Epilogue 1
Elizabeth made many discoveries as she took on the role of being Mistress of Pemberley.
One thing that startled her on her very first walk, delayed by rain until three days after she had arrived, was that the mature hedge near her second-floor bedroom was lavender. She was delighted, and she happily removed some leaves to burn for the clean scent.
“What luck that my favourite herb grows right outside my chambers!” she said to Fitzwilliam, who was accompanying her on her exploratory tramp.
He bobbed his head and grinned.
She narrowed her eyes. “It could not be planted here for me!”
“Could it not?” was all he asked.
“Fitzwilliam! These plants are at least three or four years old. How could you have known, years ago, how much I like lavender?”
“You wrote about your love for the scent in your first letter to Georgiana, five years ago.”
“Oh, my. It…it feels extraordinarily good that you took so many steps with me in your mind—and of course, as you know, it also gives me some disquietude. If I had married elsewhere, would your second choice for a wife not feel awful if she discovered all the efforts you made to please another woman?”
He shuddered and snatched her hand into his.
“Speaking of disquietude! I just had such a shudder of horror at the thought of you marrying another!” They walked a few more steps, and he murmured, “Of course, the most important thing to me was that you maintained the ability to make a choice, that nothing pressured you—not my own wishes or actions, nor other people’s needs or assumptions.
And if you had married another, I assume that I would never have married at all.
But I would have made every effort to wish you, sincerely and heartily, my best wishes for happiness. ”
“I cannot even imagine choosing another,” Elizabeth responded.
“That makes me the very luckiest man in the world.”
A week after that, Elizabeth made two discoveries.
First was the bedazzling discovery of just how beautiful Pemberley—both the mansion and the grounds—was when mantled with snow, when every branch of every leafless tree was covered with a brilliant hoar-frost, when the lake was partially frozen and boulders became snow-covered hillocks and moguls.
The sun made the entire white scene glittery. She had never before seen the like.
The second discovery came courtesy of a letter from Mrs Popkins—or rather, now, Mrs Tanner.
She was thrilled and amazed to hear of Elizabeth’s marriage to the man she had recently averred was out of her reach, and she wished to announce that she married her curate, who was now a vicar, since he had been awarded a living at Kympton.
“I will live very near to you!” the lady wrote. “We can meet for more language study.”
Elizabeth looked up at her husband after reading the letter. They were seated side-by-side in the intimate dining room. She cleared her throat, and he looked up from his post.
“Good news?”
“Moderately good. It is, in truth, the same sort of news that I am now used to. I mentioned that a curate of a particular church was calling on my friend and your acquaintance, Mrs Popkins, and suddenly, one might say magically, the curate is awarded a living and can now marry. And that living is under the purview of…let me see if I can pronounce this name correctly: Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. Could that be correct?”
“You mentioned the need, and, yes, the very next week I got word that Mr Fields was leaving his post. It is almost magical in the coincidence.”
Elizabeth soon discovered how delightful it was to share her love of Christmas with the children of the tenants and of the nearby town of Lambton.
She had heard from Mrs Reynolds about the old tradition of inviting families to Pemberley a week before Christmas day—something that had not occurred since Fitzwilliam’s mother died.
Elizabeth decided, then and there, she would host such a Christmas festival.
Outside, there was a snow sculpture contest. Every participant earned a prize—a small scroll with a title such as “Most excellent dragon,” “Best use of pinecones,” and “Prettiest snow princess.” Elizabeth was the one who came up with the designations as she walked slowly by the children’s efforts and asked them to tell her their names and all about their sculpture.
She whispered the award earned and the child’s name to one of the footmen, who hastened inside to Jameson, who had beautiful penmanship; then the footman would return outside to get in the line of footmen accompanying her through the sculptures.
She realised two important things: First, when one has an army of servants, many seemingly impossible things become possible.
And second, she was ever so grateful that her aunt and husband had purchased an extensive winter wardrobe for her.
Inside, the Christmas festival guests could eat desserts and drink chocolate.
There were musicians in the ballroom, and parents and children did some simple skipping types of dances.
After announcing all the snow sculpture awards, Elizabeth handed out presents of oranges, coins, and packets of biscuits.
Dozens of families with scores of children attended.
Fitzwilliam looked alarmed every time he was presented with a large group of people at once, but Elizabeth was happy to see him relax every time he spoke with one or two tenants or interacted with just one or two children.
It was thoroughly impressive to her that he knew the name of every adult and older child by sight.
Her own efforts to be warm and welcoming proved to be a wonderful social catalyst; the tenant families seemed to be immediately impressed with her, and she was happy to start the process of learning faces and names and beginning to get a sense of various families’ needs.
During December and the first week of January, Fitzwilliam sometimes worked on estate matters, of course, and Elizabeth learnt many aspects of her own role, but the two considered themselves to be newlyweds crafting an important and unbreakable bond, becoming even closer than they had felt when courting or betrothed.
That closeness even applied to their work on the estate and house, as he asked for her advice with certain problems, and she consulted with him whenever she felt the need.
However, despite their attendance to duty, the servants, tenants, and steward allowed them to be mostly free to read to one another, dance with no music, take cosy sleigh rides, skate on the thick ice of the lake, and play chess—an activity made more delightful because every once in a while, Elizabeth managed to win a game.
It may go without saying that other, more private pursuits took up some of their time—indeed, more time than they would have supposed before they were wed.
Things changed after Twelfth Night, with the arrival of Georgiana, her companion Mrs Annesley, and Charlotte Lucas.
Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth, and their staff now acted as if the Darcys’ honeymoon was officially over.
They started using the larger dining rooms for meals, and they spent time hosting neighbours.
They chose dinner guests mostly on behalf of Charlotte, who wished for a husband, and Georgiana, who wished for closer friends.
Also, it was mandatory that the Darcys, as the premiere family of the neighbourhood, entertain; therefore they sometimes invited larger groups in order to fulfil expectations and to encourage cooperation among local landholders.
Certainly Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth did not feel as if they, by dint of being newlyweds, could simply lock the door of any random room just because someone mumbled, “Calf’s-feet jelly.”
“On the other hand,” said Fitzwilliam one day, when Georgiana was practicing her music and Charlotte was busy with Lambton’s best seamstress, “just because it has been more than a month since we married does not mean we are not allowed to behave as newlyweds.” He locked the door of his own study and continued, “I intend to behave as a newlywed for the rest of my life.”
Elizabeth found she did not mind his playful resolution.
A month later, Elizabeth received a letter from Jane and, thus, shocking news: Miss Caroline Bingley had apparently had some sort of dalliance with a baron from Cheshire County.
Jane and Mr Bingley were not in communication with Miss Bingley, and they had not known of the flirtation until they received news from Hurst that his sister was with child.
He had taken it on himself to meet with the baron, and since the fellow needed Miss Bingley’s dowry, he eagerly agreed to marry her.
She would be wed in a tiny ceremony—even before Jane and Mr Bingley’s wedding.
Reading the news, Elizabeth realised that she had not had her courses for six weeks. As she paid attention, day after day, she noted changes in her body—changes that were in accord with what her aunt had experienced when she was increasing.
Confirmation would have to wait a long time, for the quickening. Fitzwilliam, ever attuned to Elizabeth’s mood and person, finally asked if she thought she was in the family way. “I think so,” she replied. “But I decided not to tell people until I feel movement.”
He was as giddy as anyone could wish, but he kept quiet on the topic, respecting her desire to wait and see. “I can be very patient, you know,” he said to her.
“Yes, I know you can—but can I?”
“I firmly believe you can, because you must. There is no hurrying a baby’s development!”
“Or a child’s….” Elizabeth said. “I suppose that giving birth and raising a child is the ultimate long game.”
“Indeed,” Fitzwilliam said. “But there are so many changes and challenges, delights and likely disappointments while playing this particular long game,” he said.
“I believe I am capable, and I know that you are; we must exercise our patience as well as our ability to hope.”
Smiling tenderly, pulling her in for a kiss, Fitzwilliam said, “Elizabeth, with you by my side, I am enjoying every minute along the way, and that makes it very easy to wait and to hope.”