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“It will feel different,” she observed, tilting her head to study his profile. “When I arrived a fortnight ago, I was merely a guest imposing on your hospitality, uncertain how you would receive me after what had passed between us.”
“And when you return,” Darcy stated, his voice dropping, “you will return as the mistress of this estate. You will return as my wife.”
Her smile brightened the gathering twilight. “I believe I shall prefer that arrangement, Mr Darcy.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles, and stared at the darkening landscape, his heart full and his spirit at peace. He would leave Pemberley tomorrow, undertaking a journey to secure his future, holding the certainty that the next time the carriage rolled over the gravel drive, his home would finally be complete.
Epilogue
Three months later
The dining room at Longbourn overflowed with the proof of Mrs Bennet’s lifelong vindication.
She stood near the sideboard, her new gown of peach-coloured silk rustling with every inhalation. The fabric was the finest Spitalfields weave, purchased for this occasion. The air within the chamber carried the scents of roasted chickens, glazed hams, almond cakes, and fruit jellies. The long tables groaned under the weight of the finest porcelain the household had, a display of culinary abundance suited for the mother of two fortunate brides.
Mrs Bennet pressed a lace handkerchief to her cheek, simultaneously fanning herself with an ivory fan in her other hand. Her poor nerves, which had tormented her for over two decades, were finally at rest. She had survived the indifference of her husband, the entailed estate, and the terror of housing five unmarried daughters.
Now, she had a daughter with four or five thousand a year, and another daughter with ten thousand a year.
Ten thousand a year. The phrase repeated in her mind, a glorious melody that drowned out the chatter of the wedding breakfast. She closed her eyes, savouring the arithmetic. Carriages, jewels, townhouses in London, pin-money of a magnitude she could scarcely comprehend. Jane was the mistress of Netherfield, and Lizzy, obstinate, headstrong Lizzy, was the mistress of Pemberley.
She opened her eyes, surveying her conquered kingdom.
The room was packed to the wainscoting with the neighbourhood. Meryton society had turned out in full force to witness the miracle. The gentlemen clustered near the port decanters, while the ladies navigated the crowded floor, their feathered turbans nodding in envious awe.
A scuffle near the doorway drew her attention.
Lydia, wearing a gown of bright yellow muslin that clashed with the floral arrangements, was attempting to pry a piece of candied fruit from Kitty’s plate.
“I am the tallest; therefore, I require the most sustenance,” she proclaimed, securing a glazed cherry and popping it into her mouth. “Furthermore, I shall visit Pemberley first. I have decided. I shall take the largest guest chamber, the one Lizzy described, with the blue silk hangings.”
Kitty slapped her sister’s wrist, her lower lip protruding in a pout. “You shall not visit first! Lizzy likes me far better than she likes you. I shall go to Pemberley, and I shall attend all the assemblies in Derbyshire. I shall dance with every gentleman of fortune.”
Mary, keeping a safe distance from the squabble, adjusted her spectacles and offered a severe frown. “The pursuit of frivolous entertainment in Derbyshire is a hollow endeavour. A young woman ought to seek intellectual enrichment. I intend to spend my time in Mr Darcy’s library, absorbing the moral treatises.”
“You are welcome to the treatises, Mary,” Lydia retorted with a laugh. “I shall take the ballgowns and the officers! Oh, I wonder if Mr Darcy keeps a regiment nearby?”
Mrs Bennet would not permit her younger daughters to bungle the grandest day of her existence with their usual bickering.
“Lydia, you will lower your volume this instant,” she instructed, tapping her youngest daughter on the shoulder with her fan. “You will not speak of officers in front of Mr Darcy. He is a gentleman of the highest consequence, and he does not concern himself with red coats. Kitty, smooth your hair. You look as though you have been dragged through a hedgerow. You must present a picture of elegance today. We are a family of distinction now.”
“We are exactly the same family we were yesterday, Mamma,” Mary observed flatly. “Merely with fewer residents.”
“We are nothing of the sort,” Mrs Bennet said, lifting her chin. “We are the mother and sisters to the mistress of Pemberley. You must remember your new elevation.”
Satisfied that the girls were temporarily subdued, Mrs Bennet continued her progress to the table.
Her sister, Mrs Philips, hurried to meet her. She wore a turban adorned with three enormous feathers, her eyes wide with wonder. Lady Lucas trailed behind, her expression a mixture of polite congratulations and bitter jealousy.
Mrs Bennet tucked her handkerchief away and closed her fan.
“Sister!” Mrs Philips grasped Mrs Bennet’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “The spread is magnificent. I have counted three varieties of white soup, and the venison is roasted to perfection. The village is overcome. Not one, but two gentlemen of fortune!”
“It is a blessing,” Mrs Bennet agreed, with an aura of humility that fooled no one. “A mother only wishes for the comfort of her children. I have always said Jane had the face of an angel, and Mr Bingley is a most agreeable young man.”
Lady Lucas offered a strained smile. “Charlotte is very comfortable at Hunsford, of course. Mr Collins is a very respectable clergyman.”
“Oh, the Church is a very steady profession,” Mrs Bennet replied, injecting her tone with pity. “Very respectable indeed. Though, of course, it is not ten thousand a year. Ten thousand a year provides a certain... comfort.”
