NETHERFIELD PARK HADbeen transformed into a fairy tale.
The gildeddécorof Bingley’s tenure had been exorcised. The dark curtains were gone, replaced by airy silks that fluttered in the summer breeze flowing through the open French windows. The great hall was filled with hundreds more red roses, and the melodic strains of a string quartet drifted from the long gallery.
Anne de Bourgh surveyed the wedding breakfast, wearing a vibrant amethyst gown that defied every rule of subdued morning dress.
“The pastries are holding their shape.” Anne nodded approvingly as a footman passed with a silver tray. “I informed Cook that if the spun-sugar swans collapsed before the toasts, he would be exiled to Kent to cook for my mother. Fear is a spectacular motivator in the culinary arts.”
“You are a scary woman, Anne.” Richard grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray, raising it in a salute. “The Prince Regent ought to hire you to manage his creditors. They would forgive his debts immediately.”
Anne waved a hand and turned her attention to the far corner of the room. “Look at Robert. He is about to eat a treat out of Miss Bennet’s hand.”
Darcy followed her gaze. Robert was standing near the open terrace doors, monopolising Jane. He held a crystal glass of lemonade, offering it to her as though it were the Holy Grail. Jane was smiling, a soft blush colouring her cheeks, captivated by the viscount’s regard.
“He is exactly where he belongs,” Darcy observed with deep satisfaction.
“He is prepared for a long siege.” Anne turned to Darcy with a smile. “You look well, Fitzwilliam. I wagered Richard ten pounds you would weep.”
“You lost your money, Anne.” Darcy raised his glass to her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I consider it a small price to pay to see you behave like a human being rather than a marble bust,” Anne said, tapping his arm lightly with her folded fan. “Go find your wife. My mother sent a wedding gift. It is an ornate silver tea service and you must go and stare at it, as it represents her acceptance.”
Darcy navigated the crowded room, dodging the exuberant embraces of his new relations. Mrs Bennet was holding court near the fireplace, informing Lady Lucas about the exact acreage of Pemberley, pausing only to fan herself with a lace handkerchief and demand more cake. Mr Bennet was sequestered in a quiet corner with a glass of port, surveying the room and speaking with Sir William in hushed tones.
Elizabeth was standing by the open French windows, gazing out over the rolling green lawns of the estate. The sunlight caught the delicate lace of her veil, turning her into a vision of ethereal grace.
Darcy stepped up beside her, offering his arm with a conspiratorial smile. He guided her through the doors andaround the corner of the stone terrace, safely out of sight from the crowded hall.
Once they were sequestered behind a thick trellis of climbing roses, he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest.
“You survived the collective attentions of Meryton, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth leaned back into his embrace, her hands resting over his, her head dropping back against his shoulder.
“I thrived, Mrs Darcy.” He dared press a quick kiss to the side of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. “Though I admit, I am ready to steal you away. The carriage is prepared, and I believe we have a journey to Derbyshire to begin.”
Elizabeth turned in his arms, her eyes searching his face.
“Pemberley.” She rested her hands flat against his waistcoat, right over his racing heart. “It was a lifetime ago when I told you that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry, was it not?”
Darcy grimaced, resting his forehead against hers. “I deserved every harsh word you delivered that day. I was arrogant, blind, and convinced of my own superiority.”
“You were foolish,” she corrected gently, her fingers tracing the silver thread of his lapel. “But you were also the man who gave me a red rose, and who looks at me as though I am the only creature on this earth.”
“You are,” Darcy murmured, his arms tightening around her. “You are my entire world, Elizabeth.”
THE FAREWELLS WEREas loud and tearful as Darcy had anticipated.
Mrs Bennet threw her arms around Darcy’s neck, weeping so loudly into his cravat that he feared he might sustain permanent hearing loss. Mr Bennet shook his hand, his eyes shining as he entrusted his favourite daughter to Darcy’s care. Jane and Elizabeth clung to one another, promising to write every single day, while Robert discreetly offered Jane a single red rose from the grand arrangements.
Finally, the footman opened the door to the luxurious travelling carriage, the Darcy coat of arms gleaming on its panel.
Darcy handed Elizabeth into the carriage, climbed in after her, and shut the door, muting the joyous cheers of the crowd gathered on the Netherfield steps as they began the long journey north.
Darcy let out a sigh of pure relief. He took off his top hat, tossing it onto the opposite seat, and reached for Elizabeth.
He pulled her near, settling her securely against his side. She went willingly, kicking off her silk slippers and curling her feet up on the plush cushions, resting her head against his chest.
“We escaped,” Darcy whispered, wrapping both arms around her, burying his face in her dark curls. “We are entirely alone.”
“I love my family dearly,” Elizabeth sighed, her hand resting comfortably over his heart, “but I believe I have heard enough of my mother’s exclamations to last me a decade. The silence is heavenly.”
