Epilogue
Pemberley had become considerably noisier than its master had ever intended.
Not that anybody believed his occasional complaints.
Mrs Darcy said with a raised brow that a gentleman who permitted four children to use the Long Gallery as a racecourse had very little right to protest afterwards about the consequences.
Colonel Fitzwilliam maintained that Darcy secretly enjoyed every moment of it, whilst Mrs Reynolds, who had known her master since he was a solemn little boy, agreed with them both.
On a warm afternoon in late summer the house was fuller than it had been for many years.
The annual summer gathering had become something of a tradition.
Jane and Bingley had arrived from Netherfield with their growing family several days before.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, now accompanied by a cheerful wife and two energetic sons, had already been in residence for a week.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner occupied their customary rooms, whilst Mr Bennet had escaped to the library within half an hour of his arrival, announcing that he intended to emerge only when somebody came to fetch him for dinner.
Mrs Bennet had declared the house perfection itself before advising Elizabeth on a change of wallpaper in the blue parlour.
Outside, the gardens belonged entirely to the children.
What had begun years before as a game played by three lively Gardiners had somehow become a family tradition.
George and Lucy, now old enough to organise rather than merely participate, directed operations with all the confidence of experienced campaigners.
Their younger brother, together with Jane's children, Darcy's four and Colonel Fitzwilliam's two sons, followed with varying degrees of obedience.
Every few minutes an alliance was formed, abandoned or betrayed.
The pirate ship, first imagined beneath a card table in the Gardiners' drawing room on Gracechurch Street, had long since acquired a rather more permanent form.
A few summers earlier Darcy had commissioned the estate carpenter to build one at the edge of the south lawn.
It possessed a proper deck, a ship's wheel, a mast from which a black flag frequently flew and enough room for a dozen determined pirates to defend it against all comers.
Elizabeth had laughed until she cried when she first discovered it, whilst Darcy maintained that it had been built entirely for educational purposes.
It was occupied now by an energetic assortment of captains, mutineers and unwilling prisoners.
Darcy's eldest daughter had announced herself a princess shortly after luncheon but had already deserted to the pirates upon discovering they enjoyed considerably greater freedom.
George declared the decision dishonourable conduct.
Lucy, now almost a young lady herself, said that pirates had always been more entertaining than princesses.
Edward had long since reached an age at which he considered himself above pirate games.
He nevertheless found himself drawn into them with regularity, sitting beside Mr Gardiner on the terrace and quietly carving another wooden sword whenever one snapped in battle.
Every few minutes one of the younger children ran to consult him upon an important point of pirate law, which he settled with gravity before returning to his work.
Nobody questioned his decisions, though whether this was due to his wisdom or the ready supply of replacement swords was difficult to determine.
Colonel Fitzwilliam watched these proceedings with theatrical despair. "I am surrounded by mutiny."
"You encourage it," Elizabeth observed.
"I deny everything."
"You taught them to be pirates."
"I taught them strategy."
"You supplied wooden swords."
"They were essential."
"And eye patches."
He considered this.
"Those," he admitted, "may have encouraged the wrong sort of behaviours."
The Bingley’s eldest son, who had listened with close attention, tugged thoughtfully at the colonel's sleeve.
"Uncle Richard?"
"Yes?"
"Were you truly captured by pirates once?"
Fitzwilliam glanced towards Darcy with the air of a man seeking corroboration from an unwilling witness.
"I have never entirely escaped them."
"You have been telling tall tales again," Darcy observed dryly.
The children, having apparently decided that enough conversation had taken place, charged across the lawn once more with Colonel Fitzwilliam in noisy pursuit.
George shouted that the pirates were retreating.
One of Jane's little girls insisted upon rescuing a doll before any proper battle could begin, whilst Darcy's youngest son, having escaped the vigilance of his nurse, toddled after the older children with determined little steps and a wooden spoon held triumphantly above his head.
Jane hurried after him, laughing as Bingley attempted the impossible task of rescuing both the adventurous toddler and holding on to a wriggling baby who had grown decidedly tired of being carried.
Nearby, Mrs Gardiner sat beneath the shade of the great cedar and watched the happy disorder with contentment.
Darcy felt Elizabeth lean lightly against his shoulder.
"What are you thinking?"
He was silent for a moment. "That I was once a very foolish man. I believed happiness consisted in peace and quiet."
"And now?"
He looked across the gardens once more. Laughter drifted upon the warm breeze, children darted between the trees with wooden swords raised and every person he loved was gathered beneath the same summer sky.
Even the noise, which he had once thought something to be endured, had become part of the contentment he carried with him every day.
"Now," he said quietly, "I know it sounds rather different."
Elizabeth laughed and rose onto her toes to kiss his cheek.
"You know," she said, "there was a time when I thought you the most vexing man in the world."
"There was?!" He held his hand over his heart as if wounded. It was a well worn exchange.
"I have never entirely changed my opinion."
"I should be disappointed if you had," he laughed.
She slipped her arm through his.
"It appears," Darcy observed, "that pirates have conquered Pemberley."
Elizabeth smiled up at him.
"Yes."
"And I suppose there is nothing to be done."
"Oh, there is."
"What is that?"
She rested her head lightly against his shoulder.
"We join them."
Hand in hand, they crossed the terrace towards the waiting children, leaving behind every misunderstanding, every storm and every lonely road that had first brought them together.