Epilogue
Elizabeth Darcy leaned against the window at Darcy Cottage and breathed in the salty sea air.
Dressed in black crepe, she was in full mourning, and would be for six months as she grieved for her father-in-law.
George Darcy had died in his bed at Darcy Cottage, where his memories of Lady Anne and their family brought him the most happiness.
He had remained mostly well–but with the usual weakness of his heart–right until his end, when he passed quite unexpectedly in his sleep.
Of course, George Darcy loved Pemberley as well. Everyone loved Pemberley. How could they not? He had given his life to his estate, but Darcy Cottage was where he and Lady Anne had retreated each summer. To rest and restore themselves. To play with their children, and be content and carefree.
Elizabeth and Darcy held the same affection for the place, for at the bottom of the stairs was the memory of their tempestuous first meeting.
The front garden, the memory of his desperate apology.
The coast, the lanes, the meadows, and the cliffs held the memories of their early morning walks.
The confectioner’s shop held the memories of dozens of sweet confectionery adventures, and the day they had committed to their happiness, and to each other.
Despite the temperatures of the season, Darcy would lay his father nowhere other than Pemberley, next to his dear mother.
He refused to allow Elizabeth and the children to accompany him north for the endeavour.
Elizabeth was still nursing six-month-old Bennet George.
Their three year old twins, Anne Elizabeth and Josephine Isobel, were too young to take them back on a four day journey, for they had been in Ramsgate for only three weeks.
A memorial was held in Ramsgate just before Darcy escorted his father home, and a proper funeral would be held when George Darcy was laid to rest in Derbyshire.
“It is too soon to expect you and Bennet to travel again, and we would have to remain, for we could not bring the children back and forth so many times in one season,” Darcy had insisted.
“I would prefer to mourn my father here when I return to you. Richard and Ashley will accompany me, and Lord Matlock awaits us in Derbyshire. Your father and family are meant to arrive in only a few days, and will bring us both much comfort and company. Wait here for me with Georgiana. I will return in a fortnight.”
The last five years had been blissful. The birth of the girls was a time of great happiness for all, and Elizabeth gave thanks every day that her father-in-law had been with them long enough to meet his grandson, even if only for a little while.
They had spent little time in London once Elizabeth was presented alongside Anne, and spent a season becoming known to society.
They divided most of their time between Pemberley, Ramsgate, and occasionally Netherfield.
The fortnight had now almost passed, and though Elizabeth missed her husband fiercely, she had to acknowledge that he was correct.
The coming of Mr and Mrs Bennet and her brothers, one six and one four, and twenty-one-year-old Lydia, had been a great comfort, and Elizabeth was grateful to spend the summer with them, as she often did.
Georgiana, though sad for the loss of her father, preferred to remain in Ramsgate, for it kept her closer to her betrothed.
The young woman had fallen in love with Walter Nibsby, the youngest son of the magistrate, the year before, and was enduring a rather long engagement.
When they finally married, they would take up residence at Rose Cottage–which was next door to Darcy Cottage–and had been left to Georgiana in Lady Barry’s will two years before.
Elizabeth refused to be sad about the loss of Lady Barry.
It was true that she missed her friend terribly every year when she visited Ramsgate.
But Lady Barry had lived to a great age.
While she may not have had the good fortune to marry for love, or even like her husband, and she had suffered the loss of her only beloved daughter, she had enjoyed the high regard of Isobel’s friends, and the sincere affection of their children.
The young Darcys, Fitzwilliams, and Anne de Bourgh doted upon her like a grandmother, as did the daughters of the only family she tolerated from Meryton.
When the summer of 1812 passed, Lady Barry returned to her usual reclusive habits, but her door swung wide for any Bennet daughter, or any child of Catherine, Reginald, or Anne Fitzwilliam.
In fact, she surprisingly became closest with Richard, whose duties brought him to the garrisons of Ramsgate several times a year, and he visited her quite often.
Like herself, Richard was cynical of people, had a great fondness for mischief and humour, and he kept her laughing despite herself each time he entered her drawing room.
They all wrote to her often, and even Mr Bennet received a grudging welcome each summer when he brought his family to visit the Darcys in Ramsgate.
Charles and Anne Bingley would arrive the following week and take up their own cottage.
Jane Fitzwilliam was already in residence at Darcy Cottage, though Mary and Kitty would not travel this year, for they were both in the family way.
Jane had been left a cottage by Lady Barry as well, though this summer she intended to stay with her sister, to bring Elizabeth comfort after the Darcys’ loss.
Elizabeth was grateful to be surrounded by her family in Ramsgate, and found solace in the healing powers of the fresh sea air.
Though they would not entertain or accept invitations, the Darcys would be as content as a family in mourning could be this summer.
“Lizzy, your uncle sent the fabric and paper samples for Rose Cottage.” Georgiana entered the room. “I thought that selecting the colours and arranging the changes to the house would help keep us busy this summer.”
“That is a lovely idea, Georgie.” Elizabeth turned and smiled. “Has Walter called today?”
“I expect him presently.” Georgiana left the samples on a nearby table. “I believe we will walk in the garden.”
“Tell him that I hope he and his parents will dine with us in a few weeks,” Elizabeth said. “Not immediately, of course, but the two of you have been engaged long enough for them to dine with us like family as we mourn.”
“I will, thank you, Lizzy.” Georgiana smiled. “You know, I do not even mind not entertaining and going out this summer. Of course, I miss Papa dreadfully. But Ramsgate is so restorative, and our family is here with us. I am glad we stayed.”
“I agree that there is something extraordinary about Ramsgate,” Elizabeth agreed. “It is quite special to Fitzwilliam and me, since we met and became engaged here. I am certain you will feel the same once you are married, even if you intend to live here permanently.”
“I am certain we will,” Georgiana said. “I am going to wait in the garden for Walter. Do you mind?”
“Of course not, dear,” Elizabeth assured her.
When the younger woman had gone, Elizabeth turned and lifted her son from his basket, then returned to the window. She listened to the sound of waves crashing in the distance and sighed in contentment.
“Now if only your Papa were here,” she murmured to her son.
“You speak, and I obey, madam,” her husband spoke from behind her.
Elizabeth whirled in delight. “Fitzwilliam! We did not expect you until Monday!”
“We hurried the entire journey, because Ashley and I missed our families so much,” Darcy confessed. “Ashley is already upstairs greeting your sister.”
“How was it?” she asked worriedly.
“It was bittersweet, but I was comforted to lay him by my mother at Pemberley, as he should be.” Darcy stroked his son’s head.
“It is difficult to explain, but as much as I miss him, I am grateful that I had him here with us for as long as I did. I spent much of my last year at Cambridge worrying that I would lose him before I even left school, and his heart was so troubled the first year after I returned home that I was sure he would leave us before I turned twenty-three. That he was with us for so long is the sweetest gift I could have been given, besides you, and the children, of course.”
“That is how I felt about Lady Barry. I could not feel desolate when she passed, because I was so grateful for the time that we had.” Elizabeth understood.
“It is good that we are in Ramsgate with the family.” Darcy smiled. “But there is one thing that will make our stay sweeter.”
“What is that?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy reached into his pocket and pulled out two small tins. “I stopped on my way through the village. Mr Johnson sent these for you.”
“Chocolate drops!” she exclaimed, shaking her head in laughter. “And candied orange peel!”
“I am predicting another sweet summer in Ramsgate, my dear.” He wrapped her and his son in his arms.
“My favourite kind,” Elizabeth sighed.