The Road to Pemberley

by Marsha Altman

  Lydia rushed in and added her hysterics to the commotion. “Wickham!” she screamed and rushed to her husband’s side. “My dear Wickham!”

  Meanwhile, Elizabeth cooed words of devotion to Darcy, calming him by her presence. She shoved the hair from his face. “You found me,” she rasped. “Oh, my sweet William. You came for me.”

  Darcy twisted to move away from Wickham’s body. “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet. You are coming home with me.” Darcy held her close to him.

  Elizabeth cuddled in his loose embrace before checking on the chaos just over her shoulder. “When you lose control, you create a mess, Mr. Darcy.” She smiled broadly at him.

  Darcy raised his head to take in the broken furniture and the sobbing Lydia draped over the badly bruised body of George Wickham. “Georgiana said that you wanted the grand gesture.” His split lip kept the smile from his face. “I need you in my life.” Darcy traced a line down her cheek with his fingertip.

  A military officer, followed by two enlisted men, rushed through the door. “What goes on here?” the officer demanded.

  Darcy pushed himself to a seated position. “Family quarrel,” he said, straightening his clothes.

  “Whose family? Who are you?”

  “Lieutenant Wickham’s soon-to-be brother by marriage,” Darcy declared. “This is my fiancée, Elizabeth Bennet.” He stood and reached out his hand to Elizabeth. “She is Mr. Wickham’s sister. In fact, I bought Wickham’s commission for him. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. My cousin is Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam.”

  The officer frowned. “You did us no favors, Mr. Darcy.” He gestured to where Wickham lay.

  “But you did me one.”

  The officer nodded his understanding. “It appears Mr. Wickham will have a legitimate excuse for missing his duty today.”

  Darcy reached in his pocket and took out a fifty-pound note. “Might I entrust that you will see to Mr. Wickham’s medical care and the replacing of any damaged goods?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Darcy.” The officer pocketed the money.

  “Might be that Mr. Wickham’s nose be broken,” one of the enlisted men observed.

  “Maybe he will not be so pretty,” the officer remarked.

  Darcy smiled with satisfaction. “Maybe not.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Please pack your bags, my Dear. We need to leave today.”

  “They are already packed.” She moved closer to him. “I bought a ticket to Lambton this morning. I was coming to you. I belong with you, Fitzwilliam.”

  They found a room at the coaching inn. They stayed only long enough for Darcy to wash away the blood and dirt before they set out again. “There is no carriage available to rent,” he told her. “So, you will take the public stage, and I will ride beside. Tomorrow we will marry.”

  “But how may we marry so quickly?”

  “Hardesty confessed his part in your staged engagement. Mr. Pinncatch sent me a copy of the banns, and I have the common license. Both are good for three months. It has been three weeks. There is time. Tonight, we sleep in separate rooms, but after the vows, you will sleep with me, Lizzy. I will not tolerate our separation ever again.”

  “Even after that horrifying sham I put you through?” Darcy heard hope’s touch in her voice, and he knew what she wanted to hear.

  He raised her fingers to his lips. “You did it because you loved me…because you thought you were not what I needed in a wife.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes met his. “I have treated you so poorly.”

  Darcy smiled deviously. “Yes, you have, and I expect it will take a lifetime for you to make it up to me. I suggest that we start immediately.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, and she rewarded him with a quick intake of air. “Your father is very worried for your safety.”

  “I should have told him where I was going, but I did not decide until after I was on the public coach,” she confessed. “I left him a note of apology for shaming the family.”

  Darcy swallowed the last of his anger. Elizabeth had suffered on more than one level: her family, the Meryton residents, Captain Hardesty, and him. “We will write Mr. Bennet to tell him that you are safe at Pemberley as my wife.”

  “You really love me?” she said still in disbelief.

  “Elizabeth, I want us to have snowball battles with our children. I want to share honey straight from the hive with you. I want us to go swimming in the lake behind the manor house. I want to dance with you at the tenants’ ball. I want to see you heavy with my child. I want our family portrait hanging in Pemberley’s gallery. I want our house to be filled with laughter and love.” Darcy lowered his voice. “And I want you in my bed. In our bed.”

  “You have thought of us as such? Throwing snowballs, swimming, dancing, and…?” She could not say the words, but Darcy whispered them in her ear. Surprisingly, Elizabeth did not blush this time. “I want those things also, Fitzwilliam.”

  He saw her into the coach, mounted, and then leaned down to hand her a piece of paper. “A letter from Georgiana,” he said. “She wants her sister at Pemberley.”

  When the coach rolled from the inn yard, Elizabeth sat back into the well-worn cushions and opened the letter.

  Dearest Elizabeth,

  If you are reading this, Fitzwilliam has found you, and you are on your way to Pemberley. I have executed our plan as you designed it. It was so smart of you to write to me through Mrs. Annesley. You know my brother’s pride. He would not have gone looking for you if he thought you were safe. Going to visit Mrs. Wickham was a stroke of genius. Fitzwilliam cannot tolerate the idea that Mr. Wickham might best him. I just hope my brother’s recent frustrations do not make him do something drastic. You have certainly had him beyond reason of late. I have suggested to Fitzwilliam that making a “grand gesture” as the way to win a woman’s heart. I await you with open arms at our home. Love Fitzwilliam with all your heart, and you will earn my lifetime devotion. He is truly the best of men.

  G.

  “That he is. The best of men,” Elizabeth murmured.

  Part 5

  “It is a lovely evening, Mr. Darcy,” Caroline Bingley said in her most genteel tone.

  Darcy’s attention remained divided, but he managed to respond, “I am sure I will find it a memorable one, Miss Bingley. It has been more than a decade since Pemberley hosted a formal ball.”

  To his dismay, the lady lingered, delaying those behind her in the receiving line. Darcy offered Charles Bingley’s sister a brief smile as he brought her gloved hand to his lips. Then he shifted his attention to his next guest. Miss Bingley curtsied prettily, revealing more cleavage than was considered proper, but Darcy was already extending his hand to Mr. Hurst. Then he bowed to Mr. Hurst’s wife, Louisa Bingley Hurst, who was Miss Bingley’s older sister. Miffed, Caroline frostily greeted Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, before entering the ballroom.

  Georgiana fidgeted with nervousness beside Darcy, and more than once she blushed because of the familiar salutations from their guests. But it did not escape Darcy’s notice that a year ago—or even a month ago—he could never have convinced Georgiana to join him in welcoming their guests. It was her influence on his sister. In the same way that Elizabeth Bennet had changed him, she had worked her magic on Georgiana. “Welcome to Pemberley, Mrs. Hurst,” Georgiana said in her soft voice.

  Darcy wondered where she was at this moment—wondered what she was doing—wondered if she thought of him as often as he thought of her—wondered exactly how long it would be before he laid eyes on her again. Only God understood how he suffered with their separations. He had once thought of himself as an excellent choice for any young woman of a certain background. He had not realized how arrogant that was. Darcy remembered with heartclutching pain how he had wrestled with his sense of responsibility to his name and to his estate. The thought of losing her had made him feel utterly empty.

  At Rosings Park, he had followed her with his eyes, drinking in the pleasure of her presence—the pleasure of her voice—of their war of wits. He
had envied his cousin for securing Elizabeth’s attentions—actually thought of doing the good colonel bodily harm for daring to look her way. Then Darcy had delivered his disastrous proposal. Even now, he fought the urge to clench his fists in anger with himself for his insufferable arrogance and with her for her acerbic response. You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.

  Mr. Steventon, the local magistrate, was next in the receiving line. He thrust his hand out to shake Darcy’s. But Darcy’s mind was still on Elizabeth’s rejection of his first proposal, and he took an extra beat to respond.

  Steventon chuckled at Darcy’s faraway look. “Don’t worry about your guests. Mrs. Reynolds appears to have everything under control. The lady is a marvel.”

  Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “You may not steal away my ace in the hole, Mr. Steventon.” he said.

  The man laughed obligingly. “The lady has too much loyalty to the Darcy family for anyone to tempt Mrs. Reynolds away.”

  “I shall convey your compliments to my housekeeper,” Darcy said before turning to a another member of the local gentry.

  For the next twenty minutes, Darcy responded automatically to each of his guests, his mind never fully engaged. All he could truly consider was a light and pleasing form and a pair of dark eyes.

  The tuning of instruments signaled the beginning of the ball. “We should join our guests, my dear.” Darcy caught Georgiana’s elbow to lead her into the ballroom. His hothouse, he assumed, held no more blooms, for every vase overflowed with floral bouquets. Their scents blended into a nighttime perfume. Every crystal sparkled with reflected light, and Darcy felt excitement, as well as a bit of trepidation, in his gut.

  Georgiana’s hand tightened on his arm. “This is my first official ball,” she whispered.

  “So it is,” he said close to her ear. “It will be a splendid prelude to your society debut.”

  Georgiana smiled mischievously and he smiled back. “Meaning that I may trip over my hem or make the wrong turn in the quadrille, and no one will criticize me?”

  “You will find, my dear, that gentlemen rarely care to dance, so despite any mistake a beautiful woman makes, they will all be polite.” He cupped her hand with his free one and gave hers a squeeze. “So if you trip or make the wrong turn, you have nothing to fear. Your smile, freely given, would stun even the harshest critics into silence.”

  Georgiana giggled nervously.

  “Who shall claim the first set?”

  “The colonel.” As she said the words, their cousin appeared and took Georgiana’s hand to lead her to the floor.

  Darcy shot a glance about the room. The people invited for the evening were his friends and family. He had asked Mrs. Reynolds to include his mother’s titled relatives, his father’s distinguished kin, his close companions from his university days, and the local gentry. These were the people with whom he wished to spend this glorious evening. Dutifully, he claimed his aunt as his partner and assumed the position at the head of the line of dancers.

  “You appear to be quite content tonight, Darcy. Your uncle and I are pleased to see it. You have caused His Lordship several moments of concern. My husband takes his responsibilities to your mother’s family quite seriously.”

  Darcy bowed. “I apologize, Aunt, for any uneasiness His Lordship experienced. I promise that Lord Matlock will have no more worry on my account.”

  The music began, and a lively country-dance opened the evening’s entertainment. Despite his longing for Elizabeth, he felt a great deal of satisfaction at that moment. This was Pemberley, and he was its master. He had, at age eight and twenty, finally ascended to his esteemed father’s position, no longer railing against the responsibility for which he had been groomed. In the past few weeks, he had come to terms with how much influence—whether for good or for evil—he had.

  As the set ended, Darcy returned his aunt to where Lord Matlock stood, discussing business with their cousin, Baron Prestwick. He exchanged a few brief pleasantries before saying, “Excuse me, Your Lordship, Baron, but I must secure my partner for the second set.”

  “A waltz so early in the evening, Darcy?” Lord Matlock questioned with a bit of amusement. “Are you setting your own standards?”

  “Yes, Uncle.” Darcy’s smile reached the corners of his eyes. He bowed his exit. With a determined step, he crossed the dance floor and headed toward the main entrance. Darcy was a man with a purpose. He paused to whisper to Georgiana, “Wish me well.”

  “You know that my heart is always with you, Fitzwilliam,” she murmured.

  As he walked on, he heard Caroline call, “Mr. Darcy!” But Caroline Bingley would not be the woman he held in his arms that evening. He pretended not to hear her and continued on. And then she stepped into the arch of the entranceway, the light of a thousand candles framing her. Wearing a gown of forest green silk, Elizabeth glided a few steps forward to meet him. The gown, trimmed in a delicate lace, clung to her slim figure, and Darcy thought her the most handsome woman of his acquaintance. The emerald-anddiamond teardrop necklace complemented the gown’s low décolletage. She glowed. She belonged there. Just as his mother had belonged there.

  Darcy extended his arm, and Elizabeth placed her hand in his. She gave him an intimate smile as Darcy brought her hand to his lips. An overly interested, silent group formed behind him, but Darcy had planned this moment’s every detail, even the silence. He thought he heard Miss Bingley sob, but his heart could not accept anything besides the extreme happiness coursing through his veins. In a loud and distinct voice he said, “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Darcy. You are just in time for our wedding waltz.”

  “I hope I have not kept you waiting, my husband.” Her voice was joyful.

  “It is not a ball at Pemberley without an estate mistress, my dear.” He turned and led Elizabeth to the floor’s center and then nodded to the musicians. With the violin’s first note, he swung Elizabeth into his arms, the place she belonged. They moved as one as they circled the floor.

  Darcy edged her closer, pushing the lines of propriety even for a married couple. “Happy, Mrs. Darcy?” he murmured close to her ear.

  “Absolutely, Mr. Darcy.” She allowed her fingertip to brush the side of his neck before settling her hand more firmly on his shoulder. “I suppose you are quite proud of yourself,” she taunted. “You have surprised everyone with this display.” They looked deeply into each other’s eyes.

  Darcy had never enjoyed the waltz until that moment. His countenance softened, while his gaze intensified. “I am content, my wife. I secreted you away for a fortnight, and now I must share you with family and friends.” He tightened his hold. “Are you prepared for the onslaught of questions when the music stops?”

  “If you believe in me, Mr. Darcy, I am.” Darcy observed that her bottom lip trembled.

  He spoke only for her hearing: “I will not leave your side.”

  “I am depending upon that fact, sir.” Elizabeth glanced about her as they whirled around the dance floor. “Have we done the right thing, Fitzwilliam, by not telling everyone of our nuptials?”

  “Some will disagree,” he conceded, “but most will celebrate the fact that I am content, at last.” He was silent for a moment as they danced on. “Those in attendance tonight are the ones who—for the most part—will welcome your presence in my life,” he confided. She nodded her head, but he saw Elizabeth’s confidence waver.

  As the music died, Darcy turned to the Matlocks and the colonel, but Elizabeth caught his arm to stay him. “Tell me you love me,” she whispered frantically.

  Darcy chuckled as he raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers. “This from the woman who dared to thwart Lady Catherine’s tactics!” he whispered back, his eyes dancing in amusement. Then, noting her anxiousness, he confessed, “My greatest happiness lies with you. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days loving you and raising children with you.”

  As if
his words washed over her, Elizabeth tilted her head, a hint of a grin touching her mouth. She felt the pride of knowing she was his. “You are either crazy or are the bravest man in the world,” she retorted.

  “Although I admit, sweetheart, that you have driven me nearly insane in this past year, I am neither crazy nor brave—simply a man in love.”

  She wound her arm gracefully through his and raised her chin in that familiar act of defiance that he had come to cherish. “Then it is time I met my new family.”

  Darcy’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt a simple joy take hold. The couple approached his beaming uncle and Darcy bowed. “Your Lordship,” he said, “may I present my wife, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy.”

  But He Turned Out Very Wild

  BY SARAH A. HOYT

  Sarah A. Hoyt (sarahahoyt.com) often says no genre is safe from her. She has published fantasy, science fiction, mystery, historic mystery, and romantic biography novels. She has also published over one hundred short stories in various magazines and anthologies. Given all this, of course, she relaxes by writing Austen fan fiction! In that arena, she blushes to admit she has a soft spot for rogues and rakes whose reformation or wholesale rehabilitation she often undertakes in her stories.

  As Austen fans well know, George Wickham is a very bad guy. His name, which is close to wicked, implies it before you realize. But perhaps he deserves a fair shake, which is what “But He Turned Out Very Wild” proposes to do.

  It was dark and wet. Outside the carriage, rain fell in drips and splats from the branches of trees and the gates of the great houses we passed.

  Inside the carriage, the air felt cold and damp, and there was the smell of wet wool from my uniform coat and from my collar—soaked through with my tears. The carriage rocked and swayed. The coachman cracked his whip. I had promised him a reward for getting me to Pemberley by early the next morning. Before she… before the woman I loved slipped out of my reach forever. I had—I thought—proof that would render my reputation blameless and me worthy of her.