Epilogue
October 1838
It is good to be home, Darcy thought as he strolled through Pemberley. He had no purpose in mind other than exercise. It was drizzling, which precluded outdoor activity. Besides, he should remain readily disposable to Elizabeth. She might require his opinion or simply his company, and despite all the years of their marriage, he hated the thought of disappointing her, even if it was a matter of her having to wait an hour or two to speak to him. He appreciated her efforts to include him in her current occupation—making final arrangements for the wedding of their daughter—but truth be told, he was happy to leave it to her and the other ladies.
It had been a busy year thus far, and they had returned to Derbyshire less than a week ago after having travelled south in the spring. Their first stop had been Meryton. Two of Elizabeth’s sisters currently lived there—Mary, now the wife of the town’s attorney, and Lydia. The latter had returned to her childhood home to live with Mary after Wickham had been killed in a brawl just before their tenth wedding anniversary. To everyone’s surprise, the sisters had done well together, and presently their bond was almost as strong as that of Elizabeth and Jane. Fortunately, Lydia and Wickham had not been blessed with children, and she had told Elizabeth—who then told Darcy—that it was a relief to be free of a marriage that had become, in her words, ‘disagreeable’. Three years after becoming a widow, she had married one of Charlotte Collins’s younger brothers and appeared satisfied with her choice. Elizabeth had corresponded with Lydia for years, but it was only after Wickham’s demise that they met again.
After spending a week in Meryton, Elizabeth, Darcy, and their four children had gone to town. During their months there, they had visited the newly opened National Gallery and celebrated the coronation of Queen Victoria. Darcy had experienced riding one of the country’s great new railways; it had been equally exhilarating and terrifying. In many ways, it was a marvellous time to be alive. All around him, he saw progress—new discoveries that promised to change the lives of everyone in England. It was a shame to see some of the old ways fading into history—and he much preferred the ladies’ fashions of earlier times, although Elizabeth looked beautiful no matter what she wore.
Tomorrow, the first of their children would be married. Jane Anne, aged twenty, was the Darcys’ only daughter. ‘Jenny’ to her family, she was marrying Bingley and Jane’s son, Bennet, who had been born a year after his sister Frances. Since his new son was also his nephew, Darcy’s role was slightly confusing. His middle son, Thomas, would say it was old age nipping at his heels, but he had only recently turned four-and-fifty and felt ‘old age’ was a few years away still. Though I might feel differently the day I become a grandfather.
“There you are, my love.”
The unexpected sound of another’s voice made Darcy jump in shock. He turned to see Elizabeth walking towards him, one hand already outstretched. He took it in his when she was near enough and pulled it to his mouth for a kiss. This morning, she wore a deep-blue gown that seemed to accentuate the richness of her hair—despite the odd grey strand—and the brightness of her eyes, in which he could still easily become lost.
“Were you looking for me?” he asked.
“Always.” She smiled, her look one of love and teasing.
“I have been walking the corridors since I knew you would disapprove of me taking my exercise out of doors.”
“If only we might. I do hope the rain ends today. I would like our girl to have a perfect wedding day.”
Darcy wrapped her arm around his and led her towards the portrait gallery. She had been as excellent a mother to their four children as he had supposed she would be. In addition to their daughter and Thomas, they had two other boys, Hugh—named in honour of Darcy’s own father—and Edward.
“If it is raining, we could always put it off,” he grumbled. It had become something of a family joke that he was reluctant to give away his daughter, even to his nephew, whom he had known and loved his whole life.
Elizabeth laughed. “If I believed you were serious, I would give you a long lecture as to why that is never going to happen. Goodness, Jenny would not speak to you for a decade if you even suggested such a measure to her.”
Darcy chuckled. He had accepted the young couple’s wish to marry even though he believed Jenny might do better to wait until she was a year or two older. She and Bennet Bingley had seemed destined for the altar since they were adolescents, and Darcy’s initial reluctance to grant his permission and blessing had ended abruptly when Elizabeth had challenged him to name the age at which he would be pleased to see his only daughter leave his care in favour of another man’s. The answer had been never, and he knew that would be unfair and absurd.
“Is everything prepared to your satisfaction?” he asked.
“It is. Rooms for our guests are ready, Cook and I have reviewed the menu for dinner, and he promises everything at the wedding breakfast will be exactly as it should be. I have just come from Jenny. She had to try on her gown again because she was certain it would not fit—why, I do not know—but she seems reassured that she will be the most beautiful bride in history. Bennet will believe so, and that is all that truly matters to her.”
“I am in a quandary,” Darcy said. When Elizabeth gave him a quizzical look, he continued. “I have always believed you were the most beautiful bride ever. I could never say that to my daughter and have her think I consider her less lovely than her mother, which I do not, but how do I explain that to her? I am not sure I can sort it out myself. You are both beautiful to me but in different ways.”
As they slowly strolled through the gallery, she rested her head against his shoulder. “You are a silly man.”
When she said nothing further, he asked whether she intended to offer him counsel.
“I do not.” She spoke each word carefully and stopped walking so that she could stand in front of him, holding both his hands. “I have spent all morning soothing our daughter’s anxious nerves and offering her advice, and I am afraid, my darling husband, I have no more to give. Ask me again after dinner, and I might be sufficiently restocked by then to make a pithy comment or two.” She kissed him.
“Where is Jenny now?”
“With Georgiana. I do not know what she has planned, but she assured me she would distract Jenny for the next hour or two. She has always had a wonderfully calming effect on the children, and I am glad it has lasted as they became adults.”
Darcy agreed. His sister had remained single, always afraid of what the trials of marriage and motherhood would do to her well-being. She had attracted many admirers over the years, and once, Elizabeth and he had believed she might change her mind and marry a gentleman she had grown attached to, but she had been firm in her resolve that the risk was too great. Instead, she had remained a contented, healthy, dearly loved aunt; she was almost a second mother to Darcy and Elizabeth’s four children.
Georgiana had experienced the occasional ‘difficult period’ as they called them over the years, none more challenging than when their aunt Lady Romsley had died and the old earl had followed her less than a year later. But his sister had drawn on her family for support—Elizabeth especially—and the helpful practices she had learnt in the past. Darcy had developed an interest in medical advances, determined to be aware of new treatments that might aid his sister. It was an interest his youngest son had adopted, and Elizabeth suspected he would, as she said, ‘do something with it’ when he finished university. What exactly that would mean, time would tell. Edward had a scholarly mind and might choose to undertake research into the causes and cures of mental illness, which would please Darcy and make him exceedingly proud. Not that he would tell his son that, lest he adopt a career he did not truly want just to earn his father’s approbation.
“When will our guests arrive?” Darcy asked. Apart from the Larch Lane contingent—Jane, Bingley, their five daughters and one son—their family from Romsley Hall would join them to celebrate the first wedding amongst the younger generation. Unfortunately, Darcy’s cousin Fitzwilliam was currently abroad with his Italian wife and their two young children.
“They should be here in about two hours.”
“Where are the boys?”
“Thomas and Edward chose to accompany Hugh on the calls you asked him to make.” There were a couple of neighbours he had business with or messages for, and one of them had to see the vicar to ensure he was prepared to perform the wedding ceremony. Darcy had asked Hugh to undertake the tasks since, eventually, such responsibilities would rest on his shoulders.
Darcy slowly smiled. “Do you mean to suggest I have you all to myself for the next two hours?”
Pleasure and love filled his beloved wife’s countenance. “It does. What do you intend to do about it, my darling Mr Darcy?”
He answered her with a kiss.