The Darcys of Pemberley (39 page)

Mr. Thornton had the honor of officiating at
the wedding uniting Miss Georgiana Darcy to Colonel John
Fitzwilliam on a cool, crisp Tuesday morning in October. The bride
wore the same delicate silk gown as had her mother, Lady Anne
Darcy, on the occasion of her own marriage more than thirty years
prior. She was escorted down the aisle to be given away by her
distinguished elder brother, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, who stood thus
in place of his father. Although their parents had both been gone
for many years, the resemblance of this pair to that other couple
in the same place and dress evoked strong memories from three
decades earlier in the minds of those privileged to be present at
both ceremonies.

At the head of the aisle waited the colonel
in his red officers’ dress coat with epaulets and attendant finery.
Instead of his usual, easy smile, he wore a more solemn expression
in accordance with the import of the occasion and the honor
bestowed upon him. He gratefully received the hand of Miss Darcy
from his life-long friend and cherished it from that day
forward.

The words of guidance Mr. Thornton offered on
the subject of marriage did not fall upon deaf ears. The new
couple, and others gathered there, doubtless profited by attending
to them. Mr. Darcy, from his position beside the groom, gazed at
his own wife, standing up beside the bride, throughout the whole of
it, and she at him. He thought, and not for the first time, how
fortunate they were to have found each other and to share such a
close approximation to the marital ideal of which the rector spoke.
Mrs. Darcy’s mind was similarly engaged. Her heart swelled with
emotion; her eyes welled up with tears.

After the newlyweds departed on their wedding
trip and all the other guests had finally gone away, Pemberley
settled back into a quiet routine – at least as quiet as a house
can be when it contains a boisterous two-month-old child within its
walls. The young master was the delight of both his parents. His
mother had naturally expected to be enchanted. As to the father,
the fascination he felt for his progeny overtook him by surprise,
and he was forced to recant his former opinions on the subject of a
man’s limited role in rearing infants. Darcy held and coddled his
son every bit as much as did Elizabeth, and on occasion had to be
reprimanded by his wife for spoiling the child.

One afternoon in early November, Mr. and Mrs.
Darcy were sitting with their son in the drawing room when they
received a visit from Mr. Thornton, who did not come alone. To
their astonishment, Mrs. Sanditon accompanied him. The principal
purport of the visit turned out to be the unexpected announcement
of their engagement. Mr. Thornton proudly spoke of his good fortune
in having been accepted by such a fine lady, and all the while Ruth
blushed and demurred, unaccustomed as she was to so much praise.
She soon found relief from her embarrassment by being allowed to
hold the child, which did little to divert the focus of attention
from her. Mr. Thornton’s eyes followed her wherever she went, and
no one present could help but notice how well she looked with a
baby in her arms.

The couple received Mr. Darcy’s enthusiastic
approval, and Elizabeth added her sincere wish for their every
happiness. After a stay of about an hour, the couple went away
again, leaving the Darcys to ponder this new development.

“I am very happy for them both. An excellent
match,” said Elizabeth. “Yet it does leave Charlotte all alone and
probably looking for a new home. I doubt she will feel it proper to
remain at the cottage after Ruth is married and gone.”

“We could certainly have her to stay with
us,” said Darcy.

“Yes, I should enjoy that very much, and it
would at least be a temporary solution for her.”

After a few moments’ reflection, Darcy
suggested, “Why not make it permanent?”

“How do you mean? Much as I would love it,
Charlotte would never agree to being a perpetual guest here. She
would rather make her own way than accept our charity. Of that, I
am certain.”

“I do not speak of charity. I was thinking we
could offer her some employment … on very easy terms, of course.
This house is getting to be too much for Mrs. Reynolds, and she
deserves to have some help at her age. Perhaps Mrs. Collins could
assist her, train under her, and then take over as head housekeeper
when Mrs. Reynolds is ready to retire. The more I think of it,
there is no one better suited for the job – no one more organized,
capable, and efficient. You know her best, my love. Do you think
she would do it, or does she harbor the hope of marrying
again?”

“I think it is an inspired idea! Considering
how much Charlotte enjoyed managing the parsonage at Hunsford, I
warrant she would take great pleasure in the larger challenge of
superintending this house. She loves to be active and useful. As
for remarrying, I do not think that is her object. She never was a
romantic. She only married Mr. Collins as a means to support
herself.” Elizabeth laughed when she remembered what Charlotte had
said about that. “She told me then that all she really required was
a comfortable home. I think Pemberley qualifies, do not you,
Darcy?”

So Charlotte came to Pemberley as a friend
and as a partner to Elizabeth in directing the function of the
household. Mrs. Reynolds stayed on and lived out her life in the
great house that had been her home for nearly thirty years. Her
dearest wish – to see both Mr. Darcy and Miss Georgiana well
married and settled – had been granted, but she did not live long
beyond the fulfillment of that aspiration. Her loss was mourned and
her memory cherished the same as any other member of the
family.

As for Lydia, she returned to Longbourn to be
comforted by her mother and to await the birth of her child. She
saw herself as a rather tragic figure – like the heroine of a
gothic novel with cruel circumstances thrust upon her – and she
cultivated that caricature among her friends and relations in
Meryton by telling a much-amended version of events in Derbyshire.
Her narrative cast her dashing husband in the role of hero rather
than villain, making his loss and her sorrow all the more pitiable.
When seen in this altered light, bearing Wickham’s child took on an
almost noble quality, and she acquired a degree of sympathy and
distinction that gave her satisfaction.

Sister Mary, who had blossomed in the time
since her siblings left Longbourn, did not at first take kindly to
Lydia’s melodramatic return to home and hearth. However, she soon
discovered that the change worked to her material advantage. Mrs.
Bennet’s being so thoroughly occupied by her youngest daughter
liberated Mary to once again pursue her own interests. Thus, well
seasoned by time, practice, and renewed dedication, she made great
strides toward the standard of the truly accomplished young woman
she had always aspired to be.

Kitty, meanwhile, continued to divide her
time chiefly between Heatheridge and Pemberley according to which
house was hosting the more interesting social events. She fretted
over being already almost twenty with no prospects for marriage
immediately apparent. It was a happy day indeed, therefore, when
she was invited by the Darcys to accompany them on their next trip
to London, with the promise of being introduced to a wider segment
of their superior society. Kitty expressed particular interest in
furthering her acquaintance with the young man Henry Heywood, whom
she had met and danced with months before at Georgiana’s birthday
ball.

Mrs. Darcy continued to regain the last
vestiges of her lost memory and strength, and her headaches became
increasingly rare. It took nearly three months, but she did fully
recover from the accident.

When she could finally remember all the
events of that terrible day, she and her husband talked them
through together one last time. Elizabeth might have been tempted
to withhold some of the more sordid details, except that, after
their recent misunderstandings, they had both sworn to be always
entirely honest with each other in future. They agreed that no
secret could be worth the risk to their marriage, no matter how
reasonable it might seem at the time or how pure the motive for
concealment.

So, despite the fact that it was difficult
for her to tell and painful for him to hear, Elizabeth told Darcy
everything – what Wickham had said of his intentions, what he had
done, and how she had acted in response. Together they discussed,
they cried, and they commiserated. Then they determined to put the
whole of it behind them.

After a little more time had gone by, they
were able to look back over the year just past, seeing only the
good it had brought them and reasons to face the future with hope.
Their circle of friends had been increased and drawn into closer
bonds. Their family had been most joyously expanded by birth and by
marriage. And their love for each other had withstood every
test.

As they celebrated the second anniversary of
their marriage at Pemberley that November, Darcy and Elizabeth
could easily have been forgiven for thinking themselves blessed
above all other creatures in England.

Shannon Winslow is a passionate appreciator
of the arts and a creative person in her own right. With her two
sons grown, she now finds more time to devote to her diverse
interests in music, literature, and the visual arts – writing
claiming the lion’s share of her creative energies in recent
years.

In addition to several short stories, Ms.
Winslow has authored three novels to date.
The Darcys of
Pemberley
, a sequel to Jane Austen’s
Pride and
Prejudice
, is her debut.
For Myself Alone
, a stand-alone
Austenesque story, is soon to follow. Her most recent project is a
contemporary “what if” novel entitled
First of Second
Chances
.

Shannon is a life-long resident of the
Pacific Northwest. She and her husband live in the log home they
built in the countryside thirty-five miles south of Seattle, where
she writes and paints in her studio facing Mt. Rainier.

Follow Shannon on Twitter, Facebook, her
website
and
blog
.

Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious
subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody not
greatly in fault themselves to tolerable comfort, and to have done
with all the rest.

–
Jane Austen,
Mansfield
Park