Chapter VI
Jane and Bingley left Pemberley the next morning; they were both keen to get back to Netherfield, having not had the chance to settle properly before their travels.
Heartfelt goodbyes were made between all: Elizabeth and Jane, Darcy and Bingley, all of whose fates had been intertwined and come out for the better.
Charlotte hugged Jane tightly, and they assured each other they would write more and make plans to visit.
And with that, just two guests remained at Pemberley.
The house that had been brimming with activity had shed its guests quickly and efficiently over the course of two days, as if in harmony with the falling leaves outside its windows, and was left in a state of relative quiet and welcome peace.
The household now comprised Mr Darcy and Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
As the days moved onwards, this grouping proved to be an easy fit.
The two gentlemen got on as well as they always had, and found their best conversations took place when they were occupied by other pursuits: playing a game of billiards or fishing in the lake.
Charlotte and Elizabeth needed no such prop.
They talked together with neither prompt nor pause, for hours at a time but also often sat companionably in silence, reading or sewing.
Long walks in the day, and languid evenings in were enjoyed by the whole party.
Georgiana seemed to find an affinity with Charlotte; she shared many of her traits, being easy in solitude and a diligent reader, more interested in intimate conversations than in holding the attention of the group.
She fitted in well with them all, content to be a little separated by age and experience.
All in all, the household was so well suited, it could have been by design.
As the shadow cast by Wickham lightened day by day, Charlotte began to relax into the happiness of her situation, and in her stronger moments, she found that she was in her element.
The days were passed too quickly until she must return, and she wished she could stop time and remain here, suspended from her life.
Pemberley already seemed otherworldly in its aspect, and to imagine it existing outside of the ordinary progression of time, was only a small leap in her imagination.
The ease of manner between herself and Colonel Fitzwilliam was notable to the others. It was hard not to observe that they fell into step with a married couple without any difficulty.
‘I wonder at how acquainted Charlotte and my cousin have been in Kent,’ Darcy remarked to his wife one evening, after retiring to bed.
‘They met but two or three times while I was there. They must have met more often since then, to be so familiar. They talk very frankly with each other, do they not?’
‘They do; one might think they were long married.’
‘Except, if they were long married, they would not have the spark they have now.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Darcy, seizing her at the waist. ‘I think we shall have the spark for a few years yet’.
‘Oh, we shall. I shall always strive to be the exception to any rule,’ she said with a mischievous grin, and Darcy leant over and kissed her.
She let herself be distracted by him then, but she had already added Colonel Fitzwilliam? to a growing list of concerns that she had about her friend. But it was not the most pressing.
‘I keep thinking about Wickham,’ Elizabeth said to Charlotte, rather unexpectedly, as they sat in the parlour one afternoon. Elizabeth was attempting some embroidery, which always made her irritable.
Charlotte looked up, closing her book. Her silence invited Elizabeth to go on.
‘He must surely suffer some consequence to his behaviour. And yet, it is his attachment to my family that means he cannot. What disgraces him also disgraces my sister and myself. It infuriates me,’ she said, stabbing at her sampler.
Charlote nodded. She was well aware of the predicament and the injustice of it. ‘My hope – and I can only say this to you and you alone – is that, in his new position in the regulars, he is sent abroad and proves useful to his country.’
Elizabeth, not looking up, idly replied, ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he will be of some use.’
‘And then gets shot.’
Elizabeth’s head jolted up. She caught Charlotte’s grim expression and laughed uncertainly. ‘Charlotte!’
Charlotte shrugged and held her look. ‘Do you not?’
Elizabeth grinned slowly. ‘I do.’
‘Pretty good chances of it,’ said Charlotte darkly, with the smallest grin.
Elizabeth chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You always surprise me.’
‘I will take the compliment.’
A moment later, Elizabeth asked, ‘But are you well, in yourself? After what occurred?’
Charlotte took a moment to think, then replied with clear eyes and firm voice. ‘I am.’
The answer surprised even herself.
Ten days after their wedding, the new Mrs Darcy accompanied her husband on a long day of visits, in which she would be introduced to his tenants, leaving a slightly depleted party at the house.
As luncheon was cleared, Colonel Fitzwilliam asked if Charlotte or Georgiana would like to accompany him for a walk through the grounds.
It was a bright day, though cold, and there was much he wanted to explore, he told them, as far as his legs would take him.
Even though he was still unsteady, and his body tired easily, he could now walk without the aid of a stick, and he was keen to make the most of his new faculty.
Georgiana declined, preferring to stay inside and practise the pianoforte, but Charlotte accepted.
The grounds of Pemberley were breathtaking; there was so much to remark upon, to delight in, as they progressed, that Charlotte and Fitzwilliam hardly needed to discuss any subject beyond what was in front of them.
They walked through the herb garden, then the orangery, across the sweeping lawns, past the lake and beyond.
At points, they were child-like, rendered so by the playfulness of the landscape; Charlotte jumped from side to side of a hillside cascade, Fitzwilliam splashing the water with a stick.
They reached the labyrinth; a thick, tall hedge maze, known for its difficulty.
‘Shall we?’ asked Fitzwilliam, expecting a demurral.
Charlotte grinned. ‘Let’s.’
Upon entering the maze, Charlotte turned a sharp right, as he took the left. Charlotte got immediately lost, taking sudden turns, going back and trying again, and to no avail.
After five minutes, she heard him.
‘Where are you?’ came his voice, from some way off.
‘Obviously, I do not know!’ she exclaimed into the air, laughing a little, breathless.
‘I have found the middle!’
‘Good for you!’
‘It is very nice here; I recommend it,’ he said drily.
‘I would love to join you! But the hedge seems to want my company.’
‘I’ll try to find you!’ he called back.
She continued in one direction, then, finding a dead end, turned back.
It was hard to believe that so small an area could cause her to feel so disorientated.
Thick clouds had now covered the waning afternoon sun, and she felt rather cold.
The tall hedge close around her cast the narrow paths into shadow, and even as she cursed herself for being foolish, she started to feel a little panicked.
She was truly lost and had been for some time now.
She picked up her pace and called out again, ‘I cannot find my way!’ She felt foolish and a little desperate. She heard no reply.
Perhaps it was the sudden shade or the cold or an after-effect of her encounter with Wickham, but she felt suddenly emotional, and tears pricked her eyes.
She was running in a panic now, turning corner after corner – until, taking one more left turn, she ran headlong into the chest of Colonel Fitzwilliam.
He grasped her arms, steadying her, then looking down and seeing her distress and her shivers, he wrapped his arms around her, gently cradling her head as she pressed it into his chest. She clung to him while her panic abated, appreciating the sturdiness of him.
After a few moments, she was recovered, but she did not loosen her grip.
She wanted to stay this close, or closer, to let him enfold her, to lift her up.
She did not want to wait any longer. She did not want to hesitate.
She pushed just far enough from him to be able to look up and see his face. He was peering down with fierce intensity.
‘Charlotte,’ he said, almost to himself, his voice rough and low, tasting how her name sounded on his lips.
She grasped onto his jacket, holding him to her. She knew she had his attention and his affection and his protection. But was there more than that? Could there be?
His hair had fallen over his brow, and she brought her hand up and gently pushed it back, then let her hand fall to his neck. She stood on tiptoes and, rising up, pressed her lips to his.
He responded gently, politely – so lightly at first that she felt she had made a mistake. He matched her, but as she fell back onto her heels, he did not reciprocate. She looked down, embarrassed, and tried to pull away from him, but he held onto her.
In a strained voice, he said, ‘I do not want to hurt you.’ With one arm still around her, he brought a hand up to echo her own action and slowly brushed away a stray lock of her hair. She put her hand over his and pulled it down firmly and placed it on her waist.
Her breath was heavy, and she looked him in the eye as she replied, with a clear voice, ‘I will not break.’
She felt a change then. She felt the hand on her waist hold her tighter through the many layers of her coat and dress, his strong fingers clamping the gathered fabric into her skin.
His other hand was behind her neck then, and with his fingers entwined in her hair, he pulled her face firmly to his, craning over to envelope her in a deep kiss.