Chapter 25 #2
Elizabeth felt shock that her elder sister was even capable of crafting such lies.
She skimmed three pages of Jane’s supposed anxiety that it was now too late, that Elizabeth had married a true monster, and Jane was desperately upset that her efforts had backfired into a more rapid wedding than if she had not acted. None of it made the least bit of sense.
She passed the letter over to Darcy and said, “I will forgive and yet not fully trust my father, but so far, at least, I will not forgive Jane.”
After rapidly reading the six pages, Darcy asked, incredulity in his voice, “If my aunt and uncle sent word that I had a propensity for violence, would the solution not be to tell you of the warning and the source? Why would it make any sense at all to lock you up far away from your family?”
“Exactly. And there are other oddities to this version of what occurred,” Elizabeth said. “She is either a careless thinker, in the throes of a great emotional turmoil, or mad. No matter which of the three explanations is true, I will cut ties with her.”
“I will not argue against such a move,” Darcy said.
“It truly gave me chills to tell her that I knew you had not and would not elope with Wickham, and to see her feigned astonishment and innocence as she maintained her duplicity. She betrayed not the smallest sign that she felt any measure of shame.”
“How are things going with your relatives?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy held up some reports and grinned. “Very well indeed. There are still a few debts to purchase, but so far it has all been accomplished without notice. The only thing I have heard from my uncle is pleas for forgiveness, with the excuse that they did not wish me to ruin my reputation, nor Georgiana’s chance of a good marriage. I have not responded at all.”
“I believe I shall respond to my younger sisters immediately, although we should wait at least a day for Gilbert and Ross to rest. I believe it would be best to send the same messengers; do you agree?”
“I do.”
Elizabeth wrote to Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, outlining their plans for the bridal tour but also their eagerness to have all three come to Pemberley when they returned home.
Then Elizabeth wrote that she was going to say the same information to their father; if he approached the sisters and gave an accurate account of what she had said, it would prove that he was, at least for the most part, trustworthy to pass on future messages.
Then Elizabeth wrote to her father. She said she was well onto the path of forgiving him, but it would take a long time to rebuild trust. Then, she relayed the message for Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.
Last, she wrote the most painful part of the message: “Jane has not written anything truthful and has not asked for forgiveness. For now she is not welcome at any of the homes Darcy and I own, nor is she welcome at any event or outing I arrange. This may change at some future date, if she ever shows herself to be honourable and honest.”
It felt wretched to think that she must have misunderstood her favourite sister for two decades. It gave her memories a feeling of unreality that was most unpleasant.
Still, Elizabeth had felt happy during her childhood, and she was incredibly happy now with her darling husband by her side. She allowed her concerns over Jane to slide away as Darcy asked how soon she wished to travel to Rosings for the beginning of their bridal tour.
“I would say as soon as we can, but I believe we still have to worry about the threats your uncle made about my uncle, sisters, and others. Plus, you wish to present the demand letter to your uncle in person, do you not?”
“I wrote to my solicitor regarding the threats while you were writing to your family,” he replied. “I believe that I can present my demand letter tomorrow and ensure that none of the threats are ever carried out.”
“Excellent. Should we plan to leave Tuesday next?”
“That should work.” Darcy left his stacks of correspondence, which he had sorted into three piles, and he held out his hand to his beautiful wife, asking, “Would you honour me with a dance?”
“Dancing in the dining room?”
“Not at all what I had in mind,” he said. “Do you trust me?”
When Elizabeth murmured, “Of course,” he winked as he led her a few yards away to the entrance of the ballroom. He opened a cupboard, and Elizabeth was astounded to see what appeared to be a canary in a cage—but the feathered wings were still, and the tilted head was motionless.
Darcy wound a key, and in a flash Elizabeth knew what she was seeing for the first time: a mechanical canary. She had read about such automata, and she was fascinated to see what would happen when the bird was fully wound up.
The bird did a trilling bird song, and though the canary soon wound down and was quiet again, Darcy continued to lead Elizabeth in a reel to a rhythm that was solely in their minds.
She laughed in delight. She had not danced without music since she was a child, and her beloved husband was looking very boyish at the moment.
But then there were other moments, and soon they were in each other’s arms in an entirely other manner, a clinch that did not harken back to childhood memories, but rather the recent memories of their plush and very private bedchambers.
“Darcy,” she whispered at the completion of one of a hundred kisses, “anyone could walk in…”
He started another kiss, still swaying with her slightly, as if they were still dancing, but when he came up for air, he asked, “Anyone? I am hoping it will be the Prince Regent; he has not yet come to any Darcy property.”
She pinched Darcy’s rear and smiled when he jumped a bit.
“Oh, my dear,” he said, “such an attack begs for retaliation.” And, as if it were a punishment, he caught her upper arms in his strong grasp, with his forearms supporting hers, and he lifted her into a dizzying twirl.
She gasped into a laugh and giggled into another gasp, and when they settled down, it was into an even more passionate kiss. Darcy finally mumbled, “I suppose we should go back to our chambers.”
And so they did.