He lifted his head, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes searching her face in the flickering light with an expression of such tender ferocity that her heart clenched in her chest.
She answered him without words, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw, drawing his mouth back down to hers.
He reached past her toward the candle on the nightstand, pinching it, enfolding them in soft velvet—a benediction, and the beginning of all they had awaited.
And in that pulsing darkness, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy came home, and her heart—her whole heart, holding nothing back—was full.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
COMPLETION
Thomas perched triumphantlyastride Darcy’s shoulders, his legs kicking with wild abandon. “Faster, Da!”
From beneath the shade of an ancient oak, Elizabeth watched her husband carry their son across the rolling lawn toward Lady Anne’s pavilion. Baskets and blankets were arranged upon a gentle slope overlooking the Pemberley lake, creating an idyllic scene that stirred something warm and enduring within her heart.
“I am the tallest, Lizba! Look! Higher than the trees!” Thomas called down to her, bouncing enthusiastically upon his father’s shoulders.
“Not quite taller than the trees, my spirited champion,” Darcy replied with a wince. “But certainly taller than Harley, our long-eared friend who supervises most affairs of state from his blanket.”
The basset hound in question lifted his mournful head, decided the conversation did not concern him, and promptly returned to his important duties of overseeing the unpacking of hampers.
Elizabeth watched as Darcy set their son down, her smile lingering on the small, perfect details: the careful brushingof grass from a tiny coat, Thomas’s immediate dash toward Hannah, who appeared with a moss-lined basket and the entire snail dynasty in tow.
Georgiana and Prue had already settled on a blanket beneath the great oak, giggling and sharing whatever confidences young ladies shared when they believed themselves unobserved.
“Elizabeth!” Georgiana beckoned. “Come join us! Prue has brought the most fascinating manuscript—she is writing a novel, did you know? About a governess who inherits a castle!”
“A very small castle,” Prue amended. “More of a fortified manor, really, and she does not precisely inherit it—there is a mystery involving a forged will and a secret passage and a gentleman who may or may not be the villain, depending on how the next chapter unfolds.”
“It sounds wonderfully Gothic,” Elizabeth settled beside them. “I trust the governess triumphs in the end and the villain receives his just desserts?”
“I am still working out the particulars,” Prue confessed, warming to her subject with growing animation. “The gentleman keeps refusing to be properly villainous, you see—every time I try to make him do something dreadful, he insists on being complicated instead, and I find myself rather sympathizing with him despite my better judgment.”
“Such is the way of gentlemen, villainous or otherwise,” Elizabeth agreed, and her eyes found Darcy across the lawn, where he had joined Thomas in the serious business of snail supervision. “They are remarkably resistant to simple villainy, particularly when one has grown rather fond of them.”
“Oh!” Georgiana exclaimed, hurriedly producing a letter from her reticule. “I had quite forgotten, but Jamison brought a letter from Longbourn—for you. From your mother, I believe.”
“Mrs. Bennet?” Elizabeth’s heart gave a little leap. Her mother rarely put pen to paper, preferring to dictate anyadmonitions to Jane for transcription. What could occasion this uncommon correspondence?
She broke the seal and recognized her mother’s hand immediately—the dramatic flourishes, the excessive underlining, and the profusion of exclamation marks. “Why, my sister Jane is to marry the Viscount, Edward Apethorpe. How incredible.”
“A Viscount!” Georgiana clasped her hands together, her eyes widening. “You must be delighted. How did this transpire?”
“Apparently, he had gone to Longbourn discreetly, making inquiries—possibly about me. He is Thomas’s uncle, you know, and instead of gathering answers, he was entirely overcome by Jane—at first sight. They are to be married at Michaelmas, and we are all invited for the wedding.”
“How perfectly romantic,” Prue sighed. “Your sister will be a countess someday.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Mamma is beside herself with triumph.”
“She will be insufferable for months,” Georgiana said cheerfully. “In the very best way, naturally.”
“In the only way Mamma knows how to be insufferable—thoroughly and without apology.” Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head in wonderment just as Darcy appeared at her elbow, Thomas trotting beside him with a dish of lettuce upon which Sidney and his relations were scrutinizing with their mouths and eye stalks.
“You are smiling,” Darcy observed, settling onto the blanket beside her. “More than usual, I mean. What has occurred to brighten your countenance so beautifully?”
“My sister Jane is to be married to Viscount Drake. Thomas’s uncle, as it happens. He came to Longbourn making inquiries and came away engaged instead.”
“Ah.” Something softened in Darcy’s expression. “Then our families are to be doubly connected. Little Tom,” he addressed his son. “Your uncle Edward is marrying your Aunt Jane.”
