Epilogue
Finally the moment had arrived, the one Darcy had been longing for, when they left the church and he could help Elizabeth into his carriage – their carriage! – and drive away with her as man and wife. No day in his life could ever be finer than this one.
But before he could even hold out his hand to his bride, Georgiana came running up to them and threw her arms around Elizabeth. “I am so happy you are my sister in truth now! This is the most perfect gift I have ever received.”
“I am glad, too. But none of us can be as pleased as my cousin Margaret, who simply cannot believe her good fortune that you are now part of her family,” Elizabeth teased. “Just think of all the trouble you can get into together!”
To Darcy’s delight, Georgiana laughed. His sister had turned a corner that day she had confronted Wickham in the shop.
Her spirits were higher, and she was playing the piano at home again.
Most astonishingly, she had agreed to come with him to Netherfield when he followed Elizabeth here, even though it meant being among society again.
She had retreated to her room more than once when it became too much for her, but more often she had been in company.
And she loved going to Longbourn to visit Elizabeth, even among her great crowd of boisterous sisters.
For his sister’s sake, Darcy was glad he had not given into his first impulse to insist on marrying Elizabeth immediately after that wondrous Twelfth Night when Elizabeth had consented to be his.
He would have happily gone out the next morning to buy a license.
To his dismay, the Gardiners had advised against it. Strongly.
Even more dismaying, he suspected they were right.
Mr. Gardiner had said, “I understand why you kept your second visit to Netherfield a secret. But I beg you to consider how this will look to Mr. Bennet when you ask his permission. As far as he knows, you left Netherfield with Mr. Bingley with no intention to return and Lizzy expressing no fondness for you. Then you suddenly appear six weeks later to ask for his daughter’s hand.
He could draw some unfortunate conclusions from that. ”
It would be completely unacceptable. “What would you suggest, then?”
“Lizzy could write home tomorrow with the news that she encountered you and your sister here in London and invited you both here for Twelfth Night. Next week, she can tell them about further encounters. My wife can mention being favorably impressed with you. When Lizzy returns to Longbourn in a fortnight, you can follow, paying her marked attention. Then a proposal will not seem so shocking.”
Mrs. Gardiner had added, “I must put in a word for Lizzy, too. Your affection for her, Mr. Darcy, appears to be of some standing, but from what I can tell, she only changed her mind about you a fortnight ago. I would urge you to give her time to know you better before you announce the engagement.”
Elizabeth said, “I assure you, Aunt, I am quite certain.”
“Then it will not harm you to wait a few weeks,” her uncle had replied. “Marriage is not to be entered into lightly.”
That quote from the wedding service itself could not be argued with.
Still, every day of these six weeks had seemed to last forever, except for the happy moments when he was in Elizabeth’s company. Those had fled past. But he was still glad they had waited,
because the Netherfield mistletoe had won yet another feather in its cap. Soon after Bingley had stolen a kiss from Jane Bennet under the sprig at Longbourn, she had made him the second happiest man in the world.
Darcy, of course, claimed the position of happiest.
Sharing the wedding ceremony with his friend and her sister made it an altogether delightful event.
Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were still on the church steps, but they had only a few miles to travel to Netherfield.
Darcy and Elizabeth would be going to London, where they would spend a month or two of newlywed joy before traveling to Pemberley when the weather improved.
As if on cue, a few lazy snowflakes drifted down, catching on Elizabeth’s bonnet. She put out her free hand to catch one on her embroidered glove, the very one he had given on her on that fateful Twelfth Night. She looked up at him with an impish smile that would brighten the cloudiest day.
“I believe that is a hint that we should be on the road before it gets any worse, my love,” he said, and helped her up the folding steps into the carriage. He had given orders for warm bricks for their feet and lap blankets, and he suspected they would be grateful for both.
Or his new bride could keep him warm.
As he stepped up behind her, she said, “If I had seen you smile so widely when we first met, I would have had quite a different impression of you!”
He sat down beside her and arranged the heavy blankets over their legs. “It would not have taken the magical Netherfield mistletoe to make you give me a second look, then?” he teased.
“Or the old-wives-tale mistletoe,” she said with mock austerity.
He laughed. “In either case, I am not complaining. I will be forever grateful for it.” He rapped his cane head on the roof of the carriage.
As it swayed into motion, Elizabeth laid her forefinger against her lips. “The question is…”
“What is it?”
Her lovely eyes danced. “The question is whether it will be just as magical to kiss you when there is no Netherfield mistletoe overhead.”
He placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, glad of the wedding ring that finally allowed him to do so. “Well, my love, for the sake of knowledge, perhaps we should find out.”