“What are they meant to celebrate?” asked Elizabeth, pulling a mock-offended face upon seeing that he had no intention of writing more.
“We shall see what there is to celebrate,” Darcy replied, laughing at Elizabeth and Georgiana, who left the room arm in arm, pretending to be affronted.
But by the time the Bennets and Mr Bingley arrived at Pemberley, she walked through the house with the joy and the assurance of a mistress, for more and more it seemed to her that she had always lived there, and nothing felt strange or difficult.
She awaited the arrival of her family from the drawing-room terrace for an hour, eager to rush to the porch to greet them.
Then, eventually, she observed the carriages descending from the top of the hill into the valley where Pemberley lay.
On Darcy’s arm, surrounded by Georgiana, Anne, her aunt, and her uncle, she struggled to hold back tears after seeing her father alight from the carriage. In just a few steps, like a young man, he swiftly approached his beloved Lizzy, enfolding her in his arms until Mrs Bennet protested that she wanted to embrace her daughter too.
With tears, laughter, and noisy conversation all at the same time, joy filled Pemberley’s valley, reflected in the beautiful sky that celebrated their reunion with its shimmering blue colour and perfect white clouds.
However, when Mrs Bennet and Mrs Gardiner embraced and began weeping, Elizabeth spoke with determined affection, “Ladies, I forbid tears in my home.”
This statement, delivered naturally, prompted everyone’s attention; it was the first time Elizabeth and Darcy’s marriage had been spoken of before the family. While their love was already well-known to all, with even the servants referring to Elizabeth as their mistress, the couple remained silent about their intentions.
“Why did I say that?” Elizabeth pondered. “You regard me as Pemberley’s mistress. Only its master has not sought my hand. Perhaps Mama could intercede in this matter!” she jestingly suggested, devoid of resentment.
“I do not interfere in my daughters’ affairs,” came the response, eliciting laughter from all present.
Despite any mischievous words from Elizabeth, Mrs Bennet was ready to forgive anything for her daughter who would soon become the mistress of that immense estate.
“Imagine,” Mr Bennet genially remarked to Darcy as they entered the house, “that during half the journey, the ladies wept with joy at travelling, and during the other half, they cried for Lizzy’s happiness.”
They exchanged smiles, with Darcy warming to Elizabeth’s father with every word he said, their similar humour and somewhat sardonic outlook on life marking the beginning of a promising relationship.
A single glance from Darcy towards Elizabeth dispelled any lingering concerns Mr Bennet may have had. Henceforth, all he wanted was a glass of brandy away from the ladies, who were spending the afternoon together, listening to Elizabeth recount the tale of her struggles and then her newfound happiness, yet omitting some parts that were no longer important or of interest.
“And you left for Longbourn?” Mary asked, imagining her sister’s sadness when leaving behind the man she loved.
“Yes, and I swore not to visit Derbyshire again,” Elizabeth admitted with a mischievous smile they knew so well.
Initially unaware that Lydia was not present, Elizabeth soon realised something was amiss. Lydia had not made the journey, and there was something strange in her absence, as neither Kitty nor Mary would divulge any details.
“Papa will explain everything,” Jane concluded.
Indeed, just before dinner, they gathered in the drawing-room, where Mr Bennet reluctantly recounted a story he abhorred, evident in his struggle to articulate his thoughts and emotions.
“I shall be brief, and we shall speak of it no more, for this is a time of celebration.”
Mrs Bennet attempted to interject, but Mr Bennet silenced her. “Please, Mrs Bennet, be still. Only that which occurs within these walls warrants joy. The rest is a lamentable tale showing our failures as parents. Against my advice, Lydia married Mr Wickham after he persuaded her to elope.”
A murmur of dismay swept through the room. Mr Bennet glanced at Mr Darcy, who made no effort to conceal his displeasure as Mr Bennet continued to speak. “Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam were invaluable in finding the fugitives. Unfortunately, as I told you, Lydia was determined to marry him, which was, in my opinion, a terrible decision. She would have been better dishonoured than married to that scoundrel.”
“Mr Bennet!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, obviously distressed by her husband’s words. She was happy that Lydia was married; nothing could convince her to feel differently.
“I shall conclude this unpleasant business by informing you that, in a brief encounter with the newly married couple, I made it clear they are unwelcome in our family. Despite Mrs Bennet’s objections, my decision is final. Anyone wishing to see them may do so, but not in my presence—”
“Nor mine!” Mr Darcy interjected, with Elizabeth approaching him, fully aware of his turmoil and shocked by that news that could compromise her happiness.
“I am sorry,” she murmured with obvious worry, to which he smiled as if nothing had happened and invited everyone to dinner.
Yet, Elizabeth saw his sadness through his smile, choosing to sit beside him rather than across the table, wanting to gaze into his eyes.
“You knew,” she whispered as they settled at the table.
“Of course, my dear. How else do you suppose the colonel became involved?”
