Epilogue
Elizabeth Darcy shivered as her bare feet touched the cold floor. With a sharp intake of breath, she scurried to the curtains and parted them a little. Then, just as quickly, she made her way back to bed and thrust her legs under the warm covers.
Fitzwilliam slept soundly beside her. There was a peace that settled over him here at Pemberley, especially visible as he slumbered, when all the cares of the day were banished.
Elizabeth rolled away from her husband and onto her side to watch the snow drifting lazily past the window, allowing the warmth from the quilt and his body to begin to lull her back to rest. She jumped when one strong arm snaked around her waist.
“Your feet are like the inside of an icehouse,” he grumbled.
“Which is why I returned to bed, dearest.”
“You returned for the blanket and not for me?” The low, gravelly sound in her ear made her shiver, and it was not from the temperature in the room.
“You are warmer than the blanket,” she informed him, turning in his arms to place a little kiss on his nose.
He took her in his arms. “When you recompense me in such a way, I do not mind your freezing feet.”
“That may be the most romantic thing you have ever said to me,” Elizabeth teased.
Suddenly she was beneath her husband and he was smiling down at her. She proudly noted the lines near his eyes that proved her Fitzwilliam smiled and laughed a great deal more than he had when they first met. He raised himself up on his forearms. “If that is the case, I must make amends.”
Elizabeth reached up to touch his face. “As wonderful as that sounds,” she told him, “I would like to take a walk out of doors before church.”
“You would rather go out in the snow than remain indoors with me?” Fitzwilliam asked, a wicked gleam in his eye. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I shall have to do better by you, Mrs. Darcy. Allow me to demonstrate.”
He then trailed several light kisses down her neck, and Elizabeth sighed with pleasure.
Who could have guessed that the activities in the marital bed could be so very pleasing?
Particularly when they had been wed ten years and already had four children.
Fitzwilliam had once explained that having waited so long for her, he was determined never to take for granted a single moment they had together.
Elizabeth acquiesced. “Very well. But afterwards, I wish to go out, whether it is before church or after.”
“It would be my pleasure to escort you out into the freezing snow for your walk, Elizabeth,” he told her. “You know how much I enjoy it. Particularly when you throw snowballs at me.”
She laughed at him. “You adore walking in the snow. Before the day is out you will roust all three of our sons and lead them in pelting one another with snowballs. Do not even attempt to deny it.” She smiled mischievously up at him.
He smiled but did not reply, and Elizabeth felt her point had been made. As Fitzwilliam lowered his face to hers, she only wished she could recall what that point had been.
When at last Fitzwilliam felt he had sufficiently defended his honour, Elizabeth kissed him on top of his head, sat up, and plucked a letter from inside a book on her bed table.
“Here,” she said a bit nervously. Why, she could not say, for they wrote letters to one another with some frequency. Their Christmas letters, though, were special. “It is for you.”
Fitzwilliam took it with a shake of his head. He leaned back and stretched one long arm behind him to open the small drawer on his own bed table, from which he removed another missive, sealed in red wax. He held it out to her.
“You seal yours every year. So formal, sir.”
“My words are only for you, Elizabeth,” he told her solemnly. “Therefore, it is sealed.”
“Are you suggesting that I ought to seal mine?”
“No, for you do not have the bad habit of tucking important items into your pockets as the boys and I do.”
Her husband rarely lost anything unless it had been moved by someone else.
Bennet and Fitzwilliam still lost things on occasion, and Edward, at five, lost everything.
“Only because I do not have any. I intend to have Kerr sew pockets into all my dresses and Georgiana Jane’s as well, I shall have you know. You make us quite jealous over them.”
He chuckled and tapped her nose with the end of his letter. “You have pockets in your coats.”
Elizabeth had mentioned once in passing how warm his greatcoat had been, and on St. Nicholas Day that year, he had presented her one of her own.
It was slimmer than Fitzwilliam’s, clearly fashioned for her smaller frame, but made of the same sort of materials and very warm.
When Georgiana Jane, named after his sister and hers, had shown signs of taking after her mother rather than her namesakes, Fitzwilliam had quietly spoken to the tailor in Kympton.
The result was that perhaps the tiniest greatcoat ever made in England had been shortly thereafter gifted to little Miss Darcy.
To say that their daughter had been thrilled was an understatement, though her older brothers were not quite as pleased, for now the youngest Darcy could remain out in the snow with them for a good deal longer than she had before, and though her little legs carried her a long way, the distance was accomplished very slowly.
“It is important to have pockets when you are determined to collect every interesting stone at Pemberley,” Elizabeth said fondly, shaking her head.
“Do you mean our daughter or you?”
She laughed. “I will not answer that.”
“The coats are becoming and practical. I shall not apologise for worrying about you.”
It had been some time before Elizabeth realised that her little escapade at Netherfield’s pond had affected him so badly. Elizabeth recalled that day with amusement, but her serious husband did not.
“You worry anyway,” she replied gently.
He shook his head at her. “Read your Christmas letter, Elizabeth.”
“I shall, so long as you read yours.”
He unfolded his letter and began to read, but Elizabeth did not open her own. She watched his eyes moving across the page. Then his lips pressed together. She expected him to speak, but instead, he turned to her, placed a warm, loving hand on her abdomen, and kissed her softly.
Only after a few moments had passed did he ask, “When?”
“Early June, I believe,” she told him. “Is it wrong for me to hope for another little girl?” She nudged him with her elbow. “We women are outnumbered here, and I am still not used to it.”
“Not at all,” he told her. “But I shall be happy with whatever we are given, so long as you and the child are safe.”
“Always the same answer,” she replied with a smile.
“Always the same prayer.” He kissed her forehead and nodded at the page in her hand.
Elizabeth broke open the seal and began to read the latest of Mr. Darcy’s Christmas letters.
The End
Caroline is less than impressed with Mr. Darcy’s choice of wife. Hear her impressions of the Darcys’ marriage in Mr. Darcy’s Christmas Letters Bonus Epilogue! Click here:
OR SCAN
Want more Darcy and Elizabeth at Christmas?
Read Melanie Rachel’s An Accidental Holiday!
Excerpt from An Accidental Holiday
Netherfield was in chaos. Well-organized chaos, but even so, it was too much for Darcy to bear.
Instead of answering a letter from Pemberley’s steward as he had planned, Darcy decided to put it off until he arrived in London.
Though it was nearly three and would be dark in an hour, he left his valet to pack up his things and went for a ride.
If the weather held, it would be too cold to ride outside the carriage all the way to London tomorrow, so this might be his last opportunity for some time.
As he guided his horse out into the meadows for a bracing run, he wondered how Bingley had fared, riding out so early in the cold. It must have been an uncomfortable trip, but by now he would be settled in his rooms at The Albany next to a roaring fire with some convivial company.
Without thinking, he guided his mount into Meryton and in the general direction of Longbourn.
Though he had never visited the house, the pathways were clear.
He might have considered making Bingley’s farewells for him, but he could not predict his friend’s reaction.
Bingley might return despite everything his sisters could do, and if so, a farewell might be seen as presumptuous.
No, better to allow Bingley to handle his own affairs.
Once in London, Bingley would surely ask for his advice, and if so, he would offer it.
Darcy would have liked to take his leave of Miss Elizabeth.
She was pretty and witty, a woman who not only could challenge him but was willing to do so .
. . He shook himself. It was rare enough a combination of traits to be intriguing to a man such as himself, that was all.
Certainly, there were women better situated who also possessed those attributes.
Miss Elizabeth had shown him what he wanted in a lady, and he would always be grateful to her for that, but her position in life was not suitable for a man of his rank.
Though he might be persuaded to forgo the rank or financial difficulties were it not for the vulgar behaviour of her family.
No, wishing for something that could not be would only hurt them both. He had no reason to call, not really, and it would be better not to tempt himself too far.
This sort of indecision was entirely out of character for him, and it provoked him greatly. His horse skittered to one side, then another, tired of standing still, yet there they remained, facing the road to Longbourn without any intention of taking it.
Just as he had ordered himself for the third time to turn away and return to Netherfield, a figure appeared where the Longbourn path emptied out into Meryton.
It was a woman, bundled in a red wool cloak, a scarf wound around her neck and up nearly to her ears, and a fur-trimmed hood pulled over the whole.
She was driving a small pony cart that had probably been rather smart a generation ago.
He did not recognize her, exactly. It was simply that he could think of no other gentlewoman who would be out an hour from dark on such a chilly day, and on her own at that.
He touched the brim of his hat as she drew near.
What is Elizabeth going to say? Find out here:
If you enjoyed Darcy and Elizabeth’s tale of love and romance—there are more Melanie Rachel novels to read!
Want something short and fluffy?
The Accidental Love series (four novellas)
Want Elizabeth is not a Bennet (or is sort of a Bennet?)
I Never Knew Myself
Drawing Mr. Darcy Duology
Want forced proximity and Darcy caring for an injured Elizabeth?
A Gentleman's Honor
Want Darcy AND Mr. Bennet as former soldiers? (And Colonel Fitzwilliam too?)
An Unexpected Inheritance
What about D&E Fantasy?
Interwoven
Transforming Mr. Darcy
How about some holiday romance?
Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
An Accidental Holiday
Want a palate cleanser from the Regency? Try a modern, swoony Darcy and his tough yet vulnerable Elizabeth in the Headstrong trilogy.
Headstrong
Or a regency-era sequel? A newly married Darcy and Elizabeth with a strong Colonel Fitzwilliam presence . . .
The Courage Duology
Don't forget to sign up for my newsletter at for exclusive content, input on works-in-progress, and giveaways!