Epilogue 3 #2
She might have stolen more minutes with her handsome husband if they had not been interrupted by the pounding of footsteps down the stairs and boyish young voices raised in excitement.
Charles moved back, smiled down at his wife, and brushed back a stray few strands of her hair.
Jane returned his smile and pressed her cool hands to her warm cheeks, then smoothed a hand down her dress and took her husband’s arm.
The two of them stepped out of their alcove into the vestibule proper and moved toward their twin sons.
The boys turned towards them, their jubilation plain, and Jane smiled fondly at them.
It seemed like only a few months since they had been tiny, squishy babes, then taking their first steps, then learning to run.
It was hard to believe that they were already twelve years of age and growing rapidly into handsome, strong young men.
In some ways, they reminded Jane of herself and Elizabeth.
Their elder twin, Ian had his aunt’s dark coloring, his hair chestnut and auburn, his eyes a thoughtful and sparkling brown, while Felix favored his mother more, tow-headed from the sun and with laughing blue eyes.
Now they mobbed their father and Jane, smiling, released his arm, and watched her menfolk out the door to where three geldings stood patiently awaiting their riders.
All three mounted and rode off out of sight from the doorway, and Jane turned back towards the drawing room door only to be interrupted again, this time by youthful voices.
These were the piping tones of very small children, interspersed with the calming voices of the nursemaids, and Jane walked to the stairs and waited patiently as two nursemaids descended, one with a baby in her arm and a tiny girl by one hand, another shepherding two young ladies ahead of herself.
The six-year-old was hopping down the steps with both feet together, her small plump face alight with joy, while her nine-year-old sister watched superciliously with an expression that was indubitably inherited from her Bingley side.
Both girls were blonde like their mamma, but their baby brother, six months old and drowsily chewing on one dimpled fist, had a fuzz of light brown on his head.
The younger girl saw her mother and launched the last few steps, with Jane’s arms coming up just in time to catch her flying daughter.
She gasped a little, and laughed, and kissed Isabella’s head, and eased her to the floor, turning to the more dignified Grace who stood waiting demurely for her own kiss.
Baby Thomas drooled up at his mamma, and then Jane bent to caress the forehead of her little niece.
Serena, at only two years old, was already bidding fair to be as beautiful as her mother, with Caroline’s soft dark hair and liquid brown eyes.
The little girl looked solemn, too solemn, Jane thought, with a rush of pity and affection.
“Enjoy your trip to see the puppies, my dears,” she said kindly.
With cries of “We will, Mamma!” her daughters ran outside, followed by their nursemaids, their toddling cousin, and their baby brother, borne in the arms of his nurse.
Jane watched them vanish down the gravel path to the stables and turned at last back to the drawing room, her heart full of gratitude for this blessed, blissful life she had been given.
***
Belvedere
Pemberley
Two Weeks Later
Wednesday, 6th July, 1825
Elizabeth Darcy leaned back against her chair and gazed out onto the smooth waters stretching into the distance.
The sun baked down, shimmering off of the pond like a glass mirror. Of course, one could expect to be overly warm in July, but Pemberley was, at least, not as sweltering as London would be. At least, not usually.
Elizabeth thought today might be some sort of record.
Fitzwilliam, reading early the signs of a scorching day to come, had insisted after breakfast that morning that Elizabeth should depart the heat of the house until that evening, when opened windows and the breezes of dusk would begin to cool it off.
There was a pond some quarter of a mile from the house, accessed by a shady and pleasant lane and overhung around its banks with shadowy trees.
A belvedere sat on one side of it, its wall-less sides open to the breezes that skated across the water.
It was to this structure that Darcy had led his wife, arranging two of the chairs within it so that they could sit side by side together in comfort.
It was pleasant, Elizabeth thought contentedly, to just sit in peace with her beloved husband, away from the duties and responsibilities that occupied so much of their time.
As much as she loved Pemberley Manor, when she was within its walls she could not bring herself to forget the work that awaited her in the study and kitchen and nursery.
Elizabeth had never been one to relax and take her leisure when her responsibilities were waiting for her, and that had not changed when she had become mistress of Pemberley, and her husband was equally dedicated to his duties.
Out here, both of them could simply sit down and enjoy the day and one another’s company.
Elizabeth took a sip of water from the glass in her hand and then lowered it onto a small table at her side.
The fingers of her other hand clasped a new book, one which had arrived only the previous day, and Elizabeth was looking forward to reading it with an eager anticipation.
There would be plenty of time to do so in the idyllic hours stretching before her but for now, her eyes followed her children, wandering along the banks of the pond, clambering into the lowest hanging bows, and poking at the frogs and turtles hiding in the reeds at the water’s edge, followed every moment by attentive nursemaids ready to leap into action at the first sign of impending catastrophe.
Arabella, alone of the young Darcys, sat apart, still and focused.
An easel had been erected some ten feet away from her parents, and a small table at her side held paints and brushes and cups.
Her soft brown eyes flicked between the still pond and the canvas in front of her, her expression habitually grave and currently creased with her concentration.
Her brown hair stirred in the breeze, tickling at her cheeks and forehead, and she reached up absently to push it back before making another stroke with her brush.
Elizabeth smiled fondly at her daughter and looked towards the pond and her three young sons.
Arabella, twelve years old, was beginning to grow to an age that matched her sober nature, but the three mischievous Darcy sons were still full of vim and vigor in ways that reminded Elizabeth forcibly of her own youthful adventures.
At the moment, they were being relatively calm, crouched at the water’s edge and chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they admired the large goldfish and turtles beneath the surface.
Elizabeth’s unborn child kicked her solidly, and she rested a hand on the bulge of her abdomen, humming a soothing ditty.
A mere two months more, and she would be meeting her latest child face to face at last. She wondered, absently, whether the baby was a boy or a girl.
She would love either one the same, but looking at three healthy and hale boys, she quietly admitted to herself a slight preference for another daughter.
“Lizzy, oh Lizzy!” a voice cried out, and she turned as her youngest sister Lydia, still full of energy even as a matron, dashed up the steps of the pavilion with letters in her hand.
“What is it, Lydia?” she asked curiously.
“Letters from Jane and Anne Sampson and Lady Keaton,” Mrs. Lydia Jenkins said, her pretty face alight with excitement, “all for you! I know you have been wondering how everyone is doing, so I thought I would bring them to you directly.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, holding out her hand. Lydia placed the missives in her grasp and then wandered over to stand by Arabella and her sketch.
“It looks beautiful,” she commented, and Arabella turned a gratified look on her aunt.
“Thank you, Aunt Lydia,” she said softly. “I know it is not as good as Aunt Kitty’s work, but…”
“But you are far younger, and Aunt Kitty has spent years practicing,” Lydia said reassuringly, and then turned to gaze out over the waters. “Oh, it is so pleasant here compared to the house!”
“Yes, it is,” Darcy said. “It is remarkable, really, how much cooler it is.”
“I should bring my girls here,” Lydia said, and Elizabeth agreed immediately, “You should, Lydia, and so should everyone else who is feeling overheated. Georgiana in particular, perhaps?”
Lydia’s eyes brightened, and she said, “That sounds like an excellent plan, Lizzy. Poor Georgiana is so uncomfortable. I will go and fetch her right now!”
Elizabeth watched her youngest sister’s retreating back with fond amusement.
The peace of the pond, it seemed, was at an end as Lydia would not contain herself to only bringing Georgiana.
Pemberley was very full of people at the moment, and it would be absurd for them to remain indoors when they could come out and linger in the shade with the breezes.
Lydia would doubtless detour from her course to find and tell Kitty to come out and to bring her children and her husband, and it seemed certain that Nicholas, Earl of Pembroke, would escort his heavily pregnant wife outside also.