Epilogue Chapter 1
On the Road to Meryton
Molly’s hooves clopped quietly on the packed dirt, with slight puffs of dust rising from each footfall.
Zachary Rutherford pulled his muffler a little higher around his nose and mouth against the chill air that stung with each breath, and gazed contentedly at the gently rolling fields just beginning to show green on either side of the road.
Molly blew out a breath, and he patted her dappled gray neck, grateful for her warmth.
She bobbed her head as she walked along easily.
Zachary made no effort to spur her to greater speed, content to let her go at her own pace, instead of spending her in the hope of arriving at Netherfield Hall only slightly earlier.
Admittedly, he would be happy to get in front of a warm fireplace.
Winter had not entirely relinquished its grip on this part of England, and Zachary, more used to warmer temperatures in March, was not relishing the bite in the air.
It was, at least, not a windy day, and the sun was warm on his shoulders and head.
He pulled his coat tighter about himself, shifted in the saddle, and relapsed into the pleasant pastime of idly observing the countryside around him as he reflected.
He had been extremely busy the previous autumn and winter assisting his father.
Wrayburn needed both money and attention, and while Lord Langdon could not yet infuse a considerable amount of the former, he had been determined to apply as much of the latter as he could.
He had busied himself and Zachary in work that many of their peers would consider plebeian and beneath them; helping the laborers at the Home Farm to bring in the harvest, lifting and hauling and building heavy rocks into sturdy walls with their own hands, nailing up boards for broken-down fences, repairing cottages, engaging thatchers, corresponding with men of business and connections, and always poring over the books to see where money might be saved or better applied.
Disagreements had arisen, of course. Lord Langdon had his own ideas, and Zachary, with an eye to the long game and the day when he would inherit Wrayburn, had his.
Neither man was, by nature, either docile or compliant, but the disagreements were prevented from growing overly heated by not only good breeding, but also by the mutual respect and esteem between father and son.
Zachary had hit upon the happy notion of suggesting that Lord Langdon write to Mr. Coke of Norfolk regarding their fields and the best care and use of them.
The well-known expert on the latest farming methods had been both kind and generous in his advice, and Wrayburn had benefited.
Though the toil had been hard at times, Zachary had found himself enjoying being a gentleman farmer.
Nonetheless, he was pleased to be taking a short holiday from work to visit Meryton.
Back home, the tenant farmers would be plowing and sowing their fields, the great dray horses cutting deep furrows in the dark soil, but Lord Langdon had suggested that his son and heir take a short holiday to spend time with his cousins.
He would be joining the Bennets to celebrate a happy event, the marriage of the third Bennet daughter, Miss Mary.
He had liked Mary well enough upon meeting her last spring in London during her visit for Elizabeth’s wedding, and Zachary wished his cousin happy.
He was also curious about her bridegroom.
He did not know the name Wickham when applied to, and neither did Lord Langdon.
Further elucidation from Mrs. Bennet had discouraged the notion that this George Wickham would be known in London, for though he was formerly a lieutenant in the militia, a position often held by second sons of gentlemen, he now worked as a clerk for the Meryton solicitor, who was himself a connection of Mr. Bennet through his first wife.
On the surface, it was not a desirable marriage for the granddaughter of a viscount, but Zachary possessed the greatest faith in Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s care for their daughters.
Given that both had granted their consent to the match, Zachary was confident that Mary and her unknown bridegroom would suit nicely.
It must be a love match, of course, and Wickham was likely a most genteel person.
At any rate, it was not Zachary’s place to question his cousin’s choice of husband, only to present his felicitations and enjoy time spent among friends and relatives.
Mr. Bingley, a friendly and generous fellow, had invited Zachary to stay at his leased estate of Netherfield.
The Darcys would also be staying at Netherfield for a few weeks, too, a prospect that brought great pleasure to Zachary.
It promised to be a convivial party indeed, and with Netherfield only a mile from Longbourn, all the friends and family members would be able to visit each other with little trouble.
He eagerly looked forward to an enjoyable few weeks.
***
Drawing Room
Netherfield Park
One Hour Later
“Oh, Serena, it is wonderful!” Elizabeth Darcy declared from her comfortable wingbacked chair as she stared down at the leather-bound volume in her hands.
The Darcys had reached Netherfield Hall only a few hours previously, and she had found the book waiting for them, wrapped carefully in paper, having arrived from London a sennight earlier and set aside by Mr. Bingley until the Darcys arrived.
Serena, standing near the fire, nodded and said, in a slightly trembling tone, “It is like a dream come true, Sister. I can hardly believe it.”
Elizabeth looked up and smiled at her younger sister by marriage. “It is well-deserved, I assure you. I have read a great deal, you know, and The Wisp in the Willow is as good as anything Horace Wadpole ever wrote.”
Serena dropped inelegantly into a chair next to Elizabeth and said, “I will not pretend that is true, but my book was accepted and published by a well-known publisher, and oh, Elizabeth! I am so excited and happy!”
Elizabeth looked fondly at the younger girl.
In the past year, she had grown to know Serena very well indeed and knew that it sometimes chafed the elder Miss Darcy that she was not adept at many of the accomplishments considered so indispensable for ladies, especially given that Georgiana was not only a naturally gifted musician but a skilled artist as well.
But Serena was a writer, and a good one, and Wisp in the Willows was now published, and that was a truly remarkable accomplishment for any lady.
The door opened at this moment, and Elizabeth looked over, only to rise to her feet with a joyful smile on her face.
“Zachary!” she exclaimed, hurrying forward. “It is so good to see you. Welcome to Netherfield Hall!”
Her cousin’s eyes dropped briefly to her bulging abdomen, where the heir of Pemberley was currently wiggling enthusiastically, but quickly raised his gaze to her face and smiled. “It is very good to be here. Miss Darcy, good day.”
Serena curtseyed with far more elegance than she had a year previously. “It is good to see you, too, Mr. Rutherford. Please do sit down and warm yourself by the fire. Would you care for some tea?”
“That would be very pleasant,” Zachary replied, taking a seat across from Elizabeth.
Serena stepped out of the room to speak to a maid, and Zachary’s eyes dropped to the book on the table next to Elizabeth’s seat.
“Wisp in the Willow?” Zachary remarked. “I have never heard of that.”
Serena slipped back into the room at this moment, and Elizabeth smiled at her and said, “It is brand new, only published recently.”
“What kind of book is it?” Mr. Rutherford asked.
“It is a Gothic novel.”
“My sister will likely be interested,” Mr. Rutherford said with a grin. “I will have to look for it in a bookstore.”
“It is not quite in the bookstores yet, but will be in about a fortnight,” Serena blurted out and then, at Zachary’s startled glance, blushed deeply and said, “I wrote it, you see.”
Their male guest’s eyes widened in wonder, and he leaned forward. “You wrote it? Truly, Miss Darcy?”
“I did,” Serena said, hunching a trifle.
“That is absolutely marvelous!” Zachary exclaimed. “I had no idea … that is an incredible achievement!”
“Thank you,” Serena said, her blush fading.
“It was a great deal of work, but so much fun. I am proud of it, though I do beg you not to tell anyone else about my authorship. For now, we wish to keep it a secret, as my older relations might well not approve. I used the familiar sobriquet, by a Lady, and for the time being I hope that no one will know more about the authorship of this book save that a woman wrote it.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Zachary promised, just as the door opened to reveal Mr. Bingley, the Hursts, and Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy. Elizabeth was on her feet in a moment, her eyes fixed on her husband, while Mr. Rutherford exchanged the appropriate greetings with the newcomers.
Everyone sat down, and tea was served, and the conversation became general, but Elizabeth noticed Mr. Rutherford glancing frequently at the book next to her, and she was confident that his expression was one of profound respect.
***
Longbourn
Noon
The Next Day
Many a wedding had occurred on inclement days, in snow or rain, fog or mist, in blazing heat or frigid cold.
The wedding of Mary Bennet to George Wickham was not one of them.
The day, Fitzwilliam Darcy thought, was perfect, in temperature and in weather alike.
The sky was a delicate blue, highlighted with puffy white clouds drifting across the firmament and bare gray branches starting to bud with a green mist.
Nothing had hindered the short ceremony at the church in Meryton, and now friends and relations were making their way to Longbourn for the wedding breakfast.