A/N: Hokay. First, hi. How is everyone? I hope that you are all well.

Second, thanks. Your reviews made me smile a lot.

Third, sorry. I know I promised this by Tuesday, but I'm only a day late, no?

Fourth, news. After careful consideration and not-so-careful inspiration, I have decided to add a bit more and split this story into five parts instead of three. I hope that this is good news...?

Fifth, enjoy. :)

The End - Part Two

It was raining. Elizabeth stared out of the window in the library over the dark grounds, thinking. Oh, how she loved the rain.

In the grey light of a storm, Pemberley was a safe haven, with the soft inside light of candles providing protection from either the raging fury or the calm, cold sadness of the storm outdoors. The sunlight no longer leaked in through the arching windows, seeming to bring the outside in.

In the rain, the windows separated the house from the rest of the world. They betrayed the chaos of the outdoors but promised to protect one from it.

Elizabeth watched the storm outside. There was thunder and lightning, she noted, but not the type that evokes fear. It was almost…calm.

It was a fitting mood, she decided.

She sat and watched the storm for a long time, until she was no longer looking at the dark grounds of present but walking among them in the sunlight with her husband, seeing a much lighter, happier time eighteen years past…

"But Elizabeth, we must tell them sometime! And time is beginning to run short—in not three weeks we needn't say anything at all, lest they simply happen to catch a glimpse of your stomach!"

"But telling them while Edward is visiting is simply out of the question!"

"Why? Would you not rather tell them while all six of us are here together?!"

"Oh, Fitzwilliam, you are so incredibly daft sometimes! Do you pretend to be ignorant of the reason for Edward's stay?"

"Our son needs a reason to visit his own parents!"

"No, but I assure you that this time, he has design in staying here. He's trying to be subtle, but Mrs. Packard has instructions to set seven places at the table when he arrives, and you have seen his letters these past few months—surely you remember his constant talk of his relationship with Rosemary Hillard? And then he was vacationing in the South this past week—you remember that this is where she is from? It's been four months since they've known each other. I am positive that he is coming here to tell us she will be his bride!"

"Edward? To be married? But he is so young! He just finished school, for Christ's sake—"

"Oh, Fitzwilliam, he is two and twenty!"

"I guess you're right," Fitzwilliam said quietly, looking slightly disturbed. "He's…he's quite assuredly a man now, is he not?"

"Yes, Dear, I fear he is."

"That would make Lily…well, practically a woman, would it not?"

"It would," Elizabeth consented quietly.

"Which would make us…quite old."

Elizabeth laughed, but it had a bit of an edge to it.

"Well, we are certainly doing everything in our power to stay young, aren't we? Forget propriety, forget that we should be settling down for our last years on Earth together, forget that our children are nearly adults! No, we must be careless and silly and bring another child into 

this world just as we are saying goodbye to the last ones! We shall raise this child, only to have its parents die before it reaches maturity! I never suspected that we of all people would be so improper and irresponsible and—"

Fitzwilliam's face betrayed his anger before his words did.

"I thought that we agreed to be happy about this?" He said, sounding a little hurt and very mad. "That this was a good thing, a blessing, not to be treated as a mistake or inconvenience! Not twelve hours after this declaration and you are ranting about impropriety and irresponsibility? For Heaven's sake, Elizabeth!"

Her face softened a bit, but there was disturbance still in her brow. "I am happy, really, Fitzwilliam, but you must admit it is not conventional—"

"We are married! You are carrying a child! There is nothing improper or wrong about this situation at all! Would you rather some young twenty-year-old mistress of mine be the one expecting?"

Elizabeth's eyes flashed. Many of their wealthier friends had begun taking on mistresses, and while Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam both stood very firmly against the practice, it was still a bit of a sore subject, seeing all of the discontent it caused. "Have you already realized how stupid, thoughtless, and incredibly awful the comment that you just made was, or do I need to wait for your apology?"

"No, I'm sorry, you're right, that was uncalled for. But really," he said, and he put his hands on her hips and looked into her eyes. "This is a good thing."

Elizabeth bit her lip. There was silence for a time. After what seemed to be a long while, she looked at her husband with a genuine smile. "It really is, isn't it?"

"Yes," Fitzwilliam said with force, and he gently took one of Lizzy's hands, placed it on her own stomach, and then brought it up to his lips to kiss the palm where it had touched their child.

"Yes," he said again, kissing her on the lips. And then they were both smiling and laughing a bit.

"Yes of course, you silly, hormonal wife of mine, yes it is a good thing."

He kissed her again.

"So we'll tell them at Edward's arrival?" he breathed into her ear.

"Yes," she breathed back. After a time, she pulled back and looked into his eyes with amusement. "You are a very dangerous creature, Mr. Darcy."

Edward Darcy sat in his study, trying to concentrate the paper in front of him and thoroughly failing. Try as he might to take in the odious steward's report, his mind was otherwise occupied.

His late father, bless his heart, had always been a very proper gentleman and during his lifetime took every measure to make sure that Edward would be prepared to become master of Pemberley once his parents had passed. Reading the long, boring steward's report was therefore a regular activity for Edward, one that he had always accomplished diligently and with some interest.

But this time, it was different. Becoming the master of Pemberley had always seemed to be a distant event. But now, with his father gone and his mother waning, it seemed to be just around the corner.

He could not read the report without becoming distracted with thoughts of his mother, which always made him wish to fetch Rosemary and the children and set off for a visit to Pemberley at once. He had a feeling that he wouldn't have his beloved mother around for much longer, which made him want to spend all of the time he could with her.

Forget the steward's report, he thought. That was preparing him for events after her death. He wished to make the most of her life at present.

With a frustrated sigh, he put down the report. There was a knock on his door. A servant entered.

"Mr. Darcy, there's a Mrs. Saunders here to see you. Shall I send her in?"

Edward's eyes widened. "Saunders, you say, Carson?"

The servant nodded.

"It cannot be! By all means, send her in!"

A moment later, a woman appeared at the door. Her long, straight dark hair was in a bun and her dress was that of a wealthy traveler. She was average in height and had very striking cheekbones, giving her a very interesting sort of haunting beauty.

"Anne!" Edward said, full of surprise and happiness.

"My brother," she said with a genuinely happy smile only slightly marred by the distress that Edward had detected in her countenance upon entering. "It has been so many years. It is so good to see you again."

"Pray tell, my dear sister, what has compelled you to travel so far away from your home, and without informing me or our mother!"

Anne's smile disappeared.

"If it is not too much trouble, brother, I beg that we set off for Pemberley at once. I so desperately wish to see our mother, but could not bring myself to ride by your village without imposing upon you."

"Why such urgency?" Edward asked, alarmed and worried that Anne was rushing because she knew more than he of their mother's impending death.

"It is nothing. I am simply very distressed and wish to speak with her. Letters have not satisfied me these past years, and after recent events I crave the warmth of her embrace. You may stay with your family or accompany me, but I am sorry to say I wish to depart and see our mother as soon as possible."

Anne's eyes were filling with tears. Edward was very shaken. It was rare to see her in such a state.

"I shall accompany you, Anne, but pray tell what it is that has you in such a state!"

"It is a long story. I will tell all on the carriage."

Elizabeth woke on the thirtieth of November and, sitting up in bed, very casually noted that today would be the day of her death.

She did not know this because she was planning on killing herself—she would never do that to her children—but because she could feel it. Even if she outwardly appeared the same, she could feel her energy and light leaving her slowly, had felt it, really, since the day he died…

And on the thirtieth of November, she felt wary, and very, very tired. She could feel that her body was winding down, giving up its feeble fight against whatever was overtaking it. It would be today, she noted, without quite understanding how she was so convinced. Or perhaps tomorrow.

She felt a very confusing mixture of emotions at the prospect of her death. First and foremost, she was worried.

She worried a lot about Clara, who was much like herself but with a little of her father's reserve and her Aunt Georgiana's sweetness. She did not want her to be unhappy in her marriage, which seemed likely with her looks, money, and charm, and it greatly saddened and worried Elizabeth that she would not be there to see her daughter through that ordeal.

She also worried about Lillian, who had just born twins and whose second child had mental difficulties. Elizabeth would have very much liked to stay with Lily and help her, but Clara had volunteered to go in her stead. Why had she done that? Elizabeth wondered now. But she knew, really: Clara understood that her absence in their small sub-family of three accentuated her father's, and also knew that Elizabeth would put on a charade of contentment in her final months that would be much more easily kept in her absence. Clara, Elizabeth knew, had been thinking of her mother in her decision to go and stay with Lillian.

And she worried about Anne, how easily stressed she was and how awfully she sometimes conducted her life…Elizabeth was really the only person that Anne confided everything in, through letters, of course…would she turn to Lillian or Clara, in her stead? No, she had always been closer with her brothers, but Elizabeth didn't think that she would write them with worries of little Theodore's fever or Imogene's acting out or her husband's growing appreciation for gambling and alcohol…

And then the newly married Henry…he had always been so dependent on her. She was glad, though, because they all had Edward. He was something of a father-figure, she knew, especially to Clara.

But she couldn't help but feel…relief, really, and joy at seeing him again. It had been so long…never, since the day that they met, not even when she had hated him, had they been apart for such a time…

It was odd, really. She had known during his life that she had loved him—really, truly, honestly loved him more than anything.

But she hadn't known that her happiness was dependent on him. Her younger self would have laughed, and perhaps been a little disappointed. So much for independence. But she couldn't be happy without him. Definitely not.

The thought did not bring her any joy, but it did make her ache for him…

She felt sadness, also, at the fact that her life was coming to an end. It had been a very good life, certainly. The very happiest, Elizabeth believed, that one could possibly have. For though Elizabeth's life had had its fair share of tragedies (there were, originally, six Darcy children…), there was a point when happiness peaked. If one was too happy, she knew, they ceased to be so.

So yes, she was sad that her life was ending…

But, if she was being honest with herself, it had already ended, on a fateful day not nine months ago when the stupid, arrogant man whom she had married had left her in a giant house with more money than was really healthy for a person, surrounded by her children and friends and yet, somehow, completely and utterly alone.