Epilogue
Elizabeth and Darcy were married in October from Longbourn. By then, Darcy’s leg was thoroughly healed, although he did still experience some little pain when riding. They were united in a double ceremony with Jane and Mr Bingley, who had indeed made a short business of proposing.
Standing at the altar as Elizabeth came towards him, Darcy looked at her with an expression that she did not think any language yet devised had a word for.
It was the look of a man who had hoped against reason and found his hope vindicated; a man who had learnt, by way of a broken leg and a great deal of humbling, that the finest thing in his life had been waiting just beyond the border of his own pride.
She did not speak to him of her wedding present to him until much later, when they were in London and had enjoyed all the beginnings of delight that married couples might enjoy.
“I have something for you,” she told him. “A gift.”
He turned onto his side and stroked his fingers down the side of her bare arm. “I have all the gift I need right here.”
She smiled. “Such pretty words Mr Darcy. If you had begun with such words as that, we would have been here a year ago.”
“Appalling waste of time,” he replied lazily. “But about this gift…”
“I hope you will like it,” she said anxiously. In truth, she thought it was a bold thing to do, on her part, to give him such a thing, but having consulted with both the colonel and Bingley, she thought she had done right.
“I will love it.”
“You might not love it as much as what once you had,” she said. “But…it seems Atlas has a relation, an animal from the same bloodline, I suppose you should say.”
“Atlas? My horse?”
She nodded.
“Yes, he came from excellent bloodlines, but exceedingly rare.”
“I know,” she said. “It was not easy to come by one of his family but, with the help of Bingley and your cousin, we did. And he is, even now, being prepared for his move to Pemberley.”
“You bought me a horse?” He stared at her in disbelief.
“Was I wrong to do so?” she asked worriedly. “I know Atlas had come from your father, and I would not like to bestir painful?—”
That was the furthest she got until she was crushed tight against her husband, who kissed her over and over again.
There were plans to be made then, and questions to be answered.
He could not comprehend where such funds had come from, but she assured him that she had her sources, courtesy of a lack of interest in ribbons and an uncle who helped her save.
He was affected, deeply, by such a gift, but also excited, very excited, about his new horse, and wished to be on hand at Pemberley when the horse arrived.
“But you need to shop,” he said. “Shop and fit the house and do…all the things new brides do. I am sure I do not know the half of it.”
“The only thing this bride needs to do is make her new husband happy, and if going to Pemberley tomorrow will make you happy, then I say let us go.”
He laughed at that, the laugh of a man who felt pure joy. It was a marked contrast to the broken sounds she had heard on that dreadful day in April, when his world crumbled around him.
She had brought him the deepest misery, and it was an undeniable satisfaction to have brought him, instead, to such joy.
I shall have that privilege for the rest of my life, she thought, and silently offered a thanks to Fate or Providence or Grace’s incantations for having helped bring them there.