Epilogue
“Are they not the two most beautiful children you have ever seen, Mr Bennet?” demanded Mrs Bennet, cooing over the tiny girl and boy who lay together in a carefully shaded cot beneath a tree on Pemberley’s front lawns.
“They have two arms and two legs apiece and make all the usual noises, I suppose,” Mr Bennet responded, looking critically at his two first grandchildren over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles. “What more can I say of two infants of such tender age?”
“Mr Bennet, how can you speak so flippantly of your own flesh and blood?” his wife scolded him, bending over again to offer her finger to the two sets of tiny grasping hands. “They are perfect in every way.”
“If you say so, my dear,” answered their grandfather in a tone of doubtful humour that made both Elizabeth and Jane laugh out loud as they listened to this exchange. “I suspect that most people couldn’t tell one child from another until they are two years old.”
“Don’t you listen to your grandfather, my darlings,” Mrs Bennet told the two babies with indignation. “Can’t tell one child from another! I ask you…”
“To be fair to Father, you have asked him the same question at least three times today in my hearing,” Jane pointed out smilingly, coming over to pick up little Eustace in her arms and stroke his soft, fair curls. “I think he has simply run out of pleasing answers.”
“Thank you, Jane. I wondered when someone would realise my plight,” Mr Bennet remarked, returning to sipping his tea. “Do persuade your mother that I cannot give infinitely creative answers to the same question.”
Elizabeth picked up dark-haired little Isabella, who had begun to grouse as soon as her cousin was removed from the cot, dandling her small daughter on her knee.
“I’m glad you were all able to come and spend September with us at Pemberley,” she told them. “It means we can celebrate Eustace and Isabella’s births at the same time. They are both two months old this week.”
“Two months old,” repeated Mrs Bennet, permanently in raptures over her grandchildren. “Isn’t it wonderful, Mr Bennet, that Jane and Elizabeth should not only be married in the same week but then have their first children in the same week too?”
“Anyone might think the weddings were planned, and that babies took nine months to gestate,” he answered facetiously, to another scowl from his wife and laughter from his daughters.
“Do not tease Mother today,” Elizabeth urged him.
“Let us all be happy together while we can. Colonel Fitzwilliam arrives later today, and Kitty and Mary will be back soon from their outing with Georgiana. She insists that Shadow has to go and visit his brother at Sir Christopher’s estate whenever she is at Pemberley. ”
“I won’t have that big dog around the babies,” Mrs Bennet sniffed. “It isn’t safe.”
“Shadow is well trained,” Fitzwilliam Darcy assured her, strolling over with Charles Bingley from where they had been setting up Pall Mall and some other games on the lawn.
“My gamekeeper has a way with dogs, and I have tested Shadow myself too. Rest assured, Mrs Bennet, I would not have him around Isabella if I had any doubts.”
He put an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders before bending to kiss both his wife and daughter with an expression of tenderness that melted Elizabeth’s heart.
“All marriages start well,” Mr Bennet remarked to no one in particular. “The first year is a joy, the second a pleasure, and the third good enough, I suppose. After that…”
“Mr Bennet!” his wife exploded again. “Why must you always make such remarks?”
“Only in your hearing, my dear,” he answered mildly. “Perhaps if you ignored me, I might stop.”
Elizabeth and Jane rolled their eyes at one another at yet another display of parental bickering.
“Shall we go for a walk?” Darcy suggested to his wife, and Elizabeth smiled at him before looking doubtfully at Isabella. “We have plenty of time before luncheon, and the girls aren’t back yet.”
“Go on,” Jane encouraged her sister. “Mother can take care of Isabella, and Charles and I will be here too.”
With this reassurance, Elizabeth kissed her daughter’s head once more and passed her into her affectionate grandmother’s embrace.
∞∞∞
For a time, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy walked through the still-summery September landscape in companionable silence, communicating only through the pressure of their clasped hands and glances of their eyes.
A year of marriage had not dimmed their passion or devotion, and the arrival of Isabella had only seemed to set the seal on an almost perfect life.
“How is Charles?” Elizabeth asked eventually. “I am sorry for him that neither of his sisters accepted your invitation to join us at Pemberley.”
“I am sorry for Charles, but not sorry for the rest of us,” Darcy answered frankly. “At least his sisters attended his wedding to Jane.”
“Indeed they did, for the ceremony. They did not attend our wedding, though,” laughed his wife.
“I cannot say that I regret that either,” Darcy admitted, to further laughter. “It’s a shame they even sent a wedding present. Another hideous vase! Presumably to replace the one that was broken over Hurst’s head.”
“You speak your mind so honestly that I am still not always sure whether to be admiring or appalled,” Elizabeth told him, still chuckling.
“Be admiring,” Darcy advised with good humour, stooping to kiss her lips. “That is far more appropriate in a loving wife.”
“Yes, I usually am. It was only at the start that I misunderstood you so badly.”
They walked on again in silence for another minute, neither really wishing to remember a time when affection or understanding were in doubt.
“How did Lydia take your letter?” Darcy spoke again as they reached an old folly on the edge of the woodland. “I saw you received a message from Brighton today, so I presume it was from her.”
“Oh, Lydia is the same as ever. She does not see why the whole family cannot drop everything and rush to see her opening night in her first starring role at the Hyperion Theatre. Many miles, two babies, and a wish not to be associated with the theatre all mean nothing to her. She has asked why we cannot at least send Mary, since no one will miss her!”
“Poor Mary! Poor Mr Michelson too,” Darcy laughed to himself. “He has to live with her every day.”
“Well, he brought it on himself,” said Elizabeth philosophically. “We make our beds, and then we must lie in them. That was what Lady Catherine wrote to you, was it not, when she sent back the wedding invitation?”
“Indeed it was,” Darcy recalled, still smiling and apparently without any resentment. “Even a year later, my esteemed aunt appears not to have noticed that the withdrawal of her good favour is a gift rather than a punishment.”
“Likely Lady Catherine also does not appreciate the comfort of our bed at Pemberley. I am quite content to lie in it with you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, any day and every day, as long as we both shall live.”
Drawing Elizabeth into the shelter of the folly, Darcy took her in his arms and looked into her eyes with all the warm certainty of love given without hesitation and expected beyond doubt.
“And I with you, Elizabeth Darcy,” he told her as she melted into his warm embrace.
THE END