Outtakes
SPOILER ALERT
Chapter 4 - extra
Mary and the Book of Virtue
While others occupied themselves with dancing, flirtation, and polite conversation, Miss Mary Bennet had discovered a source of joy altogether more edifying. Her eye, trained to discern worth where others might see only dust, had alighted upon a modest bookshelf in the corner of the Lucas drawing room. After a brief perusal, she drew forth a rather aged volume, its spine cracked, its gilt lettering long faded.
"The Instruction and Practice of Female Virtue, 1792"
She opened it with reverent care, as though revealing the sacred rites of a forgotten sisterhood.
"I knew I would not come here in vain," she murmured, clutching the book to her chest as she retreated toward an unoccupied settee near the window, well away from the strains of violins and the murmur of aimless gaiety.
Thus seated, with her back ever so slightly turned upon the frivolities of the evening, Mary immersed herself in moral instruction, her expression serene, her posture exemplary. The rest of the company remained blissfully unaware that, while they danced reels and exchanged pleasantries, one young lady had chosen instead to waltz with virtue itself.
Her pious absorption might well have continued undisturbed, had not the strains of music shifted, drawing her attention toward the pianoforte. Miss Elizabeth, having just concluded her piece to considerable applause, rose gracefully from the instrument. In that instant, Mary saw her chance — and she took it with alacrity. Clutching her book like a talisman, she advanced upon the empty music stool.
After all, what better accompaniment to A Discourse on Female Virtue than a little musical rectitude?
Chapter 8 - after the infamous flirting episode
In the Shadow of the Library
Mr. Darcy once more immersed himself in his book, while Elizabeth withdrew from the company and wandered over to the little table where Mr. Darcy's volumes were neatly stacked. Her fingers moved lightly along their spines, as one seeking not merely to find, but to remember an old and dearly missed delight.
"Pope, Johnson... nay, even Burke," she murmured to herself.
"I would readily lend you any — or all — of them," came Mr. Darcy's voice from behind her. It was not loud, yet its depth caused Elizabeth to shiver, most pleasantly.
"Or all at once?" she replied, turning toward him with a smile. "That, I fear, would be my undoing."
"If you are to fall, Miss Elizabeth," said he, "then may it be among books — befitting a true heroine."
"A tragic end," she returned, "yet rendered tolerable by the nobility of its setting."
A faint smile curved his lips. "Perhaps not an end," he said, "but rather a beginning — where the heroine no longer triumphs on the dance floor, but conquers in the library."
Elizabeth laughed softly, though the mirth soon faded into a gentle sigh. "There are moments," she said, "when I feel more at ease among thoughts than among people."
"You speak in earnest?"
"Oh, that I manage conversation with some grace," she replied, "does not mean I hold it in especial regard."
"Then you are not alone," he said, lowering his gaze briefly. "Though there are some who dwell with equal ease in both worlds — or, at the very least, strive to."
At that, Elizabeth picked up a small volume — Milton, as it happened.
"Paradise Lost." She glanced at him sideways. "You know, there are those who say that Eve's fault was not her sin, but her curiosity."
"I should say," he answered, "she was merely too human."
"And you?" she asked. "Would you choose Eden and obedience, or exile in pursuit of knowledge?"
Darcy smiled slowly.
"I rather think the apple has already been taken."
For a moment, they said nothing more, looking at one another as if they were not merely reading books — but each other's words.
Chapter 13
Candles, Preserves and Quiet Complaints
Mrs Bennet had retreated to the back parlour, where her trusted housekeeper, Mrs Hill, awaited her — a woman she had known since her youth, and who had long since ceased to be thought of merely as a servant. Upon the table, a neat arrangement of boxes, ribbons, and various slips of paper awaited their attention.
"Well, let us begin with the Clarkes," said Mrs Bennet as she seated herself. "Last year the boy refused the fruitcake, so this year—nothing with raisins! And if you please, no walnuts either. He sneezed so violently the last time, his aunt declared she thought he would perish on the spot."
"Noted, madam," Mrs Hill replied with a nod.
"And then there are the Perkinses. They are forever inclined to complain—but last Christmas, when they received a bar of hand-milled soap, the wife wrote a most unexpected note of thanks. She said, 'At last, something that cleanses rather than perfumes.' Well then, Hill, she shall receive another."
Hill nodded again, her face unusually grave.
"The Johnson boy is recently married. His wife is young and, alas, cannot cook. Last Christmas she served the turkey nearly raw." Mrs Bennet shook her head in a mixture of pity and dismay. "We shall include a small cookery book—one of the older editions Lizzy has long since outgrown. But do not, under any circumstances, let her know it was from me."
"Of course, madam," Hill murmured, the corners of her mouth twitching.
"And Hill... last week I saw the Turner girl limping. Tell me—has her shoe worn through again?"
"I'm afraid so, madam. Her father refuses to have it repaired."
"Then she shall have a new pair. There's a brown ankle boot in Catherine's drawer—she never liked it. And let us include a little salve for her foot. But not a scented one."
"I've already set it aside," Hill replied. "But madam… you do know the family believes such matters are no concern of yours?"
Mrs Bennet tilted her head.
"Of course they are no concern of mine," she said, smiling wryly. "And yet I shall concern myself with them nonetheless."
Mrs Hill paused, her pen suspended above the page.
"They shall never know how much you do for them, madam."
"And perhaps they need not," Mrs Bennet said quietly. "So long as they do not notice at all." And with that, she gently closed the lid on one of the boxes.
For a moment, silence fell across the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the candles. Then Mrs Bennet reached forward and drew another sheet from her ledger.
"Now then, let us consider the Norrisons. Last time, the wife said the preserves were too sweet…"
"Do not begin, madam," Hill cut in with a laugh—but they were already both laughing.
Chapter 14
"Colour-Coded – Or Mr Bennet Attempts a System"
The following morning, Mr Bennet sat in his library, a freshly opened notebook before him. Across its cover, in a hand both deliberate and reluctant, were penned the words: "Estate Ledger – New System."
Opposite him sat Kitty, visibly uncertain as to what to make of her father's curious request.
"So, my dear," Mr Bennet began, adjusting his spectacles upon his nose, "your mother seems to believe that colour can save the world. What say you, Kitty? Might you craft for me some of those delightful little markers she so swears by?"
Kitty blinked in
astonishment.
"For you, Papa? But… what colours should they be?"
"Hm. Something with character. Red for troublesome tenants, blue if there is no complaint. Green shall be reserved for anyone who makes me laugh. And yellow…" — he hesitated with mock solemnity — "only for the truly foolish."
"But Papa!" Kitty burst out laughing. "That's not at all how Mama does it!"
"No," Mr Bennet replied gravely, "but I rather like it this way. In my own library, I should think a man might be allowed at least that much liberty."
Still giggling, Kitty reached for her little box of paper and scissors, and began cutting neat strips of coloured card.
"And what shall we write on them?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
"The date, naturally. And who visited, what they said, and what I thought of it. But only briefly. For example: 'Mr Hardwick – wishes to dig a ditch – talks too much – yellow.' Or: *'Mrs Finch – apple tart – delightful sense of humour – green, underlined.'"
"Papa, this is… actually rather clever!"
"Of course it is," said Mr Bennet, feigning offence. "A man either manages his estate, or pretends to. I have long preferred the latter," he added, shrugging, while Kitty giggled once more and folded another coloured slip.
For a few minutes, they worked in companionable silence, until Mr Bennet spoke again:
"Isn't it pleasant, Kitty, to be working together? I daresay this is how your mother must feel each day."
Kitty looked up,
surprised, then smiled softly.
"Yes… it feels good to be trusted with something important. Mama would be
pleased."
Mr Bennet smiled and took the first completed marker from her hand.
"This one's blue? Excellent. Then let us begin: 'Mrs Bennet – formidable organiser, unexpectedly efficient – blue, heavily underlined.'"
"And perhaps a little heart beside it?" Kitty asked shyly.
"A whole heart-shaped section," Mr Bennet declared with a sheepish chuckle. "But we shan't show that to your mother—she might float right off the ground with pride."
Chapter 15
Miss Bingley's Rehearsal Before the Mirror
Miss Bingley stood alone in the Netherfield drawing room, a freshly bound notebook in her hand—leather-covered, gilt-edged, naturally. Upon the table before her lay a single sheet of paper bearing a lone inscription:
"Mrs Bennet: dangerous example – excessive popularity – influence to be avoided."
She moved to the mirror, straightened her posture, and attempted to summon the tone of Mrs Bennet's voice:
"Well, madam, I daresay even the slightest chill is enough to confine you to your bed for weeks. Which is why… a little infusion of thyme tea, home-prepared, of course."
Caroline shuddered.
"Good heavens. Tea? With them?"
Another attempt:
"Madame, remind me—what is your Christian name again? I can never seem to recall. Charlotte? No, that's my maid. Well then, Mrs Clark! Your little boy—how old is he? Six? Three? One? … Never mind."
She sighed, turned from the mirror, and selected a pair of gloves and a lavender silk scarf.
"A lady must never call empty-handed," she muttered. "Perhaps… something modest. A box of French marzipan. Yes. No walnuts—those are entirely passé."
Once more she returned to the mirror and, for the briefest moment, seemed to believe in the words she rehearsed:
"Madam, I have come simply to ask—what is it you most lack? Your husband? Your health? Your… manners?"
She froze.
"No… this will not do." She recoiled slightly. "Mrs Bennet gives shoes to some peasant child. And I—what could I possibly offer that they would value?"
She pushed the scarf aside. The notebook, still pristine, lay open in her lap as she seated herself on the edge of the chaise.
With a slow and deliberate hand, she closed it, then reached for her pen and, pressing firmly against the first page, inscribed:
"Proposed Tenant Visit: Theoretical Framework."
Chapter 17
Mr. Collins's Letter (excerpt)
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent
November 28th, 1811
With the most profound respect and in the humblest spirit, I report,
To the Most Noble and Distinguished Lady Catherine de Bourgh,
At your gracious request and in fulfilment of the duty incumbent upon a man who owes his every comfort to your noble benefaction, allow me to relate the principal occurrences of my current sojourn in Hertfordshire.
Last evening I attended the ball held at Netherfield Park where, I must with trembling hand record, your esteemed nephew, Mr. Darcy, was observed dancing – most visibly, most deliberately – with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Yes, Madam, the very Miss Bennet whom I myself, only days ago, was encouraged to consider as a suitable partner in my own domestic plans. Mr. Darcy, it would appear, has not only disregarded previous understandings but openly sought her company with unmistakable eagerness.
They danced – not once, but multiple times – and even during the supper interval their continued conversation betrayed an intimacy far beyond the bounds of mere civility. It was, quite frankly, alarming.
I must further report that Mr. Bennet, the patriarch of the household, caused no small scandal by inviting his own wife to the dance floor. The assembly was struck dumb – then emboldened. Soon, several gentlemen followed suit. Madam, such breaches in decorum may well herald the decline of polite society.
For my part, I directed respectful attention toward Miss Charlotte Lucas, who received it with commendable composure and admirable reserve.
I shall complete a fuller account on the morrow and dispatch it without delay. Until then, I remain,
Your Ladyship's most obedient and humble servant,
William Collins, Clerk in Holy Orders
Chapter 39
the missing conversation part between Darcy and Georgiana
"Then tell me!" urged Georgiana eagerly.
Darcy smiled, warmed by the thought that his words held such weight for her.
"Well, imagine," he began quietly, "that at the age of two and twenty, barely two months after Father's passing, I found myself master of Pemberley. Grief, responsibility, a vast estate, immeasurable wealth – all of it fell upon my shoulders at once. And with it came a new kind of attention."
"What sort of attention?" Georgiana asked softly.
"The kind for which I was wholly unprepared," he replied with a wry smile. "Overnight, every family with a marriageable daughter seemed to regard me as their prime target. Even during my university years, I had sensed inklings of it, but with my newfound independence, the pursuit became relentless. Invitations, balls, small gifts, letters... Every gesture, every glance seemed laced with calculation. Mothers, daughters, widows alike... all coveting not me, but the Darcy name and fortune."
"Oh, brother..." Georgiana murmured, her eyes full of sympathy.
"It was not intolerable," Darcy continued, "merely exhausting. Disheartening. In time, I ceased to trust any display of affection. Every smile, every kind word, every lingering gaze, I viewed through the lens of suspicion. That," he hesitated, "that is why I appeared so cold, so guarded, when first I encountered Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her family."
"But she was different, was she not?"
"Entirely different," he answered, his voice softening with an unfamiliar tenderness. "She never sought my company, never tried to ingratiate herself. Indeed, when I first asked her to dance, she refused me."
"She refused you?" Georgiana gasped, wide-eyed.
"She did." Darcy nodded, and a genuine smile touched his lips. "You must understand, Georgie, such a thing had never before happened to me. Never."
"Oh..." breathed Georgiana, a secret smile dancing at the corners of her mouth.
"That small act of defiance," Darcy continued, now smiling more openly, "was one of the things about her that stirred my admiration. Here was someone who would not swoon at my name or fortune, whose respect must be earned, not assumed."
"And you have earned it," Georgiana said softly.
Darcy paused, weighing his next words carefully, as though they bore great importance.
"I hope that I have," he whispered at last. "More than anything, I long to be worthy of it."
Georgiana and Elizabeth – After the Engagement Announcement
Chapter 44 – Evening, in the drawing room
The house had grown quiet in the wake of the engagement's announcement. The company had dispersed into various rooms, and the crackling of the hearths spoke more warmly than any lingering conversation. Elizabeth sat beside the pianoforte, a music book resting in her lap. She was not playing — only turning pages absently, seeing without truly looking.
Georgiana stepped in softly. Her cheeks were flushed — perhaps from the mulled wine, or the heat of the evening's emotions.
"Forgive me… if I'm intruding," she said in a quiet but clear voice. "I only wished… to speak with you alone. If I may."
Elizabeth smiled at once and gestured to the seat beside her.
"You are not intruding. I was only wondering what you might be thinking of all this."
"Me?" Georgiana gave a nervous little laugh. "I suppose I still can hardly believe it is real. But… I have never seen my brother like this before."
She paused a moment.
"So calm. So content. And it makes me happy… just to see him thus."
Elizabeth observed her face. Georgiana's eyes clung to hers, full of quiet sincerity—and something like an apology still unspoken.
"There is something I have wished to say for some time. Ramsgate… when that whole affair happened with Mr. Wickham… I was terribly foolish. I ought to have seen his intentions. My brother suffered because of it. I betrayed his trust. And yours too, in a way. For if none of that had happened, perhaps…"
"Georgiana," Elizabeth said gently, interrupting, "you owe me no apology. Your brother never blamed you, and neither did I. You carried too heavy a burden for someone so young. What happened… was never your fault."
Georgiana's eyes shimmered, but she held back their tears. She only nodded.
"Thank you. And… I am glad. I feel now as though I truly have a sister. A real one."
Elizabeth reached out, touching her hand lightly.
"I feel the same. I never had a sister who found her way into my heart so swiftly."
The firelight danced across the brass grate, and the two young women sat quietly side by side—no longer merely future relations, but companions, perhaps, already dearer than many bound by blood.
A candle's delay
After Chapter 46 – Night, in the Bennet Bedchamber
The candles had nearly burned down, and Mrs. Bennet adjusted the lace cap at her brow with a fretful hand, as though restraining the urge to sit bolt upright once more. Mr. Bennet reclined partway against the pillows, peering at his book through his spectacles — or at least until his wife began to speak.
"It was outrageous! That woman — that Lady Lucas! She invited Mr. Wickham after we expressly warned her! And Elizabeth was left standing there… beside Mr. Darcy… while that scoundrel dared to speak against him!"
Mr. Bennet merely grunted.
"Well, my dear, if everyone truly heeded warnings, no ball would have a guest list at all."
"This is no jest! Elizabeth says Mr. Darcy nearly struck him!" Mrs. Bennet whispered, as though even the walls had no right to such knowledge.
"Perhaps he deserved as much," Mr. Bennet replied, eyes never leaving the page.
"All of this could have been avoided, had she not turned against us!" Mrs. Bennet huffed, giving her pillow a punishing thump, as if it were to blame.
"It is entirely possible," said Mr. Bennet, "that Lady Lucas sought to avenge old grievances. Her daughter's engagement was not celebrated with quite the enthusiasm she expected. One must use the guest list if one cannot wield a sword. It is a remarkably efficient weapon."
Mrs. Bennet indignantly pulled the coverlet up to her chin.
"You mock me as ever! But my poor Elizabeth was left exposed — accused before half the neighbourhood that Mr. Darcy would never marry her! And others heard it!"
Mr. Bennet finally lowered his book and glanced at his wife.
"I have heard such suspicions before. Most recently, from you."
"That was different," Mrs. Bennet replied in a hushed, almost reverent tone. "At the time, I did not know he would truly come back for her."
Silence settled between them. The candle crackled softly. Then Mrs. Bennet, her voice gentler now, perhaps touched with something wistful, said:
"I do believe this is the first time I am not anxious for Elizabeth's future."
Mr. Bennet smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly.
"Then perhaps you might redirect some of that concern toward my future. I daresay I deserve a little attention myself."
Mrs. Bennet's brow arched. She closed her eyes with theatrical patience.
"Oh, Thomas… Pray, do not tell me that is what all that reading was for."
Mr. Bennet set aside his book.
"Education, my dear, is the finest excuse for delaying the extinguishing of a candle."
And indeed, the flame lingered far longer than it had any need to — before at last it went out.
After Chapter 46
Late at night, Longbourn
The house had settled into its nightly quiet. Only the soft creak of a floorboard on the upper landing broke the silence as Elizabeth stepped out of her room. The pale light of the moon spilt across the hallway, glinting upon Jane's door, which stood half open. Her sister stood by the window in her dressing gown, gazing at the shadowed outline of the garden.
"Still awake?" Elizabeth asked softly as she entered.
Jane turned with a gentle, sleepy smile.
"Yes… I found it impossible to sleep. So much has occurred this evening."
Elizabeth nodded and lowered herself onto the edge of Jane's bed.
"When Wickham left, he made a final attempt to provoke William. He very nearly succeeded."
"Well, poor Mr Collins certainly felt the consequences! It is hardly to be believed!" Jane replied, perching beside her. "What do you make of it?"
Elizabeth turned her face aside, yet the smile she tried to hide had already betrayed her.
"If you expect me to be appalled, I fear I must disappoint you. He did it for me! I must confess, it felt like justice after the way I had been treated. To presume I belonged to him – without my consent!"
"Charles holds him in even greater esteem for it… He said he would have done the same for me," Jane murmured, hiding her face in her hands.
Elizabeth laughed, though with a trace of shyness.
"I would expect nothing less of him."
She lay back on the bed with a contented sigh.
"Oh, Jane… it feels so good to be in love. I could nearly burst out of my skin." She turned her head toward her sister. "William reveals parts of himself I had never seen before. This very evening, he – well – rather boldly confessed he wished we could be alone together. I daresay it quite flustered me."
"I can well understand. Truthfully… ever since Charles kissed me, I find it difficult to think of anything else."
"Jane! What a thing to say!" Elizabeth laughed. "Love is clearly doing strange things to you."
They shared a conspiratorial giggle.
"Perhaps," Elizabeth added more quietly, "perhaps I have only just begun to understand that… not all men are alike."
Jane raised an eyebrow in quiet intrigue.
"There are those who love silently, through action rather than word. Had Uncle Phillips not let it slip, I might never have known what William did for my sake."
Jane shifted closer and drew her sister into an embrace.
"I am so glad that all is falling into place for you, Lizzy. You deserve every happiness."
"So do you."
A soft stillness settled between them, like a familiar blanket drawn over weary hearts. Elizabeth rose to leave and paused at the doorway.
"Good night, Jane."
"Good night, Lizzy."
And when the door closed gently behind her, Jane lay back against the pillows, her gaze lingering on the ceiling, her thoughts already turned toward Charles – and the future.
Chapter 49
Richard's Contemplation in the Garden
In the moments before dinner, as the guests steadily gathered within the house, Colonel Fitzwilliam quietly slipped into the gardens of Longbourn. The afternoon sun was already sinking, casting a pale golden glow upon the bare branches of the trees.
Richard paused along a garden path and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Mother will be hysterical when she learns of this! The weight of all that had transpired pressed heavily upon his shoulders, and a strange, unfamiliar feeling stirred in his heart — some yearning, some absence he could not quite name. A gust of wind stirred a crooked mistletoe branch above his head.
Oh, dear Lord… Darcy, I hope you know what you are doing. Always one step ahead of me, aren't you? he thought. A marriage for love... for a woman truly chosen by the heart.
He halted beneath the mistletoe. The sight of the humble branch, swaying in the breeze, awakened sweet and daring thoughts within him. Almost without realising it, he lowered his head slightly, as if expecting a gentle kiss to descend upon his brow.
"Ridiculous..." he muttered under his breath, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Yet the notion — that he might find a companion — seemed to him as sweet and enticing as the fragrant, spiced winter air. Perhaps. it was time for him as well... to marry not merely for honour, not for a name, but for his own happiness.
Thus far, he had always brushed aside his mother's entreaties with the excuse that no lady had pleased him enough — or that he still had time.
But what sort of woman could he imagine at his side? His thoughts wandered to the elder Bennet ladies. No. He shook his head. They were too delicate, too innocent...
Richard chuckled softly, adjusted his uniform, and turned back towards the house. He was not a man naturally inclined to romance, but the idea of no longer being alone unsettled even him. A pang of envy stirred in him for his cousin's happiness. Tomorrow, I think about it, he thought as he re-entered the house, where the lights glowed warmly against the misty dusk.
Chapter 50 - to the end of it
Mr. Bennet Alone
The house had at last fallen into a gentle hush. The guests had departed, the girls had ascended the staircase in a flurry of excited whispers, and even Mrs. Bennet, blissfully content, had retired for the night.
Mr. Bennet, however, had no desire yet for sleep. Cradling a glass of wine in his hand, he settled into his favourite armchair in his study and gazed out over the garden, bathed in the pale light of the moon.
A small, wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Two daughters, engaged in a single evening! A triumph indeed – one that would no doubt fuel Meryton's gossip for many a day.
His thoughts, as they so often did, lingered upon Elizabeth.
His Lizzy – wilful, spirited, keen-witted Lizzy – ever the truest joy of his heart, now promised to a man whose character, mind, and fortune were worthy of her.
Mr. Bennet lifted his glass slightly, as though to offer a silent toast to his daughter.
"You see, my girl," he murmured, half to himself, half to the moonlight beyond the window, "perhaps I did not make such a botch of it after all."
For a moment, he closed his eyes.
The demands of society, the anxieties over fortune and standing, all seemed to fall away in the sweetness of this single, hard-won moment, wherein he had glimpsed such light in Elizabeth's eyes.
And if Mr. Darcy was indeed the man he appeared to be — and Mr. Bennet thought him so — then truly, no father could have wished for more.
Rising at last, he snuffed out the candle and, upon stepping toward the door, paused once to look back at the window.
The moonlight cast a soft and gentle shadow over the garden beyond.
At the end of Chapter 57
Outtake – After
the Ball
SPOILER ALERT ---------------------------------
London, the Darcy House
The hush of night had settled over Darcy House. In the drawing room, the clock had long since struck midnight; the household had retired, and only the embers in the hearth cast flickering shadows upon the walls. The splendour, rhythm, and murmurs of the evening's ball still echoed in Elizabeth's thoughts. Standing before her mirror, she sought to still her mind when a gentle knock disturbed the quiet.
"Is that you?" she asked, though her heart had already answered.
Both she and Mrs Bennet had insisted that Mr Darcy not brave the cold streets alone to return to his lodgings but rather remain, for once, in his own home.
She opened the door for him.
"I cannot sleep," he confessed, his voice hoarse with weariness. "The night is still ringing in my ears."
Elizabeth nodded and stepped aside. As he entered, she softly closed the door behind him and gestured with a faint smile towards the fire.
"Sit down. I would like that too…simply to be with you. In quiet."
Only the soft crackling of the fire could be heard for a few moments. Darcy rested his elbow upon the arm of the chair but kept his eyes upon her face. Elizabeth had let her shawl slip into her lap and was now studying the carpet's pattern, as if drawing strength from it.
"She tried to wound me," she said at last. "Lady Wilshaw."
A muscle in Darcy's jaw tightened.
"I know. I saw it in your eyes. And I saw her face, too... But I believe the pain was not yours alone."
Elizabeth looked up. He continued:
"When you emerged from the withdrawing room, and while we were…while we kissed – something I can still scarcely believe we truly did – our eyes met for a moment. Hers and mine. And in that instant, I saw the glimmer of an old, extinguished fire. It was not hatred…it was grief. The look of one who beholds what she could never truly possess. At the time, I did not care for her sorrow. I wanted her to suffer more. And so I kissed you again – fiercely."
"Because she had hurt me?"
"Yes. I will not permit anyone to harm you."
Elizabeth was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"Yes… There was something desperate in her. But that did not excuse her malice. She said…she said that everything you know of women, you learnt from her."
Darcy closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.
"I had hoped you would never have to face that. But you are braver than I knew. Tell me – what did she say?"
Elizabeth turned away slightly, then replied in a low, steady voice.
"She tried to humiliate me. To make me feel I did not belong among them. She claimed you had been her best lover…and that the ton would cast me out like a bone from a pack of hounds."
Darcy's hand clenched into a fist, though he held his tongue.
"And I…" – a smile played at the corners of Elizabeth's mouth, though it bore something of proud defiance – "…I told her that if she truly had taught you everything, then I was grateful to her. For I meant to savour it all."
Darcy's gaze darkened with a strange blend of reverence and desire.
"Good God. And I feared you would be delicate. What did she feel…when you said that?"
Elizabeth shrugged.
"I believe she understood she had lost you. Not only you, but the illusion that she had ever truly possessed you."
Darcy rose, crossed the room, and knelt before her.
"She never had any claim upon me. I belong to you. And everything I have ever learnt… I wish to give only to you. As you are, not as part of some performance, but as you were tonight. Brave. Dignified. Unyielding."
Elizabeth turned her face away, blinking back the tears.
"Sometimes, I still do not understand how it is that you…chose me."
Darcy took her hand gently in his.
"Because you are the light. And I… I have walked in shadow for a long time."
For a while, they simply looked at one another. The firelight cast a warm glow across their features.
Then Elizabeth leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against his.
"Then let this be our vow, William…that should days like this one return, we shall always find our way back here. Back to this quiet. To this holding on."
Darcy nodded.
"Yes. This shall be our home."
In chapter 58.
Spoiler alert
a scene that has Darcy and Elizabeth choose furniture together
...
They together chose some furniture for the townhouse to rent and a few even for Darcy House and Pemberley, which in itself was much fun. They learnt that Darcy's taste, if not matched, was similar to Elizabeth's.
The drawing room they entered was somewhat smaller than the other chambers of the house, and yet – or perhaps because of it – the room possessed a peculiar charm, a kind of warmth that invited familiarity. The late afternoon light lay gently upon the wall tapestry and glimmered on the glass of an old clock, as though time had paused for a moment to watch them.
Elizabeth lingered by a deep green upholstered armchair, her fingers gliding across the carved armrest, as though envisioning how it might look in their future home.
"Do you see this chair?" she asked thoughtfully. "I imagine myself sitting here on a rainy day, reading… or perhaps embroidering, while you work at your desk."
Darcy regarded her with a quiet smile.
"I have no doubt you would command even an embroidery frame with natural dignity." He stepped closer and pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead. "This chair is yours, with the little footstool as well. It would fit nicely in my study at Pemberley. Mark it down."
Elizabeth blushed faintly, but her hand moved with surety as she added the item to their list, affixing a small label to the piece with the word Pemberley written upon it.
A little farther on stood a round table with two graceful chairs – simple, yet tastefully carved. Darcy paused before them.
"This would suit our breakfast room – a smaller one. The one where only the two of us dine." He looked at her. "We shall have one, shan't we?"
"If I have any say in it, that will be the only kind we ever have," Elizabeth replied softly, and before Darcy could respond, she leaned in for a brief kiss, sweeter than any vow.
They next stopped at an oval mirror framed in pale gold, its edges adorned with floral motifs. Elizabeth studied the glass, yet it was not her reflection she saw, but his – and hers, side by side.
"How charming this is… Perhaps it could go in the antechamber to our bedrooms," she mused aloud.
Darcy stepped behind her, laying his hands gently upon her shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror.
"Wherever you are, that is home to me," he whispered.
Elizabeth lowered her head, overcome with quiet joy. Darcy kissed her hair, drew her closer, and rested his cheek against hers.
"Lilly…just now you said 'bedrooms.' And of course, you shall have your own, should you wish, but I…"
He paused, searching for the right words.
"But what?"
"I should like it very much if we were to share… if we were to have just one."
Elizabeth did not answer at once. She turned slightly, as though examining something within a nearby glass cabinet. Then, facing him again, her gaze held neither confusion nor hesitation – only gentle warmth.
"Did you think I would dream you beside me in sleep, only to cast you away once I had you?" she asked, her voice soft and playfully tender.
A smile flickered across Darcy's lips, but he did not reply. He did not need to. Elizabeth stepped toward him and laid her hand against his chest.
"I believe my heart made that choice long ago."
And when Darcy leaned in to kiss her, Elizabeth did not pull away – she only closed her eyes. And the kiss they shared was not hurried, nor impassioned, but one that held quiet certainty.
In the hour that followed, they chose a painting, several bookcases, an old map for Darcy's study, and a small music box that particularly caught Elizabeth's attention.
"This will play in the evenings," she said, winding it gently, "when only we are still awake."
Darcy said nothing; he merely took her hand in his, and they remained silent until the little melody played to its end.
On the day of their departure, all agreed that a great deal had been accomplished.
"This was much fun! Thank you for trusting me with this." Elizabeth turned to Darcy with happy satisfaction in her eyes.
"I am glad you have enjoyed yourself. You have done well – very well. I have a copy written about this list for the staff. Now, before we depart, let me show you the gardens. That is Lady Catherine's design. It is quite remarkable."
Chapter 59
Elizabeth's and Darcy's conversation
This is not so much of an outtake, but a change as of 28/04/2025. As I was working on the Hungarian version, I had to realise that I did not handle what happened in that chapter very well (if you have an earlier version prior to this date, you may redownload the change now.)
If you have yet to read the story, do not read this. It spoils it for you.
"The thought of losing you… I did not handle it well." {after this line}
"I see. Or, I try to. My mother used to say that when we love, we become vulnerable. She told me to embrace it when it comes because that is a clear sign that we love. How about that? I have just remembered."
"She was wise. Do you think that is what happened to me?"
"I think so."
"I do love you."
"And I you."
"I think Wickham attacked you because of me."
"Pardon! Why?"
"Hatred. He could not handle his feelings. His lot must not have been good."
"He mentioned that he no longer got any credit at the shops."
"My goodness, my actions made you his target!" Darcy put his hand to his mouth.
"Do not speak thus, William. That needed to be done. If I was attacked, then it comes down to the desperate act of a poor excuse of a human being. He did not dare face you, so he went after one he thought he could overcome, just like Mr Collins. Well, he did not count on Mr Bingley. You ought to have seen him. He was indeed a force to be reckoned with. I had never seen his face like that. He kicked in the entrance door! If she had not fainted, Jane would have fainted anew at how…manly, how dangerous looking he was just then… What I am trying to say is that I was no longer in danger. His demeanour gave me courage, and I came back to myself. I could help him with distracting Mr Wickham."
Darcy leaned closer, his voice trembling softly.
"I understand," he said with a nod, but then deep emotion broke free within him. "If only I had been there! I would have gone at him with such force that he would have rued the day. Forgive me, Lizzy, for not being there."
"Oh, William!" Elizabeth whispered, her eyes swimming with tears.
Darcy, moved by instinct, reached out and enclosed her trembling fingers within his own. "But this is not about my feelings," he said, his voice filled with deep respect, "and of course, I am infinitely grateful to Bingley. He did well by me. He told me you were very brave."
Elizabeth lowered her head, her face falling into shadow.
"Lilly, my dearest, I am so sorry for what happened. Tell me everything."
"I was not brave," she whispered. "I was terribly frightened… Everything happened so quickly, I could scarcely comprehend it."
Darcy cupped her face tenderly between his hands and gently lifted her gaze to meet his own. "My precious love," he murmured, "courage does not mean the absence of fear, but rather persevering despite it."
At this, Elizabeth broke down, a soft sob escaping her, and Darcy, without a moment's hesitation or reserve, drew her into his arms. He held her as if he could banish every terrible memory with his embrace. "I shall never let you face danger alone again," he whispered into her hair. "I swear it."
Elizabeth had no desire to leave his arms. In that tender promise, that steadfast hold, she had found her true home at last.
They spent the following hour clinging to each other by the warmth of the fire. Darcy's arms promised safety, even as a helpless anger smouldered deep within him that he had not been there to protect her. Elizabeth, with broken, halting words – sometimes falling into silence – recounted all that had happened at the shop, while Darcy, his face shifting between suppressed fury and overwhelming tenderness, listened without interruption. Her words dissolved at times into tears or trembling sighs, yet neither of them hurried the telling. When Elizabeth finally fell silent, her head gently coming to rest upon Darcy's shoulder, they both understood: a deeper, holier bond had been forged between them than words could ever capture.
Around them, the thick
velvet of winter descended upon the world, and they sat unmoving, holding fast
to one another, as if even time itself bowed before the silent vows they
exchanged.
"I do not want to leave you... {till here}
