Chapter 19 Epilogue
“I was sorry to hear about the passing of Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Bingley said in earnest sadness.
Darcy was saved from perjuring himself by the timely arrival of his butler. Richard had died peacefully in his sleep, still stark raving mad, in a hospital in the Scottish Highlands. Not even twenty-four years had mellowed Darcy’s unyielding temper where that man was concerned.
“A line of carriages has been spotted descending the hill, sir.”
“Thank you, Jonathan.”
He should not address his butler by his first name. The once-young footman had been promoted to butler a decade ago.
“Have you notified Mrs Darcy?”
“No, I thought to warn you first, sir. I shall tell the mistress.”
Darcy nodded with absence of mind. It had been a long time since the Darcys had invited so many of their family at once, but as there was cause for celebration…
Darcy sighed. There was no escape. Fortunately, Bingley and Jane had arrived the previous day as they had only thirty miles to travel.
His friend was currently keeping him company whilst their wives entertained the youngsters.
Although Ellie had married and recently welcomed her first child, their remaining six children still lived at home.
Even twenty-year-old Master Fitzwilliam still kept his room when he was not improving his mind at Cambridge.
Darcy blamed Elizabeth, who had made Pemberley entirely too comfortable for the children to ever desire leaving their childhood home.
“Why are you sighing, old man?”
“Speak for yourself, Bingley. Old man, indeed!” Darcy scoffed.
“I am as healthy as an ox and far from old.” Darcy drew a deliberate deep breath to swell his chest. Bingley was about to find out just how well he was: fit as a fiddle and young as a buck.
“I find marriage a fountain of youth,” he added cryptically.
“I do not doubt that your vivacious wife is keeping you sprightly,” Bingley remarked with a trace of sarcasm. “I prefer a serene wife for company as I mellow with age.”
“By your speech, one would think you had one foot in the grave already,” Darcy mocked his friend. “What say you to jumping the fence and racing across the field to prove we are not some knock-kneed, square-toed old cuffs.”
Bingley looked at him as if he had grown horns on his head.
“Are you mad! I would rather not add a broken neck to my tired joints and blasted gout.”
“You do not suffer from gout!” Darcy protested, aghast. “Gout is an old man’s illness that particularly afflicts those who spend their days in idle pursuits, which is in itself an unpardonable offence.”
Bingley remained quiet for two long minutes before he leapt to his feet. Darcy overlooked the slight grimace that followed to see what had invigorated his friend.
“Is that not Collins’s carriage?” Bingley asked with affected interest.
“I believe so,” Darcy agreed with less rapture.
The carriage came to a halt before they could tear themselves away from the window. To Darcy’s dismay, it was not only Mr Collins and the parson’s daughter who alighted. From what must have been a cramped and uncomfortable conveyance stepped his old nemesis, along with his wife and son.
“Wickham!” Darcy spat.
Wickham little resembled his old enemy now that his girth had grown almost equal to his height.
As an old man, Wickham was no longer a threat to Darcy, or any young maidens.
It still irked him that the weasel had ingratiated himself with the rather ignorant Mr Collins after Mr Bennet’s death.
He had convinced the parson that he was obligated by honour and the Bennet family bond to lodge his wife and son, which also included the reprobate himself.
Mr Collins had let himself be persuaded and had gained three additional mouths to feed.
Not that Longbourn would buckle under the weight of the expense.
Mr Collins had hitherto not convinced another lady to marry him after Mrs Collins’s premature demise and might not mind the addition of the Wickhams to his household. Lydia ruled as her mother had, by setting an excellent table though with much fluttering of nerves.
Wickham’s spawn was fortunately nothing like his parents but resembled his paternal grandfather, who had once been Pemberley’s excellent steward.
The young lad had taken over the reins of Longbourn at a young age, which in turn had saved the estate from years of neglect.
He had lately become engaged to Miss Catherine Collins, who had sadly been the sole survivor of her birth.
“Fitzwilliam!” a melodic voice beckoned from the entrance hall. “Our guests have arrived.”
“We are coming, dearest,” Darcy replied, and his feet moved decidedly towards the owner of the voice. He patted Bingley jovially on the shoulder on his way out. “Into the fray, my friend.”
“I would not call it a fray—they are all your family,” Bingley reminded him as they strode towards the door.
“Precisely. It has been four-and-twenty lively years since I married into the Bennet family, and I have since fathered more than half the brood who are present. With only your five children and Miss Collins to compete with, I have earned the right to complain. Of course, had Mary’s husband been able to leave his parish, or had not Kitty’s husband been too occupied with the harvest at Lucas Lodge for them all to attend, I would have been outnumbered. ”
Elizabeth’s beaming smile radiated at him from the bottom of the stairs. She clapped her hands in joy and bounced on her toes in a display of impatient anticipation. As he reached the last step, she laced her arm around his elbow and hauled him out of the door.
It was fortunate that Ellie and her husband had arrived whilst he descended the stairs.
Darcy preferred to greet his eldest daughter and avoid Collins and Wickham.
Especially because she was carrying his first grandchild in a basket.
Darcy lowered his head and gazed at the clear blue eyes staring back at him.
He must have become affected by temporary blindness because his sight clouded.
Young Master Granville was the heir to the Edensor barony, Pemberley’s neighbouring estate.
The new parents had known each other since they were young children, and Ellie had declared she would marry Llewelyn upon their introduction at the ripe old age of five, choosing him over her younger cousin Charlie.
Last to arrive were Georgiana and her husband.
She had married Edward Hughes Ball Hughes in 1819, after the gentleman of modest upbringing had inherited a fortune from his step-grandfather.
But even forty thousand a year was not enough to live on for that spendthrift, gambling dandy.
They had hired a solicitor in 1823 to handle their finances, reducing Mr Hughes’s squandering habits by limiting him to a monthly allowance.
For that reason, Darcy had never liked his new brother.
Georgiana was besotted by his good looks and impressive stature and perceived no flaws in her husband.
This blindness was undoubtedly the reason she was happy in her marriage.
They resided in London and had but the one son, Master Edward, which was probably for the best as the father could not be bothered to save a shilling, much less a fortune for a dowry.
Darcy put aside his objections and welcomed the tired travellers.
“How was the condition of the roads?” he enquired.
“Terrible!” Hughes moaned. “Rutted and almost impassable from the moment we left the outskirts of London.” The man patted his cheeks and studied his reflection in the opaque glass in his carriage. He was thus occupied until the conveyance pulled away towards the stables.
“I am grieved to hear your journey was unpleasant,” Darcy soothed. “Please, follow me, and Mr Linney will escort you to your rooms. How is London?”
“Terribly hot, making the stench intolerable.”
“Excellent. Mr Linney!” Darcy called for his butler before he was forced to suffer any more of Mr Hughes’s endless complaints.
“Thank you for the invitation, Brother.”
Georgiana kissed his cheek before hastening after her husband. She looked very well, he thought, as Elizabeth grabbed his arm. He could sense a change in his wife’s mood and dreaded what Wickham had done to provoke the alteration.
“Did Mr Bingley mention that we excluded the Elliots from the invitations? I am suffering a guilty conscience for omitting them from our family party.”
Darcy squeezed the hand on his arm. “Not a word was spoken about Caroline or her designing, selfish, and cold-blooded Sir William. I am certain Bingley is as relieved as you and I are that the Elliots are not present. They make Jane uneasy with their cruelty and hollow black hearts.”
“True,” Elizabeth allowed with a sigh of relief. “I shall think of it no more.”
He halted their progress just outside the door and asked the footman to close it.
“Should he not wait until we are safely inside?” Elizabeth quipped wryly.
“Absolutely not,” Darcy protested and swung his wife into his arms. Elizabeth stiffened whilst her head turned in all directions to ascertain that no one was about to see them.
When she had established that they were quite alone, her rigid stance relaxed into his embrace.
“Because that would prohibit me from doing this.” He lowered his head and kissed her soundly—a pleasure he but rarely indulged in out of their chambers.
He was a private man and would not engage in any affair that might embarrass the children or scandalise his servants.
“I cannot object to such a reasonable request,” Elizabeth agreed and kissed him back. “I love you,” she whispered with tears welling in her eyes.
I had better cheer her spirits before the tears spill, Darcy thought whilst having no time to contemplate how he might do that. “Did you know that Bingley has gout?”