Epilogue
Elizabeth had grown up in a house with four sisters and had spent three years of her adult life managing Waffles’s various enthusiasms. But nothing had prepared her for Christmas morning at Pemberley with both the Bennet and Fitzwilliam families in attendance.
“Has anyone seen my ring?” Jane called from somewhere near the Christmas tree, her voice carrying that particular note of contained panic that meant something important had gone missing.
“Which ring?” Lydia shouted back from the kitchen, where she was supposedly helping Maggie Reynolds but was more likely eating her weight in leftover mince pies.
“My engagement ring! I took it off to help with the cooking and now—”
“Found it!” Kitty announced triumphantly, appearing from under the sofa with Jane’s sapphire ring and what appeared to be half of Waffles’s toy collection. “It was wedged behind the cushions with Mr. Squeaky and a dog biscuit.”
“Waffles!” Jane scolded. “What if you had swallowed it?”
“That would have been a wonderful Christmas story.” Richard rose to leave the room. “Spending hours at the emergency veterinary clinic waiting for Waffles to literally pass a stone.”
Elizabeth smiled from her position curled against Darcy's side on the library sofa, watching the familiar bedlam unfold through the open doorway. Some things, she reflected, never changed. The Bennet family’s ability to create delightful disorder remained as reliable as ever, even when transplanted to Derbyshire.
“I would say we were lucky, but now I think we’re all just negligent,” William murmured against her hair, his arm tightening around her. “Otherwise, Waffles wouldn’t have managed to hide that massive dog biscuit behind the sofa cushions without anyone noticing.”
“He’s evolved,” Elizabeth replied.
William snorted. “Next he’ll learn to open doors.”
“I think Athena is helping him,” Elizabeth replied. “Everyone thinks she’s so well-behaved they never suspect her. It’s the perfect cover.”
From the morning room came the sound of her father’s laughter, followed by Malcolm’s voice raised in what sounded like mock indignation. Richard’s deeper tones joined in, and Elizabeth caught the words “ridiculous” and “betrayal of the highest order.”
“Should we investigate?” William asked.
“I suppose,” Elizabeth said, making no move to get up.
They’d been awake since six, when Waffles had decided that Christmas morning required immediate celebration in the form of enthusiastic face-washing for everyone within reach.
Even Athena seemed relieved when everyone dressed and traipsed downstairs for breakfast.
Any quiet had ended about nine, when the rest of her family had arrived in a convoy of cars, bringing with them enough wrapped packages to stock a small shop, several bottles of champagne, and their particular brand of festive energy.
“Elizabeth!” Mary’s voice carried from the drawing room. “Come quickly! Malcolm’s having an existential crisis!”
“That’s not an existential crisis,” Malcolm’s voice protested. “That’s a rational response to being abandoned by one’s brother!”
“Drama,” William observed. “I should have warned you that Malcolm tends toward the theatrical when he’s been drinking champagne before lunch.”
Elizabeth laughed and extracted herself from William’s arms with real reluctance. “Come on then. Let’s see what fresh disaster awaits.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” William promised. “I’m going to require tea.”
She found the drawing room in disarray. Charles was explaining something involving marketing graphs and charts to her mother, who was nodding along with polite attention and glazed eyes.
Georgiana sat at the piano, picking out Christmas carols while Lydia leaned against the bench, providing commentary that was making Georgiana laugh.
In the centre of it all, Malcolm stood with his arms crossed, glowering at Richard.
“What seems to be the trouble?” Elizabeth asked, settling into the nearest chair.
“He’s been lying to us,” Malcolm announced, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. “For months! Living a double life! Conducting secret relationships!”
“One relationship, and it wasn't a secret,” Richard protested, but Elizabeth caught the telltale flush creeping up his neck. “Just because I didn’t mention—”
“That you’ve been seeing someone for six months!” Malcolm interrupted. “Six months, Elizabeth! He’s been sneaking around like a romantic spy!”
“I haven’t been sneaking—”
“Meeting her for coffee! Taking her to the theatre! Ringing her with flowers!” Malcolm’s voice rose with each accusation. “Flowers, Darcy! The man who once told me that flowers were ‘a waste of good money for something that dies in a week’ has been buying flowers!”
Elizabeth bit back a smile. “How scandalous.”
“It is scandalous!” Malcolm turned to her with the wounded expression of someone whose entire worldview had been shattered. “We had an agreement! A sacred bachelor’s pact! No serious relationships, no emotional entanglements, no—”
“No happiness?” Kitty called from her position by the window, where she was taking what appeared to be her hundredth photograph of the snowy grounds.
Malcolm shot her a look that could have curdled milk. “We were supposed to be the sensible ones. The voice of reason while you all succumbed to romantic nonsense.”
“And now there’s only you,” Mary said with obvious amusement. “The last man standing. How does it feel to be bachelorhood’s sole defender?”
“Lonely,” Malcolm complained, collapsing into an armchair with the dramatic flair of a Victorian heroine. “Abandoned. Betrayed.”
“Her name’s Sophie.” Something in Richard's voice made the entire room go still. “Dr. Sophie Singh. She’s a paediatric surgeon at Great Ormond Street.”
The silence stretched for a moment, and Elizabeth saw Malcolm’s expression change from theatrical outrage to something softer.
“A paediatric surgeon,” Lydia said. “Bloody hell, Richard. You don’t mess about, do you?”
“Language, Lydia,” Mary called. Elizabeth didn't know why Mary bothered, Lydia never listened.
“And you’ve been seeing her six months?” Jane asked, appearing in the doorway with her ring safely back on her finger where it belonged.
“Seven,” Richard admitted. “And before you ask, yes, it’s serious. Very serious. We’ve talked about marrying.”
The explosion of voices that followed this announcement was immediate and overwhelming.
Lydia shrieked with delight, Kitty demanded to see photos, Mary launched into what sounded like a sociological analysis of relationship progression patterns, and their mother began asking detailed questions about Sophie’s family and professional qualifications.
Through it all, Malcolm sat in his chair looking like a man who’d just watched his entire way of life crushed into dust.
“Mate,” Charles settled onto the arm of Malcolm’s chair with obvious sympathy. “You know you’re still invited to all our weddings, right? You don’t have to find someone just because we have.”
“Don’t you though?” Lydia asked with devastating directness. “I mean, what are you going to do at all these couple dinner parties? Sit at the end talking to yourself?”
“Lydia!” Elizabeth scolded, but Malcolm was laughing, making a sound somewhere between amusement and despair.
“She’s not wrong,” he said. “I’m going to be the odd, eccentric single cousin who turns up to family gatherings alone and makes everyone feel awkward.”
“You could get a dog.” Kitty patted Waffles on the head. “Dogs are excellent company.”
“Or take up a hobby,” Mary added. “Pottery. Running. Karaoke.”
William entered wearing the happy but overwhelmed expression he got when her family reached peak volume. He had poured out two cups of tea and he handed her one. “Everything under control?”
Elizabeth took a cup and a grateful sip before explaining. “Malcolm’s having a tantrum about being the last bachelor in the family,” Elizabeth explained, accepting her tea. “Richard’s been secretly in love for seven months.”
“Ah.” William settled beside her, one eyebrow raised. “That explains the mysterious weekend trips and the suspicious cheerfulness.”
“You knew?” Malcolm demanded, looking betrayed anew.
“Not for certain,” William said. “But Richard’s been whistling. He never whistles unless he’s particularly content about something.”
“I don’t whistle at all,” Richard protested.
“You do,” Georgiana called from the piano. “Last week you whistled your way through an entire Bach prelude.”
The conversation devolved into an argument about Richard’s alleged whistling habits, which somehow led to Lydia insisting on a demonstration of everyone’s musical abilities.
Elizabeth found herself watching William navigate it all with growing amazement.
Last Christmas, he’d been careful and polite, holding himself slightly apart from the Bennet family madness.
This year, despite still feeling a little dazed by it all, he had entered into the thick of things—debating Lydia over whether “Jingle Bells” counted as a proper Christmas carol, helping Mary rescue sheet music from Waffles’s latest investigative mission, and even contributing to Kitty’s impromptu photo session with what appeared to be genuine enjoyment.
“Better than last year?” she asked when the musical portion of the program had ended, and people were dispersing to various corners of the room.
“Much better.” William's smile was warm and unguarded. “Though I reserve the right to hide in the library if things escalate any further.”
“You’ll have to share with my father. Oh, speaking of which,” Elizabeth said, remembering, “we should talk about the wedding planning before someone else plans an event and steals the best date.”
“How is that related to your father?”
“He hides every time we mention wedding planning.”
“Wedding planning!” their mother exclaimed from across the room. “Oh yes, we must discuss the wedding planning!”
And then the entire room was focused on them with laser intensity.
William sighed. “Finely tuned hearing.”