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"You have been thanking me for eight years, Uncle. Your household has suffered the consequences."

He laughed, but there was an unfamiliar catch beneath it. Elizabeth remembered the first letter he had written after the accident, its impatient declaration that he had been a most obedient patient. She remembered, too, the carriage journey from Longbourn and the rug he had drawn over her knees while she pretended to be asleep.

"I once believed you had come to me because you needed a home," he said. "It took me some time to discover how much of a home you brought with you."

Elizabeth looked at his unused gloves. She had been prepared to leave with a brave smile; now her throat closed upon the farewell. She stepped forward and embraced him, the way she had wished to do in the carriage when she was sixteen and could not yet imagine such freedom.

He held her closely for a moment, then released her without making a ceremony of it. "You will write to your aunt when you arrive?"

"Before Darcy has had time to take off his coat."

"Good. She has already planned where to keep the letters."

Elizabeth smiled. When she returned to the garden, the Earl finally put on his gloves, though he had to begin twice because his hands were not quite steady.

Later, when the guests had begun to disperse, Elizabeth found Darcy in a quiet corner of the garden. She had wanted a moment with him away from congratulations and questions concerning their journey north. Pemberley awaited them, though they would travel in comfortable stages rather than undertake a reckless race along the turnpikes.

"You have survived the wedding," she said.

"I have survived Richard's speech. The wedding itself was entirely agreeable."

"You will be less complimentary when you discover how many German books I intend to install in the small library."

"I have already instructed the shelves to prepare themselves."

She laughed. "I never expected to be this happy. Not when Uncle Thomas died, nor when I left Longbourn. Even after you asked me to marry you, I sometimes woke thinking that one more thing must go wrong before I was allowed to keep it."

Darcy took both her hands. "There will be grief in our lives, Elizabeth. I cannot promise otherwise. But happiness is not a favour the world has granted conditionally. We shall work for it together, and cherish it when it comes."

"You have grown dangerously eloquent."

"I married an instructor in the art."

Elizabeth rested her forehead lightly against Darcy's. The small gold locket at her throat brushed his waistcoat when she moved closer.

She looked back once at the house. Saye had come out to speak with Albrecht, and Richard was following them with some absurd proposition that made both men shake their heads. Lady Matlock stood near the doorway with Georgiana and Jane, and the Earl turned toward Elizabeth as though he could still be counted upon to discover when she was needed.

"Are you ready?" Darcy asked.

"Yes," Elizabeth said. "I think I am."

Together they went towards the waiting carriage.

EPILOGUE

The Locket's Promise

Five years later, Pemberley in late summer possessed a silence unlike that of any other house Elizabeth had known. It was not solemn: the wind stirred the trees, servants moved about their ordinary work, and a small child's footsteps hurried down a passage when she believed no one could hear her.

"Mama?"

Elizabeth looked up from her writing table. Her daughter stood in the doorway holding a ribbon in one hand and a wooden horse in the other. Her dark hair had escaped its plait, and the serious expression upon her small face recalled Darcy so strongly that Elizabeth had to stop herself from laughing.

"What is it, my love?" she asked.

"Uncle Albrecht says I must ask before I borrow your treasures."

"That is wise of him. Which treasure did you wish to borrow?"