Epilogue – 1
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet
of Pemberley
Happy was the day when Mrs. Bennet finally forgave her least favorite daughter for rejecting her cousin Collins as she married the wealthiest man in Derbyshire. Although the matron did not appear in this story, Mrs. Bennet’s presence could still be felt throughout.
Mr. Darcy was not the only one to feel the wrath of a mother whose daughter was spurned.
No, the amiable Mr. Bingley did as well.
From his arrival at Rosings upon receiving the letter of Darcy’s illness, to his own confession of the odd dreams he experienced during the last several days while on holiday, Mr. Bingley felt the love and devotion of good friends and the encouragement of his angel’s most beloved sister.
Therefore, he received quite a shock when he rode into Hertfordshire and found a most unpleasant welcome from the matriarch of Longbourn. His progress was greatly impeded until he had placated said mother by wooing her daughter and proposing in three days’ time. He was swiftly accepted.
The younger Bennet girls offer little significance to this story, and therefore it will only be said they married well for their station (a curate, a country squire, and a soldier in the Regulars––you may assign to each girl the spouse you choose).
Mr. Bennet accepted Elizabeth’s decision to marry Mr. Darcy with skepticism. But he was won over after witnessing the adoration of the young man toward his favorite child.
What of the errand that took Mr. Collins away from Rosings, and then in effect Lady Catherine and Mrs. Collins as well?
As the most sycophantic of minions to the great lady, Mr. Collins was tasked with acquiring a special license for Mr. Darcy to marry his cousin Anne the day after Easter.
However, with the parson of Hunsford having more articulacy than brains, he somehow found himself mistaken for a common criminal with insane tendencies and was carted away to Bedlam.
It wasn’t until an avaricious guard at the institution decided to write a letter to the noble patroness of the quirky little man, that Her Ladyship realized something was amiss, and she must set off to rescue her parson, as no one else could.
The revelation upon their return from Town that Darcy and Elizabeth’s fate was already decided, as well as Anne de Bourgh’s herself, left Lady Catherine in a foul mood and with a nervous parson.
Although his position at Rosings was not in jeopardy, he was still made to feel the wrath of his patroness herself.
And what of Anne de Bourgh? The mousy spinster whose mother believed her destiny was with her cousin?
Her mother was right on one account. But, unbeknownst to the matriarch of Rosings, it was a different cousin entirely.
Anne and Richard were wed in a quiet ceremony by the parson of Matlock House, the Fitzwilliam family’s seat for over two hundred years.
Although Lady Catherine railed against the union, she was drowned out by her brother and patriarch of the Fitzwilliam family, Lord Matlock, who was a romantic at heart.
Georgiana did have some fond memories of her dreams from her “other” life.
She often spoke of the joy in having remembered a mother she had never really known.
As a gift for her seventeenth birthday, her brother had commissioned a portrait which had only existed in their dreams––a painting of Georgiana and both her parents, which hung at Darcy/de Bourgh House in London.
She cried upon seeing it, recognizing it at once from a life she had never really lived.
The other remnant of the dream–world was the memory of her marriage to Wickham. It secured her decision to only marry for an equal, enduring love. In the end, she wed a man who, like her brother, adored his wife. Their estate was only twenty miles from Pemberley.
And what of our beloved couple? How did the adventure affect their lives? Doting Mrs. Reynolds welcomed them home. It seemed that she had had some colorful dreams as well. Her cup overflowed at the addition of the new mistress of Pemberley.
Darcy had immediately written to his man of business in London, who had personally called upon Bainbridge & Sons to confirm the solvency of the Merino account. It was still entirely intact.
He also took it upon himself to pay special attention to a particular tenant’s cottage.
Going with his wife, he visited the home of the shepherd, Jonathan Smith, whose Aunt Clara also resided there.
She mentioned she had played with the elder Mr. Darcy as a child and how the current Mr. Darcy looked so much like him.
He made sure she was never burdened, and upon her death, saw to the expenses of the funeral himself.
It was the least he could do for someone who could have been his mother. In another life.
And what of George Wickham? He was not one who purely loved Darcy, so therefore his presence was nil in this lifetime. Elizabeth received a letter from her mother that he had left the militia to seek his fortune in the East Indies and was never heard from again.
Elizabeth and Darcy could not comprehend the mystery from their dreams of Lady Catherine’s fear of Wickham’s search for a letter.
Over time, they pushed it from their minds, but the truth was revealed in this life after Lady Catherine’s death.
Anne and the colonel were redecorating a room in Rosings and had sent a piece of furniture to Pemberley for Georgiana: the writing desk from Lady Anne Darcy.
As Elizabeth was investigating the intricate patterns of the piece, she stumbled upon a hidden spring, revealing a small, secret compartment. Inside was an envelope with “My Love,” written in a thin script.
“Fitzwilliam, come. Look what I have discovered.”
Darcy handed his eldest son, Henry, off to Nanny Flora, and shooed his three daughters back to the playroom with kisses and promises of a story later.
“What is it, my dear?”
She reached out and handed him the letter sealed with the Darcy crest. “I found this in the desk. Do you know the writing?”
He was stunned at first before reverently replying, “Yes. It is my mother’s.” He broke the seal and read, a low whistle escaping his lips. “In the other life this is what Lady Catherine feared Wickham was looking for. Not my father’s letter at Bainbridge & Sons, but this.”
“Wickham?”
“In…another time. Her fear was justified.”
He held out the parchment to her, she took it, and began to read:
My darling George,
I wish your travel to London could have been delayed as I alone reside at Rosings with your secret, and no one to share it with.
Sir Lewis presenting this most unsettling claim––that he is not the father of young Anne, my namesake.
What proof does he have Catherine had taken a lover all those years ago and Anne the result of that affair?
And with a groomsman? Your counsel to your brother to not act too hastily, and make certain his claims are accurate, is wise.
I cannot know what my brother, would do if unfounded accusations were made against his sister.
Oh, George. I believe it a good sign you were interrupted by Catherine. The wine she brought Sir Lewis is from his favorite vineyard and must have brought him comfort. He has still not recovered from the illness which took hold that night, but I hope he will by your return.
Oh, my sister! I would not think it of her but after much contemplation, realize her increased attention to the stables. How she has become a much better horsewoman over the last several years. Her interest in horseflesh has increased as well. I was always the rider growing up.
What is to be done as Anne is almost ten years old?
I am troubled, but wait for your counsel, my husband.
Until your return, I will take comfort in my sweet Fitzwilliam and this darling child growing within me.
We have created our own happiness, and I will allow that to be my every thought until your return. I will choose the life I love.
Forever,
Your Anne Girl
Darcy was visibly shaken and sat on the chair, staring at the parchment. “My cousin? Anne?”
“Did you ever have an inkling?”
“Never,” he said, running his hand through his hair.
“Did your father and uncle not pursue this further?”
“Apparently not. My uncle died when I was twelve…” He snatched at the papers, and opened the parchment again, scanning for the date. “April twelfth…”
“Yes? What significance does that day hold?”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth. “Sir Lewis died on the fourteenth of April. Only two days after this letter.”
A gasp escaped Elizabeth’s lips. “Two days? How did he die?”
A long pause preceded his reply. “The doctors could not give a satisfactory reason. They believed he ate something which did not agree with him, and he expired.”
“Something that did not agree with him?”
“Yes. One of the doctors even implied…poison.”
“Poison? Who would have––” Elizabeth paused, her eyes growing large, and her mouth forming an O. “You do not believe that…”
“I know what you are thinking, and my own mind has traversed down that path in the last several seconds. The evidence is inconclusive. We cannot suppose my aunt, a daughter of an earl, would ever stoop to the level of a common criminal.”
But, for all his protestations, a silent understanding was conveyed. Then, she spoke again. “But Fitzwilliam…if we are to take any good from this find, you have received a letter from the grave. How your mother loved you.”
A wistful smile tugged at his lips. “Yes. And I, her.”
They were silent until Elizabeth asked, “How could this letter appear in this lifetime?”
“I do not know. There are things in dreams that do not make sense––where the start does not match the finish. But I will do what my mother should have done, instead of locking it away.”
He walked over to the fireplace and removed the screen. “Fitzwilliam, wait! You cannot burn such sweet words from your mother.”
“This can ruin the lives of those we both love. I cannot allow my sentimentality to be the cause for another’s destruction.”
She grabbed the paper from his hand, and quickly tore it in two, removing the offending words from the missive, and then dropped it onto the embers. The flames licked the paper, before igniting, and erasing any evidence of Sir Lewis’s claims to his brother by marriage.
Darcy and Elizabeth stood together and stared into the flames of the fire before she spoke. “This secret dies with us, my love.”
“Yes. I cannot bring a supposition to Richard and ruin his and Anne’s life. It would do no good.”
“It would not.”
And so, the Darcy’s of Pemberley, united in cause, once again proved their affection for each other. They chose a life worth living for themselves and those they loved, and they lived a life worth choosing for the rest of their days.
With the curtains drawn, one would think any observations on the master and mistress of Pemberley would cease. And they would be correct, save for an old woman with a raspy voice and gnarled fingers gazing at the estate, lit by torch light.
“I’ve watched you long enough, boy,” she whispered, a wrinkled grin stealing across her lips.
“You listened to me all those years ago, and I believe you’ve chosen wisely.
Much joy will come to you.” Finally, she banged her cane on the ground.
“Let’s go,” she called to the band of gypsies surrounding her.
“These woods will protect us no more. We’ll move on to another who needs our guidance. ”
“And where’ll we go?” asked a young, dark-haired boy, taking her hand and helping her to the wagon. “We’ve lived in these woods all our lives.”
“True, but our time here is over. We must go where we’re needed. Because here, all is well.”
~The End~
(Kind of…)