Epilogue
The crackling fire and the soft breathing of their newborn daughter were the only sounds in the room. Elizabeth cradled the sleeping child, whose tiny fingers were wrapped around one of her mother's. Darcy sat beside them, observing the scene with quiet satisfaction.
He reflected on the changes Hollydale had undergone since Elizabeth inherited it.
She had done more than restore the physical estate; she had revived the legend of the Christmas House.
More children were attending school, and any student who wished for a subscription to the lending library could apply for one.
Fewer people went cold or hungry, for the church was well supplied with food, blankets, and the means to purchase firewood.
Mr. Punchaby of Bakewell had discovered a new lathe in his shop on St. Nicholas Day to replace the one that had finally given out.
But the most meaningful change Elizabeth had made was to his own life.
“She is perfect, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth whispered, glancing at their daughter.
Darcy kissed his daughter’s forehead. “Indeed she is. Bennet will be wild to see her tomorrow—poor little fellow will be sorry he slept through her arrival.”
Elizabeth's gaze drifted to the frost-covered window. “It is remarkable how much has changed since our first Christmas together.”
Darcy nodded, recalling the day the Sykes boys had inadvertently introduced him to his future wife.
In the four years since, Mr. Sykes had left the area, abandoning his boys to the care of the Milners.
It was the best gift he could have given them.
Matthew, now fourteen, had earned the respect of Mr. Oliver and others in the village, and Harry, ten, was a beloved fixture in the homes of the elderly and infirm, always happy to run errands and complete other tasks for those who could not.
“I saw Matthew and Harry this morning,” Darcy said. “They were delivering firewood to Mrs. Travis.”
“They have become such a blessing to everyone,” Elizabeth mused. “I am so proud of them.”
“Speaking of blessings,” Darcy said, “Mr. Milner says the legend of the Christmas House is on everyone’s lips again.”
Hollydale House had changed the Bennets’ lives, even as it had turned out not to be necessary as a sanctuary for her mother and sisters.
Mrs. Bennet had been delivered of a boy ten months after they had arrived at Hollydale, and Longbourn would not devolve to a cousin, but to a son.
At three, little Master Thomas was as gregarious as his mother and already knew his letters and numbers.
His father was currently teaching him to read.
But Hollydale was no less a family home.
Elizabeth chuckled. “Ah yes. I did fear that gifting the lathe to Punchaby’s father might hit too close to home, but making a similar gift to the blacksmith made it easier to avoid detection.”
“It might be better to have the Milners or the boys deliver any gifts for a time. You will be busy.” Darcy leaned in with a playful glint in his eye.
“And if I have not said it before, Mrs. Darcy, you are very clever for managing to gather your entire family for this little one’s arrival.
I think you did it so you would not have to write so many letters. ”
“I did no such thing,” Elizabeth protested with a little laugh. “This party was all Jane’s idea.”
Elizabeth’s eldest sister had married Charles Bingley, a friend of his, a year after their own wedding, and the couple had been leasing Hollydale to be certain running an estate was to their liking.
Darcy was pleased to have his friend so close, and Elizabeth had been even happier to have her sister near.
For a time all he heard about were the plans the two had for redecorating the house.
Many letters flew between Derbyshire and Hertfordshire, as Mrs. Bennet was also busy refurbishing Longbourn.
After the new year, the Bingleys would move to their own property a few hours away, and Kitty—Mrs. Latimer, now—would be remaining to take on the lease with her new husband.
He was a second son of a gentleman who would help run Hollydale and share in the profits.
He had suggested to Elizabeth that they put any lease payments away in the four percents for the couple’s eventual use, and she had heartily agreed.
Darcy still smiled at just how heartily that agreement had been expressed.
Miss Mary would be living with the Latimers, lured by the exceptional pianoforte and, his wife hoped, by her friendship with the young curate who was preparing to take over the parish in Kympton.
The only Bennet daughter who was unlikely to end up in Derbyshire was Miss Lydia, who was quite happy to remain at Longbourn with their young brother, teaching him to engage in all sorts of mischief.
Elizabeth had assured him she was yet a month away from her confinement, but she had miscalculated, and the morning of their arrival, she had felt her first pains. Fortunately, being so close to Pemberley meant that it was easy enough to have the midwife come to Hollydale instead.
He could see that his wife was beyond exhausted. “You must rest, dearest.”
As she leaned back into her pillows with a little smile, Elizabeth’s eyes remained on their daughter’s perfect face. She might have the red, pinched appearance of the newly born, but he could already tell she would be a beauty. And kind. And generous. A father knew these things.
His wife lightly stroked the baby’s cheek with one finger. “I fear, Fitzwilliam, that Georgiana will never leave Pemberley now. She is already so enamoured with her nephew. Now that her niece is here, she may never marry.”
Darcy chuckled, leaning closer to Elizabeth. “If Georgiana wishes to stay at Pemberley forever, she is most welcome. And if our little one decides to stay as well, I will be content.”
Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head. “You will spoil us all.”
“Only as much as you deserve,” Darcy informed her. “Which means a very great deal indeed. Is not that right—” He hesitated. “Did we ever decide upon a name?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “But now that she is here, I should like to call her Grace.”
Darcy kissed his daughter’s tiny hand. “Welcome, Grace.”
Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes as she watched. "I love you, Fitzwilliam."
"And I love you," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her softly, their foreheads resting together as the snow fell gently outside the window. The clock struck midnight, but in that quiet, perfect moment, time seemed to stand still.
Elizabeth smiled against his lips. "Happy Christmas, Fitzwilliam."
Darcy kissed her again, his heart full. "Happy Christmas, Elizabeth. Always."