Page 57 of A Mismatched Compromise

They slipped away together into the gardens, where the famed roses of Pemberley were coming into magnificent bloom. Elizabeth slid her arm through his, and they strolled along the winding paths, finding themselves at the little stone bench past the fountain that was one of their favourite places to stop and enjoy the garden.

“Mary seems quite happy,” Darcy observed, settling beside her. “Though I confess I had not expected to see her married before Kitty.”

“Nor did I,” Elizabeth admitted. “Though I admire her sense. She waited until she found a man who genuinely wished to hear her opinions at length, rather than merely enduring them, which I understand to be an exceptionally rare quality in a husband.”

Darcy raised a brow at her, though he could not hold back a faint smile at the teasing. “I hope my wife does not feel that I have merely endured her opinions for these last five years.”

“You have endured a great many of them,” Elizabeth said, “often inflicted upon you with neither your request nor permission, and you have done so graciously, so I suppose it is more than mere endurance. Perhaps a better word is ‘surrender.’”

“Perhaps the word is ‘marriage,’” Darcy suggested, the smile still playing about his mouth, “though I concede that the two have occasionally resembled each other rather closely.”

Elizabeth laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the last of the afternoon light slant gold across the lawn, where their son could be seen hanging over the shoulder of Fitzwilliam, who tossed his shrieking namesake up into the air again and again, much to the boy’s delight. The colonel’s wife, Anne, watched, smiling, her hand resting on the growing swell of her stomach. Nearby, Janie sat placidly on a blanket with Mrs Annesley, while Georgie made a determined bid for freedom toward the nearest flowerbed.

“Do you ever think of it?” she asked suddenly. “That night at Netherfield, and the note and Lydia screaming, and poor Mr Bingley all in a fuss?”

“Rather more often than I care to admit,” Darcy said. “I have concluded that, while it all seemed terribly inefficient and troublesome at the time, it was worth it, for it brought us together.”

In front of them, Fitzwilliam placed Richard on his feet, then immediately had to scoop him up again as he ran toward the stables, and Georgiana similarly intercepted Georgie before she could disturb the flowers and cover herself with dirt. There were voices, laughter, and the contented hum of their home overflowing with people they loved, all gathered together on a summer evening.

“I find,” Darcy said against her hair, “that I remain entirely without regret.”

“No regrets at all?” Elizabeth asked.

“None,” Darcy said, and gently stroked her cheek, making Elizabeth draw in a sudden breath.

She turned her face up to be kissed. Mr Darcy did so with a good will, bending to his task with the particular thoroughness that she still found every bit as thrilling after five years of marriage.

“Have I told you lately that I love you, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth murmured some time later.

“Not lately enough, my love,” Darcy said, “for it has been at least some hours.” And with that, he bent his head to kiss her again.

The End