Epilogue Chapter 1
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
May, 1814
“So I said to Mrs. Long, yes, of course the young men are courting Mary. She is quite an heiress since she will inherit Longbourn! At least she is a sensible girl and will choose her husband well, do you not think, Mr. Bennet?”
Mr. Bennet glanced surreptitiously at the clock and smiled at his wife, “Yes, my dear, Mary is very sensible indeed. I have no doubt that if she chooses to marry, she will choose wisely.”
“If?” his lady demanded in horrified tones. “But surely she would not wish to be single all of her life! The entire purpose of making her heiress of Longbourn is so that Mary can find a husband! Kitty and Lydia are so pretty and bright that they will attract fine gentlemen even without a large dowries, but Mary ...”
“I do not know, Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet interrupted, though gently. “I am confident, however, that Mary can and will live a good life even if she remains single.”
His wife stared at him in bewilderment before launching into speech again, “Well, it will not come to that. They are buzzing around her now – the eldest Lucas boy, the Goldberg heir – and my sister, Gardiner, says that there were several men interested in Mary when she visited London last winter. Mary merely needs to choose which one she likes best.”
Mr. Bennet glanced again at the clock, “My dear, I fear I must retreat to my library to deal with some correspondence.”
“Of course, Mr. Bennet, of course! I have ordered Cook to make your favorite for dinner tonight, spring lamb with asparagus.”
“Until dinner then,” he replied before marching out of the sitting room. His pace picked up until he was safely in his library, whereupon he collapsed thankfully behind his desk.
Mr. Bennet had decided some eighteen months ago that he had been a terrible husband to his wife, and that he must attempt to forge a better relationship with the lady. In pursuit of that laudable goal, he had committed to spending at least thirty minutes a day with Mrs. Bennet, sometimes alone and sometimes with one or more of their daughters.During their time together, he forced himself to rein in his satirical tongue.
The results had been somewhat mixed. Mrs. Bennet clearly relished the peaceful conversations with her husband and her famous nerves were far less troublesome than before. While that was partially due to the marriage of her two oldest daughters and the breaking of the Longbourn entail, Bennet was convinced that their more peaceful relationship was also helpful. Bennet had even seen, on occasion, signs of the winsome, glowing creature who had captured his heart so long ago.
Intellectually, the couple remained on entirely separate planes. Even a calm Mrs. Bennet was not an intelligent Mrs. Bennet. She would never be his intellectual equal like Jane was to Bingley, and Elizabeth was to Darcy, but he found himself philosophical on the matter. Mary, Kitty, and Lydia had matured a great deal in the last years, and Kitty had even shown a surprising gift for the game of chess. No, he would never be intellectually stimulated during conversations with his wife, and he had concluded that he should endeavor to forget such an unreasonable expectation. They were growing more comfortable together, and he was quite certain their children were benefiting from a more harmonious Longbourn.
Mr. Bennet glanced again at his clock. Mr. Gregory was to meet him in an hour to discuss the financial needs of the Home Farm, but until then, he would read a good book.
/
Queenston
Upper Canada
George Wickham slapped his neck and cursed aloud. While he appreciated the heat of spring after the long, bitterly coldCanadian winter, the blasted black flies were everywhere, and his exposed flesh was a banquet feast to the great swarms flying around the British camp. Inside the tents, great efforts were made to keep the insects mostly out, but he was on guard duty for another two hours, and by the time he was back in his quarters, his face would be a mass of bites.
For the thousandth time, his mind flashed back to England, to Georgiana Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. If he had succeeded in marrying either of those women, he would be set up in relative grandeur. Instead, he was trapped as a lowly infantryman in a dreary army camp in the middle of nowhere.
Of course, he could be dead. His regiment had participated in the Battle of Queenston Heights the previous October, and many men had died during the fighting or from infected wounds afterwards. Even the British commander, Major General Isaac Brock, had been killed instantly by a musket ball during the fighting.
Wickham sighed in a thoroughly self-pitying way. Maybe he would be better off dead. He certainly had little to look forward to in this life. He was no longer George Wickham, the elegant, well-formed godson of Mr. George Darcy. He was Private Wickham, with scars on his back from a flogging and several teeth lost from a brawl. Even if he made it back to England, he would never be able to get near another heiress.
Wickham swore again and slapped another fly.
/
Rosings
Kent
“Are you certain, Anne?” Richard Fitzwilliam demanded anxiously.
Anne Fitzwilliam rose to her tiptoes and kissed her husband on the cheek, “I felt the baby quicken last night. We are definitely going to have a child.”
The former Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned forward and planted a surprisingly ardent kiss on his wife’s rosy lips. Their marriage had started out as one of convenience, but with the removal of Lady Catherine to the Dower House and improvement in Anne’s health and emotional well-being, the marriage had become something more.
“Are you happy, Richard?” she asked tenderly.
“I am overjoyed,” he assured her, and kissed her again.
/
Netherfield
Hertfordshire
“May I hold him?” Lydia asked, holding her arms out to three month old Matthew Bingley.
Jane handed over her son and smiled fondly as her youngest sister cuddled the baby close to her. Lydia obviously found much comfort in the nephew named after her lost twin.
“Do you think he will travel well to Pemberley?” Lydia asked, adjusting the baby so that his little head was resting comfortably on her shoulder.
“We will see,” Jane said with some trepidation. She and Charles were leaving for Pemberley in two days, and they had never taken the baby on such a long trip before.
“I am certain he will be wonderful,” Lydia declared, rubbing her cheek against the baby’s downy head.
“Lydia.”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to tell you that ... that Charles and I will be searching for an estate closer to Pemberley to purchase.”
Lydia’s face flashed with dismay, to be replaced by understanding, “To get away from Mama?”
Jane winced a little, “I love her, of course, but ...”
“She wishes to rule Netherfield,” Lydia finished.
“Yes.”
Lydia took a deep breath and pasted on a smile, “I will miss you.”
“If we find an estate in the north, we intend to ask Father if you can stay with us several months a year. Would you like that?”
“Oh Jane, yes, I would adore it!”
Charles Bingley strolled into the sitting room and smiled down on his wife, “My dear, I believe it is time for you to retire to your bed for a nap.”
Mrs. Jane Bingley glanced longingly toward the stairs which led to her bedchamber and resolutely shook her head, “I must speak with the housekeeper, and I need to order the maids to pack for our trip to Pemberley, and …”
“Jane, we are not leaving for Pemberley for two more days. Mrs. Bristol is an extremely accomplished housekeeper. The maids can pack in a few hours.I am certain that Lydia would be glad to watch the baby while you take this opportunity to rest. I know you were up more than once with Matthew last night.”
“You know I would be delighted,” Lydia exclaimed.
Jane nodded thankfully, “Very well, I will. Thank you both.”
/
Pemberley
Derbyshire
“Good morning, sir,” Titus, one of the stable hands, greeted Darcy.
“Good morning,” his master replied. “How are Clover and her pups today?”
Titus grinned with pleasure, “They are well, sir. I was a bit worried about the runt of the litter two days ago, but she is getting along well. Clover is a good mother. Would you care to take a look at them?”
Darcy nodded and followed the man into the kennels situated next to the main stables. Inside a large enclosure lay an attractive spaniel, whose six pups were either nursing eagerly or soundly sleeping.
“She does look well,” Darcy agreed, his eyes fixed on the smallest of the litter, who was one of the babies suckling her mother’s teats with rapt enthusiasm. He was thankful; Elizabeth was a practical woman in many ways, but she had expressed dismay at the thought of the smallest puppy dying.
There was a burst of barking from further down the kennel, and Darcy wandered down to look at Clover’s mate, Maxwell. As usual, the sight of his master whipped Maxwell into a frenzy of excitement, and Darcy, with a chuckle, opened the door to allow the canine to leap out and nose his boots adoringly.
“I will take him out for a few minutes,” he told the stable boy, who ran off to find a lead. A minute later, with leash in hand, he started toward the open grass next to the kennels, only to halt when Maxwell stopped in his tracks. Darcy turned to discover that the spaniel was pressed up against the front of the enclosure where his mate and their pups were ensconced.
Clover lifted her head to gaze at the spaniel who had sired her babies, opened her mouth to show her teeth, and gave Maxwell a warning snarl. Maxwell meekly retreated a few steps and looked up at Darcy with canine bewilderment.
Darcy leaned down to pat the dog comfortingly, “It is quite all right. Clover merely feels protective of your puppies.”
“Poor Maxwell!” a feminine voice added archly, “I fear that females can be quite difficult at times.”
Darcy turned around and instantly swept his petite wife into his arms, relishing the feel of her rounded belly against his own body. “My dear, I did not expect you to be up yet,” he murmured into her ear before setting her down carefully.
Elizabeth chuckled, “Your son or daughter was firmly kicking me in the ribs, which woke me before the accustomed time. How is Daffodil?”
“Daffodil?”
“The runt.”
“Ah, Titus says she will live.”
Elizabeth smiled tearfully. Ever since she had conceived, she had been prone to odd humors. For some reason, the survival of Clover’s smallest puppy seemed of epic importance.
“I am glad,” she breathed, leaning forward to gaze at the as yet blind pups, five of whom now lay in a sleeping heap of small torsos and legs and lolling heads. The last, Daffodil, was still nursing.
Elizabeth, suddenly weary, leaned against her husband’s strong form, and in turn Darcy wrapped an arm around her, deeply thankful for his young bride. Elizabeth had taken on the mantle of the mistress of Pemberley with skill and diligence, and the staff all adored her. Man and wife were both strong-willed individuals, and there had been more than one intense disagreement, but with patience and commitment, they found themselves more in love now than they had been on their wedding day.
In a few months, Elizabeth would bear his child and another generation of Darcys would grow and work and learn here at their beloved Pemberley. He was exceedingly blessed.