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Elizabeth leaned forward, eager for her first glimpse of the child.

A tiny face with delicate features peered out from the blanket, dark eyes blinking solemnly up at the unfamiliar faces surrounding her.

A wisp of dark hair curled against the baby’s forehead, and miniature fingers clutched at the edge of the blanket.

“She is beautiful,” Elizabeth breathed, genuinely enchanted by the perfect tiny creature. “May I hold her?”

“Of course,” Lydia said, carefully placing the baby in Elizabeth’s arms. “She should know her aunt. And her namesake.”

Elizabeth looked up in surprise. “Namesake?”

“Yes,” Lydia confirmed, a hint of her old impulsiveness showing in her smile. “We have called her Elizabeth. Beth, for everyday use. I wished... I wished to honour the sister who has been so good to me, despite my not deserving it.”

The simple declaration, spoken without artifice or exaggeration, moved Elizabeth deeply. That Lydia, once so self-absorbed and thoughtless, would choose to name her daughter after the sister she had once dismissed as plain and boring, spoke volumes about her growth.

“I am honoured,” Elizabeth said through a lump in her throat, gazing down at the child in her arms. Little Beth gazed back with solemn dark eyes that seemed impossibly wise for one so young. “Hello, Beth. I am your Aunt Elizabeth.”

As if in response, the tiny fingers uncurled and then grasped Elizabeth’s finger with surprising strength.

The simple gesture, so instinctive and yet so trusting, settled something in Elizabeth’s heart that she had not realised needed settling.

Whatever the circumstances of Beth’s conception, whatever secrets surrounded her birth, she was an innocent, deserving of love and protection.

And it was clear that she would receive both in abundance from her mother and the man who had chosen to be her father.

The visit continued for perhaps an hour, during which Elizabeth observed with quiet approval the easy affection between Lydia and Major Wallace.

Their modest home was comfortable and well-maintained, with touches that spoke of both Lydia’s youthful taste and the Major’s more practical sensibilities.

They spoke of their daily life with evident contentment, Lydia proud of her management of their small household, the Major clearly delighted with both wife and daughter.

When it came time to depart, Elizabeth embraced her sister with genuine warmth. “Write to me often,” she urged. “And we shall visit again before we leave London.”

“I should like that,” Lydia replied. “And when Beth is a little older, perhaps we might visit you at Pemberley? James has leave owing to him, and I long to see something beyond London. I find I do miss the countryside.”

“You would be most welcome,” Elizabeth assured her, touched by the tentative way Lydia framed the request, so different from her former presumption. “We shall arrange it for the summer, perhaps.”

As the Darcy carriage pulled away, Elizabeth gazed back at the little house where her sister stood in the doorway, the Major’s arm around her waist and baby Beth cradled against her shoulder. It was an image of domestic harmony Elizabeth could never have imagined for Lydia a year ago.

“They seem very happy,” she observed to Darcy. “And Lydia... she has changed so much.”

“Responsibilities often shape us more than we anticipate,” Darcy replied thoughtfully. “Your sister has found purpose in her role as wife and mother. It suits her better than the aimless pursuit of pleasure that once defined her.”

“And Major Wallace truly cares for them both,” Elizabeth added. “I confess I had feared their arrangement might be one of mere convenience on his part.”

“Wallace is a man of integrity,” Darcy said. “He would not have entered such an arrangement without a willingness to develop sincere regard for your sister. That his regard has deepened into genuine love speaks well of both of them.”

Elizabeth nodded, reflecting on the unexpected happiness her sister had found. “To think that she named the baby after me,” she said softly. “I never would have expected such a gesture from Lydia.”

“It speaks to her growth,” Darcy observed. “And perhaps to her recognition of who was truly there for her when she most needed support.”

As their carriage approached Darcy House once more, Elizabeth felt a profound sense of gratitude.

Despite all the turmoil of the past year, despite scandals averted and tragedies endured, they had emerged not merely intact but strengthened.

Jane was happily married to a man worthy of her goodness.

Kitty was blossoming under proper guidance.

Even Lydia, whose recklessness had once threatened to destroy them all, had found a path to redemption and happiness.

And Elizabeth herself had gained a husband whose understanding and love continued to reveal new depths with each passing day.

The afternoon light was fading by the time they returned to Darcy House, the January dusk settling over London like a soft grey mantle.

Elizabeth removed her bonnet and gloves, handing them to the waiting footman with a grateful smile.

The visit to Lydia had left her in a contemplative mood, filled with an unexpected sense of peace.

How strange to think that her wildest, most troublesome sister had found such genuine contentment in her unusual circumstances, while Elizabeth herself had traversed an equally unexpected path to happiness.

“Harrison, where are Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet?” Darcy inquired of the butler who had appeared silently in the entrance hall.

“Miss Darcy is practicing at the pianoforte in the music room, sir, and Miss Bennet is with her. They asked me to inform you that they would be occupied until dinner.”

“Very good,” Darcy nodded. “We shall be in the blue sitting room. Have tea brought up, if you please.”

“At once, sir.”

As they ascended the staircase, Elizabeth slipped her arm through her husband’s. “It seems our young charges are settling in nicely,” she observed. “I had worried Kitty might find herself at loose ends.”

“Georgiana will ensure she is well occupied,” Darcy replied. “My sister takes her responsibilities as hostess quite seriously, particularly when it comes to your sister’s comfort.”

The blue sitting room, situated on the first floor with views over Grosvenor Square, was Elizabeth’s favourite room in the London house.

Less formal than the grand drawing room below, it offered a comfortable intimacy that reminded her of the family parlour at Longbourn, though with considerably more elegant furnishings.

A fire had been lit against the January chill, and the lamps were already glowing in anticipation of the early winter dusk.

Elizabeth settled into her favourite chair near the fire, arranging her skirts as Darcy took the seat opposite. For a moment, they simply sat in companionable silence, enjoying the peaceful interlude after the emotional visit to Lydia and the business of settling into the London house.

“You seem thoughtful,” Darcy observed at length. “Was seeing Lydia more difficult than you anticipated?”

“Not difficult, precisely,” Elizabeth replied, considering how best to express her feelings.

“Rather, it prompted me to reflect on how circumstances have unfolded for all of us. A year ago, I could never have imagined Lydia as a contented wife and mother, or Jane married to your cousin instead of Mr. Bingley. And certainly, I could never have foreseen my own happiness.”

Darcy’s expression softened, the reserve he maintained in public giving way to the warmth he showed only to those closest to him. “I confess I had similar reflections during our visit. To think how close we came to missing our chance at happiness...”

“Had you not heard of my engagement to Wickham and come to find me,” Elizabeth said quietly, “everything would have been so different. I would have been trapped in a marriage to a man I despised, and you...”

“I would have spent my life regretting my failure to express myself properly when I had the chance,” Darcy finished for her. “It does not bear thinking about.”

A soft knock at the door preceded the arrival of a maid with the tea tray. Elizabeth busied herself with pouring while Darcy tended the fire, the domestic routine a comfortable ritual they had established in their months of marriage.

“It is curious,” Elizabeth remarked once they were alone again, “that we owe our present happiness, in part, to Caroline Bingley of all people.”

Darcy looked up in surprise. “How do you reckon that?”

“Had she not written to inform you of my engagement to Wickham, hoping I am sure to prevent any possibility of your continued interest in me, you might never have come to Longbourn again.” Elizabeth handed him his cup, prepared exactly as he preferred it.

“Her spite served us well in the end, though she could hardly have intended it.”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed, a rare smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Though her news merely hastened my departure and strengthened my determination.”

“You had already decided to come?” Elizabeth asked, surprised by this revelation.

“I had,” Darcy confirmed. “I told you, Elizabeth. Your profound rejection of my proposal, once I had overcome my initial hurt, only made me realise that you, the woman who dared to tell me the truth of my failings, were the only woman I could ever be persuaded to marry. I assure you, one way or another, I would have married you by now.”

Amused by his adamant declaration, she laughed quietly.

“You should have tried, I am sure. Who knows how many times I might have refused? But one thing I have learned in the last year is that it does nobody any good to dwell upon might-have-beens. Here you are, and here I am, and for us at least, I believe everything has turned out for the best.”