Chapter 75
Elizabeth wandered through from her bathing room to her bedchamber, wrapped in a towel, her hair in another and Emily scurrying ahead of her to where her gown and chemise were lying, already prepared on the bed.
She glanced down as she crossed the room. On her left hand she wore both rings; his mother’s gold one with tiny rose-cut diamonds, and beside it the plain brassy wedding ring.
She had told William she wished to wear the plain wedding ring beside his mother's. One spoke of the future they had chosen; the other, of the marriage they had redeemed together.
She was happy that William shared her bed each night. He had only gone to his chambers to bathe before breakfast and give her time to do so as well.
She frowned; there was a letter, lying on her pillow. Moving closer, the direction was clear.
Elizabeth
She picked it up. “Emily, please leave me until I call for you.”
Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,
This Christmas morning, this first true Christmas of our marriage, I want to write you a letter. An honest letter, as you wrote to me on the day of your majority, the letter that made me realise what a terrible husband I was to you, and how deeply you had suffered.
But I do not want to dwell on the past; as you have often said, I will remember only that which brings me pleasure.
I remember with more delight than pleasure, the day you accepted my escort back to your aunt; the day you decided to return to the dower house to remain independent — and, my dearest love, it was my joy to spend the time in refurbishing it so that it was a choice you could make.
It matters not to me that you used it so few weeks, and I pray you worry for it no longer.
It was a bridge; a bridge for your return to Pemberley, to the household and tenants of the estate, and, most of all, to me.
The joy I feel when I wake beside you each morning mirrors what I felt that moment in these apartments when I was able to take you in my arms on hearing you say you wished to come home.
I love you, Elizabeth. I was not worthy of you in the early days; by you I have been properly humbled. No, you say I must think only of pleasure.
I am proud to be your husband, to see the joy you take in life. You are teaching me to live and to laugh with you as I love your spirit, your liveliness, your intelligence and your beauty. For you are most beautiful to me, my darling.
Elizabeth had to stop reading then, and she blinked away tears … ‘I am proud to be your husband’
… Not I am proud that you are my wife. She swallowed, she would understand it more with each rereading, she knew.
I love you as we sit over breakfast, reading our letters, when you tease me, when we sit in silent harmony in the library, when we walk out through the park and the woods, when we drive to church and when we visit the tenants.
I love you most of all when we are alone and I may be closer to you than anyone else in the world.
I love that this Christmas will be the first for many years where the house is decorated for the festivities. I love that you show care and sensitivity for all, including a holly garland along the mantel in Mrs Reynolds's room.
I could write many more pages, telling you all the ways I love you, but then I will be waiting for you for breakfast for a long time, and I know you would tease me for it. Instead, I will show you my devotion in every way I can each and every day we have together.
Hurry down to me, my love. I miss you already, though we have been apart scarcely an hour.
I am, my beloved Elizabeth,
Your devoted and humble
William.