Epilogue
Four years later, in the master suite at Pemberley, Elizabeth was trying to wake her husband. It was Sunday, one of those glorious summer mornings for which Pemberley was justly renowned.
Usually, Darcy woke before her, but on Sundays he delighted in teasing his wife, knowing how determined she was that they should never be late for the morning service.
On many occasions he had pretended to be asleep, waiting for her to approach the bed before capturing her in his arms. It was a futile trap, for Elizabeth knew all his tricks.
More often than not, she deliberately allowed herself to be caught.
It was a game neither of them ever tired of, because for them love meant finding new ways to kindle their affection whenever they were alone.
As was their custom every Sunday, they attended the service in Pemberley’s chapel, situated two miles from the mansion on the estate.
Since Elizabeth had become mistress of Pemberley, the service was no longer intended solely for the family.
It had grown into a gathering open to all the people who lived and worked on the estate and their families.
It was Elizabeth’s way of meeting the people in their care, of showing them that they were valued, and of sharing both their hardships and their joys.
She learned of their concerns, celebrated their happiest moments with genuine pleasure, and offered help whenever it was needed.
The chapel had become so crowded that the clergyman had been obliged to add new benches to accommodate everyone who wished to attend.
Elizabeth and Darcy travelled to the chapel in a beautiful new chaise that Darcy had purchased in France.
One of the greatest pleasures of his life was to make his wife smile.
As Elizabeth did not ride on horseback, the elegant, lightweight carriage allowed her to visit every part of the estate with ease.
She devoted much of her time to the tenants’ children, young mothers, and the elderly, determined that everyone on the estate should enjoy a good life.
Watching Elizabeth greeted by every family on the estate, Darcy reflected that becoming Mistress of Pemberley had suited her as marvellously as becoming his wife.
Mr and Mrs Bennet had already left for the chapel with the one-year-old heir to Pemberley, little Charles Darcy, the delight of both his parents and his grandparents.
Family and friends were already waiting for Darcy and Elizabeth, for tradition required the master and mistress of Pemberley to be the first to enter the chapel together.
On the steps, Anne Acton was speaking with Mrs Bennet.
The radiant young woman bore little resemblance to the unhappy girl who had lived at Rosings four years earlier.
She was now happily married to Mr Acton, Bingley’s cousin, and the mother of two young children.
“How is it,” Darcy whispered in Elizabeth’s ear, “that Anne already has two children whilst we have only one? Do you suppose her husband knows some secret we have yet to discover in our own bed?”
“Mr Darcy,” she reproved him. “We are about to enter the Lord’s house. How can such thoughts possibly occur to you?”
Her expression remained perfectly severe, but inwardly she was laughing, and as always, her eyes betrayed her.
“I regret to inform you, my dear wife, that the Lord is already perfectly acquainted with what takes place in our bedchamber…and in theirs as well,” he replied, discreetly indicating Anne and her husband.
“And I regret to inform you, dear husband, that unless you find a more suitable subject for conversation, I shall invite Mrs Bennet to stay with us for another month.”
Darcy laughed, offered her his arm, and together they entered the chapel, exactly as they would enter every new day of their lives: side by side.
End