Epilogue
EPILOGUE
P emberley had never been so alive.
The grand estate, which had stood for centuries in quiet majesty, was now a flurry of joyous celebration.
Ribbons of softest ivory and pale blue adorned the great marble columns. The air was thick with the scent of roses and fresh greenery, brought in from the gardens to fill the halls with their fragrance.
Laughter drifted through the corridors, the kind that only came when two families—once strangers, now forever bound—came together in celebration.
In the ballroom, guests gathered in clusters, their voices rising in warm conversation, their hands filled with glasses of the finest wine.
But the true heart of the day, the moment for which all had gathered, was yet to come.
For today, Elizabeth Bennet would become Mrs. Darcy.
Elizabeth stood in her chambers, gazing at her reflection in the grand mirror.
Her gown was simple but elegant, crafted of the finest white muslin, its bodice embroidered with delicate pearls, the soft lace sleeves falling just past her wrists.
Her hair was partially pinned, leaving loose curls to frame her face, and atop her head sat a crown of soft blue forget-me-nots, a gift from her sisters that morning.
She did not just look like a grand lady of society.
She did not just look like a woman who had married for title or wealth.
She looked like herself.
And she looked happy.
Behind her, Jane appeared in the mirror’s reflection, her face aglow with quiet joy. "You are ready," she said softly.
Elizabeth turned to her, smiling. "I am."
Jane took her hands. "He is waiting for you."
Elizabeth exhaled, her heart fluttering at the thought.
Yes.
He was waiting.
The grand doors of Pemberley’s chapel were thrown open, revealing the great hall beyond, bathed in the golden glow of afternoon light.
The pews were filled with familiar faces, family and friends who had come to witness the union of two hearts that had fought so hard to find each other.
And at the end of the aisle, standing tall, waiting, eyes fixed only on her—was Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth’s eyes welled with tears. For all the grandeur of the day, for all the beauty surrounding her, there was only one thing that mattered.
Him.
He looked as he always did—proud, strong, composed—but in his eyes, she saw something else.
Something soft.
Something raw.
Something just for her, that told her he would love her until the end of his days.
She walked toward him, her steps slow and steady, each one bringing her closer to the life she had never dared dream for herself.
When she reached him, Darcy lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there, his thumb brushing softly over her skin.
"You are beautiful," he murmured, voice rough with emotion.
Elizabeth smiled. "And you are mine."
He exhaled sharply, as if those words undid him.
The minister began to speak, but neither of them truly heard the words.
They only knew when the moment had come—when Darcy slid the ring onto her finger, when Elizabeth whispered the sacred vow in return.
And then—they were married.
The wedding spilled into the halls of Pemberley, where laughter and music filled the air.
Elizabeth had never seen her family so at ease, never seen her mother weep so joyfully, never seen her father look so at peace, knowing his daughter had married a man worthy of her.
Kitty, now fully recovered, twirled about the room in a dance, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes bright with happiness.
And to Elizabeth’s immense satisfaction, Mary and Mr. Collins sat happily together, already married, exchanging small, affectionate glances that no one would have ever expected from either of them.
"They seem happy," Darcy murmured at her ear.
Elizabeth laughed softly, leaning into him. "Happier than I could have ever imagined."
Darcy’s arm slipped around her waist, drawing her close. "And are you happy, my love?"
She tilted her head up to him, her heart so full she could scarcely contain it.
"I have never been happier."
Long after the music had faded, long after the last guests had retired for the night, Elizabeth and Darcy stood together on the balcony of Pemberley, looking out over the rolling hills of their home.
The moon hung high, casting silver light over the landscape.
Elizabeth exhaled softly, her hands resting over the balcony’s stone railing.
Darcy stood behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her against his chest.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, looking out at the beauty before them, at the life they had built, at the home they would share.
"You belong here," Darcy murmured against her hair.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, feeling the truth of his words settle deep in her bones.
"I do," she whispered.
Darcy’s lips brushed against her temple, his embrace tightening slightly, as though he could never bear to let her go.
"Tell me what you see," he murmured.
Elizabeth smiled, tilting her head slightly, looking out at Pemberley’s vast, endless beauty.
"I see rolling hills," she said softly, "that stretch as far as the eye can see."
Darcy hummed, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. "And?" Elizabeth tilted her head against him.
"I see a house filled with love," she said. "I see long walks through these fields, I see laughter in the halls, I see a future filled with more happiness than I ever imagined."
Darcy turned her gently in his arms, tilting her face up to his.
"And what do you see now?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes burning with love.
Elizabeth smiled up at him, her fingers lifting to touch his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw.
"I see my husband," she whispered.
And then—he kissed her.
Not with urgency, not with desperation, but with something deeper, something truer.
With a promise.
A promise of forever.
As the moonlight bathed them in its soft glow, as the house behind them stood filled with warmth and joy, as Pemberley stretched before them, waiting to be lived in, to be filled with new memories, new love, new laughter?—
Elizabeth knew one thing with absolute certainty.
She was home.