Epilogue Breakfast Twice Served #2
“I propose we begin our celebrations here at Longbourn, as my mother has so lovingly prepared, and then proceed to Netherfield for a continuation under Lady Catherine’s distinguished guidance.
This way, our guests may enjoy the best of both homes, and both sides of my family may contribute to what will surely be the most memorable wedding breakfast in Hertfordshire history. ”
A moment of silence followed this suggestion.
“Well,” Mrs. Bennet said finally, “I suppose it would be pleasant for everyone to see how elegantly I’ve arranged the morning refreshments before moving on to…more substantial entertainments.”
“And Netherfield’s gardens are at their peak this time of year,” Lady Catherine conceded with regal magnanimity. “The setting will provide a suitable backdrop for the more formal portions of the celebration.”
She embraced her mother and smiled at Lady Catherine to deliver her verdict. “I propose a solution that honors both claims. We shall have two celebrations.”
“Two?” Mrs. Bennet echoed weakly.
“Two,” Elizabeth confirmed. “We shall begin here at Longbourn, where my mother has prepared a breakfast that celebrates twenty years of her love and care. Then we shall progress to Netherfield, where Lady Catherine has prepared a breakfast that celebrates my newly found position as the daughter of Mr. John and Mrs. Rose Darcy. I believe they will both be with us in spirit.”
The room fell silent as this revolutionary concept was absorbed.
“Rather like a royal progress,” Colonel Fitzwilliam observed with barely suppressed laughter. “The bride is honored by her loyal subjects at multiple venues.”
“Precisely,” Elizabeth agreed, flashing him a grateful smile. “After all, surely I deserve to be thoroughly celebrated? It is not every day that a country miss marries above her station so dramatically.”
“Above your station?” Darcy’s voice held a note of warning that made several guests step backward.
Elizabeth turned to face her husband, whose dark eyes were blazing with an emotion that might have been dangerous in a less civilized man. “Have I said something to displease you, Mr. Darcy?”
“You have married exactly where you belong,” he said, his voice carrying a conviction that brooked no argument. “Any man fortunate enough to win your hand should consider himself elevated by the connection.”
The declaration sent a flutter of appreciation through the assembled ladies and caused more than one gentleman to nod approvingly. Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze, but Lady Catherine’s voice cut through the romantic moment.
“This is all very touching,” she said with an acidity that would curdle cream, “but the practical matter remains: we cannot expect our guests to travel between two establishments for a single meal.”
“Why not?” Elizabeth asked with genuine curiosity. “Sir William, would you object to visiting both Longbourn and Netherfield this morning?”
Sir William’s diplomatic training asserted itself immediately. “Not at all! A most creative solution! We shall pay our respects to both families, as is proper.”
“But the timing—” Lady Catherine began.
“Will be perfect,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted, her spirits reviving with remarkable speed. “We shall serve our breakfast at the usual hour, and then everyone may continue to Netherfield for… what shall we call it? A second breakfast?”
“Elevenses,” Lady Matlock suggested with a smile that transformed her aristocratic features. “How very fashionable.”
Elizabeth watched with fascination as the idea took hold.
The neighborhood guests began discussing the logistics with the enthusiasm of people presented with an unexpected entertainment.
Lady Catherine looked as though she had bitten into something unpleasant but could find no logical objection to the plan.
“Brilliant,” Darcy murmured in her ear, his breath sending delicious shivers down her spine. “You have managed to give both families exactly what they wanted while ensuring that neither can claim victory over the other.”
“I have managed to ensure that I shall be thoroughly overfed,” Elizabeth replied with a laugh. “Though I suppose there are worse fates for a bride.”
“Allow me to assist with that burden,” he said, and before she could ask what he meant, his hand had captured hers and drawn it to his lips for a kiss that was entirely proper yet somehow managed to be thoroughly improper in its intensity.
“Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, conscious of their audience but unable to resist the warmth in his eyes. “You are being most inappropriate.”
“I am being affectionate,” he corrected, his thumb tracing circles on her wrist that made her pulse race.
“And I find I am quite unable to help myself. You look radiant when you’re solving problems that lesser minds consider impossible.
You have achieved what I believed impossible—satisfying both my aunt and your mother simultaneously. ”
“A skill I suspect will prove useful in the years to come,” she replied with a smile. “Though I must confess, I find myself rather looking forward to the time when we may escape all these well-meaning relatives and simply be ourselves at Pemberley.”
“Three more days,” he promised, his fingers tightening around hers. “Then we depart for our home, where I intend to thoroughly enjoy having you all to myself.”
“All to yourself?” she echoed with mock innocence. “How shall we occupy ourselves, I wonder?”
The heat that flared in his eyes made her breath catch. “I have several ideas on that subject. None suitable for the current discussion.”
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth gasped in feigned shock. “I believe marriage has corrupted your proper nature.”
“Entirely your fault,” he replied unapologetically. “You have made me forget every rule of propriety I ever learned.”
“Only in private, I hope,” she teased. “I should hate to tarnish your reputation as the most proper gentleman in England.”
“For you,” he said, “I would surrender that and every other title gladly.”
“Lizzy! Mr. Darcy!” Lydia interrupted their salacious speech. “You must come at once. Mr. Collins has arrived and is delivering what appears to be a sermon on the virtues of matrimonial felicity, complete with references to Lady Catherine’s rosebushes!”
“Duty calls,” Elizabeth sighed.
“Perhaps not,” Darcy murmured in her ear as Lydia was distracted by Colonel Fitzwilliam, brilliant in his regimentals. “Come,” he said, drawing her toward the library. “I have something for you.”
“Another gift?” Elizabeth asked, allowing herself to be led. “You have already given me quite enough for one day.”
“I have given you nothing compared to what you have given me,” he replied, his voice carrying a sincerity that made her heart skip. “But this is something I wanted you to have before we face the gauntlet of our combined families.”
In the relative privacy of the library, Darcy reached into his coat and withdrew a small wrapped package. “From Georgiana and me,” he said. “Though the sentiment is entirely mine.”
Elizabeth unwrapped the package to reveal a delicate gold bracelet, its surface engraved with words in Latin that she recognized from her limited education. “Semper fidelis,” she read aloud. “Always faithful.”
“A promise,” Darcy said, taking the bracelet and fastening it around her wrist with gentle hands. “That whatever the future may hold, my devotion to you will never waver.”
The simple words, spoken with such quiet conviction, undid her completely. Tears pricked her eyes as she gazed at this man who had become the center of her world.
“And here I thought you married me for my inheritance,” she said, attempting levity to cover the depth of her emotion.
“I married you for you,” Darcy replied, his hands framing her face with infinite tenderness. “The inheritance was merely a convenient excuse to justify my complete capitulation to your charms.”
Before she could respond, his lips found hers in a kiss that was everything their wedding kiss had not been—private, passionate, and entirely free of the restraint proper behavior demanded.
“We should return,” she whispered against his lips when the kiss finally ended. “Our families will be wondering—”
“Let them wonder.” Darcy pressed another kiss to her temple. “I have waited twenty-eight years to have a wife to steal kisses from. I intend to make up for lost time.”
But before he could steal another kiss, the door burst open to admit Georgiana, whose face was flushed with excitement and something that might have been panic.
“Fitzwilliam! Elizabeth! You must come at once,” she gasped. “Aunt Catherine and Mrs. Bennet have decided to collaborate on the menu, and I fear they may actually come to blows over the proper way to serve eggs!”
Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged a look before dissolving into laughter bubbling up from a well of shared happiness.
“Come then, husband,” Elizabeth said, taking his arm with mock formality. “Let us go prevent our families from starting the War of the Wedding Breakfast.”
They returned to the breakfast room to find that Georgiana had not exaggerated. Lady Catherine and Mrs. Bennet stood toe-to-toe near the breakfast table, gesturing emphatically about what appeared to involve the proper arrangement of kedgeree.
“In any civilized household,” Lady Catherine was saying, “the eggs are always—”
“Twenty years I have been serving eggs to this neighborhood,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted, “and not once has anyone complained about my methods.”
“Perhaps because they lacked proper examples for comparison,” Lady Catherine replied with devastating sweetness.
Elizabeth sighed and looked up at her husband, who was watching the proceedings with the fascinated horror of a man witnessing a natural disaster.
“Any suggestions?” she asked.
“Indeed, I do.” His arms swept around her waist while his mouth captured her lips in a thoroughly passionate and scandalous kiss.
The room went so silent that one could have heard a pin drop.
When Darcy finally released her, Elizabeth found herself breathless and pink-cheeked.
Darcy, however, simply straightened his cravat as he surveyed the shocked assembly.
“My apologies,” he said with unconvincing contrition, “I could not listen to one more moment of argument when there were far more pleasant ways to occupy my attention.”
Elizabeth tugged teasingly on his cravat. “Why Fitzwilliam, dear, I do hope that you don’t intend to make a habit of kissing me senseless whenever our relations disagree.”
Darcy’s answering smile was pure masculine satisfaction. “My dearest Elizabeth,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with wicked promise, “given the argumentative powers of our combined family, I suspect I shall be kissing you senseless rather frequently, indeed.”
THE END