Epilogue
“Darling,” Darcy said, peering into his wife’s sitting room where she was perched at the desk beneath the window, writing letters.
“Sophia wants her papa to take her to see if the leaves have begun to change colours. I made the mistake of telling her that with last night’s freeze, they had probably begun to put on their autumn blushes early this year, and she wants to see it for herself. ”
Elizabeth turned to face him, the afternoon light limning her lovely features, and for just a moment, his breath caught. She could always do that to him—stop him mid-step or mid-sentence, to awe his mind or set his blood afire.
“Oh, do wait for me to change into sturdier shoes, and I shall accompany you,” she said, smiling. “Will Joseph and Richard go with us?”
“Not this time—they have a cavalry regiment under attack, and must fight off enemies on every side.”
“Well, if they do not, who will?” she asked gaily, as an ever-attentive Whitby brought in the half-boots as if she had intuited the need for them.
“Thank you, Whitby. What would I do without you?” she asked.
Luckily the question was rhetorical, for Whitby was the most diligent and faithful attendant anyone could ever ask for.
Of course, her surname was actually now Havers—his man had shown the good sense to marry her some four or five years past—but they had both decided it would be too confusing for everyone involved to make the change.
He and Elizabeth had insisted upon putting her much younger brother through school, as a small repayment of the debt they both felt was owed to her, and considered themselves fortunate that they had been able to offer him a valuable living at Pemberley once he took orders.
He and his pretty young wife had a happy young household—for which Darcy was thankful. A happy vicar meant happy sermons.
Soon they were walking along a wide gravelled path leading from the house, five-year-old Sophia skipping ahead. He took Elizabeth’s hand in his.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Busy,” she said. “Mr Whitby has some grand ideas for the parish’s charitable efforts, one of which means we must organise a Christmas ball.”
“I always love to see you in a new ball gown,” he said agreeably.
She squeezed his hand. “Oh, I received a letter today, and wait until you hear where Thomasina is going next.”
“Algiers? Constantinople?”
“No. Merely to the Scottish Highlands. Have you ever heard anything so tame? At least for her. But she says she is getting too old for longer journeys, and besides, they want to see the men in kilts.”
He could not help it—he laughed. “Tell her to visit us before she travels to that wild outpost of bared knees.”
“I already did. And I told her to bring Caroline with her, if she wishes.”
He shot her a look. “Did you really?”
“I did. Thomasina likes her, Thomasina’s daughters like her, and any friend of hers…can be forgiven.”
“We magnanimously accepted her apology years ago.”
“Yes, and I thought we were over and done with her. I never dreamt she would continue to travel with Thomasina after she received her fortune,” said Elizabeth. “And she does send Jane and Bingley’s boys letters and prized gifts from far-off lands.”
“I am not certain that receiving hand-carved machetes is ideal for the nursery set.”
“Someday, they will be the envy of all their friends.”
“If you say so. When are they coming?”
“Oh, not until Christmas. Your whole extended family will be here as well as Georgiana and her husband and children, not to mention all of my sisters and their spouses and children, so it will hardly be an intimate gathering. I await with bated breath hearing Lady Catherine’s opinions on women who travel the world instead of marrying—that should be inspiring.
Oh Sophia, look at the oranges and reds! Papa was right, you must admit!”
Sophia promptly began twirling beneath the fall colours, a little girl in sunshine yellow and her mother’s curls. Darcy’s heart caught in his throat. “She is beautiful, is she not?”
Elizabeth leant against him, and his arms promptly went about her. “She is.”
He leant down to kiss his wife, and the thrill which never left him when she returned it, kiss for kiss, filled him.
She knew him so very well—just how to tease or touch or even that certain look, holding promises kept and expected.
He might, even, have grown a bit carried away, except that Sophia—like her mother in more than simply looks—began trying to climb a tree that was much taller than was safe.
“I had best bring her down before she begins nesting with ravens.”
“To be continued?” his wife asked, smiling that little rousing smile.
“Always and forever,” he said, and went to the rescue of his little girl.