And as the sun climbed higher over London, Fitzwilliam Darcy realized that for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be anywhere else but exactly where he was.
Epilogue
Lady Catherine de Bourgh did not knock on doors. She considered knocking to be an admission that one was not expected, and Lady Catherine was always expected, especially on her own estate.
It was Easter Sunday morning, 1812. The bells of the Hunsford church were silent for the moment, waiting for the service, but the Parsonage was a hive of activity that Lady Catherine could hear from the garden gate.
She marched up the path, her cane tapping a rhythmic warning on the stones. Behind her, Anne trailed in her wake, wrapped in a shawl despite the mild April sun, looking as she always did: like a willow tree that had given up on photosynthesis.
The door to the Parsonage opened before Lady Catherine could reach for the handle. Mr Collins stood there, bowing so low his nose nearly brushed his shoe buckles.
"Lady Catherine! Your Ladyship honours us! We were just preparing for church, but your presence is a benediction upon this humble roof! A benediction, I say!"
"Stop bowing, Mr Collins," Lady Catherine commanded, sweeping past him into the small hallway. "You look like a wind-up toy. Where are they?"
"They, your Ladyship?"
"The guests. Mrs Collins told me her sister and the youngest Bennet girl arrived yesterday. I wish to inspect them."
She did not wait for an answer. She navigated the narrow corridor—really, the ceilings here were oppressively low—and entered the sitting room.
It was a scene of domestic disorder that made Lady Catherine's left eye twitch.
Mrs Collins—sensible Charlotte—was trying to pin a ribbon onto her sister Maria's bonnet. Maria looked nervous, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an exit.
And in the centre of the room, laughing loudly at something she had just said, was Lydia Bennet.
She was the youngest of the Bennet brood, and it showed. She was tall, like her sister Jane, and possessed the same dark eyes as Elizabeth, but there the resemblance ended. Where Elizabeth was sharp intellect and defiance, this girl was pure, unadulterated noise.
She was wearing a gown that was too bright for the morning, her hair was a riot of curls that defied gravity and good taste, and she was currently spinning around to show off the hem of her skirt.
"And then the Captain said—oh!" Lydia stopped spinning as she spotted the imposing figure in the doorway.
"Lady Catherine," Charlotte said smoothly, curtsying. "May I present my guests. Miss Maria Lucas, my sister, and Miss Lydia Bennet."
Lydia bobbed a curtsy that was more of a wobble. "Lord! You're her! Lizzy told me you were scary, but you're not even tall."
Mr Collins made a sound like a dying bagpipe. "Miss Lydia! Apologize to her Ladyship immediately! The condescension she shows in even entering this room—"
"Quiet, Collins," Lady Catherine snapped. She raised her eyes and fixed Lydia Bennet with a stare that had reduced grown men to tears.
She studied the girl. She saw the untamed energy and the lack of polish. She saw the hunger for attention. But she also saw the sister of Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Since the wedding in February—an event Lady Catherine had attended regally—she had come to a grudging acceptance of the situation. Elizabeth Bennet had spirit. She had managed to marry the most eligible man in Derbyshire without a penny to her name. That required talent.
And this girl... this loud, unformed creature... was family.
"You are staying here?" Lady Catherine demanded, gesturing to the cramped sitting room with her cane. "In this shoebox?"
"It is a bit small," Lydia admitted cheerfully. "Maria and I have to share a bed, and she kicks."
"Unacceptable," Lady Catherine declared. "You are the sister of the Mistress of Pemberley. You are the sister of the Viscountess of Keathley. You cannot be seen sleeping in a parsonage like a surplus curate."
"But—" MrCollins stammered.
"Mrs Collins," Lady Catherine turned to Charlotte. "Pack her bags. Your sister can stay here. She looks like she enjoys small spaces. But Miss Bennet is coming to Rosings."
Lydia's eyes went wide. "Rosings? The big house? With the golden chimneys?"
