“It is good to be home, Brooks,” Darcy said, his tone warm.
Mrs Reynolds’ kind face was wet with tears of joy. “Oh, Mr Darcy! Mrs Darcy! We are so pleased to welcome you home,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically choked with emotion. She beamed at Georgiana. “And you, Mrs Wickham, to see you looking so well! It is the answer to all our hopes.”
Georgiana, overcome by such a welcome, could only offer a watery smile. Seeing her sister-in-law swaying with the fatigue of the journey, Elizabeth stepped forward and spoke quietly to Mrs Reynolds, making the necessary arrangements. Soon the Wickhams were being guided into the warmth and care of thehouse, where they would stay briefly until Thornbridge Hall was made ready.
“There is a great deal of correspondence awaiting your attention in the study, sir,” Brooks informed Darcy.
Darcy acknowledged the report with a nod, his expression becoming more remote as the weight of his responsibilities descended upon him once more. “Thank you, Brooks. The affairs of the estate have been neglected for too long.”
He turned, his stride purposeful, every inch the master of the estate returning to his duties. Despite the foolishness of the feeling, Elizabeth’s heart gave a small pang of disappointment.
But he had taken only a few steps towards his study when he paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder. A conspiratorial smile spread across his face, a wordless invitation that made her own heart leap. He held out a hand.
Without a second thought, she crossed the distance to him. The moment her fingers touched his, he pulled her with him, the two of them just barely suppressing their laughter, until they disappeared into the study and shut the door firmly behind them. Her husband’s serious mask was instantly gone, replaced by a warm laugh that filled the room.
“I have some immediate business to attend to, you see,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he drew her into his arms, his back to the looming pile of letters on his desk. “Now,” he murmured against her hair, “where shall we begin?”
She laughed and pushed him back gently. “I believe, sir, you have a great deal of work requiring your attention.”
“I suppose I do,” he sighed, reluctantly seating himself and picking up a letter. He tried, with a notable lack of success, to focus on a missive about grain tariffs, but his efforts were soundly defeated when Elizabeth traced a finger along his chest. “You are a dreadful distraction, Mrs Darcy,” he said, beforecapturing her lips in a kiss that made all thoughts of grain vanish entirely.
The next item he attempted to read was a ledger detailing estate expenditures. The formal confines of the study seemed only to heighten the exhilarating novelty of their new intimacy. Darcy would try to focus on the columns of figures, but Elizabeth, now perched on the edge of his desk, would idly swing her foot, the tip of her shoe brushing tantalisingly close to his thigh, and he would visibly shudder, his concentration shattering once more.
He would pull her onto his lap, intending only a single, swift kiss, a brief reprieve before returning to his duties. But one kiss would melt into another, his hands tangling in her hair, her arms wrapping around his neck, the dry rustle of paper replaced by the soft whisper of their breathing. The solid warmth of him, the strength in his arms, was a heady distraction she had no desire to resist.
It was a chaotic and entirely unproductive endeavour, a delightful cycle of failed intentions and sweet interruptions that left them both laughing and slightly dishevelled. Finally, after a particularly passionate embrace nearly sent a pot of ink toppling, he sighed in mock surrender, capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips.
“It seems Pemberley’s affairs must suffer a little longer,” he said, before his eyes fell on a particular letter with a heavy, official-looking seal. His expression shifted to one of pure amusement. “Ah. It seems the Arcane Office has finally caught up with us.”
Elizabeth laughed, leaning against his shoulder to peer at the offending seal. “Pray, let me see it. What grand crisis requires our attention now?”
He broke the seal and scanned the contents, an incredulous smile slowly spreading across his face. He then turned the letter so she could read it.
It was a formal, and rather sternly worded, interdiction. It declared that under no circumstances were Mr and Mrs Darcy of Pemberley to travel to the blighted and dangerous region of Newcastle, an act the Office deemed to be one of suicidal folly.
“We have been forbidden to go to Newcastle,” Darcy said, a glint in his eye as he watched her read. “I trust that you have no further wish to go there?”
Elizabeth looked up from the weeks-old prohibition, her own eyes sparkling with a light that matched his. She moved closer, her hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, an easy, confident intimacy in her touch.
“No, William,” she whispered, a teasing promise. “I find I have other things entirely on my mind.”
Later that evening, as Elizabeth stood by the window in her room, her hair loose and the warm scent of him still on her skin, she felt a sense of deep contentment. Pemberley was healing. Its family was healing. And she, who had arrived as an unwilling, resentful bride, had found her place at the very heart of it.
The journey had been long, arduous, and at times, almost unbearably painful. But as she looked out at the moonlit Derbyshire sky, Elizabeth felt like a woman who had finally, truly, come home.
The days that followed their return from Newcastle were deeply satisfying to Elizabeth. Pemberley was now truly alive. Thegloom had vanished entirely, replaced by a vibrant sense of purpose and absolute happiness.
Georgiana had blossomed. In Elizabeth’s daily company, she rediscovered her love for music, and her melodies often drifted through the corridors. Her confidence grew with each passing day as she ventured out to the tenant farms, her gentle touch a welcome balm on a land still mending.
While awaiting his transfer, Wickham formed an uneasy but highly effective partnership with Darcy. Riding out daily to direct the estate's recovery, Wickham's intuitive connection to the land proved the perfect guide for Darcy's precise and powerful elemental control, allowing them to make swift and remarkable improvements.
Yet, one shadow remained that haunted the contented moments. Late one afternoon, seeking Darcy, she found him in his study. He was bent over a leather-bound ledger, his brow furrowed in concentration. Stacks of similar volumes lay on the desk around him. The shadows beneath his eyes, which had begun to fade in the days since their return, had now deepened once more.
Her heart ached for him. The sixty thousand pounds was a constant, unspoken weight, the last, bitter price for their past failures. She saw the toll it took on him in these unguarded moments, in the line of tension that never fully left his shoulders, in the way he would stare into the fire at night.
She approached, and he glanced up, his eyes softening instantly upon seeing her.
“Come join me, Elizabeth,” he said.
