Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth

by P. O. Dixon

  Darcy grabbed the young man by the neck with one hand and pounded him in his face with the other. “I said, not everything.”

  Bingham slumped, unconscious, to the floor. Darcy scrambled to untie his legs and he used his former bindings to tie the younger man to the empty chair.

  Frantically, he looked around the room. There was but one door other than the one he had entered. Pray to God my Elizabeth is on the other side.

  He kicked the door open. The room was large. The lighting was poor. As best Darcy could make out, old work tools, spare carriage parts and the like lay haphazardly organized all about. What a wretched place indeed for his beloved wife, if she were even there. A barely perceptible thump drew his attention.

  Is it my wife? He hurried in the direction of the sound, and then was momentarily taken aback when a rat the size of a small feline scurried past his feet. What he had heard was more urgent than an inconvenienced rat and deserved closer inspection. Clearing a path, he saw what appeared to be a large sack. Closer inspection revealed it was no sack at all. It was Elizabeth. Bound by her hands and her feet, she lay completely still.

  Thank heavens his prayers were answered. Darcy sank to his knees beside her. “Elizabeth, my love—”

  Taking her in his arms, he removed the cloth gag from her mouth. Her hair in utter disarray, her clothing badly tattered and soiled, Elizabeth did not respond.

  Darcy cradled her to his chest and kissed her atop her head. “Pray open your eyes, my love.”

  She awakened to his plea this time. Her eyes bloodshot from her tears, she said, “Georgiana? Is she—?”

  “Elizabeth, my love,” he cried, holding her tighter. “Georgiana is at Pemberley. You need not worry about her.”

  “But…” she began, her voice strained and weak. “She fell—hit her head.”

  Darcy kissed his wife’s face and commenced removing the binding on her hands and next her feet. “Are you injured, my love? Did he harm you?”

  “My head,” she said, swallowing, “it hurts.”

  Darcy traced his fingers along her face and about her scalp in search of possible life-threatening injuries. Finding none, he prayed silent thanks. He stood, lifting his wife in his arms. “Let me carry you away from this godforsaken place to Pemberley where you will receive proper attention, my love.”

  “Pray how is Georgiana?” Elizabeth weakly moaned.

  “Georgiana is safe. Both of you are safe.”

  ~*~

  Some days later, Georgiana, a much-recovered young lady, went in search of her brother. At least she had healed physically. Evidence of her lingering heartache was written plainly all over her face. Being defiled by the man whom she had been eager to give her heart to completely was something she would not soon forget.

  She found Darcy sitting alone in the parlor, reading. Slowly, she walked to where he sat, and claimed the empty space beside him. “Can you ever forgive me, Brother?”

  Closing his book, he took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Forgive you? I love you.”

  “Oh, but you must think I am terribly stupid. I wanted so desperately to believe in my cousin’s goodness when you were not fooled for a second.”

  “Georgiana, you must not be too severe on yourself. You are a warm and trusting creature by nature, whereas it is my obligation to be suspect. I do not think I will ever truly suppose any man deserves you. You are my little sister.”

  “You see me as such, but I am not a little girl.”

  Darcy embraced his sister. Of course she was not a little girl. He must remember not to think or speak of her in such terms. She had endured so much strife through the years. Hers had not been an ideal life, what with the loss of their parents. His young sister was not merely missing a mother’s love; she was missing a father’s love as well. He was meant to be both a father and brother to her. Was such a thing even possible? Not for the first time, he wondered how his sister might have fared had his father named his aunt Lady Catherine as her guardian. No doubt it was what his mother would have done—named her only sister to care for her underage daughter.

  No—my father got it right. No one is better able to protect my sister than I am and my father knew it.

  “Brother,” she said, “will I ever find the joy I seek? Or will the kind of love I long for always turn out to be the wrong kind of love for me?”

  “Georgiana, you must trust that the right man will come along. There is no need to be in a hurry. What’s more, you must not allow what happened to affect your expectations of what the future holds.”

  Elizabeth entered the room and observed the siblings sitting together. Not wishing to interrupt such a tender moment that perhaps was meant to be private, she halted. As she was about to turn and quit the room, Darcy looked up. He waved her over to where he and Georgiana sat.

  She went to him and accepted his outstretched hand. Seeing this, Georgiana dabbed at her eyes and prepared to stand. Darcy said, “No—stay. Elizabeth, sit with us.” He adjusted his position to accommodate his wife. Embracing the ladies in his arms, he said, “There is room enough here—” he kissed his sister atop her head “—in my life—” he kissed his wife’s face “—and in my heart for both of you.”

  Chapter 19

  Darcy sat across the table from Wickham. “What is so urgent that you insisted upon seeing me at this hour?”

  “It appears the time has come for my lovely wife and me to return to our home. I had not heard a word from you, and, quite frankly, I had expected it.”

  After the waiter attending them filled both gentlemen’s glasses with brandy, left the decanter on the table at Wickham’s behest and was gone, Darcy reached into his pocket and retrieved a small package. It contained a token of his gratitude for Wickham’s part in Elizabeth’s recovery. He slid it across the table. “Is this what you want?”

  Wickham untied the package. His eyes opened wide. “I say it is a good start.”

  “You’ll get no more from me, you fool.”

  “And so you say. Nevertheless, I thank you, my old friend. This shall go a long way toward assuring the comfort of what I hope will be an olive branch to you and your family.”

  “Pray what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Have you not heard? My lovely wife is about to make me a proud papa,” Wickham replied with a self-satisfied air.

  Darcy laughed a little. “I suppose I ought to be congratulating you.”

  “It is the proper thing to do in such cases as this.”

  “Pray that is the only fruit of your loins conceived of late.”

  Having upended his first drink, Wickham poured himself another. “What are you accusing me of now?”

  Darcy arched his brow. “Does the name Miss Clarissa Pollard mean anything to you?”

  Wickham looked at his hand. Brushing his thumb over his nails, he then looked at his former friend. “I cannot say that it does.”

  “Perhaps you want to take another moment to think about it.”

  “Come now, Darcy. Even you can see the futility of your question. Were I to recall every young woman of my acquaintance, you and I would be here all night. So long as you are providing the drinks, I for one would not object, but I imagine you are in a hurry to return to your lovely wife’s side.”

  Darcy contented himself with Wickham’s nonchalant assertion. Even if Wickham were the person responsible for Miss Pollard’s predicament, the last thing any of them needed was for that bit of truth to come out. Having vowed to do what he could to lessen the Pollard family’s woes, he decided to leave it at that. As for the matter of Darcy’s being in a hurry to return to his wife’s side, Wickham was absolutely correct. He could scarcely wait to see her and hold her in his arms again.

  Finished with his drink, he said, “Your little olive branch notwithstanding, you’re still not welcome at Pemberley.”

  “I would expect no less of you, Darcy. You and your irrevocably good opinion once lost and all else aside, tell me this: what happen
ed to your cousin after you managed to get the charges dropped against him? I still am not certain how you managed to bring that about—but, then again, money is power.”

  Bingham had been right about one thing. Darcy would never have permitted the reason for his crimes to be aired in a public trial. Georgiana had suffered enough. Contrary to what the public might be led to believe, she was not a ruined woman. She was a young lady whose affectionate heart rendered her a bit too trusting, but she was not without hope. Georgiana’s future was bright. Darcy would make certain of that.

  “Do not trouble yourself with worry over how I brought it all about.”

  “Do you mean bought?” Wickham taunted.

  Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, Darcy said, “What happened with Bingham is none of your concern.”

  “Oh, I must beg to differ. I truly wish to know in case I ever find myself in a similar situation as that fellow and need to avail myself of your generosity.”

  Wickham’s goading recalled Darcy to the last time he had extended similar generosity on the former’s behalf. He would never have lifted a finger in that regard had it not been for his desire to protect Elizabeth’s family from certain ruination and shame. He could not deny he might help Wickham again should it ever come to that. On the other hand, there was no saying that he would. It all depended on the offense itself and its effect on his family.

  “Bingham is a coward who committed a most egregious act against the women I love, and so I suppose the two of you have that in common. However, the thing he has going for him—two things really—that you do not is that he is a Darcy by blood, and he has the potential to make something of himself. He shall have a chance to do so when the slow-moving boat that he now finds himself on, along with his so-called family and his masterpiece, reaches the shores of America.”

  ~*~

  A day or so later, Elizabeth was walking along with her mind busily engaged in reading a letter from Jane. The purpose of Jane’s letter was threefold. First, she wrote of her happiness that the Wickhams were finally taking their leave of her home. In mere days, the Bingleys would have their house to themselves. Miss Bingley, having withstood all she could of Lydia and her dear Wickham, had taken it upon herself to get her own establishment in London. Never again would she risk exposing herself to the likes of the Wickhams. Jane had jokingly remarked on what an unexpected benefit that particular situation wrought. Without saying too much, Jane also hinted that, should the Wickhams return, there would be an addition to their party—a most welcome addition.

  Jane expressed, in no uncertain terms, that she and Bingley shared a similar fate and she could not be happier. Her greatest wish was that Elizabeth and Darcy might soon convey the same happy news.

  Looking up from her letter, Elizabeth was delighted to see her handsome husband standing in the path just up ahead. She tucked her letter into her pocket and hurried toward him. Meeting him half way, she greeted him with outstretched hands. “I thought you were going to Matlock to visit your uncle.”

  “I had intended to do so, indeed, and I was well on my way when I was overtaken by an express rider with the news that my uncle had made other plans.”

  This intelligence met with Elizabeth’s pleasure exceedingly. “It sounds as though he is well on his way to a full recovery.”

  “Indeed. It is just as I said from the start; my uncle is stubborn enough to outlive us all.”

  “May we all live on for hundreds of years to come,” she said jokingly, knowing such a prospect could not possibly unfold.

  Darcy laughed a little. Having accepted his wife’s proffered hands, he raised them to his lips. He kissed one and then the other. “Your spirits are much improved today, my love.”

  “Indeed. I was just reading a letter from Jane. She shared the happy news that there will be a new addition to her family.”

  “Do you mean to say Jane is with child? Capital! I know how much Charles has looked forward to this.”

  “It appears that Jane’s child will have a cousin who is close to it in—”

  “—Ah,” Darcy interrupted, “would this be by way of the Wickhams? George hinted as much when he and I last spoke in Lambton. Of course, I did not believe a word of what he had to say, which is why I said nothing of it before. I rather supposed he was merely attempting to insinuate himself into our good graces.”

  “He spoke the truth, for Jane said as much. However, when I speak of Jane’s child having a cousin who is close to it, I speak of more than of age, but rather proximity.” Freeing one of her hands, she rested it on her stomach and gave her husband a knowing smile.

  His eyes brightened and a hopeful expression swept across his countenance. “Truly, Elizabeth?”

  She nodded. “Indeed. The doctor confirmed what I have been long hoping for just this morning. Are you happy, Mr. Darcy?”

  He took his wife into his arms and kissed her lips. Breaking the kiss, he gazed into her eyes. “Yes, my love. I am the happiest man alive.”

  Some hours later, Darcy and Elizabeth joined hands and walked to the balcony to admire nature’s picturesque view. At length, they commenced doing what lovers did in such situations as this. The setting sun, the gentle touch of his lips against her skin, and the intoxicating scent of him all combined to evoke the sweet and tender melody of her heartstrings, and she knew she was blessed.

  If only everyone near and dear to us could feel this way, she wistfully mused. Her mind drifted to her sister Georgiana and their recent heartfelt talks. She thought of the pain the younger woman was suffering owing to her badly abused trust and the ensuing disappointed hopes. Elizabeth had endeavored to remind her sister that what happened with her cousin was not Georgiana’s fault and most of all, she must not be afraid to one day surrender her heart again. Elizabeth prayed rather than knew her words made a difference.

  “We have so much for which to be thankful. My greatest wish is for Georgiana to know the kind of happiness we enjoy as well,” Elizabeth said.

  “She will in time.”

  “Then you do not believe this latest experience has dampened her enthusiasm?”

  “My sister is nothing if not resilient. True, she is disappointed in love now, but, in time, she will put all this into its proper perspective.”

  “I pray you are correct. When such a day comes, so long as you give her leave to make her own choices, I shall have no cause to complain.”

  “When have I ever been able to deny you your pleasure in anything?” Reflecting upon his own blessings for a moment, he said, “You make me very happy and for that I am exceedingly grateful.”

  “Indeed. With that said, would I seem too terribly selfish were I to thank you for all you have given me? You have made my life a paradise.”

  “No—you are not selfish at all. However, if you will allow, I believe I ought to be thanking you—for giving me what might be my heir, for making my house a home, for standing with me and enduring every obstacle that threatened to tear us apart.” Holding his wife tenderly in his arms, he rested his forehead against hers. “Most of all, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he whispered, “thank you for your love.”

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  Acknowledgments

  What a pleasure it has been fashioning this account of what mi
ght have happened after the happily-ever-after ending of Jane Austen’s timeless classic, Pride and Prejudice. Special thanks to Ken and Betty for helping to make this story a pleasure to read.

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  Copyright © 2015 P. O. Dixon

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, in whole or in part, in any form whatsoever.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters depicted in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Image Used in Cover Art: © Anna Yakimova | Dreamstime.com