Epilogue

August 1, 1812

It was well past dark, but Darcy was close enough now that he shunned the idea of stopping at an inn for the night—had the moon been more than a slim crescent, he would have abandoned the brougham altogether and raced swiftly for home.

He could tell, however, by the speed of his carriage, that Frost—his coachman, who knew this section of road well enough to drive it blindfolded—was anxious for his own quarters as well.

Leaving Elizabeth for the first time since their wedding seven months previous had been difficult. However, the regiment had departed Meryton, and since Mr and Mrs Bingley had recently left on their wedding trip, and would thereafter be giving up the Netherfield lease in favour of an estate a mere thirty miles from Pemberley, Longbourn had grown rather dull. To prevent her father from acceding to Lydia’s wishes for a holiday in Brighton with the Forsters, Elizabeth had invited Kitty and Lydia to come to Pemberley and enjoy the rest of the summer with her instead.

To his surprise, Georgiana had been an excellent influence upon the two, clearly able to assert her authority as leader of their little trio. “I just try to do and say what I think Elizabeth would do or say,” she had confided to him.

Georgiana seemed completely—more than completely—over the hurt of George Wickham. When Darcy had let be known even a small part of the lieutenant’s past misconduct, he had soon lost face in Meryton and deserted his regiment. No one had heard of him in a long while, and Darcy wished to keep it so.

Whilst in London, he had been eager to relay the news of Georgiana’s excellent spirits to Fitzwilliam, and had spent some time visiting with his cousin and his betrothed. Happily, the colonel’s betrothed was not Anne de Bourgh, and this, too, could be attributed to Elizabeth. He had taken her to town after their wedding, of course, where she had almost immediately acquired a number of good friends—not ton leaders, per se, but persons of fine character and wit, in whose company he was pleased to be. One of those was an heiress named Miss Sarah Bentley, whose father was the Earl of Hampton’s heir presumptive. Elizabeth had immediately fixed upon her as the ideal match for Colonel Fitzwilliam and it had not taken long before they both saw it as well. He and Elizabeth would be travelling to town in the autumn for their wedding, but the Matlock and Hampton contingents—as well as the Gardiners—would be coming to Pemberley for the grouse.

For Pemberley had become an active, lively home again, a perception he had not experienced since long before the death of his father. His wife had not left her mark in ways overpowering—she had not immediately commenced redecorating the great house, for instance, although he had told her she should do as she pleased. At times, he still felt a bit guilty for answering her honestly, when she had asked him exactly how her lack of a settlement from her father would affect him in practical terms. The only reason he had done so was to assure her that he was not entering their union blindly or thoughtlessly, and that he had more than enough to provide liberally for her regardless—as well as to ensure she understood that he knew how much more valuable she was to him than any worldly goods.

Even in finance, however, her presence in his life had only improved it. His reasons for the trip to town included meeting with Mr Gardiner to finalise the contract sales from the Darcy Blue John mines with an exclusive buyer, which would more than double profitability, whilst guaranteeing those working them a greater income. He had never dreamt, when he first learnt of Elizabeth’s relations in Cheapside, how those very connexions he had disdained would stabilise and prosper his world. He could not wait to tell her.

Despite her current lack of great expenditure, there were little touches of her everywhere, from the delicately stitched pillows in their favourite parlour, to his mother’s sketches she’d had framed and placed in her own chambers and in Georgiana’s. He could hardly wait to see her again, to hold her again, to love her again; he could hardly believe his good fortune in winning her hand.

Darcy found it the only thing which made his absence from Elizabeth bearable—the exquisite rejuvenation of joy at returning, home, to her. Home.

Of course, by the time they drew up Pemberley’s drive, it was long past midnight. He had not known quite when his business would be complete, and she was a creature of the morning, usually retiring early when they were in the country. She would be sound asleep by now. Still, he felt a deep relief to be here where he ought to be.

Once in his dressing room, he shucked his jacket and neckcloth with the help of Pennywithers and sent him off to bed. Quietly he finished disrobing and left his dressing chamber. Elizabeth would be asleep, but he must at least see her—prove for his peace of mind that she was real and whole and yet his.

His room was dark except for the low flame of coals recently freshened in his fireplace, a sign that Elizabeth had had servants watching for his arrival. He crept over to the connecting door in the panelling, and thought of the stupid dream which had heralded his first proposal. The memory was no longer a humiliating one, because Elizabeth had begun to fall in love with him from that very vulnerable moment, she had told him. Still, a silly pang of anxiety snaked over him as he reached for the knob.

In that moment, he heard it—a soft snore, coming from the direction of his own bed. Smiling, he turned away from the door and crept quietly to the bed, pulling the curtains back enough so that he could see her dear face within the golden dimness.

She took his breath away.

His body was on fire for her, naturally, but he would not wake her for the world. Nevertheless, he would tell her how he felt without disturbing her slumber, in case it made her dreams easier.

“I love you,” he whispered, so quietly he could barely hear himself. “My treasure, my heart.” Carefully, as gently as he could, he bent to place a soft kiss upon her cheek.

The next moment, her arms were wrapped about him as she pulled him close. “You are back,” she sighed happily. “Welcome home, my darling.”