Epilogue #2
“Mum,” Elizabeth said with a sigh, “we weren’t—”
“Nonsense!” Her mother settled in with the purposeful air of a general preparing for battle. “You know I think June weddings are gorgeous, though May might be cooler and just as nice for photographs. Have you thought about venues? Guest lists? Flowers?”
“We’ve been thinking about something quite small,” William replied. “Just family, perhaps—”
“Small!” Lydia gasped in horror. “You can’t have a small wedding! What about dancing? What about a proper party? What about all of us getting gloriously drunk and embarrassing ourselves in public?”
“That’s not typically the goal of a wedding, Lydia,” Jane said with gentle amusement.
“It’s not?” Lydia looked confused. “Then what’s the point?”
“The point,” Mary said with authority, “is the symbolic union of two people in a ceremony that reflects their values and commitments—”
“Boring,” Lydia interrupted. “The point is cake and dancing and an open bar.”
“The point,” Elizabeth responded before the conversation could derail further, “is that William and I haven’t decided anything yet except that we’d like to be married.”
“Well, you need to make a decision about a date,” her mother insisted. “Good venues book up months in advance, and if you want anything decent, you’ll need to—”
“You know,” Georgiana interrupted from the piano bench, “I was wondering if you might consider having it here.”
The room went silent.
“Here?” Elizabeth repeated.
“At Pemberley,” Georgiana clarified, her cheeks pink but her voice steady.
“The ballroom would be perfect for dancing, and the gardens are beautiful in late spring. We could have the ceremony outside if the weather’s nice, or in the saloon if it rains—it’s certainly large enough for the size of crowd you were mentioning.
Maggie”—she turned to address the other Bennets—“Mrs. Reynolds—has been hoping someone would ask. She’s been planning menus since September. ”
“I didn’t even ask Elizabeth until October,” William said.
“I know,” Georgiana replied with a smile.
Elizabeth paused to make sure she wouldn’t cry before she spoke. “Georgiana, that’s incredibly generous, but isn’t that during the event season?”
“Even the events can pause one day for this,” William said. “Georgiana’s right. Pemberley would be perfect. In fact”—he turned to Charles and Jane—“we could both be married here at the same time, if you like.”
“How efficient,” Elizabeth teased.
Had he read her wrong? “Of course we can also have separate ceremonies, separate dates . . .”
“Don’t allow her to tease you.” Jane shook her head. “Elizabeth and I have talked about a double wedding. She and I shared everything growing up. Why not our wedding day?”
“It would make it hard to forget your anniversary,” Lydia pointed out.
“Are you sure about having it here, though?” Elizabeth asked, looking between William and Georgiana. “I’d love it, but it’s so much work.”
“Elizabeth,” Georgiana said with a smile, “I run a classical music festival that brings in thousands of people for an entire week. I think I can manage a family wedding.”
“Well, we say yes,” Charles called from across the room. “Jane and I are in if you are.”
“A double wedding!” their mother exclaimed, vibrating with excitement. “Oh, how romantic! How perfect! We could coordinate flowers, and dresses, and—”
“I’d love it,” Georgiana said.
Elizabeth nodded. "So would I."
“Right then.” William reached for Elizabeth’s hand. “Pemberley it is.”
The conversation that followed was a delightful blur of dates and flowers and guest lists, punctuated by increasingly elaborate suggestions from her mother and Lydia, photography recommendations from Kitty, and more practical observations from Mary.
Malcolm contributed the occasional comment about at least not being forced to attend two romantic celebrations, while Richard grew distracted, presumably thinking about his own potential future ceremony.
It was Charles who playfully demanded that they ought to move on to present opening, which was met with immediate and enthusiastic approval.
The present exchange that followed was everything Elizabeth had hoped for and more.
William had taken her comments about romantic gestures to heart—her present was a first edition of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles, with an inscription on a card that made her eyes water, along with a small velvet box containing earrings that matched her engagement ring.
Her most significant present to him was a photo album she’d spent months putting together and hiding from him.
It was filled with pictures from their fifteen months together.
Waffles featured prominently, of course, often in the process of destroying something or looking angelically innocent in the aftermath of disembowelling another one of his stuffed toys.
But there were quieter moments too—William reading in his garden, both of them at Jane and Charles’s house for a party, Georgiana at the piano, Athena looking at the camera with pleading eyes while Waffles used her as a pillow.
“Elizabeth,” William said as he turned the pages. “This is—”
He was interrupted by a crash from the direction of the kitchen, followed by Maggie Reynolds’s voice raised in what sounded like fond exasperation and Waffles’s signature guilty whine.
“I should—” Elizabeth began, but William caught her hand.
“In a minute.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you. This is perfect.”
“Even the pictures where you’re trying to avoid the camera?” She pointed at one. “It’s a brilliant shot of the rear view.” She grinned.
“Yes,” he told her with a chuckle. “Even those.”
The problem in the kitchen resolved itself, as it usually did, with no lasting damage and only minor casualties. The rest of the presents were opened with proper levels of enthusiasm and gratitude, though Waffles had to be prevented from investigating several packages that weren’t intended for him.
Malcolm received a book on wine appreciation from Richard (“So you’ll have something to do with your evenings”) and a cookbook from Mary (“For when you decide to stop living on takeaway”).
By the time the Fitzwilliam parents, Lord and Lady Matlock, arrived for afternoon tea, the drawing room looked like a Christmas shop had exploded in it, everyone was tipsy on champagne and holiday spirit, and Malcolm had moved from theatrical despair to resigned acceptance of his brother’s defection.
“At least,” he said to Elizabeth as they stood by the tall windows watching Richard help Lydia build an improbable snowman, “I’ll never have to worry about buying anniversary presents.”
“True,” Elizabeth agreed. “Though you’ll also never have someone special to share Christmas morning with.”
Malcolm considered this.
“Do you think Dr. Singh knows what she’s getting herself into?” he asked.
Elizabeth followed his gaze to where William was explaining something to Kitty while she took photos, Waffles cuddled between them and Athena sitting nearby with snow on her head.
“If she’s smart, she’ll run screaming,” Elizabeth said. “But if she’s anything like the rest of us, she’ll realize that you lot aren’t so bad when you come with this much love.”
Malcolm was quiet for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “I know when I’m beaten.”
Elizabeth was still smiling when William reappeared at her side, snow in his hair and Waffles’s lead in his hand.
“Walk?” he asked, holding up the lead. “Before the next round of wedding planning begins?”
“God, yes.” Elizabeth stood to fetch her coat. “Though I suspect we’ll come back to find my mother has planned our entire reception while we were gone.”
“Likely,” William agreed. “But Georgiana will have stopped anything too ridiculous.”
They stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, Waffles immediately beginning his thorough investigation of the snowy grounds while Athena trotted beside them.
Now, watching him throw a snowball for Waffles with complete disregard for his expensive coat, she realized she’d been wrong about a lot of things that first Christmas.
“Second thoughts?” William asked, catching her contemplative expression.
“Never.” Elizabeth took his hand. “Though I reserve the right to hide behind Athena if Lydia starts discussing reception entertainment again.”
“Deal.” William squeezed her fingers. “Though I should warn you that I heard her and Malcolm discussing the possibility of hiring a band.”
“A band? I shudder to think which band Lydia would choose.”
“Malcolm’s determined to contribute something to the wedding plans, even if he claims to disapprove of the entire institution. He won’t allow her to travel too far off the rails.”
Elizabeth laughed, the sound carrying across the snowy grounds toward the house where their families were sure to be planning elaborate wedding celebrations they would have to pare down. “In that case, we’d better enjoy the quiet while we can.”
They walked back towards the house, dogs at their heels and the promise of more pandemonium waiting for them inside. And Elizabeth thought, not for the first time, that the best presents were the ones you never saw coming.
After they stepped indoors, removed their coats, and hung the leads on their hooks, William kissed her hair, and because their minds often moved along the same paths, said, “You are the best present I’ll ever receive.”
Her eyes danced with mischief. “Does that mean I can finally give up knitting? I was only just becoming respectable at it.”
“Not a chance,” he said, drawing her closer. “Athena wants a blanket.”
“She told you that, did she?”
“We’re very close.”
She laughed and nestled against him while outside the window, snow drifted lazily over Pemberley’s grounds.
Inside, the fire sank into glowing embers, the dogs snored without shame, and a clock ticked steadily from its place on the mantel.
Next year’s presents could wait; for now, Elizabeth had everything she wanted.
Keep the Romance Coming
Darcy and Elizabeth: two sharp minds, one enduring love.