Chapter 37 #2
Her heart warmed. She set down her fork and rested her hand on his hand.
“We are all the better for it. And I would not part with Elinor for the world.” She could not wish the past undone, for that would mean losing her daughter, Darcy, and every improvement her family had made.
“If your investments had been successful before I married, would you have undertaken the same improvements for our family?” she asked.
He busied himself with the bread, spreading butter with care.
“No. I should have gloried in my supposed cleverness and learnt nothing. Your mother would have insisted on refitting the entire house, and I, complacent, would have indulged her. Though I meant to set aside money for dowries, I doubt I should have done so. The fortune gained in the mines is large, and I have managed it well since; yet had success come earlier, I might have squandered it all, only to know regret when my original purpose was not fulfilled. You, Lizzy, would have counselled prudence, and I—fool that I was—would have dismissed you as a silly girl.”
His humility struck her deeply, and her heart ached a little for him. She lowered her voice. “You have faced yourself honestly. To see one’s faults is difficult; to amend them is harder still.”
“I thank you, daughter, but I do not deserve your approbation…nor your love.” Eyes glistening, he looked to the bread still clutched in his hand but seemed unable to take a bite.
Elizabeth’s own throat tightened, and in that moment she knew forgiveness had taken root.
He had worked tirelessly against his natural inclinations, working to repair the situation as best he could.
Trials refine us, she thought, recalling something she had heard once.
As the dross is melted away, the metal is made pure.
Her father had done all within his power to atone, and resentment could serve no purpose now. It was time to let go of the anger.
Mary and Mr Collins married on a cold February morning. They had chosen the twenty-eighth, though Mr Bennet had teasingly proposed the following day. Mrs Bennet would hear none of it.
“Leap years are unlucky as it is!” she cried. “And now I shall have two daughters married within one—heaven forfend a child should follow!”
Mary, composed and self-assured, folded her hands before her.
“I believe, Mama, that the honour and good fortune of having two daughters well-married will cancel any ill-effects of the year.” She cast a wink towards Elizabeth and Jane.
“We shall marry on the twenty-eighth and therefore be safe from misfortune.” This pronouncement soothed Mrs Bennet’s agitation, and she found some other concern to occupy her.
Mary looked lovely in a gown of periwinkle blue. Lydia had fashioned a new bonnet for her out of silk flowers and embroidered ribbon. “They will be the only flowers available at this season,” she declared, “unless Mr Bingley lets us pilfer from his hothouse.”
The gentleman did precisely that. Mary carried a bouquet of blue hyacinths, myrtle, snowdrops, white roses, and camellias—symbols of constancy, marital felicity, love, and devotion.
The ceremony was simple, attended by close friends and family, and it seemed as though all of Meryton came to the breakfast that followed.
When the bride and groom stepped into their carriage, Elizabeth joined the cheerful farewells.
She would follow them to Kent in a few weeks’ time.
The days that followed brought a restlessness Elizabeth could not dismiss. Her last conversation with her father had left its mark, stirring questions long dormant. For years, she had contented herself with managing her affairs and caring for Elinor; it had seemed enough.
Did I mean to remain always at Longbourn? When my father should die and Jane inherit, was I to remain in her home, teaching her children to play their instruments very ill? Or ought I to remove to Netherfield?
It hardly signified now. Her life had shifted, and she meant to live it differently—to seek happiness rather than simply exist.
Elizabeth set out for London in the first week of March, intent upon returning to her townhouse. It required a name, for Fiennes House would not do. She had settled upon Everdene House, a word meaning a place of enduring peace—an apt choice, for she meant it to be just that.
When the carriage drew up before the door, she noted with pleasure the new plaque already affixed beside it.
Elinor, Miss Lane, Sloan, and Kane accompanied her; together they entered the house that felt at last her own.
Mrs Heinz and Mr Frost welcomed her warmly, and Elizabeth returned their courtesy.
The drapes for the parlour had arrived, as had the two easy chairs upholstered in pale blue damask.
She could scarcely wait to see them in their places, just as she had pictured.
After seeing Elinor and Miss Lane to their rooms, she went to her own chamber.
It felt lighter now—less oppressive, as though the very walls had shed their old shadows.
The door between the master and mistress’s rooms was locked, and it would remain so.
Fresh flowers graced the bedside table, another vase on the dressing table. Their fragrance filled the air, and she drew a long breath, a sense of peace stealing over her. I have come so far, she thought. And I am stronger for every trial I have overcome.
Satisfied with her surroundings, she seated herself at the writing desk and took up her pen.
Suzanne had asked to be informed when she returned to town, and Elizabeth was eager to see her again.
There would be time before her journey to Kent for them to take tea together—or perhaps even dinner.
She wondered whether Lady Matlock was in town.
Elizabeth liked Mr Darcy’s aunt and would not mind calling on her.
Everdene House, London
2 March 1812
Dear Suzanne,
I have returned to town and should be delighted to have you for tea. My parlour is much improved, and I long to show you the changes. I may even contrive a dinner before I depart for Kent, should you and your husband be available.
Do not make me wait for your reply, dear friend.
Though it has been but a short time since we were last in company, I have missed you.
Send your answer by Sloan—or perhaps Kane will deliver it.
Both have proved entirely dependable and will convey us to Kent before returning to town with my carriage.
Yours in eager anticipation,
Elizabeth