Epilogue
The air smelled sweetly of primrose and bluebell blossoms; the pale blue sky streaked with wisps of white clouds. The trees of Rosings Park stood in full bud, their tender green leaves unfurling in the golden light, and in the distance, birds trilled their songs of renewal.
Elizabeth Darcy tilted her face toward the sun, relishing the gentle warmth against her skin. It was a rare pleasure to be back in Kent at this time of year, the landscape alive with the quiet hum of spring. It had been more than a decade since she and William had been caught in the folly’s collapse, and their lives were very different now.
“It is astonishing how much has changed,” she remarked, casting her gaze over the rolling landscape. “If I had not known better, I might have believed this was an altogether different place.”
Her husband, standing beside her with his hands clasped behind his back, gave a low hum of agreement. “I have often found that time has a curious way of altering not only the world around us but our recollections of it.” He glanced at her with a small smile. “Though I do not think my recollections of Kent are so easily altered.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “No? Not even after so much time?”
William let out a quiet breath, turning his eyes toward the distant remnants of what had once been Lady Catherine’s greatest vanity—a folly that had nearly cost them both their lives.
Where the hill had once stood, there was now a rolling expanse of land that revealed the sunken remains of the original labyrinth, its medieval tunnels intertwined with the remnants of an old chalk mine. Over the years, the earth had been gradually cleared away and much of the stone had been reclaimed for other projects, turning what was once a danger into little more than a historical curiosity.
The ruins, unearthed during the work, had become a source of entertainment rather than peril. Even now, the sounds of laughter echoed from beyond the gentle rise, where two young figures scampered between the remnants of ancient stone corridors.
Elizabeth sighed, shaking her head with amusement. “Bennet and Beth will be covered in dust by the time we depart.”
Her husband smiled. “And so shall I, if I am required to extract them from another hidden alcove.”
Elizabeth turned her gaze to William. He had not entirely lost his gravity, nor his inclination toward order and caution, but he maintained his humour and playfulness with her and the children. There was an ease about him, too, that had not existed in their earliest acquaintance. Marriage had altered them both, deepening their understanding of one another with every adventure they experienced together.
She reached up to cup his cheek, and he caught her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her palm. He let his hand wander to the faint scar that crossed her forearm.
“I had thought the place would hold no more power over me,” he admitted quietly. “But standing here again, I find I still feel it.”
“The folly may be gone, but what we endured has left its mark,” she replied softly as she gazed at the thin white line that ran the length of his right eyebrow.
William exhaled, glancing toward the distant ruins. “It was not only stone and earth that crumbled that day,” he said. “The illusions I held of myself, of you, of the world around me—they shattered as well.”
She searched his face. For years after the collapse, they had both suffered nightmares, but they had offered solace to one another, and such things were exceedingly rare now. She offered a small smile and spoke the words of comfort that they had whispered to one another in those early days. “There is our silver lining.”
He looked down at her, his eyes steady. “I love you, Mrs. Darcy.”
“And I you.”
A breeze stirred the grass, carrying with it the distant voices of their children. Behind them on the road, two carts trundled away from Rosings Park. The drivers called out and lifted their hats in greeting. Elizabeth held up a hand in response, and William touched the brim of his hat.
“You know,” Elizabeth said, her tone lightening, “when the villagers tell the story, they call it Mr. Darcy’s folly.”
He groaned. “Yes. Fitz has delighted in telling me so.”
Elizabeth laughed, slipping her hand into his. “Do you mind?”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “What choice do I have?”
“Oh, my love,” she teased, squeezing his hand. “It is not so bad. The story—the drama, the heroism, that is what it is about. How you saved a fair maiden—”
“You are a fair maiden awaiting rescue, now? Hardly an accurate portrayal.”
She slapped lightly at his arm. “Hush. In this story I am the unnamed fair maiden. But you are the hero of the piece. You shall live on in Kentish lore for generations.”
After a moment, they turned together, walking at a gentle pace toward their children, whose laughter rang clear in the afternoon air. Their youngest, not yet two, was in the nursery up at Rosings Park, no doubt being cossetted by her cousin Anne. Beth, with her dark curls wild about her face, was tugging at her brother’s sleeve, urging him toward another passage of the ruined labyrinth. Bennet, older by two years and every inch his father’s child, regarded the structure with an assessing gaze before allowing himself to be pulled along.
“She is intrepid,” Elizabeth said as she watched.
William cast her a sidelong glance. “I cannot decide whether that should make me proud or concerned.”
“Both, I imagine.” Elizabeth leaned against his arm as they continued toward their children, the past laid to rest behind them, and the future open and bright before them.
“Papa, Mamma!” Bennet called, holding something aloft. “Look what I found!”
He bounded towards them, the flattened, faded blue article in his hands barely discernible beneath years of weathering. “It is a bonnet!”
Beth gasped with delight, taking it from her brother with reverence, smoothing her small fingers over the dirty, ragged edges before running to her mother. “Mamma, is it yours?”
Elizabeth stilled. The breath in her chest tightened, and the past rushed toward her as if ten years had not passed at all. The weight of stone pressing in, the scent of dust and earth, the whisper of William’s voice in the dark.
William reached one hand out to her while the other took the bonnet from Beth. His long fingers brushed the frayed ribbon, and though his expression scarcely altered, Elizabeth knew what he felt.
“Yes, dear,” she murmured. “It was mine.”
William’s fingers tightened slightly, then fell away, his gaze lifting to hers. There was nothing to say. Nothing that had not been said between them already in countless glances, in the quiet of the night, in the years that had bound them ever closer.
Beth cradled the bonnet as if it were a treasure. “It is dirty and very old,” she declared. “But I shall keep it, for I like to have things that belonged to you, Mamma.”
Elizabeth smiled, bending to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “Then it is yours, my love.”
"Very old," William teased.
"Practically ancient," she agreed with a little laugh.
His hand found hers, warm and steady, fingers twining together with a quiet, unspoken understanding.
“Will you tell us the story again?” Beth asked, eyes shining with eager curiosity. “The real one—not the one the villagers tell.”
Bennet smirked. “Yes, Papa. The last time we visited, a stable boy told me that you had duelled a highwayman inside the tunnels before saving Mamma from certain death.”
Elizabeth tipped her head to consider her husband. “Had there been a highwayman, I have no doubt that he would have done just that.”
Her husband sighed. “At this rate, I shall soon have tamed a dragon.”
Beth’s smile widened. “But you did save Mamma, did you not?”
Elizabeth’s gaze softened as she looked at her husband. “He did.”
William’s expression was unreadable for a moment before he gave a slight nod. “We saved each other.”
Beth, never one to let a moment of sentiment delay a quest, tugged at her father’s sleeve. “Can we explore a little? Just to see where the tunnel leads?”
William hesitated, glancing toward the entrance. The stone was worn, the entrance half-collapsed, and though his own curiosity was strong, he was still the careful man she married. “Perhaps another time—after we ensure it is safe.”
“That is what you always say,” Beth replied with a sigh.
Elizabeth nudged her daughter playfully. “And has he ever been wrong?”
Beth considered this before shaking her head. “No.”
“Then let us enjoy the present moment,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand. “Come, Beth, I believe we were promised a walk around the gardens.”
Beth’s bottom lip poked out in a pout. “Must we?”
William lifted a brow. “I was under the impression you were fond of flowers.”
“I am, but I am fonder of stories.”
“Did you not know?” Elizabeth asked her daughter. “There are faeries who live in the garden. Plenty of stories to be had there.”
Beth’s eyes opened wide, and she began to walk very swiftly towards the road. Her brother rolled his eyes and trotted after her.
Elizabeth shared one last glance at the ruins with her husband before turning away.
“That should keep her entertained for a while," Elizabeth told him.
He chuckled. Their daughter was nobody’s fool. “Until she starts demanding proof.”
“Oh, I have no doubt she will.” Elizabeth sighed, watching Beth hurry ahead, her curls bouncing with every eager step. “And when she does, I suppose we shall have to leave out a few well-placed flower petals and half-eaten berries to sustain the illusion.”
Darcy smirked. “We could enlist Fitz to dress in green and skulk about the shrubbery.”
She laughed softly. “A tempting notion, but I doubt even Fitz's sense of mischief extends that far.”
“Never underestimate a Fitzwilliam,” he murmured drily.
She linked her arm through his as they followed their children toward the garden. “Perhaps we should send word to him when he arrives tonight, then. I am certain he would relish the challenge.”
He considered this for a moment. “If we are to arrange proper faerie sightings, I suppose we ought to include the entire family. Bingley and your sister will arrive soon. Georgiana could compose a suitable melody, and the girls could all play their wooden flutes.”
“Thank goodness faeries do not listen to drums,” Elizabeth added.
Fitz, now retired from the army, had purchased any number of gifts for the children, including the two Collins boys. The one criterion seemed to be that they must all make noise.
After receiving Darcy’s letter, Bingley had returned to Netherfield to await Jane’s return, and their reunion was everything Darcy and Elizabeth had hoped it would be. The two couples had been married in a joyful double ceremony, and before long, the Bingleys had settled in the north, not far from Pemberley. Darcy often found quiet satisfaction in watching their children grow up together—cousins, yes, but more like siblings.
“The more I think on this plan, the more I am inclined to act upon it,” he declared.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth gasped in mock surprise, “are you suggesting we orchestrate an elaborate family deception?”
He gave her a sidelong glance full of the mischief that few beyond his wife ever witnessed. “I am suggesting, Mrs. Darcy, that if our daughter demands proof of faeries, we shall provide it with the same thoroughness and attention to detail with which we approach all family matters.”
Elizabeth’s laughter rang out across the garden, causing Bennet to turn back with curious eyes. She lifted herself on her toes to whisper in his ear, “I do believe marriage to me has corrupted you entirely.”
“Not corrupted,” he corrected, pressing a discreet kiss to her temple. “Improved.”
Ahead of them, Beth had already darted into the garden to begin her hunt, peering beneath rosebushes and behind statuary with determined focus. As they strolled through the gate behind her, it was clear that Bennet, despite his earlier attempts at dignity, was suggesting likely hiding spots with great glee.
“Do you truly mind all the stories, my dear?” Elizabeth asked, squeezing his hand.
“Well, they seem to have prevented my aunt from building another folly,” he muttered, though he could not pretend to be bothered by it. If Elizabeth was happy, so was he. “So there is that consolation.”
She gazed up at him with wide-eyed innocence, a picture of mischief barely concealed. “Have you not heard, then?”
His eyes narrowed. “Heard what?”
Elizabeth gazed up at him, all innocence. “Lady Catherine is planning to build a hermitage.”
Darcy stared at her, stunned into silence for a heartbeat. Then, without a word, he seized his wife's hand, drew her behind the garden wall, and kissed her breathless.
The End
Ready for the next book in the Rom Com Collection?