Epilogue 1
Rosings, Kent
“Furthermore, there is no reason why the tenants need brick cottages. Their forefathers lived happily in mud and daub dwellings; it is absurd to spoil them so and deplete the monies of the estate!”
“The tenants will do better work if they have warmer, safer homes, Mother,” Anne de Bourgh told Lady Catherine. “The older houses allow the breezes to enter, and they are always damp after a rainstorm. It is not healthy.”
Lady Catherine sniffed indignantly. “They are peasants, Anne, not nobles or gentry. They are not delicate like we are. They do not care if their homes are warm; indeed, I daresay they are outraged that you and that idiot steward of yours are pulling down their ancestral dwellings. Do you not agree, Mr. Collins?”
The rector of Hunsford started at being addressed, but he said promptly, “No, Lady Catherine, I do not. Mary has told me that the tenants’ wives are extremely grateful for their new homes. Is that not so, my dear?”
Mary Collins lowered her tea cup and smiled innocently at Lady Catherine. “Yes, that is entirely true. Mrs. Yates was telling me only yesterday how wonderful it is to have her children warm at night; their old home was so drafty that the littlest ones often shivered in their beds.”
Lady Catherine glared at Mrs. Collins in disgust. There was absolutely no gratitude in this world; it was she, the former mistress of Rosings, who had instructed Mr. Collins to choose a wife among his Bennet cousins.
He had obediently done so and Mary Collins had benefited, but now the woman always took Anne’s side.
Worse than that, she had influenced her husband so that now Mr. Collins no longer treated Lady Catherine with the respect and honor that she deserved. It was outrageous.
The door opened before Lady Catherine could launch any more verbal volleys, and Mrs. Susanna Fitzwilliam entered the room with her infant in her arms and her husband at her heels.
“Good morning, Anne,” the lady said cheerfully. “Good morning, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Collins, Mr. Collins.”
Mary surged ponderously to her feet and waddled forward to peer ecstatically into the sleeping face of the baby.
“Oh, Susanna,” she exclaimed, “Adam has grown since I saw him last!”
“Indeed he has,” Susanna declared fondly.
“Considering that he eats like a horse, it is no surprise that he is growing,” Richard Fitzwilliam agreed, leaning over to kiss the baby on the cheek. His son’s eyes opened briefly, and he smiled, then promptly went back to sleep again.
“And he is smiling,” Mary cooed happily.
“Yes, as of last week,” Richard said.
Lady Catherine, who had been regarding this tableau with exasperation, now expressed herself in the forthright manner for which she was famous. “In my day, a true lady would not consider exposing guests to her dribbling infant.”
Susanna Fitzwilliam sat down next to Mary and smiled seraphically at her aunt by marriage. “I am well aware, Lady Catherine, but times change, do they not?”
“I suppose they do,” her adversary said angrily, “and not for the better.”
“With all due respect, Lady Catherine,” Mary said firmly, “I entirely disagree. William and I are very pleased to spend a little time with Adam, as our own child will be born soon, and neither of us has experience with infants.”
“When is your child due to be born, Mary?” Susanna asked.
“Oh, supposedly in six weeks, but my midwife believes it may be earlier.”
“Mrs. Sinclair thinks that Mary may be carrying twins,” Mr. Collins said proudly.
“Oh my dear, that would be both exciting and exhausting,” Susanna exclaimed. “I do urge you to send a servant, day or night, if you need any kind of assistance. Promise me you will do that, Mr. Collins?”
“Of course, Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” the clergyman assured her. “I am most grateful. I confess to being quite worried about Mary...”
“You need not be, William,” Mary interrupted affectionately. “My mother birthed her children with the greatest of ease. Of course we should pray that all will be well, but I am confident of a good delivery.”
“I truly cannot believe what I am hearing!” Lady Catherine said angrily. “To speak of such things as childbearing in the very sitting room of Rosings is incredibly vulgar! Of course, I should have known it would come to this, Richard. If you would wed...”
She stopped abruptly as everyone else in the room – Anne, Richard, Susanna, Mary, and even William Collins turned their heads to glare menacingly at her.
“I believe that I am ready to return to the Dower House,” Lady Catherine grated out, clutching her dignity to herself.
She was angry, so angry that she was not certain she could control her speech.
However, she had no desire to be carried out of Rosings by a couple of stout footmen, which had occurred the last time she had openly insulted Richard’s wife.
“I will escort you to the door, Aunt,” Richard said, casting an amused glance at his beloved partner in life.
The former Miss Susanna Birks was dark haired, pretty, vivacious, brave, and had brought a large dowry into her marriage.
She was also the daughter of a wealthy merchant, which Lady Catherine found abhorrent for her nephew, the son of an earl.
The former Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, sent home to England with a musket ball in his shoulder after the battle of Vitoria in Spain, had no patience for such foolishness.
He had seen aristocratic officers cringe in the face of French muskets, and humble flag bearers surge forward with rare courage.
He wished to marry a woman of wealth who would also be a companion, and he had found such a woman in Susanna.
They had settled here at Rosings, at Anne’s invitation, a year earlier, and thus far the situation was pleasing for all of them.
Anne delighted in the company of her cousin and his wife, and Richard relished a place of peace as he recovered from the physical and emotional challenges of the war.
He also enjoyed assisting Anne with administering the estate and managing Lady Catherine’s outbursts of temper.
Mrs. Collins, too, had proven a surprisingly enjoyable neighbor, and Mr. Collins, with his subservience to Lady Catherine broken, was not nearly as silly as he used to be.
Richard Fitzwilliam waved cheerfully as his fulminating aunt climbed into her carriage to be carried back to the Dower House, then turned back to join his family and friends for a cozy evening at Rosings.
***
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
The sun shone brightly outside the drawing room windows of Netherfield Hall, but the winter air was cold.
Miss Phoebe Cates, governess to Kitty and Lydia Bennet, was grateful for the warmth of the fire in the east sitting room of Netherfield.
Even three years ago, she had been so impoverished that she could not afford well-built fires.
“Mother says that only poor people eat stews,” Lydia Bennet mused as she looked down at the cookery book in her hands, “but I suppose it does help stay within one’s income to use extra food in a useful way.”
Miss Phoebe Cates looked upon her charge with approval.
When she had first taken her position as governess to Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia Bennet three years previously, the youngest Miss Bennet had argued ferociously whenever Phoebe had so much as mentioned domestic economy.
Miss Lydia had also been a termagant, and Phoebe had doubted her ability to bring lasting change in the girl.
But thanks to Mr. Bennet’s support and Phoebe’s intelligence and hard work, Lydia was much improved.
Kitty had also blossomed and no longer meekly followed her younger sister into vulgar behavior.
She would miss them when she married in a month.
“But you and Charles are richer than Papa, are you not?” Kitty asked Jane curiously. “Why are you bothering to save money?”
Jane, who was knitting a green baby sock, smiled affectionately at her sister.
“That is an excellent question, Kitty. Charles and I are indeed blessed with a substantial income, but the Lord has already given us a daughter and another child will be born this spring. If I have many daughters, it would be best if we had substantial savings so that we can provide good dowries for our girls.”
“How much money does your fiancé earn in a year?” Lydia asked, her clear-eyed gaze now fixed on Miss Cates.
“Lydia!” Jane scolded. “That is a rude question!”
Phoebe chuckled and lifted a placating hand. “It is quite all right, Mrs. Bingley; Mr. Bates, as a solicitor, earns about three hundred pounds per annum, though he will doubtless earn more as the years pass.”
Kitty and Lydia exchanged horrified glances and Kitty said in a troubled voice, “Will you be all right, Miss Cates?”
Phoebe laughed and said, “We will be very well, my dear Miss Kitty. Your father and Mr. Bingley are wealthy gentlemen, and I have no doubt that seems a small income, but several hundred pounds per annum is very reasonable, I assure you. We will have plenty of food and nice garments. Naturally, your family’s monetary needs are higher than ours will be; both you and Lydia will be presented in society in the next few months, and gowns and caps and slippers and the like are expensive indeed. ”
The door to the drawing room opened at this juncture, and Charles Bingley entered with his little daughter in his arms. Emily Bingley would be two years of age in a few months, and her curly blond head and blue eyes matched those of her beautiful mother.
“Mama!” the child squealed, wriggling to signal to her father that she wished to be set down. Bingley obliged and Emily darted over to hug Jane’s legs enthusiastically.
“Saw puppies!” the girl squealed. “’Dorable!”
“Oh, they are adorable indeed,” Jane agreed, awkwardly lifting her daughter onto her lap around her swelling abdomen.
“Am hungry,” the little girl stated imperiously, and Charles, after kissing his wife on the cheek, said, “I will have the maid bring you some cakes, Emily.”
“Cakes! Cakes!” the child chortled happily.
Lydia Bennet watched the Bingley family’s interactions fondly.
Three years ago, she had been envious of Jane for capturing the wealthy master of Netherfield.
Now she knew that while Charles’s wealth was most convenient, it was far more important that her brother by marriage was kind and loving toward his wife and child.
With Elizabeth’s marriage to Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Bennets had forged powerful connections in society.
Lydia knew that she and Kitty were handsome and might well make excellent matches in spite of their small dowries.
She was determined that she would marry not for wealth, but for love and respect, even as her two elder sisters had done.
Not that she could be happy on three hundred pounds a year. No, the man she wed would need to be wealthier than that.
***
Pemberley
Elizabeth Darcy stared out the west window of the nursery. The air outside was so densely filled with snowflakes that Elizabeth could hardly see more than a few feet. The afternoon was dark, as well, due to the sudden snowstorm.
Ordinarily she did not mind snowstorms; Pemberley was sturdily built, and the nursery was well heated from the crackling fire in the grate.
She was also warmed by the baby who currently suckled at her breast. Little Anthony Darcy was a bonny lad who had already grown significantly since his birth seven weeks previously.
In this he was quite different from his two year old sister, Sarah.
Elizabeth’s daughter had been born early and had struggled to thrive; indeed, Darcy and Elizabeth had worried that the child would not survive the first year of her life.
Thankfully, Sarah’s health had improved, and now the little girl was running, jumping, and climbing.
The door to the nursery opened, and Darcy strode in, his face joyful. “The Bartons just arrived, Elizabeth.”
“Oh, I was so worried! Thank the Lord!” Elizabeth exclaimed, so loudly that Anthony stopped eating and gazed at her in astonishment. “Oh, I am sorry, little one. Go back to your dinner.”
“Is it dinner?” Darcy asked playfully, striding over to pat his heir on his bald head. “How can you tell when he eats all the time?”
Anthony burped at this remark, and Elizabeth lifted him to her shoulder and patted his back firmly.
“He is getting better,” the lady of Pemberley said. “Last night he was up only once.”
Darcy eyed his wife with some concern but, seeing the color in her cheeks and the light in her eyes, nodded in agreement. Anthony’s birth had been a difficult one, and Elizabeth had not recovered as quickly as he wanted.
“I am well enough, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth assured her beloved husband, shifting the baby into position so that he could continue his nursing. “Do please tell Charlotte and Gerald that I will be down as soon as possible.”
“They are in their rooms refreshing themselves after their difficult drive through that snowstorm,” Darcy said, pulling a chair over and sitting down across from his wife. “We will see them at dinner.”
“I will so enjoy seeing Charlotte again,” Elizabeth murmured, closing her eyes in weariness. “She has written regularly since her marriage to Mr. Barton, but it is not the same as talking in person.”
“I know, and I am overjoyed that you will be able to spend time with your friend.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes again and regarded her husband lovingly.
In the three years since their marriage, through two births, through the challenges of overseeing the estate and the great house of Pemberley, their love had only grown stronger.
He was, she thought idly, quite the most handsome man she had ever seen or ever would see.
“I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she said, and smiled mistily at him. “I love you.”
“I love you too, my darling, precious Elizabeth.”