Epilogue
My dear Miss Darcy,
I can hardly write, my hands are shaking so. Mr Acton returned from London last night and proposed to me! We are to be married tomorrow. I owe Miss Bingley a debt which can never be repaid, though I shall certainly try. My new husband and I—Lord, how odd it feels to write such a thing—cordially request the pleasure of your company the day after. Please bring Miss Bingley, too!
Yours affectionally,
Miss Merryhill
On their first visit to see the Actons, Georgiana and Caroline brought with them a large basket of fresh fruit and cheese, as well as one of Mrs Addlecombe’s pear cakes, all of which were joyfully received by the happy couple. Caroline could not help comparing this lunch with the first she had attended at Miss Merryhill’s, and although the attendees were the same, she found herself enjoying this encounter far more. The Grimleys had improved markedly, being now several months into their marriage and rather less inclined to be ridiculous incompany. Privately, Caroline admitted that perhaps she was now more disposed to see them in a favourable light, having experienced love for herself. Mr Grimley was courteous and attentive, while Mrs Grimley’s kindness and eagerness to please did not stop at her husband, but extended to everyone in the entire party.
The Actons were also in the full flush of love, though theirs was a quieter, gentler sort. When Caroline caught them looking at each other from across the room, there was nothing untoward in the glance, but the adoration emanating from each was enough to avert her eyes.
When the Grimleys finally left, Mr Acton brought out a large cloth-wrapped package. “This is for you, Miss Bingley,” he said, presenting it with a smile.
“For me?” Caroline blinked. “I deserve no present, sir.”
“I disagree. Were it not for you, I never would have taken the necessary steps to secure my future. And were it not for you, I would not have been commissioned again by Lord Ashbrook.”
“Ah, but I have heard,” Caroline said, wagging a finger at him, “that some Northern painter is all the rage in London now. Even my sister, who cares nothing for art, has heard the gossip. I may have given you a push, Mr Acton, but you flew the nest yourself and soared higher than I could ever have imagined.”
He pushed the package towards her again, his grin broadening. Caroline unknotted the string and pulled the cloth aside to reveal the painting she’d given her opinion on weeks before. The same sloping hills remained, the same shepherd with a broad-brimmed hat shading his eyes, the same lamb who had wandered away from its flock. Only now—as if it hadalways been there—high on the far left of the painting hung a large tawny bird with wings outstretched as if soaring. A pale shadow on the grass underneath matched the bird, and Caroline held her breath, feeling as if, at any moment, the shadow would move, those curved talons would descend, and the lamb would be carried away forever.Nature may be cruel, she thought,but it is also kind. The buzzard seeks to feed her young by any means.
“I see you took Miss Bingley’s excellent advice,” Georgiana said.
“Indeed I did,” he agreed.
“And what a marvellous job you did,” Caroline exclaimed. “The addition of brutality elevates it from the commonplace pastoral pictures that one may see in any home. It is an honest representation of the world.”
“I am glad you think so. I also took it upon myself to make another small addition.”
Puzzled, Caroline scanned the painting, her gaze finally alighting on two tiny figures in the bottom right corner. Leaning closer and squinting, she made out two ladies, seated on a picnic blanket, who were—
Kissing.
Oh no, she thought.We are discovered.Horrified, she glanced at Georgiana, who had frozen in place.
“I meant no harm by including you both,” Mr Acton said hastily. “I was on the hill one day, and saw you both from a distance, but it was clear that, er—” His cheeks pinked.
“What my husband means to say,” Mrs Acton cut in, “is that we are aware of the true nature of your relationship, and you need not hide when you are with us, if you do not wish to.”
Georgiana let out a long, slow breath. “That is exceedinglykind of you to say.” She glanced at Caroline, anxiety written across her face in a large, scrawling script.
Caroline could very well understand why—they were not amongst family, but friends. Society, of a sort. Not the ton, of course, but respectable, good company—and really, was there any other sort that mattered? She reached out, her fingers trembling, and grasped Miss Darcy’s hand. “I think I speak for both of us when I say that we appreciate your friendship most heartily.”
Georgiana turned Caroline’s hand over, entwining their fingers, and let out an equally shaky laugh. “Indeed. And if there is a place where we may safely show affection in the way other couples do...” Miss Darcy swallowed, her eyes filling with tears. “Please excuse me. I find myself quite overcome.”
Caroline moved closer, one arm wrapping around Georgiana’s waist. “Don’t cry, dearest. Remember, you’ll get sad eyes.”
This produced a laugh, and soon enough, the tears were dried and replaced with smiles.
Back at Pemberley, Georgiana stopped Caroline the moment Mrs Reynolds closed the door behind them. “Fitz suggested to me this morning that he could buy us a place of our own, in lieu of a wedding gift.”
“Let me guess,” Caroline said, taking off her gloves. “You accepted.”
“Well, I—” Miss Darcy looked surprised. “I didn’t suppose you would want to live alongside Lizzy.”
“I lived with my mother for twenty-three years, sweetness. I think I can tolerate Miss Eliz—I mean, Mrs Darcy, for a while.” Caroline did not miss the way Mrs Reynolds’ lips twitched. “I do not want you to have to leave Pemberley. It is your home.”
