Winter

The thick frost of early November had just disappeared from the ground as the couple made to leave the room where they had delightfully passed their wedding night. It was late morning, and Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy were preparing to make the final half of their journey home, to Pemberley.

Elizabeth was full of excitement and wonder. It was her first full day as a married woman, and she could hardly conceive of the changes that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours.

The wedding ceremony had been so beautiful; she felt that if she glowed with half the happiness she felt, it was certain that she was as beautiful as Jane that day. The wedding breakfast, where each of their respective families had gathered together at Longbourn and greeted them with identical goodwill, had reinforced the fact that they were all one family now.

And the man by her side, he continually surprised her. Throughout their engagement, they had grown to know one another better, and she respected him and cared for him more each day. The demands of their courtship and his own business led to very little time alone, yet, somehow, even amongst a crowd, he always managed to single her out, to make her feel solely his. The almost constant presence of others, though, had necessarily restrained any physical manifestation of their relationship.

Until yesterday.

Once they left the church, Fitzwilliam had not left her side. As they made their way through the wedding breakfast, greeting all their friends and family, his hand stayed on the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd and distracting her to no end with its warm, firm presence.

In all her youthful imaginings, she had never come close to comprehending the magnetism a much-admired male would hold for her. She had pictured herself laughing, talking, dancing, and, in her secret dreams, perhaps even kissing her handsome prince. But always, in these dreams, it was his vivacity, his personality - his charm and spark and wit – that held her.

Fitzwilliam was so much different than her idealized prince. Oh, he had spark and wit, but it was disguised under an austere exterior. Now that she knew the person he was behind the façade he presented, she wondered that she would ever have found open charm to be ideal. The facets and layers Fitzwilliam presented were ever-more captivating, and she had pleasure in the vision of learning the intricacies of his personality in all the days before them.

He was handsome, to be sure, and she saw each day how much more handsome he was than her dream prince. Her dream prince had a dazzling, readily available smile. Fitzwilliam had many different smiles. There was the humorous smirk that was often present when her father was sharing a story with him. There was the sweet smile that appeared when he spoke of Georgiana. There was the rare (but lately, less so), full-dimpled smile of hilarity. And then there was the killer: the smile that appeared only for her. It started in his eyes and was barely perceptible to any but her. But when she saw it, it had a ready effect on her: it warmed her from the inside out. That smile had been present behind all of the other expressions yesterday whenever she had looked at him.

Now she understood the smile, and she understood the effect. This thought brought a similar expression to her own visage, and, upon viewing it, her husband had to restrain himself from pulling her close and expressing his devotion. Looking at the clock, he sighed, knowing that if they were to make Pemberley before full dark, they would have to leave immediately. Lifting her fingers to his lips, he left the room to make sure the carriage was ready.

Elizabeth’s eyes followed her husband’s tall person as he walked from the room. She had long admired his form, but had not realized just how pleasing it really was. Clothes did not make the man, they hid him. As he was now her man, she happily accepted the fact that his form was truly known only to her.

In her mind, she had often wondered what it would be like to be married. She knew that certain changes would occur. Fitzwilliam had as strong a will as she, and though they found more often than not that they viewed situations in a similar light, she knew that she should necessarily think more often before she spoke. It was a hard lesson to learn, but she was practicing. She had no desire to ever hurt her dear Fitzwilliam again, and though her sense told her it would happen, she strove to do all in her power to avoid him being hurt.

Her husband returned to the room, his eyes sweeping it one last time to record it forever in his memory. Turning to her, he moved close, placed his gloved hands on either side of her face, and kissed her. No words were needed. He felt her smile against his lips and smiled back. The world could not be more beautiful to either of them.

Alighting into the carriage, Elizabeth took one last look at the inn that had been their shelter the previous evening. The staff had been polite, courteous, and, most importantly, invisible. The room had been charming and comfortable. Elizabeth knew she would always remember this particular inn with warmth. But it was time to venture forward.

As she sat down on the plush carriage seat, Lizzy felt just a twinge of discomfort. At first, as the carriage jostled her, she wondered what it could be that was causing her slight pain. Then, she realized that her very recent… exercises had caused changes in her. Much as though walking too far or carrying too heavy a load would make one sore, she was sore this morning. Remembering the activities of the previous evening, she blushed deeply. She could only hope that, like any other exercise, frequency would alleviate soreness.

Darcy watched his new bride closely. As the carriage pulled onto the main road north, he noted that she winced often. “Elizabeth, what is it? Is there something amiss?”

“No, no. I merely am slightly uncomfortable,” she paused, biting her lip. She did not wish to talk of her discomfort, especially as she understood what cased it. Looking out the window, she could feel his measuring gaze on her.

After a particularly violent jolt, he noticed that her hands gripped the bench, as though to alleviate some sort of pressure. Her physical discomfort was certainly evident, and he wondered why she would not explain its source. Then, in a rush of understanding, he reached for her hand.

The look in his eyes told of his newfound knowledge. They both blushed deeply. Opening his mouth, he began to form an apology, not quite sure how he could pretend sorrow for actions he certainly did not regret. He felt her finger over his lips.

“Never apologize for loving me,” she whispered, her cheeks burning, but her eyes full of love and the knowledge of Eve.

His words disappeared, and instead he kissed the finger she had placed on his lips. They bounced over another particularly nefarious rut, and she winced, smiling ruefully.

“Is there not anything I can do for your present relief?” he stated, massaging her hand.

Elizabeth paused, then smiled, “Yes, there is. You can read to me.”

Opening her reticule, she pulled out a book of verse that he had given to her early in their engagement. His eyes warmed as he saw how well she had read the book. She had marked several passages, and obviously carried it with her as a favorite.

He knew her to be a great reader, and was glad that material he loved also gave her pleasure. However, he also knew that she was a solitary reader and did not generally like to hear verse aloud. “Read to you?”

“Yes,” she sighed, arranging herself as comfortably as possible next to him. “It is one of my many failings. I cannot read in a moving carriage. Much to my chagrin, it makes me very ill to even attempt it. So, I would like it very much if you would read to me.”

Taking the book from her, he opened to one of the marked passages and pulled her, reclining, against his warm chest. The bumps in the road were many, but the deep resonance of his voice and his warm, sturdy presence by her side took away much of the discomfort. Mrs. Darcy settled in and enjoyed her journey home.

Spring

The April rain flowed gently down the glass of the window. It was a day made for reading by the fire. Elizabeth Darcy turned the page in her book with alacrity. The novel her aunt had recommended was quite captivating, and she very much desired to know what would happen next. So enthralled was she by the text that she did not notice her husband’s entrance into the small, comfortable room that connected their two bedchambers. It was not until she felt his kiss on the curve of her neck that she turned in happy anticipation to greet him.

“My love! I thought you to be closeted with your steward until dinner!” Stretching slightly, she grazed his lips with her own. One of the benefits of such a private sitting room was the ability of the young couple to express their devotion in a manner quite improper and unacceptable by society standards.

Walking around the sofa, Darcy seated himself beside his wife and drew her to him, holding one arm around her form and nuzzling her crown. As he inhaled her scent, he felt all the tension of the rigorous business dealings melt away. “Mmm,” he answered, “I had thought it would be longer than it was. But Mr. Keith and I found ways to settle most of the more complex issues rather more quickly than either of us had originally assumed, given the insight of my secret advisor.”

Lizzy smiled and laughed, marveling that her husband had respected her mind enough to solicit her opinion on some rather complex issues. Her work as informal steward to her father had certainly helped expand her perspective, but most men would not even consider a female mind able to comprehend such problems, let alone help to solve them.

After some quiet, relaxing moments, Darcy turned to Lizzy. “Perhaps, since you so kindly listened to my situation last evening, I should listen to the details of your shopping endeavors this morning?”

Lizzy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Shopping for clothes is something women are supposed to enjoy. I cannot help myself. I detest the experience. I had thought that my purchases of last winter and earlier this spring would last for a good, long while.”

Darcy chuckled. “You had not accounted for a change in figure, though?”

Laughing at the easy manner in which Fitzwilliam referenced her condition, Lizzy continued, “It makes sense to buy the things before we set forth for Derbyshire. I must admit, however, I am lost to purchase so much without my mother. Though her taste is not the same as mine, she knows the materials and designs that look best. Credit where credit is due, sir. My mother has helped me purchase all my clothing til now. And I find myself almost a’sea without her interference.”

“Does not Georgiana aid you? And my aunt?”

“Yes, yes. They are of infinite use. But they are not decisive. And in this matter, neither am I. They have even sent home a book of styles for me to choose from, since I was so hesitant at the shop.”

Picking up the book that Elizabeth had indicated, Fitzwilliam leafed through the drawings. It was several pages before he understood what it was he did not like about the gowns presented.

“Elizabeth, I do not believe I like any of these drawings as well as I like your own wardrobe. I never would have thought it to be true, but there is a certain something about your older gowns that is quite missing in these fashionable ones.”

“Missing, sir?”

Blushing, Fitzwilliam knew he had to come clean. They had made a pact, early on, to be true to themselves, and not society’s standards, in their own chambers. The result had been uncounted hours of mutual felicity, laughter, and love. Sometimes, though, it was hard to overcome the teachings of society.

“Not so much… missing. The neckline in these fashionable gowns, Elizabeth, it’s so… restricted. I prefer your older gowns, though they may not be the height of London fashion. They flatter you so much more. Darling, why are you laughing?”

“Oh, my dear sir! I never, ever thought the day would come when you would agree with my mother on anything!” Taking a deep breath, she began again, “My mother, being the mother of five unmarried daughters, always found ways to put each of our… best assets forward. In whatever manner she could, whether it was fashionable or not. She actually had an extra quarter inch removed from the neckline of each of my gowns, and instructed me to do the same until I had produced an heir. At that point, I was informed, I could cover myself as a gentlewoman should.”

“Heaven forbid!” Fitzwilliam laughed, picturing his Lizzy all buttons and starch. “If that is truly the case, may we have all female children!”

Arching one eyebrow at her husband, Elizabeth warned him, “Be careful what you wish for, Fitzwilliam. Please remember that I am one of five daughters.”

“If our daughters are anything like their mother,” Darcy whispered, leaning down to kiss her tempting lips, “I shall never have cause to repine.”

“Sweet words, husband,” Lizzy whispered, kissing him in return.

“Sweet words for a sweet wife,” Darcy whispered in return. “And know that, no matter what happens, no matter what our lives bring us, blessings or sorrows, you will always be my beloved, sweet wife.”

Smith, Darcy’s valet, was about to attend to some business in Darcy’s closet when he heard the door connecting the bed chamber to the sitting room close quietly. Turning in mid step, Smith went to inform Mrs. King that dinner should most likely be delayed. Again.

But first, he schooled his smile to the serious face Darcy’s valet must present to the world.

Summer

Fitzwilliam Darcy smiled as he felt the mattress under him move again. Elizabeth was restless. The heat of August and the energetic child in her womb combined to deliver such a degree of discomfort that she, normally the soundest of sleepers, was tossing and turning in attempt to find relief. He turned on his side to observe her. She was on her back now, and, as the bed curtains were open, encouraging any breeze that might arise, and the full moon shone through the open windows, he could just make out her beloved features, captured in a mask of pique.

“When I was young, my cousin Roland used to spend August here at Pemberley,” he whispered, reaching for her hand. Raising it to his lips for a brief kiss, he felt her relax fractionally and continued his tale, “We would often sneak out of the manor at night. I told him the mythology of the constellations; he taught me how to navigate by the stars. We would sneak to the orchards and abscond with the best of the fruit. We made up stories of what we would do when we were grown, and we bragged of exploits we had already had. But the thing we enjoyed the most?” She had turned toward him sometime when he had been speaking, and he could see her eyes reflecting in the luminous moonlight. She was wide awake, and welcomed his distraction.

Suddenly, he released her hand and rolled from the bed. Extending his hand in invitation, his stance invited her to partake in his childhood mischief. Elizabeth chewed her lip in concern as she stood next to her husband. Should the mistress of the estate be caught out of doors so clothed… The babe suddenly kicked her organs viciously, and she knew that sleep would not come. So adventure it was.

Darcy smiled and kissed her hand as he saw Elizabeth had come to her decision. He paused only to pick up a blanket before pulling her toward the door of their chamber.

Leading her down the quiet servant’s staircase and out a well oiled door, he guided them across the lawns. They drifted slowly toward the lake. The air was heavy, but the grass beneath their feet was wet with very-early morning dew. The sounds of the night creatures were magnified out here, and Elizabeth let a very long sigh escape as she felt tension melt from her.

As they approached the bank of the water, Darcy spread the blanket on the ground. He turned to his wife. Wrapping his arms around her, he leaned in to kiss her, and as she felt his lips against her neck, all other thoughts left her mind. Pique was of the past. It was only when she felt the air against her bare skin that she began to stiffen.

“Trust me,” he whispered. He pulled her night dress over her head, leaving her body, full with life, bare under the moonlight. She felt exposed, but somehow excited at the same time. When his own clothes joined hers on the blanket, she smiled, certain where this was going. He lifted her in his arms.

Then, he walked into the water.

The first lick of the cool water against her fevered skin was a shock. Her eyes flew open in surprise to meet his amused ones.

“Fitzwilliam! I cannot swim!” she whispered urgently, grasping at his shoulders.

“Hmm,” he mused, bending in for a kiss. “Then you shall learn. Relax, my love, I will let nothing harm you. If you simply relax, you can float, I promise…”

Her skin was quite cool when they finally exited the water, and she felt more relaxed than she had in weeks. They lay on the blanket, holding hands as they dried in the night air, studying the stars or simply talking. When they donned their clothing and made their way back to their chamber, Elizabeth felt pleasantly tired and relaxed. She was asleep almost before her head touched the pillow.

If her personal maids wondered at the state of her hair the next morning or any of the following mornings for the next few weeks, they did not comment. Nor did any of the housemaids comment on the grass-stained blanket that appeared each morning in the Master’s chambers. Mr. Darcy was happy; Mrs. Darcy was healthy and content; the pools on the birth date and sex of the Darcy child were overflowing.

Life at Pemberley had never been better, and no servant was going to question a good thing.

Autumn

The harvest ball for the tenants of Pemberley was in full swing. It had been Elizabeth’s idea to revive the tradition his grandparents had celebrated – and, indeed, this year there was much to celebrate.

Harvests were plentiful – the weather and people had worked together to produce a record crop. Cottage industry was also thriving, under the influence of and gentle encouragement of their master, many of the non-farming tenants were forming trade cooperatives which were benefiting all. Fiscally, it had been a very good year.

The master had changed greatly in the past year: he was more open to ideas and to people than he had been in years past. Many people placed the impetus of this change directly at the feet of Elizabeth Darcy.

Pemberley had a new mistress, and she was, despite her low birth, all that the people who cared for or were cared for by Darcy could have hoped for. Though she had not added to the estate materially, her presence and obvious concern for the people of her new home went a long way toward winning the hearts and minds of those same people. She had not yet been here a year, and the people could not conceive of a Pemberley without her.

Darcy surveyed the revelry around him with a small smile. It was not unlike the assembly he had unwillingly attended, two years ago, in the small town of Meryton. Yet, how different it was; how different he was. Looking to the corner, he saw Bingley, now his brother, laughing gently with his wife Jane and his sister Elizabeth.

Elizabeth.

She had brought to his life a content he never hoped to find. She challenged his mind, opened his heart, warmed him when he was cold, and calmed him when he was fierce. As the love that he felt for her was most clearly expressed in his eyes, for those who knew how to look for it, she looked across the room at him.

She too, had changed. Her joy in life was still there, but tempered with maturity. Her wit was still evident, but balanced with the knowledge of her new station. Her eyes could still, however, pierce his soul. In that moment, he wished it to always be so.

They were alone in that look. It expressed all they had been through, all they had come to, and all they would be. Together.

Nodding, he passed the message to her. She excused herself from Jane and Bingley, who were visiting solely for the ball. When he saw her return to the door, cradling her precious package, he signaled the musicians to be silent. Soon, the entire room was quiet, but alive with energy, as they looked at young Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, standing tall, handsome, and proud next to his young wife.

Clearing his throat, he addressed the crowd.

“My wife and I would like to thank you all for coming here tonight. There is much to celebrate at this gathering. I would like to raise a toast to you all, to all your hard work over this last year and all years past, that makes all of our lives so successful. To the people of Pemberley!”

There were several voices joined in enthusiastic agreement with the toast. When they were once again quiet, he began again.

“I would also like to ask you to raise your glasses to my wife, Elizabeth Darcy, mistress of Pemberley. Since the day she agreed to bless me with her acceptance, I have looked forward to bringing her here, to watching her help Pemberley blossom. And that she has done!”

Much laughter ensued as Darcy took from Elizabeth their small son.

“Finally, I would like to introduce you to Alexander Bennet Darcy, our son, and next master of Pemberley. I ask that you help to teach him the ways of the land and the people, as you have so patiently tried to teach me.” There was much chatter as all admired the small, sturdy-looking baby who was quiet, yet quite alert, in his father’s arms. The pride in his father’s gaze was obvious, only, at this particular assembly, Elizabeth had no argument with its expression.

“I thank you all for your service and once again for your hard work. Thank you for coming here to celebrate the harvest and the birth of our son. Thank you.” There was no more need for words, as most of the crowd had begun to clap. Fitzwilliam Darcy performed a small bow, then handed his son gently back to the nurse maid.

Taking Elizabeth’s hand, he guided her to the floor for the opening dance. Once again, he allowed himself to compare her to the Elizabeth Bennet he had scorned two years previous. Her eyes were as bright and fine as ever they were, mirroring her vivacious spirit. Her hair, though more intricately dressed, still tenaciously defied constriction, with the same few curls escaping to reside on her lovely neck. Her dress, though made of finer materials with more of an eye toward high fashion still had one crucial, unfashionable element from her Hertfordshire days, much to Mr. Darcy’s pleasure.

“Have I a smudge on my nose, that you look at me so, Mr. Darcy?”

“No, madam, no smudge,” He replied, with a small smile. But he said nothing else.

“I believe we must have some conversation, sir,” Elizabeth teased.

“I find, Elizabeth,” he stated, guiding her through a turn, “that sometimes conversation is overrated. Sometimes a look is enough.” They went to their opposite sides of the line, and Elizabeth looked into his eyes.

He was right. It was all there, anything she wanted to know or hear. His love, his respect, his passion for her: it had been there all along.

The End