Page 113 of Her Whole Heart
Jane embraced her tightly. “Of course I can. The only question was what was taking you so long.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You know very well why. I am a stubborn creature.”
“Indeed, Mr. Darcy shall have his hands full,” Jane said and pulled back to look at her. “Mr. Bingley and I were waiting to set a date for our ceremony in the hopes that you two would join us. A double wedding, Lizzy—would you like it?”
So many people who loved her. It was an embarrassment of riches. “I would like it above all things, and if it means we marry sooner, Mr. Darcy will like it, too.”
“Congratulations, Lizzy!” Amelia cried, nearly bouncing with glee. “I am so pleased for you!”
“Well done, Elizabeth,” Lady Carlisle added with a warm smile. “I know that you and Mr. Darcy will be very happy together.”
Elizabeth nodded. She trusted that they would.
Epilogue
Pemberley, August 1815
Elizabeth led the way into the music room. Georgiana was sitting at the pianoforte, Jane at her harp, Cordelia with a violin, and Amelia and Henrietta sharing the music and preparing to sing. Elizabeth’s flute waited for her, but Fitzwilliam moved a chair to the front of the room.
“You ought not be standing while you play,” he said quietly, and with a hand placed lightly on the small of her back, gently guided her to the seat. She did not have the same capacity to play a wind instrument when she was enceinte, and he always worried she would grow faint.
Elizabeth was never faint, but she smiled at her husband. “Very well.”
He returned her smile and went to sit between Charles Bingley and the colonel.
Their little group was not the same without Diana, but she had fallen in love with Mr. Kershaw over Russian lessons—he was fluent—and she was now a married woman, one whose husband was currently a member of the British diplomatic delegation to Paris. Waterloo had been a horrific battle,and the new treaty was unlikely to be as conciliatory as the last had been. Knowing so many languages was quite useful for a diplomat’s wife.
Fortunately for them, Colonel Fitzwilliam had not been on the field at Waterloo. He had resigned his commission the moment Napoleon was confined to Elba and had promptly married Cordelia Torrington.
Elizabeth glanced about the room, with great affection and a bit of melancholy. This would be their final performance for some time, for their composer would soon be on her wedding trip. Georgiana was to marry Viscount Wilmot, and as Europe was at last safe for travel, they were planning a long trip to the continent. The viscount and Mr. Wade, Henrietta’s husband, who owned an estate near Matlock, sat beside one another, waiting with anticipation for their wives to perform.
Amelia was the only one of them who remained unattached, but she finally did seem willing to consider accepting a suitor this year in London. Now that Georgiana was about to wed, and she three years younger, Amelia had declared to the ladies that she felt she was at last ready. Elizabeth tried not to notice that Lady Carlisle had been very, very relieved to hear it. Not that the countess minded having Amelia with them—the two were very close—but Amelia had not accepted any of the nascent interest she had generated, and they had all begun to believe she did not mean to ever marry at all.
It would not have been the worst thing in the world had Amelia determined she would be happier to be independent, Elizabeth thought. She was not a young woman who would be left without the support of family. And yet . . . Elizabeth gazed at Fitzwilliam and thought about how rich and joyful her life was—there were vexations, of course, small tiffs and large, but never would she have said she was unhappy for long. The way he cared for her, the pride in his bearing when he escorted her anywhere, the way healways treated her with respect, even when she herself knew she had done or said something that was petulant or rude.
Her emotions had been rather unguarded in the months she had been carrying their little Will.
No, it would not have been the worst thing for Amelia to remain unwed—but it would not have been the best, either. As long as Amelia found someone she could love, Elizabeth could not help but think it would be a fine thing, indeed.
Of course itmustbe love. Nothing else would do.
Darcy was relieved his wife had slipped into the chair he had provided with nary a word of protest. He could never be sure how she would respond to his attempts to care for her when she was with child. From what Bingley had told him, however, Elizabeth bore that part of her trials far better than her normally calm sister. Fortunately, after their first few rows, Bingley had worked out what was happening and, with his own persistent good humour, had decided to just offer his steward a raise and spend more time with Jane. Wise man.
He settled back in his chair. These gatherings always produced music that was a bit unconventional due to the odd assortment of instruments, but they were always enjoyable. And he loved to watch his wife play her flute. He had thought she resembled a pixie when first they met, and this impression was heightened when she played. She was impish and playful like a faerie, but he knew and loved the depths that ran beneath her ready wit.
The music began, a light, airy tune that nonetheless spoke of farewells. Or perhaps it was only his own feelings now that Georgiana would be leaving Pemberley. They had been fortunate to have her company so long, though he still thought her too young to marry. She would be twenty in December.
Of course, Elizabeth had been barely twenty when they wed. Georgiana would be fine. She had already been accomplished, but by the time she entered society, Elizabeth had guided her into a deep sort of confidence that had drawn the attention of many men. Wilmot was young, at twenty-four, but he had a passion for music and for his betrothed. He was a good man, and as much as Darcy had wished to refuse them permission to wed, he knew this was a good match. Georgiana would be happy, as he and Elizabeth were.
Even now, Wilmot was beaming at his future bride with pride and adoration.
The song ended, but the notes lingered in his mind. It was Georgiana’s finest yet, and he had no doubt she was already considering how to use Mrs. Kershaw's skills when she returned home.
Elizabeth set down her flute and rose. She and Georgiana chatted for a time while he watched.
There was a heavy sigh nearby, and he turned.
“Darling,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam was saying as she stored her violin away in its case, “I understand your enthusiasm for the pigeons, and we have agreed to house them, but we must be cautious. The hawks pose a significant threat to their safety.”
