He cleared his throat. “I begin to see your point.”
Elizabeth leaned close to murmur in his ear. “From now on, perhaps we might choose a more direct route? This one was rather circuitous.”
“I thought you liked to walk in circles,” he countered with a slight smile.
“Ah, but I always know where I am heading,” Elizabeth replied easily. “You, my love, took a route through pride, prejudice, and half the length of the realm before arriving at the perfectly obvious destination.”
He smiled broadly at her nonsense. “And what destination was that, may I ask?”
“Turn away, please, Papa.”
Her father narrowed his eyes.
“Papa,” she said firmly, “either you turn away or you shall have to watch.”
“Only one minute, Elizabeth,” he growled. Papa pointed at Fitzwilliam, his frown ponderous. “Behave.” He made a show of turning towards the bookshelves behind him. “I am counting.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened, then burned with an intense fire when she placed one hand on his cheek and leaned in to touch her lips to his.
“Your destination is here, my love,” she whispered. “Where my heart was waiting all along.”
Epilogue
June 1822
Pemberley had never been more alive than it was today. The great house hummed with activity as family members from every corner of England converged for Mary Bennet's wedding to the new vicar of Lambton.
Mamma Bennet's voice carried through the music room. “I have seen your wedding clothes, and you have chosen morning dresses that would better suit a housekeeper. Oh, Mary! What will the neighbourhood think?”
His sister Mary, seated at one of the instruments with her betrothed, Mr. Alistair Clarke, merely smiled. Clarke turned the page for his intended, his expression rapt as her fingers danced across the keys.
From a quiet corner, Darcy saw Elizabeth observe her sister's contentment with satisfaction. Of all the Bennet girls, Mary hadtaken longest to find her path, but she at last had met a man whose dedication to both faith and music matched her own. That he had also read every text on moral philosophy that Mary had ever recommended had only increased his appeal.
The debates they had engaged in over those books were quickly becoming part of Pemberley’s family legends.
“Cousin Darcy!” Little Diana Fitzwilliam reached for his hand. “Papa says you must come support him. He and Uncle Beckworth are arguing over old stories again.”
Darcy allowed himself to be led to where Fitzwilliam stood with his brother, their wives looking on with fond exasperation. Richard's two daughters, in matching blue frocks, were attempting to teach Viscount Beckworth's youngest son to dance while his elder siblings looked on with brotherly disdain.
“I tell you, Darcy was there,” Richard insisted. “He saw the whole thing.”
“I was where?” he asked.
Elizabeth appeared at his side, little Georgiana on her hip.
“Hamilton's wig,” both brothers said at once.
Before Darcy could reply, Jane approached. “Lizzy, might we steal Mary for a moment? We need her opinion on the music for tomorrow.”
“If you can separate her from her betrothed,” Elizabeth replied. “I have never seen a man so enchanted by Bach.”
“It is not the Bach,” Jane said softly. “They suit perfectly. And now we shall all be settled at last.”
Darcy's gaze swept the room. Kitty, happily married to a Hertfordshire squire, was showing Georgiana's husband a miniature of their daughter. Lydia, somewhat matured by marriage to a sensible barrister but still irrepressible, was teaching all the children a country dance while their nurses looked on in mild alarm. Lady Matlock sat with Mamma Bennet,both of them examining the piece of lace that Mary would wear in her hair, while Lord Matlock dozed in a nearby chair.
“I was there,” Darcy told Richard and Beckworth. “Attempting to stop you both from ruining the wig and getting yourselves sent down.”
Bennet entered then, a book tucked under his arm. “I see most of the family has anticipated me. The library was quite peaceful until your children discovered I was readingThe Odyssey.”
