Chapter 18
Darcy Carriage
On the Road to Pemberley
The newly married Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy leaned against her husband’s side and felt her eyes flutter shut.
The last two months had been absolutely exhausting, with the excitement of foiling Georgiana’s abduction in Lambton, followed by the court trial in Derby, and then the return to Longbourn, where she had discovered that she had more or less been sold in marriage to a middle-aged stranger.
And now, by the very grace of God and the kindness of her new husband, she was safely wed, and her father was not facing Marshalsea.
She was effervescently happy. But more than that, she felt safe.
That was, she mused, something of a surprise, given that she really did not know Mr. Darcy all that well, and now she was joined in a union with him until death parted them.
But in spite of the reality that they had spent less than a month together in company, she knew that he was an excellent man who would care for her.
Despite some nervousness at this new adventure called marriage, she knew that he was intelligent and clever, and that they would deal well together. She knew that … she was very tired.
She fell asleep.
***
Elizabeth leaned into him, her muscles relaxed in sleep.
Fitzwilliam Darcy looked down at his bride, affection and protectiveness blooming in his heart.
She was so very lovely in repose, her bright eyes veiled, dark lashes curled against her cheek, her rosy lips slackened into a faint half-smile.
She trusted him entirely, and Darcy vowed in his heart to work hard each day to deserve that trust.
He was happy, happier than he had ever been before, positively giddy with happiness.
His heart felt full to bursting. It was strange, after weeks of turmoil, Georgiana's near abduction, and the trial, and Wickham's hanging.
That last one had, perhaps, been grimly satisfying, but it was not unmixed with grief, grief at a childhood friendship gone bad, grief at the wasted potential of a man whom Providence and a good man's generosity had given great gifts.
Then there had been the added and half-expected pangs of missing Miss Bennet, instinctively looking for her as he stepped into the library and the garden, only to remember that she was not there but back at her family home of Longbourn.
Just as he and his sister had begun to settle down from all the excitement, Miss Bennet had sent a letter to Georgiana that had alarmed both her and Darcy.
No, that was an understatement. It had sent the brother and sister into a panic.
Darcy had heard of Amos Stirling and knew that he had a bad reputation.
For the vibrant, kindly, courageous Elizabeth Bennet to be married to such a man was unthinkable.
For her to be married to any other man was too much.
Even now, the thought of such an outcome had Darcy tense, his teeth grinding.
Beside him, Elizabeth stirred in her sleep, disturbed by his tense posture.
Darcy glanced at her, and his expression and muscles alike softened.
She was safe now, married to him and not Stirling.
What a dreadful piece of news to greet her upon her return to her home!
Before she had even entirely recovered from her injuries at Wickham’s hands!
Might-have-beens were no longer of any matter.
Elizabeth was safe. Darcy was glad that she was resting; she needed it.
If the past few weeks had been difficult for him, they had been even more difficult and physically strenuous for her.
After all, he had not been injured, nor had been forced into an unwanted betrothal.
His marriage was very much wanted.
Elizabeth settled back into deeper slumber, and Darcy held perfectly still, even as his arm began to grow numb. His physical discomfort could not begin to eclipse the joy and contentment in his heart. It grew into a whispered prayer that fell from his lips.
“Thank you,” he spoke to the Almighty. Thanks be for his admirable wife, courageous and beautiful and kind, and for his sister whom she had saved from a terrible fate, and for the deep friendship that had grown up between the two young women.
Georgiana had eagerly endorsed his plan to save Elizabeth by marrying her himself, exclaiming her delight and enthusiasm at having Elizabeth for a sister.
Darcy knew that he had made the right decision in marrying Elizabeth.
Admittedly, they had not spent very long getting to know one another, but that was not altogether unusual; marriages during the Season often occurred very quickly indeed, and surely the adversities they had faced together were more conducive to choosing a lifelong partner than merely attending parties and plays and parks.
It would doubtless take time for the two of them to grow accustomed to one another’s habits and idiosyncrasies, to learn one another’s likes and dislikes and preferences.
However, each already had the full measure of the other's most important trait, their character.
Elizabeth knew that she could fully depend on him to take care of her, that he was honorable and trustworthy and responsible.
Darcy was confident that the woman he had married was kind and brave and determined and noble.
Her conversations with him had shown her cleverness, and evenings in the sitting room at Pemberley had informed him that she was also charming.
Her beauty and liveliness were apparent to anyone with eyes.
Fitzwilliam Darcy knew himself to be a lucky man. Not every gentleman in his position was able to marry a woman whom he truly loved, and Darcy truly, genuinely loved Elizabeth.
In a way, he was grateful for Amos Stirling forcing his hand.
He had always been very mindful of his stature as Darcy of Pemberley and of the responsibilities inherent to his name and standing.
He had been brought up to believe that he owed it to his family to marry a woman of wealth and connections, for the sake of Georgiana and the estate.
Strictly speaking, Elizabeth fulfilled none of these requirements.
Darcy could almost hear the shrieks of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and could almost see the gathered eyebrows and heavy disapproval on the face of his uncle, the Earl of Matlock.
No one in the family, except his cousin Richard, would be pleased with Darcy marrying a dowerless daughter of an impoverished and encumbered country squire.
Well, they were simply going to have to resign themselves to the fact.
It was accomplished now, and Darcy regretted nothing.
In truth, Amos Stirling’s scheming had saved Darcy weeks or even months of denial and brooding and battling his own heart.
By the grace of God, the end result would have been the same; he would have married his Elizabeth, but he might have wasted a great deal of unnecessary time dithering first. He had not dithered for a moment when Georgiana, weepy with shock and dismay, had shown him the letter.
He had at once gone to his desk and sharpened his quill and answered his sister’s confused query as to what he was doing with a rather absent, “I am proposing to marry Miss Bennet, dearest.”
Not once had he second-guessed himself, not for a moment in all the time it took for his letter to reach Hertfordshire, nor during the wait to receive Elizabeth’s reply.
The fact that it was not the unqualified ‘yes’ that he had hoped for, and had expected, had only bolstered his resolve.
She had saved his young sister from a desperately terrible and unwanted marriage.
How could he fail to do the same for her?
Now he was eagerly looking forward to bringing her home to Pemberley, to making her mistress of all he owned.
They would be happy together, he knew. Oh, it would not be perfect; no marriage was without its disagreements, and both he and Elizabeth knew their own minds well.
He was unaccustomed to being flouted, and Elizabeth was a strong-willed woman.
It was inevitable that they would clash at times, but Darcy was not worried.
Their mutual respect and esteem and affection would see them through any arguments.
At any rate, he would much, much rather be married to a woman who was unafraid to speak her mind than one who felt she must agree with his every opinion, or worse, one who was not interested in developing her own.
There was no fear of such missish ways with Elizabeth!
He looked tenderly down at his new bride. She was well and truly asleep now, and his heart swelled with love. How happy they would be together. How happy he was already.