And thus, my beautiful adorable indescribable Elizabeth and I were married.

It was a double wedding, with that lucky bounder Bingley and his bride the (then-Miss) Jane Bennet joining us at the altar. This was a wise decision economically but perhaps not for morale, as with double the brides per the number of weddings, it left Bingley and I with double the free time to meditate on what exactly we had both landed ourselves into. We needn't have worried; if anything, marriage has only made Bingley even more of a besotted, doting, and devoted mooncalf than he was to start with. And from what little I am able to discern of such matters, Mrs Jane Bingley seems as enigmatically equanimous as always. My Elizabeth tells me that's her sister's happy demeanor, so I assume her current situation agrees with her.

As for Elizabeth and I - well, all I can say, is that reports of 'wedded bliss' have not been exaggerated, and it has earned my heartiest recommendation. If any two individuals in England claim to lead a happier existence than ourselves, I defy them to present their allegations at a court of law to be summarily ripped to shreds. Witness Georgiana has professed to be "quite enraptured" with the change a new sister has wrought, and Jeeves himself described my countenance to be, in his expert opinion, "positively radiant" after our union. I think no more needs to be said on the verdict.

If there is one regret that I have in this whole affair - and it is a miniscule, infinitesimal thing - it is the guilt. You see, Elizabeth still does not know. I've thought about confessing the entire thing to her, many times. I am not afraid of her hating me - as you, following along my adventures, can testify, my intentions have been perpetually clean and spotless as the driven snow. But for all that, my wife ('wife'; now that has such a nice ring to it!) though all that is pure and lovely, good and noble, stalwart and true - in so many words, perfection herself - she cannot deny her nature. And that nature is elementally, at its core, a woman who delights to tease. I can only imagine the ridicule she would heap upon me. And perhaps, some arguably deserved censure. I can picture it now - her facing me, tapping one foot, arms crossed, with an incredulous look upon her face. One eyebrow raised, a la Jeeves, as if asking me exactly how long I thought I could keep this very embarrassing secret from her keen intelligence. She'd belittle me with a knowing look or cutting witticism every time after, anytime I sent a letter, or stopped at London, or heard news of Lydia and Wickham, or met with the Gardiners, or even passed the Pemberley duck pond. It would be pure torture.

Fortunately for me, it is most unlikely that she would ever happen upon it. I have instructed all parties to keep mum on my involvement. The Gardiners would prefer it so for their own sakes anyway, and Jeeves, the only conspirator in frequent proximity, is the soul of discretion. So, I think I may continue to rest safely in my current happy arrangement.

Reader, no sooner than I completed inking the previous line, did I feel a sudden chill come over me. I observed a shadow cast across my desk from behind me, and saw the hairs on my arms rise on end in foreboding. I slowly turned, keeping my gaze downcast, until arrested by familiar slippers tapping ominously. My eyes were drawn upward to a pair of slender arms forbiddingly crossed, and further, to a pert mouth drawn down in disdain and an elegant brow quirked sardonically, nodding towards certain pages strewn haphazardly across my writing desk...

Dear friends, if you need me, I'll be hiding in the shrubbery.

(End)

Thank you very much for reading!

Some statistics for your amusement:

Times the Pemberley duck pond was discussed: 9

Times Darcy mentioned Jeeves' eyebrows: 7

Times Darcy mentioned other people's eyebrows: 6

Times Caroline Bingley looked 'soulful': 4

Times Jeeves 'shimmered': 3

Times someone resembled an owl: 2

Elizabeth's lines of dialogue: 0