Epilogue
E lizabeth stepped out of the way of a passing footman and craned her neck to locate Darcy.
He saw her first, peeling away from a group of clerks to greet her.
In her arms, their young son pulled his thumb out of his mouth and squealed, his hands held out in anticipation of being passed into his father’s doting embrace.
Darcy obliged him, then kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much better, thank you.” Taking George’s hand and waggling it gently, she added, “It ought to pass soon. I was not sick for so long with this little man.”
“Do you hear that?” Darcy said to his son. “Your brother or sister is set to be a mischief-maker. You will have to be on your guard.”
George smiled brightly as he did at most things Darcy said to him. Never had there lived an infant more besotted with his father, and Elizabeth did not know of any father prouder of his son than Darcy. It gladdened her heart to see it.
“It looks as though things are progressing well in here,” she remarked, looking around the library with wonder.
Almost two years since the east wing collapsed, the restoration was finally complete—structurally, at least; the upper floors were still hollow shells.
Now, the meticulous task of unpacking the library from storage had begun.
For a week, a constant stream of servants had been coming and going as crates were emptied and furniture brought back in.
Gradually, the vast stone chamber was being returned to the enchanting, elegant space Elizabeth had briefly glimpsed in the moonlight what felt like a lifetime ago.
“It seems ridiculous to say that I missed these books, but seeing them returned feels like seeing an old friend come home,” Darcy said.
There was a wistful quality to his countenance at which Elizabeth did not wonder.
The new wing was the culmination of a vast amount of work and no small quantity of tribulations, and this reinstatement of the library signified far more than merely an exercise in filling shelves; it signified the triumphant salvation of Pemberley.
“It does not seem ridiculous to me. This collection is as much your family’s legacy as the house itself.
I am just delighted to see it at last. When you told me, that day we stood out on the lawn, that you would show it to me in daylight as soon as the library was secure, I did not think I would have to wait quite so long as this.
” She placed a hand on his arm and said, earnestly, “It was worth the wait. It is magnificent.”
George babbled a string of utterances that sounded awfully sincere but made no sense, his endearingly serious expression making him look even more like Darcy than usual.
“I am glad you agree,” Elizabeth said to him. “This will all be yours one day, and you must take as much care of it as your papa has done.”
“Starting with not allowing it to fall down,” Darcy said sardonically.
George blew a raspberry.
“Quite,” he added in reply.
Elizabeth laughed at them both and asked Darcy whether he had time to join her for some tea.
“Just you? Where is Georgiana?”
“Miss Reid invited her to Delamont again, though I do not doubt that her cousin will be there as well.” When Darcy only nodded, she asked, “Do you approve?”
“I do. Connelly is a fine gentleman.”
“And if Georgiana marries him, she will be settled less than five miles from Pemberley, which I know would make you happy.”
Darcy fixed her with an indulgent smile.
“It would indeed, though she may not be the only relation we are pleased to have in such close neighbourhood. Ferguson informed me this morning that Grassbury Manor, north of Kympton, is for sale. I have written to Bingley, inviting him and Jane to stay with us while they look at the place, if they choose to. But I think he will take it if he can. It is an excellent prospect.”
Elizabeth could scarcely contain her excitement and kissed him on the cheek enough times between all her exclamations of happiness that George began to grow jealous of her attention.
“Forgive me, precious,” she cooed, taking him back into her arms. “But you will see how fine it is to have your aunt and uncle so close by.” To Darcy she added, “How wonderful for the children to grow up so near each other!”
Someone knocked over a marble pedestal, and the loud bang reverberated around the chamber and made George cry.
“I had better take him back to the nursery. But thank you, dearest Fitzwilliam! You have made me so very happy with this news.”
“I must have a turn at making you happy now and again.” He kissed first the baby then Elizabeth on their crowns and promised to join her in the saloon shortly.
She left without troubling herself to contest his point, for he knew perfectly well that he gave her reason to be happy every day. “He and you both,” she said to George, squeezing him to her. “And you too, soon enough,” she whispered, touching the slight swell of her stomach.
She delivered George back to Nanny and returned downstairs, pausing to peek into the Stag Parlour upon hearing voices as she passed the door.
Mrs Lovell was within, explaining the provenance of the hunting tapestry to two wide-eyed visitors.
The housekeeper did not possess the same breadth of knowledge about Pemberley as her predecessor, but she was learning fast, and the couple seemed satisfied with her information.
They certainly looked more attentive than Elizabeth herself had been the day she first came to Pemberley, when the fear of encountering Darcy had rendered her deaf to everything that was said about the house.
Diverted by the memory, she backed away from the door to leave Mrs Lovell to her more appreciative audience, but she was halted in her steps by an enquiry from one of them about the miniatures that hung above the mantelpiece.
“That is the late Mr Darcy,” Mrs Lovell answered. “And that one is my present master, that one is my mistress, and that one is their sister, Miss Darcy.”
“And this one?” the gentleman enquired.
“That is Mrs Reynolds. She was housekeeper here before I took the position.”
The couple both exclaimed at the uncommon condescension of so distinguished a family displaying a servant’s picture next to their own.
Elizabeth grinned; Lady Catherine was of the same mind.
Darcy’s aunt had never reconciled herself to Mrs Reynolds coming back to Pemberley, and that she was still held in such high esteem, even now, was a source of enduring displeasure for her ladyship.
“Mrs Reynolds had a special connexion to the family,” Mrs Lovell explained. “She served them for quarter of a century, and Mr and Mrs Darcy were both excessively fond of her. It was a sad day indeed when she died.”
A wave of sadness washed over Elizabeth.
Despite Darcy’s best efforts to find a physician who could help her, Mrs Reynolds’s disease had been too advanced, and she succumbed less than a year after they brought her home.
All that had been in their power was to make her final months as comfortable and agreeable as possible.
The former had become increasingly difficult towards the end, but Elizabeth was confident they had achieved the latter—in large part because George had been born in time for Mrs Reynolds to meet him.
She would remember for all her days the pride with which Darcy introduced them.
Though no substitute for Lady Anne, when Mrs Reynolds spoke, with authority, of the affection her former mistress had felt for her son and would unquestionably have felt for her grandson, it had moved both Elizabeth and Darcy exceedingly.
The gentleman peered more closely at the miniatures. “Some servants work their whole lives for the same family and are not so well regarded. Mr and Mrs Darcy must be excellent employers.”
Mrs Lovell nodded seriously. “They are the best master and mistress that ever lived, and not one of their tenants or servants will tell you otherwise.”
Feeling awkward to be eavesdropping on such talk, Elizabeth hastened away, but with a blossoming sense of the deepest contentment.
Mrs Reynolds had once said the same to her of Darcy, marking the hour, the spot, and the words that set her off towards falling in love with him in the first place.
Little had Elizabeth known with what intimacy she would come to understand the truth of the commendation.
Even less had she imagined that she would ever share in it.
Yet Pemberley was her world now, and she had come to love it almost as dearly as she loved Darcy.
It was pleasing to know Mrs Lovell perceived her devotion.
She smiled to herself. Mrs Reynolds had also said, long before she ever actually met her, that nobody was better suited to be mistress of Pemberley than Dot. She had been right about that, too.