Epilogue
The ship rose and fell with the rhythm of calm seas, and Darcy stood with his hands braced against the rail, watching his betrothed.
Elizabeth’s gaze was fixed on the horizon. The wind had pulled several of her curls loose from their pins, and they danced about her face in a manner that was enticing and distracting.
Behind them, the deck was mercifully quiet.
Sir Edmund Xavier, the actual Thurnian envoy who had joined them in London after the debacle with the fraudulent Sir Reginald, was below deck, no doubt reviewing protocol documents for the third time that morning.
Elizabeth’s new maid, a sensible woman named Peters, and her companion, Mrs. Crawford, had retired to their cabin an hour ago, both looking vaguely unwell.
Adrian’s servants were also occupied elsewhere, leaving the deck blessedly free of witnesses to what Darcy suspected would be an increasingly emotional morning.
“Is that it?” Elizabeth asked, nodding at a dark smudge on the horizon that was growing larger every moment.
Adrian appeared at her elbow, squinting into the distance. His expression told Darcy that he had seen that coastline a hundred times or more but would never tire of it. “Yes,” he said, “that is Thurnia.”
Darcy watched Elizabeth’s face and saw the flicker of apprehension cross her features before she mastered it. She had been quieter than usual this morning—not withdrawn, precisely, but thoughtful.
“You love it,” Elizabeth said softly.
Adrian did not look at her. “I do,” he said.
“I always have. Even when I was away at school, even when I was furious with King Frederick for sending me to England when I would rather have been running wild through the hills with my brothers—I loved it.” He paused, then added, almost to himself, “I always shall.”
“I shall try,” Elizabeth said at last. “To love it, I mean. I cannot promise I shall succeed, at least, not right away. But I shall try.”
Adrian turned to her then, and his smile was warm. “That,” he said, “is all anyone could ask.”
Darcy decided it was time to intervene. He crossed to stand beside Elizabeth, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed hers, and allowed himself the small pleasure of her immediate smile when she glanced up at him.
“How long?” he asked Adrian.
“An hour, perhaps,” Adrian said. “A bit more, if the wind shifts.”
One hour until Elizabeth was swept up in royal protocol and palace intrigue and a hundred demands that had nothing to do with him. An hour until she would become, in the eyes of the Thurnian court, Princess Elizabeth first and his betrothed second.
At least they had the assurance that the betrothal would be honoured. If Elizabeth’s grandparents had changed their minds on that score, Darcy would not have been allowed to accompany her.
“Are you ready?” he murmured to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, and then she said, with determined optimism, “I am.”
Adrian straightened from the rail with a thoughtful expression. “Good,” he said. “Because there are a few things we ought to discuss before we arrive.”
Darcy tensed. “What else could there possibly be?”
“Oh,” Adrian added, as though it had just occurred to him, “you should know—the matter of Mr. Reginald Whitmore and Mrs. Hobart is decided. They have been sent to Valenberg.”
Elizabeth’s head turned sharply. “Valenberg?”
“Grandmother’s cousin is a duchess there.
They are to spend the next decade working in her charitable institutions.
Hospitals, orphanages, that sort of thing.
They shall be required to make a public apology, report each week on their charitable works, and explain publicly what they have done to atone.
” His expression was unreadable. “They shall be at the bottom of the hierarchy in these places. Quite the fall from grace, particularly for Whitmore.”
Not enough of a fall, Darcy thought. However, he recalled that the former Sir Reginald was not a young man. Ten years from now might well be the rest of his life, or most of it.
“But they shall live,” Elizabeth said softly, and Darcy’s heart went out to her. She was so much better than he.
“Because you asked for mercy,” Adrian replied. He paused. “King Frederick was evidently moved. But justice must also be served. Public confession, a decade of servitude, and permanent banishment seemed most fitting.”
Darcy saw Elizabeth’s shoulders relax slightly. “Thank you for telling me.”
Adrian waved a hand. “Now then, there is also the matter of your title.”
Darcy shook his head. “Elizabeth already has a title.”
“I was not speaking to Elizabeth,” Adrian said, smiling.
Darcy felt a frisson of alarm. “No.”
Adrian ignored him. “You see, Elizabeth, when one marries a princess—which Darcy shall be doing in approximately eight weeks’ time—certain accommodations must be made.”
“What sort of accommodations?” Elizabeth asked. She sounded amused.
This was not amusing.
“The king means to offer Darcy a title. It is customary, you see. As a courtesy. And I must recommend that he accept it.”
“No,“ Darcy repeated.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You do not want it.”
It was not a question. Darcy felt something in his chest ease at her immediate understanding. “No.”
“Why?”
How to explain this without sounding either pompous or ungrateful?
“My uncle Lord Matlock has been attempting to secure a barony for me. He believes it would give me consequence as well as a seat in Parliament where I might vote precisely as he instructs me to.” His mouth twisted slightly as he took Elizabeth’s hand and lifted it to his lips.
“I have declined my uncle’s offer. Repeatedly. ”
Elizabeth studied him with that penetrating attention that suggested she was seeing far more than he intended to reveal. “You do not wish to be obligated.”
“No.”
“But this is different,” Adrian interjected.
“A Thurnian title carries no parliamentary responsibilities for you. There will be no English politics. Just rank and precedence at court so that you can sit with Elizabeth during celebrations and ceremonies and be of assistance to her in her duties.” He paused, then added slyly, “And it would satisfy your uncle’s sense of importance without actually giving him what he wants. ”
Darcy frowned. He had not considered that. And if it would help him to assist Elizabeth . . . His glance found her earnest gaze upon him. She would not ask him to do this. She would accept whatever he decided and navigate the consequences herself. Which made him want to accept.
What this woman did to him.
He sighed. “Very well.”
Adrian’s grin was triumphant. “Excellent. I shall inform King Frederick you shall accept with grace.”
“I did not say that.”
“You implied it.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, clearly suppressing a smile, and Darcy found himself torn between irritation at Adrian and pleasure at having amused her.
“Are you satisfied?“ he asked Elizabeth, ignoring Adrian entirely.
She tilted her head, considering him. “I would have been satisfied either way,” she said softly. “But yes. I think this is fitting.”
“Fitting?”
“You have always been noble, Mr. Darcy,” she said, and there was something in her voice that made his breath catch. “In every way that matters. A title shall not change that. It shall only make the rest of the world see what I already know.”
For a moment, Darcy could not speak. He had long felt this way about her, that her nobility of character outshone any external title.
But for her to say this about him—he wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that he was not particularly noble, that he had been arrogant and presumptuous and that he had nearly lost her because he had been too proud to believe her story.
But the way she was looking at him suggested she would not believe a word of it.
He was a truly fortunate man.
Adrian sighed. “If you two insist on being this insufferable when we arrive, you should be prepared for a great deal of teasing.”
Darcy shook his head but found he could not quite suppress a smile.
“Look,” Adrian said suddenly, pointing towards the shore. “There—do you see it?”
Elizabeth turned to look, and Darcy followed her gaze. The coastline loomed large before them now, revealing green hills and white cliffs. And there, rising far above the harbour, was a palace—pale stone and soaring towers, gleaming in the April sun.
“That is it,” Adrian said, and there was pride in his voice now. “That is home.”
Darcy saw Elizabeth’s shoulders straighten, saw the way she lifted her chin in that particular manner that meant she was preparing herself for a challenge.
“Are you well?” he asked quietly.
“I am thinking,” Elizabeth said slowly, “that it is very grand.”
“It is,” Adrian agreed. “But you shall manage beautifully.”
“Shall I?” Elizabeth’s voice was light, but Darcy heard the uncertainty beneath it. “I am a country gentleman’s daughter who grew up in Hertfordshire. I have never even been presented at Court. And now I am meant to be a princess?”
“You are a princess,“ Adrian corrected gently. “Whether you were raised in a palace or a parsonage makes no difference to your blood.” His smile was crooked. “You have been well educated, though there is still much for you to learn about Thurnia.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Elizabeth,” Darcy said firmly. Her fretting stilled. “Any family would be proud to count you among their members.”
Elizabeth turned to look at him, and he saw the vulnerability in her eyes. “You truly believe that?”
“I know it,” Darcy said confidently. “I have spent my entire life among the titled and the privileged. Most of them are utterly unremarkable despite their rank.”
“Present company excepted, of course,” Adrian said.
Darcy rolled his eyes. “Of course.” He gazed into Elizabeth’s eyes. “You, on the other hand, would be remarkable even if you were not a princess at all.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said softly, and there was something in her voice that made his heart swell.
“It is true,” he insisted.