“She may not understand it all. Not at first. But she knows I chose to go to you. That I would do so again. And I believe—when she sees what you are to me, and that you care for her, truly and not for my sake alone—she will love you again, Elizabeth. Of that I am certain.”
The next morning dawned warm and clear, the skies bright with the easy fullness of high summer. The air held that golden stillness peculiar to July—ripe fields, distant birdsong, and the faintest scent of roses drifting in from the garden.
As the Gardiners expressed their gratitude to Mr. Darcy with grace and affection, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood to one side, speaking quietly with Elizabeth. He took her hand and bowed over it with a fond, familiar gallantry.
“I wish you a safe journey,” he said, voice lowered. “And fortitude for whatever awaits you at home.”
Her smile flickered. “Thank you. I expect I’ll need it.”
He pressed a light kiss to her glove and stepped back. “Take care of him.”
She glanced sideways at Darcy, who stood just beside them, still engaged in conversation with Mr. Gardiner. “Always,” she said.
The Colonel stepped forward to bid the Gardiners farewell—polite, brief, appropriate to acquaintances—and then assisted Mrs. Gardiner into the carriage with practiced ease. A moment later, he turned away and disappeared into the house.
Elizabeth and Darcy lingered behind.
“I will miss you greatly,” she said quietly, “but I will feel happy knowing you are safe.”
Darcy took her hand in his. “And I shall miss you too. More than I can say.”
“I should be going,” she murmured, though her fingers refused to let go.
“I know.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles—slow and steady, reverent.
“Please rest and recover.”
“I will,” he said. “But only because I have something to return to.”
Elizabeth tried to smile, but her throat tightened. He noticed, of course.
“I love you, Elizabeth,” he said. “And nothing will keep me from coming to you.”
She stepped closer. “I love you too. And I would rather wait a few extra days—or even a week—in peace than a lifetime in grief. So I beg you, listen to your body. Rest when you need to.”
“I promise,” he said with a faint smile. “I shall follow the doctor’s advice. My very proper wife-to-be.”
They stood like that for a moment, neither speaking, only watching the other.
Then, without ceremony, he cupped her cheek, leaned in, and rested his forehead gently against hers.
“I will see you soon,” she whispered, eyes closed.
“Not soon enough,” he murmured.
She lingered a moment more, then turned. He helped her into the carriage himself. As the door closed, he leaned in one final time.
“Goodbye, my love,” he whispered, low enough that only she could hear.
Darcy remained in the doorway, watching as the carriage pulled away, his hand still lifted—as if trying to hold the memory of her fingers just a little longer.
The journey south was long but peaceful, the road winding through familiar fields now cast in deeper summer hues. As the carriage crested the final hill and Longbourn came into view, Elizabeth felt a quiet stirring. Her journey back to Longbourn was nearly at an end.
She thought of all the changes this lifetime had brought. She had been home at Pemberley—and it was there her memories felt strongest, truest. Yet she knew her work here was not finished. There were still things that must be set right before she could return home again.
As the carriage rounded the drive, a flurry of small feet and waving hands met them. The Gardiner children ran across the gravel in a stream of delighted shrieks, launching themselves into their parents’ arms before the footman could lower the step.
Mrs. Bennet followed only moments later, arms flung wide, voice ringing out across the lawn.
