4 May, 1838
My Dear Fitzwilliam,
You are residing in the same house with me, so it is not necessary that I write to you, but I wished to tell you how much I have appreciated your presence these last days. You have been everything I needed you to be and more, and I do not know what I would do without you. The steadiness that I have always loved in you has been in high demand, and you have risen to the occasion brilliantly. You are an exemplary husband and son-in-law and I thank you for all you have done for me and the Bennet family.
Life is unpredictable, and things do not always go the way we have planned them, but I would not trade the life I have lived with you for any other, for I cannot think of one that would suit me better.
We have just buried my mother, and you have held my hand whenever I have needed you. You have assisted my father with the solicitor and the formal arrangements. Even Mary has benefitted from your presence! I saw you giving her your handkerchief when hers was wet through, and the way she leaned on your arm when you led her back to the house. You were the perfect brother to her.
You have written letters and been an example of everything a gentleman should be for the boys. When I saw Fred and Rich writing letters next to you in my father’s bookrooom, I could barely withhold my tears. You are teaching our children so well, my love, through your example and your wisdom, and they are learning to be the kind of men a mother will be proud of. They are learning to be like you.
I wish your own mother could have seen how very well you turned out. I know she would be fair to bursting with pride over you.
You are wonderful, my love, and as we have seen, life is uncertain. It is important to me that you know how very much I treasure you. Come what may, I am blessed to be living this beautiful, unexpected adventure of a life with you. I love you with all my heart.
Your wife,
Elizabeth
Epilogue
10June,1841
Pemberley, Derbyshire
My Dearest Elizabeth,
We have just returned from our son’s wedding and you are soaking in a much-deserved bath. I cannot believe Bennet is wed, or that we have a child old enough to take such a step. It makes me feel like an old man. Then I look at your sparkling eyes again and I am fully eight and twenty, lost to your charms.
Adding to my feeling of old age is the fact that Elinor is being courted by what I am sure you will tell me is a good young man, but all I see when I look at him is a young buck who wishes to take my daughter away. It is selfish, I know, but a part of me wishes she could be with me always. I know that is not what she wishes, so I will ensure she has the most favorable settlement possible. And a long engagement. I want plenty of time to investigate whoever she chooses. I have already asked Jones to look into Mr. Ashby. I know you will tell me it is too much, but surely you see the necessity? Now that I think about it, and your reaction to Adelaide Hutton, perhaps you will require no convincing. They are our children; there is no such thing as too careful.
Rich and Fred have been discussing their plans for a grand tour. I do not know how much they have mentioned to you, but I think they will be gone at least a year. I am comforted by the knowledge that they will be together, and with the advent of the railway, travel will become easier with every month that passes. Neither of them wishes for the living in my gift, and I have been meaning to ask you—what think you of giving it to young Joseph? Thomas has the navy and Jack is doing well in business with your uncle. Joseph seems the obvious choice, but perhaps you feel differently. I do not think Bingley’s youngest is interested in the church, but perhaps I should ask before making any decisions.
I hear you moving about and you will join me any moment in your silk robe, your hair loose down your back to dry before the fire. How I love these intimate moments with you that nobody but me is privy to! We have been wed nearly twenty-nine years, yet my heart still calls out for yours. You have been the greatest boon of my life, my dearest wife, and I thank God for you.
Your husband,
Fitzwilliam
12 September, 1841
Pemberley, Derbyshire
My Dearest Husband,
Our daughter is married! And only a few months after Bennet’s own nuptials. Our children are leaving the nest. The boys will be traveling on their tour soon, and Matilda will go back to school next week. Then it will once again be only you and me rattling around this enormous house, all our children having left us.
At least Elinor is settled only forty miles away. And what is forty miles of good road?
How tall and proud you looked walking her down the aisle today! And sad, too, though I suspect no one but I noticed. Elinor normally would have—the bond between you is as unshakeable as ever—but she was too focused on Mr. Ashby to pay attention to anyone else. That is as it should be, though I cannot help but feel a little bittersweet over it all.
Thankfully Matilda is not interested in suitors just yet. After the outcome of her parents’ marriage, I cannot blame her for wishing to avoid it for herself. But I do hope she finds a worthy man someday. Preferably a few years from now. I have had enough of my children moving away for some time.
Adelaide told me that she and Bennet love the house in Staffordshire. I know I have said it before and you are likely tired of the question, but do you truly believe we have done the right thing by having them live in the smaller estate? I know it is good for Bennet to practice running things without being in your shadow, or Adelaide in mine, but Oakley Hall is nothing to Pemberley. Do you truly think he will be ready to assume control of this estate when you have tired of running it?
While I am on the topic, I thought we could discuss taking a trip of our own. Not now—there has been too much upheaval of late to enjoy such a journey, but in a year or two. We could take Matilda if she wishes. Bennet could watch over Pemberley. There would be plenty of time to plan, and in another year, there will be even more railway lines than there are now. Traveling would be so easy!
I will not burden you with my ill-thought-out plans. But I do think we should consider it. Perhaps to celebrate your sixtieth birthday?
