Page 39 of Darcy’s Guarded Heart

Pemberley, Derbyshire

Two Years Later

It was spring at Pemberley. The trees had burst into bloom, the garden beds glowed with tulips and daffodils, and the soft breeze carried the scent of freshly cut grass.

The hills in the distance were lush and green, and the sky was the kind of blue that rarely lasted long in Derbyshire—but when it came, it transformed everything.

Elizabeth Darcy sat on the veranda with a cup of tea in one hand and a letter in the other, sunlight warming her shoulders as she looked out over her estate— hers now, for this was her second spring as mistress of Pemberley.

She had once thought the place too grand, too intimidating.

But she had grown into it, and it into her.

At her side sat her husband, reading a newspaper—though not aloud, as the scandal sheets still occasionally made unfounded remarks about their family, and Elizabeth had no patience for nonsense before her second cup of tea.

The letter she held, however, had nothing scandalous in it—at least, not intentionally. She smiled and set it down.

“You are amused,” Darcy remarked, setting his paper aside.

Elizabeth nodded. “Charlotte writes. She is with child at last, and Mr Collins is overjoyed. Though Lady Catherine continues to interfere with alarming regularity.”

Darcy gave a dry chuckle. “It sounds like an exhausting arrangement.”

“Entirely so,” Elizabeth agreed. She reached for her tea. “She says that Lady Catherine is now offering advice on nursery colours and insists the baby be named after her.”

Darcy raised a brow. “Catherine Collins? I cannot think of a child who would deserve such a fate.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Charlotte is far too clever to allow it, I’m certain.”

They sat for a quiet moment. Birds chirped in the hedge nearby. Somewhere in the distance, a gardener called to his boy. Elizabeth breathed deeply, letting the scent of honeysuckle and lemon balm fill her lungs.

“Do you miss her?” she asked softly. “Your aunt?”

Darcy looked thoughtful. “I was greatly angered at first,” he admitted. “And then… simply disappointed. But I’ve come to believe that time will settle what pride refuses to acknowledge. Change is rarely accepted easily by those who fear it.”

Elizabeth looked at him. “And yet it hasn’t settled. Not with her.”

“No,” he said. “But I did receive a letter from my uncle the Earl last week.”

She turned towards him fully now, brows raised.

“He has invited us both to Matlock,” Darcy said evenly. “No mention of scandal or shame—just an invitation. He wrote that he had heard how ‘charming little Margaret is’ and would like to meet her.”

Elizabeth’s face softened. “Well, he isn’t wrong. Anyone would be charmed by her.”

Darcy took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I thought… if the next child is a boy, we might name him Henry, after my uncle. As a gesture of reconciliation.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Henry is my father’s middle name. It would suit perfectly.”

They sat quietly for a moment more, content.

“I’m very much looking forward to the house party,” Darcy said.

Elizabeth gave a playful groan. “It shall be a very full house. All my sisters are coming, with spouses in tow. At least now that all of us are wed, Mother is less worried all the time.”

“Although the fate of Longbourn still bothers her,” Darcy noted.

“She does,” Elizabeth agreed, “though not quite so loudly as before. After all, she now has two grand estates from which to choose future residences. And between Lydia, Kitty, and Mary, there shall always be room somewhere.”

Darcy leaned back. “I still hope we might break the entail one day.”

“With Mr Phillips’s help, and perhaps once Mr Collins is free of Lady Catherine’s influence…” Elizabeth trailed off, smiling. “It is possible.”

Darcy tilted his head. “And are you ready to have your mother visit again?”

Elizabeth gave him a teasing look. “Are you?”

He chuckled. “After two years, I am quite used to Mrs Bennet’s… particular ways. In fact, I rather enjoy her enthusiastic declarations.”

“You are a dreadful liar,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “But I appreciate the effort.”

Just then, the door behind them opened, and Mrs Annesley stepped out onto the veranda, her expression fond and composed. In her arms was little Margaret, now a year and a half old, golden-haired, and full of curiosity.

“She’s just finished her breakfast, Mrs Darcy,” Mrs Annesley said. “And insists on being outside.”

Elizabeth stood, her arms already outstretched. “Of course she does.”

Darcy stood as well, thanking the woman as he took his daughter’s tiny hand. Mrs Annesley offered a gentle smile and withdrew into the house.

Margaret babbled something incomprehensible and grinned up at her parents.

“She looks just like you when she smiles,” Elizabeth said, brushing a curl from the child’s forehead.

“Then she must have your spirit,” Darcy replied softly.

He wrapped one arm around Elizabeth’s waist, drawing her close. She leaned into him, Margaret now happily perched on her hip.

Darcy placed a hand gently on Elizabeth’s stomach, where new life was only just beginning to stir.

“I’m the happiest man I know,” he said quietly. “I wake up every day and wonder how it happened that you agreed to marry me.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, eyes warm.

“I often wonder the same.”

He gave a soft laugh, then kissed her brow.

“And to think,” she murmured, “it all began because you refused to dance.”

Darcy smiled. “And thank heaven for that.”

They stood together, looking out over the estate, their daughter in their arms, the scent of spring in the air, and a future full of hope before them.

THE END

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