Chapter 5
Chapter Five
THURSDAY 10 OCTOBER 1811
SOMEWHERE ALONG THE GREAT NORTH ROAD
E lizabeth had never slept so soundly as she did now, nestled securely in the arms of the man she had loved for four long years. The gentle rocking of the carriage lulled her into a deep, peaceful slumber, something she had not known in what felt like an eternity. When she woke, it was to find herself still wrapped in Darcy’s embrace, his steady breathing indicating he had drifted off as well. She gazed up at his sleeping face, marvelling at the way she fit so perfectly against him. There was a sense of rightness, a feeling she had never known before. In this moment, all the pain and confusion of the past years seemed to fade into nothing.
Everything felt as it should be. The man she had never stopped loving was with her again, and they were on their way to Scotland—to marry, to start their life together. After all the heartache and frustration of the last years, she was finally getting her happy ending.
Four years ago, her heart had been shattered when Darcy had seemingly not come for her as promised. She remembered vividly the devastation she felt upon her return to Longbourn, her father’s cold replies to her many requests that no letters had arrived from either Darcy, and that her beloved had never sought her out. It had crushed her, leaving her to believe that he had changed his mind, that the love they had shared had been fleeting for him.
It was so unlike the man she knew—not to keep his promise and, worse, to selfishly deny his sister their friendship as well, for why would Georgiana have not written. For years, she wondered if she had done something wrong, often taking out and rereading the his letters, wondering how he could so easily express words of love before abandoning her.
But now, she knew the truth. He had come for her, just as he had said he would. Her father had lied—repeatedly, cruelly—and kept them apart. Elizabeth’s heart clenched at the thought of the years they had lost, stolen by her father's deception. But as she lay there, cocooned in Darcy’s warmth, she refused to dwell on the bitterness of the past. What mattered now was the future, and the future was bright.
Darcy stirred beneath her, his arms tightening slightly around her. Elizabeth smiled softly, brushing a light kiss on his chin. She could not imagine a more perfect way to wake than in his arms, knowing that their journey towards happiness had already begun.
LONGBOURN, SUMMER 1807
Upon arriving at Longbourn, Elizabeth was warmly greeted by her family, who had missed her after more than three months away. Her father, in particular, was eager to see her, as he had many estate matters waiting for her attention. Mrs. Gardiner had brought the letter from Mr. Darcy to give to Mr. Bennet, but she waited until the following morning to present it. She spent half an hour in his bookroom, recounting all she had observed about the gentleman and his sincere desire to marry Elizabeth, even offering to wait until she was of a more acceptable age. After explaining that the letter served as an introduction before making his formal proposal in person, Mr. Bennet nodded and dismissed her.
Before taking her leave that morning, Mrs. Gardiner told her niece that Mr. Bennet had seemed unhappy with this development. Elizabeth thanked her aunt for her assistance, particularly for having taken her to Derbyshire in the first place, before seeing her out to her carriage and on her way.
After her aunt's departure, Elizabeth sought out her father to express her desire to marry Mr. Darcy. She spoke to him passionately, describing Darcy’s goodness and the depth of her love for him, hoping to sway her father’s heart. Yet Mr. Bennet remained unmoved. He told her flatly that if Darcy appeared at Longbourn, he might consider granting his approval. However, he forbade her from writing to Darcy, or even to his sister, until Darcy made an appearance to request his permission in person. Though Elizabeth was disheartened by his decree, she reluctantly complied, unwilling to upset her father when she was so certain Darcy would arrive soon.
As the expected time for Darcy’s arrival came and went, Elizabeth grew anxious. She finally attempted to send a letter through her aunt and uncle Gardiner, but no reply came. Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no word from Pemberley. Likewise, no letters arrived from London. Elizabeth, desperate for answers, wrote frequently to her aunt and uncle, but her letters were met with silence.
Mr. Bennet seemed to take pleasure in her distress. He often reminded her, with cruel satisfaction, that he had been right all along: Darcy, the wealthy gentleman, had merely toyed with her affections. “I told you, Lizzy,” he would say, “such wealthy men do not take country girls seriously. He would never have married you.”
Twice, during her walks into Meryton, Elizabeth attempted to post letters, clinging to the faint hope that Darcy or the Gardiners might respond. However, when one of her sisters casually mentioned this to their father, Mr. Bennet reacted with fury. He forbade Elizabeth from walking alone and severely restricted her movements for weeks. Though she could not understand the reason for his anger, she obeyed, unwilling to risk provoking him further.
Once, in desperation, she asked her Uncle Philips to send a letter to the Gardiners on her behalf. He declined, offering no explanation. When Elizabeth confronted her father, he scolded her sharply for her persistence. He told her that he had cut off contact with the Gardiners and forbade any further communication with them. His control over her correspondence left her isolated and confused.
As winter descended, so did a deep and persistent melancholy over Elizabeth, settling in her chest like a weight she could not shake. The cold days stretched endlessly, each one a reminder of her isolation and the emptiness Darcy’s absence had left in her heart. The festive gatherings and laughter that once brought her joy now felt hollow, and her smiles rarely reached her eyes. Her family, ever oblivious to her internal struggle, carried on, and only Jane seemed to notice the subtle shift in her spirit. Since her father had forbidden her to speak of Darcy, she had not even mentioned it to Jane, and the longer the heartache lasted, the more difficult it became to speak of the matter.
Elizabeth had hoped the melancholy would lift with the seasons, but as winter gave way to spring and then to summer, her sorrow lingered, becoming an almost constant companion. Even years later, the ache remained, shadowing her days, extending nearly to her twentieth birthday. Each passing milestone served as a painful reminder of the future she had once envisioned—a life with Fitzwilliam, filled with love, companionship, and the shared joys of a marriage she had so deeply desired.
Likewise, she missed her time in London with the Gardiners. The freedom she had felt there, the affection she had shared with them, and the hope that had once bloomed within her during those visits seemed like distant memories now. Her father’s cold refusal to allow any contact with them only deepened her isolation. Though she never voiced it aloud, she missed the sense of belonging she had felt with them, and she longed for the wisdom and support her aunt could have offered as she dealt with her loss.
But it was the absence of Darcy that cut the deepest. The man she had given her heart to, the man who had promised to come for her, had vanished without a trace. She reviewed their time together in her mind, wondering what had gone wrong. Had he changed his mind? Had she misunderstood his intentions? These questions plagued her, and though her father’s cruel taunts stung, she could not bring herself to believe that Darcy had simply been toying with her.
As the years passed and no explanation came, Elizabeth realised she could not live in this constant state of longing. It pained her deeply, but she came to a quiet resolution: it was time to move on, or at least try. She knew, without a doubt, that she would never marry another. Her heart had been given once and could not be given again. Fitzwilliam had claimed it all those years ago, and even in his absence, no other man could take his place.
But Elizabeth also knew that she could not let herself wither away in perpetual sorrow. She was still young, with a mind and spirit too lively to be consumed entirely by grief. Though the life she had dreamed of seemed lost to her, she resolved to reclaim whatever small measure of happiness she could. Perhaps that meant finding joy in her family’s company, in long walks through the countryside, in her beloved books, or in simple, quiet moments of peace.
It was not the future she had once envisioned, but it was the future she had now. Even if she could never be truly whole again without Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth vowed to at least live the life that remained to her with as much grace and courage as she could muster.
The autumn after her twentieth birthday, the news came that a gentleman named Mr. Bingley had taken the lease of Netherfield. Elizabeth hoped the gentleman would fall madly in love with Jane, thereby giving the family some relief from the worry about the entailment. Her mother had grown worse as time passed, and with a wealthy gentleman coming to town, her excitement was nearly at a fever pitch.
Elizabeth arrived at the assembly happy for Jane and her prospects with this new gentleman. Never could she have dreamt that less than twenty-four hours later, she would be in a carriage on the way to marry the man she had loved for years.