Note: Since others might be suspending their disbelief regarding the marriage's consummation, I may as well explain my reasoning. Darcy would be willing to wait (after all, the marriage was rushed), but Elizabeth doesn't want to worry about it, as she would if it was postponed. Kind of rip-the-band-aid approach.

And now, the last instalment, in which, among other things, the Villains meet their fate.

Morning came. Elizabeth was grateful that Darcy had once again stayed with her, as he had done every night since their wedding—it was probably because he fell asleep like a log each time just after they joined, but she felt comforted nonetheless. It would have been completely depressing to have awakened alone. And, given the chill in the room, his warmth was also appreciated. If a few awkward embraces were the price to pay, so be it—and truth to be told, after the first few times, which were not as unpleasant as her mother had implied, she did not really mind them. This past evening they had even been ... Nice. Satisfying. Pleasant. Was a lady even supposed to know any words that might be used to describe such a feeling? Sighing contentedly, she snuggled closer to her husband. She turned to look at him, but her movements must have woken him for he drowsily opened his eyes.

"Good morning, Mrs Darcy. You do look lovely."

"Flatterer," she laughed. "I know I must look a fright. But I must thank you on behalf of my vanity."

"Elizabeth." He sounded more awake now, and nearly stern. "I am not attempting to flatter you. You are very pretty—I am simply stating a fact."

"That is certainly an improvement on being tolerable," she said with a smile.

"Who could have uttered such nonsense about you?" her husband scoffed.

"You did, sir," she answered, raising her eyebrow. On seeing his nonplussed expression, she dissolved into laughter. "Do not tell me you are forgetful already?"

He did not answer, apparently trying to remember when he could have said such a thing. She could tell the moment he did, for he looked horrified.

"This is why you told me about your neighbours thinking I had apologised? I surpassed myself that night," he eventually said ruefully, hugging her to his side. "I was in a bad mood, wanting to be displeased with everything and everyone—and thus I was."

He paused to kiss her brow. "Would it please you to know that it was not long before I found myself charmed by you?"

"You would want me to believe that?" The amused incredulity in her voice was noticeable.

"It is the truth—why do you think I looked at you so much when we both were at Netherfield? I have never been so happy with Miss Bingley than when she suggested that the two of you walk in the drawing room."

"I thought you were cataloguing my faults."

At this, he laughed. "You might have been right the other day after all—you are rather silly." He punctuated this sentence with a kiss. She huffed and hit his arm lightly, so lightly that it soon morphed into a caress.

"What should we do, Darcy?"

"I might have an idea," he said, nuzzling her neck. She let out a giggle.

"Not now! I mean about your cousin and Mr Bingley—do you not remember your family is to call today?"

He groaned. "Already?"

"It has been three days, sir."

At this, he sighed dramatically. "We should go ahead with our day. Will you meet me in our sitting room when you are ready? I should like for us to eat breakfast together." She readily agreed, and he hastened to his room while Elizabeth, after ringing for her maid—who would undoubtedly warn Darcy's valet to be ready for his master's call—went to her dressing room.

While Jenny attended her, Elizabeth wondered if she should move into the Mistress's chambers. She was still thinking of replacing the curtains and wall coverings, but that could wait until they left London as the room, thanks to the staff's efforts, was habitable in the meantime. Her husband would appreciate the ability to reach his dressing room without wandering the halls only clad in a dressing gown. She was still reluctant to move, though, but only because she liked the cheerfulness of her temporary rooms and the view its window offered.

Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth required much time to prepare for the day, and when they were finished with their meal, there was still half an hour to go before the earliest time at which their relatives could be expected. That time was spent in the study. Elizabeth had expressed a desire to explore its shelves, not having had any opportunity to do so previously. Darcy settled with a volume of poetry, glancing now and then at his wife who was perusing atlases.

She was not unaware of this and, for the first time in their acquaintance, felt completely unsettled by his gaze. It had been easier to withstand his focus when she had managed to convince herself that he was criticising her. She had no defence against admiration, and it dawned on her that the stories that had circulated in Meryton about her reasons to fuel her dislike of Mr Darcy might have had a grain of truth after all. It was highly disconcerting to find that, until that moment, she had not even realised she was far from knowing herself.

She looked at her open book without seeing it, lost in her thoughts, and jumped when her husband's hand on her arm brought her back to her surroundings.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you."

"You did not," she answered with a smile. "I was merely surprised in my wool-gathering."

"You seemed uneasy," he continued, studying her face. She sighed.

"I have been so very blind. Forgive me."

"Elizabeth?"

"I had been wounded by your early dismissal of me and, since then, had endeavoured to dislike you, interpreting whatever you happened to say as further proof of your disdain."

She sighed again and leant against his shoulder. He stood still, stiff, and the arm he had been rising to embrace her fell back at his side.

"You really disliked me? I remember you hinted at something like that on the eve of our wedding, but I had understood it had been a short-lived sentiment."

She said nothing, only inching closer to him.

"Why did you not tell me anything?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It seemed a rather impolitic thing to say more than I already had. After all, I had been given no palatable alternative for my future, and from the moment you asked for my hand—no, even before that—I had decided that I would endeavour to like you, to care for you. I did not dislike you any more on the day we had that conversation. We were just about to marry: what would have been achieved at that point by the avowal of my past feelings? It was for the best that I stayed silent."

"But you were unhappy to be married to me—regardless of when."

"At first, yes," she whispered.

"How could I have not seen that?"

"I suppose other things commanded your attention," she said with half a smile. "And, again, I was determined not to let it show."

She drew back a little in order to look at his face and, setting her book aside, put her hands on his shoulders. He looked back at her, seemingly dejected.

"I must ask, Elizabeth—are you still unhappy?"

"No! Can you not tell?"

"I fear that, where you are concerned, I am sadly short-sighted."

She hesitated, removed some imaginary speck of dust from his coat, and eventually spoke. "I cannot say that I am overjoyed but, truly, I am content, which is more than I expected a week ago. Has it only been one week? I was certainly not unhappy on our wedding day, even if, given the circumstances, I cannot say that I was happy either. However, I feel that we have begun to get along charmingly—I have no doubt that we will go on, and soon be very happy."

At last, he smiled a little and, raising his hand to her face, stroked her cheek.

"I love you, Elizabeth."

Her eyes widened, and she was stunned into silence for a moment.

"I—I had no idea ... how long have you felt that way?"

"I cannot say—it must have been for some time, but I did not realise it until recently."

"It appears that I am no better at reading you than you are at reading me," she said. "Let us hope, for both our sakes, that we will improve soon in that regard."

"Let us hope so," he said, embracing her.

They were still entwined on the sofa when the door opened. Lord — and his eldest son were announced and entered the room. After Elizabeth had been introduced to her new uncle, the Earl expressed his congratulations to the young couple and his gratitude towards his new niece. They sat again as tea was brought into the room and served. When the door was shut, the conversation turned to the best manner to deal with the situation. Lord — was at first surprised that Mrs Darcy had stayed for that discussion, but on seeing his son and nephew appeared to think her presence was appropriate, he did not object and hoped she would, as unlikely as he had been taught to expect such a thing from a female, provide them some insight on the manner to deal with the plotters. He soon shared his belief that Colonel Fitzwilliam was the most dangerous of them.

"I made some discreet enquiries about Bingley, and from what I found, I believe he is more likely to be led—be it by his sister or a friend—than to actively lead a conspiracy. Moreover, as he is not part of the family, it would be more difficult for him to gain access to you. As for Wickham, I agree with your conclusion that he must be on the run, and therefore not a concern to us anymore. We shall still have to deal with him and Bingley, of course; what they did cannot go unpunished. But I dare say it can wait for now."

"The colonel could still try to get to Georgiana," Darcy frowned. "I wrote to her to apprise her of my wedding, but she knows nothing of the events which led to it. Has my aunt been told?"

"Yes. I sent her an express at Henry's demand as soon as he came home, asking for her presence and warning her against both her younger son and Mr Bingley. She and Georgiana must be on their way to London as we speak."

"Did you not fear that the message would be intercepted?"

"No. My son went away on Saturday to do some training with his regiment and told me he would not be back for two weeks."

"Good," Darcy said. "Now, what are we to do?"

"What could be possible, Father? You cannot disown him."

"Indeed I cannot, and even if I could, I would be reluctant to cause such an uproar. I am not without friends amongst his superiors, though. It should be easy enough to assign him to a faraway destination. British India, perhaps."

"He could come back," objected the Viscount.

"He could," confirmed his father, "but not before you have a few children of your own, or so I hope."

"If I may, sir?" said Elizabeth. "You were talking about not wanting to be the object of gossip earlier. I assume that you will not want Colonel Fitzwilliam to attend Viscount Jeffreys' wedding, but that event will take place soon, before another assignment can be given to the colonel. Would that not cause talk?"

"It would indeed; it would be preferable if my son could leave our shores before that day. But, if it were not possible, the scandal would not be so great that we could not weather it. Of course, I would rather not share the actual reasons for such an estrangement, but we can leave people to their speculations. An added advantage of such a line of conduct is that it will send Bingley—and possibly Wickham, if he is still around—a clear message: if we do not hesitate to cut one of our blood, we should have no compunction doing the same to someone related by marriage, had one of them ever succeeded in marrying your sister, and even less to a mere acquaintance. It should make him think."

In the pause that followed, Elizabeth's sigh could be heard. The men turned towards her.

"I was only thinking of Jane," she offered on seeing that they expected her to say something.

"Dear Lord!" her husband cried. "Do you think that if he believes my sister to be out of reach, he will try to woo yours to enter the family?"

"I know not."

He put his hand on hers. "I suppose it is a good thing she does not return his admiration and will not feel herself bound to accept him out of familial duty should he offer."

"But she does!"

"Bingley has offered marriage to your sister?" the Earl asked with a frown.

"No, I only meant she does care for him, that she probably is in love with him. It is a good thing she knows he is not the amiable man she thought he was and is endeavouring to forget him."

"It must have come as a shock to her."

"It has, in more ways than one," Elizabeth said dolefully. "Jane always sees people in a good light, whether they are deserving of it or not, and learning that some people, amongst whom is a young man she admired, were evil at heart—and learning it in such a fashion—has been hard for her. Mr Darcy, I did not speak of it before, but would it be possible for us to invite her to visit as soon as we can? I fear that hearing my mother's daily laments over that suitor's loss and the fact he deceived us all will quickly wear her down."

"You may write as soon as you wish."

"But would it not seem strange that I call for her so soon after our wedding?"

"Maybe. But do not forget that Georgiana will be here shortly and would be happy for her company."

"Then I shall write once your sister is settled."

A cough started the newlyweds from their discussion.

"Would you mind coming back to our main concern?" Lord — asked.

Blushing, the Darcys acquiesced.

"India, then?" asked his nephew.

"Yes. I could also pull some strings to have him sent to Spain with the next battalion, but I ... forgive me, son, but even though you will only be safe when you have many sons or your brother dies, I am reluctant to send him to a certain death. It is too close to murder."

"I understand," acknowledged the Viscount.

"You will have to be on your guard. Now, Darcy, there is the matter of your sister."

"Georgiana? How so?"

"As long as she is unmarried, she can be considered an easy access to Pemberley—less so once you have children. You should not take any risks. We should from now on contemplate an alliance with a powerful family. I know of one or two Peer's sons who—"

"No."

"Darcy, be reasonable."

"I shall not sell my sister for a political alliance before she is even out. She will have her season. She will have a say in whom she marries. And we shall protect her in the meantime."

The Earl frowned and tsk-tsked but, seeing that his nephew would be inflexible, did not otherwise object.

"Maybe we should also address the subject of gossip," the Viscount said after a lull.

"Gossip? Would it not be more important to discuss what to do about Mr Bingley?" enquired Elizabeth.

"Maybe not, dear. Do you remember whay my uncle said, or that discussion we had at Netherfield? Bingley is a follower more than a leader. Left to himself, I do not think he would give us reason to worry."

"But would Miss Bingley not try to step in? She is, after all, ambitious and opportunistic. Whilst we were all in Hertfordshire, it was clear that her goal was to further an alliance between herself and my husband," said Elizabeth with a roll of her eyes. "I cannot see her as evil, but then I could not see Mr Bingley as such before I heard him that morning."

"Miss Bingley is different from her brother," objected the Viscount. "She has always been transparent in her strategy. If she learns what her brother has done and that his plans are not likely to succeed, she would rather cut all ties with him than suffer society's displeasure."

"In short," asked Darcy, "we should do nothing about Bingley save let him retreat to whatever hole he can find and cut him should we meet?"

"That's the gist of it," his uncle answered.

"I do not like it." He was frowning and relaxed somewhat when his wife slipped her hand into his.

"Wickham will already have taken a French leave," his cousin went on, "but we have other gossip to take care of. The drawing rooms are abuzz with tales of you and I fighting over an insulting remark you supposedly made regarding Lady Constance."

"What has been done about this?"

"Father and I have tried to deny it, but it has had no effect."

"Of course," Elizabeth piped in. "When rumour is more exciting than the truth, it will be told anyway. Trust me on that—my mother and aunt are not left out when it comes to gossiping in our community."

"Would that experience give you an idea about how to redirect this gossip?"

Elizabeth paused.

"I think I do have an idea ... I suggest that you do not try to deny that there has been a disagreement, nor that this disagreement is over a betrothed. Now, has the news of our marriage become known?"

"Not yet. We were to send an announcement to the papers today and planned to discuss it at the club."

"Good. Viscount Jeffreys stood up for my husband at our wedding, so I suggest that he says he had been called from Town to do so and expressed his disappointment at his cousin's choice of a bride. After all, I do not have any dowry or connections worth being mentioned—worse, my favourite uncle is in trade," she added with an impertinent smile which lightened the mood in the room somewhat.

"I thought you were very fond of that aunt and uncle and that they were very fashionable."

"I am. They are. However, on a superficial level, they are not relations that the grandson of an Earl would boast of."

Darcy shook his head, and his wife went on, turning towards the Viscount.

"Since your betrothed has also been mentioned, she could appear by name in that piece of news: Darcy might have suggested that she accompany you in Hertfordshire, and you would have objected, not wanting to expose her to unknown people whose behaviour could possibly be unruly. He would have taken offence at another criticism of his family to be, and though you would have come, you still would have been annoyed at each other."

"That might work," said the Earl with a speculative look at Elizabeth. "I must commend you for your creativity, Mrs Darcy."

One week later, in a carriage travelling through London

Colonel Fitzwilliam had executed his soldierly mission to the satisfaction of his superiors, who had now called on him to report to them in person. He was already anticipating some leave and planned to use it to visit his father and resign as soon as he would have been given the official news of his brother's demise.

Wickham had found him in the last days of November to demand the funds he had been promised on completion of their non-soldierly mission and had been given them without delay. The man was then to return to Hertfordshire and his regiment, but Fitzwilliam was convinced he would settle his debts, sell his commission in the Militia, and leave soon after for greener pastures without fear of being pursued by angry merchants or his former comrades.

He did not wonder at the lack of communication from his father since he had been deliberately vague concerning his location. Perhaps his commanding officer would know about his loss and release him without there being a need to ask for it? Suddenly, he frowned. The carriage in which he was riding had passed down the street where his father's house was located, and he had not noticed any mourning wreath on any door. Maybe I was too deep in thought to notice, he shrugged. The carriage turned onto Whitehall, slowed down, and entered the courtyard of the War Office. On stepping down, Colonel Fitzwilliam was welcomed by a young lieutenant who, after he had confirmed his identity, offered to lead him to where he was awaited. The colonel followed him to a room where three of his superior officers received him. Convinced as he was that they must know about his brother's passing, their grave faces did not give him pause, but after a few seconds, the fact that they did not offer him a seat did.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," one of them said at last. "You are being reassigned and will join our troops in India; your ship will leave tomorrow with the tide, so we have arranged lodgings for you here. Lieutenant Carrey will give you more details about your assignment. He will also be at your disposal should you need anything and ensure you board safely."

Colonel Fitzwilliam was speechless. Wondering what had caused this surprising transfer, he knew better than to ask the question and resolved to resign as soon as he officially received news of his family's loss. With that in mind, he said:

"Since I shall be gone for a long time, I shall visit my father before I go."

"No, you will not."

"Pardon me?"

The colonel was aghast. He had expected acquiescence, perhaps with the request that he took Lieutenant Carrey with him, but not a reduction of his movements.

"No, you may not visit your father. He has come here to see you and say his goodbyes."

"My father knows you are sending me away and does not object?" He could not understand how it could be possible under the circumstances.

"Of course, he doesn't. He was the one who requested this in the first place."

Why? It cannot be! Unless he learned ...

"I understand your brother is with him."

Colour drained from Colonel Fitzwilliam's face.

"My brother?"

"Surprised, little brother?" Colonel Fitzwilliam spun around. He had not heard the door open and close, but his brother was now in the room, as well as his father.

"You did not foresee that Wickham could fail?" Viscount Jeffreys added with a smirk.

"He told me ..." suddenly realising his hired hand had swindled him, the younger Fitzwilliam swore in a most ungentlemanly manner.

"Since it is likely that you will be abroad for a very long time," his father then said, "I believe it would be prudent that you relinquish your guardianship of Georgiana. Henry will help Darcy if needed, and the future Viscountess will be able to guide her adequately in her debut into society. Oh, and in case you were wondering about your other cousin, he fares quite well. As does his wife."

"Darcy is married? To whom? When?" Fitzwilliam had managed to hold onto his self-control until then, but this piece of news was too surprising for him not to react.

"Quite recently. To someone you would not know," his brother answered with a shrug.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was fuming. The whole operation was an unmitigated disaster, and it seemed that his only viable option at this moment was to create a new life for himself in India.

"Gentlemen, it is time for me to pack. If you will excuse me."

"Of course—but before you go, this came for you last week. I opened it quite by mistake."

Fitzwilliam took the unsealed letter his father was holding. A glance allowed him to easily identify its sender. So Bingley has tried to contact me. He would see later if it was to warn him or to cross him but, in any case, it did not matter anymore. He left the room without a glance for his family, Lieutenant Carrey on his heels.

Charles Bingley was worried. The note he had sent his accomplice immediately on coming back to London was still unanswered. He had hoped that his family would forward it to wherever Fitzwilliam might be, but the fact he had not heard from him since did not give him much hope. Did he know that the plan had failed and fled out of reach, or was he unaware of the trouble they were in?

In either case, Bingley was on his own now. He would have to decide soon what to do, or more precisely, where to go, for one thing was clear: staying in England was not an option. Going overseas would be best. Having thus decided, he went to visit his man of business in order to know what would be necessary and what the delays were in order to transfer all of his fortune to one of the British colonies or to the Americas. He had no doubt Wickham was already on his way. However, he was wrong.

George Wickham had indeed settled some of his debts—there was no point of giving the merchants money when it could stay in his pocket, but if he wished to leave without being pursued, he had to resign his commission and settle his debts of honour. Knowing Colonel Fitzwilliam was bound to be in trouble and might be sent abroad, Wickham decided to hide somewhere he would not be found in London and wait until he learned more about his subject. When the newspapers made the colonel's new posting known, he waited until the man was safely gone before embarking on a boat that departed in the opposite direction, vowing to be careful with his money for once in his life.

Bingley had avoided his family since his return from Meryton. By the time she had received a letter from Jane Bennet, his sister Caroline was beside herself with worry. On learning of her former neighbour's marriage to Fitzwilliam Darcy, she wondered if her brother had avoided her to escape her lamentations on the subject. What did he expect? That I would express my disappointment loudly, maybe throw a tantrum? I am better bred than that. I do not behave as the likes of Mrs Bennet do! Pinching her lips, she reasoned that this marriage must be the reason for Mr Darcy's stealthy return to Hertfordshire. She doubted his family would have readily approved of the match if they knew of it beforehand but knew they would not say anything once the union had been blessed by the Church. At least Miss Eliza—Mrs Darcy—was not as silly as her sisters and mother; all Caroline had to do now was to make the best of the connection. Eliza Darcy would not know many people from their circles and, even if the Countess of — agreed to guide her into society, she would benefit from the friendship of someone closer to her age. Of course, the association would be mutually beneficial. Miss Bingley went out that day with a smile, ready to sing the praises of the new Mrs Darcy.

A week or so before Christmas, the Darcys were enjoying their breakfast alone—Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet, who had instantly taken a liking to each other, were already finished with their meal and the former was now teaching the latter the basics of pianoforte—when Rodgers came into the room to inform them that Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley had come to call and insisted that the master and mistress of the house must be told of their presence.

"They said they need your help, sir, and could not wait until a later hour."

Darcy exchanged a glance with his wife, who nodded.

"Thank you, Rodgers. Will you have them wait in the blue drawing room?"

Before the butler retreated, Elizabeth spoke. "Why not here? If there is some urgent matter, it would be best if we hear it as soon as possible rather than wait until our breakfast is finished."

Her husband agreed to her suggestion, and a few moments later, the sisters were announced and shown into the breakfast room. They congratulated the newlyweds and accepted a seat at the table but appeared somewhat nervous, so Darcy dismissed the footmen as soon as their guests had been served.

When the door closed, Mrs Hurst turned towards her hostess.

"Forgive us, Mrs Darcy, for imposing upon you at such an early hour, but we have just learned the most terrible news—"

"Charles has gone away," Miss Bingley blurted. "I cannot understand why or where; we hoped Mr Darcy would have been made aware of his plans."

"I have not," he answered. "But are you certain he is gone?"

"Oh, yes. We had a note this morning from his man of business—"

"We actually received it yesterday, but we were away at the time and were not made aware of it until now," precised Mrs Hurst.

"Yes," her sister continued, "and he simply wrote to reassure me that he would continue to care for my dowry even though Charles had withdrawn his money and had no need of his services anymore since he would be abroad. Hurst has gone to meet with him and learn more, but we wished to know whether you could throw some light on the situation. Charles is your friend, he must have told you something."

Bingley's sisters were both looking at Darcy, their eyes full of hope. The gentleman sighed.

"I fear that what I will tell you will bring you only distress."

"How could anything you tell us about why he left be more distressing than not knowing anything at all?"

Darcy sighed again, and on seeing he did not seem to know how to begin, Elizabeth spoke.

"Do you know what your brother did after he left Netherfield?"

"Yes, of course. We spent a few days together before Louisa and I realised Mr Darcy was not in London after all. Charles told us he changed his mind and stayed at Netherfield, and on seeing our worry that no one seemed to know of his whereabouts, he told me he would go back to Hertfordshire and look for him." Miss Bingley paused and, after a look at her hosts, shook her head.

"You were married the Monday after we left, were you not?" At Elizabeth's nod, she went on. "I would never have believed my brother capable of such stealth. He obviously knew of your engagement and wished to be present at your wedding but must have feared that we would make a scene if we had been aware of this—I still cannot fathom why."

After a pause, she rolled her eyes. "And it does not explain everything. It would explain why he made himself scarce, but why would he take all his money and leave England?"

"Your brother did not know of any engagement, Miss Bingley," Darcy answered slowly. "And he certainly was not present at our wedding."

"He could have been," Elizabeth interjected. "If he had gone back that day, he might have seen something was going on at the church."

"And disappeared on realising we were safe and sound. This is indeed possible."

Mrs Hurst started. "Forgive me, but I fail to understand why my brother would wish you harm—if it is what you implied."

"It is," Darcy sighed. "I fear your brother is capable of more stealth than any of us thought possible. He did not act alone in this but plotted with my own cousin."

A short retelling of what happened the day after the Netherfield ball followed; the sisters were devastated on learning the extent of their brother's misdeeds. They sat some time in silence, stunned, once Darcy had finished with his tale. At length, Mrs Hurst rose, followed by Miss Bingley, and spoke.

"Please, forgive us for having taken up so much of your time. Be assured that we shall not trouble you later or presume that there is any link between our families. May we just ask, if it is at all possible, that his betrayal will not be widely circulated? Since he is away now …"

"Mrs Hurst, Miss Bingley," said Elizabeth kindly. "You are not accountable for the follies of your brother, and though I cannot promise you we are to be the best friends who ever existed, I have no wish to sever the acquaintance."

Having said that, she glanced at her husband who nodded in approval.

For the first time since they had entered the room, relief could be seen on their guests' faces. After profusely thanking the Darcys, the Bingley sisters took their leave.

In time, Miss Bingley, whose gratitude towards the Darcys never faltered, deepened her friendship with Mrs Darcy as well as with Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet, the later never realising her congeniality had been false at first. Her brother's abandonment garnered her much sympathy in the following season, and in that summer, she married a successful barrister, the sixth son of a Duke.

Though they never took advantage of their brother's name and generosity, their new connection allowed the Misses Bennet to make better matches than they could have expected. The marriage of her daughters assuaged most of Mrs Bennet's fears regarding her future, and though she did not change in essentials, Longbourn became somewhat quieter.

As for the Darcys, they were deliriously happy. Elizabeth had realised early in the new year, as she was dreadfully missing her husband who had gone to a hunting party for a couple of days, that she had fallen in love deeply with him. She could not wait to share her discovery with him. Their happiness was obvious to all, if only for the fact that in she gave birth to many sons and daughters. The Viscount and Viscountess were equally blessed, and the young cousins frequently played together at Pemberley or —, sometimes under the benevolent eye of their great-aunt Catherine. She witnessed among other things their improvement in tree climbing, which was directly supervised by Mrs Darcy, claiming that she would have been a true proficient in such an endeavour had she ever learned it. Her ladyship had been livid when she had learned of her exiled nephew's treachery, not so much because she expected better of someone of her blood, but because he had been the means of ruining the prospects of a most beloved daughter. Even after Miss de Bourgh was happily married to a gentleman of means whose estate was close to Rosings, the name of her brother's selfish, ungrateful son was never mentioned by her again.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose brother made a point of keeping him informed about his issues, scowled after each birth announcement he received. He fell ill after learning that the Viscountess had been safely delivered of a fourth son some months beforehand, and he died of fever shortly afterwards, never having returned to the English soil.

On the boat that carried him to America, Bingley encountered the missing Wickham. The two men decided to swear off swindling and extortion in the New World. Using Bingley's capital, they established themselves as bankers and increased their fortunes. It is not beyond the realm of possibilities that some of Bingley's earnings ended in Wickham's pockets but, on the whole, neither had any cause to repine their alliance.