Till the End of Time, Mr Darcy

by Erin Berkeley

  Having no desire to hear the lady’s violent rant, Elizabeth hastened away from her in the direction from whence they both came. She descended among hanging woods, to the edge of the water, and decided instead to take a long winding part to clear her thoughts and anger. Taking one of the narrowest parts of the river, she crossed it by a simple bridge where the valley then contracted into a glen which allowed room only for the stream, and a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice-wood which bordered it. Elizabeth had explored its windings before and mindlessly took that way, reliving the insult she had just borne from her husband’s aunt.

  Her mind wondered and angered. She speculated on what Darcy might have to say of the situation. She wondered if she ought to tell him at all. She considered if he might agree with his aunt and even now, regretted his marrying her. Could that be the reason for his being away for so long – because he was in deep regrets of his rash actions and could not face her every day? Oh! How she wished she was privy to his thoughts! How she wished they were granted some more time to talk on issues such as this!

  But Elizabeth’s character could not permit her to be in a state of confused despair for long. Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude had any possible claim on her in the present instance; that much she could acknowledge to herself. She decided that regardless of his many faults, Mr. Darcy was not a man given to uncalculated actions. In that regard, she could speak for him. He had sought her hand in marriage once before the unfortunate incident at the Gracehill ball and twice after that. If he had not given a thought to the resentment of his aunt, or the indignation of the world, then she shall not.

  Her parting words had been a heartfelt adieu to the lady for after this encounter, Elizabeth saw herself not able to tolerate her presence much longer. If she remained in the house, she would seek no other recourse than to ignore her as the lady herself had done her since her arrival at Pemberley with her party. It was settled then, her aunt in-law was going to be her arch enemy and Elizabeth, though not rejoicing in the situation, did not find herself at such a loss to elicit a feeling of regret whatsoever.

  THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE Pemberley House was charged enough the past days without the unexpected arrival of Caroline Bingley on Saturday morning.

  Spying the woman from the kitchen window from which she stood, Elizabeth hastened to the paddock, just as the hateful woman alighted from the carriage.

  To what do I owe the displeasure of your visit?” asked Elizabeth, vowing to herself that she would no longer try to hide her true feeling towards the woman who, with her sister Mrs. Hurst, had valiantly worked to deny her sister, Jane, the happiness she truly deserved.

  “Say what you will, Miss Bennet—”

  “Address me in the manner which is fitting of my status as the wife of the lord of Pemberley, the name Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy,” interrupted the lady of Pemberley rather coldly.

  Miss Bingley cast her eyes upon her nemesis from head to toe. “I will bestow upon you whichever title I judge to be proper at the moment in time.”

  “Very well, then. Be quick with you words. Do not tarry here, for there is no place for you to lay your head at nighttide.”

  “Perish the thought that I would even consider finding lodging under the same roof as you, the unmannerly and deplorable, Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley fairly spat out the words, her lips curled in a sneer.

  “Be quick with your words; my time with you is limited.”

  “You must make haste; news just arrived that your dear father, Mr. Bennet, is ill and—”

  “What?” Elizabeth felt her body heat arise, her chest tightened. Lest the words that were uttered from Miss Bingley’s lips were false, or that what she heard was just a figment of her imagination, she asked for more clarity, although she was loathed to do so. “What did you say?”

  “I imagine you heard me fittingly the first time, but for the sake of avoiding being misunderstood and for your elucidation, I urge you to listen alertly: Your father, Mr. Bennet, has fallen ill in London, where you already know he is visiting with your degenerate of a sister and her husband, Wickham. Your presence is required forthwith.”

  For a moment, Elizabeth’s thoughts froze. Then her mind raced as she searched for answers. She gathered up her skirts and headed to her bedchamber, not even bothering to question the bearer of the foreboding news any further. She must get to her father. He needed her, for there was no way, her mother, with the disposition of a young adult, would be able to deal with this new crisis. If it were not one thing, it was the other.

  But how? How had her father fallen ill? He was in the pink of health only a short while ago. Was it as a result of all the trials she and her sisters had put him through? They were not an easy lot, the five of them. Six, if she included her mother, who was mentally a mere child herself.

  When she reached her bedchamber, she was greeted by the sight of her personal maid already packing her cases for her sojourn to London. She opened her mouth to speak, but Annie knew her too well.

  “Say not what you thinketh,” Annie declared, as she continued packing. “I go with you.”

  Elizabeth’s mind was much too swamped with emotion to argue. She merely nodded her head and readied herself for the journey ahead.

  “My lady,” Annie said as she handed a sheet of paper to Elizabeth and a feather quill pen, “you must compose a letter to my master, thus informing him of your departure from Pemberley.

  Elizabeth offered up prayers to the gods that she had such a punctilious personal maid who thought of everything. So, as quickly as her mind could permit her to formulate the sentences and her hand to inscribe across the page, she penned a letter to the Mr. Darcy. Oh! How she wished she could have seen him, spoken to him, about the plight of her poor father! With his level-headedness, he would have been the perfect foil for her as she made her way to London. However, her handmaid was quite capable.

  Without much ado, when the letter was dispatched and they set foot into the carriage, thereafter, they made a start to London.

  Chapter Eleven

  The obsessive clock-watching has got to stop, Mr. Darcy thought. But the truth be told, he could not wait to reach his country estate that had become much more than home to him since he brought his lovely bride, Elizabeth. Yet, he could not stop himself, he counted the days, the hours, the seconds before he could see her lovely face again.

  The carriage gradually ascended for about half a mile, and then they found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood finally ceases. And subsequently, at last! Pemberley House came into view. For the first time in all the years this was his place of abode, he looked at it through fresh eyes, as if seeing it for the first time. Just as, he hoped, that Elizabeth must have seen it those weeks ago.

  The house was situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road, with some abruptness, wound. He had to admit it was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground and backed by a ridge of high, woody hills. So much like his dear lady! She brought such liveliness, such freshness to his home and his life, he could barely remember what his existence was like heretofore she came into it. His house was truly a home, with his dear wife in it, and he was willing, wholeheartedly, to spend the rest of his life making up for the hurtful way he had dealt her from the very instant they lay eyes on each other.

  His arrival back to Pemberley was unexpected. Neither his staff nor his dear wife had an inkling that he would be back this Saturday. He was able to conclude business at an earlier time than anticipated, and as a consequence he decided to depart quickly in order to arrive at Pemberley before sunset. He wanted to spend this night, the morrow and hereafter bestowing kisses upon his lady’s delightful body, having relations with her and telling her most ardently how much he admired and loved her. He would never repressed his feelings for her ever again.

  With a fluttery feeling in his stomach and a pounding heart, he alighted the carriage and entered the Pemberley House. His gaze merely glanced over the
hallway, as he made his way to the library where his Elizabeth could often be found at dusk. He opened the door, his senses heightened, the greeting he had for his wife at the tip of his lips. Alas! She was not there.

  Without hesitation he spun on his heels and ascended the flight of stairs that led to the bedchambers. A quick glance into the room upon opening the door revealed that his wife was not therein. Not one to panic easily, he rubbed his chin as he contemplated his wife’s whereabouts.

  They had made love most lustily on their matrimonial night. The room sizzled with the chemistry between them. The two nights thereafter were comparable in intensity and fervour. His wife reached her peak over and over again as she fairly squealed his first name. It was only in the throes of passion that her lips disobeyed the demands of her will. Her tongue was not silenced as she called his name, until his own, or his hardness, delved into the moist depths of her mouth or pressed passed her nether lips.

  He descended the stairway and whom his eyes should happen upon at the bottom was none other than Lady Catherine.

  “Aye!” exclaimed his aunt, “You have returned.” She curtsied before the man of the house.

  “Yes, and I must needs find my wife.”

  She gasped, her eyes wide. “Have you not heard? Do you not know?”

  “Know of what?”

  “Your wife has been found in an adulterous dalliance.”

  “No!” exclaimed Mr. Darcy. “That is utter falsehood. Perish the thought!”

  “You cannot deny what is obvious.”

  “Pray tell.”

  “Is she here at Pemberley House? Did you receive a letter from her reporting her departure?”

  “No, but that hardly confirms the preposterous story you uttered, without fear of the dire consequences which could befall you.”

  “I fear nothing, in view of the fact that it is the truth I thus proclaimed. Miss Bingley bears witness.”

  “Caroline?”

  “The very one.”

  “And do you imagine I would believe any word that is uttered from the lips of a woman who despises my wife?”

  “I have had an ill-feeling about that obstinate, headstrong girl,” Lady Catherine continued, as if Mr. Darcy had never spoken.

  “Do not dare utter another word that degenerates my wife’s character.

  “I only speak the truth, Lord Darcy. Since your gazed fixed upon that Miss Bennet at the ball, you were knowledgeable about her low status and ill-breeding. It is not too late to right the error you so innocently and blindly made. She has departed your esteemed estate to hasten her steps to the arms of a reprobate, a man of similar status and breeding. You must needs a full parliamentary divorce, since adultery is sufficient grounds for you to obtain one.”

  “Are you finished with your ranting and raving?” Mr. Darcy did not wait for her to respond. “You have come with the determined resolution to carry out your purpose to turn my heart and my mind away from the lady to whom I am wed in order to fulfil the wishes of you and my mother. Let me declare to you, without delay. There will be no betrothal between Anne and me. Perish the very thought! Now you must make leave of the premises, forthwith. I have a wife with which I must be reunited.”

  Lady Catherine swivelled around, her sensible heels going clump, clump, clump on the wooden floor. “Blimey!” she muttered, yet loud enough for Darcy to hear.

  “And one more thing.” He watched as the retreating woman stopped in her tracks, her back ramrod straight. “My wife’s name is Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, and do not ever forget it.”

  Lady Catherine released a heavy, explosive breath as she quickened her pace outside the door of Pemberley House.

  “Good riddance!” Darcy declared. “Now, off I go to find my wife!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Immediately upon her arrival to Mr. Wickham and her sister Lydia’s house of abode, Elizabeth she came upon the realization that she was tricked by Miss Bingley. She scolded herself for the haste in which she left Pemberley House to be in the presence of her father, whom she thought was in dire need of her presence because of his failing health. She should have considered the motive of the bearer of the foreboding news, instead of blindly thinking that for once, Miss Bingley would make herself familiar with the virtue of honesty. But alas! It was impossible for a leopard to change its spots.

  But she was at this time in London and it was already nightfall. There was nothing left for her and her maid to do but to settle themselves in for the night and depart for Pemberley House on the morrow. One merit of this brief sojourn was that it granted her the occasion to be caught up with the happenings in her younger sister’s life and to confirm for herself that her father, Mr. Bennet, was quite comfortable in his youngest daughter’s home where he was taking delight in his brief respite from his handful of a wife, Mrs. Bennet.

  After all was caught up with each other’s lives and confirmed that all was well, Elizabeth retreated to the guest chambers. It was then she allowed thoughts of her dear Darcy to pervade her senses. She had slipped the letter that her sister, Lydia, had handed her in the pocket of her skirts. Now, she was able to read it within the confines and quiet of the chamber.

  How her sister happened upon the letter? She was want to find out, but now was not the time to know these things. It was as follows:

  Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you...

  Elizabeth lifted her eyes heavenward. A mixture of fear and expectation wrestled to gain precedence over her emotions. She lowered her gaze and continued reading.

  Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. You accused me of the fact that I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister. I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country. But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment...

  Upon further reading, Elizabeth could very well perceive how her family behaved from Mr. Darcy’s perspective. The improperness of the behaviour of her relatives, particularly her mother, would have been validation for Mr. Darcy’s plot to end the budding romance before it was given chance to be planted and germinated. Elizabeth found herself nodding in understanding and coming to the self-realization that she had judged the man to which she was betrothed rather harshly. She took a deep breath and continued reading:

  If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient...

  I am the one to blame for the prejudice I harboured against my husband, Elizabeth thought. From the depths of my heart, I discerned that this man was honourable. My head did not want to acknowledge the truth.

  After a few quick breaths, she lowered her head and continues reading:

  With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity...

  Even her quickness to believe the fabrication that easily slid from Wickham, her brother-in-law’s lips, made her utterly ashamed. Mr. Darcy spoke only the truth, but she was too eager to believe the lies. As she re-read the letter, the truth of her husband’s words sank deeper and deeper within her consciousness. Her eyes glistened when she read the last line:

  God bless you.

  The morrow could not come soon enough. She made up her mind then and there that she was heading back to Pemberley House at the break of dawn and nothing or no one would stop her from fulfilling her purpose.

  THE RAPPING OF THE door finally penetrated her
weary senses. At first, she perceived it to be a mere figment of her imagination, and she had adjusted and buried herself deeper into the bed. But then, the noise became denser, more persistent.

  “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”

  Fitzwilliam?

  “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”

  “Fitzwilliam, I am herein.” Her heart raced in anticipation of seeing her husband. It was then she realized something significant. For the first time she uttered his first name outside the confines of their bedchamber, when her wanton body willingly did his bidding. Unbelievable it was that his first name slipped out with the ease of familiarity.

  The vestiges of sleep swiftly left even while she watched raptly as the door opened and the visage of her husband framed the opening of the door. Upon his gaze alighting on her, he hastened to sit beside her on the bed. Grasping her hand, he bestowed a kiss upon it and her heart leapt with happiness and ardour.

  Yet, she listened intently as he informed her of what transpired at Pemberley House between him and Lady Catherine. Elizabeth was able to fill the gaps as she furnished the details of Miss Bingley’s plot to separate them. And thus, they concluded that both Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley conspired together to end their marriage. It was their hope that Fitzwilliam would have believed their deception without question and pursue a full parliamentary divorce from Elizabeth since her supposed adultery would have been sufficient grounds. This would have made Fitzwilliam a bachelor, for a second time, leaving room for him to marry the diabolical Miss Bingley, or Lady Catherine’s daughter Anne, his cousin and heiress to her father’s estate, Rosings Park.

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth reached out and embraced her husband. “Thank heavens, you believed I would do no such thing as to break my vows to you.”