Epilogue
One year later
Lady Winsford waited with care in a corner at Lady Stedham’s ball.
She did not approach her prey while his wife stood beside him, nor while the Darcys, the Fitzwilliams, and the Matlocks clustered nearby.
She watched as Colonel Brandon noticed her, then turned away with his wife.
She waited–composed, intent, beautifully attired, her mourning long since cast off–until Mrs Willoughby was drawn away into conversation with Mrs Darcy and Miss Darcy.
“You are improved,” Lady Winsford said softly, as Willoughby turned at her address. “I knew you would be.”
He bowed from the neck with civility rather than warmth. “Lady Winsford.”
“I have followed your progress,” she continued, her eyes bright with something that was no longer hope, but desperation. “Combe Magna prospers. Your income is generous. So is mine…and I–” She paused “I am free.”
Willoughby regarded her warily. “I am happy to hear that your circumstances are secure.”
She leaned closer. “My husband left me everything. A house. A fortune. Independence. What we lost need not be lost forever. We thought we only had one chance for happiness, we spoke of it once, do you remember? It need not be true.”
His expression turned to pity, and he looked about as if he would rather be anywhere but where he stood. He looked about for rescue before finally giving his reply.
“We were both wrong, Lady Winsford,” he said calmly. “There is not only one opportunity for each person to be happy. I found happiness later…elsewhere.”
Her breath caught. “You loved me.”
“I did,” he admitted gently. “Who knows if we would have been happy. But I am already happy now.”
“I waited,” she whispered. “You were delayed, and I believed our chance was gone.”
“You waited a week.” Willoughby raised a brow in skepticism. “You made another choice, Lady Winsford.”
“We were meant to be together!”
“We were meant to teach each other something.” His voice became harder, frustration radiated from him.
“But I love you.” Marianne reached out for his hands, then stopped abruptly. They were no longer alone.
Mrs Lydia Willoughby’s voice entered the space between them, cool and composed.
“How fortunate,” she said easily, threading her arm through her husband’s. “That we are none of us limited to a single opportunity for happiness. We do wish you the best of luck finding your own.”
Lady Winsford flushed, her composure melting away. She turned without another word and fled into the crowded ballroom.
Lady Priscilla Brandon observed from a few steps away. “Marriage does not always improve one’s judgment,” she remarked. “Only occasionally one’s station.”
Colonel Brandon watched Lady Winsford’s retreat with visible astonishment. “I would never have believed…”
Elizabeth looked up at her own husband and allowed herself a small, knowing smile. “It is curious,” she said. “How little power the past retains once it is properly understood.”
Darcy inclined his head, his gaze resting briefly on Lydia and Willoughby before returning to his wife. “Clarity has a way of displaying what is inescapable.”
“No.” Elizabeth met his eyes, her expression warm and amused, and for a moment the noise of the room fell away. “It is love that has a way of displaying what is real.”
~Finis~