In the Morning Light
Elizabeth slowly opened her eyes, unwilling to move limbs rendered numb by their long inactivity. The drapes had not been completely closed over the windows the evening before, and the pale and grey light of dawn was starting to filter in their bedroom. That was probably what had awakened her. There used to be a time when she would have been already up and almost dressed, impatient to begin her activities of the day. Oh, it was not that she was no longer enthusiastic about a new day. It was just that her impatience now had a slower pace.
She just had to turn her head to see her dear husband, still asleep. On any other day, he would have already been awake and would have probably encouraged her to begin the day in a most pleasing manner, but he had spent the whole day before riding for miles, touring their main estates and lands with their son, as he often did.
At two and twenty, Andrew was as tall and handsome as his father and had inherited her lively disposition and witty spirit. He thus attracted the eyes of many young women. As still did his father, though he was of course completely oblivious of the fact. She had meant to point it out to him upon many occasions, if only to see him flushing in embarrassment, but she had decided to keep that weapon for a moment when he would be the most aggravating. It was always bound to happen any time they attended a ball. Only two weeks ago, he was so preoccupied with the sets he had left to dance to please her that the fact that George and Eleanor had danced two sets and were exchanging the most peculiar looks had completely escaped to him, until she had remarked upon it the day after. He was then as pleased as herself by the prospect of a union between Charles and Jane's first son and Georgiana's daughter.
Sometimes, she could not really fathom that they all had sons and daughters of marrying age. It seemed only a couple of years ago since her first child, Andrew, was born. His birth had put a most satisfying end to Lady Catherine's predictions that, since Mrs Bennet had only produced daughters, Pemberley would never have a male heir because of her inability to have a son.
So many things had happened since, it was like a whirlwind in her mind. Kitty, married to the officer of her dreams and with four children of her own. Mary, married too, to the surprise of all. She resided with her two children and her pastor of a husband in a small living near Uckfield, in Sussex.
Elizatbeth's throat constricted as she recalled the less pleasant events that had then followed.
Her mother's nerves had finally got the better of her fragile heart, and she had left them with at least the satisfaction of having married her five daughters. After her death, her father had never been the same. The dear man had probably always thought that he would be the first one to depart, and he must have felt quite forlorn with his books and his flowers without his companion of twenty five years. He had finally been reunited with his wife not a year after her death, making an orphan of her and her four sisters. Will had been a true support as she had keenly felt the loss of her cherished father. Her husband's understanding, and the unconditional love of Andrew, Louisa and Charlotte, her three little children at the time, had been a comfort. Then Sophia and Anne were born.
Charlotte… Her dear friend's husband was found dead in his exemplary garden after less than ten years of marriage. She had to leave Hunsford and the safety of a home and a life she knew well, taking her young daughter with her. Mr. Collins had only enjoyed the possession of Longbourn for five years and he had never inhabited the house for more than a week at a time. He did not wish to live anywhere other than near Rosings, even when Lady Catherine passed away. One had to wonder if he resumed his devotion to her in the afterlife.
Charlotte now resided in a cottage on Pemberley lands. She had doted on Elizabeth's children, Jane's and Georgiana's for years as if they were her own and still did, even if she would not admit it. Esther, her daughter, whom the other children considered as another cousin, had recently married and lived near Matlock. Longbourn was now occupied by a distant cousin on Mr. Collins's side who had inherited the house at his death. He and his wife had five children, and Elizabeth was glad to know that the house was well taken care of and still full of life and joy.
The light in the room had increased. Georgiana would arrive later in the day with her husband and her three children. Her brother had always feared that once she would be married, she would live in a faraway part of the country and scarcely visit him. But as he only had wished her happiness, he had not objected to her reciprocated interest in a dashing and kind landowner that she had met at her debut in town. To his great relief, his sister's suitor had his lands and property near Buxton, at only a couple of hours from Pemberley. They often visited, as Charles and Jane also did, with their two daughters and two sons.
The sound of the pianoforte broke Elizabeth's string of memories. That was most probably Sophia, who preferred playing the instrument than breaking a fast. In that regard, she was very much like her aunt Mary, though her talent was thankfully more akin to that of her other aunt, Georgiana. The latter still liked playing on her old instrument anytime she visited. Her brother had often insisted that she should have it at her home but Georgiana always answered that the pianoforte belonged to Pemberley and to Sophia.
Elizabeth turned in the bed, training her gaze on her husband's features. Granted, his hair had whitened and thinned. Numerous lines marked his face, especially on his forehead and around his eyes and the set of his jaw was slightly heavier. His body had thickened a bit around the middle and his walk was less graceful. But in her mind's eye, he was still her tall and handsome Mr. Darcy, purposely walking towards her in the early morning mist, his cloak billowing around him.
She gasped as she suddenly found herself staring into the dear blue eyes. Their colour has slightly washed away with the years but they still held as much love and devotion as twenty three years ago.
"Good morning, Mrs. Darcy," he said with a devilish glint in his eyes and proceeded to engulf her in his embrace. Breakfast could wait.
Author's note:
Many thanks to Splatt and Teg from the Loungbourn Loungers for their precious help concerning the inheritance rules applied during the Regency.
Splatt was my beta for this short piece.
Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy may seem old in this story. Keep in mind that the average expectation of life in those times was 36 years old and most people often looked older than they really were. Even if they belong to the gentry, they will probably not live to 80 years old (as much as I'd like them to).