Darcy’s Duel (The Bennet and Darcy Chronicles: Short Jane Austen Adaptations #2)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

T he sky was painted in soft hues of pink and gold, the first light of morning stretching over the quiet hills of Longbourn. Elizabeth walked hand in hand with Darcy, their fingers laced together, their steps unhurried. The world felt still, as though it belonged only to them.

Her wedding dress awaited her in the house, her family was likely already in a state of uproar, but for now—for this perfect moment—she was only Elizabeth, and he was only Darcy.

“When we first met, I had not imagined we would ever be here, so happy, together,” she mused, glancing up at him.

Darcy smiled slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. "Nor had I."

She squeezed his fingers. "And now?"

He exhaled softly, gaze warm, steady, unwavering. "Now," he murmured, "I could not imagine anything more without you."

Elizabeth’s heart twisted with a fullness so deep it stole her breath. "And I," she whispered, "am the happiest woman."

He stopped walking.

She turned toward him, expecting words—but instead, he lifted her hand and pressed a slow, reverent kiss to her fingers.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, his voice soft.

She tilted her head. "Only that I might trip walking down the aisle."

Darcy laughed outright, low and rich.

She smiled up at him, her chest tight with something dangerously close to bliss.

And then—as the morning stretched before them, as the world prepared to watch them wed, they walked home together.

If Elizabeth had believed for one moment that she would return to a house of peace and tranquility, she had been grievously mistaken.

"Elizabeth! There you are!" Mrs. Bennet’s voice shrieked from the doorway before they had even stepped inside.

Elizabeth barely had time to release Darcy’s hand before she was snatched away in a flurry of nerves and excitement.

"I have never seen a more perfect day for a wedding!" her mother cried, fluttering about like a bird in a fit of delight. "Not a cloud in the sky! Oh, my dear, dear girl, I always knew you would marry well, but Mr. Darcy! Oh! Such a grand match, such a fine man, such a?—"

Elizabeth allowed herself to be pulled through the house, exchanging a bemused glance with Darcy as she was whisked away to her room.

"You shall see him soon enough!" Mrs. Bennet called dramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead as though she might swoon at the sheer romance of it all.

Darcy, ever patient, merely bowed.

Jane was waiting for her upstairs, her face full of quiet joy. "You were out walking," she said knowingly as Elizabeth entered.

Elizabeth flushed. "I needed air."

Jane laughed softly, taking her hands and squeezing them gently. "And?"

Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. "And I have never been happier."

Jane smiled, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Then let us make you ready to be his wife."

The church was filled with sunlight, the air alive with the murmurs of anticipation.

Elizabeth’s heart thundered as she stepped forward, her father’s arm steady beside her, her veil light as air over her face.

Darcy. Standing at the front. Waiting for her.

His eyes never left hers.

Not as she walked toward him.

Not as her father placed her hand in his.

Not as she stood before him, her heart pounding, her fingers held gently in his grasp.

The world faded to nothing but him.

His voice was steady as he spoke his vows.

Hers was full of quiet wonder.

And when it was done—when the words were spoken, when she became his wife—he lifted her veil, his fingers gentle as they traced the side of her face.

Elizabeth smiled.

Darcy exhaled, his own answering smile breaking across his face in a way she had never seen before.

Then—he kissed her.

Softly.

Reverently.

Entirely.

They left amidst laughter, flowers, and the delighted cries of her family.

The carriage stood waiting, its doors open, its path leading them away from Longbourn—toward their new life. Darcy helped her inside, his hands lingering at her waist as he lifted her effortlessly into the seat.

The door closed.

The wheels began to turn.

Elizabeth laughed, bright and free, the joy of the day bursting from her in an uncontainable rush.

Darcy grinned, shaking his head with something close to awe.

He reached for her hand.

She took it.

As the carriage rolled forward—toward Pemberley, toward the north, toward forever—Darcy leaned forward, brushing a kiss against her knuckles. "And now nothing will separate us. Are you really my wife at last?"

Elizabeth smiled. “And you, my husband. I love the sound of that.”

With her hand in his, he toyed with her fingers. “I love so many things. I cannot wait to tell you every day about all of them. Beginning with this little finger right here.” He tugged off her gloves. “And this one. And this.”

…