Page 28 of To India with Mr. Darcy

Pemberley, Derbyshire Two Years Later

E lizabeth stood by the high window, soaking in the sun that flowed between the silk curtains. One hand rested lightly on the sill, the other curled around a teacup she had long since forgotten to sip from. It had taken her no time at all to settle into life at Pemberley, and now this window was her favourite place to stand, especially as it afforded her a view of the field beyond the hedgerows, where a dark figure on horseback had just crested the rise.

Fitzwilliam.

He rode with the ease of a man entirely at home, his coat flapping in the breeze, his posture straight and sure. Elizabeth watched as he slowed his mount to a gentle canter, then to a walk as he approached the house, his free hand reaching out to pat the horse’s neck. She smiled to herself, a smile full of quiet satisfaction. Two years, and still the sight of him like this stirred something wondrous inside her.

So much had changed since those early days aboard the Belmont . She remembered with amused fondness the awkwardness, the tension. That dreadful proposal—goodness, the proposal! She could still remember the way her heart had raced, not with affection so much as with indignation. She’d been positively furious. And now? Now that same heart beat steadier and stronger, tethered to his in ways she never could have imagined. The world was indeed a strange place.

Pemberley was home. That had surprised her, at first. She had not thought herself suited to such a grand estate, to its endless halls and long traditions, to the staff who knew every footstep before it fell. But home was not walls and titles, it was the man she’d married, the life they’d made. And while her heart still cried now and then for far-off places, for new adventures, she had learned that peace did not mean stillness. Here, there was love, laughter, discovery. And often, enough mischief to keep her thoroughly entertained.

The front door creaked open a moment later, and Elizabeth heard the low murmur of a greeting exchanged in the hall—the butler, then the sound of boots on polished floors. She didn’t turn right away, not until she felt the air shift, that familiar sense of presence that she now recognised as distinctly, impossibly him .

When she turned, he was already watching her.

“Mrs Darcy,” he said, brushing a hand through his wind-swept hair, a faint trail of dust still clinging to his shoulders. “You’ve missed your calling as a lighthouse, standing there in the window.”

“Would you rather I had lit a lantern?” she replied, setting her cup down with a smile. “Or waved a handkerchief?”

“I would settle for a kiss,” he said, closing the distance between them.

She reached for him easily, rising on her toes to press her lips to his cheek, and then, because he tilted his head just so, to his mouth. When they pulled apart, his hand lingered at her waist, the warmth of him flooding her and filling her.

“Did you have a good ride?” she asked softly.

“I did,” he said. “But it’s always better to come home.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment, breathing him in. He smelt of sunlight, of leather, of the newly-tilled earth. “I used to think I wouldn’t know how to live in a place like this,” she murmured. “But it turns out all I needed was a little time.”

“A little time,” he echoed, amused. “And perhaps a very persistent husband.”

“Oh yes,” she teased, pulling back just enough to see the playful gleam in his eyes. “He was dreadfully persistent. Practically threw himself into the sea just to win my regard.”

“Not quite the sea,” he said. “But I do recall being nearly thrown off a deck chair. You were very determined.”

“I still am,” she said, her smile turning fond. “But only about the important things.”

He glanced towards the window, his fingers brushing hers. “Like staying?”

“Like loving you,” she said simply.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if to seal it in. “Then I am the most fortunate of all men.”

They stood there for a while longer, content in the hush between words.

“Are you ready for our visitors?” he asked after a moment.

“Indeed I am,” Elizabeth said, pulling away from him, suddenly about getting to business. “They shall be here in just a few hours.”

“It will be good to see them,” Darcy said, and she saw the truth in his words. He had missed his friend in recent months.

***

Later that afternoon, the sound of carriage wheels on gravel announced the arrival of the Bingleys, as arranged. Elizabeth rose from her seat in the drawing room just in time to see Jane step down from the coach, her face flushed with contentment, her young son nestled sleepily in her arms. Her husband, Charles, followed with an exuberant smile and a parcel of baby toys tucked under one arm, as though he had only just remembered them halfway down the drive.

Elizabeth hurried out to greet them, her arms immediately opening to take the child. “Come here, my darling,” she cooed, gathering the little boy close and pressing a kiss to his downy curls. “You’ve grown again. You’ll be taller than your father soon.”

“I’ll thank you not to insult me in front of my son,” Charles said with mock offence, lifting his chin as Jane laughed beside him.

Darcy appeared in the doorway, smiling at the scene. He crossed the lawn at a more measured pace, but the warmth in his expression gave him away at once. He greeted Jane with a courteous bow and Bingley with a clap on the shoulder, then turned his attention to the baby with an exaggeratedly solemn nod. “Young sir.”

The boy blinked at him, unimpressed, and then reached for Darcy’s cravat with sticky fingers. Elizabeth laughed. “A handshake might have sufficed.”

Inside, the house bloomed with new energy. Laughter echoed from the halls, a fire crackled in the grate despite the gentle spring warmth, and the scent of baking tarts wafted from the kitchens. Elizabeth felt her heart swell with something both grounding and extraordinary. Pemberley, once quiet and stately, was now a place of noise and life and love.

Over dinner, the conversation flowed with ease. They told stories of recent village fairs, letters from Kitty now travelling through the north with a friend of the family, and Lydia’s latest dramatic pronouncement regarding a poet in Brighton. Jane spoke softly of motherhood, Charles chimed in with prideful, if slightly embellished, anecdotes, and Elizabeth watched them both with warm affection.

“You are so good with the boy,” Elizabeth said, gazing lovingly at her nephew.

“As are you, Aunt Elizabeth,” Jane said. “Surely it is time for him to have a cousin or two.”

Elizabeth glanced at her husband. It was something they had spoken of, something they both wanted. But not yet. For now, they simply wanted to enjoy each other.

“In time,” she replied to her sister. “I’d far rather get full enjoyment from your boys first.”

“Good idea,” Charles said with a wise nod. “Practice makes perfect, as they say.”

At some point in the meal, Darcy leaned towards Elizabeth, his tone casual though his eyes sparkled with intent. “I had a letter from Mr Gardiner this morning.”

“Oh?” she said, setting down her fork.

“He’s planning another journey. A business matter in the West Indies. He wondered if we might consider joining him.” Darcy glanced at her sideways. “It would not be for many months, but still. The invitation stands.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, her breath catching as joy spread through her. “The West Indies?”

He nodded. “He suspects we might enjoy the change of air.”

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting upward, already imagining blue waters and strange new skies. “I rather think we might.”

Jane smiled at her sister knowingly, and Charles gave an approving hum. “Another adventure, eh? I suppose I shall have to make peace with the idea of my son growing up with a globe-trotting aunt and uncle.”

Elizabeth grinned. “It would do him good to hear stories of the world. Every child should be raised with a bit of salt in their blood.”

Beside her, Darcy chuckled low. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, she’s impossible to resist when she speaks like that.”

And Elizabeth, turning to him with dancing eyes, simply said, “Then I am glad.”

***

After dinner, when the sun had begun its slow descent for the night, Elizabeth slipped her hand into Darcy’s and led him from the drawing room, through the open French doors, and out into the hush of evening. The gardens at Pemberley were quiet now, the laughter of the afternoon having given way to birdsong and the rustle of wind in the garden.

They walked without speaking, content in their silence. The path curved towards the lake, where the water stretched like glass beneath the lowering sky. It was another of Elizabeth’s favourite places. She loved to watch the water ripple.

Darcy slowed as they reached the edge, his hand still wrapped securely around hers. Together, they looked out across the calm surface, the only ripples those made by a lazy fish breaking the water or the breeze that skimmed across it.

Elizabeth tilted her head. “Do you remember,” she said, her voice quiet, “the first time you pulled me to safety on the ship?”

His lips curved at the memory. “You were clinging to the rigging, soaked through, glaring at me like I’d offended your very existence.”

“You had!” she laughed. “You’d tried to carry me across the deck like a sack of grain.”

“You refused assistance.”

“I didn’t refuse,” she said with mock indignation. “I simply suggested I was capable making my own way to safety.”

“And then again when you sprained your ankle falling down the stairs,” he reminded her. “Honestly, I saved you from yourself several times.”

“I was perfectly gracious in accepting your help,” she insisted again.

He chuckled, a sound that had become familiar and full of warmth. “I believe you used the words If you try to carry me, I’ll make sure you regret it. ”

“I meant it.”

Darcy turned to look at her, the warmth in his eyes glowing brighter than the sunset. “You made quite an impression, literally. When I grabbed you in the storm, I nearly went overboard myself.”

Elizabeth laughed, stepping closer, the familiar joy between them as tangible as the breeze. “Well. You caught me regardless.”

“I did,” he said softly, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “And I never let go.”

She looked up at him, her heart full, her eyes bright. “No. You didn’t.”

They stood there a long while, the sky fading into twilight, the stars beginning to emerge like tiny echoes of everything they had shared.

Pemberley was behind them, a home they had made together. The world lay ahead, vast and waiting. And between them, always, was that tether, forged in salt and storm and starlight. What began in chaos had blossomed into something quietly extraordinary.

Darcy’s thumb brushed over her knuckles. “I still can’t quite believe it,” he murmured.

Elizabeth smiled. “I can. Because we wrote it, you and I. Page by page. Wave by wave.”

And then, as the last light of the day spilled across the lake, he bent his head and kissed her, not with urgency, but with certainty. With a love as steady as the seas.

THE END

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