“Well,” Elizabeth returned lightly, “I suppose it is fortunate, then, that we shall not be obliged to quit Derbyshire for more than a twelvemonth after we arrive there later this month.”
He looked at her more closely. “My aunt will insist that we attend at least a portion of the Season again next year.”
“Not if I am with child, as I have begun to suspect.”
He stilled.
“I spoke with Aunt Rosalind just before we left Town, and if all proceeds as it ought, the child may be expected at the close of the year.”
“Truly?” Darcy asked, every other consideration driven at once from his mind.
“I cannot be certain. My aunt advised that I wait before telling you since I have only recently begun to notice the signs. Still, it is entirely possible.”
Darcy’s smile began slowly, soon deepening into a warmth he did not attempt to conceal. He reached for her hand, but that small contact did not suffice. Rising, he drew her gently to him and enclosed her in his arms.
“A child, Elizabeth?”
“You are pleased with the idea,” she murmured, her words softened by their being pressed against his chest.
“So very much,” he replied. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before easing her back so that he might look upon her. “So very pleased.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, the smile refusing to leave his face. “I believed nothing could exceed the happiness of calling you my wife, and in that I was correct. This—this stands next to it, my love. We shall be parents, dearest Elizabeth.”
She looked up at him, her eyes luminous, and whatever lingering uncertainty she had felt in defying her aunt’s counsel seemed to melt beneath his enthusiasm. The expression that met his carried such warmth and quiet relief that he suspected she had not been entirely certain of his reception.
For a moment, he could not speak. The idea echoed in his mind with quiet force.He would soon be a father.
As he reflected upon the past six months, he recognised how many arrangements had been set in motion, some without his knowledge or consent. Alliances had been proposed, estates transferred to different owners, expectations advanced or discreetly refused; each handled with deliberate calculation.
This life, this marriage, this child had not been contrived for either of them.
They had chosen this arrangement, however unsuitable some might once have deemed it.
In that choice, he found himself wholly content.
THIRTY YEARS LATER
The entire Darcy family, together with several members of the Fitzwilliam family and a number of old and valued friends, had gathered at Granfield Park early in August of 1843. Such reunions had occurred many times over the years; this occasion, however, carried a significance beyond the ordinary. The christening of the infant Viscount Fenmore had brought them together once more.
William Talbot Darcy, named for his grandfather and great-grandfather, was a sturdy boy scarcely a month old. He lay peacefully in his mother’s arms while the assembled company regarded him with that mixture of affection and solemn pride that attends the continuation of a family line. As the only son of Edmund Talbot Darcy, the present Earl of Granfield, the child already bore the courtesy title of Viscount Fenmore and would one day inherit his father’s honours.
Edmund, now six and twenty, had borne the earldom for nearly half his life. His great-grandfather had died not long after his twelfth birthday, and the title had descended to him at that tender age. During his minority, the management of theGranfield estates had remained in the careful hands of his father and his father’s cousin. Once Edmund reached his majority, he assumed his duties with a seriousness that won him both the respect of his tenants and the quiet satisfaction of his parents.
His marriage, solemnised scarcely more than a year before, had occasioned much happiness within the family, but not without a certain degree of amusement. For if Edmund had been one of the most eligible gentlemen in the kingdom since his earliest introduction to society, he had proved remarkably difficult to persuade into matrimony. Many a young lady had hoped to become the future Countess of Granfield, and their efforts had been neither subtle nor few.
At first, Edmund had remained unmoved by the many ladies who pursued him, much as his father once had. That indifference lasted until he encountered the young woman who now stood beside him—one who, to his initial astonishment, possessed very little interest in marrying a peer at all.
It had been Edmund, for once, who was required to pursue her.
Elizabeth had watched this unfold with no small degree of amusement, being reminded of her own husband’s need to pursue her. She declared that she would adore her daughter-in-law for the simple fact that she had forced her son to work for her attention, and she was further pleased that the match was not only suitable, but founded upon a deep and genuine affection.
Their eldest child, Eleanor Anne Livesay, was present as well for the occasion, having arrived two days earlier with her husband and their three lively children. Now eight and twenty, she had been married several years and was settled in Lancashire with her husband, appearing as contented in her domestic life asher mother had ever wished her to be. Her eldest son, who considered himself already quite grown at the age of seven, had spent the entire morning attempting to instruct his younger cousins in the proper way to approach the ornamental lake and the birds that rested nearby, with very little success.
Edmund’s younger sister Rosalind, now three and twenty, had also come with her husband, whose estate lay within a convenient distance of Pemberley. Their frequent visits ensured that Elizabeth never passed too long without seeing her daughter or grandchildren, a circumstance she regarded as one of the happier arrangements of Providence. Rosalind possessed much of her mother’s lively intelligence and had long been considered one of the most agreeable women in her neighbourhood.
Meanwhile William James Darcy, one and twenty and newly entered into his full responsibilities as a man of property, had spent much of the morning in conversation with his father regarding improvements to the Pemberley tenants’ cottages. Fitzwilliam Darcy had long intended that Pemberley should pass to his second son, and William had already begun to take an active interest in the management of the lands he would one day possess.
Richard Andrew, the youngest of the family and recently turned eighteen, had been observed more than once wandering the gardens with a small volume tucked beneath his arm. Having lately taken an interest in reading the law, he had developed a serious ambition of one day being called to the Bar—an intention that amused his elder brother, who maintained that Richard’s greatest success would likely lie in arguing with judges rather than persuading them. Smaller properties might have beensettled upon him, but Richard had declined such arrangements, preferring instead to pursue a profession of his own choosing.
