Chapter 37 #2
And though the words were quiet, Elizabeth knew they cost him a great deal to say.
∞∞∞
At luncheon, Elizabeth had scarcely taken her seat when Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned slightly forward, his expression carefully neutral—though his eyes held a hint of something more hopeful.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he said, “I have been charged with a message.”
Elizabeth set down her fork. “Indeed?”
“Anne wishes to know,” he continued, with just the faintest pause, “if you might be willing to sit with her for a few minutes. Only a few.”
Elizabeth did not hesitate.
“Of course.”
Lady Catherine’s chin lifted, satisfaction and relief mingling in her expression, though she said nothing. Darcy’s hand brushed Elizabeth’s beneath the table—a silent question. She answered it with the smallest nod.
After they finished their meal, Richard and Darcy led Elizabeth up the stairs and to the family wing of Rosings. Darcy kissed her cheek and gave her hand a squeeze before she entered the room and closed the room behind her.
It was quiet.
Not merely in the absence of noise, but in a way that felt… contained. As though the world beyond the door had been deliberately kept at bay.
Anne sat near the window, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She looked up at once, her gaze flickering with unmistakable anxiety—then steadied, with effort.
“Mrs. Darcy,” she said, her voice very soft.
Elizabeth smiled—not brightly, not in a way that might overwhelm, but gently.
“Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
She did not move too quickly, nor too close, but crossed the room at an easy pace and took the chair that had been set slightly to one side—not opposite, not directly beside, but near enough for conversation without intrusion.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Elizabeth could feel it—the tension in the air, the careful way Anne held herself, as though braced for something she could not quite predict.
So Elizabeth chose the safest ground she knew.
“We do not really know each other,” she said carefully, “so I thought you might like to hear about my family. I imagine my childhood is quite different from yours.”
Anne’s fingers tightened slightly, but she nodded.
“I have four sisters,” Elizabeth continued. “Which, I assure you, is quite enough to fill any house with noise, confusion, and general disorder.”
A faint flicker of something—interest, perhaps—crossed Anne’s face.
“My eldest sister, Jane, is everything that is good and kind,” Elizabeth said. “She has never thought ill of anyone in her life, and I suspect she never shall. It is both admirable and, at times, extremely inconvenient.”
Anne’s lips twitched.
Encouraged, Elizabeth went on.
“My youngest sister, Lydia, is… quite the opposite. She thinks well of everyone—but only because she has not taken the time to think at all.”
Anne’s head tilted slightly. Elizabeth leaned back just a fraction, her tone easing into something more amused.
“Last spring, she became convinced that we ought to take up archery.”
Anne’s brows lifted faintly.
“None of us had ever held a bow before. This did not trouble her in the least. She insisted we would learn in an afternoon and declared herself already quite accomplished.”
Elizabeth leaned slightly closer, her tone lowering just a touch.
“She loosed her first arrow directly into our mother’s favorite rosebush.”
Anne made a small sound.
“Her second struck the laundry line.”
A pause.
“The third—mercifully—landed in the ground. Lydia declared it proof of improvement and wished to celebrate.”
Anne let out a small, surprised sound. Not quite a laugh, but close. Encouraged, Elizabeth continued, saying, “Another time, at the age of eight, she decided she wished to learn how to march like the militia.”
Anne’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.
“She practiced in the garden for an entire afternoon, giving herself orders at the top of her voice and attempting to keep step with imaginary drums.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved. “She was quite proud of herself—until she turned too sharply and marched directly into the fishpond.”
Anne let out a small, surprised sound—
Not quite a laugh.
But very near.
Pleased, Elizabeth continued to share more of her family: small, harmless things. Kitty’s tendency to follow Lydia into mischief, Jane’s quiet steadiness, Mary’s seriousness—though she only briefly touched on the middle sister.
It was still painful to remember her betrayal.
Elizabeth kept her tone even, her manner unhurried, allowing the conversation to rise and fall without pressing it.
Time passed quickly, and soon the door opened to admit a woman in a black dress, her manner composed and attentive.
“My apologies for interrupting, Mrs. Darcy,” she said, “but I am Mrs. Jenkinson, Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s companion. It has been ten minutes.”
Elizabeth rose at once.
“Then I shall take my leave,” she said, her tone easy, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Anne looked up sharply.
“No—” she said, the word escaping before she could seem to stop it.
Elizabeth paused in surprise. It was the first word Anne had spoken since they initially greeted one another.
Mrs. Jenkinson stepped forward slightly. “Miss Anne, I do not think—”
“It is quite alright,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I would much rather end on a positive note, rather than over-do things and have you rejoice at my leaving.”
Anne hesitated.
Elizabeth smiled. “May I come again tomorrow?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“And the day after that,” Elizabeth added lightly, “if you wish it.”
Anne gave the faintest nod.
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Then I shall look forward to it.”
She turned toward the door, pausing only long enough to offer Mrs. Jenkinson a quiet, reassuring smile. As she stepped back into the corridor, she could not help the small sense of satisfaction that warmed her.
It was a beginning.
∞∞∞
The following afternoon, Elizabeth found the house in a quieter state than it had been the day before.
Mr. Bennet had departed early.
She had gone down to see him off. It was difficult, she realized, in not knowing when or if she would see him again.
There had been no final words or further explanations.
Only the knowledge that their relationship was different now, and things would never again be quite the way they were.
She paused a moment in the corridor, then continued on to the music room, where Lady Catherine and Lady Anne were listening to Georgiana practice a new piece of sheet music.
Lady Catherine looked up. “Well. Your father is gone.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Yes.”
A brief silence followed.
Then, before she could overthink it, Elizabeth said, “I wished to speak with you, Lady Catherine—if I may.”
Lady Catherine’s brows lifted slightly. “You may always speak, child. Whether I agree with you afterward is another matter entirely.”
Elizabeth could not help the faintest smile.
“I was thinking of Anne,” she said. “And Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Lady Catherine’s attention sharpened.
“It must be a great deal for her,” Elizabeth continued. “The marriage. The changes. The expectations that come with it.”
Lady Anne nodded faintly.
“And it occurred to me,” Elizabeth went on, “that she might be more comfortable if she were allowed a little space—at least for a time. To grow accustomed to her new situation without feeling observed.”
Elizabeth drew a small breath and braced herself. “So I wondered,” she said, “if you might consider coming to Pemberley with us. For a visit.”
Lady Catherine was silent. Not long—but long enough that Elizabeth felt the weight of it.
Lady Catherine regarded her steadily. “You wish me to leave Rosings.”
Elizabeth met her gaze. “Only temporarily. I… I thought it might be nice to become more acquainted with one another.”
Another pause.
Then, quite decisively, Lady Catherine said, “Yes.”
Elizabeth blinked at the succinct answer.
“It is a sensible arrangement,” Lady Catherine continued, as though the matter had been hers all along. “Rosings is hers, after all. And she has a husband now.”
“I think it would do her good,” Lady Anne said in a soft voice. “And you, Cathy. You have not left Rosings in nearly twenty years.”
“And Darcy has agreed to this?” Lady Catherine asked, casting a gimlet eye in Elizabeth’s direction.
Elizabeth blushed slightly. “Well, the idea only occurred to me just now, and I did not even consider my husband’s feelings on the matter.”
She braced herself, waiting to be chided for not submitting to her husband as a proper wife should. Instead, to her surprise, both women began to laugh. Georgiana’s playing faltered, then stopped.
“What is so funny?”
Lady Catherine waved a hand, still smiling in a most uncharacteristic manner. “My dear, you will learn soon enough. A husband may be the head of the household—”
“But the wife is the neck,” Lady Anne finished gently, her eyes bright with quiet amusement, “and may turn him whichever way she chooses.”
Elizabeth’s blush deepened.
Lady Catherine gave a decisive nod. “And in your case, child, you will find the task remarkably easy. When a man is as enamored with his wife as Darcy is of you, he is much more willing to be led.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. “Truly?”
Lady Anne laughed softly. “Quite truly.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, attempting composure—and failing as a small smile escaped her.
“I shall endeavor,” she said lightly, “to use such influence only for the most worthy purposes.”
“Of course you shall,” Lady Catherine said. “And in the meantime, we shall proceed with this one without consulting him at all.”
Plans, once begun, seemed to gather a momentum of their own.
What had been proposed in a moment was soon discussed, refined, and set into motion.
Lady Catherine issued instructions with her usual authority; Lady Anne oversaw the quieter details; Georgiana moved between them with eager usefulness.
When Darcy was at last consulted, he listened—very properly—to every particular, made a few practical additions regarding the journey, and then, with a glance at his wife, declared himself entirely satisfied with the arrangement.
Elizabeth suspected—though she said nothing—that he would have approved nearly anything she suggested.
Servants were set to work at once. Trunks were brought down, wardrobes assessed and repacked, messages sent ahead to prepare Pemberley for their arrival.
Carriages were ordered, routes determined, and within a remarkably short time, all was in readiness.
Elizabeth found herself caught up in the bustle—not unwillingly, but with a growing sense that her life was settling, at last, into something new and wholly her own.
And then, almost before she could quite believe it, the morning came.
Two well-sprung carriages stood ready before Rosings. Farewells were made from the front entryway—Anne anxious and pale, Richard steady at her side—and with a final exchange of embraces and assurances, the party set off.
The wheels turned. The house receded.
Kent gave way, mile by mile, to the long road north.
And Elizabeth, seated beside her husband, felt his hand close over hers as she looked ahead—with a heart both full and steady—for she was not merely leaving behind what had been, but going forward to what would be.
To Derbyshire.
To Pemberley.
To home.