Epilogue

EPILOGUE

June 26, 1817

I nvitations to the ball commemorating Georgiana Darcy’s wedding, held in Matlock’s grand ballroom, were among the most highly coveted of any event in 1817. Her bridegroom, Lord Whitney, was a jolly, earnest young man of good character who adored his bride.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam remained at one end of the ballroom, surrounded, as usual, by a cadre of his mother’s friends who had appointed themselves responsible for his still unwed state. For once, he was awaiting the same thing they were, and knew by a herald of whispers when the moment arrived.

Mrs Darcy entered on the arm of her adoring husband, to murmurs of appreciation at the beauty of her sapphire blue silk gown, and wonderment and speculation about the others in her party. Willingly enough, the colonel performed the office expected of him.

“The girl in the pink gown is Mrs Darcy’s younger sister, Miss Catherine,” he answered and, because the old hens would love the titbit, added a knowledgeable aside. “She is betrothed to the man who holds Pemberley’s living—Tilney, I believe is his name. Bingley and his wife, Mrs Darcy’s sister, are entering just behind them, with Bingley’s youngest sister bringing up the rear—she married old Sutherland, you know, but still hovers ceaselessly around the Darcys. Oh, and here come Mrs Darcy’s parents—Mr and Mrs Bennet, of Longbourn estate in Hertfordshire.”

“Oh, we all know their names,” Mrs Acton-Smith replied. “Who can forget how Mr Darcy placed announcements of his marriage in The Morning Post , The Morning Chronicle , The Morning Herald , The British Press , The Evening Mail , The Courier , The Globe , and The Sun . Am I forgetting any?”

The ladies all tittered appreciatively, and he smiled along with them.

“Does she not have relatives in trade?” asked Lady Buford, with snide undertones.

“She has very wealthy, very powerful relations, and is a great favourite of Matlock,” the colonel replied with chiding asperity. “Her father is a gentleman, and you may choose to take Mr Darcy to task for those connexions, but I shall not.”

At the other end of the ballroom, Elizabeth and Darcy watched Mr and Mrs Bennet join the first set—a country dance .

“How in the world did your mother ever convince your father to attend a London ball? I never thought to see the day.”

“Neither did I,” Elizabeth replied. “Of course, never did they expect to be invited to an earl’s entertainment. It is not Papa’s idea of a perfect evening, perhaps, but he refused a future of forever listening to Mama’s disappointment if she had missed it. Look how happy she is!”

Her mama was indeed sparkling with smiles—most all of them, it seemed, for her husband. What was even stranger to Elizabeth, was her father’s returned smiles towards his wife.

“Not everyone need be the greatest wit in the country in order to be valued and valuable,” Darcy remarked. “Loyalty and devotion mean much.”

“I think they were very angry at each other for a very long while,” Elizabeth said softly. “Mama did not bear a son, and she wanted Papa’s love regardless. Her nerves, her complaints, her refusal to allow anyone to discipline Lydia—these were her weapons. Papa responded by withholding affection and firing off sarcastic remarks she could seldom understand. In every argument, I took his side, without stopping to think how my judgments hurt her. Of course I was not Mama’s favourite—why would I be? But at the bitterest moment of my life, she offered only her love.”

Darcy reached for Elizabeth’s hand; she knew he understood of what bitterness she spoke. “I shall always be grieved you had to experience that moment. I am grateful your mother was good to you at a difficult time.”

“I have an excellent family,” she agreed. “Slightly eccentric, perhaps, but loving and supportive. ”

“I know,” he replied ruefully. “I have read your family Bible.”

She grinned up at him. “Did I ever tell you of the time Lydia brawled with the Harrington girls in the streets of Meryton because they dared insult me?”

The entire family had worried about whether the new Mr and Mrs Philips could be happy together for longer than a few short months. No one had counted upon the tenacity of young Mr Philips. He was ambitious and determined, and after investing in one of Mr Gardiner’s riskier schemes, he had earned enough for the pair to move from the Philipses’ home to build their own. In furnishing it, in combing London antiques markets with a clever eye for price and design, Lydia found true joy, and not long afterwards she and her husband opened a shop—Philips Georgiana held him in good standing, he never forgot Elizabeth’s children’s birthdays, and he in turn was a great favourite with them.

The earl saw the direction of her look. “Lady Matlock has decided it is long past time for Richard to marry. I believe she favours the daughter of Sir Percival Biddlesby. He is a good man. A baronet, you know.”

“She is a child in her first Season,” Darcy said, incredulous, glancing over at the young lady in question, a thin, wide-eyed girl, whose head was overwhelmed by a crown of white roses, and who avoided everyone’s gaze.

The earl shrugged. “He has had plenty of time to choose one more to his liking, and he is not getting any younger. May as well marry her now while she is willing,” he said carelessly, and, hailed by another of his guests, disappeared into the crowd .

“What he means is that Biddlesby fears the girl has not taken well with the ton , and Matlock has need of her settlement,” Darcy growled. “It would be a disastrous match, and only my aunt and uncle could fail to see it.”

Not for the first time, Elizabeth felt sorry for Colonel Fitzwilliam. She had attempted, over the years, to bring about a rapprochement between the two men, but Darcy’s anger was as deep as his hurt. They were always civil, but the breach was a wide one, and seemed all but impossible to overcome.

“When you think of it, we actually owe Colonel Fitzwilliam a great deal,” Elizabeth said in confiding tones.

Darcy raised a brow. “How so?”

“Thanks to his misjudgment, the earl extended himself to curb any possible incivility from the rest of your family. Our first years could have been full of bickering and infighting; instead, I had the benefit of public acceptance and private courtesy.”

“Nothing excuses Fitzwilliam’s actions towards you.”

“We do not have to excuse his actions —but the man himself ought to be given the opportunity to prove he learnt from them.”

“You have been kindness itself towards him.”

“I shall continue to be kind. He had my forgiveness the first time he visited the nursery and allowed our son to use him as a cavalry horse for a solid two hours. I am speaking of friendship—yours and his.”

An exultant, excited Georgiana and her new husband descended upon them then, and all private conversation was impossible for some time. In fact, it was not until the first waltz of the night that Elizabeth had opportunity to express more of her opinion.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam is surrounded by women who want him to marry their daughters and granddaughters. He is too polite to fend them off, and requires a friend’s assistance.”

Darcy obligingly looked, and could not resist commenting. “Matlock is correct, in that he could have married elsewhere before this.”

“He could marry one of the women who has his parents’ approval, you mean.”

Darcy frowned. “Probably. Dash it, he never can bear to cross his father, and yet he could not possibly want one of the earl’s cronies as a father-in-law.”

“I agree, and have given some thought to the matter. I believe he would do well with my good friend, Sarah Bentley. There is certainly nothing objectionable about her. Her father, or her young brother, will inherit Lord Hampton’s title, and her dowry is magnificent.”

“Oh, there are a few things they could object to.”

“Her conversation is not always…typical, I suppose, but I find her very interesting. Refreshing. Typical people are often so dull, and she is more than strong enough to withstand the, er, affections of Lord and Lady Matlock.”

He looked down at her with some sternness. “It is not like you to play the matchmaker.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Everyone could do with a little help now and again. Remember how useful your sister was to us at a critical juncture. I only wish you to perform the introduction.”

“That is all?” His aspect was most severe .

“Oh, well, perhaps you might hint, in the most delicate way possible, that it would mean a great deal to you if he took the introduction seriously. A step, even, towards redemption. Friendship.”

Lady Buford pursed her lips, murmuring to Colonel Fitzwilliam, “Just look at that. Mr and Mrs Darcy are arguing! Right in the middle of the dance floor, at his own sister’s ball. Perhaps the bloom of his inexplicable fascination for her has finally faded, do not you agree?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced over in the direction the old shrew was nodding, to where Mr and Mrs Darcy performed the simple, uncomplicated steps of a waltz. He saw what Lady Buford saw—the imposing form of Darcy, his expression harsh and unyielding as he gazed down upon his wife, who unmistakably was speaking to him of matters far too serious for a ballroom.

“I do not agree,” the colonel replied. “Watch a few more moments longer. You will see.”

Sure enough, as Lady Buford stared, Darcy suddenly twirled his wife in a rapid, twisting spin, expertly weaving through dancers less skilled, her laughter floating to them over the heated air of the vast chamber. For a moment, as they came to a halt very close to where Fitzwilliam was standing, Darcy dipped her nearly to the floor and held her there, poised and perfect, his lips close enough to almost—but not quite—scandalously touch hers, her smile brilliant enough to exceed the brightness of the many glittering, crystal-laden chandeliers.

“They are making a spectacle of themselves!” Lady Buford scolded in a near-shriek of disapproval.

Darcy’s mouth descended the rest of the way, in a passionate kiss sure to send all the Lady Bufords into a dead faint; the colonel could not hide his grin, and did his best to distract the matrons away from the sight. One would never guess Mr and Mrs Darcy had been married half a decade, the parents of two children, instead of new lovers caught in that first heady steam of a fresh romance.

“Fitzwilliam?” Darcy hailed from behind him, causing the colonel to start in surprise and turn around. Darcy never singled him out for his attention. Not any longer.

Darcy was grinning at him in a carefree way that Fitzwilliam had never thought to see again; Mrs Darcy’s eyes were shining. “I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner. You had much better dance,” his cousin proclaimed.

“Me?”

“Are there other Fitzwilliams here?” Darcy kept his wife’s hand in his, managing, even so, to draw his cousin farther away from the crowd of too-interested onlookers. “I would consider it a personal favour if you were to bestow your attentions upon a particular young lady.”

The colonel steeled himself. He had seen his father talking to Darcy earlier, and with this overture, his intent became clear. The earl had applied pressure. There would be forgiveness, or at least acceptance, if Fitzwilliam capitulated. “I suppose,” he began, “that you desire I should ask Priscilla Biddlesby for the next set. ”

But Darcy frowned. “Do you believe I hate you so much as that?”

“You have every right to,” Fitzwilliam replied quietly. “It would be a fitting revenge. For the rest of our lives, you will be with the uncommonly lovely Mrs Darcy, whilst I endure…poor Priscilla.”

“Oh, Colonel,” Mrs Darcy said, very sympathetically, giving her husband a meaningful look.

“Great gads, man, what an awful imagination you have. No, Mrs Darcy has a friend she swears you would like, to whom we thought to introduce you. I do not hate you at all, I find. I suppose…I have forgiven you without truly realising it. Shall we, on the occasion of dear Georgiana’s wedding, let bygones be bygones?” He held out his free hand.

Fitzwilliam did not hesitate, but gripped it tightly. His throat closed around his gratitude, and for a mortifying moment, he was in danger of bursting into tears right there in his father’s ballroom.

“I should like it above all things,” he managed at last. “And if her friend has anything approaching the graciousness of Mrs Darcy, it would be an honour to meet her.”

“Very good,” Darcy replied gruffly, with emotion in his own eyes.

“Come with us then, Colonel,” Mrs Darcy said gaily. “I have a prescience that there is more than one happily-ever-after in the works this night.”

And like Darcy before him, Colonel Fitzwilliam cheerfully followed where she led.