41. Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

A fortnight had passed, and the carriage wheels creaked softly as they rolled over the frozen Hertfordshire roads, the gentle sway almost lulling Darcy back to sleep. He sat back against the padded seat, a walking stick resting against his knee, his fingers drumming lightly on the handle. The return journey to Hertfordshire had been cold but uneventful, and for that, he was grateful. He was still weak, his body recovering slowly, but he was upright, his faculties clear, and his mind keen once more. The familiar countryside stretched out before him, and he felt a sense of calm settle over him.

Elizabeth sat beside him, her hand twined over his arm and her body keeping him warm. He had struggled almost constantly with feeling chilled during his recovery, but fortunately, the remedy for that particular ailment was a pleasant one. She glanced up at him every so often, her eyes filled with concern and something more tender, more personal.

Darcy met her gaze with a soft smile, feeling a new kind of warmth spread through his chest that had little to do with the winter sun streaming through the carriage window. Opposite them, Mr Bennet sat with Richard, both men engaged in a low conversation that Darcy only half-heard. His focus was entirely on the woman beside him—her touch, her nearness.

As they approached Longbourn, Darcy felt a flicker of anxiety in his chest. He had not set foot in the house since his engagement to Elizabeth, and though he knew the Bennet family had welcomed him with open arms, he could not shake the feeling of stepping into the unknown. Particularly where the mother and younger sisters were concerned.

The carriage drew up to the house, and Darcy's hand tightened on his walking stick as he prepared to disembark. His equilibrium had suffered somewhat since the surgery, but the nausea and unsteadiness were receding a little more each day. Still, he used that walking stick wherever he went, for he had discovered a rather curious benefit to carrying it—with it in his right hand and Elizabeth holding his left elbow, it created a natural barrier to overly convivial and familiar greetings… a thing he would probably always abhor.

Inside, the drawing room was warm and bright, a fire crackling in the hearth. Bingley was already there, waiting eagerly, his face breaking into a broad smile as they entered. "Darcy!" he exclaimed, hurrying forward. "You are looking well! Or, at least, better than I feared."

Darcy chuckled softly, leaning on his stick for support. "I am on the mend, Bingley. Slowly but surely." He exchanged a tender look with Elizabeth, who squeezed his arm gently before stepping away to join her sisters.

Mrs Bennet must have been hovering in the entryway, and she approached now with a look of barely contained excitement. Her greeting, however, was tempered with uncharacteristic restraint. Her voice, usually as sharp and lively as a sparrow's, was unusually gentle. "Mr Darcy," she said, her words deliberate and measured, "how very good it is to see you looking so well. We were all so worried—well, of course, I was worried sick! My poor nerves, you know. But you did not die, after all—Lady Lucas said she was sure you would. I shall be sure to tell her that you are here now, still as wealthy and handsome as ever and looking better than we could have hoped!"

Darcy inclined his head politely. She was still very much as she had always been, but perhaps a muted version of her usual self. Elizabeth or Mr Bennet must have written to impress upon her the importance of maintaining calm for the sake of his recovering head. Across the room, Elizabeth stood near the window, her face bright with relief, and the sight of her eased the lingering tension in his chest.

Lydia and Kitty, however, could hardly contain their excitement at the sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam in his red uniform. Lydia whispered loudly to Kitty, "Look at him! So handsome in his regimentals! I did not know Mr Darcy's cousin was an officer. I should love to hear about his battles and the scarlet-coated soldiers!"

Kitty nodded eagerly, her eyes wide with fascination. "Do you think he might tell us some stories?"

Mr Bennet, observing the scene with his usual air of detached amusement, cleared his throat. "Girls," he said in a tone that allowed no argument, "we are all pleased to have such distinguished guests, and surely you will get to know them soon enough. However. as of this moment, you are not to be considered ‘out.' You are not permitted to be in company as if you were."

A chorus of protests erupted from the younger girls. Lydia's face twisted in dismay. "But Papa! That is most unfair! I am nearly sixteen, and Kitty is a year older! Why should we be sent away like children?"

Kitty pouted, her lip trembling with frustration. "Yes, Papa, why should we be banished upstairs when there is such company?"

"Oh, Mr Bennet, must you be so harsh?" his wife pleaded. "The girls are simply delighted by the presence of their future brothers-in-law… not to mention that of a fine, brave officer. Surely, there can be no harm in their hearing a tale or two of gallantry."

Mr Bennet's expression remained unchanged. "I am afraid, Mrs Bennet, that your indulgence has made them forget their manners. As they are not yet ‘out,' they have no business being in the company of gentlemen."

Lydia stamped her foot, her frustration boiling over. "But Papa—"

"No," Mr Bennet said more sharply. "Upstairs with you, now. I have had a long journey with far too many people touching me as it is. No offence, Colonel."

Richard chuckled as he drew near the fireplace to warm his hands. "None taken."

Bennet grunted in satisfaction and rounded once more on his daughters. "My head is aching sufficiently to make me consider turning back to Cambridge to ask the good Doctor Pembroke to examine me next. I will not have my nerves further tried today." His tone softened slightly. "But if you are very good, perhaps you might come down later to say farewell to Colonel Fitzwilliam before he leaves."

Lydia and Kitty exchanged disappointed glances but apparently decided it was futile to argue further. With exaggerated sighs and huffs, they turned and made their way out, skirts swishing in indignation.

Mrs Bennet huffed, "Well, I never! Keeping them upstairs as if they were still in pinafores!"

Mr Bennet ignored her muttering and glanced at Darcy, who offered a slight nod of gratitude. The girls' chatter had been the last thing he needed. The imminent arrival of Mr Collins, expected to return soon for his wedding to Mary, loomed over him like a dark cloud and, worse still, hearing Lady Catherine's inevitable reaction. If Collins had spoken of Darcy's engagement to Elizabeth—and he most certainly would have—the news would not sit well with his aunt.

Darcy had no intention of being swayed by her opinions, but the prospect of dealing with her disapproval while he was still yet… tender… was not a pleasant one. But no matter. Having Elizabeth for his own, with a full life to look forward to, was worth whatever inconveniences that might arise along the way. Even meddlesome in-laws.

Tea was served, and Darcy gratefully took a seat on the sofa beside Elizabeth. It really was the simple joys he cherished now. His hands no longer trembled, and his appetite, which had been poor for so long, seemed to have returned in full. The food tasted richer, every bite bursting with flavours that seemed more vivid than ever before. The colours around him felt more vibrant, each hue sharper and more defined, as if the world had been brought into sharper focus.

As his gaze settled on Elizabeth, he was struck anew by her beauty—details he had once been too clouded to fully appreciate now appeared with startling clarity. The fine, auburn streaks in her dark hair caught the light, adding a warm, subtle glow that framed her face. Her skin, touched with the faintest scattering of freckles across her nose, gave her a youthful charm that contrasted with the knowing look in her eyes. And there, beside her mouth, was a small crease—a line that deepened whenever she smiled, a sign of laughter that had come easily to her. It was a detail he had somehow missed before, a mark of the joy and spirit that lived within her, and he found himself utterly captivated. She was even more beautiful than he had realised, a beauty not just of form but of life, resilience, and grace.

Beside him, Bingley was rambling on about something, but Darcy could not focus on his words. He was gesturing toward Darcy, Richard was engaged, and even Mr Bennet was nodding in the periphery of Darcy's vision. But his gaze kept drifting back to Elizabeth, his heart full.

"I say, Darcy, what do you think? A capital plan, I believe, but I should like your opinion. "

Darcy blinked and wrenched his gaze back to Bingley. "I am sorry, Bingley; what did you say?"

Bingley looked concerned. "Are you quite well, Darcy? You seem… distracted."

Darcy smiled and nodded. "Yes, I am. Forgive me, please continue."

Bingley hesitated, then went on. "I have been writing to Mr Northam. You recall—the owner of Netherfield Park. He is seeking damages from Mr Wickham for the destruction caused to his property."

Darcy shook his head. "That does not seem likely to succeed. Wickham is not known for paying his debts, and in this case, the money used to lease the property was probably transferred illicitly, with no proof of who truly backed him. "

Richard, who had been quietly sipping his tea, looked up. "Not so, Darcy. I have been corresponding with my father about that," he said. "Lord Wexfield's estate and accounts have been seized. I have put in a word with my father regarding the damages to Netherfield."

Darcy nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting. Well, then, perhaps there is some hope of a remedy there. How bad is the damage?"

Bingley leaned forward, his expression serious. "The western wing of the house is destroyed, but the rest is salvageable. It will take considerable time and money to repair, but efforts have been made to protect the damaged portions from winter weather."

"And the servants?"

Bingley's face brightened. "Ah, I had not finished. I am already in negotiations to lease the house as it is from its current owner. Any arrangements for damages or repairs will be adjusted in the contract through Mr Philips as things develop. I intend to keep all the servants employed, paying their wages even before I move in."

Darcy smiled approvingly. "That will certainly endear you to the household."

Bingley waved a hand dismissively. "I am not seeking praise. I only want to do what is right and restore the house to its former glory. And, once it is habitable, I intend to give it a proper mistress." He glanced shyly at Jane, who blushed and smiled back.

As Darcy took a sip of his tea, his gaze was drawn to Mr Bennet, who had been watching the room with his usual air of detached amusement. Suddenly, Mr Bennet's expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Mr Hill, the butler, standing discreetly at the doorway, beckoning him over. With a sigh, Mr Bennet set down his cup and muttered, loud enough for Darcy to hear, "Well, it seems everyone is crawling out of the woodwork today to see our poor Mr Darcy's miraculous recovery—and to no doubt share every tedious detail of the election results."

Darcy felt a slight smile tug at his lips, though the mention of the election sent a brief ripple of unease through him. He watched as Mr Bennet made his way to the door, engaging in a brief, whispered exchange with Mr Hill. A moment later, Mr Bennet turned back to the room, clearing his throat to gain everyone's attention. "It seems we have more visitors. Sir William, Lady Lucas, and their daughter, Miss Charlotte Lucas, have come to call."

Darcy's muscles tensed involuntarily; his first thought had been Mr Collins. But as Mr Bennet ushered the Lucases into the drawing room, he relaxed, feeling Elizabeth's hand linger in his own for just a moment longer before she stood to greet her friend .

"Charlotte!" Elizabeth exclaimed, her voice bright with surprise and genuine delight. She moved quickly to embrace Charlotte, her face lighting up with joy. "I did not expect to see you here today. It is so wonderful to see you."

Charlotte returned the embrace warmly, her face brighter and more at ease than Darcy had ever seen. "I had to come," she replied. "We have all been so concerned, with everything that has been happening."

As the ladies exchanged greetings, Darcy's attention shifted to Richard, who had set down his cup with unusual precision, his gaze fixed on Charlotte. His cousin, who had always been so vocal about his practical views on marriage—particularly the need for a substantial dowry—was staring at Charlotte Lucas with an intensity that Darcy found… intriguing.

As Sir William entered the drawing room, his face lit up with the eager expression of a man bursting with news. He bowed briefly to Darcy and then addressed him with a flourish. "Mr Darcy! I trust you have been recovering well, but I wonder, have you heard all the news about the election? Quite an extraordinary outcome, I must say."

Darcy, still easing back into his seat with the support of his cane, gave a polite nod. "I have heard bits and pieces, Sir William, but I would welcome a more detailed account. Please, do enlighten me."

Sir William beamed, clearly pleased to be the bearer of information. "Well, as you know, the election proceeded right after your, ah, unfortunate incident. With Sir Anthony Mortimer withdrawing his candidacy in disgrace, it created quite a stir among the voters. Many believed it would be a simple matter of the next most popular gentleman stepping in, but Mr Robinson—one of our less outspoken candidates—seized the opportunity. I believe rather that his modesty was what secured him the vote—everyone had enough of smooth talk, do you see."

Darcy listened attentively, though he already knew most of this from the letters he had received during his convalescence. But letting Sir William have the pleasure of speaking was temporarily shifting the focus of the room to him rather than his more withdrawn daughter… and permitting Richard a chance to overhear every unguarded and whimsical word out of the lady's mouth.

Sir William turned to Mr Bennet with a pleased look. "Mr Bennet, you must have been informed by now—Mr Robinson won by a narrow margin! And he has already made his announcements as our new Member of Parliament. Quite the upstanding gentleman, by all accounts. He has spoken fervently about integrity and transparency—rather a sharp contrast to his predecessor, if you catch my meaning."

Mr Bennet, who had been leaning back in his chair with a knowing smile, responded with a dry chuckle. "Ah, yes, Mr Robinson. I believe he is keen to make his mark. Though I suspect we shall see just how long these lofty ideals endure once he is properly seated in Westminster."

Lady Lucas, standing beside her husband, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, the whole affair was quite the spectacle. But it is a relief to know that the matter has been settled without further scandal."

Darcy felt a weight lifting from his shoulders at the news, even if he had already known the result. Seeing the genuine relief on the faces around him—the knowledge that Meryton had weathered the storm and emerged relatively unscathed—was more comforting than he had expected. He caught Elizabeth's eye as she watched the conversation unfold, her lips curving in a quiet smile. A sense of contentment, more grounded than any peace, welled up in him—along with a certain eagerness to focus his thoughts on the more immediate delights of impending matrimony.

The room fell into a comfortable buzz of conversation—largely without Darcy's input. His gaze shifted occasionally from the woman who consumed his being to Richard, whose attention had not wavered from Charlotte Lucas. There was something different in his cousin's demeanour, something Darcy had not seen before. Could it be… interest?

Surely not. Miss Lucas had been dealt a terrible injustice in being deemed "plain," for she was no such thing. She only wanted good conversation, which Elizabeth was generously supplying, to make her eyes dance like a candelabra, and her cheeks flush like a dew-kissed rose. And there was nothing wrong with her features or her manner. Why did no one notice this lady? Perhaps the very fact of being overlooked for so many years had been enough to smother her charms and colour his first impression of her… but that impression, clearly, had been mistaken.

But still… Richard? A man who had turned down every eligible lady his mother had suggested due to her small fortune? Perhaps there was nothing more than intrigue there, but Darcy doubted it very much.

As he pondered his cousin's newfound fascination, the door to the drawing room opened again, and without even waiting for Mr Hill to introduce him, Mr Collins made his anticipated entrance, his gait as self-important as ever. He glanced around the room, his expression a mix of bewilderment at the large party gathered and smug satisfaction that conversation ceased when he entered… until his eyes landed on Darcy. At that moment, he visibly shuddered, his face contorting into an awkward grimace.

"Mr Bennet," Collins began, his voice hushed but loud enough to be heard by all, "how can you possibly countenance your daughter marrying such a man?"

Darcy, taken aback by the sheer nerve of the man, straightened in his chair. He was prepared to defend himself against whatever absurdities Mr Collins might spout—no doubt a result of Lady Catherine's influence. He opened his mouth to speak, but Collins, with all the grace of a bumbling goose, hurried on.

"My esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has expressed her utmost disappointment," Collins declared, his chest puffed up like a pigeon. "She feels that Mr Darcy has let down his family legacy most grievously. Indeed, she has found a more suitable suitor for her daughter, thus sparing Miss de Bourgh the fate of being shackled to a dying man."

Darcy's lips curled into a wry smile. "Then I congratulate Lady Catherine on her discretion. Clearly, she knows what is best for her family."

Mr Bennet, standing beside him, chortled quietly, his shoulders shaking with restrained amusement. "Alas," he confessed, "it does seem that I am in the great lady's debt. I shall take her advice under the most serious consideration."

Elizabeth, across the room, covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter.

Collins, oblivious to the mockery, continued with an air of self-importance. "Lady Catherine, ever so concerned about her family's reputation, remarked upon Mr Darcy's apparent frailty and… lingering sickness. She doubts very much that he shall be able to perform his duties, particularly the matter of producing an heir."

At this, Darcy couldn't help but laugh softly. "I suppose, then, that Lady Catherine has nothing more to fear from me."

Collins blinked, clearly taken aback by Darcy's calm demeanour. He seemed at a loss, looking between Mr Bennet and Darcy, searching for some support.

Mr Bennet, still amused, took pity on the man. "Well, Mr Collins, it seems you and Lady Catherine are both quite mistaken. But I thank you for your concern about my daughter's future. I assure you, we are all quite content with her choice."

Collins, flustered and defeated, stammered a quick greeting to his betrothed, who was still seated beside the fire, and hastily retreated from the room, his self-importance crumbling with every step .

As the door closed behind him, Darcy relaxed back into his chair, a grin tugging at his lips. As a faint twinge of pain pulsed through his head, Darcy instinctively turned his gaze to Elizabeth. The discomfort eased almost immediately, replaced by a sense of calm as he watched her, her cheeks flushing a soft pink each time their eyes met. In her look, all the world made sense.