inside of her wrist. 'I think
he says that—' He whispered the last in her ear.
'Mmm. I had no idea Mr. Dashwood was such a romantic fellow.' She allowed him to lead her away from the library door. 'And what do you have to say. Mr. Darcy?'
'That I pray your sister consents, for I do not think I could endure another London season such as this.'
Epilogue
'Think only on the past as it's remembrance gives you pleasure.'
Elizabeth gazed out the window, momentarily distracted from her needlework by the beckoning landscape of Derbyshire in late summer. The flower gardens called, the majestic trees beckoned, and the warm afternoon sun tempted her to abandon her needle for her best pair of walking shoes.
But she wanted to finish the infant gown today, and so would postpone her walk until later. On the desk, a note to Jane also wanted completion. Elizabeth thought of her sister often these days, wondering how her sister fared as the time of her confinement neared.
Darcy entered, a letter in his hand. I have just received word that the old vicar of Kympton passed away yesterday. The living is now Mr. Dashwood's as soon as he is eligible for ordination.'
'That is sad news for the vicar's family, but Kitty will be glad to hear it. She and Mr. Dashwood can now fix upon a wedding date.'
'Do you think they will wed as soon as he takes orders?'
'I imagine so After all, Mr. Dashwood is not getting any younger.'
She added several stitches to the bedgown. The mundane task, undertaken in the comfort and security of Pemberley made their encounter with the Mirror of Narcissus seem as though it occurred long ago. However, one had only to recall Mr. Dashwood's matured countenance to remember that awful
day vividly. She raised her eyes to her husband, grateful for the thousandth time that she had not lost him to the mirror's curse.
'You have a distant expression.' he observed.
'I was thinking aboul the Mirror of Narcissus,' she said. 'I have often wondered what image held you spellbound. Where Professor Randolph bade you imagine yourself as you wanted others to see you, did you create a younger representation of yourself, as had so many victims before you?'
'No, older.'
'Older?'
'Not advanced in age, so much as in understanding,' he explained. 'I pictured myself the kind of man my father was. A teacher with wisdom to impart.'
'To someone like Harry?'
'To my own son. Or daughter.'
She pushed the needle through the muslin and brought it up again. Darcy sat down beside her, observing 'That is a handsome dress — I think the finest of all you have made for Jane. Your sister will treasure it, I am certain.'
'This one is not for Jane.'
'It is not?'
She met his gaze and smiled softly. 'No, it is not.'
He did not speak, only gently look the dress from her hand, and set it aside so he could pull her close. As he gathered her into his arms, she looked forward to seeing him as he had seen himself in the glass — a father to the child who had been the cause of the mirror's destruction.
A soul for a soul. That had been the mirror's price, and all it could contain. But in that terrible moment when it had tried to claim hers, unknown yet even to herself, her body had held two.
The End
