Epilogue
ELIZABETH DARCY MOVED along the garden path, trailing her fingers through the fragrant roses that lined the walkway.
Early summer had transformed Pemberley’s grounds into a riot of color and scent, the tended borders bursting with blooms that stretched toward the horizon.
A year had passed since her declarations with Darcy in this very garden.
She paused to pluck a perfect white rose, bringing it to her nose and inhaling its sweet fragrance.
Last summer these same blooms had witnessed their whispered declarations of love.
Now they would witness another beginning, another chapter that Elizabeth had only confirmed to herself three days prior.
The sound of approaching carriage wheels drew her attention toward the main drive. Right on time, as Jane had always been punctual. Elizabeth gathered her skirts and hurried toward the front of the house, eager to welcome her sister and brother-in-law for their extended summer visit.
By the time she reached the entrance, the Bingley carriage had drawn to a halt, and Darcy was already assisting Jane to descend, his hands steadying her with care appropriate to her advanced condition.
Elizabeth had to stifle a laugh at the identical expressions of concern on both men’s faces as they hovered around Jane as though she might shatter at any moment.
“Jane!” Elizabeth rushed forward to embrace her sister as soon as her feet touched solid ground. “How wonderful to see you. How was your journey?”
“Tolerable.” Jane’s characteristic gentle smile showed despite the shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes. “Though these gentlemen are convinced I might deliver at any moment despite our physician assuring us we have at least three weeks remaining.”
“Can you blame us?” Bingley’s habitual good humor carried an edge of anxious pride. “Your comfort and safety are our primary concern.”
“And we are grateful for it.” Elizabeth took Jane’s arm to guide her inside. “Though perhaps we might allow Jane to rest indoors rather than debating her condition on the doorstep?”
“Always practical, Mrs. Darcy.” The slight curve of Darcy’s lips still made Elizabeth’s heart quicken after a year of marriage. “Mrs. Bingley, your room has been prepared with every consideration for your comfort. Mrs. Reynolds has seen to it personally.”
As they entered Pemberley’s cool interior, Elizabeth watched Jane’s reaction with quiet satisfaction.
Though her sister had visited twice before, the grandeur still occasionally caught her by surprise.
Yet today, Jane’s gaze moved past the impressive architecture to focus on the small touches Elizabeth had added over the past year: fresh flowers arranged less formally than tradition dictated, comfortable chairs positioned to catch the best light for reading, miniature paintings by Georgiana displayed alongside more imposing ancestral portraits.
“You have made Pemberley your own.” Jane’s quiet observation carried warmth.
“That was my intention. Though I was careful not to disturb traditions the staff valued. It has been a delicate balance.”
“One you have achieved admirably.” Darcy’s deep voice carried easily in the stairwell.
“Where is Georgiana?” Jane inquired as they reached the upper landing. “I was hoping to continue our discussion of modern composers that we began in our letters.”
“She has gone into Lambton with Mrs. Annesley to call on the Holbrooks but will return for dinner. The daughter, Miss Holbrook, invited her to a small musical gathering that features a visiting pianist from Vienna whom Georgiana greatly admires.”
“How wonderful that they have formed such a friendship.” The unsaid implication Elizabeth heard was, And that Mr. Darcy does not object to her visiting without his personal supervision.
Elizabeth exchanged a look of amusement with her husband. “Georgiana’s confidence has grown to match her natural abilities.”
Once Jane had settled in the Blue Room—specially prepared with additional pillows, a selection of her favorite books, and a comfortable chaise positioned near windows overlooking the gardens—Elizabeth suggested her sister might wish to rest before dinner.
“I am not quite so delicate as everyone appears to believe.” Jane’s mild protest carried affection. “Though I confess the journey has tired me somewhat.”
“Then rest you shall. I will send Hannah up with tea and some of Cook’s fresh scones. The gentlemen can entertain themselves without our presence for an hour or two.”
“Charles will fret.”
“Fitzwilliam will distract him. I believe they planned to discuss some agricultural improvements Mr. Bingley is considering for Netherfield. Nothing captures their attention quite like crop rotation and drainage systems.”
This drew a soft laugh from Jane, who settled onto the chaise with visible relief. “Very well, I surrender to your superior wisdom in managing concerned husbands.”
Elizabeth felt a flush of pleasure. “We have been fortunate beyond what either of us might have hoped when our marriages began.”
Jane studied her sister’s face with the close attention that came from lifelong intimacy. “You look particularly well, Lizzy. Has anything specific occurred?”
“Nothing beyond the joy of having my dearest sister visit for an extended stay. Now rest, Jane. We will have ample time for conversation in the days ahead.”
Once she had ensured Jane’s comfort and dispatched Hannah with the promised refreshments, Elizabeth descended to the library where Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley had begun an animated discussion of agricultural methods.
She paused in the doorway, allowing herself a moment to observe her husband unawares.
Mr. Darcy glanced up mid-sentence, his expression immediately warming as their eyes met. “Elizabeth. Has Mrs. Bingley settled comfortably?”
“She is resting before dinner. Though she insists she is not nearly as fragile as everyone believes.”
“Jane would say that even in the midst of genuine distress.” Mr. Bingley’s fond exasperation showed. “She complained of mild discomfort during our journey, but I observed her wincing at every bump in the road.”
“The last weeks before confinement are trying. Though Jane bears discomfort with characteristic stoicism.”
Their conversation continued in this pleasant vein, discussing mutual acquaintances and family news.
When Mr. Bingley eventually excused himself to check on Jane, Elizabeth found herself alone with her husband for the first time since morning.
He moved immediately to join her on the settee near the windows, taking her hand in his with the easy affection that had developed between them.
“Your sister looks well, despite her fatigue. Bingley hovers excessively, but I suppose it is natural with their first child.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around his. “Though I suspect you might prove equally attentive when the time comes.”
Darcy went very still, his eyes searching her face with sudden intensity. “Elizabeth.” His voice dropped to a register that never failed to send a pleasant shiver through her. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
She had planned to wait until evening, to create a perfect moment in the rose garden where they had declared their love. But…
“I had thought to tell you tonight, but yes, Fitzwilliam. If my calculations are correct, we will welcome our own child around Christmas.”
Shock gave way to wonder, then to a joy so profound it illuminated him from within. For a moment, he could not speak, his hands tightening around hers as though seeking physical confirmation of her words.
“You are certain?”
“As certain as one can be at this early stage. I have suspected for some weeks but waited to be sure before telling you. The physician called yesterday while you were meeting with the tenant farmers, and he confirmed my condition.”
“A child. Our child.” One hand moved almost reverently toward her still-flat stomach before hesitating.
Elizabeth caught his hand, guiding it to rest against her abdomen where their future grew. “The first of several, I hope, though perhaps we should wait to see how we manage this one before planning an entire nursery full.”
A laugh escaped him. How wrong her first impressions had been, to mistake his reserve for coldness.
“Are you pleased?”
“Pleased hardly begins to describe it.” Darcy raised her hands to his lips. “I am overwhelmed, Elizabeth. With gratitude, with joy, with emotions I cannot properly name.”
Their lips met in a kiss that communicated what words could not.
When they separated, Elizabeth was surprised to find tears in her eyes, matched by suspicious moisture in Darcy’s own. “I had not anticipated being so affected by the prospect of motherhood. I have always considered myself quite practical about such matters.”
“I have no doubt you will approach motherhood with the same intelligence and spirit you have brought to everything else.” He added, “If it is a daughter, I pray she has your wit and vivacity. Though perhaps not quite your propensity for wandering in storms.”
“And if a son, your integrity and conscience. Though with more willingness to dance at assemblies.”
Darcy drew her into his arms. “When shall we tell the others?”
“Perhaps tomorrow. Let Jane enjoy her first evening here without competition for attention. I confess I treasure having this knowledge between just the two of us for a little longer.”
“As you wish.” Darcy pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Though I make no promises about concealing my happiness. Bingley, at least, is likely to notice something different about my demeanor.”
“Let him wonder until tomorrow. A little mystery adds interest to an evening, does it not?”