by Jan Hahn
William slipped his arms around my waist. “What a determined little thing you are, for you must have it all.”
I smiled as he nuzzled my neck. “Do not attempt to distract me. I wish to hear everything, and then, let that be an end to all things unpleasant, for we have a wedding to plan.”
“Very well, if you insist.”
He took my hand and led me back to the sofa facing the fireplace. There, he described his meeting with his aunt and all that he had learned.
As we had gleaned from George Darcy’s journal, Lady Catherine had long been aware of her husband’s attraction to other women. Shortly after I was born, she learned from the servants that he had taken a baby out of Kent, and she assumed it was his child. Like many wives, she preferred to know as little as possible about her husband’s indiscretions. But, on Sir Lewis’s deathbed, when he began confessing his sins, she brought up the baby and insisted he tell the truth, fearing that he was financially maintaining the child.
Sir Lewis told Lady Catherine that the baby was the daughter of Peter Darcy and his wife, Elizabeth Willoughby, that Peter, as she already knew, had disappeared, and that Elizabeth was dead. He told her of Sir Linton’s demands, and since George thought Peter had either died or deserted his young wife for some unknown reason, he had sent the babe to Sir Lewis to secure a proper home, agreeing to furnish her support. George had sworn him to secrecy, so Sir Lewis took the child to Hertfordshire where he told Mr. Fawcett the child was simply the natural daughter of a gentleman from the North Country.
“When my aunt called at Longbourn, she knew very well who your parents were,” William said. “And she knew that you were legitimate. Sifting through Sir Lewis’s papers last year, she came upon the note my father wrote when he had you transported to Kent. She deduced that you were that baby, and all she had to do was travel to Hertfordshire and confirm it with Mr. Fawcett. Then, she used the ambiguity of my father’s letter for her own purposes.”
“Does she hate me to the extent that she would allow such a falsehood?”
“As you know, Elizabeth, Lady Catherine is not a person to be crossed. When she approached me with her demands that I officially engage myself to Anne, and I declined, she would not tolerate having her wishes scorned. She would destroy your reputation rather than see us marry.”
When I asked William how he persuaded her to finally make that confession, he told me it was not as difficult as he anticipated. At first, of course, Lady Catherine professed ignorance of the truth. Shown the stack of evidence William had accrued, however, she could not deny who I was or who my parents were. She then attempted to claim that she had acted in good faith when she made her revelations to William and me.
“‘Darcy,’ she said to me, ‘you know I desire only the best for you, and my Anne is by far the most suitable wife you could possibly have. For that matter, I wish the best for Elizabeth Bennet. It is a disservice to suggest that she rise above her station in life. Your father’s decision was correct and should be honoured. After all, Miss Bennet is much better off as the daughter of an obscure country gentleman than she would have been had Sir Linton carried through on his threat to send her to Scotland.’
“That is where my aunt made her error,” William said, “for I had made no mention of Sir Linton’s threat during our visit. I knew then that she was not telling me the truth. If she knew of Willoughby’s threats, she could only have learned it from her husband.
“I told Lady Catherine that all connection between her house and mine, including any contact with Georgiana, would be irrevocably severed if she did not tell me the truth immediately. When I received nothing more than indignation in response, I rose from my chair, left the room, and walked down the hallway directly to my waiting carriage. Before the footman closed the door behind me, a servant came running from the house, entreating me to return.
“I inquired whether that was Lady Catherine’s only message,” William said, “and the servant replied that she wished to speak further on the matter. I said, ‘And this is my message in return. Tell Lady Catherine that I have said all I have to say and that I shall not discuss the matter with a servant.’ I dismissed the man, who hurried back to his mistress. Her outraged roar resounded with such strength that I could even hear it as I stood beside the carriage! However, within a few moments, the lady herself emerged from the house and walked down the stone steps.
“‘Shall we walk?’ she asked, inclining her head in a direction away from the carriage. I nodded and fell into step with her. We walked into the garden, out of sight or hearing of the servants, before she spoke again.
“‘Darcy, you impose heavily upon my affection for you with this insolent treatment,’ she said. ‘Take care that you do not trample underfoot my naturally agreeable disposition.’
“I did not reply but met her stare with one of my own. Both of us refusing to retreat, we glared at each other for some time, but I would not give over. Finally, I turned to leave. I took but a few steps before Lady Catherine threw up her hands and agreed to tell the truth. Acknowledging that she had actively sought to prevent our engagement by using my father’s note in the manner that she did, she declared once more, ‘I did it for your good, Fitzwilliam. Surely, you must see that.’
“‘I see nothing of the kind, Aunt,’ I said. ‘You maliciously attempted to ruin Miss Bennet’s reputation and destroy all chance for my happiness.’
“She disputed that statement by uttering some sort of nonsense, such as, ‘You will never be happy with her, just as your mother was never happy with George.’
“Her statement bewildered me, for my parents were devoted to each other. When I refuted her words, she began to rant. ‘George Darcy and his Papist Irish mother! But for the Darcy fortune, my father should never have agreed to his marriage to my sister. I even offered to marry George in her place, for I knew that I was a much more suitable match for him. Anne was too delicate, too soft. George needed a strong woman like me, a woman of great passion, yet great dignity. Together, he and I could have—’”
That part of the tale made me sit up straighter, and I placed my hand on William’s arm to interrupt him. “Are you saying that Lady Catherine was in love with your father?”
He threw up his hands. “Heaven help him if she was! I cannot tell you with what fortitude I attempted to suppress the horror I felt listening to her words. Fortunately, she came to herself before revealing more than I should ever wish to hear.”
“What did she say?”
“She resumed the tired old argument she has harped on since the beginning. ‘Miss Bennet is an upstart. Your place is with Anne. It was decided long ago by your mother and me.’ I told her that I did not believe her, for Mother never made the slightest suggestion that I should marry Anne, and neither did my father. I said that it had been Lady Catherine’s doing from the beginning, and unless she admitted that she was in the wrong, all connection between her house and mine would be broken.
“She continued her attempts to convince me otherwise, but when I remained silent, she relented at last and reluctantly offered a brief, bitter apology.”
William shook his head. “That is the only occasion upon which I have heard my aunt apologize or admit that she has done wrong. It should be recorded in the annals of history, for I doubt that anyone shall ever bear witness to such an event again.”
I gave a sigh of relief, and we both remained silent for a while, attempting to absorb all that had transpired. At length, I leaned over to kiss William’s cheek. “You, sir, are a true proficient in the art of persuasion.”
“Am I, now?” He pulled me close and began to kiss my ear, his lips trailing down to my neck. “Does that mean you shall do whatever I say?”
I laughed. “Perhaps…with the proper inducement.”
He pulled me onto his lap and continued to kiss my neck, my ear, my cheek, coming ever closer to my lips. “Is this proper inducement?”
“This, sir, is improper seduction.”
But I all
owed him to continue all the same.
Chapter Eighteen
William and I did not marry at the end of the week. Mamá protested lack of time to adequately prepare for the event. Even though we declared that we wanted naught but a simple ceremony with only close family in attendance, she insisted that we must have a proper celebration. Besides, it would afford us opportunity to send express posts to Town to invite the Gardiners and have Colonel Fitzwilliam escort Georgiana.
I rather dreaded facing the colonel. I was relieved that I had never granted him a private audience whereby he might actually have proposed. William had not the slightest sympathy for his cousin. Indeed, I think he looked forward to parading his prize before him. Mrs. Gardiner wrote that they could return to Longbourn by Wednesday next, and upon telling William, he pronounced Thursday morning as our wedding day and not a day later. His tone was so marked and the look in his eye so fierce that Mamá dared not suggest further delay.
The day before the event, William and I had escaped my mother’s nerves and demands by retreating to the walled garden farthest from the house. There, we had used the opportunity to steal a few kisses and murmur words of love to each other. Unexpectedly, the wind came up, warning that winter would soon be upon us. I had neglected to bring my shawl, and I began to shiver in William’s embrace.
“Shall we return to the house?” he asked.
“Oh, I do not wish to give up this rare privacy just yet.”
“Then, I shall fetch your wrap.”
I protested, but he would not be deterred, promising to return before I could miss him. But I did. How could I not? He had become as essential to me as the air I breathed.
I walked about, noting that the plants were most likely wearing their final blooms of the autumnal season. That part of the yard contained few plots of colour, providing a refuge for natural grasses and reeds instead. I recalled how Lady Catherine had called it a prettyish kind of a little wilderness. Only a year earlier, she had led me past the wall of stones into its seclusion before unleashing upon me her particular brand of torment. I shuddered anew, recalling the abyss into which I had fallen upon hearing her words.
“Lizzy?”
I whirled around, startled to find Papá standing behind me.
“I did not mean to frighten you. Mr. Darcy said I would find you here.”
“Is he not returning?”
“In a moment. I hoped for this opportunity to speak to you, for the morrow will be upon us before we know it, and you…will be gone.”
I looked away, uncomfortable at hearing how his voice trembled, for he rarely revealed himself in such a manner.
“I fear for you to begin a new life with this…distance between us.” I made no answer. “Lizzy, once again, I must tell you how I regret causing the estrangement. You know me well. I normally can forego the guilt my frailty as a father causes, but this time, I am utterly ashamed of myself…and I find that I cannot overcome the deep sorrow caused by the gulf that separates you and me.”
His grief was evident. Suddenly, the fact that he had suffered much too long because of my stubborn prejudice overtook me. My heart began to ache. My throat tightened, and I felt the quickening of tears.
“Papá, I am at fault. I have judged you harshly, and I was wrong. You have fathered me in a manner that belies the relationship of a man and his foster child, for I never felt less than your own. I knew that you loved me as much as you loved Jane or Kitty or any of my sisters.”
“Or more,” he whispered.
“Oh, Papá!” I threw my arms around him. “Will you forgive me for acting the ungrateful daughter?”
“If you will forgive me for being the foolish father who did not consider you brave enough to know the truth.”
Some time later, William found us sitting on the stone bench, my hand resting in Papá’s as we talked. William started to excuse himself, but my father rose, bidding him take his place beside me. After kissing my forehead, Papá walked back to the house.
William placed the shawl around my shoulders, and taking out his handkerchief, he wiped the tear from my cheek. “I take it all is well between you?”
I nodded. “You lingered in the house a long time. Did you do so to afford Papá time alone with me?”
He shrugged. “I could not find that pesky wrap of yours anywhere.”
][
We married in Longbourn church on the first Thursday in November. The day was glorious—one of those beautiful autumn mornings lit with sunshine, hidden now and then by a few downy clouds, and with just a bite of cold weather in the air. All my sisters, save Lydia, were in attendance, including my newest, Georgiana. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had arrived as planned without their children, giving Mamá cause to rejoice. Colonel Fitzwilliam was William’s only additional relation who came, and the colonel displayed not the slightest regret at having lost my hand, an affront to my spirit I bore as best I could.
As William and I spoke our vows, the sanctuary was flooded with radiant light. My heart overflowed with the warmth of love I felt within the church, love not only from the man who stood beside me but also from the family witnessing our vows. I realized how truly blessed I was to have grown up as Elizabeth Bennet. Leaving through the church entry to return to Longbourn, surrounded by our loved ones, I spied Mr. Fawcett standing just outside the door. I reached out and clasped his hand as he smiled his approval. Papá had told him the truth about my birth but a few days earlier, and I could see that he shared in my happiness.
After a clamorous, joyful breakfast and many congratulatory wishes, we at last kissed and hugged our families. Bidding them farewell, we departed in William’s carriage. He had asked me whether I wished to honeymoon in Florence or Vienna, but I was as tired of travelling as he. All we truly longed for was to go home to Pemberley. Georgiana was to return to Eden Park with the colonel, so we found ourselves alone at last.
The moment the carriage rounded the bend and could no longer be seen by anyone at Longbourn, William removed his hat. After he untied my bonnet, he pulled me close. He kissed me with tender, lingering kisses that stirred my senses.
“Are you warm enough, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me even tighter.
“I am.”
“Are you happy, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Exceptionally happy.”
“Are you content to be called ‘Mrs. Darcy’?”
“You know that I am, but at this moment I believe I would be content no matter what you called me.”
“Even ‘Bessie’?”
“Even ‘Bessie’…dearest Fitzwilly.”
][
We spent our wedding night in a fine house outside Daventry in Northamptonshire. I was surprised to find the owners away until my husband announced that he had bought the house ten months earlier. It was a modest estate about the size of Netherfield, providing excellent sport, or so he assured me. William planned to let it out as soon as renovations were complete. Thus, we were not forced to spend our first night of marriage making do with inadequate facilities at a village inn.
Little remained to finish the place, and I found the house more comfortable and much grander than any I had expected to encounter on the road. A full staff of servants was in place for our visit. We arrived to fires lit in every room, well-polished floors and furniture, an abundance of light, and the promising aroma of a sumptuous wedding supper in preparation.
A lady’s maid who met me in my chamber quickly unpacked and then helped me bathe and dress for the evening meal. She laid out my finest nightgown for later use, and I felt my heart quicken in anticipation of the night to come. I had preliminary knowledge of what to expect, but still, I felt nervous, hoping I would not disappoint my husband. Jane had assured me only the night before, when we had snatched a few moments alone in my room, that all I must do was follow Mr. Darcy’s lead. She had blushed repeatedly while imparting her brief instructions concerning the wedding night, so much so that she had to sit down and fan herself.
&nb
sp; William stood waiting at the foot of the staircase as I descended, and I hoped he approved of my dress. The light in his eyes told me that the simple green gown pleased him. At the table, neither of us seemed to have much appetite, although the meal was deliciously prepared and elegantly served. I found myself partaking of more wine than food to the point that, when we rose from the table at the close of supper, I had to reach for the back of the chair to steady myself.
“You should have eaten more,” William whispered in my ear as he took my arm and guided me into the drawing room. My eyes widened when I heard myself giggle.
Where did that come from?
“Shall you play for me, dearest?” He gestured toward the instrument sitting prominently near the window.
“I fear that I should play even more poorly than usual tonight.” My eyes beseeched him not to insist, and he did not.
“Then, sit here by the fire while I provide the music.”
What? Has my husband kept his talent hidden from me all this time?
I could not believe Georgiana had failed to tell me that her brother was proficient on the pianoforte. Instead of walking toward the instrument, however, William rang the bell for the servant. Within moments, three men entered the room, walked to a far corner, and picked up a violin, bass fiddle, and cello. I smiled with delight when they began their serenade with the loveliest of songs.
William poured himself a snifter of brandy and then picked up the bottle of sherry with a questioning look in my direction. When I nodded, he smiled and brought me a glass before sitting close beside me on the sofa.
“Do you think of everything?” I asked, inclining my head toward the musicians.
“I want tonight to be perfect.”
“’Tis more than I have dreamed of.”
“I trust you will say that in the morning.”
His statement and the piercing look in his eyes made me drink the sherry far too quickly, for I drained the tiny glass in one gulp.
