Mr. Collins bowed deeply, releasing them with flowery protestations about not wishing to monopolise the groom’s attention. “Of course, of course! How inconsiderate of me! Though I hope we might speak further later, Mr. Darcy. I have several thoughts regarding the management of parish affairs that I would value your opinion on, given your evident wisdom in such matters.”
Darcy inclined his head with minimal courtesy and allowed Elizabeth to guide him away. His hand covered hers on his arm, squeezing gently in silent gratitude.
“Thank you,” he murmured quietly. “Another few minutes of his obsequious flattery and I fear I would have said something regrettable.”
“I could not allow my husband to commit murder at our wedding breakfast,” Elizabeth replied with amusement. “It would quite spoil the festivities.”
Mr. Bennet did indeed call for attention, raising his glass with ceremonial gravity that suggested genuine feeling beneath his usual sardonic manner. The crowd quieted, all eyes turning towards the master of Longbourn as he prepared to speak.
“To my daughter Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet began, his voice carrying clearly through the suddenly silent rooms, “and her husband Mr. Darcy. I have known Lizzy impertinent since childhood, have watched her develop a liveliness of mind that bordered on impudence and a wit that often tested the limits of proper courtesy. These qualities made her my particular favourite amongst my daughters, I confess, for she was never insipid or vapid or content to simply accept what others told her to think.”
He paused, his eyes finding Elizabeth’s across the room. “I wish her every happiness with a man who has proven himself worthy of her particular brand of impertinence.”
Elizabeth felt tears gather despite her best efforts to contain them. Her father had known that something was not right with his favourite daughter when she came to London, rushing to marry a man she had always expressed dislike of. He had mentioned something of it to her a few days ago, quietly, with a question in his eyes, and she had hesitated only briefly before telling him the whole. He had embraced her lovingly, telling her that he believed her.
Mr. Bennet had read enough accounts of utter strangeness to know that there were things in the world that could not be explained by ordinary means, and he was only sorry his daughter had been the victim of one of them. They had talked long into the evening, Mr. Bennet seeking to assure himself that she truly wished to be Mrs. Darcy, but Elizabeth had been able to assure him that she did. That she truly believed Mr. Darcy to be the best of men, and however their union might have come about, she was the furthest thing from sorry about it.
“May their union be blessed with happiness, health, and the wisdom to appreciate the extraordinary good fortune they have found in each other,” Mr. Bennet concluded, raising his glass higher. “To Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!”
“To Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!” the assembled guests chorused, raising glasses in enthusiastic agreement.
The celebration continued for hours, guests lingering over food and conversation whilst Elizabeth and Darcy accepted congratulations from what felt like every resident of Meryton and beyond. By the time the gathering began to disperse, Elizabeth felt exhausted but deeply satisfied. This had been everything the London wedding was not, real and joyful and entirely her own.
Late afternoon sun slanted through the carriage windows as they departed Longbourn, the familiar landscape rolling past whilst Elizabeth settled against the seat with a sigh of contentment. Darcy sat beside her, Georgiana opposite, all three of them pleasantly weary from the day’s festivities.
The farewells had been protracted, with Mrs. Bennet dissolving into tears whilst simultaneously beaming with such radiant joy that the contradiction seemed not to trouble her in the slightest. Jane had embraced Elizabeth with fierce affection, whispering congratulations and promises to write soon. EvenMr. Bennet had shown unusual emotion, his eyes suspiciously bright as he handed his daughter up into the carriage.
“I am glad we did this,” Elizabeth said softly, her hand finding Darcy’s on the seat between them. “The second wedding. It made everything feel real in a way the first ceremony never could.”
“I am glad as well,” Darcy replied, raising her hand to his lips with gesture that had become familiar over the past weeks. “You deserved a wedding that was truly yours, with your family present and your own vows spoken freely. I only regret that circumstances required it at all.”
Georgiana smiled at them both with such open happiness that Elizabeth felt her heart squeeze with affection for her new sister. “It was beautiful,” Georgiana said, her voice soft but carrying genuine emotion. “I have never seen my brother look so happy. And your family is wonderful, Elizabeth. So warm and welcoming. Even your younger sisters, though they are rather... spirited.”
Elizabeth laughed at the diplomatic phrasing. “Spirited is certainly one word for Lydia and Kitty. I hope they did not overwhelm you too terribly with their questions.”
“Not at all,” Georgiana assured her. “They were very kind, and their enthusiasm was rather endearing. I think I shall enjoy having sisters, even if they are a bit more lively than I am accustomed to.”
They travelled in comfortable silence for a while, the gentle rocking of the carriage and the steady rhythm of hooves creating a peaceful atmosphere. Elizabeth found herself thinking about the past weeks, about everything that had happened since that terrible morning when she woke in Anne’s body and discovered the full extent of the scheme against her.
Anne was in Bath now, under constant supervision, her schemes for body-swapping thoroughly thwarted. Mrs.Jenkinson was on a ship bound for India, sent far enough away that she could never assist Anne in another such attempt. Even Wickham was in debtor’s prison, facing consequences for his lies and manipulations. All the threats to her and Darcy’s happiness had been neutralised, all the immediate dangers resolved.
What remained was simply life. A marriage to build, a household to run, relationships to nurture and develop. The prospect felt both daunting and exciting, full of possibility rather than predetermined fate.
“What are you thinking?” Darcy asked quietly, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in the gentle circles that had become his habit.
“That I feel properly like Mrs. Darcy at last,” Elizabeth replied, meeting his eyes with a smile that felt entirely genuine. “Not legally for the first time, but genuinely. In my heart as well as on paper. This marriage is mine now, not something that happened to someone else whilst I watched helplessly.”
His answering smile was brilliant, transforming his features with joy that made him look years younger than his actual age. “I am very glad to hear it. Though I confess I have felt you were truly my wife since the moment you agreed to give our marriage a chance, regardless of how it began. Your courage in facing such impossible circumstances, your determination to reclaim what was stolen from you, only confirmed what I already knew. That you are extraordinary, Elizabeth, and that I am the most fortunate man alive to call you my wife.”
The carriage rolled on towards Pemberley, carrying them towards their future together. Elizabeth leaned against Darcy’s shoulder, his arm coming around her in gesture that felt both protective and welcoming. Through the window, she watched the countryside change as they moved further north, leaving Hertfordshire behind for Derbyshire and whatever awaited them there.
She was Mrs. Darcy now. Truly, completely, irrevocably. Not because an impostor had spoken vows in her voice, but because she herself had stood before God and congregation and freely chosen this path. The knowledge settled over her with quiet certainty, bringing not anxiety but anticipation.
Whatever came next, she was ready.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Inabeautifullyappointedsitting room at Pemberley, a room which had once been the domain of Lady Anne Darcy, Elizabeth sat at her writing desk, the grimoire resting before her. She ran her fingers across the cover one final time, tracing the de Bourgh crest embossed in the lower corner, before lifting it and placing it carefully in the drawer she had designated for things that required safe-keeping.
