Epilogue

August 24, 1812 Longbourn

Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a wry glance as their mother’s voice penetrated the venerable old walls of Longbourn, chiding Lydia for not being ready and suggesting that she would ‘look a fright’ before all the guests at her sisters’ wedding.

“Oh, what do I care?” Lydia whined. “There will be no one there I wish to impress.”

“Mr Darcy’s cousin is a colonel, child! And the son of an earl!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed. “You could do a great deal worse!”

“But he’s old, and ordinary! If Papa had allowed me to go to Brighton, I should be keeping company with much more handsome officers!”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and deliberately turned her attention back to her own preparations. At least her sister would not be making a cake of herself over Colonel Fitzwilliam, she thought. Lydia had been in a snit since Mr Bennet had determined that his youngest daughter would not be allowed to travel so far as Brighton with only the dubious chaperonage of the silly Mrs Forster, now that they knew the ranks of officers contained those with poor character as well as good. Her tenacity in clinging to this petulance three months on was almost impressive.

“Are you nervous, Lizzy?” Jane asked, startling Elizabeth from her musings.

“Not at all. Are you?” Elizabeth replied, looking to her sister with concern.

“No. I expected to be, but I find that I am perfectly happy and at ease.” Jane’s smile was luminous. “Even Miss Bingley’s decision not to attend the wedding does not trouble me today.”

Caroline Bingley had kept her promise to cease interfering in her brother’s affairs, but that did not mean she approved of his choice of a wife. That she chose to express her disapproval with distance struck neither Elizabeth nor Mr Bingley as a problem. Jane had been rather hurt by it at first, however.

Mrs Bennet bustled in before Elizabeth could reply.

“Well! You both look very fine, I am sure. Of course, Jane always does. But you, Lizzy, you’re quite in looks today, too. That shade suits you after all, and I suppose it goes nicely with those strange flowers you had your uncle bring all the way from London,” she concluded, exasperation tinging her voice.

Elizabeth had chosen to have her wedding gown made in a pale shade of apricot precisely so that it would look well with both her complexion and the blooms which formed the larger part of her bouquet. “I assure you, Mama, Mr Darcy will be very pleased to see me carrying these particular flowers,” she replied easily.

“Well, I suppose if you say it, it must be so.” Mrs Bennet leant forwards and adjusted one of the curls framing her second daughter’s face. “You have caught yourself a prodigiously handsome and wealthy husband, so I must trust you to understand how to keep him. Though why a gentleman should care about flowers at all, I do not know. Orange roses! The rich are very strange.”

Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a knowing look as their mother hurried away, calling for the housekeeper to reassure her yet again that the wedding breakfast was well in hand. Elizabeth retrieved her bouquet and smiled down upon the cluster of roses her uncle had so kindly retrieved at her request. Let the world wonder, she thought. Let them laugh if they chose. She and Darcy would know their meaning: a fascination that promised to last a lifetime.