Bepilogue
“Mr Darcy, might I ask an impertinent question?”
“I would be delighted to answer, Mrs Darcy.”
Fitzwilliam Darcy looked down at his lovely bride lying beside him in the large four-poster bed that had become their favourite refuge from the world; not that the world was really all that unpleasant.
She gave a small sigh, clearly of disappointment, but so subtle none but her husband could detect it…
well, except for Lydia, or Charlotte, or Jane, or her mother, or Mrs Long—but really that was about it.
“How much, Mrs Darcy?”
Elizabeth giggled. “You know as well as I do it is the pride of the thing, not the money. I had six to four with Mrs Reynolds that you would use 'I am at your disposal.'”
Darcy looked at her in open-mouthed astonishment. “You wagered with Mrs Reynolds! Egads! I thought you had better sense than to bet with a housekeeper. Even I know the futility of that.”
Elizabeth laughed. “It is the challenge of the thing, but do not concern yourself; Mama taught me better than to make a large wager with someone of Mrs Reynolds' calibre.”
Darcy chuckled. “Should we return to the question at hand, or shall we—”
All thoughts of questions, and in fact any discussion whatsoever, were deferred for some time, but ultimately they came back to the subject.
“Fitzwilliam, when did you first know you loved me?”
Darcy looked at her critically, and as always, gave his full and undivided attention to her question; not being prone to suicidal tendencies.
“I could not answer that without a better definition of the threshold required to satisfy the query.
I cannot fix on the day or the hour or the gesture, for I was in the middle before I knew I had started.
I loved you when you were caring for your sister in Netherfield, but it was a weak and middling sort of love.
It did not even require a sonnet to suppress it, what with my arrogance and pride performing the office.
I was certain I loved you when I made my abominable proposal, but that was a boy's love, certainly unworthy of respect. I loved you one hundred times as much after you staked and burnt my pride and insolence in the parsonage, and a thousand times more on our wedding day, but I find I love you even more today. There is your answer, Mrs Darcy. I have known I loved you for about three minutes!”
Elizabeth laughed in delight, and was so satisfied with the delivery of such a load of cockerel that she laughed until she nearly cried. Of course, Mr Darcy was not a man who could abide crying in his own chamber, so he exerted himself to dry her tears; which took some doing.
Later, he asked somewhat sheepishly, but in complete earnestness, “When did you know you loved me?”
His lovely wife gazed at him with a look only he understood as well; one that said she would answer him honestly and without prevarication.
She gathered her story to herself. “Do you remember one evening in Lucas Lodge you said, and I quote, 'A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.'“
Darcy laughed. “I did say that I believe, but not to you.”
Giving her own giggle of amusement, Darcy's lady replied, “You said it to Miss Bingley, and Megan Golding heard it, so she naturally told Maria Lucas, who told her mother, who told my mother, who told Mary, who told Jane, who told Charlotte, who told me… so really, it was the same thing as saying it to me.”
Darcy chuckled at the impertinence, and gave her a look encouraging less woolgathering and more progression in her tale.
“I am afraid that was a bit of an unfair statement about ladies in general. I once knew a lady who took offence at some silly insulting remark a man made at an assembly the very first time she saw him. She proceeded to hate him vigorously for most of a year before giving in to the inevitable—”
Darcy frowned in consternation. “She forgave an insult on their very first meeting? She must be a woman made of stern stuff.”
“She was, but we digress.”
“Pray, continue.”
Her smile told him that Mrs Reynolds would not be too insufferable at dinner, before she continued.
“In my particular case, your assertion was actually correct in every particular. I fell in love with you in a single instant. I can remember the exact moment it happened. It was like being struck by lightning (at 3,000 to 1), or lit on fire from the inside (10,000 maybe?). Mother always told me it would be thus, as it always has been for women in my family, but I did not believe it until it happened. I nearly collapsed on the floor with the strength of the emotion.”
“Did I actually do something to earn your love, or am I just the luckiest man alive—the latter is just a rhetorical question with the answer being obvious—but I am most interested in the former.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Oh yes, you did something very specific.
Something monumental, something so impressive that the mere repetition of the tale cannot be done in ladies' company unless they are all sitting down, lest we have to deal with swooning. It was most impressive. It was perfection itself… even better than your first proposal.”
His curiosity nearly overwhelming him, Darcy refrained from asking more.
Finally, his lovely wife continued, “Did you ever notice not a single one of the matchmaking mamas in Hertfordshire threw their daughters at you, nor did any of the ladies attack your person… well, except for the obvious, Miss Bingley of course.”
“I did find that curious. Why was that?”
“Because once my heart was lost to you, it was obvious to every woman in Meryton that you were no longer in want of a wife. They all know a lost cause when they see one, and turned their attentions in the proper direction: wagering on the outcome.”
“I see. This is most singular. Can you tell me the act that inspired such unswerving devotion, because I can think of nothing I have ever done that should be sufficient for such a change of heart.”
“Do not be so modest, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. I can still make any lady in Meryton nearly giddy with delight just by repeating a few of the words. You are a local legend.”
“I beg you, tell me what I did that was so impressive.”
“It was a feat worthy of a general. You could stop the war on the continent with such words.
It was an unbelievable performance, universally admired.
Under intense pressure, and unrelenting attack, you did what has never been done before, nor since.
You made Charles Bingley stop talking—for seventeen minutes!
It was perfect. It was so well done. The wording, timing and delivery was exquisite.
I can still make any lady in Meryton practically swoon with just a few words.
My favourite is 'Tolerable enough I suppose.
' I knew at that precise moment that you were the man for me, and I practically swooned myself.
It was at that exact moment that my heart was lost to you, and our destinies were sealed forever, Mr Tolerable Enough!