part0034

Loud shrieks of laughter erupted yet again from the water’s edge where, under the careful scrutiny of two nursery-maids, the boisterous crowd were merrily splashing in, chasing the waves, only to run back up the sandy shore with squeals of delight – or, in some cases, panic – when the waves rolled back to chase them in their turn. Little Henry Gardiner was by far the loudest, but barely more so than his younger sister, and as for the older Gardiner girls, they were determined to show young James Bingley, whom they held securely between them, each by a hand, that a splash of salty water was nothing to be frightened of.

Far along the beach, Kitty was walking arm in arm with her betrothed and, even further still, on the outcrop of rocks that closed the cove, Mr Gardiner was teaching his eldest son to fish, with Mr Bingley’s cheerful assistance.

Lady Vernon – Miss Georgiana Darcy as was, six months previously – had chosen not to join her relations on that particular occasion, and had gone riding with her husband instead, further afield, beyond Delaford, along with the Colonel and Mrs Brandon.

“What a charming spot this is, Lizzy,” Mrs Gardiner observed from the canvas chair beside her, and Elizabeth turned to smile at her aunt.

It was a charming spot indeed, but then she had known that for many years, ever since she and Kitty had first discovered their secret little cove. They were all gathered there now for a picnic brought to the water’s edge by good old Wilkins and a number of maids. A delightful way to enjoy the last few days of summer, and a delightful way to bid adieu to Farringdon Lodge for, soon after Kitty’s wedding on the following Thursday, Mrs Bennet was to quit the place at last, and make her permanent home in town, to be near the Gardiners and Mrs Jennings .

In truth, it was a long time since she had actually lived at Farringdon for, along with Kitty, Mrs Bennet had spent the best part of every year with one or other of her married daughters.

The longest time was spent at Pemberley, of course, and at Stanton Park, the Bingleys’ new estate in Staffordshire for, despite Mary’s entreaties and warm welcome, Mrs Bennet could not quite bring herself to visit Longbourn for a great length of time and tolerate with any semblance of good-humour the fact that Mr Collins had taken Mr Bennet’s place.

As for the youngest Mrs Ferrars and her husband, they hardly ever spent more than a month complete in the same house. They were forever visiting some acquaintance or another – but strangely, they had yet to set foot in Devonshire. They had not even come down now, to honour Kitty’s wedding, yet Elizabeth had ceased to be surprised. They had never visited Mr and Mrs Edward Ferrars either, in all the years since their marriage, and had not given the vaguest indication that they intended to. They had never justified their absence, of course, and it was only Jane, in her earnest wish to think well of everybody, who was willing to believe that Mr Robert Ferrars might harbour great unease at the prospect of having any meaningful conversation with his elder brother and witnessing his impoverished circumstances. Had they ever visited, he would have learned that any such concerns were for naught. Edward did not begrudge his brother his elevation in fortune any more than he coveted it. Mr and Mrs Edward Ferrars’ life in Devonshire was plentiful and happy, and they could not have wished for more.

“Oh, Lizzy, look,” Jane said softly, as she indicated with a nod and a telling glance towards her right.

From where they sat, along with Mrs Gardiner, under the wide canvas stretched between several sturdy poles to shelter them from the glare of the sun, they did not have a good view of that section of the beach, but now that the two had moved a little closer, Elizabeth could see them better, and her countenance lit up into the warmest smile. Her darling Anne was toddling barefoot, hand in hand with her father, and every so often he would drop down to her height, to pay due attention to the little somethings that she found.

Suddenly, Anne tottered purposefully away, arms stretched out for a better balance, her frilly cap askew. She bent down to collect a pebble and nearly toppled forward in the process, before redressing herself with a great deal of effort – and then swaying backwards, to end up sitting in the sand. She reached out, little fists clenching and unclenching in obvious impatience, with an imperious call of “Da-da-da-da!” from little rosebud lips, and Darcy promptly came to scoop her up into his arms. She squirmed and gave in to a fit of giggles, her sand-caked hands ruining the crispness of his cravat, and Darcy laughed as he tightened his hold on the wriggling bundle, vainly attempting to brush the sand off tiny ticklish feet.

Involuntarily, Elizabeth’s hand came up to rest on the now fairly obvious rounding of her figure, and her lips curled into a little misty smile as her fingers moved over it in a light caress. Would Anne be severely put out to have to share her adoring father with a baby sister, or was it to be a son this time, an heir for Pemberley?

“As you know, Lizzy, I have always had the greatest regard for your excellent husband, yet even so, I never thought I would see him so thoroughly wrapped around his daughter’s little finger,” Jane said, a hint of a smile in her kindly tones, and Elizabeth laughed softly in her turn.

The quietly efficient Farringdon servants, assisted by Miss Darcy’s nursery-maid, who was currently devoid of any meaningful employment, had already cleared the remains of the delicious luncheon into the large wicker baskets gathered to one side, and had retired now to a grassy knoll further up the path, to partake of their own repast.

“I daresay we should make our way back to the house soon,” Mrs Bennet called from her canvas seat a few yards away, where she had settled along with Mrs Jennings, so as to command a better view of her grandchildren and their not-fully-trusted nursery-maids. “It has been a long day, and all this time out of doors might prove quite taxing for you, Lizzy. You must be so fatigued.”

Her second daughter promptly negatived. She could happily sit there for an age, she mused, little knowing that, at that exact point in time, her husband’s thoughts mirrored her own.

They had stayed at Farringdon Lodge only once since their marriage, and with all their time claimed by relations and friends, on that occasion they had been granted no leisure to indulge in country walks. Thus, he had not seen this spot ever since the distant day when he had stood atop the cliffs and watched the dismal scene before him, from the depths of his despair .

There could not have been a greater contrast between that horrible dejection and the perfect, boundless happiness that coursed through him now, as he watched his wife over the top of their daughter’s head. Elizabeth was laughing, presumably at something that Mrs Gardiner or Jane had just said, and the sight of her beloved face glowing with joy was all the blessing he needed in this life.

And yet there were so many other blessings. This little restless bundle in his arms, as adorable as Elizabeth herself – and nearly twice as wilful, he thought with a chuckle as squeals and a commanding gesture of chubby little hands clearly indicated her wish to be set back down. He bent his knees and laughingly obeyed, pleased in no small measure that Mr Gardiner was currently at the other end of the beach and thus unlikely to notice his parental weaknesses and foibles and tax him with them later, over wine and port. And as for Bingley, oh, he would not dare! Otherwise he would have to be forcefully reminded of his own antics, when James was but a babe.

Another babe due soon – another blessing, he told himself with a great deal of determination, as he endeavoured to force silent fears away. She would be safe, just as she was the first time, when Anne was born. She would.

“Da-da!” the little voice peremptorily ordered, and Darcy cast his idle thoughts into the wind and walked forth to cheerfully do the bidding of the youngest Darcy of his father’s line.

“… to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

The words resounded with understated fervour, and Elizabeth’s eyes misted as they brought to mind the blissfully happy day when they were lovingly spoken to her, in a different church and in a different time.

The Delaford Church was overcrowded, but more so due to its diminutive size than to the number of family and friends who had gathered there to share in the celebrations .

There was no ostentation, nor was there parade at this wedding, any more than there had been at hers, and Elizabeth fervently hoped that the similarities would not end there. She hoped, she prayed that sentiments as deep and lasting as those she and her husband shared would brighten the union they had come to witness, between Edmund, their second son, and Miss Marianne Ferrars, their dear friends’ fourth child.

And now Farringdon Park would be home to other Darcys, just as Pemberley House would forever shelter their eldest son’s line. Frederick had not married, not yet, but if her powers of perception had not failed her, happy tidings of another betrothal would come soon enough. And as for the darling girls, Jane and Catherine, suitors would be stared out of countenance, for their father and both their brothers had sternly agreed between them that none were worthy, not entirely, not quite. The same was said of all who had courted Anne, but then Henry Fitzwilliam, their cousin’s eldest, had dashed the hopes of his would-be rivals, and carried the day.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Tears came to Elizabeth’s eyes as she sat in the old church with her husband, their friends and all their children to witness Edmund making his solemn vows to his bride. He was the very image of his father, she thought with a misty smile; much more so than Frederick, who took after her own Papa. If she narrowed her eyes as she looked at Edmund, she could almost picture her dear Fitzwilliam there, as he had stood before her, almost eight-and-twenty years ago. Elizabeth’s eyes and heart went to her husband, as dear to her now as he was then, and she placed her hand in his.

With a start, Darcy turned to smile at her and took her hand to his lips. His rock, his succour, his blessing. His darling wife. There was nothing he would have wished to do with his life but be with her. And give thanks for the second chance to cherish and protect her for all of their days.