“I perceive that Richard was the more easily ensnared because in families such as ours, only the firstborn inherits the estate. This must change. Lady Matlock and I have resolved that the property in Derbyshire shall be Richard’s—”
“Excellent!” cried Darcy with delight. “It is a most admirable idea; the estate may become very productive.”
“Precisely,” said Lord Matlock. “Richard will be bound to grant his brother a rent, but the estate and the rest of the income will be his and his children’s.”
“And what will the viscount say?” asked Darcy, now somewhat less pleased, realising that ill-will might arise between the brothers.
“He has no voice in the succession,” Lady Matlock spoke with determination, and Elizabeth felt assured that the plan had arisen in her apartment rather than her husband’s. “What remains is that Richard must find a wife who will support him in all that he wishes to undertake in London and at Matlock Park.”
At this, Lady Matlock looked strangely at Mary, who blushed.
But at that moment, Elizabeth and Darcy could think of nothing but their approaching marriage.
Epilogue
It was early spring at Pemberley—a season so unlike the one at Longbourn. Elizabeth remembered well the delight that spread through the house whenever one of them first discovered the tender buds upon the hedge before their door. Yet here, amidst the vast domain, spring bore a different meaning altogether. Even before the earth shewed signs of renewal, the house, the gardens, and the fields were alive with stir and business. At dawn, her husband was already abroad, riding through the estate to give orders, to visit, to arrange the day’s labour. The whole was in such commotion that she, at first, scarcely knew how to find her place in the tumult or to discern her proper part.
From the first days, she had accompanied Darcy on many of his rounds about the estate, and little by little she came to know all who laboured under their care. Perhaps she did not yet remember every name among the grown folk, but the children she knew well, for no sooner did she appear than they gathered round her, bringing flowers or some small fruit offered with delight from a plump little hand which Elizabeth never failed tokiss. Nor did she ever forget them in return, but carried with her small bags of sweets which she shared among all the children present.
She had learnt that the people about them often compared her to the late mistress, Lady Anne, who had known each woman and child upon the estate, and had given her care with both justice and tenderness to all who lived under that roof and within those lands.
As was their custom, Darcy found her that morning in the dining room, awaiting his return. She welcomed him with the same bright smile, no matter how long or short their separation had been.
“You have a letter from the colonel,” she said, her eyes quick with interest, showing him the letter that waited for him next to his plate.
There had been little word from their cousin of late. He endured a grievous season; yet as the concerns of the army could not be spoken of, they knew they knew only that he suffered from losing his love. Disappointments had fallen thick upon him, leaving him with a declared disdain for all women.
Mr and Mrs Henry had been arrested in London that same month, but long months passed before it was resolved whether he should stand trial. In the end, the judgment had been in his favour: he was hailed as a hero, and the Regent himself had extended his congratulations.
“And you?” Darcy asked, glancing at the little bundle of letters before her.
Elizabeth smiled and touched them lightly with her hand, the letters in front of her, “Mary, Jane, and Papa.”
He drew a chair beside her; he disliked taking his place at the farther end of the table. He kissed her gently and whispered that she was beautiful. Still, she blushed, hovering between shyness and pleasure. Yet of late, Darcy believed it was pleasurethat prevailed. The innocent bride who had once yielded with reluctance had grown into a splendid woman, casting aside every restraint as one discards an outworn garment, and delighting in the ardours of their intimacy.
Elizabeth broke the seal of Mary’s letter, eager to know how her once timid sister fared in London. Lord and Lady Matlock had chosen to keep her always near them, and so she had removed to town. Each of her letters brought tidings of interest, for her life appeared to grow daily more agreeable.
They had but begun to read when, at once and almost together, they uttered an exclamation of amazement.
“What?” cried Darcy.
Elizabeth turned to him, perceiving plainly that they had lit upon the same passage.
“It cannot be! What does Mary say?”
“'Colonel Fitzwilliam has asked me to be his wife, and I have given him my consent.' His wife?” Elizabeth repeated with eager wonder. “Read, in the name of the Lord—read at once what the colonel says.” She tried to seize the letter, but Darcy caught her in his arms, and they wrestled and laughed together until she had placed herself upon his knee, that they might read in company. He wanted to read Mary’s letter first, but she insisted again, “His letter!
He held fast to his cousin’s letter. “This poor man that I became believes that marriage leaves him some privacy in his correspondence.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, if you do not read it aloud at once, I shall remove to my own chamber for a week.”
“I could—”
“With the doors shut!”
“You would not last a week,” he said, unfolding the paper with studied leisure.
“Try me!”
