Page 70 of The Widower of Pemberley

“I know,” Elizabeth replied. “Mr. Darcy promised, and I trust him to always fulfil his promises.”

That she had said such a thing—simply, without ceremony—filled Darcy with a sensation that was an odd mix of terror, warmth, and determination toalwaysfulfil his promises.

After the settlement documents were signed, with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Phillips standing as witnesses to their validity, the rector of Longbourn parish was called.

Mrs. Bennet grabbed Elizabeth, and they went away to dress and prepare for the wedding. Darcy wished he had better clothes to wear than those he had travelled in, but he would not delay the ceremony while someone fetched his valet and a change of attire from Netherfield.

While he waited with Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam in the drawing room, his friend cheerfully asked, “Are you prepared to become the happiest man in the world?”

Darcy glared at him.

Bingley added, without losing any cheerfulness, “I would have an attack of the nerves if I were to marry such a lovely creature as Miss Elizabeth.”

“Perhaps Darcy is less nervous than you would be because he is aware that marriage does not necessarily make a man the happiest in the world,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

“Ah, well, yes,” Bingley said in an apologetic tone. “And that business with Wickham tomorrow morning… It is not right what he said. But I do not like duels. They are…brutish. I would rather have everyone think that I was a coward than fight one.”

Darcy did not reply.

He would appear at the appointed place and give Wickham an opportunity to apologise and admit that what he had said about seeing him throw Mary from the balcony was a lie.

But if Wickham did not—and Darcy did not know whether he would apologise or not—Darcy still would not fight him.

And he would gain a reputation as a coward.

Many people, perhaps most, would think less of him.

He would think less of himself.

My life is not my own.

It belonged to Emily, to Georgiana, and in half an hour, it would belong to Elizabeth. No, it already did.

Darcy liked that thought.

“It was shocking what Mr. Wickham said,” Bingley added. “I do not believe any of it, of course…”

“Of course not,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said in a sarcastic tone.

Bingley looked at Darcy’s cousin. “Well, it needs to be said.”

“If it needs to be said, then it is not obvious, and then it is not a matter of course.”

Bingley frowned in thought. He shrugged. “Darcy and Miss Elizabeth will do well together. She has that same tendency to argue that you and your cousin share. I would hate that in a wife. Too many disputes, which are too much like arguments, whichare too much like duels, which are too much like violent murder—Darcy, you are my dearest friend, but I cannot approve.”

“I do not approve either,” Darcy replied quietly.

“I have no fear that he will hit you. I have seen Wickham with a gun in those years when he was your mother’s favourite companion, and he was a poor shot. But it is a shocking thing to mean to kill him,” Bingley said. “I do not approve. I would not do it if I were you—he was scared out of his wits.”

“I do not mean to kill him,” Darcy replied. “Not now that I am of a more sound mind.”

“You do not?” Bingley said with surprise.

“No.”

“It is most unlike you to change your mind.”

“It is the influence of Elizabeth,” Darcy replied, “and likely Miss Bennet as well.”