Epilogue
27 Years Later
A change in the surrounding light made Charles look up from his book. Georgie strode gracefully to where he sat on the sofa in the library and situated herself beside him.
“Tomorrow, Darcy will marry. He has become a man before my eyes, yet my heart does not want to believe it is so. I long for the little boy who ran through Bathwick’s corridors giggling madly.”
Charles could only smile. He had no memory of Darcy’s laughter, yet the grin that would overspread his son’s countenance, which would even show in his eyes, was one he would never forget. In some ways, the same expression existed, yet the features around it had altered as he grew. Instead of the devilish sparkle of a small boy, those same hazel eyes shone from the visage of a grown man.
That said, he was prodigiously proud of his eldest son. Darcy had an aptitude for estate management and, for the most part, had been running Bathwick with success for the past two years, allowing Charles and Georgie to visit family more often. They had even journeyed to Paris last year.
“Will you not say something?”
He let his book drop to his lap and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “ You have claimed to approve his choice in a wife. Have you changed your mind ?”
“No, I could not have chosen a better Viscountess Landsdowne than Aoife.” He could not have agreed more. Darcy had seemed to find Aoife a pest when she was young, yet the Montford Cousins all partook of the same hi-jinks as their predecessors, and Aoife’s pranks resembled those of Jane’s—well planned and well-executed. She had once made a powder from dried roses and had somehow found a way to sprinkle it in Darcy’s breeches. Charles could not help but smile at the remembrance of his son returning from his ride that day. The poor boy could not stop twitching and scratching at his legs. The homemade powder had given him an uncomfortable itch he had to bathe to remove.
Aoife had confessed her misdeed to her mother, who had told them that evening over tea in the drawing room. Darcy’s retribution had been less clever. He swam out into the river and overturned Aoife’s rowboat from the bottom. She had no warning and had found herself soaked to the bone.
“Fiona has ensured her daughter is competent. She could run an estate five times the size of Bathwick.”
“ And she loves Darcy as he loves her .”
“They belong together. I suppose I am feeling maudlin.”
“Do not become too maudlin. You have four other children to marry.” He bit his cheek to keep from laughing. Georgie had, on occasion, partaken of these fits of nerves since Darcy’s engagement.
The door opened and Fitzwilliam Darcy and his wife entered. His brother-by-marriage took one look at Georgie and smiled. “She resembles Elizabeth the day before Alexander married. My wife was beside herself at losing her little boy.”
Lizzy elbowed her husband in the ribs. “I most certainly did not.”
“You most certainly did,” said Amelia as she followed them inside. “I remember well when you came to my chambers in tears.”
“I adore Genevieve.” Lizzy pursed her lips.
“We never said you did not,” said her husband. “Yet, you were still out of sorts. You were even more so when Sophie wed.”
“At least Jane has some time,” said Amelia.
Henry and Jane’s son had been born last, so the next Duke of Albemarle was a mere twelve years old. They had resigned themselves to Charles or young Darcy being the eventual heir, when Jane had begun showing signs of being with child once more. After six girls, Henry finally had his son, a strapping young lad they had named Oliver.
Georgie glanced about her. “Where is Jane?”
“She and Henry were to take a walk,” said Darcy.
Lizzy wrapped her arm around her husband’s “I believe they are enjoying the respite before they journey to London. They have had little time to themselves. I still cannot believe Mr. Collins died from a bee sting and Longbourn now belongs to Oliver.” Mr. Bennet had died a year after Georgiana and Charles had married. His wife, upon learning of her husband’s demise, had a fit of apoplexy and followed him into the next life. The Gardiners and Philips had managed what became of the three youngest Bennet daughters. Naught had made marriages of much consequence from what Charles understood.
“Clarissa’s confinement should be soon, should it not?” asked Georgie.
“Yes, any day now. Nicholas and Fiona will return to town as well. Since becoming the Earl of Richmond, he has had many demands upon his time. Not to mention Fiona holding her father’s title. Seamus has been quite sought after in town this Season, yet he has not shown any inclination to take a bride as yet, and it is not for lack of the ladies trying. Being the heir to two earldoms is enough that he receives more attention than he desires. Fiona is becoming impatient.”
“Much like Grandmama was with Nicholas. The lady meant for Seamus will likely be thrust upon him just as Fiona was thrust upon Nicholas,” said Amelia, “without warning and when he is least expecting it, and he will be in love no matter how much he resists.”
Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. “Grandmama and Grandpapa would have enjoyed seeing the next generation marrying and having their own children.” Lord Richmond had died ten years ago. He had gone to sleep one night and not awoken in the morning. Lady Richmond had followed a year later. A spark had left her eye with the death of her husband. At least they were together now.
“They will be with us tomorrow,” said Lizzy. “They viewed Georgiana’s children as their own grandchildren. They would not miss Darcy’s wedding. I know I felt them when Alexander wed. It was no more than a breeze, but I could swear it carried the scent of Grandpapa’s cologne.”
Amelia nodded. “I had a similar experience when Isabella married.”
All turned, and Charles followed their gazes to where Sir Anthony, Richmond, and Fiona entered the room. “What is this?” asked Fiona.
Elizabeth grinned. “We are commiserating with Georgiana. She is mourning the loss of her son.”
“I am not mourning, Lizzy! He has not died. He is merely marrying Aoife.”
“Do I need to take my daughter home with me?” asked Richmond with a mischievous curve of his lips. “I do not want her to be unhappy. Your son has caused her enough torment over the years.”
“Our son?” signed Charles. “Your daughter gave as well as she got.”
Fiona gave a wave of her hand. “Besides, the two of you have no need to mourn a son lost to marriage when you have two more sons and three girls still at home.”
Charles shook his head. “Gregory has the living in Bathwick village. He will be moving into the cottage across from the chapel in the next fortnight, and Richard is following his namesake into the army next year.” Georgie put a hand to her chest. His wife worried for her youngest son. “We shall have the girls, yet they will, no doubt, wed when they are ready.” Elinor was nineteen and more concerned with books, which did not upset him in the least. She could remain at Bathwick forever if she wished it, and Marianne was seventeen, still too young in his opinion.
“I shall call for tea and refreshments,” said Georgie. “If we are all to be together, we should do so properly.”
“What about Jane and Henry?”
The two in question entered. “Are we missing a party?” asked Henry.
Charles shook his head. “No, you are just in time.”
The End