THE LATE MAY SUNSHINEwarmed the Hertfordshire countryside, bringing the hedgerows into full bloom as the carriage rolled towards Longbourn.
Elizabeth observed her betrothed from her corner of the luxurious travelling carriage with a smile. It had been exactly one week since the magical, lantern-lit proposal at Vauxhall Gardens. Fitzwilliam Darcy sat opposite her, his jaw clenched so tightly she feared he might crack a tooth.
“You are clenching your jaw again, Fitzwilliam,” she noted mildly. “If you grind your teeth any harder, you will arrive at Longbourn requiring the services of a dentist. Or perhaps a blacksmith.”
Darcy unclenched his jaw with visible effort, though his expression remained grim. “I am merely preparing my faculties. I am bracing for the... exuberance of your mother.”
Beside Elizabeth, Jane offered a musical laugh. “Mamma will be very exuberant, Mr Darcy. When she received Lizzy’s letter about your engagement, we could hear her exclamations of joy echoing all the way down to Gracechurch Street.”
“I have it on good authority that she demanded to know the exact dimensions of Pemberley before she even finished reading the second paragraph,” Elizabeth added, her gazedropping to the stunning sapphire ring sparkling on her left hand. “I suggest you feign a sudden loss of hearing if she asks about the inventory of your silver plates. Or the number of your carriages. Or the precise number of your bedsheets.”
In the opposite corner, Georgiana Darcy sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap. The young girl wore a charming spring bonnet trimmed with green ribbons, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of warmth and anticipation.
“Is Longbourn very large, Elizabeth?” Georgiana asked, her voice soft and eager. “Fitzwilliam says it is a respectable estate, but he refused to provide details about the gardens.”
“Your brother lacks an appreciation for horticulture,” Elizabeth teased, earning an exasperated sigh from Darcy. “Longbourn is modest, Georgiana. It is not a grand palace, and we do not have a gallery of miserable ancestors staring down at you. What wedohave is noise. Constant, unrelenting noise.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “I assure you, I can survive a loud country house.”
“You say that now,” Elizabeth warned, “but you have not yet experienced my sister Lydia when she is nursing a grievance. Or my mother when she discovers you own more than one carriage.”
They turned off the main road, the familiar boundary of the Longbourn estate coming into view. Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. She had departed this house for a visit to her friend Charlotte, and she was returning as a conquering heroine, bringing with her the very man she had once sworn to loathe, and a sister with a liberated spirit.
The carriage ground to a halt, and before the footman could even hop down to open the door, the front entrance of Longbourn burst open.
Mrs Bennet emerged as though shot from a cannon.
She wore her most elaborate morning cap, her arms thrown wide, her voice reaching a pitch that caused a nearby flock of starlings to scatter.
“Oh, my dear, dear Mr Darcy!” Mrs Bennet shrieked, descending the steps with a speed that defied her constant complaints of nervous palpitations. “Ten thousand a year! Oh, my poor fainting spirits! Ten thousand a year, and a house in town, and a carriage that must have cost a king’s ransom! I always said it! I always said you were the most handsome, most excellent gentleman to ever grace Hertfordshire!”
Darcy stepped down from the carriage with admirable composure. He turned to assist Elizabeth, but Mrs Bennet was already upon him. She did not embrace him—shehoveredwith ecstatic glee.
“Madam.” Darcy bowed, executing a greeting of such respect that Mrs Bennet gasped for breath. “It is an honour to return to Longbourn under such happy circumstances.”
“An honour! Oh, the condescension!” Mrs Bennet finally noticed her daughter and rushed forward to pull Elizabeth into a bone-crushing embrace. “Lizzy, you sly, brilliant girl! To think I despaired of you ever catching a husband, and you catch the biggest prize in England! I shall faint. I must have Hill fetch the smelling salts immediately—but I cannot faint until I have shown Mr Darcy the dining room and asked him about the dishes he prefers!”
“Mamma, breathe,” Jane urged, stepping down from the carriage and kissing her mother’s cheek.
“Jane, my sweet angel! You are home! And looking so well!” Mrs Bennet patted Jane’s face before her attention snapped to the young girl emerging from the carriage. “And who is this? Oh! Miss Darcy! Welcome, welcome! We are so blessed! Come inside, all of you! The fires are lit, and Cook has been preparing a feast since dawn! We have mutton! And two different kinds of cake!”
Elizabeth caught Darcy’s gaze as they moved inside. He was enduring the barrage of flattery with stoic grace, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement—and perhaps a touch of fear.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, a whirlwind of muslin and lace tumbled down from the upper staircase. Kitty and Lydia vaulted over the final steps, landing in the hall with a cacophony of sighs and groans.
“Lizzy! Jane!” Lydia cried, though her greeting lacked its usual boisterous cheer. The youngest Bennet sister threw herself onto a nearby chair, draping her arm over her forehead in a pose of acute tragedy. “You have returned to a tomb! A miserable tomb!”
Elizabeth paused, untying her bonnet strings. “A tomb, Lydia? Who died?”
“My youth is deceased!” Lydia wailed, kicking her heel against the floorboards. “The militia has gone, Lizzy! They packed their tents and marched away to Brighton yesterday! And Harriet Forster—that traitorous, awful woman—refused to invite me to accompany her! She claimed thecolonel wanted a quiet summer! A quiet summer in Brighton! It is a contradiction in terms!”
Kitty sniffed loudly, dabbing her nose with a handkerchief. “We shall perish of boredom, Lizzy. There is no one left in Meryton. Mr Goulding is the only bachelor remaining, and he spends his afternoons talking to his goat.”
Elizabeth exchanged a swift, relieved glance with Darcy. The militia had departed. Mr Wickham was gone. The county was free of his presence, and Lydia’s catastrophic potential for scandal had been safely neutralised by Mrs Forster’s sudden desire for marital peace.
“I am so very sorry for your loss, Lydia,” Elizabeth managed to say, infusing her tone with as much sympathy as she could muster while inwardly celebrating with fireworks.
Lydia sat up, her tragic demeanour vanishing the instant she spotted Georgiana standing quietly beside Darcy.
