Chapter 24

London

T he next day the couple rose earlier than desired and joined the rest of the household for breakfast. Meadow Haven bustled with activity as the servants rushed to and fro to prepare the residents for travel. Despite the late breakfast and lingering celebrations of the previous evening, the time had come for everyone to make their way to London. Lady Matlock’s Twelfth Night celebration awaited them.

Darcy brought his wife’s hand to his lips. “I am sorry to rush you from our bed and into our carriage, my love, but it seems Aunt Grace has dictated we attend her dinner.”

Elizabeth smiled. “It is in our honor, darling.” He acknowledged the truth of her statement before tucking a blanket around her legs.

Elizabeth sat back against the plush cushions of the carriage, her gloved hands resting on her lap. The warmth of Darcy’s hand next to hers provided a steady comfort, though the reality of their new life together filled her with a sense of nervous anticipation. The gentle clatter of the horses' hooves and the rhythmic motion of the carriage should have soothed her, but she could not stop the butterflies in her stomach.

“Is something the matter?”

Elizabeth gave him a shy smile. “It is odd being here… alone I mean. I suppose the idea of being Mrs. Darcy has not quite settled yet. It’s as though I am living in a dream.”

Darcy smiled, his expression one of quiet contentment. “I do hope it is a pleasant dream, my love. For I fear you will never awaken from it. You are mine now, Elizabeth, and I am yours.”

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered at his words, though she quickly masked her emotions with a teasing smile. “Do not think that simply because I have taken your name, you will have your way in all things, Fitzwilliam.”

“Ah,” Darcy replied, his voice filled with mock seriousness, “I had hoped that as my wife, you would at least allow me some small victories.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth mused playfully, “though I do not believe it will be so easy for you.”

Darcy’s gaze lingered on her, his smile softening. “You blush still, Mrs. Darcy.”

Elizabeth turned to him, her cheeks indeed warm, though she raised an eyebrow in mock indignation. “You know why I blush, Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy chuckled, leaning a little closer to her. “Is that so? I do not recall doing anything that would merit such a reaction.”

Elizabeth gave him a knowing look. “Your memory must be short, then. Or perhaps you simply choose to forget.”

“I will never forget, my darling,” Darcy replied, his voice dropping to a low murmur. He touched her cheek. “It has yet to fade, my love.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smirk. “It is hardly a fair game when you insist on staring at me with such intensity. You know very well what effect that has.”

Darcy leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I do know, my love, and I confess I am rather addicted to that particular shade of pink.”

Elizabeth’s heart skipped, but she would not give in so easily. “You should be careful. I may grow immune to your charms if you keep at this pace.”

Darcy chuckled, his breath warm against her skin. “I would wager you are far too fond of me for that to happen.”

Elizabeth leaned back into the soft cushions, her hand still resting in Darcy’s. “It feels strange, does it not?” she mused. “To think that only yesterday, I was Elizabeth Gardiner. Now I am Mrs. Darcy, and my entire world has shifted.”

Darcy turned to her, his expression softening. “You were always meant to be Mrs. Darcy,” he said quietly. “It was simply a matter of time.”

Elizabeth smiled at his words. “I do not know if I will ever tire of hearing you say that.”

“Good,” Darcy replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Because I plan to remind you of it often.”

After many hours of travel, Darcy called for his coachman to find an appropriate inn. He had no intention of subjecting Elizabeth to an uncomfortable journey. Soon after, the couple pulled into the receiving yard of the Black Goose, an establishment Darcy had frequented in the past. The innkeeper was beside himself at the number of richly appointed carriages that arrived after the Darcy’s. Lord and Lady Matlock ascended first, followed soon after by Lord Effington’s and the Gardiner’s carriages

For the three days it took to travel from Meadow Haven to London, Darcy and Elizabeth rarely saw their family, though they made all the same stops along the way. It was, perhaps, an unconventional honeymoon, but the couple was desirous of time alone, as so many newlyweds often are. Each night at the inns, Darcy arranged for the lushest and more private accommodations. Though he was a private man, he did not blush when his cousin and uncle teased him for rushing Elizabeth up to their quarters. Elizabeth insisted on taking supper each night with their family and friends, but Darcy had his way each morning by treating his wife to breakfast in bed.

On the second night, as they settled into their room at an inn tucked away on a quiet road, Elizabeth found herself smiling as she watched Darcy stoke the fire.

“Fitzwilliam,” she said softly, drawing his attention away from the fire.

He turned, his eyes filled with warmth. “Yes, my love?”

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to put her feelings into words. “It has been... rather easy, has it not? These last few days. I thought marriage would feel more... I do not know. Different. Not difficult, but… But this… this feels so natural.”

Darcy crossed the room, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. He reached for her hand, his fingers lacing through hers. “That is because it is right,” he said quietly. “I was always meant for you. And you, my love,” he stopped to kiss her lips, “were always meant for me.”

By the time they reached the outskirts of London on the third day, Elizabeth found herself almost wishing the journey would not end. There was a quiet magic to these early days of marriage, and she was in no hurry to leave it behind.

∞∞∞

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of Darcy House. Elizabeth had paid little attention to the stately home until a few weeks ago. After he brought her back from Hertfordshire, she had found ample reasons to ask her coachman to drive her the long way home in hopes of catching a glimpse of Mr. Darcy. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Now it is my home, she thought. And more importantly added, Now he is my husband!

Fitzwilliam, for that is how she now thought of him, placed his hand gently over hers. “We are home,” he said softly. “Our home.”

A faint smile played about her lips. “Yes, our home.”

When the carriage door opened, Mr. Darcy stepped out first before offering his hand to his wife. As they ascended the steps the door swung open, and they were greeted by their butler. His face showed great relief upon seeing his master.

“What is it Bates?” Before the man had a chance to respond, a shrill voice pierced the air.

“Fitzwilliam!”

Elizabeth froze, her eyes widening as a wiry lady in her middle years swept into view. The woman’s face contorted with fury. Mr. Darcy’s grip on Elizabeth’s hand tightened. From somewhere behind them, the door shut and Elizabeth could just see Bates’s form slink off in her peripheral vision.

“Lady Catherine,” Mr. Darcy greeted her with a stiff nod. “I had not expected you to be here.”

“Obviously,” Lady Catherine snapped, her eyes blazing with indignation. “And yet, here I am, just in time to stop this utter travesty of a union!”

Mr. Darcy’s expression darkened in a way Elizabeth had only seen once before — the night of the Netherfield ball. “Which union do you mean? Surely you do not disparage my relationship with Elizabeth, for that is no travesty at all. It is my great joy to call her my wife.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes flicked toward Elizabeth, her mouth curling into a sneer. “Wife! So you have done it already, then. You have married this... this woman. I could not believe it when I saw the engagement announcement. I thought you had lost all sense!”

Mr. Darcy’s eyes flashed with anger. Elizabeth gently squeezed his hand, a silent reminder for him to keep his temper in check. But before he could say anything, Lady Catherine pressed on.

“I am ashamed of you, Fitzwilliam. You have brought disgrace upon our family! This—this daughter of a tradesman will never be accepted into proper society. You have tarnished your name, and the name of your father, by tying yourself to such a low connection!”

Elizabeth’s heart raced, but she remained silent at her husband’s side, her eyes fixed on Lady Catherine as the tirade continued. “And what of my brother, the Earl of Matlock?” Lady Catherine spat. “He will never sanction such a marriage! The entire family is humiliated by your poor judgment. It is not too late, Fitzwilliam. You must end this farce at once!”

Mr. Darcy’s voice was low and dangerous. “My marriage is not a farce. Even if it were, I assure you it is far too late to do anything about it.”

Lady Catherine gasped. “You crude boy! Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

Mr. Darcy pulled himself to his full height. “You are wrong. My mother would be ashamed of you . In Elizabeth she would find the greatest joy. She is my wife and you will show her the respect she deserves.”

It was not the proper time, but Elizabeth could not help but remember all the things her brother-in-law had said about Lady Catherine. It seems in this Mr. Collins was correct, she thought. She is Mr. Greene’s exhausting patroness. I certainly find her so. Elizabeth lips twitched.

“Respect?” Lady Catherine laughed bitterly, her gaze shifting to Elizabeth with disdain. “I will not show respect to a woman who has clawed her way into a position far above her station. Even now she stands with a stupid smirk on her face! She is an upstart, plain and simple, and no matter how much you try to polish her she will never be fit to stand as Mrs. Darcy!”

At that, Elizabeth could remain silent no longer. With a steady voice, she addressed the lady. “Lady Catherine, you may call me an upstart if you wish, but I must tell you that my birth father was a gentleman.”

Elizabeth felt her husband’s hand tighten on hers, but she ignored it. “My uncle, indeed, is a tradesman. But my father was a gentleman. Until his death, he ran Longbourn in Hertfordshire, just as six generations of Bennets did before him. Given that my husband’s own deceased father was also landed but without title, then I must point out that my husband and I are, in this respect, equals.”

Mr. Darcy’s eyes shone with pride as he looked at Elizabeth. Lady Catherine, however, flushed with indignation.

Elizabeth pressed on, her gaze unwavering. “As for your brother, both he and Lady Matlock attended our wedding. They are quite pleased with the connection. In fact, they will be hosting a dinner on Twelfth Night in honor of our nuptials.”

“You... you are lying! My brother would never—”

“I assure you,” Mr. Darcy interrupted, his voice cold and authoritative, “my uncle and aunt are fully supportive of our marriage. And until you can also find it in your heart to support us, you will be removed from our lives.”

Lady Catherine sputtered, her fury bubbling over. “You will regret this, Fitzwilliam. You will regret this marriage, mark my words! This woman—this upstart —will never be accepted by proper society. She will bring nothing but disgrace to your name!”

Mr. Darcy stepped forward, his voice as sharp as a blade. “Enough. I will not tolerate any more of your insults. You have overstayed your welcome. It is time for you to leave.”

Lady Catherine looked as though she might explode, but something in her nephew’s hard gaze silenced her. Without another word, she turned on her heel and swept toward the door.

Darcy followed her to the entrance, his expression hard. “Goodbye, Aunt.”

Lady Catherine turned once more, her eyes narrowing as she gave one final, scathing glance at Elizabeth, but to the couple’s surprise, she said nothing further.

“Do you believe we have heard the last of her?”

Mr. Darcy grimaced. “I will, undoubtedly, receive a copious number of letters on the topic, but that is easily dealt with. I will simply consign each missive to the fire.”

Elizabeth stood in the middle of the foyer, willing her heartbeat to slow. “I am sorry that your aunt is displeased, though not so sorry that I would give you up.”

He moved toward her, taking her hands in his. “I would not allow you to give me up. You are mine and I am yours.” He kissed her forehead, allowing his lips to linger. “But why did you never mention your father’s status as a gentleman?”

She pulled back, her eyes locking with his. “Did it matter?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “At one time, I foolishly thought it did. But now I see that it was never important.”