Epilogue
“Elizabeth? Where are you?” Darcy called. Alarmed that there was no answer, he called again, forcing himself to sound calm.
“I am here, love,” his wife replied, much to his relief.
Darcy followed the direction of her voice towards their private suite of rooms. Hastily, he opened the door to be greeted with a sight that he would never tire of: Elizabeth was at a table, drawing book open, in earnest contemplation of the arrangement before her.
Darcy had picked the flowers that morning as a surprise, for she had mentioned the pink honeysuckle and crimson roses were her favourite.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm, delicious glow about the room.
She lifted her head as he entered, bestowing upon him that enchanting smile, and he knew himself to be the luckiest man alive.
“I have been looking everywhere for you,” he admonished gently, drawing closer to her side.
Elizabeth laughed. “I do not travel especially quickly these days.” She traced her hand over the glorious curve of her stomach. “This little one has strong opinions about my love of walking.”
He bent down and kissed her lips before placing a warm hand over the soft cotton of her gown, marvelling at the miracle growing underneath. “As do I, love. As your confinement approaches, I do not wish for you to take ill and for no one to know where you are.”
“Take ill!” Elizabeth repeated with mock disbelief. “Giving birth is not a disease.”
Darcy moved his chair closer to her and pulled her hand into his.
“You once said that I should be careful with your heart, and now, I beg of you, think of mine, for I suffer terrible palpitations whenever I cannot locate you. I know I promised not to treat you like an invalid, but I love you so dearly that I cannot help myself.”
Her eyes softened. “How could I resist you anything when you ask me so nicely?”
Smiling, his gaze lingered on her drawing book. “Have I disturbed you?”
“Yes, but that does not mean your interruption is unwelcome.” She squeezed his hand. “We should make the most of our time together.”
“Before our son or daughter is born?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I meant before Lady Acaster arrives. She insists on being present for my confinement. I apologise in advance for any mischief she causes.”
Darcy gave a grim smile. “I do not know what use she will be.”
“Probably none at all, but I am hoping that you will be sufficiently distracted by her antics that you cease worrying about me.”
“That will never happen,” he said firmly before capturing another kiss from her lips.
“In any case, once our baby is born, it means that my aunt can accompany Georgiana back to London, so our dear sister may begin to enjoy the sights and sounds of the capital.”
“Are you sure that is a wise plan?”
Elizabeth leant into him. “Possibly not, but Lady Acaster and Georgiana will complement each other nicely. My aunt will tell Georgiana how beautiful and talented she is, and in return she will have a companion that will happily agree to her every whim. I have written to Jane, to ask whether she wishes to join them—” She stopped, her eyes wide.
“What is it?” Darcy looked at her in alarm.
Elizabeth moved his hand from her lap to her abdomen, splaying her fingers over his. “I think our child wants to join our conversation.”
Darcy felt a sharp jolt under the folds of her dress. “Does it hurt?”
“It is only a slight discomfort. Fortunately, I think they have inherited my dainty feet, not your enormous dew-beaters.” She increased the pressure of her hand, her voice teasing, and together they felt another quick movement.
Gently, Darcy bent down and kissed the place their baby had kicked. Moving back, he glanced up at Elizabeth, whose eyes were glistening with unshed emotion. “Whatever is the matter? Shall I call for the doctor?”
“No, you silly man! These are happy tears. You probably do not know, but six years ago today I crossed Pemberley’s threshold as a lonely young girl with scarcely a friend in the world.
Gradually, this place and everyone in it has become my life, and I suddenly was overcome with the realisation of how unbearably lucky I am. ”
“It is not luck if you deserve it.” Darcy traced his thumb across her cheek. “Precious as it is to me, Pemberley is just stone and mortar. You, my dearest Elizabeth, are my home.”
“Now you must cease with all this kindness, for it will make me cry, and once I start, I cannot be certain that I shall stop,” she protested, laughing through her tears.
“Let us be quiet, then,” said Darcy with a grin, pulling her into his tender, loving embrace.