Page 108 of The Slipper Scandal
“Yes. Milton is with them now and has scandalised half the Assembly Rooms by performing a trick involving the magistrate’s wig and a startled duck. No one knows how he got the duck.”
“Do you think we ought to introduce him to Lydia?”
"As long as you do not invite them to join us here," William observed, though his eyes twinkled with anticipation ratherthan dread. “Pemberley will be loud enough once everyone else arrives.”
"You love it," Elizabeth teased, settling more comfortably against him. "For all your complaints about noise and disorder, you are never happier than when surrounded by family."
"A fact which would have astounded my younger self," he conceded, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. "But then, my younger self could not have imagined the joy that awaited him."
Elizabeth closed her eyes, savouring his nearness, the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her. How far they had come from those uncertain days in London, when she had been so terrified that an obligatory marriage would lead to cold resentment. Her fears had proven groundless; the years had brought only increasing tenderness, deeper understanding, and a partnership that surpassed even her most hopeful imaginings. It helped, she thought, that her fears at the start had made them both determined to deal with their problems at once, to never allow any small resentments to grow.
"What are you thinking?" William inquired softly, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her shoulder.
Elizabeth opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a smile that held all the warmth of their shared years. "I was thinking about how fortunate I am that I did not run away. That despite my fears and doubts, you had faith enough for us both."
"I merely recognized what you were not yet ready to see," he replied. "That we were perfectly suited, scandal notwithstanding."
"Indeed," she agreed, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Though I still maintain that the trout incident at the Abernathys' dinner party was a merciful act on my part." Her lips tugged upward.
Her husband laughed, the sound free and uninhibited in a way that only his family ever witnessed. "After more than ten years ofmarriage, I have learned it is pointless to argue with you on that particular point."
"Wise man," Elizabeth murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly.
When they parted, William's expression grew contemplative. "Do you still wonder what might have happened had we met differently? Without Lord Ellington's interference, without the garden and the slipper?"
Elizabeth considered the question, thinking back to those tumultuous weeks that had changed the course of her life. "I believe we would have found each other regardless," she said at last. "Though perhaps with fewer dramatics."
"You have little faith in my ability to make a good first impression under normal circumstances," he teased, reminding her of their conversation on their wedding day.
"With good reason, sir," she retorted. "By your own admission, you would have said something 'abominably stupid' had we met at a country assembly."
"True enough," he conceded with good humour. "But I would have fallen in love with you nonetheless."
Elizabeth's heart swelled with the quiet certainty in his voice. "And I with you, despite your initial missteps."
They sat together in companionable silence, watching as twilight deepened into evening beyond the windows. From the nursery wing came the distant sound of their children's laughter.
"We should go up to say goodnight," Elizabeth said, though she made no move to rise from their comfortable position.
"In a moment," William replied, drawing her closer. "I am enjoying having you to myself for a little while."
Elizabeth rested her head against his shoulder, contentment washing over her in gentle waves. The life they had built together, this beautiful, imperfect, joyful life, had exceeded all her expectations. Her father had been wrong about marriagesborn of obligation; the beginning of a journey did not dictate its course. The two of them had proven that with every day of their life together.
"I love you, William," she whispered, the words as true now as the first time she had spoken to them.
"And I you, Elizabeth," he answered, his voice rich with emotion. "Always."
Outside, the first stars appeared in the darkening sky above Pemberley. Elizabeth tilted her head up towards her husband with a mischievous smile.
"Do you know what today is?"
William raised an eyebrow. "Wednesday?"
"Ten years to the day since I lost my slipper in the Plimpingtons’ garden."
"It is not," William said, his eyes twinkling. "You lost your slipper on Twelfth Night.
“Very well, then. Ten years and six months since that day. Also a momentous occasion.”
