Chapter 8

July 9, 1812

Three months had passed since his and Elizabeth’s parting in Kent, and tomorrow, they would be married, as would Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet. Currently, Darcy and his very-soon-to-be-wife were walking in the gardens at Netherfield Park. Miss Bingley had arranged a celebratory dinner to honour the two couples. In addition to the Bennets, Hursts, and Bingleys, the guests included about ten of Darcy’s relations. Lady Catherine had been invited but she had declined. Darcy had been correct that his aunt would accept his marriage to someone other than Anne, but it had been far more difficult than he had supposed. She had attempted to argue him out of his choice until Darcy had informed her than he was prepared to sever their connexion if she did not embrace Elizabeth as her niece-in-law. That and a few words from his uncle, the earl, had done the trick.

“How many walks of this nature do you suppose we have shared?” Elizabeth asked.

He chuckled. “I could not begin to guess. I suppose if I had a sharp pen, several sheets of paper, and a calendar, I might calculate it.”

During her sojourn in London that spring, they had often visited one park or another, wandering aimlessly and talking. He valued each such excursion, as he did the occasions he called at the Gardiners’ home or Elizabeth had come to his house to see Georgiana, the entertainments they had gone to—truly every moment he was able to spend with her. He had already loved her, but during that period, she had learnt to love him; at present, he knew their affection for each other was deep and enduring.

“I can hardly wait to see Pemberley and explore it with you as my guide. Everyone has described the estate in such glowing terms that my anticipation to be there is almost as great as is my anticipation to be Mrs Darcy.”

He stood still and stared into her upturned face. “You know the penalty for such a ridiculous speech, Miss Bennet,” he said.

Her eyes danced in merriment. “Why do you think I said it, Mr Darcy?”

Both of them were smiling as their lips met. They resumed their stroll several minutes later.

“I have often wondered why you agreed to meet me the morning after my disastrous proposal. I shall be forever grateful that you gave me the opportunity to apologise, but why did you?” he asked.

Her arm was around his, and she tightened her hold. “It is very simple. You came back and immediately sought to apologise and explain your actions and the truth about Mr Wickham. I could see as soon as we began to talk that you were willing to recognise the mistakes you made and accept my regrets for misjudging you.”

It had taken some convincing for him to agree that she had anything to regret, but when he understood that it was important to her that he admit she could make mistakes—and that she had as much right as he to wish to correct them—he had relented. Neither of them were perfect, but no one was. It was even possible that they would inadvertently injure each other in the future, but they would soon be husband and wife, and with the love and respect they shared, he knew they would always seek to earn and grant forgiveness when necessary. It might not be part of the marriage vows they would exchange the next morning, but it was nevertheless one they had made.

“I love you, Elizabeth. I intend to remind you of that, in words and deeds, every day.”

“And I love you, Darcy. I am not so na?ve to believe we shall avoid occasions of sorrow, but I pray they will be rare, and I promise to always be by your side to lessen your burdens.”

Once again, they kissed, then they stood, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together, until it was time to return indoors.

When Elizabeth entered the church the next morning, the first thing that struck Darcy was her beauty and the extent of his good fortune to have won her heart. The second was the blue ribbons with which she had adorned her hair and gown. He had asked her to include the colour in her wedding outfit, if possible. Whereas once he had only associated it with melancholia, currently, it was a colour of hope and possibility and brightness.

He smiled broadly as he watched her approach, and did not cease doing so all day, despite how his cheeks ached. From saying their vows in front of their families and friends, to the festive breakfast at Longbourn, to being alone with her—his wife!—in the carriage as they travelled to London, to whispering words of love as they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms that night, he smiled and felt more happiness than he had believed it possible for any man to experience or expect. And it was all thanks to the blue devils that had guided him to his Elizabeth.