“Are you well?” He crossed the room to her in quick strides. “My aunt—”
“Aye, she was here,” Elizabeth interjected, appearing amused. “She believes she has triumphed, and I believe she is entirely satisfied with herself. Is she in an uproar at Rosings?”
Darcy grinned mischievously. “She is in a state of great agitation. I believe she means to summon me and demand that I make amends by marrying Anne. I had to slip away before her messenger could reach me.” His eyes softened as he reached for her hand, interlacing his fingers withhers. “Elizabeth, now that our secret is out, my aunt’s fury is inevitable. What are we to do?”
Elizabeth looked down at their joined hands, marvelling at how naturally they fitted together—how right it felt. When she looked up, her decision was made. “Mr Collins already knows of our attachment. Perhaps we ought to secure a common license and marry in the morning.”
She had expected Darcy to be pleased, but instead, he studied her, his brow furrowing slightly. “Are you in earnest?” His voice was low, serious. “I will not have you feel forced into this before you are ready.”
Elizabeth pressed his hand, her answering smile was tender. “I am more than ready to be your wife, Fitzwilliam.” Her fingers brushed his cheek, and she delighted in the way he leaned into her touch. “You are everything to me, and I do not want to wait any longer to begin our life together.”
A slow, reverent smile lit his face. Taking her hand between both of his, he pressed it to his lips. “Then I shall go to the church at once and seek out Mr Collins. By morning you will be mine—and I yours.”
Her heart fluttered at his certainty. “Have you also an answer for where we shall go next?”
Darcy considered for a moment, but Elizabeth had already thought it through. “’Tis simple.” We shall take Elinor to London. She and Miss Lane can stay at Everdene House while you and I enjoy a few weeks of solitude and bliss before Jane and Bingley’s wedding.” A bright look followed. “Oh—Miss Darcy is still at Darcy House, is she not?”
“No, I sent her to my Aunt Matlock. She will remain there until after Bingley’s wedding.”
“Then it is perfect,” Elizabeth decided, her voice filled with excitement. “We shall all go to Longbourn for their wedding, and then to Margate for the summer. What say you, sir?”
Darcy lifted her chin so he could gaze into her eyes. “I say that I am the most fortunate of men,” he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. Elizabeth melted into the embrace, savouring the truth of it—that this man, whom she once dared place no trust, was now the keeper of her heart. When he drew back, tenderness and promise shone in his eyes.
“I shall not be long. Wait for me, my love.”
As the door closed behind him, Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her lips, smiling through the warmth that filled her chest. On the morrow, she would be his wife—and never, in all her imaginings, had she conceived a future so perfectly her own.
Mr Collins
Mr Collins and his wife waved farewell to Mr and Mrs Darcy from the churchyard. The child and her governess accompanied them. They were bound for London, where they intended to remain until required to return to Hertfordshire. Darcy, ever considerate, had promised to send his own carriage for the Collinses in due course—a kindness much appreciated, for the parson felt certain the air at Rosings Park would soon become most unwholesome once Lady Catherine learned that her nephew was no longer available to marry her daughter.
It was still early, for the Darcys had chosen to marry as soon after dawn as possible. Collins kissed his wife’s hand with ceremonious affection andwatched her walk the short distance back to the parsonage. Turning to go back into the church, a familiar voice hailed him.
“Good morning, sir!” Colonel Fitzwilliam greeted the parson jovially, approaching with a smiling Miss de Bourgh on his arm. “May we trouble you for a few moments?”
“Of course, sir, Miss de Bourgh.” He gave a courteous bow. How may I be of service?”
The colonel’s smile was irrepressible. “I have it on good authority that my cousin Darcy married this morning. “Miss de Bourgh is of age and has agreed to be my wife. We mean to be married without delay. How quickly might we secure a common license and have the ceremony performed?”
Collins nearly choked on his astonishment. For a moment he could only blink, struggling to imagine Lady Catherine’s reaction to the news of both her nephews taking a wife. Months of suppressed mortification at his patroness’s dictates rose within him, and—most unworthily—he felt a very un-Christian-like thrill of satisfaction at the thought of the double calamity about to befall her.
“Let us attend to it at once,” he declared, recovering himself. “I shall send for my wife and our footman to serve as witnesses.”
While the colonel and Miss de Bourgh waited with visible impatience, he set about arranging the license. In due time, the witnesses arrived, and he performed the ceremony with commendable efficiency. When the register was signed and the couple offered their thanks, they departed, radiant and in haste.
Mary Collins’s eyes danced with mirth as she turned to her husband. “What I would not give to be a witness to the storm that is soon to break over Rosings Park.”
“I concur entirely, my dear Mary, he said with solemn relish.” He drew his wife to his side and kissed her hair. “I believe I shall take the remainder of the day for rest. Shall we return home, dearest?”
Arm in arm, they quitted the church and walked to the parsonage, prepared to await the tempest that would soon shake the proud house of Rosings to its very foundations.
Epilogue
LadyCatherinelearntofher daughter’s marriage when Mrs Jenkinson, the lady’s companion, burst shrieking into the drawing room, crying of ruin and disgrace. Unable to extract a coherent word from her, Lady Catherine swept upstairs herself—and upon finding Colonel Fitzwilliam in her daughter’s bedchamber in nothing but his shirtsleeves and breeches, promptly fainted dead away.
When she revived, Anne, beaming with a confidence hitherto unknown, gleefully announced that she and her cousin had married that very morning—and then duly consummated the union. The news prompted Lady Catherine to swoon once more. On her second recovery, it was evident that she had suffered an attack of some severity. From that hour she grew listless and feeble of mind. Mrs Jenkinson became Lady Catherine’s new companion, caring for her until she died two years later. She never learnt of Darcy’s marriage.
Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Darcy passed their first days of marriage alone in London. For a short while, they kept the news from the papers, wishing for a little peace before public notice descended. A letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam soon reached them, detailing all that had occurred at Rosings. They could not decide whether to feel relief that Lady Catherine no longer posed an obstacle, or sorrow at her decline.
