These Three Remain

came to mind. She deserved a sonnet, but he was no poet. He had just decided that those simply phrased sentiments might serve better than silence when Elizabeth swept all before them with a question.

“When did you begin to fall in love with me?” she asked, her brow arched provocatively. Darcy looked down into her face and smiled. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning,” she continued airily, “but what could set you off in the first place?”

“I cannot fix on the hour or the spot…” He listed and then laughed at her expression of impatience with his indecision. Stopping their progress, he bent and captured her eyes with his. “Or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

“Where was your middle, I wonder?” She pursed her lips at him.

“Of that I am not entirely sure, lady.” He paused and looked at her speculatively. “But most probably it was the day I became a thief.”

“A thief!” Elizabeth laughed. “A man who has everything! Why would you turn thief, sir?”

“I was a man who thought he had everything,” Darcy corrected her. “But one thing I lacked — the love of an exceptional woman.”

She blushed at his compliment but did not allow it to deter her. “And this theft?”

“You will not think ill of me if I confess it?” He feigned an anxious countenance, delighting in their play.

“Even better, I shall act as your confessor!” Elizabeth fell in with his conceit. “Confess then, and I shall absolve you!”

Darcy laughed again. “Do you remember what volume enthralled you in Netherfield’s library during your sister’s illness?”

She shook her head. “Such a wealth of books, who can remember? I was there only a few minutes.”

“You were there long enough to drive me to distraction! I believe it took me three attempts to get the sense of every page! No, you were there quite long enough, and left a token to mark your place.”

The memory lit her face. “A few threads…in a volume of Milton. I remember!” Her brow wrinkled. “I returned for the book but could not find my place.”

“That was because of my theft. I took them…and kept them for months afterward…here.” He patted the pocket of his waistcoat. “Rolled about my finger and tucked in my pocket when I was not using them as a mark myself.”

“And where are they now?” She looked up at him, her smile gentle.

“Providing some fledglings a nest, I hope. When I could stand to tease myself with them no longer, I left them to the wind last spring on my way to Kent.” He laughed ruefully. “I had finally determined to forget you. Putting away those threads was to be the beginning. Much good it did me.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it reverently. “For there you were, dearest Elizabeth, the reality behind those threads, and I was completely and utterly lost.”

“Here now, Fletcher, the man must breathe!” Colonel Fitzwilliam came languidly to his cousin’s rescue from the safe distance of a chair across Darcy’s Netherfield dressing room.

“My dear Colonel, I assure you he can!” Fletcher protested. “There now, sir,” he directed his master, “one more twist of the cloth and you may bring down your chin, but slowly, sir, slowly!” Darcy groaned but complied. “There now, sir. Yes! Behold, sir!” Fletcher held up a mirror to reveal an exquisite array of folds, knots, and twists gracing Darcy’s neck and falling elegantly upon his waistcoat.

“What do you call it, my good man?” Dy inquired, his lorgnette held superciliously to one eye as he looked over the new masterpiece with interest.

“The Bonheur, my lord.” Fletcher inclined his head.

“Happiness? That is bold, but then so was the Roquet.” Dy tucked his eyepiece into a waistcoat pocket. “Fletcher, I congratulate you.” His Lordship turned to his friend and tapped him on the shoulder. “You must promise to lend him to me, Fitz, when it is my turn for leg shackles, or I shan’t invite you.”

“Done!” the bridegroom replied and turned back to the mirror. For all the annoyance, it looked rather well; and it was, after all, his wedding day. He turned his head this way and then the other, testing the restriction. It was bearable. “Richard, what do you say?” he called over his shoulder.

Colonel Fitzwilliam unwound from his comfortable observation post and cautiously approached. Crossing his arms, he studied his cousin thoughtfully. “It’s not a uniform” — the men hooted at the jibe — “but Fletcher is a genius, as everyone knows.” He grinned and laughed. “You look quite well, Cousin. Miss Elizabeth shall say ‘I will’ on the basis of your neckcloth alone!” Darcy threw a towel at him.

“Thank you, dear Richard.” Darcy looked up to his valet. “Fletcher, excellent work.” He rose from the seat, checked the clock on the mantel, and motioned to his new blue frock coat. “Are we ready for that now?”

“Yes, sir.” Fletcher went to the wardrobe and retrieved the coat, handling it with the utmost care.

“So, tell us old bachelors,” Dy addressed the valet, “how is married life, Fletcher?”

The valet colored, but his chest puffed out and his shoulders straightened. “Very fine, my lord, very fine indeed, I thank you.” He held the frock coat out to his master. “Mr. Darcy?” Slipping the sleeves up his arms, he came around him, bringing the front down snugly over his shoulders and waistcoat and buttoning it.

“And Mrs. Fletcher is waiting upon the bride, I understand.”

“Yes, my lord, and very happy to have the honor.” Fletcher smoothed the back and twitched at one of the coattails before beginning his examination for stray threads or lint. When he had finished, Darcy went to his dresser and opened a book that lay atop it, turning the pages until he came to what he was looking for. There, from between the pages and lying next to the note in Elizabeth’s hand, he retrieved her first wedding gift to him. Smiling down at the knot of threads in his hand — three green, two yellow, and one each of blue, rose, and lavender — he stroked them once, then wound them about his finger and secured them in his waistcoat pocket.

The clock struck, and Darcy’s companions straightened from the lax stances they had adopted. “It is time, Fitz.” Richard’s voice shook slightly. He cleared his throat. “Damn me if you are not the most fortunate of men! You know I would knock you over the head if I thought otherwise.” They all laughed at that but sobered quickly as Richard took his cousin’s hand in a tight grip. “I have never seen a couple more suited in the usual respects, but the depth of emotion you share…” He paused. “Well, it gives me hope.” He released Darcy’s hand and added with a grin, “And now that you are off the marriage mart…”

“Move along, there, you!” His Lordship shouldered Richard roughly aside with a laugh and offered Darcy his hand as well. “My good friend.” Dy’s smile turned into a solemn yet affectionate regard as he looked him squarely in the eye. “I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am for this day.”

“Dy…” Deeply moved, Darcy began to thank him; but Brougham cut him off.

“No, allow me to finish.” Dy breathed in deeply. “Fitz, I have valued your friendship, envied you your good family, and generally admired you since we first met, you know. But this last year I have watched as you were shaken to your very core. I love you, Fitz, but you were in great need of something that would shake you out of your damned cool complacency. Thank God, it was love” — Dy swallowed hard — “and the love of an extraordinary woman that did so.”

Darcy gripped his shoulder. “If you had not confronted me…”

“For what other use is a friend?” Dy whispered and, stepping back, glanced at the mantel clock. “Now, it truly is time.” He gripped Darcy’s hand even tighter. “There were moments when I almost despaired, but you, my friend, faced the worst a man’s mirror can reflect and have shown yourself one of the best men I have the privilege of knowing.” He then smiled broadly and with a wave of an elegant hand commanded, “Off with you now! Claim your bride, for you have won her heart in the best possible manner.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church…”

They were all there: those who loved him and those whom he loved in turn: Georgiana, his Matlock relations,