Epilogue
Pemberley, five years later.
Five years had passed since the blessed day when Elizabeth Bennet became Mrs. Darcy, and Pemberley had never known greater felicity.
Summer was the season when the whole family gathered once more beneath its noble roof, as had become their happy custom.
Summer and the Christmas season were spent at Pemberley, as Mrs. Bennet reminded everyone at every opportunity.
The Gardiners were all present, their children now much grown, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, Lydia, and Mary — all close friends with Georgiana and none of them engaged to be married yet, despite their numerous suitors.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had married three years previously, joined the party with his wife, his parents, and his eldest brother’s family.
The former Anne de Bourgh was in attendance too, now a close friend of Elizabeth’s.
She was utterly transformed from the frail young woman Elizabeth had first known in Kent into an elegant and admired figure in London society.
Her health restored, she devoted herself to various charitable works with a quiet determination that won her universal respect.
She had been courted by many gentlemen of rank and fortune, yet, to the astonishment of none who knew her well, she had chosen to marry Dr Rease.
The union, born of genuine esteem and affection, had only deepened the long-standing breach with Lady Catherine, who still could not speak of it without indignation.
Jane and Mr. Bingley, with their two sweet children, had settled upon a fine estate just thirty miles from Pemberley.
The Bingley sisters were occasionally invited to Pemberley too, but only when Jane’s gentle wishes inclined towards their company — a circumstance that occurred with pleasing infrequency.
After another joyful yet tiring dinner, Elizabeth went out to take a stroll before bed — a habit she continued and often shared with her husband. Darcy was somewhere in the house, with his steward, attending to some urgent business.
In the past five years of bliss, Elizabeth’s love, admiration, and respect for her husband had grown and enhanced every single day. Their felicity had been blessed with two beautiful children, a son of four years old and a daughter of only ten months.
Whenever they were separated, even if only for a few days, they kept up the habit of writing to each other and sharing letters that contained their most intimate thoughts and sentiments.
From those first letters — the one written by him in the middle of his greatest turmoil and the one she wrote in response — to that day, every piece of paper was stored and cherished, as proof of their journey from a painful rejection to a union of minds and hearts.
Elizabeth walked around the lake, still in awe of the beauty of her home — of her life.
She glanced about, then her heart began to race at the image of her husband, sitting at his desk in the library, lit by candles.
He was writing something, but most likely not a letter, she mused with a smile.
Unlike another night at Rosings, when she had tried to hide her presence, now she was eager to join him and find comfort in his arms. She hastened her steps inside, through the halls of Pemberley.
Shortly afterwards, she entered the library; he welcomed her with a passionate embrace and kisses, and then the candles were suddenly blown out.
THE END