He rang for Stevens and gave him minimal instructions to have Cook send up the special dessert she had promised, and after that everyone should retire for the night.
Stevens managed to quash the expression that had flitted onto his face as he said, “Very good, sir. And again, congratulations.”
“Stevens, I do want to share something with you—something you may feel free to express to the others below stairs.” Stevens had just been coming out of his bow, and he looked up with enquiring eyebrows. Darcy said, “I just thought you should know that I chose very wisely indeed.”
Stevens could not entirely prevent an upturn of his lips, and he said, “I have always been certain that you did, sir.”
“I will see you in the morning.”
Darcy and Elizabeth ate the strawberry-laced trifle and the barberry-flavoured sorbet as they heard the house quiet. But when Elizabeth had eaten her fill, and she still had sorbet in her fluted dish, her playful nature and newly acquired knowledge of the marriage bed combined in such a way that Darcy abandoned the last few bites of his own dessert for nibblings and lickings of hers…and so they were entranced by one another yet again, lost in blissful barberry-flavoured love making.
When Darcy and Elizabeth finally emerged from their honeymoon, they discovered two major things. First, boxes and boxes of gowns and morning dresses and coats and accessories had arrived and been stored in a guest room near the mistress’s rooms. The second thing was both more important and more unexpected: they learnt that the Duke of Lymebourne had become so angry at the Prince Regent’s sweeping determination that his many complaints against Darcy were baseless, he had an apoplexy. Bound now to his bed and chair, the duke could neither walk nor speak, although his personal physician held out hope that one day he would recover enough to do so.
The residents of Shirethorpe and the workers at the quarry applied to the duke’s brother, who was his heir presumptive, forreversals in the decisions to relocate the town and to close the quarry. The heir opined that, given the fact that one reversal would save money and the other reversal would make money, he wished to approve the changes. With the help of the Lymstone steward and the duke’s assistant, the heir wrote to the Prince Regent and gained permission to act for Lymstone; in other words, he was deemed able to authorise new order and to make changes to old orders.
Darcy shook his head, laughing at all his wasted efforts and monies spent attempting to solve problems the duke had caused. However, when he looked at the accounts ofThe Peak Report, he saw that his investment had already paid off with profits; five more investors had joined in the effort, and they were already pleased with their investments’ growth, as well.
The buildings already constructed near Lambton, originally meant to be part of the new Shirethorpe, now housed several families who had moved to the Derwent mills and then retreated north again, appalled at the awful working conditions. Although those families were squatters on the duke’s land, Darcy wrote to several Derbyshire landowners who had shown an interest in founding a newer, better textile mill. He pointed out that the duke’s brother had shown himself to be open to new ideas, and the people living in those homes had experience with textile manufacture.
He would see what would occur with the luxury textile mill plans; for now, he was satisfied to throw his own time into continuing his project of founding a school for the children of Shirethorpe.
Darcy and Elizabeth found themselves inundated with invitations. The people who had estates in northern Derbyshire had many friends from London, some of whom remained in London year round, most of whom retreated to estates in many and varied counties. So many people had heard admirable (and only slightly exaggerated) tales of Darcy and his new bride, everyone wished to host them at this house party, that hart-and-buck hunt, and opportunities for boating, lawn games, and other entertainments.
“I say, let us throw them all into the fire, unopened,” Darcy said as he stared at the enormous pile.
Elizabeth laughed as if she thought he was teasing, so he grinned and pretended that his officious dismissiveness was, indeed, a jest. He felt like he would still be learning lessons from Elizabeth when they were both centenarians, if they should be so lucky to live that long.
“Let us arrange a picnic feast,” Elizabeth suggested as a counter suggestion, “and we may eat one item of food per twenty letters opened and dealt with!” She set up her portable writing desk, moved the mountain of invites to the blanket she placed on the floor, and sank down gracefully, as if she was sitting on a blanket in a meadow. Darcy laughed—leave it to Elizabeth to be so casual with a chore that it seemed suddenly like an adventure. He pulled the cord, ordered a delectable assortment of foods, and sat cross-legged near Elizabeth. She had already opened twenty messages and read the first one out; it was an invitation to attend a house party in Ramsgate. She said, “I would say no, just because—well, this year at least. Do you agree?”
Darcy nodded vigorously, and Elizabeth neatly penned a short “regretfully” message onto a fresh sheet of paper, carefully copying out the direction from the invitation. She put the message to one side of the writing desk and consigned the invitation to the fire.
She then read an invitation to listen to a lecture on the Middleton Railway system, which was slated to begin in a month. The lecture would be held in London—and this time Darcy said, “I should love to attend this, actually; would you join me?”
“I would, and gladly.” Elizabeth quickly penned their acceptance and put this invitation into a separate stack. So they continued, even after their picnic “feast” had arrived and was placed on the floor by a confused footman and a grinning maid. When they had dealt with twenty invitations, Elizabeth chose a muffin spread with butter and marmalade; Darcy chose a small meat pasty.
He began to open and read out the invitations since Elizabeth was still writing responses to the first set. But after their next break, they switched roles, and he wrote the many regrets and the few acceptances for the next forty invitations. When they finally finished dealing with the entire stack, and the responses were dried and folded and sealed, Darcy and Elizabeth celebrated by eating almost every bit of food that remained. Then they locked the door so that they could celebrate with other, more honeymoon-ish activities.
Thus the couple set the tone for their marriage: they shared work, consulted one another before making decisions, indulged in playful and sometimes surprising ways of coping with unwanted tasks, and got a great deal of pleasure from giving one another pleasure.
Through it all, Darcy knew that he owed to Elizabeth the perspective he needed to become the gentleman he always ought to have been. He owedeverything to Elizabeth, for she had resurrected him, had brought him back to life, had helped him discover his smile and his joy.
Epilogue
ONE
The Peak Report,now a daily newspaper, informed the residents of Northern Derbyshire that the Duke of Lymebourne, who had succeeded his brother after the latter’s death in 1813, had himself succumbed to apoplexy. The man’s accomplishments as duke were celebrated, in contrast to the universal condemnation of his late brother. The recently deceased duke was known to be respectful of his tenants and the others who lived on his land, those who worked in his quarry, sawmill, and other concerns.
The duke was especially celebrated for his role in the running of Moorland Mills, a luxury textile company located near Lambton yet on Lymebourne land. Although locals credited Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy as the champions of the safe working conditions that Moorland workers enjoyed, Darcy was quoted, in thePeak Reportarticle, praising the duke for his moral and financial support to the company, especially crucial during the first five years of its existence.
Elizabeth passed the newspaper back to Darcy, nodding her head. “Well done, you,” she said.
“Me? I merely stated the truth, basically repeating what you had said just an hour before thePeakreporter interviewed me.”
“Very well,” she said, sending a blindingly brilliant smile to her husband. “If you wish to give me the credit, I will allow you to praise me to the skies.”
Darcy could not help but smile in return. How his wife could make the sober discussion about the death of an esteemed neighbour delightful, he would never know. He said, “Thank you. Ho, there, skies, please heed my words: Elizabeth is due all praise in general, and specifically, this time, she is due credit for the words attributed to me in today’s paper.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Wonderful! At least the skies are informed of my contributions, humble though they be.”
