"William?" she asked, looking from him to Elizabeth.
"You will soon have a sister, Georgiana," Darcy said softly.
Georgiana squealed. She threw her arms around Elizabeth. "I knew it! I knew it! Happy New Year!"
Lady Catherine approached and looked at Darcy and Elizabeth's wet dress. She then looked at the ring.
She huffed.
"Well," she said. "At least it is a good stone. Darcy stones are always of quality. Stand up straight, girl. You will be a Darcy soon. Act like it."
"Yes, your ladyship," Elizabeth replied straightening her spine until it hurt.
Darcy grinned.
"Don't smirk at me, Fitzwilliam. It is vulgar." She tapped Elizabeth's arm with her fan. "Come to tea tomorrow. We have work to do."
"I shall be here," Elizabeth promised.
New Year's Day, 1812.
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at the window of the morning room in Darcy House. The sun was shining—actually shining—glittering off the melting snow in the square.
Everyone was invited for breakfast in the aftermath of the grand ball. None of them had slept a wink that night, except his uncle who dozed in his chair when no one was addressing him.
Breakfast was a riot. Robert was recounting the story of his proposal for the third time, embellishing the part about the library fire. The Earl was discussing wedding banns with Mr Gardiner. Georgiana and Elizabeth were looking at fashion plates for wedding trousseaus.
Darcy watched them. He held a cup of coffee, but he wasn't drinking it. He was savouring the noise.
A month ago, he had stood in this room, rubbing his chest, convinced his life was over. He had been alone, proud, and miserable.
Now, he was surrounded by chaos. He was engaged to a woman who laughed at him, laughed with him, and loved him fiercely. He had a cousin who was marrying her sister. He had an aunt who was teaching his betrothed how to rule the world.
He felt a hand on his arm.
"You are quiet," Elizabeth said, standing beside him. She looked fresh and lovely in the morning light, the ring on her fingerflashing as she moved.
"I am reflecting," Darcy said.
"On what?"
"On resolutions." He turned to her. "I resolved to be happy. It seems I have succeeded early in the year."
"You have," she smiled. "But you must keep it up. It is a long year."
"I have help," he said, bringing her hand to his lips. "I have you."
"Then we shall do very well, indeed."
Across the room, Robert raised a toast with a piece of toast. "To 1812! The year the mice roared!"
"To 1812!" the room shouted back.
Darcy turned at his wife-to-be.
"To us," he whispered to Elizabeth.
"To us," she replied.
