Epilogue
Mrs Bennet rose from her place at the head of the table and looked around at her family gathered in the dining room.
“We are all at Longbourn together for breakfast, as I never imagined we should be a few months ago. Except for Mr Bennet, no one is missing.”
For a moment, her smile threatened to become sad, but then her face brightened.
“Yet, my dear ones, I look around and scarcely recognise either the family or the dining room.”
Everyone smiled with relief. They hoped for a speech that was short and cheerful, for it was Kitty and James’s wedding breakfast, held at the newly renovated Longbourn.
“Mr Bennet loved breakfast far more than dinner, and I always believed I knew why. My dear husband was not fond of large gatherings, and at breakfast there was only us, the girls, sometimes Mr and Mrs Phillips, or the Gardiners. Since his death, however, I have realised how mistaken I was. Mr Bennet loved breakfast because it was the one time of day when only his family was around him. He loved each of us in his own way, and always gave us the very best of himself.”
With tears in her eyes, Elizabeth glanced towards Darcy. She was surprised to see that her future husband was also affected. Her mother’s words had moved him, though she had long believed that he would, all his life, run from her company.
“Well, Mr Bennet, although I shall never forgive you for leaving us so quickly, I must admit you did your work well.
Six months after that dreadful day, when I believed we had lost both our family and our home, we have somehow managed neither to scatter nor to bury ourselves in grief, and we are back in Longbourn at breakfast. And what a breakfast!
Jane has only just returned from her wedding journey in time to attend Kitty’s marriage, and tomorrow we shall all travel to Pemberley for Elizabeth’s wedding to Mr Darcy.
Even Lydia is not badly married and lives contentedly in the north with her husband.
And sweet Mary will certainly marry before long, though she has not yet realised it. ”
She paused and looked around the room.
“Around this table, in a dining room that has never looked so beautiful, there are far more people than you left behind. The husbands of our daughters, as well as Mr and Mrs Fitzwilliam, and not least Miss Darcy, all belong to this family now. From time to time we shall gather here again and remember that this is where we began, beneath Mr Bennet’s watchful eye.
If we are happy today, it is because of him.
He loved us all, and certainly there is something of him in every one of us still. ”
∞∞∞
Mrs Bennet had scarcely finished speaking when Elizabeth and Darcy excused themselves.
They wished to visit Mr Bennet’s grave and, although others were equally eager to bring flowers, Mrs Bennet, in a manner very reminiscent of former times, made a decisive gesture and declared, “The rest of you, please remain where you are. We still have matters to discuss.”
Everyone laughed, but, however she chose to express herself, Mrs Bennet was quite right.
Elizabeth and Darcy needed a little privacy, for before departing for Pemberley to be married, Mr Darcy was at last permitted to read the letter from his future father-in-law, and in that large family, there were no secrets.
The carriage left them outside the town, and they continued on foot.
With Elizabeth upon his arm, Darcy crossed Meryton, occasionally stopping to receive congratulations.
They were eager to arrive, but not impatient.
Elizabeth carried a bouquet of the last flowers of autumn, gathered from the gardens of Netherfield, for the new gardens at Longbourn would not bloom until the following spring.
“It is such a beautiful house,” said Elizabeth.
“But?” he asked, looking at her with a slightly sarcastic smile, very much as Mr Bennet himself might have done.
“But this Longbourn does not resemble our home.”
“No. It belongs to Kitty and James now, just as the house in London will no longer be quite the same once you begin altering things.”
Elizabeth smiled. She fully intended to alter a few things, yet she had never said a word about her intentions.
“But Pemberley shall remain untouched,” she said quickly.
“I believe so. Primarily because you will have no time to alter anything for quite some time.”
“Darcy!” she exclaimed reproachfully.
Yet she knew he spoke the truth. After their rather lengthy engagement, she desired precisely the same thing and no longer made any effort to conceal it.
“But I should like to know how Mr Bennet discovered…about us.”
Elizabeth scarcely reflected, for she had considered that mystery many times before. She had read the letters from the box again and again, both hers and her father’s, and the answer came to her with the force of a cheerful revelation not long ago.
“I wrote him four letters whilst I was staying with Charlotte, and all four were about you.”
“No!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you irritated me, exasperated me, yet instead of writing about myself or Charlotte, I wrote to my father about you. My father knew me very well. He was probably as skilled at recognising the signs of a gentleman’s affection as you are.
He realised you loved me from the things I wrote him about you, describing in detail our frustrating conversations and meetings, then from my tone and other details he also understood… ”
“That you loved me.”
“Not quite. That your feelings for me interested me.”
Elizabeth carefully arranged the flowers in the black marble vases that flanked the gravestone, then sat beside him upon a nearby bench.
“How did he know he ought to write that letter?” asked Darcy.
Elizabeth rested her head upon his shoulder and whispered, “That is the only mystery that remains. Papa was an exceptional person, and I was privileged to have him in my life. You may read it now.”
Darcy opened the letter, aware of her presence beside him as keenly as if she were part of himself. It was not a long letter, and that alone made him like Mr Bennet even more.
Mr Darcy,
If you are reading this letter, you are either Elizabeth’s husband or about to become so.
I wrote the name of each future husband only upon Elizabeth’s and Jane’s envelopes.
In Jane’s case, I was certain the intended recipient would receive it.
In your case, yours and Lizzy’s, I entertained certain doubts.
You suited one another perfectly. From the moment I met you, you were the husband I wished for her, yet the pair of you seemed determined to do everything possible not to be together.
Even so, I dared write your name. Had Lizzy failed to discover the love she bore you, a letter bearing your name might have provided the revelation she required. A final opportunity to abandon her nonsense and marry you.
I do not know the exact story, but if you are reading this letter, you are together, and that gives me the greatest satisfaction, relieving many of my concerns for those I leave behind.
Your life will not be without difficulties, but it will be an easy and happy one. You will quarrel and reconcile, and you will make everyone around you happier for it.
Mr Darcy, with all my heart, I place my beloved daughter Elizabeth’s hand in yours.
Your affectionate father-in-law, I hope,
Mr Bennet
Fitzwilliam folded the letter and placed it in the pocket above his heart. Then he rose and offered Elizabeth his hand.
They walked away arm in arm, silent, overwhelmed by Mr Bennet’s final words, yet ready to set out together, for the rest of their lives, towards Pemberley.
Here ends Mr Darcy’s Second Chance
I invite you to read Struggle for Love