Page 36 of Time Stands Still

Georgiana had installed herself at the instrument, her fingers moving over the keys with a delicate confidence, while Mary stood beside her, turning the pages. The piece concluded, a beautiful, melancholic air that lingered in the quiet room. Elizabeth was struck by the sight, by the rare, genuine smile on Mary’s face, and the quiet joy she took in her conversation with a newfound companion.

“It is a lovely piece, Miss Darcy,” Mary said, her usual didactic tone softened into one of genuine admiration. “The harmony is most… affecting.”

“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” Georgiana replied, a soft blush on her cheeks. “My master in London encourages me to compose my own variations. He says it improves the understanding of the composer’s intent.” She hesitated, then looked at Mary, a flicker of true curiosity in her eyes. “Do you ever compose?”

Mary seemed taken aback by the question. “I have… attempted it. But I find I lack the courage to deviate from the masters. It feels a presumption.”

“Oh, no!” Georgiana said with surprising earnestness. “I do not think so at all. It is more like… a conversation. One must listen to what the composer has said, of course, but then one has the opportunity to reply.” She turned back to the keys, playing a short, questioning phrase from the piece they had just finished. She then altered it, resolving the chord not in a minor, but a major key, a small, hopeful shift. “See? A reply.”

A rare, true smile touched Mary’s lips. “A reply,” she repeated, her gaze fixed on the sheet music with a new light in her eyes. “I had not considered it so. Thank you, Miss Darcy. That is a most valuable lesson.”

That night, Elizabeth found herself in her chamber with Jane, the two of them sitting together as they had done since they were girls. The room was filled with the preparations for the morrow, yet a quiet, peaceful intimacy settled over them.

“You are happy, Lizzy?” Jane asked, her hands enclosing her sister’s.

“I am,” Elizabeth replied, her voice soft with an emotion that needed no more words. “I am happier than I ever thought possible.” She gave her sister a gentle, teasing look. “Though I might say the same of you, Jane. I have not seen you look so serene, so content, in a great while. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s company seems to agree with you.”

Jane smiled, a brilliant, beautiful expression. A moment later, her own expression grew more thoughtful. “It is strange,” she began, her voice a low confession. “The week we spent in London, in the Colonel’s company… I have come to understand my own heart a great deal better.” She met Elizabeth’s eyes, a shy but steady light in her own. “I have learned what I truly require in a partner. It is not merely a good-natured man, but a man of good character. The Colonel… he is steady and honourable. He does not say what he does not mean, and his kindness is a quiet, constant thing, not a performance for the benefit of others.”

“And you, Jane?” Elizabeth prompted gently. “How do you feel in his company?”

“I feel… seen,” Jane confessed, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. “He listens. Not only to my words, but to my silences. I have found that what I felt for Mr. Bingley was but a shadow, a mere fancy born of a few pleasant evenings. The regard I feel for Colonel Fitzwilliam… it is a thing of such different substance. It is a connection I did not know was possible. I find I am more careful with my heart now, but I am… hopeful. It is far too soon to speak of love, Lizzy. But the feeling is new, and it is a feeling I wish to explore.”

“Oh, Jane,” Elizabeth breathed, her heart swelling with happiness for her sister. “And he? Does he return your regard?”

“He has not spoken,” Jane said, her voice soft but her gaze steady. “But his attentions are particular. I believe… I hope… that his feelings are not entirely indifferent. But even if nothing should come of it,” she added, her voice full of a serene strength Elizabeth so admired, “I am grateful to have known it. For it has taught me the difference between a passing inclination and a true meeting of hearts and minds.”

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand. To see Jane so content, so certain of her own heart, was a happiness almost as profound as her own. They sat together in the quiet of the night, two sisters on the precipice of a new life, each full of hope for the other.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Elizabeth stood before the looking-glass, a vision in lace and silk. Never before in her life had she felt so truly beautiful, not because of the fine dress or the elegant arrangement of her hair, but because of the brilliant, unshakeable joy that radiated from within. Today she would become his wife. Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. The name was still a marvel to her, a secret and precious thing. She could not wait to see him, to stand with him at the altar and begin the rest of their lives, a life of endless tomorrows.

The faces of her family, the scent of the flowers, and the hushed reverence of the church all seemed to fade into the background. The only fixed point in the universe was the man who stood at the altar, his gaze locked with hers, his eyes full of a love so potent it was a tangible force. As they spoke their vows, their voices clear and steady in the quiet church, it felt less like a public ceremony and more like a private, sacred confirmation of a truth they had discovered in the crucible of their shared, impossible past.

The wedding breakfast was held at Netherfield Park. Mrs. Bennet, in her element, had insisted upon it, and Darcy, with an amused and knowing glance at Elizabeth, had readily agreed. Though the property was his, the social direction of the event was entirely in her mother’s hands, a state of affairs that made for a lively, if somewhat chaotic, celebration.

The Gardiners looked on with quiet, heartfelt satisfaction. Amidst the cheerful chaos, Elizabeth sought out her oldest friend. She found Charlotte near a window, a small, knowing smile on her face as she watched the proceedings.

“Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, taking her hand. “I am so glad you are here.”

“Did you think I would miss it?” Charlotte asked, her eyes twinkling. She looked from Elizabeth to Darcy, who was engaged in a conversation with Mr. Bennet, and then back again. “He seems a good man, Lizzy. A very good man. I am truly happy for you.” Her gaze fell to her own rounded belly, a quiet contentment in her expression. “It seems we have both found our own sorts of happiness, have we not?”

“We have,” Elizabeth agreed, her heart full. She thought of Charlotte’s pragmatic choice, a decision she had once judged so harshly. Now she saw only that it had brought her friend a sense of peace and purpose. “You look happy, Charlotte. Truly.”

“I am content,” Charlotte confirmed with a simple nod. “Mr. Collins is as he always will be, but he is a good man in his way, and he is kind to me. I have my home, my security, and soon…” she placed a hand on her stomach, “…I will have my family. It is all I ever wished for.” She gave Elizabeth a wry, affectionate look. “You, my dear, were always meant for something more. For a grander love story. I am glad you had the courage to wait for it.”

“It was not courage,” Elizabeth confessed in a low voice. “But a great deal of foolishness and a series of impossible events.”

Charlotte’s smile widened. “Then I am glad for the impossible. It has brought you to this. Be happy, my dear friend.”

Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, could barely contain her raptures, flitting about the room like a brightly-coloured butterfly. Her particular pride was the presence of an Earl and his Countess at her daughter’s wedding breakfast. “Lord and Lady Matlock!” she whispered loudly to anyone who would listen, which was primarily her sister, Mrs. Philips. “Such fine relations, Lizzy! Who would have thought it! Ten thousand a year, and the nephew of an Earl!” Her pleasure was only momentarily dampened by the sight of Charlotte, so near her time, prompting a muttered aside about the injustice of the entail that would one day see Mr. Collins as master of Longbourn. Lydia and Kitty, for their part, were in ecstasies over the red-coated officers who had accompanied Colonel Fitzwilliam, their giggles a constant refrain in the background.

Darcy’s relations were all graciousness. Lord and Lady Matlock expressed their sincere happiness, while Georgiana, her shyness overcome by her obvious delight, had found a quiet corner with Mary. They were deep in a discussion of a book of sheet music, their heads bent together, a picture of quiet companionship. Even Anne de Bourgh, who had accompanied the Matlocks, offered her congratulations with a quiet, genuine warmth that spoke of her own newfound peace. Her mother, of course, was absent.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, his own happiness for his cousin plain to see, was a constant and devoted presence at Jane’s side. Their easy companionship, the way he seemed to anticipate her needs, the quiet smiles they shared, it was a source of quiet joy for Elizabeth to observe.

At last, the time came for their departure. Darcy’s carriage was waiting to take them to London, where they would spend a week alone before travelling on to Pemberley. The farewells were a flurry of tears and happy wishes. Mrs. Bennet wept with joyous abandon, clasping Elizabeth in a series of fervent embraces and offering a cascade of final injunctions on the proper management of a great house. Kitty and Lydia demanded promises of frequent visits and intelligence of the latest London fashions. Mary offered a quiet, heartfelt wish for her sister’s felicity that Elizabeth found deeply moving. Jane’s farewell was a silent, tearful embrace that spoke more than words ever could. And finally, Mr. Bennet drew Elizabeth to him, pressing her to his heart in a rare display of paternal affection. “Be happy, my dear girl,” he whispered. “You have chosen well.” Georgiana was to follow them to London on the morrow and stay with the Matlocks, affording the newlyweds a week of privacy before she joined them for the journey to Pemberley.