28. Epilogue

Epilogue

Christmas 1812 Pemberley

P emberley was alive.

Darcy stood at the edge of the drawing room, his hand resting lightly on the doorframe as he watched the room hum with life. Laughter rose and fell, echoing against the high ceilings that had too often amplified silence. But Darcy’s eyes were not fixed on the people—welcome as they were to him—but rather on the grand fir tree that had once stood in the wood behind the house. It now graced the center of the ballroom, trimmed with ribbons and fruits and carefully guarded candles, its boughs stretching nearly to the chandelier.

They would be lucky if the bloody thing did not burn the house down. Elizabeth had insisted on the tree, smiling mischievously as she told him all about this outrageous German custom she had read about. Did they really bring a tree into the house every winter? Probably not, but she said they did, and that she thought it was a fine new tradition to begin for their first Christmas at Pemberley.

He had indulged her, of course. He always would.

Across the room, Elizabeth was speaking with Mrs. Gardiner, her hands dancing as she described some small, clever detail of the evening. She had always spoken with her hands, though it had taken him months to notice. Probably because he had been lost in her eyes, in her smile. Now, he saw it in every gesture. He had memorized every detail of her, and it had been some while since he had confessed to himself that the greatest pleasure and conquest of his life was the year he had spent glorying in the company and companionship of his wife.

And Pemberley… good heavens, but it was good to be home again. It had seemed so empty to him before, but bringing Elizabeth into its halls as its mistress had made it his home once more. She belonged here, even more than he did—belonged in every corner of this house, her presence weaving itself into the fabric of Pemberley as if she had always been a part of it.

His throat tightened. For years, he had avoided this place, letting his promise to Bingley and the weight of old arguments push him toward London, toward “greatness,” toward something he had believed might ease the ache of his father’s disapproval or repay the “debt” he felt he still owed.

Instead, he had found purpose. And now, with Elizabeth at his side, he had found balance.

“Penny for your thoughts, Darcy.”

Darcy turned as Mr. Bennet passed him, a book in his hand, as he moved toward the hearth to settle into a chair. “You look positively burdened by sentiment. Do not let it overpower you; I am told it is not becoming.”

Darcy followed his father-in-law, easing into another chair as he allowed himself a small smile. “Sentiment does not often get the better of me, sir.”

“Ah, but marriage does strange things to a man, does it not? Though I daresay Elizabeth has done you good.” Bennet leaned back, settling deeper into the leather as he opened his book. “She has done good for Pemberley too. Perhaps you have even begun to see what all the fuss was about when you brought her here.”

Darcy inclined his head, unwilling to argue. “Pemberley is better for her presence. I would not deny it.”

“Wise of you.” Bennet’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “My favorite son-in-law—er, that would be Bingley, you understand—”

Darcy coughed, and Bennet only grinned unrepentantly.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I daresay Bingley is well pleased to see you looking so settled. Says he never had a holiday in eight years until you found ‘something else’ to distract you. And in the last year, he has had three—one to Scotland for his honeymoon, one to Bath for yet another honeymoon, and… good heavens, where was that last one?”

“Portugal,” Darcy said with a chuckle. “He claimed he was inspecting a new wine merchant for a prospective contract, but I think they spent the entire holiday sea bathing. Perhaps he did sample a bit more of that wine than was necessary, but I have seen no new contract.”

Bennet chuckled. “Well, well, that is all very fine. As for me, well—I will rest easy knowing that my Lizzy has found a man who can almost meet her expectations.”

Darcy’s lips twitched. “High praise.”

“Make of it what you will.” Bennet tipped his head in a mock salute before turning his attention back to his book.

Darcy’s gaze shifted to where Bingley and Mr. Gardiner stood in quiet conversation near the windows. He would get no more out of Bennet just now, so he rose and joined them, noting the open ledger resting on the table between them. Bingley looked up, his face brightening with a grin.

“Darcy, come—Gardiner has just suggested an addition to the plan for the new estate. We are still calling it Ashford House, are we not? Anyway, take a look at this. I think it is a brilliant idea.”

Mr. Gardiner chuckled softly. “Your friend is too kind. I merely observed that the grounds might support both a workshop and a small school. It would allow the children to continue their learning alongside practical work.”

Darcy considered this. The Yorkshire estate Bingley spoke of was newly purchased and still unoccupied. He and Bingley had envisioned it as a place of refuge and education, modeled after Sir Thomas Ashford’s efforts at Netherfield. It was meant to honor the man who had given them so much, even if Sir Thomas himself could not be persuaded to leave his own Christmas traditions to come advise them on this new venture.

“Practical and aspirational,” Darcy said after a moment. “It fits the vision well.”

Gardiner smiled, clearly pleased. “And I must commend you both. It is no small thing to dedicate such a property to this work. Sir Thomas would be proud.”

Bingley laughed. “Sir Thomas would insist on touring the grounds himself before offering an opinion, but I like to think he would approve.”

Darcy allowed himself a rare smile. “He would. And he would not hesitate to suggest improvements.”

“Then, if you like this notion, I will go and write some letters at once. I assume you will want to begin work as soon as the ground thaws?”

“The sooner, the better,” Darcy said.

“I thought you would say that.” Gardiner excused himself, leaving Darcy and Bingley alone by the window. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, gazing out at the snow-covered grounds of Pemberley.

“You have done well, Darcy,” Bingley said finally, his voice thoughtful. “Pemberley suits you.”

Darcy glanced at his friend. “It has always been home.”

“Perhaps,” Bingley said, turning to face him fully. “But now it feels like you are truly here .”

“You mean, rather than managing our affairs as I should be?”

Bingley shrugged. “We have enough money. But life, Darcy—you cannot buy the sort of contentment I see on your face these days.”

Darcy huffed in silent agreement. For years, Pemberley had been a place of memory and obligation. Now, with Elizabeth, it was something more.

“I believe, Mr. Darcy, that you are shirking your duties as host.”

Darcy turned to see Elizabeth standing just a few steps away, her expression bright with teasing.

“I was engaged in business of great importance. But I find myself inclined to address more pressing matters.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “And what pressing matters are those?”

He stepped closer, reaching for her hand. “You, of course.” Bingley cleared his throat behind them, but Darcy did not look back.

“Excuse us, Bingley,” he said. “I have very important business to attend to.”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled as he led her from the room. When they reached the quiet of the hall, he turned to her, his hand still wrapped around hers.

“Elizabeth,” he began softly, “thank you for bringing life back to this house. And to me.”

She smiled up at him. “It is Christmas, Mr. Darcy. It is what the season does best.”

K eep reading for more of Darcy and Elizabeth’s Christmas adventures in How to Get Caught Under the Mistletoe and The Scotsman's Ghost !