Beloved Enemy (Far From Home #7)

30. Epilogue

Epilogue

One Year Later

E lizabeth stood by the hearth at Longbourn, smothering a proud smile as she watched her family dote on her son. Little Harry Darcy, now six months old, was passed from one eager pair of arms to another, his chubby hands grabbing at everything within reach as he gurgled in delight. Jane, glowing with happiness, sat beside her husband, Mr Bingley, both of them laughing as Harry tugged at one of Mr Bennet’s waistcoat buttons.

The room was warm, filled with the laughter of her sisters, the steady hum of conversation, and the rich scent of evergreens woven into garlands along the mantel. Sprigs of holly and ivy adorned the walls, their glossy leaves catching the candlelight. The Gardiners had arrived from London that morning, and her uncle was currently deep in discussion with Mr Bingley about some investment matter, while her aunt sat close to her father, watching the baby with soft adoration.

Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to her husband. Darcy sat in a corner, valiantly attempting to keep up with her mother’s rapid stream of conversation. He nodded politely, though it was clear from the faint crease in his brow that he was struggling to follow her ever-changing topics. Yet, to his credit, he remained attentive, doing his best to engage with her as she prattled on about Jane and Bingley’s wedding last spring at the Meryton church, the latest rumours about the neighbourhood, and her newest delight over Lydia’s flirtations.

How William had changed since their marriage! Elizabeth marvelled at the man sitting across the room, scarcely able to reconcile this attentive, quietly amused figure with the reserved gentleman she had first come to know. In those early days, he had been a mystery to her—so composed, so distant—almost as though he stood apart from the world, watching it but never partaking in it. But now, here he was, leaning into the conversation with her mother, of all people, enduring her endless prattle about the neighbourhood’s intrigues with a patience and grace she had never expected of him. The transformation was not loud or obvious, but it had shaped every corner of their life together, and for that, she felt a warmth bloom in her chest—gratitude, affection, and something deeper still.

She reached for the delicate box on the table beside her, her fingers brushing over the embossed emblem. “Mama,” she called, interrupting their conversation. “I have something for you.”

Her mother’s attention shifted immediately, her eyes alight with curiosity as Elizabeth crossed the room to hand her the gift.

“Oh, what is this, Lizzy?” her mother exclaimed, her fingers already working to open the small box.

Elizabeth smiled. “It is from Mr Darcy’s aunt, Mama. A gift for you, from the Countess of Matlock.”

Her mother’s mouth opened and closed in surprise, her eyes widening as she lifted the fine lace handkerchief from the box. “The countess? Oh my… Oh, Lizzy! This is... this is most elegant.” She looked up at her daughter, her expression softening in rare gratitude. “Well, I never thought I should receive such a thing.”

Elizabeth chuckled softly. “It seems you have impressed her, Mama.”

Mrs Bennet blinked in disbelief, clutching the handkerchief to her chest. “I dare say I have, indeed.”

Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye as he glanced her way, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She returned it, the brief exchange saying more than words could—an understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of how far they had come.

Meanwhile, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had arrived not half an hour ago, had found refuge at the opposite end of the room. The younger Bennet sisters had taken quite a fancy to him, and though he bore their attentions with his usual good-natured humor, Elizabeth noticed he had subtly migrated toward a quieter corner, where he was now sitting in peaceful conversation with Charlotte Lucas. Elizabeth hid a smile. It seemed that Charlotte was just as pleased by her companion for the moment as he appeared to be with her.

As the evening wound down, and little Harry was finally returned to Elizabeth’s arms, Darcy excused them both. With the Gardiners staying at Longbourn, the house was rather crowded, so the party from Pemberley were all to stay at Netherfield. “We shall take our leave now, Mrs Bennet. I fear we must make our way before the roads become any worse.”

Her mother dabbed at her eyes with that new lace handkerchief, her voice breaking as she clung to Elizabeth’s arm. “You will come back early, won’t you, Lizzy? I cannot bear to wait too long. And do bring little Harry. Your aunt Philips has been telling everyone how handsome he is—we mustn’t disappoint them!”

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Darcy, but before she could reply, her husband stepped forward, his expression softened with understanding. “We will come as early as we are able, Mrs Bennet,” Darcy said gently. “I shall see to it personally.”

Her mother beamed, clinging to his hand for a moment as though he had offered her the world. “Oh, Mr Darcy! So kind, so thoughtful. What a blessing you have been to this family.”

As they finally made their way to the carriage, she leaned in slightly, whispering, “Thank you for that.”

He glanced down at her with a smile as he took Harry from her arms and helped her into the carriage. “It was nothing, my love.”

“No.” She cupped his cheek with her gloved hand. “It was everything.”

O nce inside the warmth of Bingley’s home, Darcy helped Elizabeth out of her cloak, the house quiet as they retired to their private chambers. The day had been long, and he felt the ache of it in his limbs, but the sight of Elizabeth, seated on the edge of the bed, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the fire, filled him with a sense of peace.

Harry lay fast asleep in his cradle nearby, his tiny breaths almost audible in the silence of the room. Darcy moved to the fire, pouring himself a small glass of brandy. He swirled it absently, watching the flames flicker, his thoughts drifting back to the chaotic evening they had just left behind. Mrs Bennet was… He gulped down a rather large swallow of brandy. All he could think was that Heaven had been merciful to him, for Elizabeth seemed to have inherited only her mother’s finer qualities.

Elizabeth’s voice broke through his reverie. “You endured it all very well,” she teased, her eyes bright with amusement as she stretched out her hand toward him.

Darcy raised an eyebrow, setting the glass aside before crossing the room to her. She was more interesting, anyway. He took her hand, allowing her to pull him closer. “Did I? I suppose I ought to thank your family for their... enthusiasm.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You had no idea what you were getting yourself involved with when you married me, did you?”

Darcy pretended to consider her words, his brow furrowing in mock seriousness. “Indeed, I did not,” he agreed, his voice rich with humour. “But I have never been one to shy away from a challenge.”

She grinned, her fingers tracing idle patterns over his chest. “Oh, a challenge, am I? So, tell me then,” she said, her voice soft yet teasing, “why did you do it? Why did you decide to marry a perfect stranger, thinking it would somehow vindicate your brother’s honour?”

For a moment, Darcy said nothing, his eyes tracing the curve of her lips, the softness in her gaze. He had never been good at answering this particular question—why he had married her. In truth, he had married her because... because it had been the only thing he could do. But when had it ceased to be about Harry and more because he could not bear the thought of anyone else caring for her, anyone else having the right to call her theirs? He could not fix the spot or the hour, but it seemed to have always been there.

Darcy’s expression shifted slightly, the playful gleam in his eyes giving way to something deeper. He reached down, lifting her effortlessly into his arms, and she let out a small, surprised yelp. He smiled at her reaction, the warmth of her body against his filling him with an almost overwhelming sense of contentment.

“The honour , Mrs Darcy,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur as he gazed into her eyes, “was mine .”

“Oh, that will not do at all! That is a clever play on words, sir, but you are evading the question.”

His smile softened, and he set her gently on the bed, kneeling beside her, his hand coming up to brush a lock of hair from her face. His thumb lingered on her cheek, his touch tender as he looked at her with a seriousness that made her eyes widen. “I imagine there were moments when you thought I had lost my mind.”

Elizabeth smiled, shaking her head slightly. “Oh, many times. But then, I believe we both walked into this marriage not fully knowing what to expect. You might have shocked me, William, but I like to think I surprised you as well.”

Darcy chuckled, his thumb tracing small circles over her hip. “Surprised me? Elizabeth, you turned my life upside down.” He leaned in a little closer, his eyes fixed on hers. “But I confess, I would not have it any other way.”

She laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Perhaps I did you a favour, then. And now look at us... a year later, with our little Harry asleep in his cradle, my mother fawning over you like you are the most perfect man in the world. Little does she know!”

Darcy groaned softly, leaning his forehead against her shoulder. “Your mother... she will be the end of me, I swear it.”

Elizabeth laughed, gently running her fingers through his hair. “And yet you were so kind to her tonight, William. I could hardly believe it. What has become of the stern, proper man I married?”

He lifted his head, arching an eyebrow at her teasing tone. “I suspect that man still lurks somewhere beneath the surface. But... perhaps I have learned a thing or two about life beyond duty.”

She nodded thoughtfully, resting her head against his as she softly replied, “It seems we both have.”

Darcy reached up to cup her cheek, his fingers lingering at the base of her neck. “Do you know what I never expected, Elizabeth?” he asked quietly.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “What is that?”

“That you would become so much a part of me. That I would come to need you in ways I never thought possible.” His hand lingered on her cheek, the feel of her skin against his thumb grounding him in this moment—this life he had almost never known. “There was a time,” he began quietly, his voice rougher than he intended, “when I thought Harry had left me with a mess. Something to set right. That I had to—” He paused, searching her face as the words caught in his throat.

Elizabeth’s eyes softened, her hand finding his and squeezing gently, as if urging him on, waiting.

Darcy exhaled slowly, his hand moving from her face to cradle her hand in his. His gaze held hers, steady, certain, filled with all the love he had struggled to express until now. “But now I see,” he said, his voice quiet, full of emotion, “you were Harry’s last gift to me.”