Epilogue
“Do you realise what today is?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy glanced across the parlour at his lovely wife, and pretended he had no idea. “Hmm. The Relief Committee has a meeting today, I believe.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Your birthday? No, no, that was two months ago.” Grinning, he went to her, drawing her up and into his arms. “It would not be the tenth anniversary of the day you made me the happiest man in the world, would it?”
“No. That was our wedding day—or rather, our wedding night, I believe,” she said, grinning back. She loved to exult in her power over him, and frankly, he loved to encourage it.
“Not so. From the moment you said you would marry me, my happiness was complete. It was simply…magnified upon our wedding night. And the many, many perfect nights thereafter.” He kissed her, and even though it was familiar now, the feel and taste of her, it never failed to excite and entrance him.
It was times like these that he wished for the former wealth of Portridge, so that he could bedeck her in jewels and show off to the world the treasure she truly was.
However, his Elizabeth found riches in a thousand other ways—in their love, in their children, in the busy, satisfying life they shared, as his partner, his strength, his joy.
An hour later, he wondered whether the sky had fallen, so different and sudden was the change from the world he had woken with. He interrupted her in the nursery with their daughter, and after the babe was laid in her cot, brought her to sit beside him on the settee in his book-room.
“You had better read this,” he said, handing over the letter from her father.
Since the birth of their first child, Mr Bennet had warmed considerably, and written frequently—which was an enormous change.
Darcy, having the ear and wisdom of the steward of Rosings Park, was able to contribute much to their correspondence.
It was all estate business of which he wrote; he had become entranced with new farming techniques, and finding in Darcy a willing audience and sensible correspondent, Mr Bennet had made a true about-face in their relationship.
Elizabeth took the letter and began to read. When her eyes filled with tears, he gathered her in his arms for the second time that day.
Mrs Bennet was gone, having had a heart seizure that took her in an instant.
“Keep reading,” Darcy urged.
All of Mr Bennet’s daughters having married well, it seemed he did not wish to remain alone at Longbourn.
He had accumulated some savings, he said, with which a decent cottage might be built upon the estate—for himself.
He wished for Darcy and Elizabeth and their children to return home—to Longbourn.
He wished to turn over the estate management to Darcy.
He had been thinking of doing so for a long while, he assured.
Elizabeth looked up at him after finishing the letter. “Oh!”
“Oh, indeed.”
“We will tell him we cannot. Not now. You have so many duties and obligations and?—”
“I think I want to,” he interrupted. “Unless you object.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, my. I cannot even imagine…but yes, I suppose I would like to. It would be lovely to live near Jane and Mary. I have no objection to returning to Longbourn. But dearest—are you sure? You love this place.”
“I love the people here, yes. But they do not need me nearly as much, now that Miss de Bourgh is the mistress of Rosings. I am certain she will accept my advice in the disposal of the advowson, and Tilney will take care of everyone. It is a good time to go, now, when your father needs us, and Hunsford does not. And I suppose…the land is in my blood, after all.”
“Time for a new journey, then?” she asked.
He drew her close. “As long as you are by my side.”