“I believe they felt badly about Catherine’s passing, thought perhaps we all needed the support.” Fitzwilliam took a puff on his pipe and grew serious for just a moment, staring absently down the long road. “They have all turned out to be truly splendid people, really—proud of each and every one. I mean, if you can ignore the shootings and screaming.”
“Elizabeth tells me that Anthony, however, will be absent, that he is traveling to Egypt”—Darcy turned his piercing gaze toward Richard—“along with the very elegant Sir Edmund Percy. That’s rather a surprise, don’t you think? He’s rarely missed a holiday before in my memory. And as a matter of fact, how does he even know Sir Edmund?”
Richard became very still.
“Is there anything you wish to finally share with me, Richard?” It was highly diverting to watch his cousin squirm as he did. “You know how futile it is to try and keep anything from me—I shall drag the truth from you one day.”
“Well, their acquaintance is of long standing—only natural, really—they are both members of the Royal Academy Board, both interested in antiquities.” He was withering under Darcy’s relentless stare. “I know nothing,” he finally blurted out. Fitzwilliam’s eyes went everywhere but to his cousin. “Good God, it’s like having two wives,” he mumbled.
They sat in silence then, their minds going over the past years and the loved ones who would not be joining them this Easter.
Lady Catherine, the Grande Dame, passed shortly after her beloved daughter, Anne. Losing Anne had taken the desire to live from the old girl, and in the last few weeks of her life, her mind began wandering to prior days. She was once again aghast at that impudent Elizabeth Bennet, fought her battles with that horrible American Amanda Penrod, and chased her “horrid little nephews” after they disrupted one of her parties. She also redecorated constantly, now only in her mind, but always of the highest quality. The entire family missed the daffy old woman dreadfully.
For many, many years, between the Darcys and the Fitzwilliams, there had been a constant flurry of children, carriages, nannies, and dogs throughout elegant Mayfair, and then all those children had also descended merrily upon Aunt Catherine’s for tarts, biscuits, and cakes. Mayfair would never look the same again.
Mr. Bennet had passed away over twenty years before, followed the next year by Charlotte Collins in childbirth. Mr. Collins was inconsolable for many months until he finally found his comfort with Mary Bennet, who had been secretly yearning for him the whole while.
Caroline Bingley had finally married a very wealthy tradesman and had settled in Edinburgh. She never had children and quickly regretted her removal from London society. London society, it can be reported, did not return the sentiment.
Lady Penrod died a short four years after Amanda and Richard’s marriage, and Harry immediately became one of the wealthiest nine-year-olds in London, inheriting both her London townhome, where he now lived with his own family, and another home in the Lake District.
Fitzwilliam and Amanda had eight children besides their wonderful Harry. His brother, Regis, passed two years after their marriage, and his beloved father passed five years after that, thereby making Richard the seventh Earl of Summerton. Happily, the sixth earl had lived long enough to meet the eighth earl, along with several spares.
Darcy and Elizabeth had three children altogether. He was now Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy, knighted for his outstanding leadership in his beloved Derbyshire and for his innovations in drainage.
Georgiana had married a naval lieutenant and had two lovely children, a boy and a girl. Her husband was now an admiral. Incredibly wealthy, he had traveled several times around the world for the crown, often with his beautiful family in tow.
Wickham was killed by the drunken husband of some woman with whom he was having an affair, and Lydia quickly married another “bad hat,” as Lizzy would say. No one heard from her very often anymore.
Kitty remained unmarried and divided her time living happily in the country with either Elizabeth and Darcy, or as now with her sister Jane and brother-in-law Charles, proud grandparents to adorable twin girls over whom they doted in excess. They were spending their Easter holidays in Ireland.
Darcy lifted his head at a distant sound. “What was that?” The four hounds lying beside them on the veranda immediately stood and leaned forward in anticipation.
“Evidently it was a minor brain seizure,” Fitzwilliam mumbled absently after scanning the empty horizon.
Darcy slumped back down into his chair and turned his face up toward the sun. “Just out of curiosity, how many grandchildren do you have now? What is the latest estimate?”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes fluttered, and his head came up momentarily. “I haven’t the foggiest notion. I’m not sure they’ve all even been named and categorized yet.” He rested his head again against the chair back.
Darcy laughed. He knew his cousin better than that, knew the man was aware of them all, whether his own or Darcy’s or Georgiana’s. Each child, each name, and each birthday was precious to him. Family parties at his home were constants over the years, for any reason, and they were legendary.
“I don’t understand how you had eight children and I only three. It makes no sense.” Darcy strummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, his narrowed gaze fixed on his cousin. He absolutely hated to lose any competition to this man. “You’re no more virile than I. Quite the contrary, in fact.”
Fitzwilliam gave a snort of derision. “Bah! I am virility personified. It oozes from my every pore.”
“Oh, is that what that is?”
“My seed practically leapt into her womb, for heaven’s sake.”
“Rather like a virus.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled and began to fuss with the spectacles he had again taken out and was wearing.
“Come to think of it, you suddenly stopped having children after Edward was born. Certainly Amanda was still young enough. Maybe you weren’t, but she certainly was. Did she finally come to her senses and boot you out of the marital bed, you randy old goat?”
“No, Darcy, as usual, you have everything backward and wrong.”
“Then how did you manage to finally stem the procreational tide?”
“Well, Cousin”—Fitzwilliam began lifting and lowering the spectacles rapidly, trying to ascertain just how myopic his wife really was—“I simply took the matter into my own hands, shall we say…”
“God in heaven, I am always so regretful after I ask you a question.” His head turned at a distant sound. The dogs also stood again, alerted to activity in the distance. They began barking and shot off the veranda.
“You know, Darcy, whenever I feel out of sorts or dreadfully depressed or nauseous, I think of you, and…”
Darcy turned his attention back to Fitzwilliam, briefly touched by this remark. He kept listening, but the sentence was never finished. His one eyebrow shot up in inquiry. “And…?” he encouraged.
“What? Oh, nothing.” Fitzwilliam flapped his hand. “There is nothing to add. I just think of you whenever I get nauseous or depressed. Brat, is that them turning into the drive?” Fitzwilliam was squinting into the lowering sun.
Darcy turned his gaze toward the far road. His face lit up with an immense smile. “Yes, you old baboon, I believe it is.”
Fitzwilliam was up like a shot, slapping his aching knee. A huge smile spread across his face as one hand came up to shield out the setting sun and the other rested on his hip, his eyes trying to make some sense of the dust in the distance.
“Amanda! ” bellowed her husband. “Front and center! ”
“For heaven’s sake! Fitzwilliam!” Darcy winced and covered his ear nearest to his cousin. “Inside voice, please, child.” He thought for a moment perhaps he was spending too much time with his grandchildren. “What I mean to say is, please exercise a little self-restraint and decorum.”