Epilogue
Darcy’s sister was summoned to spend Christmas at Netherfield, and she and Elizabeth were soon as fondly attached to each other as Darcy could have hoped.
The Gardiners, Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle, came for Christmas also, and Darcy liked them so well that when he learnt they were thinking of touring the Lakes in the summer, he invited them to break their journey at Pemberley and stay for several days.
The two betrothed couples arranged to be married in a single ceremony in early February.
Colonel Fitzwilliam came for a week’s visit to attend, and he and Elizabeth, being of such similar temper, soon behaved as though they had known each other all their lives and often conspired to tease Darcy.
To see her brother as the object of raillery was a revelation to Georgiana Darcy; she had been used to considering him as an amalgam of a father and a deity, but witnessing him reduced to helpless laughter at his own expense introduced her to the good-hearted, fallible man he truly was.
After a blissful fortnight at the seaside at Lyme, the Darcys repaired to Pemberley for the spring planting.
The sheer size of the estate and the manor house shocked Elizabeth; even her active imagination had not quite prepared her for this reality.
She took courage from the knowledge that the place had gone along perfectly well these past fifteen years without a mistress and did not attempt to learn and do everything all at once.
She would be there for the rest of her life, after all.
After Easter, they went to London to join in the Season and make Elizabeth known to society, where none of Lady Catherine’s predictions came true.
Darcy was shunned only by a very few acquaintances whose company was not missed.
His friends and relations had naturally been surprised by his choice, but Darcy’s reputation as a careful man induced everyone who truly valued him, or their connexion to the Darcy name, to withhold judgment until they met his bride.
Elizabeth’s charm and Darcy’s happiness settled the question for many.
The support of the Earl and Countess of Matlock brought most of the rest of society around.
Those august personages quietly disapproved of the marriage in the beginning, but only behind closed doors; in public, their support was firm from the first moment, for the sake of the Darcy and Fitzwilliam names.
In time, however, they grudgingly agreed that Elizabeth’s addition to the family had given their nephew a great contentment and their niece a confidence neither had ever previously known.
Lydia Bennet went to Brighton that summer with her good friend, Harriet Forster, the wife of Colonel Forster.
Having been caught kissing Mr Pratt behind a pillar at an assembly there, she found herself married at just sixteen years old, delighted to lord her superior position as a married woman over Mary and Kitty and write them long letters full of nonsensical advice on how to catch a husband.
Darcy was so pleased to have his most troublesome sister-in-law respectably, if not prudently, settled that he took it upon himself to advance Mr Pratt in his career.
Meanwhile, Charlotte Lucas had been invited to spend the summer at Pemberley.
There, she met the vicar of Lambton parish, a widower of five and thirty with two young daughters.
The living was not in Darcy’s gift, so Mr Wallace was not obliged by anything more than courtesy to make himself amiable to the Darcys’ guest. He admired her good sense and even temper; she admired his steady nature and comfortable living.
They married in the autumn, and Charlotte was nearly as pleased to be installed so close to Elizabeth as she was to be married at all.
The Bingleys found that residing only three miles from Longbourn meant that Mrs Bennet considered herself quite as much the mistress of Netherfield as her eldest daughter.
Finding a pretty estate less than thirty miles from Pemberley, they removed themselves to Derbyshire and the frequent company of the Darcys and the former Miss Lucas within a year of their marriage.
As for Caroline Bingley, her position as Mrs Darcy’s very good friend brought her to the attention of a worthy gentleman the following spring.
The Honourable Mr James Hughes of Wiltshire was the second son of a baron, newly elected to the Commons.
He was a man more inclined to listen than speak, but when he did open his mouth, he spoke with perception and discernment.
He was affable but not gregarious, the sort of man who had a large, friendly acquaintance and only a few close friends.
His greatest flaw was his unconcealed impatience with those who would not see what he felt to be readily apparent.
His political opponents uniformly found him infuriating.
Darcy met Mr Hughes at his club and introduced him to Bingley at a ball; Miss Bingley was made known to him at a dinner at Darcy House.
He had been looking about him for a wife for a little while, and his initial interest in her was certainly founded in her close ties of both marriage and affection to the Darcys.
He may or may not have hoped to fall in love in the course of finding a lady to wed, but if her bearing, accomplishments, and connexions provoked his approval, her beauty and sincerity equally touched his heart.
Miss Bingley was in no way less fond of him; shortly after her engagement was formed, she confessed to Mrs Darcy that the business of falling in love had been equal parts pleasure and terror, the latter relieved only by his proposals.
Mr Hughes and Miss Bingley were well-matched indeed; they both enjoyed the arts and society without scorning the pleasures of a quiet evening or a stay in the country, and he loved to dance quite as much as she did.
They married within six months of their first meeting and settled in London, where Mrs Hughes established herself as a premier political hostess.
It was a life which suited her excellently, allowing her to meet many interesting people and wield her skill at arranging entertainments to the benefit of her husband and, she liked to think, her country as well.
She and Elizabeth remained always the best of friends, inseparable when they were in the same county and exchanging a truly frightening volume of letters when they were apart.
Elizabeth was ever sensible of the warmest gratitude to her friend who, by vouching for Darcy’s character so soon after his insult at the assembly, had softened her anger and provoked a willingness to allow him to make amends if he would.
This, she often thought, had led directly to the very great happiness which she and Darcy now enjoyed as husband and wife.