Epilogue
Fitzwilliam Darcy walked along the London docks, his beloved Elizabeth on his arm, enjoying the sights and sounds of a multitude of workers and sailors preparing ships to leave on unknown voyages across the waters.
“Elizabeth, sometimes I dream of my time aboard the Riley.”
“Do you? And what are these dreams like?”
“They are quite vivid. I am usually on the foredeck staring out across the waters, or the rolling main as the sailors called it, and without fail I am treated to one of the shanties I heard so many times.”
He gazed wistfully at a wooden ship docked nearby, one quite similar to the Riley, “Sometimes I am on my way to St. Croix, and I can feel the old anxiety that you might reject me. I had many doubts about sailing after you, but I am enormously thankful that I did. When I awaken, I am always relieved to find you by my side.”
“Perhaps we can return someday, Fitzwilliam. I would delight in seeing the Kendalls, and Sarah and Jacob and Rebekah, to walk the beach where we were engaged and stand in the church where we were wed. I confess it is difficult to imagine a time when we could actually escape our responsibilities to do so, however. Even if we never go back, I will treasure our many memories of our time on St. Croix.”
/
July 29th, 1833
“Do not eat the sand, darling!” Elizabeth Darcy cried out, leaning over to sweep sand out of her small daughter’s mouth.
Miss Amelia Rose Darcy, age two, howled in indignant protest and threw herself furiously onto the sand.
“I believe she is tired, Mrs. Darcy,” Hannah, Amelia’s nursemaid exclaimed, rushing up to her employer.
“I agree,” Elizabeth chuckled, picking the baby up and handing her over to the woman.
Hannah easily flipped the thrashing toddler over her shoulder and began marching down the beach toward the rented home where the Darcy family had recently settled in for a month.
Elizabeth watched with a mixture of amusement and envy; she was no longer able to carry thrashing toddlers with ease.
In her heart, she felt like she was still five and twenty years of age, but realistically she was two and forty and feeling some of the aches and pains of middle age.
“Is Amelia all right?” her twelve year old son, Timothy, asked, rushing up to his mother.
“She is merely tired,” Elizabeth explained, placing an arm fondly around her fourth son.
She chuckled to herself, remembering her early fears that she would never bear a son.
In actual fact, the Darcys had borne seven sons in a row until little Amelia Rose had arrived when Elizabeth was forty.
Darcy, who adored every one of his sons, had been over the moon with delight when his little daughter entered the world, her head as bald as an egg but already with her mother’s fine eyes.
Now the child had a mass of downy chocolate curls and both Darcys sensed that their family was complete.
“When are our aunts and uncles and cousins arriving?” Timothy inquired eagerly of his mother.
“They will arrive over the next several days,” Elizabeth replied.
“Today it is only us Darcys, but tomorrow Uncle and Aunt Bingley will arrive with all six of their children and Grandma from Elmwood Estate, and the next day Aunt Kitty will come with her family and Aunt Georgiana with hers. Uncle Gardiner and his family hope to arrive on Friday, but with the understanding that his business might require a later departure from London.”
“Will we not be excessively crowded in the house?”
“We have taken four houses for the month, Timothy. Yes, we would not all fit in our house since it is not nearly as large as Pemberley.”
“I wish Aunt Mary and Aunt Lydia and our uncles and cousins could be here.”
“I do as well, but Aunt Lydia is in France with her husband, and Uncle Wesley took a living in Yorkshire only recently; it is too early for Aunt Mary to leave Uncle Wesley and bring their children here. He needs her assistance with the parishioners, especially since the region recently experienced a scarlet fever epidemic.”
“I understand. Maybe someday we could go to Paris and visit Aunt Lydia and Colonel Radcliff. Aunt Lydia is always so much fun!”
Elizabeth laughed, “Indeed she is, though I confess I am always a trifle alarmed when Aunt Lydia comes to visit because she encourages you to do quite insane things. Do you remember when she climbed that oak tree at Pemberley and Aaron followed her? He was only six years old at the time! In any case, she is expecting her first child. I hope she is sensible enough to stay on the ground with a baby on the way.”
“Why did they wait so long to have a baby, Mama?”
Elizabeth sighed and leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on her son’s brown hair, “Colonel Radcliff and Aunt Lydia have prayed for a child for many years, my dear. For whatever reason, they were not blessed until now.”
“Well, I am very happy. We will have a new cousin.”
“Father!” shrieked the voice of six year old David, and Elizabeth looked up to see the figure of her beloved Fitzwilliam striding quickly down the beach toward them.
She found herself running, not as quickly as in her youth, but still speedily enough that she managed to beat two of her other boys who were farther down the beach.
“Elizabeth! Boys!” Darcy cried out, embracing her and the random boys as they made their way into his arms. “Oh, how wonderful to see you all!”
The next few minutes were clamorous as all five boys talked at once, and the younger three attempted to climb up their father’s back and legs.
The two eldest Darcy sons, Isaac and Joseph, were at Pemberley helping oversee the estate and thus had not made this trip to Brighton with the rest of their family.
“Boys, let me talk to your mother,” Darcy finally directed. “The day is lovely and you should enjoy the beach. We can speak more at dinner tonight.”
The Darcy boys scattered obediently, and Elizabeth found herself tucking her hand into Darcy’s strong arm.
He had aged very well, she thought affectionately; his hair was now more silver than black, but he maintained his upright posture and strong figure.
“What was the result of the vote?” Elizabeth asked finally.
Darcy squeezed her hand a little tighter, “It passed.”
Elizabeth heaved a deep sigh of relief, “How very glad I am!”
“As am I.”
“Wilberforce will be ecstatic.”
Darcy sighed, “There is word that he is gravely ill and not expected to live much longer. Nevertheless, I agree. William Wilberforce will leave this world overjoyed that his decades long battle resulted in the abolition of slavery in the British Empire.”
Elizabeth’s mind flashed back to their time on St. Croix, to Sarah and Jacob, to Althalie.
“I hope that Denmark will follow soon, and the Americans, in outlawing slavery,” she murmured. “Just think, if Britain had not returned St. Croix to Denmark, the slaves of that fair island would now be free.”
“Perhaps soon,” Darcy returned softly. “Denmark must see the handwriting on the wall. The recent Jamaica revolt shows that slaves can and will rise up to fight for their freedom.”
“Slavery is a loathsome, evil practice,” Elizabeth stated passionately. “I am proud of you for fighting against it.”
“I did very little. I voted for the Abolition Act as a member of parliament but I was just a tiny cog in the grand scheme of things; others fought hard for abolition for many years.”
“Our priorities in life are dependent on our season of life,” his wife replied firmly.
“Helena Kendall taught me that. You have been devoted to Pemberley and our family for years, and given the vastness of our estate, you and I both needed to focus on more local concerns. It is only now with the older boys nearly grown that you have been able to be involved in parliamentary concerns.”
“True, my love.”
They stood together, staring out over the ocean, and Elizabeth released a tiny sigh.
“I know that we have spoken of this before; I would like to go back someday.”
“To St. Croix?”
“Yes. It is wonderful that we can come to Brighton to enjoy the ocean, but we courted and married in St. Croix. The memories of our time in that tropical paradise are still vividly imprinted on my mind and heart. Helena Kendall still writes to me frequently and has invited us more than once. It has never quite seemed the time, however. Isaac is a hard working young man, but he is but one and twenty years of age and not quite ready to oversee all of Pemberley without your guidance.”
“I was only a little older than that when my father died.”
“True enough, but Isaac is not as strong-willed as you are. He will mature with age, but I fear now he would find it difficult to hold the line with some of the more challenging tenants.”
“I agree, of course, and I would not care to bring a toddler on a sailing ship for several weeks.”
Elizabeth groaned in mock horror, “A truly terrifying thought!”
/
July 15th, 1843
Elizabeth Darcy kneaded her toes in a few inches of warm water in utter delight as she looked out over the vibrant blue waters stretching to the horizon.
Ten feet away, Miss Amelia Darcy, now twelve years of age, bent over a tidal pool with the Bingleys’ youngest child, sixteen year old Esther.
“It is a starfish!” Amelia squealed. “I have seen them in books before, but the actual creature is far more exciting!”
“What is that black spiky thing?” Esther inquired.
“I do not know. Mama, do you know what this is?”
Elizabeth waded over to gaze raptly into the pool. She would never cease to be amazed at the variety of life in such a small space.
“I believe it is called a sea urchin.”
“Are the points painful, do you suppose?” Amelia inquired, reaching a cautious hand toward the animal.
Elizabeth spoke quickly, “Do not touch it, my dear. My old friend Rebekah, whom you met last night at the Kendalls’ parsonage, used to tell me of men and women who stepped on such creatures and ended up with painful shards in their feet. Look but do not touch, Amelia.”
Her daughter and niece laughed at this directive, which had become a proverb in the Darcy family.
Amelia Rose had been an extremely active and curious child and had learned through bitter experience that hot coals, irritable pigs and interesting nests high up in trees should merely be looked at, not touched.
“Elizabeth.”
She turned to gaze at him with love in her eyes, her husband, her Fitzwilliam. He was sixty years of age now, entirely silver haired, and limping slightly from a recent fall from a horse, but he would always be handsome in her eyes.
“Is it not wonderful?” she demanded, sweeping her hand toward Christiansted. The fort still rose with stately grace and the town around it, while somewhat expanded compared to their first visit to St. Croix, still maintained its charm.
“It is,” her husband agreed, stepping forward to embrace his precious wife as their two youngest sons ran past them to congregate around the tidal pool.
He looked down at her, his heart full of love for the woman who had changed not only his life, but all those whose well-being depended on Pemberley.
Elizabeth was still dark-haired with but a few streaks of gray, her figure thickened from eight full term pregnancies.
They had endured sorrows during their lives together – the loss of three children to miscarriage, and the deaths of Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Gardiner, and Lord and Lady Matlock.
But they had also experienced such joys together – that of raising children, of keeping Pemberley and her people strong for the next generation, of fighting for the needs and rights of the downtrodden.
“I love you, Elizabeth.”
“I love you too, Fitzwilliam. Thank you for sailing after me so many years ago.”
The End