Finally – the final chapter of my story. I hope that you are all satisfied with the epilogue. Thanks to everyone who has read my story and especially those that have commented. The comments are much appreciated and have helped me to actually finish a story. Of course, Gayle was also very instrumental in this too. Thanks to her for all of her hard work. You are a star, Gayle!

Epilogue

On the occasion of the second ball hosted by Mr and Mrs Darcy at Pemberley, just a few short months after the first consummate success, Elizabeth met Darcy at the bottom of the stairs, but this time, nothing could stop him from unashamedly admiring her beauty. Adorned in a gown of the purest white silk, threaded with silver and green, the high waistline flattered her graceful figure. In her perfectly arranged chocolate curls, two gold combs embedded with emeralds took pride of place, and around her neck, nestled the diamond and emerald necklace that her adoring husband had so lovingly bestowed.

Darcy's lips lingered over Elizabeth's hands – when all he wanted was to kiss her properly upon the lips. They communicated without words – he telling her of her unparalleled beauty – and she imparting to him the bliss that their marriage had become.

All too soon, the guests began to arrive, and Elizabeth and Darcy found themselves obliged to relinquish each other's exclusive company, although their eyes and senses always were always instinctively attuned to the other.

That Elizabeth Darcy was wholly in love with her husband, the members of the ton could no longer doubt. The usual gossip that she had married him for his money could not stand against the obvious reality of the situation. The way she watched his every move with sparkling, adoring eyes, and smiled her radiant smile just for him, the way she melted into his arms at every dance, could not be mistaken.

The greater surprise this night was the transformation of Fitzwilliam Darcy – the polite but remote man of the previous ball was quite vanished. Whereas before he had tolerated the ball with barely controlled impatience and had studiously avoided going anywhere near his lovely wife, now his passionate feelings for her were on display for all to see. He caught her eye at every opportunity, smiled openly across the room at her, and touched her at every opportunity.

Guests of the ball would in the future discuss the Pemberley ball as an anomaly – the host and hostess barely danced without the other – and displayed unashamed delight in the fact. The women of the ton were more enamoured of Darcy than ever – the warmth and enthusiasm in his brown eyes caused many a heart to be unfailingly trapped. The men were equally infatuated with Elizabeth, and many would have done most anything to win her heart.

Though none stood a chance – for that night, and every night after, Darcy and Elizabeth would ascend the stairs to their shared chamber, hand in hand, sharing smiles filled with secret delights.

And while the unchecked gossip that Darcy and his wife were unfailingly eccentric continued to circulate throughout the highest levels of society, most of the gentlemen wished that they could be so happy in their choice of wife, and most of the ladies – whether married or maiden – secretly admitted to themselves that they were envious of the obvious love that the couple shared and hoped that someday such emotion would be theirs.

Peter Smith was loyal to the Darcy's from the moment that he had been dismissed from Pemberley, his devotion to both Mr and Mrs Darcy only increasing for the service that they rendered in keeping his innocent Lucy safe from the scoundrels that had wished them all harm.

On the day when the beautiful mistress had offered him a better job, and with it, the forgiveness and trust of the occupants of Pemberley, Peter swore an oath to himself that he would do everything in his power to ensure the safety of Mrs Darcy and any future Darcy children.

After his work was done for the day, Peter could often be found on the grounds, watching out for the mistress when she was alone, which was, thankfully, not very often these days.

And his children continued to adore the mistress; she helped to educate them and raise them above their station, going so far as to promise to pay for their schooling in future years.

Peter was humbled by the undeserved forgiveness and unmerited charity of the Darcy family, and to everyone he met, he spoke of the true benevolence that cloaked the estate of Pemberley, for Elizabeth Darcy's presence effused all that was good and kind.

Catherine settled in to life with her Aunt Sarah and her family in Scotland, her pregnancy obvious within a few short weeks of her arrival.

She rushed into a quick marriage with her older cousin Harry, a simple man, but one who adored her and promised to care for her child as his own. If Catherine ever regretted her life in England, she tried to forget it, taking comfort in the kindness and compassion of her relations who loved her unconditionally.

She never thought of Wickham again, except to wish that she had never fallen for the insincere professions of his devotion; now that she knew true love, she would always regret having known the touch of another man.

She remembered with fondness the occupants of Pemberley, especially her charming former mistress. Had her life turned out differently, Catherine knew that she should have enjoyed working for the Darcy's for as long as she was able.

Harvey was never seen nor heard from again by the people on whom he had unleashed pain and suffering. His reprehensible ways followed him to his new homeland. He found himself stranded on the shores of the Americas, the untamed wilderness setting a spring in his step. Here Harvey was free – he could do what he wanted.

So he did. He led a life of debauchery and seduction. Many men found their wives engaging in scandalous flirtations with him, many a gambler found themselves cheated by him.

And it was one cold night, not long after his arrival, that Harvey's body was found beside the water trough, blood surrounding him where it had bled from his slit throat – lifeless, staring – his worthless existence snuffed out by the blade of a knife.

George Wickham could not help but wish he were dead, instead of living this half-life of torment and pain. I don't deserve this, he thought in anger, as he listened to the sounds of Lydia, his stupid wife, laughing with the officers of his former regiment.

How dare she? He fumed. How dare she entertain other men in my house, and while I am sitting but a room away? Wickham was trapped – trapped in a useless body that would not obey his slightest command. Better to have died in the accident, he thought.

In the months that had followed his rescue from the wreckage, Wickham had often wished he were dead. The world was no place for a cripple, yet he was so much worse than merely crippled. Confined to a rickety wheelchair that he was unable even to move himself, Wickham was paralysed from the neck down. His arms and legs were useless, and he would never enjoy the pleasures of being with a woman again – for him the worst punishment imaginable. His life until the accident had been devoted to fulfilling his carnal appetites and his greed for money and power. Yet now, there was nothing. He was worthless, reliant on a stupid wife who only reminded him of the woman he would never have.

Lydia had decided to stay with him because of the money that he had acquired prior to his accident, the half payment that Anne De Bourgh had given him before feeding him to the wolves. Lydia spent the money like so much spare change until there could not possibly have been enough left to live on, yet somehow, they still had a roof over their heads and food on the table. Wickham cringed at the thought of food – mealtimes for him consisted of being spoon-fed like a child, his chin wiped clean when he was unable to manage.

He had long suspected that Lydia "earned" her money by entertaining men... often he heard grunts of unknown origin when he lay in bed late at night, wishing for death... wishing for the means to bring about his death; yet, with no functioning arms and no functioning legs, there was no way he could anticipate the day of his natural death. No, Wickham would live as a miserable cripple for the rest of his natural life, never socialising... never able to bring misery on another woman again.

He spent his nights wishing for the treacherous Anne De Bough's horrific end, cursing Darcy and knowing that his most reviled enemy had earned the love and respect of the one woman who he desired above all others.

As fiercely as she had fought the charges, with no money at her disposal and no support of the ton or her family, Anne De Bourgh faced the court within the month, the hastening of the legal procedures perhaps assisted by those of influence in society who were revolted by what she had done.

Elizabeth Darcy was the darling of society now – the injustices that she had endured merely adding to her appeal. And Anne was cursed with the knowledge that her cousin – her intended – had chosen Elizabeth over her, not once, but over and over again. "Elizabeth is the only woman that I will ever love, madam. I must inform you that there was never a chance of my marrying you, cousin, even from the first meetings in our childhood. You were always sullen, insipid and unkind, yet I would never have believed that you would sink so low. Then, I felt pity for you. Now, I feel nothing... I cannot even hate you; you are not even worthy of that emotion." The words tormented her again and again, reverberating through her mind as Anne awaited sentencing, madness infesting like a plague inside her.

It was with the knowledge that her plans had not even nearly succeeded – with the awareness that Darcy never left Elizabeth's side – that Anne De Bourgh found herself aboard a ship to Botany Bay, the end of the earth, with no money, no friends, and no influence.

Until the last moment, much as Wickham had anticipated her own assistance in preventing his charges, Anne had expected her mother to save her from a fate such as the one she would now endure.

She had heard tales of dark people with spears in a land of barren desert and uncultivated wilderness; accounts of abductions and cruelty towards women were commonplace. Maybe in this new land, her sickly looks would save her. Anne found her nights aboard the rocking ship filled with torturous dreams and wrenching seasickness; her days were filled with the leering gazes of dangerous men – not unlike Harvey – men who did not seem to respect her status as a lady and did not appear to be repelled by her appearance.

Anne shivered throughout each night as she tried to keep warm in her bed, the memory of Darcy's words, the beauty and regal presence of Elizabeth, sickening her more and more; her mind and body awaited an attack from any one of a number of men who watched her with leering eyes.

The journey was long and arduous, and Anne De Bourgh became ill, her body afflicted with scurvy, her mind riddled with unresolved torment. After eight months aboard the ship, just ten days prior to the ship's arrival in the colony, she died screaming in an agony of suffering, her eyes mad and her soul finding no peace even in death.

Lady Catherine De Bourgh often sat on her "throne" at Rosings Park – never completely forgiven by her family, whom she had spent years attempting to patronise.

Her life was empty. Whereas before she was constantly attended by her daughter Anne and her daughter's companion, now she found herself alone in the large room, no one about to hear her pronouncements, let alone heed them. Criticism was a thing of the past – she often recalled the days when Elizabeth Bennet had visited Hunsford, her liveliness a breath of fresh air in the stifled halls of Rosings – even though she was loath to admit it.

On the day when she would receive word that her daughter Anne had died, Lady Catherine would feel a part of herself die as well, and on that awful day she would also resolve to attempt to reconcile with her Darcy and Fitzwilliam relations.

On that day, she would take out a quill and paper, and write a long missive to Mr Fitzwilliam and Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, begging their forgiveness, which in the true spirit of compassion, of course, they would! And so she would spend the final years of her mostly miserable life cheered only by the joy of the love that her nephew and niece, along with their children, would always share, even with an aunt who was totally undeserving of it.

Three months later

"Where are you taking me?" Elizabeth laughed, sneaking a hand up in an attempt to remove her blindfold.

"Oh, no, you do not..." Darcy admonished, grabbing for her hands and holding them firmly within his own. "It is a surprise!"

"You know that I am not particularly fond of surprises," Elizabeth complained teasingly. "Are we almost there?"

"Do not be so impatient, Lizzie!" Darcy's lips landed quickly on his wife's forehead, as he continued to lead her forwards.

The fresh spring breeze wafted around them, the bright sun shining down and bathing them in its delightful warmth. Elizabeth, unable to see her surroundings, caught the drifting scent of roses and gardenias, and the happy aroma of the flowering season. She was enchanted with it. She was more than pleased to follow the playful lead of Darcy, her husband, her rock. His ever-constant presence had enveloped her in the past months, and he had determined to not only shower her with tokens of his affection, but to include her in the making of all of his decisions so that there would be no more misunderstandings between them such as had plagued them in the past.

The horror of that time had finally dwindled, and the nightmares which had at first plagued Elizabeth had become a very rare occurrence. And when she did suffer from one, waking in shuddering fear, her devoted husband was always beside her – stroking her hair, massaging her neck, kissing her fears away – so that soon she was lost in the pleasure of the present and the promise of the future, the fear and pain again taking its proper place in the past.

A part of Elizabeth would never forget those days as a captive, the leering grin of Harvey, the madness of Wickham, the constant waiting, as if on the edge of a knife, to be rescued; yet, she knew that her marriage to Darcy, her place in his heart and his place in hers, could not have become so strong and so unbreakable had it not been tested.

Now, Elizabeth knew that their lives and their souls were eternally linked with chains forged in the heat of adversity. No longer was she timid with Darcy; no longer was she afraid to show her love for him, and today, Elizabeth was going to present him with the greatest gift of all.

Her rosy lips parted, and Elizabeth smiled in sheer happiness as she blindly stumbled over the long grass as Darcy led her further away from Pemberley. "You could at least kiss me..." she pouted prettily, in a valiant attempt to distract her husband from his purpose and incite him to give her a hint. They stopped suddenly, and Elizabeth turned her lips up to await his. But his kiss did not come.

Instead, her hands were released, and she heard his retreating footsteps over the rustling grass. "Fitzwilliam," she called out. "Can I remove this confounded blindfold?" His answering laugh had her giggling in delight, and she turned to face the sound of his voice.

"Do not you dare, woman, if you value your life," he scolded. Then he was back, and Elizabeth felt the soft tickle of a rose as it brushed over her lips, which parted instinctively. Then the heady scent of the bloom as it reached her nose encircled her, and mixed with Darcy's familiar aroma, caused her to catch her breath at the feelings that were evoked.

The rose continued its journey towards Elizabeth's blushing cheeks and then circled her temples, before finally coming to rest in her hair, where Darcy tucked it into her dark curls. If Elizabeth could see her husband at that moment, her own passions would no doubt have been acted on, the blaze in his chocolate eyes enough to set fire to even the coldest emotion. "You are exquisite, Elizabeth. If I could capture this moment, it is how I would choose to remember you always – surrounded by nature, adorned with flowers, and blushing like a maiden awaiting her first kiss."

"So will you kiss me then?" Elizabeth breathed, her heart pounding with unchecked vitality.

"If you insist, my dearest..." His lips lingered above hers for devastating moments, before descending slowly to merely hint at the delights he intended to provide.

"What was that?" Elizabeth breathed unsteadily, before pressing her lips back to his and coaxing his fervent response. Their mouths sipped and tasted, demanded and bestowed, and hands traversed skin and hair, as passion exploded.

The rose fell between them, fluttering unnoticed towards the grass, the deep red a perfect contrast to the brilliant green, the scent becoming lost in the sea of springtime aromas. And finally, as the sun sank downwards over the horizon, Darcy forced himself to step back from Elizabeth, resting his forehead against hers in an effort to garner some control. Their breathing was laboured, their lips swollen and faces flushed with desire. The blindfold had long since been discarded, and as Elizabeth glanced up at the magnificent house before her, she gasped in wonder. "Why have you brought me to Covington Manor?" She turned to face Darcy, who now smiled wryly at Elizabeth.

"Do you like it?" He shrugged as she nodded her head in agreement. "I told you, Lizzie, that it was a gift to your. The deeds have been signed, and Covington Manor is now exclusively yours."

Elizabeth moved towards him, a radiant smile lighting her face. "What am I to do with it?" she whispered in wonderment.

"Whatever you desire, my love. I wanted you to have something of your own. Once I thought that you might choose to live here... apart from me..." He hesitated, the memory of that dreadful time lingering in his thoughts.

"I loved you enough then to let you go, Lizzie."

He stood behind her, as Elizabeth gazed up at the house that was now hers.

"And now?" she asked teasingly, one eyebrow rising as she glanced quickly back at Darcy.

"Now, my Lizzie..." His hands slipped around her waist, his chin rested comfortably on her shoulder, and he turned his face to whisper into her ear.

"Now..." his lips nuzzled the base of her ear. "I love you too much to let you go."

"Indeed, sir?" Elizabeth sighed, letting her neck roll backwards to rest against him. "I am glad to hear it..." She smiled secretly to herself as her small hands moved up to take his within hers. She placed a warm kiss to each of his palms, before placing them gently over her still soft abdomen, soon to become round with his child which even now grew within.

"For I do not know if I could manage to raise a Darcy child all by myself. Imagine the pride and stubborn..." Her words were stopped as Darcy reacted... swinging her around to face him, to search her sparkling eyes for truth.

"It is true?" His face was pale; his hands trembled as he held her face between them. "You carry my child?"

Elizabeth could only nod, as tears welled in her eyes, and a look of joy and wonderment slowly suffused Darcy's face.

"Oh my dearest, loveliest girl…" His words were filled with laughter, as Darcy caught Elizabeth firmly around the waist and lifted her into the air. Her joyful squeals filled the air, and her arms came around his neck, as Darcy swung Elizabeth around and around in the balmy spring evening.

When they could laugh no more, the once proud Darcy and his lovely Elizabeth lay on the soft grass, each wrapped in the arms of the other, his hand eventually resting gently below her waist as they dreamed of the day when their child would be born.

THE END

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