Page 148 of Twice Chosen

Darcy looked at her. "Yes."

It was one more apology owed to the young man he had underestimated once.

Chapter Forty

Again

Elizabeth was seventy-four when she and Darcy returned to the south meadow.

The hawthorn was dying.

Again.

Darcy touched the bark with satisfaction. "This time I am cutting it down."

Elizabeth leaned on her cane. "Murderer."

"It is dead."

"Mostly."

"It fell on a fence last winter."

"It apologized."

Darcy stared.

Elizabeth smiled.

He was eighty-two.

Older than when he had died the first time.

That amused him more than he admitted.

His hair was white again. His shoulders had begun to stoop. The young man's face she had found in Meryton had become, slowly, the face of her husband once more--not identical, because different griefs and different laughter had carved different lines, but unmistakably his.

They sat on the bench Matthew had placed near the meadow several years earlier.

Pemberley stretched below.

Different children.

Different grandchildren.

Different lives.

Same house.

Same two people.

Elizabeth rested her head against his shoulder. "Do you regret it?"

Darcy did not ask what she meant. "No."

"Not even our first children?"

His hand tightened around hers. "I regret losing them."