Epilogue
Elizabeth Darcy was known, amongst her many servants, for making long, comprehensive lists. This was in part because she was a lady who managed to accomplish an amazing number of tasks, responsibilities, and projects at the same time.
Bearing and raising children and caring for her husband were always a first priority, and the nursemaid, nursery governess, and governess were always stunned at how much the children’s parents did themselves, despite the fact that the household had numerous servants.
Years ago, Mrs Smith, the woman who was now the head nurse, overheard Elizabeth responding to the Countess of Matlock, who scolded her for feeding and caring for her young baby.
Her response was a peal of laughter, bright and happy, and the words, “Why on earth would I wish to have a baby if I never had the pleasure of seeing him and caring for him?”
Those words—that message—had quite impacted Mrs Smith, and ever since then she had informed each new staff member, even including the tutor hired for Master Stephen, that these parents loved to be involved with their children.
“Forget what you have seen or heard of in the homes of other wealthy people,” she would say. “This couple makes their own rules.”
But Mrs Darcy managed to do many other things as well as care for her family.
She began a monthly book discussion for ladies, and whenever the master held a shooting party, she organised drawing, painting, or sculpting classes for the wives and older daughters.
She hosted three huge events per year for tenants, servants, and townspeople.
She regularly visited tenants, and she worked to discover and fill needs among families near and far.
She was the impetus behind enlarging the school for the sons of tenants and townspeople, and she was the force behind the establishment of a school of the same size and import for the girls from those families.
And she managed all of these projects in part because of her capable use of lists.
When Mrs Reynolds gave tours of the estate during the summer, there were times when Mrs Darcy would make a sudden, accidental appearance.
She always handled these encounters with charm and grace—and she almost always seemed to be holding either a long list, a child, or both.
Mrs Reynolds always gushed about what a marvellous Mistress of Pemberley Mrs Darcy was.
“Always planning wonderful events, always happy and singing, and the most loving mother I have ever seen. There is not one servant who would not say that she is the kindest and best mistress, and every one of us would do anything she asked.”
Those loyal servants were, naturally enough, also absolutely devoted to their master.
Longtime servants had known him when he was a serious young man, and although, back then, he had proven himself to be a kind and generous master, there was something so very stern and quiet about him, many servants felt as if he—and, really, the entire house—was unhappy.
For the first half decade that Pemberley existed under the younger Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, after Mr George Darcy had unexpectedly died, almost every single servant stayed, and they were all very pleased to be earning more money while also experiencing more respect than most people in service.
However, serving the single gentleman and his shy sister had felt…
subdued. The siblings behaved very properly, of course, but their demeanour had a sort of pall, a sort of sad shroud, that infused the atmosphere of the entire mansion.
What a splendid change had occurred upon Mr Darcy’s marriage!
The house became livelier, much more full of the sounds of happy people doing good things.
The master smiled, the mistress smiled, and even Georgiana smiled.
There was just as much pianoforte music as ever, but some of it was lilting and playful, and it was sometimes accompanied by singing.
There was teasing and laughter and, almost a year to the day from the wedding, the Darcys’ first child had been born.
The Darcys now had five children, and the sounds of children’s voices, giggles, and cries could often be heard.
Guests—many of them couples with children of their own—visited with some regularity.
The Colonel’s family of six, Georgiana’s family of four, and the various Bennet sisters’ families of all sizes—including the Bingleys, who had two sets of twins!
—these relations would each descend upon the Darcys or occasionally all gather together at the same time.
Those visits added many items to Elizabeth’s lists.
What none of the servants knew, other than Darcy’s valet and Elizabeth’s abigail, was that Darcy, too, wrote lists almost as often as his wife did.
His lists were not nearly as long nor as practical as Mrs Darcy’s lists. Instead, they were private lists, written and tucked away somewhere for his wife to discover. Some were teasing and humorous, some were loving and tender, some were a bit naughty, and some were downright silly.
One particular day in October of 1821, Mrs Darcy woke alone—which was a rarity. She saw a bit of folded paper sticking out from the pillow on Darcy’s side of the bed, and when she opened it she saw that it was—as she had expected—a list:
Pamper yourself with a special breakfast in bed and then a delightful bath. DO NOT EVEN LOOK AT YOUR OWN LISTS UNTIL THESE ACTIVITIES ARE ACCOMPLISHED. When you are ready for your meal and bath, ring for Emma.
After dressing, go to the carriage that will be waiting on the drive. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT THE CHILDREN - NURSE AND MRS GROVES HAVE BEEN INFORMED OF OUR ABSENCE THIS MORNING. The carriage driver will deliver you to a secret location.
Look for a special path. You will know it when you see it.
Follow the path to find a surprise.
Elizabeth shook her head fondly. Her husband was as besotted as ever, and as romantic as ever.
She rang for Emma and heard the tub being filled as she ate the breakfast her husband had ordered, with some of her very favourite dishes: shirred eggs with dill cream sauce and bacon crumbles, a Bath bun, and medlars.
And, from the lovely smell, she knew before she even reached the bathtub that he had arranged to have dried lavender sachets placed in the warm water.
Elizabeth loved the leisurely feel of this morning, although she had to admit that it was the novelty that made it fun.
She generally walked briskly with her husband in the early morning and, after a brief breakfast, she began to bustle around seeing to their children, tenants, guests, and household, working on her long-term projects, and—yes—consulting her lists.
But this physical comfort was pleasurable, too.
Soon she was dried and dressed in a morning gown and half-boots, with a short pelisse, bonnet, and gloves, and the carriage driver greeted her with an enormous smile. “Mrs Darcy,” he said with something akin to reverence in his voice.
“Mr Thomas,” she responded, “it is a beautiful autumn day!”
“’Tis indeed, ma’am.”
The carriage ride lasted a bit more than a quarter hour, and the moment she exited the vehicle, she spotted the “path.” It was a colourful spattering of flower petals spread onto one of the shredded-bark trails that wound between the trees.
Elizabeth laughed at the picture of her wonderful husband tossing out handfuls of blossoms, like a long-ago flower girl at an Elizabethan wedding.
She knew him: he would have put in an order for his gardeners to obtain a certain quantity of flower petals, but he would have created the flowery path himself.
She hurried, hungry for the sight of him—and then she halted, surprised.
A small wooden dance floor of sorts had been laid on the flat ground of a meadow. A ring of quaking aspen trees provided a golden glow to the tiny dance floor, and the fluttering leaves made a pleasant susurration with the rhythm of the dancing speckles of sunlight piercing the canopy.
On the dance floor stood her Fitzwilliam, looking just as handsome as he had looked the day they met, almost a decade ago.
He was dressed very formally, which was hilarious to Elizabeth, and he held his brand-new beautifully-crafted music box.
Apparently he had wound it when he heard her coming, and he swiftly stooped to lay it on a blanket, and then he offered his hand and said, “May I have this dance?”
Just then the tinkly music emerged from the music box. Elizabeth gladly stepped into his arms and enjoyed a waltz, even though they were highly curtailed by the size of the dance floor.
The entirety of the morning, even as she had eaten and bathed and dressed, Elizabeth had wondered about the reasoning for a surprise on this particular date.
Her beloved was always celebrating anniversaries of all sorts of things.
“The second-year anniversary of our first trip to a beach,” “the four-year anniversary of our first child’s first tooth,” “the anniversary of our first annual Valentine’s Day ball.
” She could not think of what had inspired this morning’s romantic gesture, and so, giving up, Elizabeth decided to tease him: “This is very random, husband of mine. How did you manage to conceive of this private autumnal dance on the fifteenth of October?”
“Today is the ten-year anniversary of the day we would have met if Georgiana had not seemed ill and interrupted our journey to Netherfield Park.”
“The Meryton assembly!” Elizabeth said.
“That is correct. I was supposed to go straight to Netherfield that day, and I sent an express telling Bingley that we had to postpone the visit. A few days later, I got a letter from him saying that he would have dragged me to an assembly that night, so he assumed it worked out for the best for me to be delayed. Then he went on and on talking about meeting Jane.” Smiling, he added, “So, if Georgiana had not seemed ill, and we had gone to Meryton instead of London, I would have gone to the assembly, and I would have met you.”
“But I have heard so many tales of you only rarely dancing, and you not really liking even to meet people at balls and other large functions.” Elizabeth laughed, “I imagine, had we met then, you would have stood there glowering at all of the dancers, and I would have gotten the worst first impression ever.”
The beautiful man she loved laughed, too.
He bent down to rewind the music box, and as the music started once again, he took her in his arms and danced with a closer clinch, a firmer grip.
He whispered, “I can imagine it happening that way, honestly. And I would have been in such a foul mood, at any rate. Georgiana was so dispirited during that journey southward, I cannot tell you how frustrated and melancholy I became.”
“Dearest Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth breathed into his ear, “the whole terrible experience might have set our courtship back months and months.”
“But not forever,” he assured her. “I am positive that I was meant to worship you, and I am just so grateful that you tolerate me.”
And then he began to kiss her.
Despite all the more vigorous forms of amorous congress they had explored—and, frankly, conquered—despite all the years and years that had passed, despite all the children, Elizabeth still felt that her beloved’s kisses were indescribably heavenly.
She lost herself in his arms, in his kisses, in their bubble of mutual love and gratitude and deep-seated happiness.
Then he announced, “I have another list.”
Elizabeth pulled away a bit in order to take the list, written on thick, ivory-coloured paper. There was no heading; the nine and thirty numbered items on the list were all brief descriptions of places located in Pemberley’s huge landholding.
She read aloud the first few items in a soft voice: “The lookout on Prospect Hill, the copse of Scots pine trees, the hot spring….” She looked up sharply, aimed a playful glare at her husband, and asked, “Is this a list of outdoor spots…where we have…well, you know….”
“Do you see how eight and thirty of the spots are marked off as accomplished?”
Indeed, each item had a large check mark, except the last item, which read, “The aspen ring.” Laughing, Elizabeth said, “I do, sir. And there is only one more spot on this entire, enormous estate where we can…?”
“Oh, there are scores more, believe me. Possibly thousands. I shall just have to make a new list. But first—” He picked up the music box and carefully placed it on the dance floor, and then he spread out the blanket carefully.
He scooped her up in his arms, saying, “First we have a list to complete.”
The End