved just that.

The house was very quiet, surprisingly so after the bustle of the previous days, and Elizabeth could not help wondering how that was even possible. Where was everyone? There must be some frenzy of activity elsewhere in the house, surely, but in the upper corridor and the great entrance hall there was perfect silence, save for this faint, strangely rhythmic sound, rather like…

‘Rather like the sound of footsteps on a wooden floor,’ Elizabeth decided with a smile as she reached the top of the staircase and saw Darcy slowly pacing, down below. Her countenance lit up at the sight. She steadied herself with a hand on the banister and, with unconscious grace, she took the stairs, one by one.

He looked up at the sound of the first footsteps, and their eyes met and held. Elizabeth breathed out a little soft laugh when she saw him stare, and acknowledged to herself that was precisely the response she had been hoping for.

Darcy followed her progress, mesmerised. She looked positively radiant. And, Good Lord, so very, very beautiful. Breathtakingly so. And to see this glorious vision coming towards him with such a look of devotion in her eyes was…

Suddenly, with amazing clarity, he understood that he had come full circle. It was at the last Netherfield ball that he had chosen to walk away from her, and from the best of happiness. Yet somehow, mercifully, he had been allowed to choose again. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, as she reached the bottom of the stairs and gave him her hand. He took the gloved fingers to his lips.

He placed the small hand in the crook of his arm and escorted her into the magnificently decorated ballroom, still deserted. There were exquisite flower-arrangements everywhere, garlands festooned along the walls, and dozens of candles glowing in the glittering chandeliers – but there was little for them there, for the moment at least so, arm in arm, they left the empty ballroom frozen in perfect splendour and yet to come to life for the quiet comfort of the library, where the warm glow of a fire beckoned, and memories lingered, of earlier times.

The public rooms slowly filled around them with relations and houseguests, and in due course a receiving line was formed to welcome the occupants of the numerous carriages that kept drawing up at the entrance. There were greetings, smiles and conversation, but the two were never more than a few steps apart, and always driven to exchange a glance, a brief touch or a smile. In fact, it was plain for anyone who took the time to look that they had eyes for no one but each other. Thus, when Mr Bingley asked for his guests’ attention later in the evening, the announcement of their betrothal came as no surprise to many, although – incredibly – not everybody present had already heard of it ‘in the strictest confidence’ from Mrs Bennet or the local matrons.

Then the ball began in earnest, with the newly-engaged couple moving to open the first set, and those accustomed to regarding Mr Darcy as a sedate young man with a solemn mien had the utmost surprise of seeing him bounding with his partner to a merry tune, and it was whispered that many a young lady had stared in wonder at the breathtaking sight of his handsome countenance softened into a blissful smile.

To their further surprise, he danced with many of those in want of a partner, spoke at length with Miss Lucas and twice to Mrs Long. He listened to Sir William’s very long discourse – and did not shrug once – and was actually seen laughing with a tall gentleman introduced to some as Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy’s cousin. He was seen talking for a fair while with the other colonel, by the name of Brandon, and with Miss Marianne Dashwood, that gentleman’s betrothed. He also danced with the young lady, and her sister too, and all of Elizabeth’s sisters, one by one, even the quiet Mrs Collins .

For some reason, Mr Collins did not seem too eager to approach him, although he was most effusive towards the master of the house, but merely gave Mr Darcy a deep bow and a very wide berth which, unbeknownst to all but Elizabeth, went a long way in raising Darcy’s good humour.

Not that his good humour was in need of raising – Darcy could not remember taking greater pleasure in a ball in his entire life. He was not dancing now, but was wandering down the set in expectation of the one to follow, for which he had secured Elizabeth’s hand again. After a fashion, it was nearly as enjoyable now to admire her from afar as it was to stand up with her himself, the natural grace of her every move reminding him of his good fortune to have won her hand and her heart.

As his gaze followed her progress down the set, Darcy indulged in the delight of seeing her rosy countenance light up in laughter as she bounded and turned, linking arms with her partner, a gentleman Darcy felt he knew by sight, although not by name. The exertion was adding a luminous glow to her complexion, her smile was as bewitching as ever, and every time she turned around, that very same long curl at the back of her neck was still bouncing with every step, still caressing the creamy whiteness of her skin – and still driving him to distraction.

Darcy clasped his hands behind his back and drew a long breath, vainly hoping for a modicum of patience, just before a distracting thought occurred, as he took a better look at her partner. It was – he could see it now – the same personable young man whom he had once thought in possession of Elizabeth’s affections, at the previous Netherfield ball.

How was he to know that the distress that supposition had engendered was to pale into insignificance in the face of the later despair of thinking her betrothed to Brandon? Yet there he was now, one year later and at least a decade wiser, looking back upon past follies with the amused smile of one blessed by fortune – and that, he truly was.

“Ah, I see you are still disinclined to dance,” Bingley’s voice tore him from his not unpleasant ruminations. “I was prepared to wager you would be unable to keep up the pretence of enjoying it for very long. ”

“And you would have lost, my friend,” Darcy good-humouredly replied, “if Elizabeth were not already engaged for this set. As it is, I shall have to wait until the next one to prove that your boast was as premature as it was unfounded.”

“Nothing of consequence. Just the diverting vagaries of fate,” Bingley chortled. “And do you know what else is diverting? Decided opinions, my friend. Have you not found that they have the uncanny propensity to be disproved when least expected? ‘She is tolerable, I suppose,’ ” he added with a stiff manner and a contrived voice, in what appeared to Darcy a pitifully inaccurate rendition of his own arrogant stance.

He rolled his eyes and dismissed his friend’s efforts with a snort – only to discover to his dismay that the dances had just ended and, unbeknownst to them, they were joined by none other than Elizabeth.

For her part, she would never have imagined that two grown men could blush like schoolboys, Elizabeth thought, highly diverted. To her increased amusement, Bingley stammered something about seeing to Jane and left them directly, followed by Darcy’s murderously dark glare.

“Shall we join the others?” he tentatively gestured in the direction of the forming set. “How improvident of me. I should have engaged you for all the dances while I still had the chance,” he remarked lightly, in an attempt to change the subject.

But Elizabeth would not be distracted. Having determined she could not fully reassure him that all was well by merely feigning ignorance, she turned towards him, her countenance lit up in amusement .

“I believe the exact phrase was ‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me,’ ” she said without malice, and Darcy winced in acute mortification.

“Oh, fear not, I shall demand my pound of flesh whenever suits,” she teased in response. “I might begin by asking you to provide, at your earliest convenience, a detailed and very persuasive account of what made you change your mind, and I reserve the right to embarrass you in any company of my choice by relating the incident with all the appropriate embellishments. And now, Sir, if I may be so bold as to point out, I believe you have engaged me for this set.”

The gentlemen bowed, and received a curtsy in return. Then, with slow, stately grace, everyone advanced towards their partners, and gloved hands met and held, and so did their eyes. Her small hand fitted perfectly in his, just as it had all those months ago, and as she circled around him in the pattern of the dance, the sense of déjà vu was stronger than ever. He breathed in the delicate, barely perceptible scent that surrounded her – definitely lily-of-the-valley – and reached once more for her hand, as the figure required. He caressed her fingertips with his thumb, his joy overwhelming, just as his despair had been, during that never forgotten dance, which was to mark the end of everything they shared. He held her hand and they advanced together down the set, the look of adoration plain for all to see, as happiness flooded his heart at the thought that, heaven be praised, it had not been the end – but the beginning.

The sun slanted through the tall narrow windows into the old church, surrounding her with an aura of golden light. Her eyes shone with love and with bright unshed tears as she pledged herself to him and her lips trembled, but her voice came clear and true.

“I, Elizabeth, take thee, Fitzwilliam, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

A wisp of a smile fluttered on his lips at her promise to obey, as he thought in passing of the unlikelihood of her ever obeying him without question – not that he would wish her to, in any case – then Darcy placed the ring on the holy book, his mouth dry in anticipation of the last words he would say to her before they were joined in matrimony.

The ring slid effortlessly on her fourth finger, gleaming softly in the morning light as they knelt to listen to the old parson’s voice, warm and soothing, yet resonant in the small church. The old vicar smiled affectionately in a grandfather-like fashion as he blessed their union and prayed for the Lord’s grace upon them, unto their life’s end. He prayed for their safety, their comfort and protection, for the blessing of children, which they might live to see grow up beside them. And, as he instructed the young man and Frederick Bennet’s second daughter, whom he had christened and had known ever since she was born, as to the indissoluble bond of love and respect their lifelong covenant entailed, he privately rejoiced at the thought that, unless he was much mistaken, unlike many others, theirs was a union just as it was ordained.

The first snow of the season glistened around them, a fine dusting of white sprinkled on the grass, the rooftops, the headstones. With her gloved fingers, Elizabeth brushed off the snow covering a name and a date, and rested her hand on the cold stone as she bent down to place her bouquet on her father’s grave. Then, with a faint smile, she stood and looked around once more, as though to impress upon her memory the picture of the small snow-dusted churchyard, before turning towards her husband with her hand outstretched. Darcy clasped it silently and escorted his young wife to the waiting carriage. The small wedding party shook off the gravity becoming the farewell they had just witnessed, and made their way to the assorted carriages that were to take them to Netherfield, for the wedding breakfast.

Elizabeth’s eyes travelled around the table, with an affectionate thought for those gathered there – bar Mr Collins, who was the only discordant addition to the heart-warming picture. The Gardiners were present, of course, and her mother and Kitty and Mary, as well as Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and with a soft smile towards her husband of no more than one hour, Elizabeth acknowledged to herself that the occasion was just as she would have wished it.

The wedding breakfast was all joy and kindness, as even Mr Collins had learned a valuable lesson about the advantages of holding his tongue, and before long it was time for the newlyweds to depart, if they wanted to reach town in daylight.

Elizabeth embraced her aunt and uncle with good cheer, as well as her new sister, safe in the knowledge that she would see them in town very soon. She bade her adieus to her mother, Mary and Kitty, but it was the separation from Jane that tore at her heart, their connection stronger than ever after the months spent together at Netherfield.

The carriage was readied with rugs and warmed bricks in preparation for the journey in inclement weather, and with final adieus the couple made their way within, smiles and tears and fluttering kerchiefs left behind as the equipage took to the road .

It was the softness of it, not the kiss itself, that took her by surprise, its tranquil, unhurried quality an exquisite reminder of their current situation. They were together now, and together they would be, and there was no further need for stolen kisses, hurried whispers and secretly holding hands. That there was a great deal of charm in those all-too-brief moments she would not deny, Elizabeth told herself with an impish smile, but as she leaned her cheek against his shoulder, she could not find it in her heart to wish for their return.

The carriage advanced cautiously along the ruts cut by other vehicles into the muddy road, its sway almost luring her to sleep, but Elizabeth fought against it, unwilling to miss anything of that precious journey. Familiar places drifted past the glass panes, a small village here, a grove there, bare fields and neat long hedges, as they journeyed further and further away from Elizabeth’s old life into the new.

Oh, she was happy! Blissfully and incommensurably happy – but more than a little anxious, too. Very little, if anything, of her previous experiences had prepared her for the place she would henceforth occupy. Mrs Darcy of Pemberley . The very name suggested someone older, wiser. Someone graceful and poised, and a great deal more competent than Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who was accustomed to dividing her time between tame, uncomplicated and certainly not intimidating pursuits, and whose responsibilities had never been more complex than keeping the books and assisting her mother in managing a remarkably small household.

There would be so much more to consider from now on. Family. Neighbours. Tenants. The poor of the parish. And a household so vast it overwhelmed her to even try to envisage herself at its helm .

As for the image she presented to the world, she would not change, she had no wish to change, not in essentials, and hopefully he did not desire it either, yet she knew she would have to do a great deal better than pert speeches and youthful impertinence in her dealings with others, and dearly hoped she could. A different way of life awaited at the end of the journey, and somehow she would have to be prepared for it, in spirit at least, as soon as she set foot in the imposing house in Berkeley Square. Her new home.

Elizabeth swallowed uncomfortably at the thought. It would be a long time before she felt at home within its walls, that she did not doubt. It was a beautiful residence, very well appointed, very elegant, but it did not appear to her that it held the true warmth of a home. In truth, she had found it positively daunting some weeks previously, when a dinner invitation had brought her and some of her relations to the Darcy townhouse for the very first time.

She could not find fault, of course. The house in Berkeley Square was devoid of fashionable nothings, gaudy finery and useless splendour, yet despite Mr Darcy’s softly whispered “Welcome home, my love,” the understated elegance, the vastness and the grandeur, the stern countenance of ancestors looking down at her from large gilded frames hung high upon the walls made her feel very, very small indeed.

For real or imagined reasons, she had no doubt that the house in Berkeley Square would appear daunting today as well. Perhaps even more so, as she would be devoid of the comfort of her dear aunt and uncle’s presence. Despite herself, Elizabeth shivered, and failed to notice. Yet a much-loved deep voice brought her back from disquieting ruminations.

“You are cold. Let me wrap this round you. There. Is that better?”

The rug rearranged solicitously around her, Elizabeth nestled against her husband, not quite ready to tell him that the little shiver had more to do with wedding-day nerves than the cold. She sighed, a faint, contented sound, at the soft touch of his lips on her brow, and brought her hand to rest in his again. She held her peace – her thoughts and feelings were too complex for any ease in conversation – but as they journeyed relentlessly onward, his very presence and his tenderness slowly turned her thoughts from her earlier disquiet, and tempered nameless anxieties over an unfamiliar future .

She could not form the thought as such, not then. Everything was far too new for a deeper understanding and for real comfort. But later on that night, a great deal later, as she awoke in the intimate enclosure of the large four-poster bed, with the curtains drawn against the winter chill, to find herself ensconced in the protective warmth of her husband’s embrace, it came to her at last that nothing else mattered, and she was always home, wherever she was with him.