I blinked. “Yes?”
“Mr. Darcy…” Her voice caught, and I saw the warmth in her eyes grow. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be yours. I already am.”
A rush of warmth surged through me, and I felt a smile tug at my own lips, as though the entire world had shifted beneath my feet and righted itself, all at once. My hands shook, and I reached for her—hesitant, unsure whether I should—but she clasped my hands and urged me to my feet. And then her body was wrapped into mine with a sweetness that felt as natural as breathing.
“Ye did it, lad.” Ewan’s voice drifted over us, softer now, with an odd tremor that hadn’t been there before. “Ye’ve found yer dùrachdan, and now I’ll hae mine. Oh, Elspeth!”
I turned, Elizabeth still close against me, and caught a final glimpse of him standing by the doorway, his features softened with an expression I could only describe as peace. He nodded, one last look of recognition, and then his form began to fade.
And then he was gone.
Elizabeth and I were left standing in the quiet, surrounded by the warmth of the room and the gravity of the promise I’d made. She looked up at me, a spark of laughter returning to her eyes.
“So, Mr. Darcy,” she murmured, “when did you plan to tell me all of this?”
I chuckled, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “Honestly? I hadn’t quite planned on telling you anything tonight.”
“Then it’s fortunate Ewan’s meddling has finally come to good use,” she whispered, her lips turning up in a mischievous smile.
“Is that what you call it?” I asked, drawing her even closer, feeling as though I might never be ready to let her go.
“Of course. How else would I be able to kiss you and wish you a Merry Christmas, my own Mr. Darcy?”
I let her pull me down to her, losing myself in the power of her caress. “Well, when you put it that way…”
Her laughter filled the space, warm and rich, echoing through the library as we stood there, caught up in the glow of something I could never name—something that felt, at long last, like coming home.
Epilogue
Darcy
Twenty-Five Years later
The strains of alively reel filled Pemberley’s ballroom as guests swept in, their laughter mingling with the clinking of crystal and the joyful hum of voices. Elizabeth turned from a conversation, her gaze meeting mine from across the room with that mischievous sparkle that I had come to know so well. She raised an eyebrow, a slight nod telling me she had her eye on our son Bennet.
“Why, Mr. Darcy,” she called to me with a playful smile, “aren’t you going to see to your guests? They’ll say you’re slacking in your old age.”
I chuckled, crossing the room to join her. “Slacking? I have greeted no fewer than half the county, my dear,” I replied,reaching for her hand. “And yet you seem to have won all their attention, as usual.”
She laughed softly, squeezing my hand, before her gaze shifted to our son, who stood by the refreshment table, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes fixed on a particular figure in the crowd. Elizabeth sighed and shook her head.
“Ah, but I wonder if he’s found someone a bit more captivating than his parents tonight,” she murmured. “I do believe our Bennet has his mother’s nerve for love.”
“Let us hope he has more of his mother’s fortune,” I replied, my own gaze following Bennet’s. He stood, half-concealed in the shadows, doing his best impression of a bashful suitor—no easy feat for a Darcy. He tugged at his coat sleeves, casting an anxious look toward the ballroom’s opposite side, where Miss Eliza Bingley stood in animated conversation with her aunt Catherine. Sweet-natured, poised, and possessing every whit of her mother’s grace, she was as kind as she was lovely. And Bennet, for all his attempts at composure, looked as though he were teetering on the edge of a great precipice.
“Poor boy,” Elizabeth murmured with a soft laugh. “I don’t think he’s drawn breath since she walked into the room.”
I smiled, clapping my hand over hers. “He may have taken more after me than you’d think. There’s no denying it: he’s well and truly besotted.”
“Then perhaps it’s time he learned a thing or two about love.”
He hadn’t yet noticed me watching, too lost in his own world, but I saw him reach one hand toward his pocket and then pull it back, hesitating. I caught Elizabeth’s gaze, and we both shared a knowing smile before she moved to his side. She reached up to her gown and unpinned a brooch—an ancient, worn thing, the silver tarnished and the stones dim, yet still beautiful in its own way. And then she pressed it into Bennet’s hand.
He glanced down, then back up at her, a bewildered expression on his face. “Mother… forgive me, but why are you giving me this… thing?” He looked up sheepishly. “I only mean—well, it’s rather ugly, isn’t it?”
Elizabeth chuckled, unfazed. “Perhaps it is. But it holds more worth than you might think. I thought there might be a special lady in the room you would like to give it to.”
Bennet looked even more confused, glancing between us as if searching for answers. “I do not… will any lady… appreciate it?”
