Epilogue
The knocker was on the door.
For six months, the door at Mount Street had shown nothing but an empty plate and four screw holes. Tonight there was a great brass lion’s head knocker upon it, polished to gleaming.
Fitzwilliam handed Elizabeth down from the carriage and offered her his arm. When they reached the front door, a card had been wedged into the frame. In Lady Anne’s handwriting, it said, Do not use the knocker. It is only just repaired.
“Your mother,” she said, amused, “has put up the knocker but is not allowing anyone to use it.”
“Do you know,” he said, nodding to the footmen stationed outside instead, “that she made my uncle write to Lord Grosvenor’s surveyor for leave to restore the garden windows only after she had already restored them?”
The door was opened for them. “Whatever for?” Elizabeth inquired.
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I imagine so she could say that she had applied. The letter of the law is not something with which my mother is much concerned.”
Elizabeth loved Lady Anne. She was clever and witty and somehow also kind. But what Elizabeth liked best about her husband’s mother was how she brought out the boy in him.
He gave up his hat and greatcoat, then offered his arm to her. She leaned into his shoulder. “You seem displeased to be here.”
“I am not.”
“You are wearing the same expression you did last season when your mother invited eighty people to the house after she had promised there would be only twenty.”
He shook his head. “She told me that tonight there would be one hundred at most, which was already too high a number, but when I inquired, her secretary informed me that two hundred six were invited.”
“It is a rout, dearest. They will not all be in the house at the same time.”
“A fortunate thing, for it is not large enough to hold them all.” He looked up, where a candle was burning in every window. “When may we go home?”
“Fitzwilliam,” she said with a small laugh, shaking her head, “we cannot absent ourselves. Your mother opening her house is the very first event of the season.” This had been intentional, no doubt, which was why the party had been planned for the middle of January even when it was clear not all the repairs would be completed.
“I rather hoped to absent myself from the entire thing.”
“Of course you did.”
“Pemberley in January is very fine,” Fitzwilliam said, his words just a bit too eager.
“Cold, so we may sit by the fire together. My uncle and cousins are in town, and my mother and Georgiana have their own house.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that reminded her of his cousin the colonel. “We are entirely redundant.”
“Pemberley will be warmer in April.”
“You are missing my point.”
“I am not. We shall be alone here in London too, now that your sister is living with your mother. And you are happily wed, which keeps us off her invitation list for everything but family dinners.” Elizabeth patted his arm.
“Your mother has waited years for this evening. So tonight, you will be gracious.” She put her hand flat against his chest, briefly, when nobody could see it.
“And afterward, I shall allow you to complain in the carriage all the way home.”
His mouth moved up at the corners. “That is a poor bargain.”
She lifted herself on the tips of her toes and whispered, “It is not the only one on offer.”
Lady Anne met them at the bottom of the stairs. “You are late,” she said. “The Gardiners are already here.”
“Please accept our apologies,” Elizabeth said. She offered no explanation for their delay, for the truth was that her husband had seen her in her new gown and had then wished to see her out of it. She was sorry to be late but could not regret the cause.
Fortunately, Lady Anne was not at all curious about the delays of married couples.
“Good evening, Mother.”
“Fitzwilliam.” She kissed his cheek. “Elizabeth. Come and look at what I have done with the house.”
What Lady Anne had done with the house was considerable, even in the fortnight since Elizabeth had last called.
“The dining room chimney smoked, as you recall,” Lady Anne said. “We had to take down half the stack to discover why. You may guess what was in it.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “A bird’s nest?”
“A jackdaw’s nest, according to Mr. Prior, and two feet of fallen brick besides.”
Fitzwilliam frowned. He had wanted the structural repairs seen to himself and had offered to pay for them. His mother had refused.
“And the chimneys now?” he inquired in a serious voice.
“Altered upon Count Rumford’s principles,” Lady Anne said. “Every one of them is now quite new. You should consider doing the same.” She stopped and put her hand upon a bell pull, which she did not ring. “Do you know that not one of these worked until December?”
They did know. She had told them.
“For six weeks I could not call a servant from any room I stood in. I was reduced to walking down to the kitchen myself.” She chuckled. “I sent Cook into a terrible panic, poor woman.”
She led them to the back wall where four long windows overlooked the garden. Or they would when it was daylight and one could see it.
“Your great-uncle had these bricked up to lessen his assessment. I have opened all four. The tax is a scandal, but I must have light.” She frowned then, and Elizabeth marvelled, as she always did, at how much her husband’s mannerisms resembled his mother.
“I do not like it. Light ought to be free. I have written several letters to the Gazette about it.”
Elizabeth had read them aloud over breakfast. They were very good letters, and Fitzwilliam had been quietly proud.
They were next shown the supper room, where a long table had been laid with sandwiches, sliced cold meats, jellies, preserved fruits, rout cakes, and small pastries.
Early guests were already helping themselves or accepting plates from the servants stationed behind it, then standing in agreeable groups or carrying their refreshments into the adjoining room.
“As you know,” Lady Anne said, leading them across the passage to where the principal drawing rooms had been opened into one another, their carpets taken up and much of the furniture removed, “the pianoforte has been set up and tuned since last week. It is a beautiful and thoughtful gift, and we could not be more appreciative.”
The pianoforte had been Fitzwilliam’s idea.
They had spent many happy hours together on this surprise for Georgiana.
They had written to musicians, discussed the letters, and come to town early for the express purpose of selecting an instrument.
They had settled at last upon a Clementi for the clarity of its tone.
Mary was standing beside the instrument with Georgiana. A few months in Gracechurch Street had done a great deal for Elizabeth’s younger sister. Her hair had been dressed properly, and her gown was both modest and becoming.
“Lizzy,” Georgiana said. “Good evening.” She took Elizabeth’s hand and leaned in. “There are to be two hundred people here tonight.”
“Two hundred six. Fitzwilliam saw the list. Typically, there would be guests who do not appear, but this is your mother’s new home and the entire ton is eager to see it.”
Beside her, Mary took a deep, nervous breath. In an attempt to distract her, Elizabeth asked, “Have you had any word from Longbourn? I hardly receive any letters these days.”
“Longbourn is loud,” Mary said with a winsome smile.
“Now that he is a little older, Mamma has Tommy carried down to the drawing room every day for callers to admire him. Kitty and Lydia are quite in love with him and insist that everyone else ought to be as well. Papa has taken to reading in the nursery in the evening.” She leaned in.
“He writes that it is the only room in the house where nobody argues with him, but I think he likes to read aloud to our brother.”
“And Mr. Collins?”
“Wrote to congratulate them,” said Mary. “Papa did not think it sincere.”
Elizabeth laughed aloud. Several heads turned as people began to arrive, but she did not care in the least. “Has Charlotte written?” She did feel some pity for her friend, but then, it had been Charlotte’s comment that had resulted in a little Master Bennet.
“She added a note to Mr. Collins’s letter. She seems perfectly content,” Mary told her. “I think perhaps she did not wish to return to Hertfordshire after all. Though she did ask whether your husband has another living in his gift somewhere outside of Kent.”
As more guests began to stream in, Elizabeth left Mary with Georgiana to discuss their music sheets. She made her way over to where Uncle Gardiner stood near the card room, where he was currently in the middle of losing an argument.
“The children and I want you for the whole summer,” said Aunt Gardiner.
“The warehouses do not run themselves.”
“You have an excellent clerk who knows the business nearly as well as you.”
“Uncle,” Elizabeth said, “you must be aware that you cannot win.”
Her uncle crossed his arms over his chest. “Ten weeks,” he said. “And I shall want ample time to take Edward fishing.”
“Done,” said her aunt. “You are witness to his agreement, Lizzy.”
“We are looking forward to seeing you all,” Elizabeth said. “And Mary too, if she likes it. Fitzwilliam has promised to take us all to Dovedale.”
Aunt Gardiner did not answer at once, and when she did, her eyes were a little too bright. “Please tell Fitzwilliam that we shall greatly anticipate it.” Uncle Gardiner took her hand and lifted it to his lips.
Colonel Fitzwilliam found them a minute later with the former Miss Finch, now Mrs. Fitzwilliam, on his arm.
At the wedding breakfast, he had asked Elizabeth to call him Richard.
And in September at her wedding breakfast, the former Miss Finch had not asked but rather informed Elizabeth that they were now cousins, and she was to be addressed as Arabella.