Epilogue Chapter 1

East Sitting Room

Rosings

April, 1814

Anne de Bourgh leaned back in her chair by the window and gazed down adoringly at the four week old baby girl in her arms, who was sleeping soundly.

It still astonished her at times that she had not only fallen pregnant, but successfully carried a baby to term and delivered with relative ease. Though she had been nauseous at the beginning and constantly tired, that had passed after six weeks. She had certainly been bulbous near the end, too, but there was none of the debilitating illness she had been warned about. Lady Catherine had gone into a passion upon finding out that Anne was in the family way, yelling loudly enough to be heard out into the corridors about how dangerous it was, how ill Anne would be, and what a fool Anne had been to allow herself to become pregnant. This was, of course, especially ironic given that Lady Catherine had tried to force Anne to marry Darcy, whereupon the expectation was that Anne would bear an heir for Pemberley and Rosings. But obviously, Anne's marriage to Alexander Sinclair had been without her mother's permission, and thus Lady Catherine had chosen to scream and howl about her daughter's pregnancy.

Thankfully, Alexander never hesitated in having his mother-in-law removed from Rosings whenever Lady Catherine became disruptive, just as he had not hesitated to remove Lady Catherine from the Rosings mansion directly after his marriage to Anne. Life at Rosings had become so pleasant with Lady Catherine banished to the Dower House. No longer did Anne drift about the corridors or lie limply in her room, feeling pale and thin and listless. She strode briskly, her limbs unencumbered by the weight of the laudanum Lady Catherine had always pressed on her, and played the pianoforte, and sat in the sunshine beside open windows soaking in the healthful air as she read through book after book from the old Rosings library. It was not Kent that had kept her in indifferent health, for she strolled through the gardens now, the air and the sunshine beneficial. No, it had been entirely Lady Catherine's domineering ways, autocratic temper, and foolish dependence on old Doctor Bamber.

Anne's husband had been her rock and a pillar of strength throughout the entire affair. Alexander's love bore her up any time Lady Catherine grew too challenging, his resolve unyielding as a stone fortress as he stood between his more delicate wife and her overbearing mother. Ever since Lady Catherine's conniption fit upon finding out about her impending grandchild, Alexander had refused to allow Anne to be alone with her mother. The servants stood under strict orders to not admit her to Anne's presence when Mr. Sinclair was not also present. If she were to try to force her way in, he was to be fetched directly, with no concern of any other matters occupying him.

Anne relished the ease with which her husband handled Lady Catherine and marveled over it, too. Alexander's father was a mild-mannered country squire, and his mother was sweet and sensible. Sinclair had never had much call to practice the sternness he now displayed, yet not even Lady Catherine's greatest displeasure swayed him; he was not remotely intimidated.

Anne could scarcely imagine such courage. Her mother had only to show signs of growing angry, and her spirit shrank before Lady Catherine's vituperative disapproval. It did not help at all to know that Lady Catherine no longer held any power over her; she still quailed in the face of the older woman's rage. Her life beneath Lady Catherine's sway had left its mark. But it did not matter; her husband, tender and protective, stood tirelessly between her and her mother, and she overflowed with gratitude each time.

The door opened, and Mr. Sinclair entered with a smile.

"Good morning, my dear," he said, walking over and kissing first his wife's cheek, then his daughter's downy head, and then sitting down next to his family. "How are you both today?"

"We are very well," Anne said. "Susannah slept well last night. How is the Smiths' boy?"

Her husband's expression darkened, and he said, "The poor lad broke his leg. I just returned from the Smiths' cottage and helped Mr. Hardison hold the child down while we set the leg. Poor boy – I was thankful for the laudanum as it did mitigate his pain."

Anne's bosom filled with affection for her kind husband. Rosings thrived under his tender care, not only the land, but her people, too. Lady Catherine had always seemed full of contempt for those who worked her fields, and to call a doctor for a tenant's child would never have crossed her mind. To suggest that she actually lower herself to assist in tending the offspring of the lower classes would have been the rankest insult.

But Alexander saw his new position much differently than the previous mistress of Rosings had. Rather than the leisure and privileges that owning such an estate afforded, he was acutely conscious of his duties. His compassion was easily roused at the sight of suffering, and he would think nothing of rolling up his shirt sleeves and holding a child to set and cast a broken bone.

"That poor child," Anne murmured, and tears slid down her face. For all her happiness, she found herself crying quite often. There was something about having a baby that made her weep, sometimes from joy, sometimes from sorrow.

"Mr. Hardison is a very gifted doctor," her husband said reassuringly, "and the child should heal well. Mrs. Leeson was at the cottage when I left, and she promised to visit the family often and bring food as needed."

Anne nodded in approval. The Leesons had only been in the Hunsford living for a mere two years, but already they had proven invaluable to Rosings. Mrs. Leeson was hard working, carrying food and blankets and clothing to the tenants, along with being a faithful mother to the couple's own two young children. Mr. Leeson, likewise, was unhesitating any time he was called, day or night, no matter what hour it was, whether the issue was a sudden illness or an accident or aid in freeing a trapped animal.

Alexander had asked her, shortly before their marriage, if his cousin, who was also ordained, might have the living at Hunsford. Alexander had described Mr. Leeson as an honest man, with a warm humor, a good mind, and a kindly heart. Anne had agreed, trusting the judgment of her betrothed, and she had never regretted that decision. The Leesons were inarguably an improvement over Hunsford's previous resident. Collins was a kind man, but his intelligence was not extravagant, and Anne had found his sycophantic flattery a dead bore. The Leesons were bright and interesting people, and Anne enjoyed shared dinners at Rosings and sometimes at the parsonage as well.

The baby chose this moment to open her blue eyes and squawk with outraged hunger. Anne glanced at her maid, who had risen, and said, "I will nurse her, Polly. Would you please fetch me some water?"

"Of course, Madame."

Within a minute, the child was suckling enthusiastically, and Anne, leaning up against her husband, thought that life could not possibly be better than this.

/

Drawing Room

Longbourn

After Noon

"Oh, he is beautiful!" Elizabeth Darcy exclaimed, looking down on the infant, well wrapped in a blanket and nestled in her sister Mary's arms.

"Thank you, Cousin Elizabeth," Mr. Collins replied, his face beaming with pleasure. "We are so very blessed!"

The door opened at this juncture to reveal a little dark-haired moppet, followed by a nursemaid.

"Papa!" the girl cried out and rushed over to Mr. Collins, who swung the child into his arms and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Did you have a good nap, Bella?" he asked, running a hand through her hair.

"I slep'. Is brudher seeping?"

"Yes, Lewis is sleeping, darling," Mary said in a besotted tone. "Do you wish to sit next to me?"

Elizabeth retreated a few feet in order to allow her small niece to climb up on the settee beside her mother, and she looked around with joyful contemplation.

When she had been a child, this room had seemed delightfully large. As she had grown, it had seemed to shrink, and when there were visitors, it sometimes felt quite small and crowded.

But never had it felt so full – so joyously full – as it did today, except perhaps for the day of the wedding breakfast for Jane and Mary. The entire family was gathered, not only the Collinses, master and mistress of Longbourn, but all of the Bennets and former Bennets as well. Mrs. Bennet traveled a great deal these months, moving from daughter to daughter, wherever she would be useful. Much of her time was divided between staying with Jane, now living at Greenhaven with her husband and children, and at Pemberley with Elizabeth. But as Mary had grown more ponderous as her due date approached, her mother had returned to Longbourn to assist with more strenuous tasks. Mary had leaned into this aid gratefully, leaving more and more of the running of the household in her mother's eminently capable hands. Even after her confinement, the house had run along smoothly, Mrs. Bennet's wisdom and knowledge of her daughter's ways keeping the household in good order.

Mrs. Bennet would be staying on at Longbourn for the foreseeable future, ably deputizing for her daughter and son-in-law as Mary recovered and William, a most attentive husband and father, hovered over his wife and small children. Elizabeth's family and Jane's were only passing through, however, ultimately on their way to London for the Season. Two debutantes traveled with them; Georgiana and Kitty, both eighteen, would be making their bows to society that spring. Lydia, though not yet old enough to be out, was traveling with them. She and Kitty both had spent the greater part of the year with Elizabeth and her family.

Mr. Collins, a generous cousin and brother-in-law, made sure Longbourn's doors were always open to the family who had formerly dwelt in those halls. And, indeed, sometimes Kitty and Lydia would return to the home of their nativity. But Mr. Collins, full of genuine concern for his young relations, would frequently buttonhole them and expound at length on the injurious nature of frivolous novels, the necessity of improving their impressionable young minds, and how Lady Catherine thought that proficiency on the pianoforte – brought about, of course, by considerable practice on the instrument – was of far greater importance to a young lady than was sketching. Kitty, by nature timid and gentle, would shrink anxiously before these well-meant lectures, nodding along with an admirable desire to do better. Lydia, more strong-willed, chafed beneath their brother-in-law's prosy interference and hailed with relief and eagerness any invitation to visit her other married sisters.

Having stayed most recently at Pemberley, she had traveled down with the Darcy party, though the Bingleys had joined them on the road early in the journey. Jane, like Elizabeth, did not return often to Longbourn, though she was currently less caught up in nostalgia than her next younger sister. Indeed, she was enjoying a comfortable chat with Charlotte – Lucas no longer – both women seated awkwardly on the couch to accommodate their rotund abdomens. A London businessman, by the name of Ewan Stokes, well-blessed with a strong business acumen, had accrued himself an impressive fortune and bought Netherfield outright from its increasingly elderly and disinterested owners. Upon coming to Meryton to meet his new neighbors, he had discovered in Sir William a kindred spirit of similar circumstances, and found in Miss Lucas an eminently practical, sensible woman, with a kind heart and a ready knowledge of how to run a household. Their courtship had been of short duration, and Charlotte had accepted his proposal readily. Marriage and pregnancy agreed with her, Elizabeth thought. Charlotte would never be handsome, but she glowed with happiness. Elizabeth was certain that her friend was an exemplary mistress to the servants and tenants of Netherfield.

Only one familiar face was missing. Mrs. Montgomery, not yet forty and still quite pretty, had accompanied her young charges on a visit to Pemberley and there encountered the new vicar at Kympton, one Mr. Barnes. A childless widower for some years, he had been enchanted at once by Mrs. Montgomery's keen wit and effortless control of her lively charges. She dwelt now at Kympton, as excellent a preacher's wife for the tenants there as she had been a governess to the Bennets. Elizabeth enjoyed their regular visits, but it was undeniably strange to be back in the old familiar drawing room without their former governess with them.

The door opened at this juncture, and Elizabeth looked over and found herself smiling broadly at the sight of her husband, who stood several inches taller than any other man in the room. He glanced around, obviously in search of her, and then wended his way through the clusters of relatives and friends to her side.

"Ought you to sit down?" he asked worriedly, glancing at her bulging abdomen.

"I would rather stand; we were in the carriage for some hours today, after all. How is Esther?"

"She and Giles are both half asleep in your mother's lap; she is rocking them in the nursery."

"Oh, that is not necessary. Esther falls asleep on her own now, and Jane assures me that Giles is an excellent sleeper as well."

"Mrs. Bennet informed me, very firmly, that since she missed the last four months of their lives, she insists on spending some peaceful time with her grandchildren."

"Well, she has every right to do that," Elizabeth agreed and turned as Charlotte, beaming happily, approached with an unfamiliar man at her side. Based on the familiarity of the couple, this must be Mr. Stokes.

"My dear Elizabeth," Charlotte exclaimed, "I did not want to interrupt you when you were inspecting your new nephew. You look wonderful."

"Thank you, dear friend. You look wonderful, too. Would you please introduce your husband to me and my husband?"

"With pleasure. Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, my husband, Mr. Ewan Stokes. Ewan, my friend Mrs. Darcy and her husband, Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth managed a curtsey in spite of her bulk, and the two gentlemen bowed.

"I hope you are finding Netherfield Hall to your liking?" Darcy asked civilly.

Mr. Stokes smiled broadly and said, "Indeed, I do! I find it a wonderful property, and it is conveniently close to London and my business. I have several underlings who can manage the day-to-day activities, but sometimes I am required for signing papers and conducting meetings."

"I understand entirely," Elizabeth remarked. "My Uncle Gardiner would like to move into the country for the sake of his family, but he is not yet ready to make that decision, as he is needed so often to be within a few minutes of his warehouses."

"There are small estates quite close to Town," Mr. Stoke said. "Indeed, while Netherfield was the best that I toured…"

The conversation continued on in this vein for some minutes until the door opened to reveal Mrs. Bennet and several servants with tea, fruit, and scones. Everyone took their places, and within minutes, everyone was eating and drinking, talking and laughing.

Elizabeth, glancing over the room, could not help but be thankful. Less than three years previously, the Bennet ladies had been facing a difficult and uncertain future. Now, with three daughters safely married, with their irascible and unpleasant father dead and mourned, they were happy and full of hope.