Restoration
Elizabeth descended the stairs unattended and crossed the entrance hall to check her appearance in the mirror.
She looked well enough; nonetheless, she fancied it would better suit the occasion were she to attend as one half of a husband and wife pairing than alone.
She took her time making one or two final adjustments to her hair and re-tying the ribbons of her bonnet.
“The carriage is ready when you are, Mrs Darcy.”
“Thank you, Godfrey.” She pulled on her gloves and looked briefly back up the stairs, but of course, Darcy was not there. With a sad sigh, she nodded for the butler to open the door.
Outside, the air was clear and warm—perfect for the events of the day.
She looked in her reticule for nothing in particular, checked the watch on her chatelaine for the time and peered at the sky for any hint of cloud.
When the horses began to fidget and snort, rattling their harnesses impatiently, she admitted defeat.
Loathe though she was to do so on her own, she climbed up to take her seat and called to the driver that she was ready.
The carriage bounced around a little while the servants clambered into position, and then, with a jolt, it set off towards the gate.
“Wait!”
Elizabeth’s heart leapt, and she twisted to look back at the house. She broke into a joyful smile to see Darcy hastening down the front steps still buttoning his coat as he endeavoured to forestall the departing carriage.
“You changed your mind!” she said in a voice made almost breathless by relief as he took his place next to her in sullen silence.
He grunted, tugged his cuffs straight and made no other response.
Still smiling broadly, Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder and placed her hand on his chest. “Thank you.”
Darcy exhaled forcibly and relaxed against the seat, bringing his arm around her shoulders to hold her to him. “For you, and you alone, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth hoped that, after such a long time, more people than her alone might benefit from his accompanying her, but she left the thought unsaid, for she had no wish to provoke him into changing his mind back again.
Instead, she rewarded him by turning his face to hers with her fingertips and kissing him.
“Do you hope to distract me with your arts, wife?”
“For as long as possible, aye. Is it working?”
The look he gave her as he answered, “Not yet,” made her shiver, for she did so appreciate the turn of his countenance when he was thinking rakish thoughts.
“That is a shame. Fortunately, we have several hours to pass during which I might improve my technique.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Believe me when I say your technique requires nothing in the way of improvement. The only thing in doubt is my ability to be distracted at the present moment.”
She returned his earlier look with a suggestive glance of her own. “Ye of little faith.” No matter how disagreeable the day’s activities might transpire to be, she had no intention of allowing bitterness to anticipate them by obtruding on their journey there.
The same day, Hertfordshire
It became clear to Bingley that his intention of waiting for the ear-piercing and overwrought cries to subside before he interrupted his wife was foolhardy when, after half an hour, the caterwauling had not yet abated.
He gingerly peered around the nursery door, expecting to find a scene of exasperation and distress.
Instead, despite the squalling emanating from the bundle in her arms, Jane walked calmly back and forth across the room, hushing their child with all the patience of an angel, and the nanny sat peaceably by the fire at her knitting.
“Is she unwell?” he enquired, coming fully into the room.
“No,” Jane answered. “She just needs to sleep.”
“How you can remain so calm when she is screaming thus, I do not know.” Even as he said it, Bingley knew it was untrue.
Jane was the sweetest-tempered person of his acquaintance.
So well suited was she to motherhood that the four long years it had taken to arrive at it were rendered all the more perverse.
Not that Bingley regretted the wait entirely, for it had afforded them the time they needed to heal the wounds inflicted upon each other early in their marriage by jealousy and caprice.
In those four years, they had learned to forgive, to accept and to love.
They now shared a deep and enduring affection, which the addition of a much yearned-for child had deepened further still.
“Think you she will cry in this manner in the church?”
“She might. Babies cry. Nobody will mind,” Jane answered with a gentle smile as she came closer and handed Emma to him. He was very well pleased with himself when she ceased crying almost immediately and fell asleep.
“There,” Jane said, beaming. “She only wanted for her papa.”
Bingley grinned back. His present happiness was more than he ever could have hoped for at one time.
Many and egregious had been his transgressions, yet Providence had seen fit to allow most of them to be redressed, resolved or forgotten by the passing of time.
There was but one matter he had not been able to rectify, and today’s celebration had brought it to the forefront of his mind.
He sighed away his melancholy. It was not the time for such miserable reflections. He might have forever forfeited Darcy’s friendship, but he could honour him in better ways than wallowing in guilt. He could ensure he was as good a father as the Titan would have expected him to be.
He held out his free hand to Jane. “Come, I have had breakfast brought up to your chamber. Let us all eat together before we dress for the service.”
Jane thanked another local family for their good wishes and pointed them in the direction of an empty pew before leaning for the hundredth time to peer out of the door for a glimpse of her sister’s carriage.
On observing Bingley’s rueful expression in the nursery that morning, she had been tempted to tell him Elizabeth meant to come today.
The only thing that prevented her was the certain knowledge that Mr Darcy never would, and she had feared a reminder of the latter would significantly diminish Bingley’s pleasure of the former.
Her relationship with her sister had begun to recover almost immediately after the arrival of Elizabeth’s first child.
Having attended the birth, Jane felt a particular affection for her eldest nephew, and he and his two younger brothers were amongst the people most dear to her in all the world.
Elizabeth, in her inimitable way, had forgiven Jane all her faults and been of invaluable support as Jane learnt to forgive Bingley his.
Though Mr Darcy could never receive him at Pemberley, for Elizabeth’s sake, he had consented after some months to allowing Jane to visit.
The impediment of their husbands’ estrangement remained a constant source of pain, but though both sisters had long since forgiven Bingley, neither begrudged Mr Darcy his resentment, for each understood the depth of his friend’s betrayal.
Despite her brother’s antipathy, Jane had endeavoured, over the years, to impress upon him the extent of her husband’s remorse, to lessen Mr Darcy’s ill opinion by letting him know that Bingley had attended to his reproofs.
How successful she had been it was not easy to discern.
Elizabeth was steadfastly tight-lipped when it came to the intimacies between her and her husband; thus, Jane had only her own observations by which to judge.
Mr Darcy seemed to have forgiven her—indeed, she fancied he had even begun to esteem her somewhat as a sister—but his opinion of Bingley he kept resolutely to himself.
All she had on which to base her hopes for a future reconciliation was his allowing Elizabeth to attend today, to become Emma’s godmother.
It was the greatest joy of Jane’s life to be a mother at last. Though never jealous of Elizabeth’s growing family—for she was done forever with jealousy—her longing for children of her own had increased with every visit to Pemberley.
Her daughter was all the more precious to her for the wait.
That Elizabeth would be her godmother was a blessing which filled her with happiness.
That they could not ask Darcy to be her godfather, she knew, was a disappointment Bingley found it hard to bear.
“If I did not know better, I should say you were waiting for somebody in particular,” Bingley said as he joined her by the door with Emma in his arms.
Jane tucked her finger into her daughter’s curled fist and smiled at her sweet countenance, pink and plump within the lacy billows of her christening gown. “I am.”
This would be the first time he and her sister had been in company since Mr Darcy banished him from Pemberley.
She had long since cast off any concern that Bingley yet loved Elizabeth.
Indeed, she had come to the conclusion that he had never truly loved either of them.
He had been too young, too capricious, to comprehend what it entailed.
It was some time before she had seen in him any comprehension of what it was to place the needs and desires of another above one’s own.
Only now did she understand Elizabeth’s anger the day she questioned the longevity of Mr Darcy’s affections, for only now did she know what it was to be wholly without doubt of one’s husband’s regard.
“Who might that be, then?” Bingley enquired.
Jane had no need to answer, for a shadow passed briefly over the doorway, and her sister entered the church.
Her heart fluttered about in excitement for a moment—then started to hammer when an unmistakable silhouette appeared in the doorway behind Elizabeth.
She looked excitedly at Bingley to observe his expression for, against all expectations, her sister had not come alone.
“Darcy!”