Chapter 38
East Sitting Room
Netherfield Hall
Morning
Four Days Later
It was a beautiful, balmy day. The blue sky was dotted with white puffs of cloud like a painter's dream, and bright sun beamed overhead, and birds sang happily above a glorious garden in full brilliant bloom.
Inside Netherfield Hall, the scene was almost as bright and cheerful, save for the incongruously solemn group that sat disposed around the sitting room.
Caroline was in cherry silk, while across from her Jane looked ethereal and elegant in black crepe.
Charles Bingley, who had his arm about his wife's shoulders, wore a black armband in respect to his deceased father-in-law.
Elizabeth and Darcy and Lydia sat a little ways away, closer to the window than the fireplace.
Elizabeth's gown was muslin, hastily dyed black after Mr. Bennet's death.
Darcy, dressed in black coat, breeches, and boots, sat very close to his betrothed.
Lydia too was, naturally, dressed in black, but her expression was fierce as opposed to sorrowful.
All of them were looking over at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was in the act of carefully closing the door behind himself, looking grimly satisfied though not pleased. A brief, shocked silence had fallen over the assembled company at his news.
“You are certain that Mr. Wickham is dead?” Caroline demanded.
The colonel nodded and said, “Yes, he died last night from infection.”
Elizabeth studied Caroline carefully. She thought there was relief in the lady’s face, which was reasonable enough.
It occurred to her a moment later to worry about Fitzwilliam, who had grown up with Mr. Wickham. Once, long ago, they had been friends.
“Are you well?” she asked softly.
He looked grave but said after a pause, “I am grieved that it came to this, but I cannot be sorry that he is dead. Indeed, if he had survived, he would likely have been executed for his crimes.”
Jane sighed and said, “That is true enough. Perhaps it was better that it ended with infection as opposed to the ugliness of a trial and hanging. Do you know if he made his peace with God before his death?”
Richard turned a compassionate look on Mrs. Bingley. “I am not certain, but Mr. Allen, the rector here in Meryton, spent many hours at Wickham’s deathbed. We can only hope that the rogue sought God’s forgiveness for his deeds and solace for his soul.”
“I hope so as well,” Jane said. “He was, without a doubt, an evil man, but it is still terribly sad that someone so young, with the patronage of the Darcys and the gifts of good looks and charm, came to such an end.
“I confess that I do not feel sorry in the least,” Caroline said, red spots on her cheekbones. “He tried to take me captive to force me into marriage, and he held a knife to my neck!”
“He did a terrible thing to you, Caroline,” Elizabeth said fervently. “I can only be thankful that, by the grace of God, you were saved from a horrible fate.”
Caroline managed a slight smile now, and she said, “God used you both. Lydia, I cannot tell you how grateful and impressed I am by your shot.”
Elizabeth turned her attention to her youngest sister and was relieved to see that Lydia was looking proud, which, while legitimate, was not necessarily the obvious response.
The truth was that Lydia had effectively killed George Wickham, and that might weigh on most girls.
But Lydia had always been a confident young lady, and in this case at least, she had done exactly what she ought to have done, and with considerable bravery and aplomb.
Richard cleared his throat and said, “Now that Wickham is dead, I will take my leave of you all, as I need to return to my military duties in London.”
Darcy and Elizabeth stood up, and the former stepped forward and held out his hand. “Thank you for all your assistance, Cousin. I hope you will come back for our wedding?”
“I would not miss it,” Richard said.
***
Meryton Church
Meryton
One Month Later
“You look beautiful,” Kitty sighed, straightening an invisible wrinkle from Elizabeth’s gauzy overdress.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said with a smile, accepting her bouquet from Lydia before looking down at herself.
The dress was very handsome, the spring green bringing out the amber flecks in her eyes and the auburn tint in her hair, while the half-sheer ivory overdress softened the brightness of the gown.
Flowers had been pinned carefully into the twist of her hair, ringlets framing her face pleasingly.
Elizabeth examined both of her youngest sisters.
They looked equally well, one in pink and one in blue.
Tomorrow they would return to their black mourning clothes, but for today, as they shared in the joy of Elizabeth’s wedding, they could wear their favorite colors again.
Elizabeth was not absolutely certain whether they were more excited about the wedding or about being able to put off their blacks for a day.
A soft hum of noise filtered through the heavy oak doors of the sanctuary, still shut on the vestibule.
Elizabeth looked towards them, her own heart rising with her joy in the day.
At long last, she would be joined in matrimony to the man who held her heart so tenderly.
On the other side of those doors, down the very short length of a country church aisle, waited Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, who was about to make her his wife.
In some ways, the past few weeks had dragged like snails, and in other ways they had rushed past like racing horses.
Elizabeth had been counting the minutes until she could be wedded to her beloved, yet she had scarcely had a moment to just sit and think, kept as she was in a constant state of busyness.
William and Mary Collins had taken over full control of Longbourn, and William had at once undertaken repairs and improvements that Mr. Bennet, whether through illness or indolence, had neglected.
Mary had likewise taken the reins of the household, assisted by Mrs. Hill and supported by her sisters.
Then there were the marriage settlements to be worked out between Darcy and Mr. Collins, with Mr. Phillips’ assistance.
All three gentlemen had informed Elizabeth of the generosity of the terms.
And there had been the matter of Wickham, which, in the absence of any family or other responsible party, had fallen to Colonel Forster and Darcy to handle.
The Colonel had outright refused an honorable military burial for the reprobate, and in the end, Wickham’s body had been tossed unceremoniously into a pauper’s grave by a couple of unsympathetic local farmers.
As Jane had said, it was a sad end for a man who had been given such gifts in his person, but Elizabeth remained firm in her opinion that he had brought his death on himself.
Now at last the wedding day had arrived, and Elizabeth’s heart was singing within her in joy.
“Are you ready, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth turned toward her cousin William, who was looking down at her fondly.
She smiled and said, “Yes, I am ready.”
William held out his arm, and she took it, and a servant opened the doors into the vestibule.
The organ music began, and the pair made their solemn way down the familiar red carpet toward Mr. Allen and her adored Fitzwilliam Darcy, with Charles Bingley behind him serving as his attendant.
The church was reasonably full for a wedding, with Bennets and Gardiners and Lucases on one side of the church, and Matlocks and Fitzwilliams, along with Miss de Bourgh and Miss Darcy on the other.
Mrs. Bennet was sobbing, but Elizabeth knew it was because of joy instead of sorrow.
The marriage of her second daughter to a very wealthy man was providing the lady with a great deal of satisfaction, even if she was still mercurial over losing her position as mistress of Longbourn to her third daughter.
Mr. Collins came to a halt, and Elizabeth with him, and he smiled at her as he carefully transferred her hand to Darcy’s arm.
Elizabeth looked up, and the adoration in that handsome face was enough to make her heart thump in her chest.
The young couple turned toward Mr. Allen, who smiled down on them and began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together today…”
***
Longbourn
Four Hours Later
Elizabeth kissed her mother and sisters, shook William Collins’s and Charles Bingley’s hands, and then turned to her new husband.
“Shall we?” she asked, smiling shyly.
Darcy smiled back at her and opened the door to the carriage, which was standing on the driveway with four magnificent grays in the harness.
He helped her into the forward-facing seat, climbed in next to her, and then tapped the ceiling with his cane.
The carriage moved forward, and Elizabeth waved enthusiastically at her family.
She would miss them, of course she would, but for now, she felt only joy at finally being married to the man she loved.
The carriage turned onto the main road which led through Meryton, and from thence to other roads which would lead eventually to the Great North Road and Pemberley.
They rode through Meryton, and when they reached the avenue which led to Netherfield Hall, Elizabeth lifted her brow at the sight of another carriage, piled high with their luggage and waiting for them to pass.
It was neither the luggage nor the sight of Darcy’s valet which surprised her, but instead the furry, fluffy face peering out of one of the windows with a panting mouth.
She turned a startled look on her new husband. “Is that…?”
He laughed and pulled her close to him.
“Maxwell, yes, it is,” he said. “Bingley insisted on giving him to us as a wedding present, and when I think of how he played a role in bringing us together, I could not refuse.”
Elizabeth chuckled and nestled into Darcy’s arm. Her mind went back to that cold November day when a foolish puppy had brought a proud gentleman and a prejudiced lady together.
“Thank God for Maxwell,” she murmured.
“Indeed,” her husband replied.
“And have I mentioned how much I admired you in your wet shirt?” she asked with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
Darcy looked surprised at this, but he promptly cleared his throat and then responded, “No, I … I do not believe you have, my dear, but I would rather like to hear about that.”
They laughed together, and kissed, and laughed again as the carriage rolled on toward their new life together.