Epilogue

Eight months later:

It had been a very hot day in the middle of harvest, the air hot and humid. Tired Elizabeth Darcy lounged on the sofa in the library at Pemberley, the curtains half drawn but the high and airy windows open in an attempt to let in a light breeze. The novel she was reading did not capture her, yet the insistent squirming inside her stomach kept her from dozing off. It was as if the little creature growing there was quite determined to be most active when she was in dire need of rest, as for when she took her walks, nowadays mainly through the shrubbery and back as her ankles had swollen off late, it hardly ever moved at all.

With a smile on her lips, one hand caressing her increased midsection, she remembered the book with which it all had begun and wondered where her husband might keep it. Now, this would be more interesting reading material, Elizabeth thought to herself. Sitting up with some difficulty and heaving herself off the incredibly comfortable piece of furniture, she went in search of it. It was not in the library, she had established that already, and also not in her or her husband's bedchamber. Her smile increased as an idea of its whereabouts crossed her mind. She made her way to the billiard room, a room not dissimilar to the one at Netherfield, and sure enough, there on the side table in front of the empty grate it was. Oh, what a sentimental sod Mr. Darcy could be at times. And how much she loved him for it!

Sitting back down in one of the window seats, once again the young Mrs. Darcy flipped through the pages of a book of whose topic she was now so very familiar with. A topic whose theoretical advice had, soon after the conversion to its practical use on their wedding night and many nights thereafter, quickly led to her present state.

As if he had sensed her innermost thoughts about and her growing desire for him, Fitzwilliam Darcy entered the room, having found her nowhere else. In his informal clothing and the dusty riding boots, he looked nothing like the haughty and arrogant man she had once thought him to be. In the morning his steward had voiced his concerns about a storm brewing and the master of Pemberley, without hesitation had hastened to help in the physical labour, lest the crops would be destroyed. When all hands were needed this, Elizabeth had found to her astonishment, included the hands of Mr. Darcy.

His arrival, however, meant they had managed to bring everything in and just in time it was, as a distant rumble proved the steward to be right.

"You know Fitzwilliam, you have never told me why you had such a book lying about in the first place." she held up the magnificent tome which bore no title.

"Does it matter now?" her husband smiled, proudly glancing over his beloved wife till his eyes met hers.

"I am just curious, so please indulge me."

Pouring himself a glass of water from a decanter on a sideboard he crossed the room and settled next to her, his arm snaking about her back and pulling her close.

"Oh well, then I have to make a confession or two, I suppose. How do you feel today, my dearest Elizabeth?"

"Do not attempt to change the subject."

"I did not intend to, but it all began with – you."

"Me?"

"Yes. Before I knew it, you had stolen my heart and my mind was so full of you that I committed the indiscretion of writing extensively about you to my cousin. - Which would be my first confession."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam you mean, I presume?"

"No, my Cousin Anne."

Elizabeth's mouth fell open in astonishment. Glancing up she saw the sparkle in his eyes and the twitch of his mouth as he suppressed a smirk, and realised he was teasing her.

"Of course Colonel Fitzwilliam, my dear." he laughed, at last, pecking her on the tip of her nose.

"And so, on the very morning of the ball, I received a parcel containing this book and a note. I had unwrapped it and looked through it, realising what it was, and then Bingley asked me something and I put it down to retrieve later and forgot all about it till I saw you holding it in your hands."

"And why would the Colonel feel compelled to send you such a manual?"

The embarrassed blush spreading across Darcy's face was most becoming.

"Because on our wedding night I was just as innocent in regards to these things as you were."

"And this is you second confession?"

He nodded, caressing her back.

"Oh!" Elizabeth suddenly cried out, her hand reaching for her middle as a particular insistent kick hit her in the side. It was joined momentarily by her husband's claiming his share of the experience.

Leaning into her a little more closely, he whispered into her ear: "What would you say, my dear, if we ventured upstairs and rock our little one to sleep?"

The End