Page 150 of The Difference of a Darcy
At least Georgiana was safe now, and Richard greeted him with the open affection of family. The sight of his cousin’s good-humored smile and his sister’s easy contentment as they spoke with Elizabeth filled Darcy with a quiet peace unlike any he had ever known.
Not long later, a gentle touch drew him from his thoughts. Elizabeth’s hand rested lightly on his arm.
“Are you ready, my love?” she asked, her bright eyes lifting to his with that look that never failed to steady him.
He looked down at her, and the corner of his eye caught the glint of light upon her ring. The finger that had once borne a fragile snowdrop now shone with a band of white diamonds and small emeralds—designed to echo the bloom itself. He had commissioned it himself especially for her, using stones repurposed from pieces among the Darcy family jewels.
“Quite ready,” he told her, covering his hand with her own.
Together they made their farewells, and within minutes, they were seated in the waiting carriage. The coachman called to the horses, and the wheels began to turn, carrying them away from Longbourn toward London, where they would spend theirwedding night—as well as a few quiet weeks before going on to Pemberley, where Richard would deliver Georgiana to them.
“Are you excited to see Darcy House properly?” he teased, glancing down at her. “I am amazed you even agreed to spend time there after seeing it in such a state before.”
She laughed, her eyes bright with mischief. “As long as the bank does not attempt to take possession of it, I shall be quite content.”
He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her, one hand rising to cup her cheek—
A pointed cough stopped him short.
They both turned sharply.
Across from them, lounging with infuriating nonchalance, sat the fae. His eyes gleamed with mirth.
“My apologies for interrupting,” he said, his grin far too knowing. “I merely wished to discover whether you were content with having been returned. Tell me, Mr. Darcy—do you still wish you had never been born?”
Darcy stared, caught between outrage and disbelief. “Most certainly not,” he said vehemently.
The fae’s smirk deepened. “Excellent. Then my work here is done.” He inclined his head with exaggerated grace. “My congratulations upon your nuptials—and I wish you as many happy Christmases together as you desire. Now—” he gave a languid flick of his fingers— “as you were.”
With a faint shimmer of light, he vanished.
Darcy and Elizabeth gaped at the empty seat. For several seconds neither spoke. Then Elizabeth gave a soft, incredulous laugh.
“Well,” she said at last, “if we are indeed losing our minds, at least we are doing so together.”
Her laughter—bright and unguarded—filled the carriage, and the sight of her sparkling eyes and the curve of her smiledrew him in once more. He leaned closer, his voice low and warm.
“He did tell us to continue as we were,” he murmured.
She tilted her face toward his, her answering smile trembling against his lips as he kissed her. Her hands slid into his hair, and his arms drew her closer. The kiss deepened, unhurried but full of promise, the soft thrum of the wheels beneath them like a heartbeat.
There was nothing to stop them now—nothing but the narrow confines of the carriage and the few miles that remained between them and London. Soon they would be at Darcy House; soon there would be no interruptions, no separations—nothing between them but love.
When at last they parted, foreheads resting together, he let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. How strange that a single wish, once born of despair, had brought him here—to this life, this moment, this woman.
He closed his eyes and whispered against her temple, his heart full to overflowing.
“I am so very glad,” he said, “that I was born to love you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Elizabeth Darcy,” she corrected him with a smile, “unless you are already regretting your choice.”
“Not a chance,” he murmured, once again claiming her lips with his own.
Her new name sounded like a promise, bright and enduring—and in that quiet, perfect moment, he knew just how much of a difference a Darcy could make.
Epilogue
Pemberley, Derbyshire—December 25th, 1826
