Epilogue
Pemberley
The rides across Pemberley’s park were beyond description, and Darcy was proud to see they were no longer beyond the riding skills of his wife.
During the events at Epsom, Elizabeth had expressed an interest in riding, but upon arriving at her new home, she said its size, beauty, and varied ground deepened the inclination.
Eager to please her, and hopeful of more time alone with her, he encouraged her interest and purchased her a quiet mare best fitted for a beginner.
But Elizabeth was active, fearless, humble, and a quick learner, and Darcy already had to sell that horse and find her one with an energy to match hers.
He clutched the letter from Surrey as he walked along the road that led to the stables.
She would return soon, exhilarated and with bright eyes, and this invitation would dampen her spirits.
Elizabeth would not want to go, but he would not keep the invitation a secret. He had to give her the choice.
In the distance, his wife raced against his sister, who had fallen behind.
He thought Elizabeth’s animal flew with the swiftness of lightning.
Before long, Elizabeth pulled the reins and shifted her weight down and waited for Georgiana.
They soon crossed the river together and rode up to him, laughing about some private joke, and their happiness in each other made him smile.
“You have such a pure and genuine pleasure in riding,” he said as she sprang down with his help.
“Your attendance and instructions probably added something,” Elizabeth said, smiling at him as he lifted down his sister. “Georgiana also rides well, and she says that you taught her when she was a child.”
“But I think you have surpassed your sex and age in general by your early progress,” said Georgiana. “You did not seem to have a thought of fear when you first learnt.”
“Your brother said horses can sense fear,” she said, giving her horse long strokes along the neck and shoulder. “We are dear friends, are we not? Nothing to fear from you. Besides, he is doing most of the work.”
“I think instead you are gifted by nature with strength and courage,” Darcy said.
“And a patient husband to teach me.”
Her delight in riding was charming, and her early excellence at it was a surprise to everyone but him. Whilst Elizabeth spoke to a groom, Darcy murmured to Georgiana, “Might you give me a moment with Elizabeth?”
He led Elizabeth across the lawn toward the river and handed her the letter. “This is from Henry Tessier to advise me his mother will send you an invitation. Mrs Tessier wishes to invite us to spend a fortnight at Woodcote next month.”
Unspoken was that this visit would include the annual Epsom race meeting.
But rather than frown, Elizabeth gave an arch smile.
“How remarkable, since Lydia writes that Mrs Tessier had invited her to spend a few months with her and she will be there in May. I think Mrs Tessier wants her there nearly as much as Henry does. She is fond of her future daughter-in-law.”
“We are being summoned to lend credence to the long engagement,” Darcy muttered.
“Or perhaps Mrs Tessier cannot bear not having a full house and she also thought Lydia might like to have family visit at the same time.”
Henry was pursuing his time at Inns of Court keeping commons and had two years remaining to become a lawyer, whereupon his brother would surely help him find a place earning a thousand a year to begin his profession. At that time, Mr Bennet would allow Henry to marry an exceedingly eager Lydia.
Life as a student in London might tempt many a young man to expensive or reckless pursuits, but Henry remained reasonable in everything but his tailoring bill.
He studied and read in barrister’s chambers, although Darcy wondered if it was because he wanted to be a successful barrister or because he would be allowed to marry Lydia once he became a barrister.
Darcy narrowed his eyes as he watched Elizabeth smile to herself as she read Henry’s letter. “You cannot want to go back to Epsom?” he asked in a tone of disbelief.
“Why not? I enjoyed the York races last year and cheering on your uncle’s stable.”
He held back any comment about how the York races were, of course, better because no one attempted to murder her.
“When I cheered for jockeys in green at Epsom,” she went on, “did you know green was his lordship’s colours?”
Grass green satin with a black velvet cap had been the Fitzwilliam colours for decades. It had pleased him at the time that she was drawn to the colour. “I did.”
When he added nothing else she said, “Well, I love the races and how you cannot tell His Grace from his groom, or man from a woman if they are both in trousers. I like the stalls and attractions as much as the races themselves. Why would I not want to see Mrs Tessier and Henry, not to mention my sister?”
Would she force him to say it? “It will bring forth terrible memories, to say nothing of how it will be noted if we attend the Epsom races.”
Elizabeth stopped walking and sighed. “Any newspaper article that mentions the society around Epsom refers to the escapade two years ago. There is no escaping that, whether or not we go.”
“If we just attend any ball or concert around Epsom Downs, even if we never watch a race, it will be remarked upon, both in gossip and in print, I can promise you,” he insisted. “Along with more talk of the madwoman who tried to murder her daughter’s romantic rival.”
She put her hands on his waistcoat. “I prefer the articles that mention the handsome and heroic Mr Darcy who saved his beloved from tragedy.”
“They always mention both,” he said flatly, ignoring her soft eyes.
“Yes, but the tone differs greatly, and you were a hero.”
“You truly want to go to Woodcote?” His heart raced away in agitation at remembering what happened there.
She threw up her hands. “If I could cope with mentions in gossip and print about the trial that summer, I can handle being mentioned if I am seen at Epsom Downs.”
Lady Metcalfe’s trial had produced an excited interest across England.
A woman gone mad because her lifelong lover would not marry her when her pregnant daughter was unwed, or at least that was what the madwoman had believed.
So she tried to murder the future bride of the man her daughter wanted to entrap into marriage to give a name to her child by another man.
It was no wonder the outrageous scandal was on everyone’s tongues.
Darcy, Elizabeth, Woodcote’s cook, and several servants and witnesses all testified.
The jury came back with a quick decision whose outcome surprised no one.
A doctor from Bedlam Hospital said to find Lady Metcalfe not guilty, her being under the influence of insanity at the time the acts were committed.
The Criminal Lunatics Act made the court’s sentencing decision for them: any such person acquitted due to insanity must be kept in strict custody indefinitely.
When Darcy noticed her observing him, he admitted, “My recollections of Woodcote are not happy ones, Elizabeth.”
“Then why do we not make some new ones? If you hate it—”
“I am thinking more of you, dearest.”
“If I hate it,” she said, “then we will simply leave. But a fortnight with Lydia and Henry will be enjoyable, and we can visit Jane and Bingley along the way.”
He put a hand to her cheek. His wife was braver than anyone he knew. If she wanted to go, he would take her. Perhaps his own fears would not come back simply by being at Woodcote. “Would you not be distressed to see the turf and remember when you were last there?”
“If it makes you feel better, I will be like all the other dignified matrons and go in my coach and ignore the races altogether and then go home directly to dress for a concert or ball.”
He scoffed. “You prefer to watch at the ending post and feel the energy of a vast, unruly crowd all cheering for their horse to overtake the others and win.”
Elizabeth pressed a kiss to his lips. “I can handle a little chaotic bustle, I promise. Besides, you will be with me.”
May 1814
Epsom Downs
Elizabeth loved a race ground. It was not just seeing one’s friends in attendance, or the commotion of commerce, but also the horses themselves. She appreciated them in a different way now that she rode. Their speed, energy, and beauty entranced her as she and Darcy watched the Woodcote Stakes.
“The racehorses’ abilities are not purely innate, are they?
” she asked him as they made their way through the crowd after the finish.
He was striding away and she had to hurry to keep pace with him.
Henry was with the organisers, whilst Mrs Tessier and Lydia had stayed by the carriages, but Elizabeth had begged Darcy to take her closer.
“Some think blood is all that matters with thoroughbreds, but I think there must be a matter of improvement through training, too.”
“I can admire their talents even more now that I ride myself.”
“Can you also appreciate their talents if their winning helps line your pockets?”
He spoke in jest; neither of them had wagered today. She was purely here for the entertainment, and Darcy seemed to want to do nothing more than accompany her and leave the turf as swiftly as possible. He had not been as eager to spend the day at the races with her as she had hoped.
“There is such a sense of occasion,” she said, trying to cheer him. “I just enjoy being here. There is no need to wager.”
“If only everyone was as wise as you,” he muttered, tilting his head toward a man talking animatedly to one of the many bookmakers.
She recognised Mr Travers at a distance and made a sound of disgust as they continued on their way. He had never supported Julia or Lady Metcalfe, even going so far as to claim no connexion to either, even after the allegations made in court.