“Oh, of course, I do. And I shall always treasure yours and Fitz’s friendship. You are not only family, but one of my dearest friends.”
Elizabeth laughed and came back over to Darcy’s side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I do not know if I can ever get used to calling you Fitz,” Elizabeth mused. She looked up at him and smiled. “How are we going to remedy this dilemma?”
Darcy kissed her hand. “My love, you shall call me whatever you wish.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at them a little ruefully, though with real goodwill. “You are both the very picture of happiness. I see I will have to find a wife for myself, and soon.”
Darcy smiled crookedly. “A thought does occur to me. Perhaps there is another heiress you might wed.”
Fitzwilliam laughed. “By all means, Darcy, but heiresses do not grow on trees.”
“No, but you and I both know one that would be very much happier for being wed. I know Aunt Catherine was set on Cousin Anne and I marrying someday, but perhaps a different Fitzwilliam might be an acceptable substitute?”
“Cousin Anne, the heiress of Rosings,” Fitzwilliam mused thoughtfully. “It had never occurred to me, I must say. But perhaps she would enjoy some company other than her mother’s. I assume Aunt Catherine is still struggling with a bout of rheumatism, and that is why she could not attend?”
Darcy gave him a wry smile. “Yes, let us say that is the reason.”
Darcy had hoped Lady Catherine de Bourgh, his usually condescending and ill-tempered aunt, would have put herreservations about his marrying Elizabeth behind her, but she had not. Despite Elizabeth’s fortune, she had not wanted to see him married to anyone but her daughter, as she had planned since their infancy. It was perhaps for the best that Lady Catherine had opted to stay at Rosings in not-so-silent protest.
Fitzwilliam shook his hand again, smiled, and congratulated them. “I am in your debt, as usual,” Fitzwilliam said. “Anne de Bourgh, eh? Well, perhaps our cousin ought to see more of life, after all.” With a final nod, he walked away.
Darcy looked after him, considering. It might be a match, at that. Anne de Bourgh was sickly and pale, infirm — or so Lady Catherine had always said. He had sometimes wondered how much of his cousin’s infirmity was fate, and how much to her mother’s insistence that she was ill. Perhaps Fitzwilliam would coax her out of hiding at Rosings and introduce her to the life she deserved.
Impatient as he was for it to end, the wedding breakfast was a pleasant affair. Georgiana came and sat beside him and Elizabeth during the course of the morning, and he was glad to see that his new wife and sister were such fast friends. They seemed almost destined to be sisters. He was glad of that, and of the excellent companionship and influence his sister would now enjoy.
Darcy was sure that Georgiana’s willingness to speak to Elizabeth about her experiences with Wickham had brought her some closure. He was glad to see his sister coming back into her own, leaving behind the shadows of shame and guilt over what Wickham had almost convinced her to do. She had shown great courage and fortitude in being willing to speak of what she had endured, in coming to Elizabeth’s aid. And Darcy would be forever grateful that his sister had been willing, for it had turned the tide and made a way for him to win Elizabeth’s heart. Hesupposed the old adage was true: the truth always won out in the end, for those who were willing to stand up for it.
When the wedding breakfast was concluded, Bingley and his new wife were seen off first, heading off in their carriage for the seaside. Then it was Darcy and Elizabeth’s turn. He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, aching for the moment when they would at last be alone. He helped her climb into the carriage, then tossed a handful of coins behind him. The children scurried around to scoop up a coin or two, and then he and Elizabeth were off, waving to their family and friends.
“I hope Georgiana will not feel out of place at Longbourn while we are away,” Elizabeth said. “I believe Mary has found several new pieces for them to practise, and we have taken great pains in rearranging the bedroom Jane and I shared, so Georgiana will have a space of her own.”
“Do not worry about Georgiana. She has often told me how much she is looking forward to her visit.” Darcy scooted closer to her on the carriage seat and took her hand. “Now, do not worry about anyone else. For the next few weeks, we are the only two people in the world, my dear.”
Elizabeth looked up at him with the sweetest smile he had ever seen. “All right, I will not worry. But I wish you would not call memy dear.”She touched his cheek. “It is what my father always calls my mother when he is cross about something. Mrs Darcy will be the only term of endearment I need.”
“Mrs Darcy?” he asked. “Is that not a bit formal?”
“No, not at all,” Elizabeth replied. “It is the highest compliment I can receive, to be called by your name, now and forever.”
He wrapped his arms around her, unable to contain himself any longer. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his lipsbrushing against her forehead, then her cheeks, and finally the tip of her nose. “I love you more than life itself.”
She cupped his cheek. “And I love you,” she said, her eyes shining with joy.
Darcy leaned in close, savouring every moment. He touched his lips to hers, relishing the feel of her warmth and softness as they shared their first kiss. He deepened the kiss, filled with passion and tenderness all at once. When he ended it, she gazed up at him, seeming breathless and star-struck for a long moment.
Then Elizabeth smiled brilliantly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I expect I shall very much enjoy being married to one of the Fitzwilliams — the very best Fitzwilliam.”
Chapter 32
Elizabeth Darcy sighed happily as she looked at her husband, so handsome and serene as he read his newspaper at the breakfast table. After being married for several months, she had come to cherish these moments together. After their wedding trip, they had spent blissful weeks together in Pemberley. From the first glance, Elizabeth felt she had come home. She had known her husband’s estate must be grand, but she had not expected anything so beautiful, or so much to her own taste.
Now, with autumn drawing in, they had returned to the Darcy’s townhouse in London, to receive Elizabeth’s inheritance at last. Had she not married a rich man, Elizabeth had often thought wryly, matters might have been difficult indeed, for meeting Great-Uncle Alfie’s lawyer had taken more time than anyone could have anticipated. Mr Hawthorne, who had written her great-uncle’s will, had abruptly passed away, leaving everything to be handled by his business partner, a Mr Simms. Poor Mr Simms suddenly had twice the work he had ever been accustomed to do, and a business that they might have expected to conclude with a single meeting days or weeks after their marriage had stretched out, with one difficulty after another, until the meeting was at last scheduled for that very day — weeks and months after it might have been expected.
But that hardly mattered. Elizabeth had the dearest wish of her heart — the love of her husband — and needed nothing else.
“What are you staring at now?” Darcy asked, giving her a wry smile over his newspaper.
