Page 66 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
Fitz said his farewells, and they both strode out of the drawing room and out the front door to where Darcy’s carriage awaited them. The footman held out the velvet box that contained his aunt’s gift for Elizabeth and then shut the door. Then and only then did Fitz finally lose his composure, the fist pressed to his mouth to stifle his laughter sadly ineffective.
“Porcelain cherubs as a wedding gift.” His eyes were alight with mirth. “In their cups, at that. Pride of place!”
Darcy sighed, tucking the box safely into a corner of the carriage before settling onto the seat. “Say another word, Fitz, and I shall tell her that you broke them.”
Fitz’s merry laughter filled Darcy’s ears as the carriage pulled away from Rosings, the grand house shrinking into the distance behind them.
Epilogue
Theairsmelledsweetlyof primrose and bluebell blossoms; the pale blue sky streaked with wisps of white clouds. The trees of Rosings Park stood in full bud, their tender green leaves unfurling in the golden light, and in the distance, birds trilled their songs of renewal.
Elizabeth Darcy tilted her face toward the sun, relishing the gentle warmth against her skin. It was a rare pleasure to be back in Kent at this time of year, the landscape alive with the quiet hum of spring. It had been more than a decade since she and William had been caught in the folly’s collapse, and their lives were very different now.
“It is astonishing how much has changed,” she remarked, casting her gaze over the rolling landscape. “If I had not known better, I might have believed this was an altogether different place.”
Her husband, standing beside her with his hands clasped behind his back, gave a low hum of agreement. “I have often found that time has a curious way of altering not only the world around us but our recollections of it.” He glanced at her with a small smile. “Though I do not think my recollections of Kent are so easily altered.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “No? Not even after so much time?”
William let out a quiet breath, turning his eyes toward the distant remnants of what had once been Lady Catherine’s greatest vanity—a folly that had nearly cost them both their lives.
Where the hill had once stood, there was now a rolling expanse of land that revealed the sunken remains of the original labyrinth, its medieval tunnels intertwined with the remnants of an old chalk mine. Over the years, the earth had been gradually cleared away and much of the stone had been reclaimed for other projects, turning what was once a danger into little more than a historical curiosity.
The ruins, unearthed during the work, had become a source of entertainment rather than peril. Even now, the sounds of laughter echoed from beyond the gentle rise, where two young figures scampered between the remnants of ancient stone corridors.
Elizabeth sighed, shaking her head with amusement. “Bennet and Beth will be covered in dust by the time we depart.”
Her husband smiled. “And so shall I, if I am required to extract them from another hidden alcove.”
Elizabeth turned her gaze to William. He had not entirely lost his gravity, nor his inclination toward order and caution, but he maintained his humour and playfulness with her and the children. There was an ease about him, too, that had not existed in their earliest acquaintance. Marriage had altered them both, deepening their understanding of one another with every adventure they experienced together.
She reached up to cup his cheek, and he caught her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her palm. He let his hand wander to the faint scar that crossed her forearm.
“I had thought the place would hold no more power over me,” he admitted quietly. “But standing here again, I find I still feel it.”
“The folly may be gone, but what we endured has left its mark,” she replied softly as she gazed at the thin white line that ran the length of his right eyebrow.
William exhaled, glancing toward the distant ruins. “It was not only stone and earth that crumbled that day,” he said. “The illusions I held of myself, of you, of the world around me—they shattered as well.”
She searched his face. For years after the collapse, they had both suffered nightmares, but they had offered solace to one another, and such things were exceedingly rare now. She offered a small smile and spoke the words of comfort that they had whispered to one another in those early days. “There is our silver lining.”
He looked down at her, his eyes steady. “I love you, Mrs. Darcy.”
“And I you.”
A breeze stirred the grass, carrying with it the distant voices of their children. Behind them on the road, two carts trundled away from Rosings Park. The drivers called out and lifted their hats in greeting. Elizabeth held up a hand in response, and William touched the brim of his hat.
“You know,” Elizabeth said, her tone lightening, “when the villagers tell the story, they call itMr. Darcy’sfolly.”
He groaned. “Yes. Fitz has delighted in telling me so.”
Elizabeth laughed, slipping her hand into his. “Do you mind?”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “What choice do I have?”
“Oh, my love,” she teased, squeezing his hand. “It is not so bad. The story—the drama, the heroism, that is what it is about. How you saved a fair maiden—”
“You are a fair maiden awaiting rescue, now? Hardly an accurate portrayal.”
