Epilogue Part 2
Elizabeth sat on the edge of her husband’s bed and placed a cool, wet cloth on his forehead.
“You don’t need to be so worried, Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam said. He reached up and smoothed away the worry lines that had appeared in the middle of her forehead. “It is a simple cold with only a mild fever. I don’t even feel that ill.”
She knew he was correct, but she could not help her concern. Ever since they had lost their oldest son to fever two years ago, she had nearly panicked every time someone got even the slightest fever. At least their other son and their two daughters hadn’t come down with the same illness.
“Despite my small fever, I am barely ill,” he said. “To prove my point, I want you to go fetch some papers from my desk. There are some letters I would like to read. Then, if you would be kind enough to take some dictation for me, I will need to make a reply.”
“Do you truly need to take care of these things even when you are sick?” she asked.
“It is not absolutely necessary, no,” he said. “However, you must see that I am energetic enough that I am nearly out of my mind with boredom just lying here all day. It would be something to hold my attention that doesn’t take a great deal of strength.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Very well. Just tell me where these letters are.”
He described which drawer in his desk they were in, and Elizabeth set off to find them.
In his study, she began rummaging through the indicated drawer, and she found one of the letters he wanted, but she could not find the other two. She began looking through the other drawers to see if they were there.
In the bottom one, she came across a much older letter which raised her curiosity. When she flipped it over to see who might have sent her husband a letter which he would have kept so long, there was no address. Perhaps it wasn’t a letter after all. Or perhaps it had been hand delivered.
The only kind of letter she could think of that would be hand delivered and that he would cherish for so long was a love letter, but she knew she had never written such a thing.
A tiny dragon of jealousy made itself known in her bosom. The letter was yellowed with age but not even close to falling apart. It could be anywhere from ten to twenty years old, old enough to have possibly pre-dated their marriage.
Fitzwilliam had always claimed that he had never loved a woman before Elizabeth, and she had believed him. She simply couldn’t imagine him lying about such a thing. Yet, if that was the case, why was he holding onto a letter from another woman.
She carefully opened it. Though the paper was still sturdy, the seams were fragile as if it had been opened and re-folded many times. Her jealousy burned brighter.
However, once the letter was completely open, her jealousy was completely doused. It was not a love letter. It was a legal contract. Why would he hang on to something like that unless it was still in effect? If it was still in effect, shouldn’t it be in the safe?
She scanned the contents, and as she did so her eyes grew wider and wider. She rushed out of the study and headed back to her husband’s bedroom.
“Fitzwilliam, what is this?” she cried.
He gave her a soft, warm smile. It was an expression he only ever showed her. “I was half hoping you would find it. I have been trying to find a way to tell you about it for twelve years, but the timing never seemed right, and the longer I waited the harder it was to broach the subject.”
“That is fine, but it does not answer the question. What is it?”
“It is a contract I made with your father before he would allow me to court you,” he said.
“My father forced you to bet ten thousand pounds that you could convince me to marry you?” She could not believe it of either man.
“I can see how it may appear that way,” he said. “Let me tell you the story.”
Elizabeth listened as her husband told her how he discovered that her father was planning to force her to marry Mr. Collins.
As he continued to tell the tale, she realized that not only was it the story of how he saved her from such a fate, but it was also the story of how he realized he was truly in love with her and that he wanted to marry her.
The whole thing had happened so long ago that Elizabeth couldn’t remember all the details, but she clearly remembered the day when Mr. Darcy returned to Hertfordshire and how he told her that he loved a lady but that he had already ruined his chances with her.
It was the first time she realized that he had any affection for her, and the experience had been so soul-shaking that she was certain she would remember it until the day she died.
She thought back to all he had done and what he must have spent to come back to her. He must have purchased the lease to Netherfield as well as having risked ten thousand pounds if she refused to marry him.
Elizabeth knew her husband very well after twelve years of marriage.
She knew he was honest to a fault, and she knew he loved her deeply.
Even so, his being willing to spend ten thousand pounds simply to make her life better, even if she refused his suit, was the most profound expression of love she had ever heard of.
Even for a man as wealthy as Mr. Darcy, such sacrifices were hardly negligible.
As he spoke, and she gained a better and better understanding of how much he loved her even back then, tears sprang to her eyes. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it, trying to say all she could not put into words.
When he was done telling his tale, she leaned over him and kissed him gently on his lips. She brushed his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of his unshaven face. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful life.”
The End