Epilogue

Epilogue

April 20, 1822

In the mistress's rarely used bedchamber at Pemberley, while Elizabeth and Benjamin slept, Darcy attempted to attend to his book.

It was a futile effort. Try as he might, he could not concentrate on Virgil's Georgics . What were ancient agricultural verses to one's newborn son?

Setting aside the poem, he carefully moved towards the cradle to peer yet again at the precious, dark-haired bundle nestled therein. Could life possibly supply any greater felicity than this? Crouching, he set the rockers in gentle motion.

He was no novice to fatherhood. The infant was their fourth child and second son. Following each birth, Darcy's heart had filled to overflowing with love and gratitude for his extraordinary wife—mother of Anna, William, Isabelle, and little Benjamin.

At a rustle of bedclothes and a whimper from across the room, he rushed to Elizabeth's side.

"Fitzwilliam, have the Brintons arrived?" Drowsy, she shifted on the mattress and grimaced. "My timing—or rather, our perfect but impatient son's early arrival—could not have occurred during a more inconvenient week."

Darcy placed a lingering kiss upon his wife's forehead, then took his seat at her bedside. "Rest easy, my love. The travellers have yet to arrive. However, while their husbands play poorly at billiards, Georgiana and Jane have everything and everyone under good regulation—with the assistance of one governess, two nursery maids, and our new housekeeper-in-training, all under the watchful eye of dear old Mrs Reynolds. At present, my dear Mrs Darcy, your only duties are to recover and, of course, to nourish Ben." Drawing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss upon Elizabeth's fingers.

Elizabeth held fast to Darcy's hand. "I am certain time means little at all to the Brintons. They, Dubois, and Gilchrist are dictated to by clocks only when they must catch a ship or some such conveyance. As Anne has written, our time on earth is far too short. Life is to be lived in the present. Tomorrow holds no guarantees."

As well I know. Each of his intrepid wife's labours to bring a child into the world had filled Darcy with terror.

"What is the time?" Elizabeth squinted at the clock upon the mantel. "Anne promised they would arrive today."

"'Tis not yet eleven." Darcy stood and fussed with her coverlet. "Sleep now, my darling. Anne will no doubt dash up here to see you before a maid can even remove her pelisse. By the bye, our little Anna hopes, in her own words, ‘Mr and Mrs Brinton will come bearing gifts from afar'."

Elizabeth sighed. "I suppose that is my fault for telling Anna about Rara Avis and its many treasures. I also read to her the Brintons' descriptions of lands of incredible sights, sounds, and smells." Rubbing sleepy eyes, she mumbled, "Briny sea breezes in Tuscany…cinnamon and saffron in Constantinople…the clean, crisp, piney air of the Swiss Alps…"

Darcy bent and placed another kiss on Elizabeth's brow as she drifted towards slumber. "I shall take you to all those places one day, my dearest love."

Hours later, propped up against downy pillows while suckling Benjamin, Elizabeth took a sip of barley water and listened to Anne Brinton—née de Bourgh—who sat upon the bedside chair.

"Benjamin is beautiful, truly. You know I never wanted children of my own, but Laurence and I are honoured that you and Darcy asked us, along with Mr Bingley, to be Ben's godparents. I am certain we shall spoil him terribly."

"Indeed. I have heard about the rocking horse, the pewter soldiers, and a toy theatre complete with scenery. Anna was thrilled with the doll you brought her and all the little gowns for it. I particularly liked hearing about the gold one with floral embroidery in metallic threads." Elizabeth gave her a pointed look.

"Hah! I should like to claim credit for that, but Dubois made it with, I believe, some old scrap of fabric from the year twelve." Anne heaved a sigh. "Can you credit the passage of exactly a decade since my celebratory ball?"

"Not at all." Elizabeth stifled a yawn. "Yet, so much has happened in both our lives during those intervening years." Benjamin's nurse lifted the sleeping babe from his mother's loving arms. "Remind me again of what transpired that night at Rosings. Especially," Elizabeth added with a grin, "while your cousin and I were more agreeably engaged in the sewing room."

"Humph! You mean while I was worried sick about what might have been keeping the two of you." Anne winked, then poured herself a glass of Elizabeth's citrus-flavoured barley water.

"A maid should be here directly with refreshments."

"No, no. This is fine. Now, as I remember it, while most of my guests were in high revel, I asked Mrs Jenkinson to have my mother meet me in Father's old sitting room. When her ladyship arrived and had taken a seat, I told her I was to be wed. Ecstatic, she assumed I meant to Darcy. When I said, ‘No, not my cousin,' Mother flew into a rage."

Anne set aside her glass, and in a credible imitation of Lady Catherine's voice, cried, "‘Heaven and earth, child! You cannot wed a man of inferior birth and no importance in the world. This match, to which Gilchrist has the audacity to aspire, can never take place. Such an alliance would be a disgrace. Honour, decorum, and prudence forbid it. I am ashamed of you for even thinking it.' My scheme had gone according to plan, but I felt dreadful all the same. ‘No, Mother,' I said to her, ‘not Gilchrist.'

"My mother was at once both relieved and suspicious, and she asked, ‘ Who , then?' Laurence must have been waiting outside the door because he walked in then and bowed to her ladyship. His tailcoat was open, and his thumbs were hooked in the pockets of the indigo waistcoat—the one I had taken from Darcy's dressing room and lovingly embroidered with golden threads. It had been my engagement gift for him."

Elizabeth nodded. "Ah yes, those infamous golden threads."

The maid entered with a tea tray, and Anne poured two cups and passed one to Elizabeth. "Laurence had liked the waistcoat and praised my embroidery skills. Later, though, when he discovered from whence those golden threads had come, he helped me understand why parfilage was wrong. People far less fortunate than I had toiled long hours to create the beautiful tapestries, curtains, cushions, and such that I so thoughtlessly ruined. Similarly, on our trips abroad, my husband disparages travellers who purloin another country's antiquities."

Elizabeth reached over and squeezed Anne's hand. "As you once told me, Mr Brinton is a rare bird."

"Oh, that he is! Laurence thinks highly of you, Elizabeth, but back then his interest in you was a ruse, as was mine in Gilchrist. Of course, Mother was put out that I was to wed Brinton, not Darcy. Her ladyship did not care for the master of Rara Avis. He was too free-spirited for her liking. She, however, could not object as violently to a wealthy gentleman as she had to a gardener. The scheme Laurence, Gilchrist, and I had concocted—the impression of a liaison with my master gardener—had succeeded. I would have married Laurence nevertheless, with or without Mother's consent. I was twenty-one years of age then, had reached my majority, and no longer required her permission. Still, I had hoped for her blessing. Then, when I revealed our other plans, she was at no pains to conceal her vexation or repress the peevishness of her temper. ‘ Sell Rosings Park? No. I shall not have it!'

"Referring to her as such for the first time in my life, I said, ‘Mama, you are correct. You will not have it. Rosings is mine, and Mr Brinton and I have decided to sell. You and Mrs Jenkinson may live in the dower house or in London. Provisions have been made for such accommodations.' Laurence then placed his hand upon my shoulder and said, ‘Lady Catherine, what would your daughter and I do with this pile? We have Rara Avis. Besides, it is our plan to travel abroad for years.'

"My mother then cried, ‘Travel abroad? For years? Heaven and earth! What about children?' I remember taking a deep breath, then my words rushed forth. ‘There will be no children to inherit either Rara Avis or Rosings.' Aghast, her ladyship shrieked, ‘No children? Stars and garters, Anne! It is a woman's duty to give her husband children.' Laurence supported me by saying, ‘Your daughter and I are in complete agreement. There will be no children.'

"Taking her hands in mine while she sat there in gloomy dejection, I said, ‘Mama, I apologise for ruining your ball and for disappointing your hopes. Nevertheless, I am resolute.'

"That is when you and Darcy finally made an appearance. But apart from Laurence and me standing up together for a third set, followed by the announcement of our engagement, all had been said and done by that point.

"At least Mother lived to see me married." Anne sniffled. "How I wish I had been able to say my last farewell to both her and Mrs Jenkinson, but we were in Greece by then. I still mourn them."

A tap sounded at the door, and the nurse, holding Benjamin, opened it to admit her employer. The proud father relieved the woman of her burden and told her to take a short respite.

"I have come with a summons from your husband, Anne. You are to leave poor Elizabeth alone and repair to your own chambers to dress for dinner. Had you not bolted up here before being shown to your quarters, you might now know where to find your dressing room and Brinton. Fortunately for you, the footman stationed beyond this door can be of service in that endeavour." Darcy smiled at his cousin while making a shooing gesture.

Alone with her husband and their youngest child, Elizabeth reached out, inviting them to join her on the bed. "How I wish I could dress for dinner and join everyone."

Well, not everyone. Mama and Papa remain at Longbourn with the Collinses. No one is happy with that arrangement, but Papa is failing, and his heir needs preparation for taking his place. Mary and her husband are settled in Meryton, and Captain and Lydia Carter are who knows where. Elizabeth's youngest sister foolishly had set her cap for Mr Wickham, who was subsequently taken by a press gang and shipped to Lower Canada. Lydia then set her sights higher. Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, remained a bachelor, and she settled for a captain in the regulars.

Holding Benjamin, Darcy carefully settled beside Elizabeth and kissed her cheek. "Everyone understands, love." He bestowed a reverent kiss atop the babe's head before shifting him to his shoulder. "Oh, the Marshalls have arrived. Kitty should be in to visit you and her newest nephew any minute now." He gave Elizabeth a look of disgust as Benjamin spit milk onto his superfine coat.

She laughed. "You should be well accustomed to that by now, Fitzwilliam, although it has been two and a half years since Isabelle last did that to you."

Initially, Elizabeth could not understand Anne's decision to remain childless, that is until Darcy explained that the Brintons had a peculiar sort of marriage of convenience. Anne's husband and Gilchrist were more than employer and master gardener. They were friends . While an under-gardener tended plant life at Rara Avis, Gilchrist accompanied the Brintons on their journeys and collected botanical specimens for their estate. While the men were otherwise occupied, Anne and Dubois saw the sights, shopped, and sampled local cuisine. Together, the four of them made memories, going wherever the breeze took them, quenching their thirst for new places and new experiences. Opportunities, they said, were everywhere.

Content to remain at Pemberley until her children were grown, Elizabeth knew she and Darcy would travel eventually, perhaps with their sons and daughters, perhaps just the two of them.

In the meantime, she snuggled against her husband's side and, catching a whiff of his shaving soap, nuzzled his firm jaw.

"Mr Darcy," she whispered, "you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire you, how greatly I respect you, and how very passionately I love you. Now and for evermore."

"Even when we are old and grey, Mrs Darcy, I never will grow tired of hearing?—"

Benjamin's lusty wail spoilt the moment, but his very presence was testament to his parents' grand and everlasting love.

The End