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Chapter Text

“From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others, made me realize you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

A heartbeat. Two. A low rumble of thunder.

Neither spoke, neither moved. Rain clung to hair and eyelashes, rivulets ran over cheek and chin and mixed with the hot, angry tears in the corners of her eyes. 

Lizzy was paralyzed. She couldn’t speak or move or think of anything other than him . Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, standing in front of her, breaths coming shallow and expectant in his chest, eyes as stormy as the world around them.

Another heartbeat. He leaned closer.

His lips parted as if he meant to speak, and then snapped shut once more. His eyes darted across her face, found her tears, landed on her lips and stayed there.

An endless, crystalline moment passed, a moment in which she could have turned away.

And then he was there—lips pressed to hers, warm, surprised breath mixing with her own. They were softer than she could have imagined, those lips, yet firm and commanding as they settled squarely over hers and began to demand—demand she respond, or pull away, demand she do something rather than just stand there limp and lifeless.

Lizzy kissed him back.

She tasted more than heard his groan, felt one hand tangle in the wet hair at the nape of her neck and the other settle shockingly, possessively on the curve of her waist. His tongue pressed to her mouth, seeking entry, and she granted it.

With her acquiescence, the kiss quickly became something else. Tentative to ravenous, polite to carnal, Darcy pulled her closer, tightened his hold on her hair to tilt her just the way he wanted. And Lizzy, for her part, did not pull away.

She hated him, didn’t she?

Lizzy knew it should have been enough to have her put a stop to this. She should shove him off, flee back through the rain and mud to the Collins’ house and pretend it never happened

And his words. His arrogant, thoughtless, cruel words about her family. Those should have been enough to turn her to stone, rather than having her come to warm, vibrant life under the insistence of his kiss.

All of it should have been enough. It wasn’t.

Both Lizzy’s hands shot up to clutch at his hair, the wet strands clinging to her fingers as she pulled him closer. 

Closer? Madness, all of this was madness. She hated the man, thoroughly hated him, and she could have no more pulled away than she could have stopped the beating of her heart or the rushed, heaving breaths she stole between clashes of their lips.

He pulled back suddenly, eyes wide and disbelieving, a question there she didn’t know if she could answer.

“Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered, brushing a thumb across the crest of one cheek, wiping away a raindrop.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Lizzy found herself utterly incapable of doing anything than pulling him back to her, kissing him this time with an unpracticed ardor and desperation that drew gasps and moans from them both.

It was a whirlpool, the sensation which consumed her, something deep and dark and irresistible. His hand came up to cup her breast over the soaked covering of her dress, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple, and she arched into the touch.

“Lizzy?” a voice called out from the other side of the stone temple. “Lizzy? Are you here? Mr. Collins and I have brought the carriage to—oh!”

It was the surprised exclamation that finally made them spring apart.

The damage was done.

Charlotte and Mr. Collins stood agape just around the curve of the temple, just close enough to have seen. Lizzy swiped a hand over her mouth. Her cheeks were flaming, the full impact of what she'd just been caught doing slamming into her all at once.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Collins said, voice stern and outraged. “Miss Elizabeth is a guest in my home, and this violation will not be overlooked. I shall report this to Lady Catherine and to—”

“There’s no need,” Mr. Darcy said in a tone that betrayed nothing of the storm that just passed between them. “Miss Elizabeth and I are to be married.”

Chapter Text

“The wedding will take place in two days’ time.”

If there was any sense in the words, Lizzy couldn’t find it. No, from where she perched on the stiff sofa in Charlotte and Mr. Collins’ formal parlor, the words were utter gibberish. It had been hours since that scene in the rain, hours during which Collins had disappeared to Rosings to discuss matters with Darcy and Lady Catherine, and apparently this was the outcome of that discussion.

“Wedding?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Collins, long-suffering. “At the Rosings chapel. I will officiate, naturally.”

Charlotte, wide-eyed and sitting next to Lizzy, looked back and forth between her husband and her friend. “Dearest,” she said to Collins, “surely there is no need for such haste.”

“There is all need for such haste.” Collins’ eyes were unsympathetic as he turned back to Lizzy. “A transgression of this nature would ruin not only you, but your family. Surely you understand the severity of the situation, Miss Elizabeth.”

Patronizing, superior, righteous, Lizzy remembered for about the hundredth time during her visit why the choice to turn down Collins’ proposal had been the wise one. 

“You and Charlotte were the only ones who saw,” Lizzy said through gritted teeth. “There need not be any scandal if you say nothing.”

“We were not the only ones who saw.”

The words settled over the room with the finality of a death knell. All the air went out of Lizzy’s lungs and she stared at Collins in horror.

“Who?” she whispered. 

“A passing parishioner and his wife,” Collins told her, matter-of-factly. “The man was waiting at the rectory when I finished speaking with Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy. He recognized you as my guest, and informed me that he saw you both traipsing off through the rain together.”

Lizzy balked. They had certainly not been together. She had been fleeing for some peace and quiet in which to sort out her feelings and he…

What on Earth had Darcy been thinking? In his own words, she was so far beneath him it was almost laughable. Her family, a disgrace. Their union, all but impossible.

So why had he come after her? Why had he even bothered to propose? Why had he…kissed her like that? He claimed to love her, but how could he, really, with everything else considered? 

Shaking off the pointless thoughts, Lizzy drug her mind back to the present. 

None of it mattered, anyways.

Their fate had been sealed the moment someone saw him coming after her. Before his clumsy, insulting proposal, before her stark rejection, before that kiss.

“Besides,” Collins continued. “Even if Mrs. Collins and I were the only ones to bear witness to this assault on your virtue, I would have still insisted on this outcome.”

She had just opened her mouth to protest again when she felt a cool hand touch her own.

“Lizzy,” Charlotte began, apologetic and wary.

It struck Lizzy then, she’d have no help from her oldest friend in this. Charlotte, despite the years of friendship and any affection she might feel for Lizzy, was beholden to someone else now. Part of Lizzy could not even fault her for it. A scandal would damage the Collinses as well. It wasn’t a huge leap to assume the reputation of a respected clergyman would be irreparably battered by the improper handling of a young, unmarried relation’s virtue.

Lizzy pulled her hand away from Charlotte’s.

“My father,” she said, trying another desperate argument. “We should wait until he gets here. He’ll want to…he’ll set things to rights.”

Another emphatic shake of Mr. Collins’ head that made Lizzy want to scream in frustration.

“What objections could your father have?” he asked. “Mr. Darcy is a finer match than he could have hoped for for any of his daughters, and a marriage to put a scandal to rest? What father wouldn’t approve of it, insist on it?”

A father who wants his daughters to be happy.

It was on the tip of Lizzy’s tongue to spit the comment back, when a creeping doubt made her pause.

Mr. Bennet did care for the welfare of his daughters. He wanted the best for all of them, despite what might be called a hands-off approach to fatherhood. He wanted their happiness, whatever form it might take. His staunch opposition to her match with Mr. Collins was proof enough of that. In his own eccentric way, Mr. Bennet cared deeply for all of them.

And how happy would her sisters’ lives turn out to be if this scandal came to light? When they couldn’t make decent matches for themselves, would they be happy? When they became fodder for ridicule and shunned by Merryton society, would they be happy?

A single set of vows could fix all of it. Well, a single set of vows and lifetime married to a man she despised with every fiber of her being. 

Almost every fiber. The lion’s share of them, with the single exception being the threads of insanity that had made her kiss him, cling to him, throw all good sense aside for a few moments of senseless passion.

“Is this what Mr. Darcy wants?” she asked, grasping at one last straw.

Collins nodded somberly, and the weight of inevitability settled firmly in Lizzy’s stomach

Her mind snapped back to the last image she had of Darcy, hours ago, standing in the rain. 

Just after his pronouncement that they would be wed, and before Lizzy had been hurried away by a flustered Charlotte, leaving the men to talk, Lizzy and Darcy’s eyes had met.

Her own wide, disbelieving gaze had pored over him, searching for some sign she had heard him incorrectly. There had been none. All she’d been able to find was his serious, rain-damped face looking back at her. His lips had been slightly reddened, hair mussed, neatly tied cravat starting to come undone where she must have tugged at it.

And his eyes.

They’d been dark and burning, holding hers for those few endless moments. No jesting there, no teasing, no humor at all.

“Miss Elizabeth and I are to be married.”

It had been a claim, plain and simple, made on her by a man absolutely convinced he had the power to make it so just by speaking it.

Worst of all, he’d been right.

“Two days?” Lizzy asked, startling both the Collinses.

“Yes,” Mr. Collins said, recovering first. “We’ll see to the arrangements and write to your family to let them know what had occurred.”

“I’ll write to them,” Lizzy said, standing. “And I’ll send a note to Mr. Darcy letting him know I’m amenable to his offer.”

“Lizzy,” Charlotte said gently. “We can certainly take care of—”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Lizzy said, interrupting her. Not harsh, exactly, but firm, resolved. “This was my…how did you put it, Mr. Collins? My ‘transgression’?…so it can certainly be my mistake to fix.”

And so she would, by tying herself forever to the last man on earth she could every be prevailed upon to marry.

Chapter Text

Lizzy’s wedding day dawned with the same damp, gray gloominess as the day that had made it necessary.

She’d asked for a few minutes alone before it was time to leave for the chapel, and Charlotte had mercifully complied. Standing in the quiet of the guest chamber, Lizzy stared at herself in the looking glass above the small wooden dresser. Her hair was pulled up into a simple style, her face lightly powdered. There hadn’t been time to find any sort of suitable gown for the occasion, so she wore the same dark green dress she’d worn to Rosings, the best dress she’d packed for her trip.

A poor excuse for a wedding gown, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

There was nothing to be done about any of it.

No reply had yet arrived from Longbourn, no indication that anyone would arrive to put a stop to this. Lizzy had the distinct feeling of being caught in the middle of a thoroughfare with a careening, runaway carriage headed straight for her. All she could do was brace herself for the collision while hoping against reason that someone would pluck her out of the way.

That faint hope was dashed when Darcy’s carriage pulled up at the Collinses’ home to bring Charlotte, Collins and Lizzy to the Rosings chapel.

Stately, black and lacquered, it bore the Darcy family crest on its doors and was pulled by a team of two beautiful bay stallions. A footman perched on its rear, only slightly bedraggled by the drizzle, and took Lizzy’s and Charlotte’s hands in turn as they climbed up into it.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Time had taken on a strange sort of fuzzy-edged quality, and Lizzy could only focus on single, fleeting thoughts as the carriage bore her own toward her fate.

Jane should be here. Her parents, the rest of her sisters, all of their friends from Hertfordshire.

She should be married in their own parish church. Perhaps in a fine white gown like the one she’d worn on the night she’d danced with Darcy in the splendor of Netherfield Park. Lizzy hadn’t really given much thought to how her wedding might one day play out, but she’d certainly never envisioned a scene like this.

A lackluster gown. A day more fit for mourning than for celebration. No one but Charlotte and Collins to wish her well. A groom she despised.

By now, her letter would have reached Longbourn. She’d given the time and date of the ceremony, along with assurances that she and her new husband would leave Kent immediately after and travel to Merryton by way of London. 

She wondered if somewhere far off her family worried for her. Mrs. Bennet, surely, would be beside herself with nerves both at Lizzy’s matrimonial success and at the scandalous haste with which the wedding would be conducted. Still, Lizzy could only imagine her glee at learning of her daughter’s match to a most advantageous husband.

Husband.

Lizzy wanted to snort. She wished she had a different word for what he was to become. Jailer? Owner? Because ‘husband’ certainly didn’t seem right.

Darcy hadn’t made any attempt to see her in the last two days.

He hadn’t come to the Collinses’ home, and he hadn’t sent an invitation asking for her to come to Rosings. The only word from him had been a short note, delivered by messenger the evening after she’d sent her own missive accepting his proposal.

Miss Elizabeth 

Thank you for your note, and for graciously accepting the offer of my hand. I look forward to our nuptials two days hence and will make all arrangements for our following journey to Herdforshire.

Darcy

That was it.

Not that Lizzy expected poetry or redeclarations of the apparent love he had for her, but the coldness in those two short lines was just another of the many black marks against him. It was one more nettle in the briar patch of her mind on her wedding morning.

There and then gone, only to come whipping back around with each bump of the carriage, Lizzy’s thoughts marched in tight, miserable circles around her mind. Just as soon as she’d latched onto one it was replaced with another, over and over as the carriage continued on.

Soon, far too soon, they were pulling up outside the chapel.

The sky held its breath as they exited the carriage, drizzle stopped for the moment but clouds still heavy with rain. Lizzy picked her way across the damp, muddy gravel of the drive to the entrance of the church. Just inside, she let Charlotte take her shawl and fuss over her hair and dress for a moment as Collins busied himself with whatever was needed for the service.

Skin prickling with cold and keen awareness, Lizzy’s eyes darted around the sanctuary, dread pooling low in her belly as her eyes landed on the last person in the world she wanted to see.

Darcy stood at the front of the chapel. Dressed in a tailored black topcoat, crisp white shirt and cravat, and black trousers, he didn’t notice her enter right away. It gave her some time to study him, to savor a few final moments as Lizzy Bennet.

Her husband-to-be was handsome. There was no point in arguing that fact even to herself.

Hair neatly combed—not at all like the mussed, rain-drenched mess it had been the last time she had seen him—clothes exquisitely tailored to his athletic frame, strong features set into contemplative lines.

Against the drab backdrop of the church he looked every bit as out of reach today as he had been that first night at the Merryton assembly. Every bit as aloof and haughty. Every bit as proud. It was an air of cool disdain that not even his undeniable handsomeness could soften.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stood off to one side. He noticed Lizzy enter the church before Darcy did, and gave what Lizzy supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile. His slight movement caught Darcy’s attention, and he turned to fix Lizzy with his piercing gaze.

It may as well been just the two of them standing in that church.

Darcy's dark eyes bore into her own and his lips parted slightly in surprise as he saw her standing there. Mr. Fitzwillam Darcy, master of Pemberley, owner of lands and estates and business interests vast enough to make Lizzy’s head spin, waited for her at that altar.

Her groom.

There was a moment, just one, when something cut through all Darcy’s serious somberness. There in a flash and then gone, it was hard-edged and burning, sparking with something like triumph.

It made Lizzy’s anger double.

Triumphant, was he?

“I have fought against my better judgment.”

His cruel words echoed in her mind.

“Did you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?”

He’d gotten what he wanted, in the end.

“I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer…I love you, most ardently.”

He didn’t. Not really. Not in any way that mattered. Whatever infatuation he thought he held for her, whatever streak of ego or male pride made him place his claim on her and lit his face with triumph now, it would pass.

Lizzy could see it all too clearly. Her appeal—a country gentleman’s impertinent daughter, one who teased him and refused to be bowed by his sternness, one who held a momentary fascination for him—would undoubtedly wear thin. In time, all the reasons he had for resisting his attraction to her would win out. Even the simmering, dangerous heat threatening between them—the heat they’d so foolishly indulged—would surely fade.

Why Darcy couldn’t see that clearly enough to have stayed away from her, she didn’t know, but the dismal truth of what they were about to do to one another was all too clear. Lizzy would simply become the wife kept tucked neatly away, the country girl ill-suited for his life, the product of poor breeding and manners, an embarrassment. A fleeting interest turned lifelong mistake, damning them both.

With all that in mind, and with the flash of victory on Darcy’s face, Lizzy wasn’t just angry, she was livid. At him, first and foremost, and at her own weakness in kissing him back when she ought to have pushed him off her and run.

Darcy must have seen it written in her expression, because any hint of triumph melted quickly away as she met him at the altar.

And so they married. Lizzy, furious. Darcy, silent and stoic. Collins conducted the short service while Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam stood witness.

All during the short sermon and reciting of vows, Lizzy held her back ramrod straight and refused to look at Darcy, though she thought she saw him glance over at her several times throughout. She stared straight ahead, past Collins, past even the altar behind him, and made herself see nothing, think nothing. Lizzy gave her vows, and in some distant corner of her mind heard Darcy give his own, but she knew that letting any of it in would be to crack the fragile veneer she held in place over her anger and her panic.

When it was over, when they were wed, Darcy offered her his arm and she simply stared at it for a moment.

“May I escort you out, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked, voice deep and quiet.

Lord above, she hated the sound of that, but with everyone waiting on them to leave the church she could hardly do anything but place her own arm in his and let herself be led outside.

Darcy’s arm was warm and firm beneath his waistcoat. He smelled like shaving soap and fresh linen, with notes of spiced cologne beneath. He was tall with fairly broad shoulders, but it was never until Lizzy was just beside him that she realized just how large he loomed above her.

Out of the church, the sky seemed just about ready to exhale its held breath. Sure enough, just as the party was settled inside the coach, a great crack of thunder echoed above and the deluge began.

A fine omen for a wedding day.

Sometime during the service, Darcy’s traveling trunk had been added to the back of the coach, and they would go directly from here on to London. It was a twenty-mile journey that would be accomplished in the course of the day, bringing Lizzy and Darcy to his London estate by nightfall.

For Lizzy, time hadn’t regained it’s sense order and reality still seemed to bend and twist on itself.

Married. She was married. Her husband sat beside her. Tonight, she would step through the doors of Darcy House in London as it’s new mistress.

Impossible, all of it.

Beside her, Darcy sat straight and stiff-backed. Though he was seated as far away from her as the short bench seat would allow, she was still jostled against him with every bump of the carriage. With each collision, she felt the warmth of him, the firm muscle of his leg pressed against hers, and inhaled that scent of clean, fresh male skin.

She hated every second of it.

The ride from the church passed even more quickly than the ride to it, and inside the coach nobody said a word. Darcy and Lizzy sat on one side, Collins and Charlotte on the other, and the palpable discomfort was near-unbearable.

It only broke when the carriage stopped briefly back at the Collinses’ cottage to deposit her friend and her cousin into the pouring rain. It was coming down so hard that Charlotte and Lizzy did not have the opportunity for a private goodbye, nothing beyond a grasp of hands and the exchange of trembling smiles.

“Take care Lizzy,” Charlotte said, and then, with a nod to the man beside her, “Mr. Darcy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Collins,” Darcy responded with surprising warmth in his voice. “And my continued apologies for any distress these past days have caused.”

Lizzy held back a snort. Yes, it was entirely appropriate for him to be concerned about Charlotte’s discomfort. Her friend seemed to share the sentiment, shooting Lizzy a troubled look before offering an assurance that no apologies were needed and climbing out of the carriage.

The door shut behind her, and Lizzy pressed her fingertips to the glass window for a few seconds as she watched Charlotte and Collins dart through the rain and into the house. The last buffer between Lizzy and the reality of the life she’d just stepped into.

Then Darcy and Lizzy were alone.

Chapter Text

The inside of the carriage held all the cheer and liveliness of a crypt.

As they pulled away from the Collines’ home, the only sound between Lizzy and Darcy was the steady beat of the horses’ hooves and the rattle of the carriage wheels over the road.

Darcy had shifted to settle himself on the seat across from her, and the loss of his warmth beside her let the creeping chill of the damp afternoon crowd in. Lizzy tried not to shiver.

“Are you cold?” Darcy asked, making a move like he was going to take off his own coat and offer it to her.

“No,” Lizzy said, her voice clear and brittle.

Darcy froze mid-movement. As he slowly resettled into the seat, Lizzy fixed her gaze out the carriage window.

Had silence always been so loud? Lizzy swore she could his every breath, mark every turning pebble on the road and creak of the carriage as they continued onward. The scenery outside was a blurry wash in the rain-spattered windows, a fitting complement to the wash of tears threatening at the backs of her eyes.

“Elizabeth,” Darcy began.

She continued to look pointedly out the window, refusing to turn to him.

It was childish, she was well-aware. Still, to look at him would be to let it all in, and she couldn’t allow it. She wasn’t able to let herself fully accept it. Not yet.

He was just so…there. His large frame taking up too much space in the carriage, his presence across from her something she couldn’t ignore, as much as she wished she could. Even from the opposite seat, their knees nearly touched. The scent of rich leather from his boots and the damp earthy smell of both their rain-spattered clothes filled the space, making it feel close and uncomfortably intimate. 

Too much like another rainy day and closer proximity than she ever should have allowed.

Though she wasn’t looking at him, she could sense every subtle nervous shift, every adjustment as the carriage rocked and clattered down the road.

“Elizabeth,” he tried again.

Lizzy knew she couldn’t very well ignore him all the way to London, but lord how she wanted to.

It wouldn’t serve her to be a coward. Not now, and not at any point in the future as Mrs. Darcy. The thought stuck her suddenly. It turned her stomach. Mrs. Darcy. She was Mrs. Darcy. Whatever that meant, whatever that life had in store for her, she supposed it would be bad form to begin it by giving in to the fear and uncertainty still gnawing at her belly.

Lizzy steeled herself and let out a long, steadying breath before turning from the window to face him. “Yes?”

Darcy paused, eyes searching her face. “Are you…are you well?”

All she could do was blink at him, momentarily confused. “Am I well?”

“Yes." He looked supremely uncomfortable. “That is…I realize all of this was very sudden, and—”

“I’m perfectly well, thank you Mr. Darcy.”

He flinched slightly at the sound of his name. “Such formality isn’t necessary. Fitzwilliam is fine, or William if you pre—”

“I don’t,” she said flatly, interrupting him again. A pulse of irritation sparked in his eyes. “I prefer the formality.”

He didn’t argue, or give any answer at all.

The road from Kent to London was hard-packed and still passable despite the rain. The journey from the Collinses’ estate to the front door of Darcy House could be accomplished in a day. How interminably long that day would turn out to see still remained to be seen. So far, it was not looking promising.

In the awkward silence that followed, Lizzy felt the first faint stirrings of shame. She was being churlish. Perhaps not entirely unreasonable given everything that had led to their patched-up marriage and everything that still had to be settled between them, but still not wholly reasonable, either.

While the righteous fury she’d felt at Darcy's insulting proposal had come easily and burned hot, it wasn’t in her nature to sustain such anger. She didn’t enjoy the feeling of resentment and wasn’t built for brooding, and as she glanced across the carriage at the man seated opposite her, she decided to do her best to lay those feelings down for just a little while.

Not that she forgot them, not for a single moment.

There would be days, weeks, perhaps years for them to settle into this marriage. There would be hard questions and behaviors held to account. 

Still, what they had today was a long, awkward carriage ride. It could remain painful all the way to London, of course, but perhaps something better could be made of it. He'd been pleasant enough to her so far, perhaps she could attempt to do the same.

“Today was not exactly what I always expected, from my wedding day,” she said, tone lighter than it had been. Conciliatory, she hoped, though with enough of a hard, teasing edge to let him know she hadn’t given an inch.

Darcy’s head snapped up at the abrupt change in topic. He took the offered olive branch without a moment of hesitation.

“What did you imagine, when you thought of how that day might be?”

Lizzy thought for a moment. “I don’t know. A wedding in the Merryton parish church, probably. Most of the neighborhood in attendance, naturally.”

“And your family,” Darcy said, finishing her thought. “Perhaps we could…”

Whatever else it was he wanted to say, he seemed to think better of it.

Lizzy didn't notice the slip, still thinking of her family. “My sisters would have made a great fuss of it. You should have seen us the night of the Netherfield ball with the way we ran circles around Longbourn and drove the staff half-mad. I’m sure the efforts of five sisters would have been enough to make a wedding a festive occasion indeed.”

As she finished her little speech, something new dawned on Darcy’s face, a tenderness she’d never seen there before. For some reason, it made a little bit of color rise in her cheeks.

“I imagine it would have been,” he said quietly. “More than enough to make up for the less spirited nature of my own relations.”

There was no malice in the comment, and Lizzy thought for a moment. “Lady Catherine and Anne did not attend," she observed mildly, if only to see how he'd respond to that.

Their absence hadn't been wholly unexpected, but nor had it been possible to ignore. Darcy shifted in his seat. Was that guilt on his face?

“Lady Catherine was not…” he started, seeming to choose his words carefully. “She was not best pleased with the news of our wedding.”

Lizzy’s lips widened into the first hint of a true smile. Some small, petty part of her found it undeniably humorous to think of the great Lady Catherine in her museum of a drawing room, stewing over the fact that poor, inconsequential Lizzy Bennet was now one of her relations.

When she looked up, Darcy’s eyes were fastened on her face, taking in her amusement

It only made her smile grow. “I apologize. That shouldn’t amuse me as much as it does.”

Darcy’s features softened. “Don’t apologize. Not for that, not after her behavior toward you during your visit to Rosings.”

Well, whatever response she had expected, it certainly wasn't that.

"Alright," she told him. "I promise not to lose any sleep over it."

He flashed her a rare smile, and they shared a few moments of companionable silence. 

Where had this Darcy been for all of their acquaintance? It was another layer, another facet to consider about this man who was her husband. She didn't know quite what to make of it, didn't know quite whether to believe it after the time she'd spent with the other parts of him—taciturn, reserved, prideful. Something about it irked her, stuck in the corner of her mind, an inconsistency she couldn't find a place for.

When he spoke again after a few moments, Darcy's voice came out lower, more somber than before. “I’m sorry our wedding was not at all what you’d hoped for.”

Though she knew it wasn't his intention to provoke her, the comment gave her pause. A little bit of Lizzy’s anger sparked again, with a healthy dose of sadness right alongside it.

What good was his apology?

Even given with such sincerity, and even with as much as Lizzy had gone into the conversation intending to set all those hurts and frustrations aside, they came creeping back in with his apology.

It didn’t change the fact that her wedding was a scandal. It didn’t change the fact that in two short days her entire life had changed, and she hadn’t even had the comfort of a single sister to see her through it. It didn’t change the fact that she wore the ring of and traveled in the carriage of man who was truly still a stranger to her.

“It couldn’t have been, could it? Given the circumstances.” The words were sharper than she'd spoken before, the accusation clear enough.

“Elizabeth,” Darcy began, no doubt noting the shift in the tone of the conversation.

Damn it all, Lizzy thought, and damn her emotions for being this infuriatingly precarious. She’d tried, hadn’t she? To put it aside for the afternoon, to let a little bit of air into the thick, stifling weight of everything unsaid between them.

It wasn’t enough. Two days weren’t enough. The fragile, wafer-thin barrier she’d put in place to hold all those feelings back wasn’t enough.

She couldn’t do this.

“You didn’t try to see me,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t make any effort to speak with me or ask me about any of the arrangements. You just…sent that note and left it at that.”

Darcy didn’t reply. When Lizzy looked back across the coach at him, his face was drawn with tension. There were creases in his forehead and lines bracketing his mouth, deep shadows beneath his eyes. It looked, Lizzy realized for the first time since she’d seen him in the church that morning, like he hadn’t had a good night of sleep in quite some time.

“I didn’t trust myself not to make things worse,” he said finally, dropping his gaze from hers.

Make things worse? Lizzy almost wanted to laugh. After that disaster of a proposal and everything that came before it, what more damage could he have done? She didn’t know how to answer him, and elected instead to avert her own gaze, fixing it out the window at the passing Kent countryside.

“Would you have even allowed a visit from me?” he asked softly, pulling her attention back to him.

“What do you mean?” she asked sharply.

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it held no humor. “I only thought it better to leave you to your justified anger. At least for the time being.”

“You could have left me alone with it forever,” she retorted. “We’d both have been better off for it.”

Darcy drew in a harsh breath, eyes darkening and temper rising a bit to match hers. “And what? Leave your reputation and my honor in tatters? Open your family up to rumors and insult and speculation?”

“My family is hardly your concern,” she replied. “You’ve made it abundantly clear how much regard you hold for them.”

More silence. The wheels of the coach clattered over the damp road and the rhythmic stomp of the horses’ feet were again the only sounds between them. She turned away from him.

Darcy didn’t speak, and neither did she. It was a mercy, if only a small one. Lizzy knew she couldn’t, not without saying more that she was sure she’d come to regret, showing more of herself and her feelings than she cared to. No, everything was much too raw for anything but more ruin. All the bits of levity between them, the fleeting moment of connection, fled on a chill spring breeze.

So much for gestures of goodwill and temporary truces.

They spent the next few hours in silence. Lizzy, with a book Charlotte had graciously given her for the journey, and Darcy, who switched between reading through a stack of correspondence he’d pulled out of one of his traveling bags and staring out into the rainy world beyond the coach.

Night was just falling as they reached the edge of London, and the carriage began its long, winding journey to the fashionable part of the city.

“How long are we to stay in Town?”

Darcy startled a bit at the sound of her voice after so long in silence.

“Two days,” he said. “I have business to attend to tomorrow, and I have arranged for you to be able to do some shopping while we’re here.”

Lizzy’s stomach clenched. Of course, none of the clothing she possessed would suit the new Mrs. Darcy, but the idea of visiting the London shops made her queasy.

She watched the city grow denser the further they got toward its center, the streets still bustling this late into the evening. The crowds and noises and jumble of buildings outside the window were such a far cry from the sleepy rural lanes and quiet streets of Merryton that her head swam, trying to take in every detail.

Before long, they pulled up outside a large, white-stone manor house off a tree-lined square. She peered out the window, looking at the line of imposing estates situated all up and down the street.

“Grosvenor Square,” Darcy said by way of explanation, and then, nodding to the building right outside the carriage door, “and Darcy House. Our London estate.”

The carriage door opened, and Darcy stood and exited without a word. She half-thought he meant to stride inside the grand, imposing place and leave her there, but when she shifted forward to climb out after him she saw him standing just outside, one hand extended to help her down.

Lizzy tiled her chin up with bruised pride and injured feelings and enough resentment piled up around her heart to sure herself up completely.

She was more than capable of climbing down from a carriage on her own. She would ignore his offered hand. She would march up the stairs and into Darcy House without so much as a backward glance at him. She would find a servant to show her to a suitable bedchamber, lock the door behind her, and finally have some blessed solitude after this nightmare of a day.

She would have done just that.

Lizzy, having seldom had opportunity for much travel beyond Merryton, and unaccustomed as she was to long days of riding in a coach, was not prepared for the stiffness in her limbs and the falter in her step as she attempted to climb down from the carriage. She pitched forward, and would have went face-first into the cobblestones if it weren’t for the strong arms that caught her.

In a moment, she was pulled against him. She found herself half on the carriage step and half cradled in his arms as Darcy stepped close to her and didn’t let her fall.

Her body remembered his.

Enveloped in the warmth and the heady, spiced scent of him, there were a few moments of disturbed equilibrium where there didn’t seem to be anything in the world but him. This was the same madness, wasn’t it? The magnetic draw that had pulled her to him in the rain, come back in full force. Lizzy relaxed into his hold as she tried to regain the breath that had whooshed out of her as she fell. As she did, she tilted her face up, only to find his own closer than she expected.

Darcy’s lips were parted in surprise, the dark blue of his eyes eclipsed almost entirely by black pupils. He kept his hands on her—one banded around her waist and the other at her shoulder—and took a deep breath, like he might be able to breathe her in the same way she did him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice a bit raspy.

She nodded, and shifted a little against him.

It was an invitation to put her down, but Darcy didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Slowly, carefully, he relaxed his hold and moved her until she was back on her feet. He didn’t stop touching her, though, kept a hand at her back even when her boots hit the cobblestones and she regained control over her stiff muscles. Lizzy thought he’d step away then, remove his hands and put some distance back between them.

She was wrong.

Darcy left his steadying arm around her as he gently guided her up the wide marble stairs leading into Darcy House, and into her new place as its mistress.

Chapter Text

The entrance hall of Darcy House momentarily took Lizzy’s breath away.

It was a finer place than she’d ever been. High-ceilinged and open to the second floor hall above, it was framed with a grand, sweeping staircase opposite the door. Even unlit, the two crystal chandeliers glinted in the light from the candles lighting the space from sideboards and sconces. The white marble floor was polished to a shine, and the dark wood walls were hung with handsomely framed art, the value of which Lizzy didn’t even want to guess at.

Our London estate, Darcy had said just a couple of minutes ago.

A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to rise up from her throat. None of this could be real. Lizzy turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. When she faced Darcy again, she found him watching her keenly, something unreadable on his face.

After everything that had passed between them that day, in light of her own unsteady emotions, and still reeling from how close they’d been just a moment ago when she fell from the carriage, she waited for him to say something. She didn’t trust herself enough to speak, at least not without making another mess of it. As it turned out, however, they were both spared by a new voice calling out from the side of the room.

“Mr. Darcy?”

A woman who Lizzy guessed was somewhere in her mid-fifties stepped out from a side hallway leading off the entrance hall. She had black hair streaked with gray tucked neatly under a maid’s cap, and wore a tidy gray gown.

“Mrs. Fletcher,” Darcy said warmly as she approached. “May I introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.”

“How do you do, ma’am? I’m the head housekeeper here at Darcy House,” Mrs. Fletcher said, offering Lizzy a formal curtsy and a smile. “If it pleases you, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, I can assemble the rest of the staff for a formal introduction.”

Darcy glanced briefly at Lizzy. “In the morning, I think. It’s been a long day, and both Mrs. Darcy and I are eager for rest and a hot meal.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Fletcher said kindly. “We’ve made all preparations outlined in your letter, and both your chambers are ready for you.”

Darcy nodded his thanks, and offered an arm to Lizzy. Just before she took it, someone else cleared their throat from the same doorway Mrs. Fletcher had entered. This time, a man in his mid-thirties stepped forward, wearing a neatly pressed coat and trousers, with sandy blond hair and a pair of wire-framed spectacles.

“Mr. Talbot,” Darcy said, making another round of introductions.

Talbot, Darcy’s steward, bowed even more deeply than Mrs. Fletcher had, but afterwards stepped forward and addressed Mr. Darcy individually.

“A word, sir?” he said, frowning slightly. “In regards to the letter you sent three days past?”

Darcy gave him a nod of assent, but stepped forward again to take Lizzy’s arm. “Meet me in my study in twenty minutes. I need to show my wife to her chamber.”

“Of course,” Talbot replied.

Darcy led Lizzy to the stairs, and then up to the second floor. He didn’t say a word about the letter or what Talbot might want, but it slipped Lizzy’s mind as probably nothing more than some bit of business in Darcy’s vast estate as the two climbed the stairs to the landing above. From here, she had an even better view down to the entrance hall, and a better vantage point to study the magnificent landscapes on the wall.

She did not know much about arts or the great masters, but her eyes drank in each one of the paintings.

“When we have more time in Town,” Darcy said quietly, eyes following hers. “You’ll get a more complete tour. If you get Mrs. Fletcher talking about all of these, you’ll have enough information to fill entire books on the arts by the time she’s finished.”

The warmth with which he spoke about his housekeeper put a small smile on Lizzy’s lips, though it faded a little as they turned toward a side hallways and passed through a set of tall double doors into what Darcy told her was the private family wing of the townhouse. The feelings of warmth and curiosity and awe were replaced by a heavy sense of foreboding the closer they got to the bedchamber. Would he show her to his chamber? Would she be allowed one of her own?

At Longbourn, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet shared a room, but that was by necessity rather than any sense of deep affection between them. With a modest country manor and five daughters to house, there simply wasn’t room enough for them to keep separate chambers.

Lizzy hadn’t given much thought to the logistics of her marriage. She hadn’t been able to think of anything, really, beyond the wedding day itself. Each time her thoughts strayed into what came next, it was as if something in her mind simply refused to allow her to consider the realities of having a spouse.

It would seem as though the time for that avoidance had run out.

Darcy stopped outside one of the doors mid-way down the hall. Stretching nearly twice as tall as Lizzy stood, it was carved out of rich, dark wood that matched the luxury of what she’d seen of the house.

“Your chambers,” Darcy said softly, opening the door with one hand and gesturing for her to enter first.

The room was larger than all the bedchambers at Longbourn combined. With wood-paneled walls painted in a crisp, clean cream, dark wooden floors laid with plush beige rugs, and furnishings accented with splashes of green, peach and gold, the room was not quite to Lizzy’s taste, but exquisite all the same.

Darcy hovered in the doorway as she took a few steps inside. “If anything is not to your liking, it can be redone.”

Lizzy turned back to him, a puzzled look on her face. What did she know about decorating? Besides, even if she would have chosen different colors, there was no sense in discarding perfectly good furnishings and decor and replacing them simply as a matter of taste. The expense would be foolish and wasteful.

“The room is beautiful,” she told him with a small smile.

She took a few more steps around the room, eyes tracing the lines of the intricately carved armoire, the wide desk beneath one of the windows overlooking the park. The middle of the room’s back wall was dominated by a vast, canopied bed. She didn’t let her eyes linger on it long.

When she turned back to Darcy, she found him still hovering near the threshold. 

Before she could speak, a duo of footmen brought a large brass tub into the room, setting it down and leaving as two maids brought the first ewer of water to begin filling it. As the retreated to bring more water, Darcy gave her a smile. 

“There’s a temporary lady’s maid in residence who’ll be up shortly to assist you with your bath,” he said. “Once we’re at Pemberley, it will be at your discretion to hire permanently for the position.”

Lizzy nodded, even as her world tilted a bit off balance at the idea of hiring and managing staff.

“And dinner?” she asked, setting the worry aside for now. “If it isn’t too much trouble for something to be brought up.”

Darcy hesitated a moment before answering her. “Dinner has been arranged for later this evening in the small family dining room.”

“I would like to dine alone, if I may.”

Her voice was quiet, the request simple, yet as the words landed in the space between Darcy and Lizzy, there was something utterly crestfallen on his face. He hid it quickly behind a neutral expression, but not quickly enough for Lizzy to miss it.

“Of course,” he said evenly. “I will speak to Mrs. Fletcher and have a meal brought up after your bath. In the meantime, and going forward, if there’s anything at all you need do not hesitate to ask Mrs. Fletcher, or any member of the staff.”

He stepped to a small nook in the wall near the door, with a length of cord hanging vertically within. 

“Pull on this, and a bell will be rung in the staff quarters. Someone will be sent immediately to assist you.”

She nodded, and he gave a brief excuse of needing to meet with his steward before slipping back out of the room.

Lizzy let out a long breath after he left, painfully grateful for the bit of solitude, even as something unsettled and oily rolled around in her gut.

Why did it bother her, knowing that she’d disappointed him? She tried to draw on her anger, her frustration, her entirely reasonable reasons to want some time alone, anything to banish the slimy discomfort at the memory of his fallen expression. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t quite summon the ability to hold on to any of those feelings for long.

Walking to the bed and sinking down onto it, she ran her hand over the rich, silken coverlet and stared up at the airy canopy above. 

All she felt was tired.

All through the bath that had been drawn for her, and the hearty dinner that had been sent up, Lizzy’s anxiety grew. She tried to tamp it down as she conversed casually with her lady’s maid, Cherise, a lovely girl who was very helpful orienting her with the chamber and giving her a primer on the large number of soaps, oils, and other beauty products well stocked in her vanity.

Blond-haired, brown-eyed and somewhere around seventeen years old, Cherise chatted happily while assisting Lizzy with her nightly routine. When Lizzy’s bath was finished and her hair was dried and brushed out, she politely dismissed Cherise for the evening. She didn’t want the girl to be made to feel uncomfortable when Darcy returned.

The nightgown she’d been given was made of fine white linen, with capped sleeves and a narrow-cut design that suited her slim figure. A dressing gown of deep burgundy damask had also been left for her, but with the mild evening and the well-stacked fire in the room’s fireplace, she had set it aside for now.

It’s not like she’d need it later, anyways.

Though Lizzy might have been innocent of the things that happened on a wedding night, she was not ignorant about them. Growing up with four talkative, gossiping sisters and the earthy knowledge that came with life as a gentleman farmer’s daughter, the technicalities of the act didn’t escape her, even if the particulars of the experience and how everything…worked…were still a somewhat unsettling mystery.

And doing those things with Darcy? Her stomach turned inward on itself with a feeling somewhere between dread and indignation and terrible anticipation.

Lizzy paced and paced as the hour grew later and Darcy did not appear. She wished fervently for some sage womanly advice, though winced to think of what her own mother might have said in such a situation. Whatever it was, it would likely be overwrought and entirely unhelpful. Her sisters, too, while well-meaning, wouldn’t likely have been able to offer anything other than moral support.

Lizzy’s mind flipped through the rest of the married women of her acquaintance. A few of her friends from Hertfordshire, and Charlotte, certainly, though the idea of discussing such matters with her with Mr. Collins in the back of her mind brought an brief, irreverent smile to Lizzy’s lips.

The last person she thought of was her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, and her heart swelled a little. Yes, if there was anyone she might have gone to for it advice, it would be her. Kind, steady Mrs. Gardiner, whose marriage to Mrs. Bennet’s brother, Lizzy’s uncle, had always seemed to Lizzy to be an ideal to strive for.

Lizzy smiled to think of them.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, who had always been secondary parents to the Bennet daughters and who never failed to appear as if they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. Mr and Mrs Gardiner, who had so recently opened their home to…Jane.

Jane might still be in London. 

All thoughts of her impending wedding night forgotten, Lizzy placed a hand to her forehead in exasperation. How had the memory escaped her?

Well, maybe it was easy enough to imagine how given how preoccupied she’d, but now that she’d remembered, Lizzy went immediately to sit down at the desk. She rummaged through the drawers and found paper, a pen and and inkwell.

She would send a letter addressed to Jane to the Gardiners’ London home. If Jane was still in town…Lizzy’s chest squeezed painfully at the idea of having her sister’s council and company. Even if she’d have no support tonight, perhaps she could visit tomorrow and have a listening ear to share her burdens, have some brief solace from someone who knew and cared for her.

Tears pricked at the back of Lizzy’s eyes, tears which grew even hotter as she imagined what she might tell her sister about what she’d learned regarding the end of Jane’s relationship with Charles Bingley

And if Bingley were still in town as well…

Almost immediately after registering her own desire to see her sister, Lizzy mind fixed on how best to correct the mess that Darcy had made. Alone, she wasn’t sure if there was much she could do other than enlighten Jane about what had happened between her and the man she cared for so deeply, but if Darcy would offer his assistance as well, maybe it wasn’t so hopeless.

Would he help reunite them? Would he speak to his friend and admit he’d misjudged the situation? Could Lizzy ever hope to have that much influence over her husband?

It was worth a try.

Lizzy wrote quickly, mind whirring with a fast-forming plan.

Some distant, unoccupied corner of her mind registered the truth that even if she was successful in this, and even if Darcy did deign to help, it would only fix a small fraction of what was broken in their relationship.

Still, she could do something about Bingley and Jane now, so she chose to focus on that.

The other matters of discord between them—figuring out the truth of what had happened between Darcy and Mr. Wickham, holding him account for the atrocious opinions he’d voiced about her family—could rest for now. She intended to demand answers for all of it eventually, but one crisis at a time was already more than she could handle.

She finished her letter, read it, and then read it again. Satisfied, she opened the drawer and began to rummage again for wax and a seal.

A soft knock at her door made her practically jump out of her skin.

“Elizabeth?” came Darcy’s muffled voice from the hallway.

“Come in,” she croaked, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear, and watched as the door swung open and her husband stepped through, shutting it behind him.

Darcy stood frozen just inside the doorway for a few long moments.

As he finally shook away whatever had given him pause and stepped slowly into the room, she watched his eyes travel up and down her body, tracing the slim cut of her nightgown, her bare arms, her hair laying unbound around her shoulders. His throat bobbed in a harsh swallow, and one hand curled briefly and flexed as his side.

Lizzy was acutely away of her own breathing, the rapid beat of her pulse in her throat, the flush that crept from her chest upwards, surely staining pink all over her skin.

Lord, she wasn’t ready for this.

“What’s that you’re writing?” he asked, gesturing to the paper before her.

She held up the letter, grasping gratefully at the straw of conversation. “I was hoping for some way to send this to my aunt, Mrs. Madeline Gardiner. She and my uncle are here in town, and Jane with them.”

Darcy slowly shook his head. “They’ve already left for Longbourn. I wrote ahead to find out.”

“You did?” Lizzy was puzzled over how he would have known to write.

Darcy scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yes. You…the night of dinner at Rosings, you mentioned that Jane had been in London. After…well, after everything happened, I wrote the Gardiner’s estate in London to see if she or they would have been able to journey to Kent for the wedding, and received reply that they had departed for Longbourn just the day before.”

Lizzy stared at him for a long moment. So, he had tried. He’d tried to arrange for someone to be there for her, someone other than Charlotte and Collins.

“I see,” she said, setting the letter aside. “And thank you, for trying to reach them.”

Silence fell again. 

Why didn’t he come further into the room? Darcy seemed determined to look anywhere but at her, and Lizzy was struck with the distinct impression that he was feeling every bit as nervous and uncertain as she was.

She rose from her seat, standing there awkwardly for a moment before crossing over to perch on the edge of the bed. As she sat, she ran one nervous hand over her hair and smoothed the wrinkles of her nightgown with the other. When she looked back at Darcy, his eyes were dark and fixed on her, though he still didn’t speak.

Lizzy laid a hand on the bed beside her. “Are you…are we going to…”

She couldn’t make the words come out. She was mortified. Why was he leaving it up to her to do this when she had no idea what to say, how to begin, what he wanted her to—

“I won’t be sharing your bed tonight, Elizabeth,” Darcy said, abruptly cutting off her train of thought.

Lizzy froze, eyes searching his face and mind trying to make sense of what he’d just said. “You…won’t?”

Darcy shook his head. “No. I will not share your bed until you want me to.”

If that was the case, he’d be waiting until they both turned to dust in their graves.

Or, at least, that’s what Lizzy wanted herself to think.

And that was what she thought, wasn’t it? Because surely, kissing him was one thing, but sharing a bed with him? Laying with him as his wife? The idea of it still sent a pulse of conflicting emotions through her.

Lizzy had no illusions that a man of Darcy’s rank and stature would be content to wait forever for an heir. Perhaps he thought he possessed the necessary fortitude and cleverness to wait her out or wear her down. Or, perhaps he’d simply divorce her in time if she never did her wifely duty.

Lizzy didn’t want to contemplate it, nor did she want to contemplate the potentially disastrous consequences of an unconsummated marriage. She only wanted to focus on tonight, tomorrow, the next few days after that. Anything beyond seemed far too abstract and far too enormous for her to consider tonight.

And if he had no intention of forcing his way into her bed? Well, she wasn’t going to try to convince him otherwise. Not tonight. Not ever.

“Alright,” she whispered finally, Darcy still waiting silently near the door. “And…thank you.”

Something passed through his eyes at that. Pain, maybe, or disappointment, though whether in her or himself, she didn’t know. Whatever the case, he inclined his head and turned to retreat toward the door. Opening it and stepping over the threshold, he turned back to her for a moment 

“Good night, Elizabeth,” he said. “I hope you sleep well.”

“Good night,” she said in a whisper so low she wasn’t sure if he could hear it from where he stood at the other side of the room.

“My chamber is the next door down the hall,” he said, just before closing the door, “should there be anything you need.”

Without waiting for a reply, he closed the door softly behind him.

Chapter Text

Morning came, and for a few moments Lizzy had no idea where she was.

Staring up at the airy cream canopy above, she blinked away the lingering whispers of a dream filled with claustrophobic carriages and dreary skies and the distinct taste of sharp spice and raindrops. When she rolled over and squinted against the light streaming in through the window, full daylight was already shining beyond it.

How long had she slept?

Sitting up and stretching muscles stiff from the previous day’s journey, she wiped the last remnants of sleep from her eyes and was just reaching for her robe when she heard a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” she said.

Cherise poked her blond head around the door. “Good morning ma’am. I’ve come to help you get ready for the day, if it please you.”

Lizzy nodded, stood from bed, and pulled on her robe. “What time is it?”

“Half-nine,” Cherise answered, crossing to the wardrobe to examine the limited selection of gowns.

In addition to the few she’d helped Lizzy unpack last night, there was a small assortment of others that had already been waiting there when Lizzy arrived. They looked new, and current enough to the latest fashion that they’d likely either been ordered for her, or they’d already been here for some reason.

That opened up possibilities Lizzy didn’t want to imagine, so she gratefully accepted the freshly laundered chemise and new pair of stays Cherish helped her into, along with a day dress of pale green muslin. When her hair was swept back in a simple style for the day and her face had been lightly powdered, Lizzy stepped back to get the full effect.

“The master had a few of these gowns sent over from the dressmakers shop,” Cherise said as she helped Lizzy with the finishing touches, answering that particular question in Lizzy's mind. “Not perfect, but they’ll do for now.”

They would more than do.

Lizzy had to admit she was impressed by the effort. The dress flattered her coloring and Cherise’s expert touch left her looking like someone who might be able to pass for the wife of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Well. Almost.

Because as much as Lizzy wished for the courage to face the day and head out into London with her new name and all that entailed, the largest part of her was consumed with fear, and with the distinct feeling of standing at the edge of cliff and looking over. The opulence of the chamber around her, the new gowns, the extravagance of having a servant on staff to see only to her needs. All of it had a distinct edge of unreality. Like it had since the moment she stepped from the Rosings chapel, her life felt unnervingly like it was happening to someone else, herself a mere bystander.

Some part of Lizzy’s steady, rational mind tried to remind her how low the stakes were today. A day of shopping in town, a night back at Darcy House, no parties or balls or any other public situations in which she’d be exposed for the fraud that she was.

Lizzy wanted to listen to that part of her mind, she truly did. 

Even so, as she opened her bedchamber door and headed down to the entrance hall, where Cherise had informed her Darcy would be waiting with Mrs. Fletcher and Mr. Talbot to introduce her to the rest of the Darcy House staff, Lizzy’s emotions were once in again in turmoil. Would they all be able to mark her for what she was? An upstart married to a man far above her station, a woman caught in a scandalous position and force into matrimony, entirely unsuited to be the mistress of the house in which they served?

Those worries swirled in her mind, plaguing her all the way to the top of the stairs leading down into the entrance hall. At the landing, she paused for a moment, eyes locking immediately onto Darcy’s. 

He stood in the middle of the foyer, speaking to Mr. Talbot, but as soon as Lizzy appeared his attention fixed squarely on her.

Darcy was dressed in a deep green waistcoat and a pair of tan trousers this morning, with another pristine, expertly knotted cravat and a pair of deep brown boots that rose to his knees.

Handsome. Serious. Every inch the master of Pemberley and Darcy House and who knew how many more estates. Her husband.

Lizzy faltered at the top of the stairs, and it wasn’t until Cherise laid a gentle hand on her elbow that she was able to step forward. Legs wooden, she took one step, and then another. The assembled crowd below watched her, and she couldn’t quite make her limbs connect with her brain. Stiffly, awkwardly, she made her way down to her husband and her fate.

Lord above, what she wouldn’t give to be back at Longbourn. After dressing, she would have come downstairs to a simple breakfast and a day where she might steal away for a quiet a place to read or walk to visit with the Lucas girls. In the afternoons, there would be time for sewing and conversation with her sisters, quiet days spent in the humble serenity of the small manor farm.

Her heart ached to think of it. She'd never pass another day like that again.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Lizzy took Darcy’s arm and let him draw her forward. They met Mrs. Fletcher at the side of the room, and she started the round of introductions with the household staff.

Lizzy gave each member of the Darcy House a warm smile as they were named. There were nine in all, and she did her best to commit each name to memory. Nine servants for a house whose owner resided primarily elsewhere. She wondered idly how many servants she’d be meeting at Pemberley.

When Mrs. Fletcher had concluded, Darcy placed a hand softly in the center of Lizzy’s back, drawing her a couple of inches closer to him.

“It’s my honor to introduce you all to my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy,” he began, with a thread of quiet confidence and steadiness in his tone. “She is mistress of this house, and speaks with my full authority in all things. We appreciate all of your assistance in preparing Darcy House for our visit with such short notice, and look forward to longer stays here in the future.”

The words were met with a few encouraging nods. Lizzy felt a bit of color rise into her cheeks.

“As always, I value the service rendered by each of you, and know you will extend every courtesy and loyalty you give to me to Mrs. Darcy.”

More smiles, more nods, more faces open with warm welcome and respect.

As Darcy concluded, Mrs. Fletcher and Mr. Talbot both congratulated them again on their marriage, and dismissed their staff to their daily tasks. As the entrance all emptied out, however, Lizzy remained rooted to the spot.

Mistress of this house. Lizzy swallowed once, thickly, at the prospect of what that all might entail and with the echo of Darcy's firm, confident words placing her in her new role and instilling her with the authority of it.

“Thank you for that,” she said finally, nodding to the door the staff had left through. “For what you said.”

Darcy smiled gently at her. “It’s no more than truth, Elizabeth. Darcy House and Pemberley are home to you now."

She nodded, though some part of her knew it would be a long, long time before she truly believed that, if she ever did.

“I also must apologize,” Darcy went on, “but I have to spend today engaged in some business here in town. I’ve arranged for a carriage to take you to a few of the shops, and accounts have been set up for you to purchase whatever you need.”

Lizzy could have mentioned the fact that when they journeyed to Longbourn she’d have time to pack up her things before they traveled on to Pemberley, but there would have been no use in it. Beneath Darcy’s words was a truth that made her feel a mix of embarrassment, discomfort, and the smallest bit of shame.

Nothing she owned currently was anywhere near fitting of Mrs. Darcy, mistress of Pemberley. 

Her home-sewn dresses with their country sensibilities, her bonnets and shoes and gloves which had long extended their useful life, and many of which had been patched and patched again for the sake of economy. Just another reminder of how much her station in life had changed these past few days.

“Cherise will accompany you,” Darcy finished. “She comes with excellent references from her last post.”

Lizzy only nodded again. 

Darcy seemed to note her hesitance, because he looked at her more closely, brow furrowing. “Or you may stay here, if you’d rather. I don’t mean to overwhelm you with all of this.”

The offer seemed sincere, and indeed, as Lizzy drew up enough nerve to look at him fully, she found his eyes dark with some mixture of uncertainty, apprehension and reserve, like he was as uneasy about the prospect of sending her out in London as she was.

The weight in Lizzy's stomach grew heavier.

What did it mean for him, she wondered, to have a wife so unsuited to his life? If she'd accepted his proposal, and if they hadn't been found in that compromising position, there would have been months for them to plan the start of their married life. Time to get to know his routines and the patterns of his life, time to understand her own role within them. There would have been time for her to ease into all of this before being tossed off the cliff, in front on the careening carriage, to see if she would merely bend, or break.

Still, Lizzy Bennet was not so easily cowed. She was safe, at least temporarily, from scandal or censure. Married, if only in name. In a better position, all things considered, than she could have been if he'd taken her stark rejection to heart and refused to take responsibility for her ruin.

She could handle a simple shopping trip.

Recovering some of her confidence, Lizzy tried for a smile. “It’s alright. I’m sure Cherise and I will manage fine with a few shops.”

Even to Lizzy’s ears, the words rang more than a little bit like false bravado and forced cheer. Darcy had just opened his mouth to speak again, when a sharp knock sounded from the front door, and he turned to glance in that direction with a small, frustrated wince.

“Go,” Lizzy told him gently. “I’m fine, I assure you.”

He looked as though he might have stayed and argued the point further, but when his steward appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat, Darcy relented.

He leaned toward her, pressing a brief, surprising kiss on her cheek. “I will see you later this evening.”

Without waiting for her to reply, Darcy strode from the room.

Throughout the long day of shopping, Cherise proved to be an excellent companion.

“I came from the residence of Mrs. Longfellow,” she explained as the carriage pulled away from the modiste and started on to their next destination. “A great society lady, she is. Her daughters are all off and married now, and the mistress no longer needed three ladies' maids.”

As the carriage clattered through the busy Mayfair shopping district, Lizzy was glad for the cheerful distraction. Cherise was able to provide insights on fashion and what was being worn by upper class London ladies, and proved invaluable as Lizzy proceeded to spend more in one day than she had in her entire life on gowns, shoes, hats, gloves, undergarments and an assortment of other accessories. 

Most of it would be constructed here in London and shipped north to Pemberley at a later date, and more than a few of the proprietors were effusive in their eager willingness to take on the work, and promised a speedy turnaround for the new Mrs. Darcy. A few pieces were ready to take now, and by the time they had finished the day’s shopping, the back of the coach was piled high with parcels.

It was late afternoon as the carriage pulled away from its last stop at the milliners, and even Cherise seemed exhausted and content to pass the drive back to Darcy House in silence in a similar pose as Lizzy—head leaned back against the cushions of the carriage and eyes resting.

Arriving back at Darcy House, the footman in the entrance hall informed her that Mr. Darcy was still out, but expected home soon, and Lizzy thanked him before heading upstairs to her room. Her limbs felt heavy as she climbed the stairs, and she was grateful for the moments of peace and solitude after a day in the bustle of London.

When she finally made it to her room, a flash of rich blue fabric on the bed caught her eye. 

Someone had laid out a gown.

Crossing to the bed, she paused just at the edge to look down at it. Deep blue, finely made, and entirely unexpected, she glanced around the room quickly, as if that might give some clue to where it had come from. With no note, no packaging, nothing to give her any clue, she instead reached for it and lifted it off the bed before taking a few steps toward her mirror and holding it up against her body.

It was stunning.

In truth, Lizzy had always quite enjoyed the simple styles she had worn back at home. Less fuss and less time spent getting ready for the day, unadorned styles and practical cuts that flattered her figure. She and her sisters had always made their own dresses, and Jane, the best seamstress of the bunch, had often taken pity on Lizzy’s clumsy, distracted stitches and done them for her while Lizzy took on the simpler jobs of measuring and cutting fabric and ribbons, sewing on buttons, and other tasks less likely to produce disastrous results.

But this…even she couldn’t deny the dress was lovely. A fine, sapphire silk constructed in elegant lines that she could tell with a single look would look wonderful on her. The craftsmanship was incredible, the material finer than anything she’d ever worn.

Turning her body this way and that to get a better idea of how it might look if she was wearing it, she didn’t notice that she’d left her door open in her distraction to see the dress until she caught sight of a tall, broad figure who had come to lean against the frame and watch her.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, startling slightly and lowering the gown as she saw him.

He studied her silently for a few moments longer, looking from the dress in her hands to the slight color on her cheeks at being caught preening. A smile played around his lips, and some of the tension he’d been carrying these last few days seemed to have eased.

“I had it purchased for you,” he said, gesturing to the gown, “and hoped you might wear it tonight.”

She gave him a questioning glance as she raised the dress back in front of her and looked at it in the mirror again. “Tonight?”

Darcy took a a few more steps into the room, crossing to stand just behind her. Their gazes met in the glass. His dark blue eyes burned into hers for a few heartbeats before they slid lower. He studied the dress, the way it lay against her body. One of his hands reached forward and around her to brush against the fabric.

Lizzy’s breath caught in her throat. He was standing less than a foot from her, and she could feel the warmth of him against her back. When the tips of his fingers caught the dress, it rustled against her.

“I made plans for us to go out tonight,” he murmured, meeting her eyes again.

“Where?”

Another one of those soft, unfamiliar smiles. “A surprise,” he told her. “If you’re willing to come with me and find out?”

There was an air to him that was almost playful, and he seemed decidedly more relaxed than he’d be this morning. Perhaps it had to do with whatever business he’d done today, or whatever he had in mind for the evening. It calmed something in Lizzy as well, drew her own smile as she met his eyes in the mirror again.

Still, she was half-tempted to refuse. The idea of some formal party or elegant dinner where she'd be paraded as the new Mrs. Darcy and be introduced to whatever elevated, refined crowd he socialized with in town, made her want to burrow under her covers and hide.

"Not even a hint?" she asked him, letting herself tease a little. "It's only fair, to let me know what kind of lion's den I might be walking into."

Darcy chuckled.

It always surprised her, that sound, and she realized she'd never truly heard him laugh. Amusement, never outright joy; fleeting humor, always carefully leashed.

"No lion's dens," he promised. "Or whirlpools, or fields of quicksand."

Yes, there was definitely a sparkle in his deep blue eyes as she still held them in the mirror. Another glimpse at a facet of him she did not yet know.

They'd been at a strange sort of stalemate, since arriving at Darcy House, like they'd both chosen to carefully sidestep the nettle patch of the day which had brought them here. Jane and Bingley, Wickham, the harsh, cold words they'd traded between them, all of it seemed lay carefully aside for now. Lizzy didn't know if she were grateful or vexxed by that, but with an enigmatic, smiling Darcy behind her, the most beautiful gown she'd ever owned in her hands, and a mystery evening laid before her, she wondered if it would be so terrible to avoid those thorns for one night longer.

Lizzy turned, still holding the gown to her. She glanced down at it briefly before smiling, giving her head a small shake and looking up at him.

“Yes,” she told Darcy. “I’ll come with you.”

Chapter Text

They took the coach to a small wharf on the side of the Thames.

Night was falling, and the spring air was crisp and cool as Darcy helped Lizzy down from the coach. Along the wharf, other ladies and gentlemen of the ton were also arriving in carriages of their own. There were plenty of smiles and an overall air of cheer and festivity, a low murmur of happy voices ringing through the night.

“Where are we going?” Lizzy asked him again.

Darcy, lips sealed as tightly as ever, merely inclined his head toward the river. “This way.”

A wherry was waiting for them, the oarsman tipping his hat as Darcy’s footman strode forward and handed him a few coins.

Darcy stepped into the boat first, then turned back to where Lizzy stood on the wharf above. She expected him to offer a hand to help her down. She did not expect him to put both his hands around her waist and pick her up with an easy grace and lift her into the boat beside him.

She made a small, surprised exclamation as she steadied her legs beneath her. She’d never been on a boat, and the strange sensation of the river rocking and rolling beneath her gave her a moment of knee-buckling pause as she tried to regain her balance.

“Steady,” Darcy murmured, keeping his hands on her waist for a a few moments more as she adjusted.

When she had her feet beneath her again, Darcy helped lower her to one of the bench seats at the front of the boat and settled down beside her, keeping an arm lightly around her waist for support. When he looked back at the oarsman and gave a small nod, the man pushed them slowly away from the dock and out into the body of the Thames.

All around, other watercraft were making their way up and down the river. Some, like Lizzy and Darcy’s conveyance, carried well-dressed ladies and gentlemen across the water. Others were clearly the boats of merchants and other Londoners who made their living on and around the river.

“A bridge is under construction that will make carriage travel much easier in the future,” Darcy said as they rowed steadily along. “But for now, travel by river is the best way to where we’re going.”

He pointed to the sides of the Thames where indeed, there seemed to be a great deal of work going on along both banks. Again, he did not mention where it was precisely they were going and Lizzy knew better than to ask. Darcy seemed to relish keeping the secret for now, and Lizzy fought an unlikely smile at seeing him like this—with an air of something like playfulness about him, something lighthearted and eager.

As their boat approached the opposite bank, Lizzy felt a small pang of unease. This side of the river was a maze of docks along another wharf, numerous boats all coming and leaving at once. To Lizzy’s inexpert eye, it seemed more likely they’d crash into some other craft and capsize rather than make it safely to shore, and she shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat.

Darcy tightened his arm around her a little, holding her steady.

Lizzy didn’t know what to make of the fact that she felt comforted by the gesture, or by the fact that she leaned subtly into him as they approached.

“Nearly there,” Darcy assured her.

The oarsman, more than capable, brought them smoothly alongside one of the docks along the wharf, jumping up onto the wooden platform and securing the craft with a set of ropes before it had even stopped moving. Darcy stood as well, helping Lizzy out of the boat and onto the dock, taking care to make sure her fine gown didn’t get ruffled or dirty.

It seemed a bit odd, Lizzy thought as she steadied herself on the worn, solid planks of the dock, to be dressed in such finery for a journey like this. However, as she glanced up and down the wharf, there were a number of elegantly appointed ladies and gentlemen scrambling up out of their own boats. Darcy and Lizzy joined the crowd, making their way off the wharf and down a street into a tree-lined boulevard.

“Vauxhall Gardens,” he explained as they approached a set of gates in front of them. “There’s a special showcase planned for this evening.”

Lizzy had heard of Vauxhall. One of London’s glittering attractions, she had heard talk of it from some of the more mobile members of Meryton society who had traveled to Town and had occasion to see it. Looking on it now with her own eyes, however, none of those stories conveyed the true impact of the scene before them.

Hundreds and thousands of lamps hung from trees and posts and fences cast a cheerful glow on acres and acres of gardens cut through with neat pathways. Already, Lizzy could hear the faint sound of music of the merry hum of conversation, could smell the rich wafting scent of food and drink coming from the garden’s many pavilions. The whole place felt like a festival of sorts, a wonderful slice of fantasy and respite in the middle of London’s bustle.

Lizzy glanced up at Darcy, only to find him looking back at her with a watchful sort of wariness, like he wasn’t quite sure how to read her reaction to his surprise.

“It’s wonderful,” she said with a wide smile, meaning it.

Her delight only grew as it truly sank in that they weren’t destined for a dinner party or an opera or some other outing where she would have felt miserable and out of place, and she let the last of that uncomfortable tension slide from her shoulders. Looking around and taking in the splendor of the scene around them, she let her curiosity about it all take center stage. She’d never been to a place like this, never imagined the spectacle of it, but now that she was there she was delighted.

The crowd around them was a mix of social classes. Finely dressed ladies and shopgirls in home-sewn dresses. Gentlemen with their sharp black overcoats and pockets of military men enjoying a night of leave. Bright, happy voices and laughter filled the air alongside the music.

As they continued on, Darcy kept up a steady stream of commentary, peppering their journey through the gardens with bits and pieces of information about them, their design and construction, the innovations and wonders on display.

A feeling of buoyant, tender amusement rose in Lizzy to see him like this. There was something almost like wonder on his face as they strolled along and he pointed out the new advancements in technology that had produced the different lighting fixtures, the clever designs of the various pavilions.

“I did not know you were such a student of industry, Mr. Darcy,” Lizzy commented as the passed by a pavilion filled with wondrous marble statuary. In another nearby exhibit, a twelve-piece musical ensemble played a lively tune to serenade visitors through the garden.

He glanced down at her and shrugged. “I was never much one for histories and philosophies, but I do confess I’ve always been fascinated by mechanics and engineering.”

She could see it. Darcy, with his meticulous manner and a mind which tended to see the stark, objective reality of the world. It didn’t surprise her in the least that he’d be interested in knowing how all the disparate and intricate parts of Vauxhall came together to create the spectacle.

“Have you been here before?” she asked, neck craned up to stare at a lit treetop above them.

Darcy didn’t answer right away, but when she looked back at him his attention was fixed on her. His gaze was soft, eyes searching as he replied.

“I haven’t,” he said finally. “My visits to town are usually short, and don’t leave much time for leisure.”

“A shame,” Lizzy mused. “What do they leave time for?”

“Business, mostly. Advocating for the interests of Pemberley’s tenant farmers, and managing several ventures I’ve invested in over the years.”

“No operas, then?” Lizzy asked. “Or balls?”

Darcy glanced down at her with an arched brow. “I confess, I’ve never been much of an opera aficionado. And I think we’re both well aware how I usually fare at balls.”

Lizzy couldn’t help her laugh. Mr. Darcy, making light of himself, who would have thought?

“They have their moments,” she said innocently.

The remark earned her another pointed look from Darcy as they passed beneath a lit stone archway. Somewhere nearby, an orchestra struck up another tune, one familiar enough to make her think of Netherfield’s glittering ballroom, the night they’d shared a dance. 

“Can I tempt you to take the floor with me, Mrs. Darcy?” Darcy asked.

The question caught her off-guard. 

“I did not think you danced,” Lizzy said. “At least not if you could help it.”

Still, even as she gave the teasing retort, there was something in her which ached a little, wanted to lean toward the lights and the music.

Darcy’s eyes were soft again when he answered her, and he looked almost... apologetic? “I think I might be able to make an exception. If only to make up for the last time we danced.”

Ah, yes. What had they needled each other about that evening? Wickham, and the nature of Darcy’s relationship with the man. Darcy’s reserve and Lizzy’s fondness for walking to Meryton.

The conversation had not been a high point of Lizzy’s evening, but what had come after… In the dance they’d shared, in the slow, deliberate movements of their bodies around one another and the beautiful opulence of their surroundings, there had been a few moments in which they had felt like the only two people in the room.

“You may,” she said finally, allowing him to take her hand in his and lead her into the pavilion.

The ceiling above was lit with three chandeliers, the whole space open on the sides to the night beyond. Most of the couples were dressed as they were, in stylish evening attire, the sort of set used to attending parties and dancing until the small hours of the morning. Lizzy marveled for a moment over the fashions and the sea of unfamiliar faces, falling into line across from Darcy and giving him a curtsy and a small smile as the music swelled.

And so they danced beneath the sparkling Vauxhall lights. Lost in a glittering crowd, it was another moment in which they may as well have been all on their own. Unlike their last dance, though, they didn’t fill the space between them with conversation.

What was there to be said, anyways? Anything she might have offered, anything he might have answered, would not have contained nearly as much as the wordless questions and replies they shared beneath the lights.

Not for the first time this evening, Lizzy was struck by how very little she knew about this man who was her husband. Weaving around and through the other dancers, coming to face him, brushing hands, moving past him again and again, there seemed to be some new facet she saw each time. There were flecks of gold in his eyes, catching in the candlelight. He had a small, fine scar on the crest of one cheekbone. Just before he touched her, there always seemed to be some small tell—a slight tightening in the corner of his mouth, a glance down to where their hands met.

Lizzy took in each detail, tucking them away for closer study at some later time. For now, she was content enough to let the moment have her full attention.

There was something almost reckless about this night, something that felt like a step out of time and reason.

Tomorrow, perhaps, they would revisit those conversations they’d shared during their last dance, all the things that remained unspoken since that day on Lady Catherine’s estate, but not tonight. Tonight their truce would hold, if only for the simple fact that Lizzy had no desire to spoil this most unlikely of moments.

When the dance ended, they paused for a moment in the middle of the dance floor, breathing slightly faster than before, and neither seeming eager to break whatever spell was being woven between them. It was Darcy who moved first, stepping to her and reaching out a hand.

“Come,” he said as Lizzy took it, and led her from pavilion back into the gardens, steering them  toward a slightly darker, less populated path off to their left side.

Lizzy hesitated for a moment, her immediate instinct warning her against heading off into the night with a man. When she realized the absurdity in her train of thought, she wanted to laugh at herself, though it didn’t erase the slight discomfort she still felt.

Darcy seemed to mark her hesitation. “There’s a superb view of the night’s finale this way.”

Lizzy, slightly more reassured, let him lead her down the path, staying close to him. The crowd thinned as they moved further away from the main promenade and deeper into the gardens.

A low stone wall ran along one side of the walkway, and Darcy led her to it, positioning them so they looked out over a large expanse of darkened lawn. There were still a few lanterns burning along the path, and groups of spectators here and there, though the overall feeling in this part of the gardens was decidedly more intimate and private. Darcy stood beside her, keeping one hand at her back and looking up and down the path to mark the passersby.

“What’s this finale you mentioned?” Lizzy asked.

She kept her voice low, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. Something about the spot, the closeness of their bodies, the press of the dark night around them, made her want to speak softly.

Darcy leaned nearer, his lips almost brushing the shell of her ear as he replied. “Patience, Elizabeth. You’ll find out in a minute or two.”

Content enough with that, she leaned back an inch in reply, only to feel him move closer still, the lengths of their bodies nearly pressed up against one another in the darkness. In was a quiet moment, one that might have stretched out for its own eternity, until the world exploded into color and light.

It was the first time Lizzy had ever seen fireworks, and she couldn’t help but let out a small, surprised exclamation and a peal of laughter as the bursts continued. Darcy placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing once in reassurance.

Tipping her head back, she looked up at him.

Darcy’s face was washed in the light of each new, colorful explosion. He smiled, really smiled, the expression of a man who seldom got to enjoy a night away from his cares and responsibilities.

In that moment, Lizzy hardly recognized him. He was still the Darcy she had married, certainly, but this version of him—a version who could be carefree, who could delight in colorful lanterns and a fireworks show, who had taken every care with her today and shown her something wonderous—it came from nowhere and captured something tucked deeply beneath her left ribs.

Lizzy turned to face him fully.

His eye caught the movement, and he looked down at her with a question in his gaze. The explosions of color and light continued above them, and Lizzy watched the dance of their reflection across his face.

Unable to help herself, she lifted a hand and laid it against his cheek.

Darcy’s whole body seemed to still at her touch.

And when she leaned up and pressed her lips gently to his, he went absolutely frozen, his breath catching in his lungs.

Lizzy wasn’t sure why precisely she kissed him.

She still didn’t trust him, not entirely. And seeing this side of him reminded her she hardly even knew him.

But this? She knew this.

Lips pressed to his, one hand sinking into the soft strands of hair at his nape, kissing him was like a dance whose steps she knew by heart. The sensations were still so new, but the push and pull of it was a thing her soul recognized immediately.

Had she once thought it madness?

It was anything but as he surrendered to her with a small groan, coaxing her mouth open with the gentle caress of his tongue. His hands, which had been resting lightly on her waist, pulled her even tighter against him. One came up to cradle the back of her neck, tipping her head back so he could kiss her more soundly.

No. Not madness, reason. The only sane thing in the world was to kiss him like this, to be close to him like this, to hold onto him and let herself be held.

Darcy fit his body to hers as he deepened the kiss, and Lizzy had the distinct impression of feeling like candle wax melting into the hard lines of his chest and torso. He kept her on her feet, kept her from dissolving completely into the embrace, even as the insistence of his kiss gave her no mercy.

For a few long moments, Lizzy simply let herself forget.

They could be anyone tonight. In this magical place where the fine upper crust mixed with the common crowd, all looking for a night of glittering light and wonder, they could disappear for a moment into a delicious anonymity. With his lips on hers and his strong arms around her she could pretend that all those cares and concerns belonged to someone else entirely.

They missed the end of the fireworks.

When she finally pulled away, the night was dark again, though Darcy’s eyes were bright, his color raised, lips slighted parted. Like he wasn’t quite through with her, he leaned back in and kissed her softly once, twice, hands still moving up and down her back. He brushed his lips across her forehead before finally letting her go.

“We should be headed back,” he said simply, leading her off into the night.

The air was much more brisk on their way back across the Thames. Without asking, Darcy removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders, pulling her close into his side to shield her from as much of the stiff breeze as he could. She leaned into that strength, even as her stomach continued to roll a bit with the unfamiliar sensation of being on the water.

The ride from the wharf back to Darcy House passed mostly in silence, and with the growing distance between them and the lights of Vauxhall, some of the evening’s magic began to wane as well.

Lizzy felt strangely off-balance, like she might have been waking from some sort of dream. Surely, nights like this didn’t exist in her reality, and with each clatter of the carriage wheel and each small bump in the London roads, she felt a bit of her senses settling back into place.

Arriving back at the townhouse, Lizzy thankfully didn’t tumble out onto the cobblestones this time despite her slight unsteadiness, and gave Darcy her arm to escort her up the steps and into the empty, quiet entrance hall. They walked together up the stairs, the hush of the evening curling around them.

Darcy paused just outside the door to her chamber. His hand was resting on her back, his body still tucked close and slightly curled around hers, as if he would not let a wisp of chill touch her, even now that they were indoors.

Would he come inside with her? Did she want him to?

She didn’t have long to contemplate it.

Darcy placed his hand on the door, pushing it gently open before leaning close to press a kiss on her forehead.

“Goodnight, Elizabeth,” he said. “Thank you for sharing this evening with me.”

As she stepped inside and turned back to close the door behind her, their eyes met, and for just one more moment, she swore she could see the Vauxhall lights dancing within them.

Chapter Text

Reality came crashing back all too quickly as Darcy and Lizzy stepped out of Darcy House the next morning and into the waiting coach that would take them to Longbourn.

The day was sunny and bright, all indications being for a smooth journey the four hours north to Meryton, but Lizzy felt anything but comforted by that. No, as she let Darcy help her up into the carriage, all she could feel was a general sense of foreboding and dread.

She still couldn’t decide if last night had been a mistake.

The memory of colorful lanterns and music, of his hands and lips on hers, all of it felt like no more than some half-forgotten dream.

Darcy, by all indications, seemed to be willing to put the events of last night aside entirely. Except for a hand that perhaps lingered a few moments longer on her waist as he helped her into the carriage and dark blue eyes she sometimes imagined she could feel on her as they made their way out of London, last night very well may have been no more than an illusion of glittering lights and darkness.

Again, Lizzy wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

It wasn’t as if she’d expected him to come into her chambers last night, or to greet her this morning with the same kind of ardent kiss they’d shared in the gardens. Maybe he was just giving her space, allowing her to decide when and how their physical relationship progressed.

Which…good. If true, that would be somewhat of a relief, though presented a whole new set of considerations.

Did she want to kiss him again? Did she want more than that? Beyond the bounds of a darkened garden and the rich temptation it had presented, what did intimacy between them look like?

And, even more pressing—how would today change her desire for any of it?

The bustle of London gave way to more pastoral scenery, and she couldn’t shake her disquiet.

When she tried to imagine their arrival at Longbourn and her family’s reaction to her new husband, all she could draw up was large, awkward, uncomfortable blank.

The last time Darcy had encountered the Bennets had been at the Netherfield ball. It had been a night in which one sister had dissolved into tears, one sister had spent the night blissfully unaware that the man she hoped to marry would soon disappear from her life, and the two remaining sisters had overindulged in the punch and made untoward comments to more than one man in uniform.

And that was to say nothing of what Mrs. Bennet had been overheard discussing beneath the grand chandelier in the entrance hall.

Advantageous marriages, indeed.

What had Darcy said, when he was listing all the reasons she was so unsuitable for him?

It was the lack of propriety shown by your mother, your three younger sisters, and even on occasion your father.

Lizzy’s gut twisted at the memory of those words.

“Are we heading to Netherfield first?” she asked him, out of intolerance for the lingering silence between them, if no other reason. “Before Longbourn?”

Darcy gave her an odd look before slowly shaking his head. “We’re not staying at Netherfield. The estate has been closed up since the Bingleys left, and there wasn’t time enough to prepare the house before our arrival.”

“Then where…” Lizzy started, before a slow, uncomfortable realization dawned over her.

“We’re staying at Longbourn,” Darcy said, confirming her suspicions and sending a shot of dread down into the pit of her stomach. “I wrote to your father and received his assurance that we can stay the night before heading on toward Pemberley tomorrow.”

Fitzwilliam Darcy, a guest at Longbourn.

Make no mistake, Lizzy loved her family home. The manor farm and surrounding lands had been an wonderful place to grow up, despite its distinct lack of grandeur or pretense. And besides, that was precisely what she loved about it. It had always been a place where she felt comfortable, at home, able to be herself completely.

At the same time, she was well aware of how humble a place it truly was. Trying to picture Darcy in the dusty yard outside the house, sleeping in one of the humble chambers, taking meals in the dining room which also served as music room and family meeting space, felt ridiculously incongruous. Especially after what she had seen of Darcy House, which no doubt paled in comparison to the majesty of Pemberley.

“I hope that’s alright,” Darcy said.

It would have to be, she supposed. Letting the heavy weight of the inevitable settle over her, another thought occurred to Lizzy.

“You might want to prepare yourself,” she said wryly. “My father had a few choice words to say the first time I was proposed to and he didn’t approve, I can’t imagine he’ll be much easier on you.”

Darcy was silent for a few long moments. “The first time you were proposed to?”

She’d never mentioned it to him, had she? “Yes, just a day after the Netherfield ball.”

“And who had the honor of being denied your hand?”

There was an edge to his voice that Lizzy couldn’t quite interpret. His face didn’t give any clues to what he might be thinking either, reverted back to his signature mask of aloof reserve.

Lizzy fought a grimace. “Mr. Collins.”

Another beat of silence.

“Mr. Collins. As in, your cousin Mr. Collins?”

“Distant cousin,” Lizzy answered quickly, as if that made things any better. “Anyways, it was merely an effort on his part to keep one of the Bennet daughters attached to the estate when it passes to him.”

“A logical choice,” Darcy murmured, looking out the carriage window. There was a hard set to his jaw, a deep furrow in his brow.

Still unable to interpret the expression, and still fully too wrapped up in her own mind to give the matter much more thought at all, Lizzy turned her attention to her own window for a time, watching the passing scenery.

They passed the short journey mostly in silence, broken by the occasional comment about the passing towns and countryside. All throughout the journey, there was a current between them that made Lizzy feel a bit on edge. It was subtle, but hinted at everything that had passed between them last night, everything unspoken about what lay ahead today, and hung over the carriage like a palpable thing as they made their way north from London.

Longbourn came into view, and for a few mortifying seconds Lizzy felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. It had only been a few short weeks since she’d set out to visit Charlotte and Mr. Collins, not even a month, but as the carriage started down the drive toward the manor, she could not have felt more different than when she’d left.

Before she could think better of it, she chanced a glance at Darcy. He was looking out the carriage window, and she still couldn’t read his expression. Was that scorn she saw in the hard set of his jaw, or merely contemplation? Derision in his eyes or just curiosity?

Lizzy didn’t have much time to contemplate it before the coach rattled to a stop in the drive outside the small manor farm.

At the sound of the approaching carriage, the entire Bennet family had emerged from the house to greet the newlyweds. To Lizzy’s embarrassment—or perhaps relief, she wasn’t quite sure about that either—her mother and sisters appeared to be dressed as finely as if they were off for an afternoon visit to Netherfield. Even her father looked like he’d taken extra time in selecting the best of his shirts and jackets.

Darcy moved before she could offer any further warnings or words of advice, moving from his seat across from her to swing the carriage door open, step out, and turn back to offer her a hand.

Lord help her, this was really happening.

Lizzy stepped out into the familiar dirt of the drive, and had barely made it more than a meter from the carriage before she was crushed to her mother’s wide, soft bosom.

“Oh my dear!” Mrs. Bennet said, rushing forward to envelope her second daughter into a hug. “My darling Lizzy, married. How are you? Was your journey agreeable?”

“I’m fine,” Lizzy assured her.

Mrs. Bennet took a half-step back and cupped her daughter’s face in her hands. “Elizabeth Darcy,” she marveled. “How grand!”

Slightly mortified by her mother’s exuberance and volume, Lizzy studiously avoided Darcy’s eye as she gave her mother’s shoulders one last squeeze and turned to where her father was standing a few paces behind.

Mr. Bennet’s eyes crinkled a bit at the corners as he opened his arms to his daughter. With a slightly tremulous smile, she stepped into them.

“Welcome home, Lizzy.”

If there was anything he could have to bring the threat of tears back full-force, that was it.

“I’m sorry, papa,” she whispered as she hugged him back.

It was a fear she hadn’t been able to let herself dwell on these last few days, how badly she had disappointed him, what kind of grief she might find in his eyes when she returned home.

His arms tightened a fraction. “No apologies, my dear Lizzy.”

There would be time to talk later, time to disappear into his wonderful, cluttered, cozy study and tell him what she could, receive any advice he could give her for what to do moving forward. For now, though, she give him one las squeeze and stepped away.

Behind her, she couldn’t quite make herself concentrate on the words her mother was saying, but the heightened tone and quick staccato of whatever she was telling Mr. Darcy did not bode particularly well. Stomach feeling like lead, Lizzy turned to find out what kind of interference she had to offer.

To her surprise, Darcy did not look like he was in acute pain. He answered Mrs. Bennet’s questions softly and politely. Yes, the journey had been smooth and uneventful. Yes, they were headed on to Pemberley tomorrow. Yes, the carriage was quite new, purchased earlier that year. As Mrs. Bennet prattled on, he caught Lizzy’s eyes briefly and gave her a soft, reassuring smile.

It startled her so much that she almost didn’t notice when Mary and Kitty stepped forward, offering Lizzy quiet congratulations on her marriage and brief hugs.

When it was Lydia’s turn, she hugged her sister without so much as a word of greeting, though when she leaned in she spoke softly enough for only Lizzy to hear. “You must tell me how you snagged him. Bravo, Lizzy.”

Jane had waited patiently for the rest of her sisters to take their turns before finally stepping forward. Lizzy couldn’t contain herself, and practically stumbled into Jane’s arms.

Her sister’s hug was like a panacea, filling Lizzy with a tenderness and relief that finally allowed a couple of overwhelmed tears to slip from the corners of her eyes. Jane smelled like she always did, like clean soap and sunshine and a million other familiar things that reminded Lizzy of home. Wrapped up in her familiar embrace, Lizzy could almost believe that everything would indeed be alright

“A word, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet’s flat, almost severe tone cut through the rest of the lingering joy of reunion, plummeting Lizzy right back down to earth.

Mr. Bennet’s tone didn’t leave room for any other response from Darcy other than a curt nod.

He glanced at Lizzy for a moment, offering her another slight smile before following her father into the house. In all the chaos, she hadn’t spoken to him since exiting the carriage, and watching him walk away she wished she had just a few moments to ascertain even a fraction of his thoughts, understand how he was responding to all of this.

And as he followed Mr. Bennet inside, part of Lizzy ached to go after him.

“Come on,” Jane said gently. “I’m sure you could stretch your legs after all that time in a carriage.”

Mrs. Bennet looked like she wanted to protest, to pull Lizzy aside and keep hounding her for details about her new life as Mrs. Darcy and the circumstances of her marriage, but Jane’s quick thinking was Lizzy’s salvation. Arm-in-arm, the sisters walked quickly away to a secluded spot next to the stocked pond on the estate, and sank down onto a metal benched warmed by the spring day’s sun.

For a little while, neither of them spoke. Lizzy tipped her head back and let the light wash over her, let herself forget. Just for those short minutes, she might have been Lizzy Bennet again.

“I won’t ask you to tell me precisely what happened,” Jane said cautiously a short time later. “But I do want to ask if you’re alright? I realize there’s…very little that can be done, but…oh, Lizzy, how I worry for you.”

Lizzy opened her eyes, and immediately shifted in her seat to fold Jane into another hug. 

“I’m fine. Truly. The circumstances of the marriage were…not ideal, to say the least, but I’m alright.”

Lizzy told as much of the story as she could.

Face heating to a bright pink, she told Jane about the proposal, her rejection, and the foolish kiss they’d shared in the rain. She told Jane about the hasty wedding and their brief stay in London, the evening Darcy had arranged for them at Vauxhall.

The parts Lizzy left out—Darcy’s role in Jane and Bingley’s separation, the terrible things he’d said about the Bennet family, the matter of Mr. Wickham—weighed heavily on her shoulders. Part of her simply didn’t know how to say the words, how to put voice to the worst of it, and another part of her didn’t want to drag everything between her and Darcy to light. Anything concerning Charles Bingley would be something she’d voice with Darcy soon enough, and would bring to Jane eventually, but everything else she wasn’t sure she’d ever mention to a soul outside her marriage.

Even though guilt consumed her at keeping those things from her sister, a quiet voice in her mind demanded caution.

Darcy was her husband, after all. Whatever that meant, whatever they were to one another and whatever they would become, Lizzy had the strong suspicion that adding more fuel to her family’s already negative feelings toward him wouldn’t help matters in the slightest.

No, they had their own battles to navigate, if this marriage were ever to become more than the mess it was now.

“Well,” Jane said when Lizzy had finished, her own face a little flushed with all the details she had shared. “Forgive me for saying I never would have imagined anything like this coming to pass. There was…something between the two of you during his stay at Netherfield, but I always thought it more animosity than affection.”

Lizzy’s laughter rang up through the trees around them, bright as the spring sunshine. “You’re not wrong.”

Jane joined in her laughter for a moment before sobering. “Elizabeth Darcy,” she said quietly. “How strange.”

“Strange indeed,” Lizzy murmured.

“Is he…is he kind to you? Do you think you might one day grow to care for him?”

Lizzy pondered the question. “He has been very considerate.”

A raised eyebrow from Jane was her only response.

“Oh, stop that!” Lizzy said, laughing again. “I barely know the man. Consideration is a fine place to start for a marriage to a veritable stranger.”

“He seems much changed since the last time he was in Hertfordshire. He was practically charming with mama.”

Lizzy lifted a hand to cover her eyes, not wanting to think about it. “How badly do you think papa is insulting him right at this moment? Do I need to fear remaining here a divorced woman while he heads on his merry way back to Derbyshire?”

At that, Jane sobered. 

“What?” Lizzy asked, heart dropping when she glanced over and saw the look on Jane’s face.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen papa as upset as when he got word you were to be married, and that there was no time for him to intervene.”

That lead weight returned to Lizzy’s stomach, though now it seemed to have doubled in size. “I should have spoken to him first. I should have made him understand that we were both to blame.”

She rose from her seat, with the half-mad idea of running back to Longbourn and barging into the middle of whatever conversation Darcy was having with her father. It was only Jane’s gentle hand on her shoulder that stopped her.

“Be at ease, Lizzy,” she said gently. “Mr. Darcy can more than hold his own with papa, I’m sure, and this is a conversation they need to have.”

Lizzy couldn’t argue with that. In another life—one in which she and Darcy hadn’t been so much at odds during his time at Netherfield, one in which they’d actually courted, rather than simply trading barbed words and fraught glances—all of this would have come before their marriage, before what would have been a much more proper betrothal.
The fact that it was all happening now, so rushed and under such stress and strain, was putting Lizzy out of her senses.

“Come,” Jane said finally. “Let’s return to the house. I’m sure mama is beside herself for not getting to ask you all the invasive questions she wishes to.”

Slightly mollified, Lizzy let Jane lead her at a leisurely pace back to the manor, rather than sprinting all the way there. As they walked, they talked of Lizzy and Darcy’s continued northward journey, speculated on what the great estate of Pemberley would be like, and Lizzy’s spirits were altogether higher as they reached the dry dust of the drive in front of the house.

Well, at least until she spied her father and Darcy coming back outside. The former still looked as stern and serious as he had when he summoned Darcy inside. The latter looked a little pale, but still offered Lizzy a faint smile as he came down the front stairs.

“Lizzy,” her father began as he spotted her and Jane. “I would like to—”

“Who’s that?” Kitty asked loudly at the same time, interrupting him, one hand at her brow to shade her eyes from the sun as she looked down the road.

A half-dozen heads swiveled to look. 

There, not quite a quarter mile away, a lone figure horseback was approaching the Bennet estate. As Lizzy squinted her eyes and looked, she felt the air shift as Darcy came to stand beside her.

She glanced up at him, only to find him watching the approaching rider with a wide, rather satisfied smile on his lips. He looked down and caught her eye and that smile only grew larger. There was something almost boyish about it.

“What?” she asked him.

Darcy placed an arm around her waist, drew her a little nearer, and there was laughter in his voice as he answered.

“Well,” he said, trying and failing to keep his tone even. “I figured that coming prepared with a rather large gift might help endear me to your family.”

Lizzy, still every bit as puzzled after he gave his answer as she had been before it, turned her eyes back to the rider. He was approaching Longbourn at a good clip on a large white stallion. From this distance, she could only make out the impression of a light gray coat and hat, and couldn’t recognize anything else about him.

It wasn’t until she heard Jane’s sharply indrawn breath behind her that she realized.

The rider was Mr. Bingley.

Chapter Text

The yard outside Longbourn erupted in chaos.

“Upon my life!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, raising a hand to her eyes to peer out at the road. “Is that—no, it couldn’t be! Jane! Jane, darling, come inside.”

Jane, for her part, ignored her mother entirely. She came to stand next to Lizzy, clutching her hand tightly and searching her sister’s face.

“Did you do this?” she asked Lizzy, voice a bit shaky.

Lizzy shook her head slowly.

“A reunion long overdue, I think,” Darcy said. “And one Mr. Bingley was most anxious for.”

Jane looked at Darcy with some thread of understanding running through her. “You asked him to come?”

Darcy nodded. “I hope you’ll hear him out, Miss Bennet. And I hope you’ll both accept my apologies that this separation occurred at all.”

Jane looked utterly perplexed at the apology, but as Bingley approached there was no time to explain.

“Later,” Lizzy whispered into her sister’s ear. “I’ll explain more later.”

The two of them stood hand-clasped as Bingley rode into the yard, and Lizzy could feel her sister start to tremble.

Mrs. Bennet was still succumbing to a fit of nerves somewhere nearby, but there might as well been no one else around as Bingley swung down from his horse. His face was slightly flushed, clothing a bit dusty and askew from the road, and even he strode forward to offer a bow and an extended hand to Mr. Bennet, his eyes never strayed far from Jane.

“Mr. Bennet,” he began. “Please forgive my manners at intruding without warning of my arrival. It was terribly rude of me to fail to send word ahead.”

“Not at all, Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Bennet said, completely composed as he accepted Bingley’s offered hand and greeting.

“Mr. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet cut in. “What a pleasure to have you here. You’re very welcome, of course, to join us for dinner. Lizzy and Mr. Darcy are here, you see, and—”

“A walk,” Lizzy said, inspiration striking. “Mr. Bingley, perhaps you need to stretch your legs after your ride? Jane can accompany us, of course.”

Lizzy met her mother’s eye, and Mrs. Bennet caught on immediately. Mercenary as ever when it came to her daughters’ matrimonial prospects, Mrs. Bennet could spot an opportunity for a proposal from a mile away.

“A splendid idea!” she gushed. “Kitty, Lydia, Mary, inside with me now. Let your older sisters and our guests have a few moments of peace.”

Mrs. Bennet and the three younger girls scurried away into the house. As they did, Lizzy caught her father’s eye, and he gave her a brief nod. Their conversation, it seemed, could wait until later.

As Darcy stepped forward to greet his friend, Lizzy turned back to Jane.

"Are you alright?" Lizzy asked her. "Do you wish to speak to him? Forgive me if I spoke out of turn and you are not—"

"I'm alright," Jane said quickly. "That is, I'm sure it will be fine to see what he would like to say. There is no reason we may not meet as cordial acquaintances."

Even as Jane spoke, her eyes betrayed her. Wide and hopeful, they lingered on the spot across the yard where arrangements were being made to see Bingley's horse stabled. Lizzy watched Jane, heart aching a bit at what she found in her sisters face.

Love, plain and simple and wonderful.

Once Bingley had handed his horse off to the Bennet estate’s groom and given yet another round of apologies to Mr. Bennet for his manner of arrival, the two pairs set off from the estate to the well-trod walking path that led toward Meryton.

Darcy and Lizzy took the lead with Jane and Bingley following. Though, Lizzy couldn’t help but notice, each time she glanced surreptitiously behind her it seemed that her sister and Mr. Bingley lagged further and further behind. Darcy, if he noticed, said nothing, and kept to a brisk, athletic pace that spoke to Lizzy’s own sensibilities and fondness for exercise.

Lizzy was brimming with questions and humming with anticipation, but with Jane and Bingley behind them and uncertain how far her voice would carry, she left them unspoken for now. Instead, she and Darcy traded pleasant banalities about the weather, the scenery, each seeming determined to offer the dullest comment. 

When he made a remark about a particularly interesting rock at the side of the road, awareness hit Lizzy square in the chest.

Was Darcy teasing her?

She looked up, he looked down, and in his eyes she saw the distinct sparkle of buried mirth, a playful cajoling that made a bubble of laughter rise up in her throat. Clearly, he had no intention of discussing sensitive matters in front of Jane and Bingley either, and was daring her to be the first to speak plainly.

“Fascinating, indeed,” Lizzy said, giving her full attention to the slab of gray stone and drawing on her scant knowledge of anything related to geology to offer a completely fabricated remark. “A sedimentary rock, I believe. One that would have formed during…”

Her words trailed off as she saw Darcy’s shoulders begin to shake. A moment later he laughed, really laughed, and she couldn’t help but join him.

“Please,” he said, getting himself under control. “Please do tell me more about the sedimentary rock.”

Laughter suited him. It lightened his eyes and stole some of the tension and seriousness from his brow. 

“Only if you continue that monologue you were giving on the fine weather patterns we’ve been experiencing this spring.” Lizzy briefly squeezed his arm.

“Gladly,” he conceded, ever magnanimous. “Unless there are other, more pressing topics you might like to discuss?”

He inclined his head meaningfully to where Bingley and Jane trailed them.

Without looking back to see if they were being observed, Lizzy lowered her voice before responding. “We better not, Jane would be mortified if she knew we were gossiping about them.”

“Perhaps we could,” Darcy said mildly, “as we’re no longer in danger of being overheard.”

Lizzy’s head whipped quickly around to look behind them. The path was empty, no sign of either Jane or Bingley.

“Where are they?” she asked, panic starting to rise a little.

Darcy put a hand on her shoulder, gently turning her back to face him. “I’d imagine they’re in the middle of a conversation they would not take kindly to us interrupting.”

“But, but,” Lizzy sputtered, turning back around to search the path, mind still filled with concern for her sister. “Jane’s reputation. If someone sees them…if he takes any liberties…”

She trailed off, becoming all too aware just how close to describing their own indiscretion she was getting. Cheeks heating, she glanced back up at Darcy. There was a shadow on his face, but it cleared immediately when she looked at him.

“I have it on very good authority that her reputation will not withstand even the slightest bit of damage.”

Lizzy considered that. “Do you think they’ll be long?”

A small, choked noise made its way out of Darcy’s throat before he replied. “I don’t think we should rush them.”

Face heating again, Lizzy nodded. “This way, then. I know a spot we can rest and wait for them a while.”

She took a path curving away from the main road, past a tumbledown rock wall and into a grove of trees. Just beyond, the faint babble of a river and a wide stretch of grassy, open bank beckoned them forward. It was a spot Lizzy knew well, one of the old weeping willows set just along the river making the perfect little hideaway for an afternoon of reading, or simply somewhere to be alone with her thoughts.

Darcy followed her into the private space created by the hanging boughs, staring at the river beyond. One of the willow’s lowest, thick branches was poised above the ground almost like a bench, and Lizzy sat herself down on it, settling her skirts around her. Darcy seemed content enough to stand, propping a shoulder against the tree’s wide trunk as he turned to face her.

“I was wrong,” he said, without any preamble. “About your sister and Mr. Bingley.”

The earnest, unprompted acknowledgment of error caught Lizzy entirely off guard. She blinked up at him for a few moments, trying to reorient herself around the fact that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had just admitted a fault.

“And so you asked him to come,” she said finally.

“I did,” Darcy told her. “And I hope you’ll be gratified for Jane’s sake to know that it hardly took any convincing at all to bring him here.”

The pieces fell into place in Lizzy’s mind. “Yesterday, in London, is that where you were?”

Darcy nodded. “Yes, I paid a visit to the Bingleys’ townhome to offer apologies and see what I could do to prompt a reconciliation.”

A smile tugged on the corners of Lizzy lips to think of the haste in which Mr. Bingley had quit London to ride for Longbourn. Her heart filled up with joy for her sister, for Mr. Bingley, and the last of her reservation at their slightly untoward behavior slid away.

Still, there was one cloud in the bright sky of her joy.

“Do you think he truly loves her, if he could be so easily persuaded to let her go, to wait so long and risk losing her to someone else?"

She thought Darcy might take offense to her implied criticism of his friend, but he only looked thoughtful as he considered his answer.

“I believe he does,” Darcy said finally. “Charles is a good man, and loyal. Sometimes to a fault. I believe if I hadn’t intervened, he would have made an offer to her soon after the Netherfield ball.”

“But he values your opinion enough to have changed course?”

Darcy nodded slowly. “Yes, and I was wrong for offering an opinion at all. I should have trusted him enough not to interfere.”

“What made you change your mind?”

The silent seconds after her question ticked by long and slow. Darcy’s eyes moved over her face, studying her like he might find the answer there.

“I have it on very good authority that my judgment is not altogether infallible when it comes to matters of the heart,” he said quietly. “Charles loves her, and there should have never been any other impediment to their union.”

The words felt…too big. Too close to some truth that Lizzy didn’t want to acknowledge, so she thought of Jane and Charles’ happiness instead. Even as joy and contentment surged once more, something like melancholy settled itself into Lizzy’s chest. 

How straightforward, Bingley’s affection for Jane. Enough to have him drop everything and ride to her, once he knew he had a chance to sweep her back off her feet. Enough for her to trust him still, to be willing to hear him out and accept the offer Lizzy was sure he was making her now.

Complicated, in its circumstance, but also beautifully, blissfully simple. They would make their way back to Longbourn betrothed, settled into their mutual affection and ready to begin planning for the start of their married lives.

The ghost of a smile played around Lizzy’s lips, one filled with equal measures of happiness and a certain sense of poignant regret.

“It was a disservice to them both,” Darcy said quietly, eyes fixed on Lizzy’s face. “One I expect to spend quite some time making up to my friend.”

Her smile grew even more bittersweet. His friend. She wasn’t even that to her husband, was she? 

“Elizabeth?” Darcy asked, eyes narrowed with concern. “What is it?”

She couldn’t form all the thoughts into words, couldn’t do anything but reach up and cup a hand over his cheek, leaning in closer.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just…happy for my sister. Thank you for helping to reunite them.”

Lizzy stood and kissed him then, like she could impart all she felt in the brush of her lips and the press of her body against his. As she did, all the conflicted joy and melancholy and an unexpected wave of need rose within her. It was a formless, indistinct thing, that yearning. It fitted itself around the contours of her body and his, nestled its way into her heart and stayed there.

As Darcy kissed her back, one had slid from its tender hold on her jaw to press up against the back of her neck. He’d put his hand there last night, too, exerting that same gentle pressure.

Mine, the touch seemed to say.

A soft claim, but an inexorable one, guiding her through the movements of their kiss, tilting her head just so. Unlike last night, though, there was nothing hurried or impetuous in this kiss. It was deliberate, on Darcy’s part, the leisure with which his lips moved on hers. His hands, too, were soft and patient as they cupped and stroked her jaw, ran soothing strokes up and down her back.

Lizzy wasn’t sure that’s what she wanted.

Tenderness from him was almost more than she could bear, the languid press of his mouth touching something that felt too sweet and too tempting for her to dare even try to grasp.

So instead, she went on the offensive. Tugging at his hair, letting her teeth rasp over the plush pad of his bottom lip. Darcy didn’t miss a beat, matching her movement for movement, tightening his hold and deepening the embrace until they were both lost in it.

He moved from her lips to her jaw, and lower still to drag his own teeth against the slender column of her throat. Lizzy let her head drop back, giving him greater access, and let out a small moan of surprised pleasure when he pressed down harder, just this side of pain.

When he pulled back his eyes were bright, and nearly as glazed as Lizzy was sure her own were.

“What you mentioned earlier,” Darcy said slowly, working to regain his breath. “In the carriage. Regarding the offer Mr. Collins made to you…”

“Yes?” Lizzy prompted when he trailed off, thrown somewhat off-kilter by the sudden change in subject.

“If I had thought…I would not have waited—”

Whatever else he meant to say was cut off at the sight of two figures walking down the same path they’d took to the river. Lizzy ducked out of the willow’s bower with Darcy following close behind.

Jane’s cheeks were apple-pink, and her bonnet was a bit askew. Bingley’s hair was decidedly mussed, and the knot of his cravat appeared as if it had been sloppily straightened before they came back to reunite with Darcy and Lizzy.

As they approached, Lizzy glanced up at Darcy. He was looking at Jane and Bingley, and his face was a mask at first. Lizzy truly couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It wasn’t until he glanced down at her that she could see it. 

Happiness, for his friend. Satisfaction, at bringing about such happiness. A certain sense of peace. 

Those were the positive emotions shining back at Lizzy. But there was something else, too, another layer she wasn’t sure she would have been able to recognize even a few days ago. Now, though, that she knew his handsome face better and understood his motivations regarding the situation, she could read the smaller expressions in his usual air of seriousness and solemnity.

As he looked at Lizzy, there was a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. An apology, maybe, a slight sense of shame and embarrassment.

Looking back at Jane and Bingley, it wasn’t hard to understand why. They were glowing. Happiness seeped from them both like sunshine through clouds. Happiness that should have never been deterred, not for a single moment.

Lizzy squeezed Darcy’s hand.

She decided then to forgive him. Nothing would undo the pain Jane, and likely Bingley, had felt over their separation. There was nothing that would give the back the time they had missed with one another. And yes, Darcy had been the primary cause for that separation.

But he’d fixed it. He’d been willing to admit he’d misjudged the situation and go out of his way to reunite them. Whether Jane and Bingley would offer their forgiveness so freely remained to be seen, but Lizzy would harbor no more ill feeling toward Darcy because of it.

When the announcement of Jane and Bingley's betrothal was made, Lizzy step forward to embrace her sister, and the two men clasped hands. Hearty congratulations were passed around and the two pairs set off toward Longbourn.

Chapter Text

Evening set in on Longbourn with more merriment and celebration than the estate had seen in years.

The Bennet table was set with the best of the silver and piled high with dishes that their cook had truly outdone herself in creating. Seated close and smiling in the candlelight, the Bennet brood and their two esteemed guests exchanged well wishes and raised glasses to lives lived with luck and happiness and prosperity.

It didn’t escape Lizzy that the vast majority of those exuberant toasts were to Jane and Bingley, but she supposed that was to be expected, all things considered. Nor did Darcy seem to mind from where he was seated across from her, dutifully raising his glass when appropriate, answering when spoken to, and even offering his own pleasant topics of conversation, but generally doing what he could to remain quiet and unnoticed.

Darcy, Lizzy thought wryly, had not only brought Jane and Charles joy that day, he’d effectively placed himself out of the center of attention, making this dinner with her family much less painful for him than it might have been otherwise.

Dinner bled into conversation in the drawing room, and then into a retreat of the menfolk to Mr. Bennet’s study for more brandy and what Lizzy suspected was some of her father’s good tobacco. Jane and Lizzy exchanged a look as their respective partners went, each wondering what words of wisdom or chagrin their father would impart behind closed doors.

When the evening was winding down and the men had yet to return from the study, Lizzy yawned and stretched before realizing that she’d overlooked one very key component of her stay at Longbourn.

“Mama,” she said hesitantly. “Where are we all to sleep tonight?”

Mrs. Bennet waved a distracted hand in the air as she took another deep sip of her sherry. “Mr. Bingley has let rooms at the inn in town, of course. Jane will bunk with the rest of your sisters, and you and Mr. Darcy shall take the room you shared with Jane.”

The bottom fell out of Lizzy’s stomach.

From across the drawing room Jane met Lizzy’s eyes, a deep understanding within them. She opened her mouth, perhaps to offer some alternate solution, but Lizzy silenced her with a swift shake of her head. Jane, still looking a bit troubled, remained silent.

It would not do to make a scene of it, as much as Lizzy’s stomach still felt light and bouncing with nerves at the prospect. It wasn’t dread, and it was eagerness, but something in between, some deep sense of shaky trepidation and curiosity about the unknown.

What was her husband like, when he was truly in private? Away from the eyes of company and servants, tucked away from the evening and out of his well-tailored clothes. And what would she be like with him? They’d had moments, certainly, when they’d been relatively alone. But staying the night together, sharing a bed together…

The very idea of it made something fluttery take up residence just at the base of her throat.

She were saved from any further comment by the men returning. Bingley gave his goodnights, and Darcy came to stand near the sofa Lizzy was seated on. When it was clear the rest of the house was ready to sink into the evening’s respite after the eventful day they’d all had, Lizzy looked up at Darcy, nodding toward the stairs before offering their own well wishes for the evening.

Wood creaked beneath hesitant feet as they made their way upstairs.

How many times had she climbed up and down these worn boards? How many shouts up to her sisters as they’d gotten ready for some outing, or stealthy retreats as she’d made her way out of Longbourn for a few moments of peace?

The last few meters to the all-too-familiar bedroom door passed like an eternity, and when Lizzy turned the knob and stepped inside, Darcy stayed hovering on the threshold like he might stay there all night.

“You should come in,” Lizzy said softly as she held the door open wide. “There might be questions, otherwise.”

The room was as familiar as it had ever been. The same comfortable bed, the same dark wood furnishings, the same worn rugs on the floor. Still, as Darcy followed her inside and shut the door behind him, the space had never felt so small. 

There was nowhere to hide, here, no doors or walls between them. 

Darcy glanced from the bed to the floor. “I can try to make myself comfortable—”

“No,” Lizzy said quickly, cutting him off. At his baffled look, she flushed a little. “I wouldn’t be a very good hostess, would I, if I brought you into my family’s home and made you sleep on the floor.”

“Elizabeth,” Darcy said slowly, shaking his head.

“It’s fine,” she insisted, before another though occurred to her. “That is, it’s fine if we just…sleep next to one another. This isn’t me…asking for more than that.”

Lord. Her cheeks were flaming and her palms had gone clammy.

I will not share your bed until you want me to.

That wasn’t what she was asking, at least not in the implied sense.

“If you’d like to change your clothes, I can…” Lizzy said, trailing off and gesturing to the open door of the wardrobe at the side of the room. “I have a few things to organize and pack before we leave tomorrow.”

Darcy gave her a brief nod, and Lizzy busied herself, keeping her eyes trained studiously on the shelves in front of her as she sorted through her things. Somewhere in the room behind her, she could hear the click of a latch as Darcy opened his traveling case, followed by the soft rustle of clothing.

Every sound seemed amplified, every shift and creak of the floor echoing through her.

When it was quiet again, Lizzy dared to peek around the wardrobe door. Darcy was dressed in a clean linen nightshirt and a fresh pair of trousers Lizzy suspected he likely wouldn’t have bothered with if she were not here. He had has back to her, staring out the window.

Forcing herself to breath normally, Lizzy crossed to the low dresser and mirror that served as the room’s vanity. A moment later, a new problem presented itself.

“I need some assistance. If you wouldn’t mind?” Lizzy asked.

She’d solved the issue of needing a lady’s maid to attend her once they got to Pemberley by offering the position to Cherise, who had heartily accepted. Still, Cherise wouldn’t be traveling north for a few weeks as she wrapped up her affairs in London, which left Lizzy on her own for a little while with her wardrobe and toilette. 

When Lizzy glanced over her shoulder she found Darcy watching her, absolutely still.

“My dress,” she explained. “I usually have a sister or three to help me with it, there’s a row of buttons down the back I can’t reach.”

Darcy cleared his throat before moving toward her. “Of course.”

She could always feel it, when he stood this close to her. Even without touching, the presence and the heat of him washed over her like a warm, familiar blanket. When his deft fingers started on the row of buttons, it was all she could do not to arch back into that warmth.

With the back of her dress undone, Darcy placed both hands lightly on her shoulders. His thumbs brushed over the exposed nape of her neck.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

The lush invitation lurking just below the surface of those words made her shiver. She was aware of him, far too aware of him, and with his hands still touching her that awareness crackled and simmered over her skin.

“I’m alright,” she managed to say.

He started to move away, and an unexpected streak of boldness made her speak again.

“On second thought,” she said, making him pause. “The pins. Just at the back of my hair. They’re always a pain to remove.”

For a few long, fraught moments he didn’t speak, didn’t move, and Lizzy had the horrible sinking feeling that she’d crossed some sort of line.

“Of course,” he murmured finally, coming back to stand behind her. His eyes locked on hers in the mirror, sending a pang of unexpected heat through her and raising a flush in her cheeks.

With slow, deliberate care he removed each pin, reaching forward to set them on the dresser in front of her. Her hair fell in a dark curtain to the center of her back, and when it was entirely unbound she turned to face him.

He was standing much closer than she realized.

“Will that be all?” There was a smile somewhere in that voice, a thread of gentle teasing.

In the candlelight, her eyes traced the planes of his handsome face, the slight rasp of stubble at his jaw, the open vee of the nightshirt he wore. It was a strange, enticing intimacy, seeing him like this. Undone, at ease, so different than the Darcy who wore neatly pressed jackets and pristine white cravats. 

There was something dangerous about him, like this.

Lizzy remembered his question and nodded, and he retreated to the bed, pulling back the covers on the far side and climbing in beneath them.

As he settled himself in, she ducked behind the corner of the open wardrobe at the side of the room and hastily changed from her dress into a nightgown. It was scant privacy, but when she stole a glance over her shoulder she noted that Darcy had conscientiously turned to his side to face the wall.

Lizzy’s body was strumming with static and anticipation, nervous energy that had nowhere to go but into the quick, jerky strokes of the brush through her hair and a few splashes of water on her heated face. After patting it dry she fidgeted a moment more before turning to face the bed.

Darcy was on his back, staring up into the canopy, at first glance looking for all the world like he was entirely at ease and ready for a night of uneventful rest. 

Though, the longer she looked the more uncertain she became. His breathing, she noted as she stared at the rise and fall of his chest, seemed a bit uneven. The lines of tension in his face suggesting he was not immune to the current still running between them.

It had been simmering there all afternoon.

Since their walk, since those few stolen moments beside the river and the delicious heat of his mouth on hers in the bright sunshine. No cover of darkness, no sparkling lights to entrance them. 

God, if she was being honest with herself, it had simmered between them since the first night their eyes had met across the Meryton assembly hall. It was still a tangle, everything between them, but shining through it all was that same thread of sensual awareness, the intangible force that had sprung up between them the first time they’d met.

Lizzy had never felt anything like it.

Surely, she had found a handful of the eligible young men in Hertfordshire attractive. She had objectively been able to look at a handsome face and appreciate it. But this? She had no frame of reference for it, no way to understand it. 

Lizzy took a few shaking steps toward the bed, extinguishing the last of the candles on her nightstand. Cocooned in darkness, she slid beneath the fresh sheets and settled into the familiar softness of the mattress.

Strange, how she couldn’t make herself comfortable. Strange, how even in the darkness and the exhaustion of the day, her racing mind could not rest.

Something in Lizzy was…hungry. She couldn’t have put name to exactly what she craved, couldn’t have explained what made every single muscle and fiber of her being ache and strain toward him. She could hear his every breath, feel the warm weight of him next to her in bed. 

Under cover of darkness and wrapped up in that yearning, she reached a hand out beneath the covers.

An accident. It could have been an accident. 

When her fingers bushed up against the clean cotton of his nightshirt and the warm, solid flesh beneath, she could have pulled away. Darcy, she was sure, wouldn’t have said anything, would have permitted her the indiscreet touch and would not have made anything more of it if she wanted to pretend it had never happened.

Lizzy, however, was feeling darkly, inexorably deliberate tonight.

One touch became a palm flattened against his chest. A flexing of fingers, a rustle of sheets, and she moved toward him, carefully monitoring his reaction all the while.

Like when she’d kissed him at Vauxhall, he seemed to have gone perfectly, utterly still. As if he were waiting for her to decide, Lizzy thought, like he didn’t want to make any sudden movement lest he scare her away. 

His chest was warm beneath her fingers, and as she slid her hand up his sternum to touch the bare skin at his neckline, she felt one of his arms come around her, resting lightly against the middle of her back.

“Is this alright?” she asked.

Darcy nodded once and let out a long, ragged breath. The hand hand at her back tightened slightly on the fabric of her nightgown.

She traced the lines and contours of his chest beneath his shirt, memorizing the topography of him. His skin was taut and warm, muscles bunching and relaxing in response to her touch. It only fueled her to lean closer, breathe him deeper. When she leaned in to kiss him, though, he stopped her.

“Is this what you want, truly?” he asked her, hesitating before pulling her any closer.  “Just because we’re sharing a bed doesn’t me we have to—”

Lizzy laid a finger against his lips to silence his words, nodding in response to his question, but he still didn’t move.

“Tell me,” he insisted. “I need to hear the words.”

“I want this,” she whispered. 

The change in Darcy was instantaneous. Between one heartbeat and the next, Lizzy was a hauled up against his body, pressed tightly to his solid, broad frame. Another moment later, his lips slanted over hers and he kissed her with a deep, slow intensity that made something warm and insistent bloom in the bottom of her belly.

He took his time with her. 

Kissing her like they had days, weeks, months for this, his hands traced her waist, her back, the curve of her hips. When she reciprocated, twining her hands into his soft hair and cupping the strong line of his jaw, he made a sound of deep male satisfaction.

And when he trailed his mouth from hers, down the column of her throat and lower, to press soft lips against her collarbone, it was Lizzy’s turn to moan.

Darcy chuckled. “Careful, you’ll wake the whole house if you can’t keep quiet.”

He was teasing her. Teasing in the most deliciously cruel, sensual way, because even as he gave his warning, his hands went to work on the ties at the top of her nightgown, teeth rasping lightly against the fabric as he undid the laces.

Lizzy pressed a hand to her mouth, willing herself to be silent.

A breath of cool air broke over her skin as he exposed more of it, and a small shiver of trepidation ran through her. Lizzy knew her body ran slim and lean, any curves she possessed subtle rather than overt. It had never really bothered her before, but as Darcy drew the loosened collar of her nightgown down, she felt a momentary pang of unease. Hers was not a buxom frame, and if that was what he preferred he’d likely be disappointed.

She needn't have worried. With careful, reverent touches, Darcy skimmed his hands over her breasts. Caressing, soothing her unease, learning every curve and inch of her.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head lower so his lips could follow the path his fingers had mapped.

The gentle kisses and teasing drag of teeth against her tender skin only made her burn hotter. That warm heat in her core spread outwards. It made her skin tingle and her muscles clench with anticipation. For what, she didn’t know, but she writhed against him, pressed even closer in silent demand.

“Please,” Lizzy moaned, arching into his touch. “Please, Mr.—”

Darcy reached up and laid two fingers gently on her lips. “Fitzwilliam. Or William. You’ll use my name when we’re in bed together.”

He punctuated his words with a long, slow draw on her nipple, rolling the tip gently between his teeth. The sensation of his mouth on her, along with the thread of command in his voice, had her bowing off the bed, silently begging for more.

“Say it,” he whispered against her skin. “I want to hear you say it.”

“William,” she gasped. “Please.”

She didn’t know what she was asking for, other than more. More touch, more pleasure, more of him.

Even though she wouldn’t have been able to put the request into words, Darcy seemed to know precisely what it was she needed. Mouth still occupied with her breasts, his other hand slid lower. His fingers closed around the bottom hem of her nightgown where it was bunched around her legs, lifting it even further to expose pale, trembling thighs and the dark thatch of curls between them.

He pulled his mouth away from her, watching the shifting expressions on her face as he slid his hand along the inside of one thigh. Gently caressing, he touched and watched and made a low, approving sound of pleasure in his throat when she opened for him.

“Tell me, Lizzy,” he leaned up and rasped against her jaw. “Tell me if you’d like me to stop.”

Darcy’s mouth traced a line of kisses and gentle bites from just below her ear down to the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. At the same time, his fingers toyed with the damp heat of her, teasing and exploring, brushing over tender places that made warmth and color bloom within her. Lizzy cried out softly and pressed closer to his touch.

“Lizzy,” he said again, moving his hand away a fraction of an inch.

“Don’t stop,” she said on a choked whisper. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he said in a husky voice, rich with his own desire. 

He sank one long finger into her.

Lizzy bowed and squirmed a little at the feel of him there, inside of her, pressing deep and drawing sensation from her in unrelenting waves. She let out a small, strangled cry, and he pressed his lips against hers like he’d swallow the sound whole.

Darcy did not give her a moment of mercy. Coaxing, building, driving her mad, his other hand stayed tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, keeping her cradled close to him. She was held by him, possessed by him, the strength in his hands the only thing keeping her tethered in a world that shifted and whirled with sensation.

Those hands. The same one he’d offered her as he helped her into the carriage outside Netherfield Park the first time their bare skin had touched. The same ones that had pulled her to him in the rain outside Rosings and guided her through a dance beneath the Vauxhall lights. The things they did to her now…

Lizzy’s body was made of simmering heat and pleasure. She arched and strained against him inelegantly, chasing his touch, chasing something…something…

“Like that,” Darcy soothed, following her movements with his hand. “Just like that, my Lizzy.”

The world came apart on a wave of pleasure like the breaking of glass. Shattered, shimmering, cracking her into a thousand pieces as her climax rolled over her. 

She would have screamed, but he throttled the sound with his own mouth, delving deep and keeping held tightly in his arms. Through each devastating spasm, he crooned to her, told her how beautiful she was, whispered words of earthy praise and soothing comfort.

Lizzy was still shuddering when he laid them both back gently against the pillows, loosening his hold a little. Between them, she could feel the hard, insistent press of his erection low on her belly. Face heating, she tried to move away. Was she hurting him? Did he want her this close when he was…

“It’s alright,” Darcy whispered into her hair. “Just rest.”

Lizzy didn’t quite understand, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do, but when Darcy’s arms came back around her and he angled his hips to the side so they didn’t press into her, she began to relax.

Limbs heavy with pleasure, and eyes threatening to slide shut, the last thing she felt before sleep claimed her was the soft press of a kiss against her hair, the steady stroke of a hand on her back, lulling her to sleep.

Chapter Text

Lizzy was alone when she woke the next morning.

For the first few moments she forgot—forgot Darcy, forgot she was married, forgot anything but the fact that she was waking up in the same bed she’d slept in since childhood, morning light streaming into the familiar room around her.

That is, until she rolled over and stared at the empty, rumpled bed linens beside her. The pillow was still creased from the head that had slept on it, the sheets still smelled faintly like him.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, all the memories came flooding back.

Darcy’s hands, the insistent press of his mouth, the things he’d said to her…the things they had done. Something delicious and warm curled up deep in her belly and she wasn’t sure whether to crawl back under the covers in embarrassment or go find him, wherever he had gone, and drag him back under with her.

She settled for getting out of bed and crossing to the dresser, splashing a bit of water on her face to cool herself down. Looking around the room, she saw Darcy’s traveling case still resting on the floor, and the jacket he’d worn yesterday slung over the back of a chair, two good signs that he hadn’t run off at dawn and abandoned her completely.

Had he enjoyed himself, last night? Lizzy’s flush returned in full force. He’d certainly seemed to, but she’d fallen asleep before he’d…before they’d…

A sharp knock at the door had her pressing a hand to her chest and feeling infinitely foolish for the way her heart and thoughts were racing. Smoothing down her sleep-tousled hair, she crossed the room to open it a crack, peeking around the edge to find Jane on the other side.

“Good morning,” he sister said cheerily, letting herself in. 

“Good morning,” Lizzy said in return, voice coming out as a bit of a croak.

“You slept late,” Jane said mildly. “I thought I’d invite myself in to help you get dressed.”

“Where…” Lizzy said, and paused. “That is, have you seen Mr. Darcy this morning?”

“Off with Charles,” Jane told her, opening the wardrobe and rifling through the few dresses Lizzy still had to pack. She picked out a cream-colored traveling frock with deep gray striping, holding it up.

Lizzy nodded silently, pulling a clean chemise from the dresser. “Where did they go?”

“Out for a morning ride, and to speak to Netherfield's caretaker about letting the house again. Charles plans to take up residence there until our wedding.”

They’d yet to pick a date, but during the buoyant, cheerful conversation last evening had expressed their wishes to be married expediently. No later than summer’s end, if possible.

Jane was practically brimming over with the joy of it all in her own quiet, composed way. There was a lovely bit of color in her cheeks, and she seemed to float around the room as she helped Lizzy with her dress and with brushing and styling her hair into a simple, swept-up style that would withstand the day of travel.

“So,” Jane said when she was finished. “I take it that you and Mr. Darcy got on well enough last night having to share a room?”

Lizzy balked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jane looked pointedly to the rumpled bed linens, and Lizzy went scarlet.

“That’s not…” she began, and knew that Jane would be able to pick up on the lie immediately. “That is a private matter.”

Jane dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Oh, Lizzy, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn’t tease.”

Lizzy placed both her hands on her hips, feigning offense. 

“Forgive me,” Jane said, still biting back laughter, “but the two of you did look…cordial yesterday. During our walk, you seemed to be…getting along?”

“Did we?” Lizzy asked her with an eyebrow raised. “Was that before or after you and Mr. Bingley disappeared into thin air for the better part of a half hour?”

There was no malice in her tone, and the two sisters both broke down into more laughter before gathering their composure.

“I am truly happy for you,” Lizzy said, crossing the room to take both of Jane’s hands in her own. “And for Mr. Bingley. I am so glad the two of you were able to reunite.”

She’d said as much when Jane and Bingley had announced their engagement to her and Darcy, and several more times during the evening that had followed, but it was no less true today.

For a moment, there was a slight dimming in Jane’s broad, luminous joy. 

“Yes,” she said slowly. “And for that I must thank Mr. Darcy. And, I suspect, you as well?”

Lizzy shifted a little uncomfortably. There hadn’t been time to explain it all, to come clean about everything that had happened. She did the best she could now, telling Jane about the details she had gleaned from Colonel Fitzwilliam just hours before Darcy’s proposal, Darcy’s own admission at his role in the separation, and the ownership he’d taken for it yesterday.

Some of it, Lizzy held back. Her own fury and hurt at finding out the truth, the barbed words she and Darcy had traded in the rain, the forgiveness she’d mentally decided to extend him after his apology. It was not about her, after all, not for Lizzy to impress her own thoughts and feelings onto the situation, but to be there for her sister in any capacity Jane needed.

When she finished, Jane remained silent and thoughtful for a few long moments before speaking.

“Charles told me a similar account, yesterday,” she said finally. “He told me about the visit Darcy paid him in London and the deep regrets he has about allowing himself to be swayed into giving me up.”

Something sharp lodged itself in Lizzy chest at the pain in Jane’s voice, the lingering disappointment in what should have been her unblemished happiness.

“And how are you?” Lizzy asked her. “Knowing all of it, having him come back now to try and make it right?”

“I haven’t quite forgiven him for it,” Jane admitted. “But if it’s a choice between accepting that he made a mistake and loving him despite it, or standing on pride and losing him forever, well, it really isn’t a question, is it?”

Lizzy nodded, unable to summon the necessary words to respond. That sharp thing in her chest seemed to move north, lodging itself instead at the base of her throat and silencing any reply she might have offered.

“Neither Charles or I want any discord between us,” Jane went on gently. “Though I think it may take some time for our men to repair their relationship, Charles knows how dearly I love you, and that it is not an option for me not to have you in my life. If he has to get over his lingering ill feelings toward your husband, so be it.”

Jane’s tone was firm, so strong and deliberate that for a moment Lizzy scarcely recognized her. It cleared away any lingering doubt that Jane would go into her marriage with less than determined confidence and the ability to make her voice heard with her husband, and Lizzy respected her immensely for it. She’d always known her sister possessed an inner core of steady resolve and bravery beneath her endless gentleness, and it warmed her to see it now.

“Well then,” Lizzy said, hugging her sister. “It seems Mr. Bingley will soon come to realize his has met his match in you.”

“Oh, he knows it already,” Jane told her with a laugh, returning the hug. “If he did not before, than he certainly does now after how long I kept him waiting for an answer to his proposal yesterday. I would not give it until he had accounted in full for his actions.”

The two parted then, and spent the next few minutes gathering the things Lizzy would be taking with her to Pemberley. In truth, it was not much, as she decided to leave as much as she could for her younger sisters given the number of things she’d purchased in London and what would no doubt be more than enough pin money to purchase anything else she needed when she got to Pemberley.

Still, as her hands passed over some of the clothing she had worn, the brushes and combs and trinkets she left on the dresser, she couldn’t help but feel a small wave of sadness. These things belong to Lizzy Bennet, and who she was now that she was leaving them behind, she did not know.

When her things were packed, she and Jane returned downstairs. As they reached the landing, a voice from down the hall halted their progress.

“Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said from the doorway of his study. “A word?”

Jane gave her hand a quick squeeze of encouragement.

“Of course, papa,” Lizzy said.

She’d known it was coming, but that didn’t stop her feet from feeling like two dead weights as she followed her father inside. In all the time they’d spent together the previous day and evening, she and Darcy hadn’t spoke about whatever had passed between him and her father after they arrived, though Lizzy suspected Mr. Bennet would not have held any of his ire or disappointment back.

Shutting the door behind her, Lizzy crossed to sit in one of the chairs before the wide oak desk strewn with correspondence and estate ledgers and the odd bits and pieces her father liked to tinker with and collect. An antique watch, here, the ornate plume of pen, there. On the window sill, several of the orchids he tended with patient care soaked in the morning sun. 

In Lizzy’s childhood, this had always been a special place. Off-limits to all the Bennet daughters, except for on those occasions when their father had beckoned them in to perch on his knee and stay for a while. It had never escaped Lizzy that her own invitations inside had been far more frequent than her sisters’ and she’d spent many a happy afternoon curled up in one of the armchairs before the small hearth with a book, or seated near her father as he read to her from the latest newspaper or scientific publication he’d been able to get his hands on.

Now, she suddenly felt once more like the girl she had been. Uncertain, small, not quite ready to face the consequence of whatever latest mischief she’d gotten into.

Mr. Bennet settled himself on the opposite side of the desk, folding his hands in his lap and gazing at her for a few long moments.

“Papa,” Lizzy began, but he held up a hand.

“I will start by telling you something I told your husband yesterday,” he said. “Which is that marriage is not a thing to be taken lightly, and that one’s choice in partner means a great deal more than some arrangement for financial, social, or other convenience.”

Lizzy shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Papa, I…” she began, but trailed off when she realized she no intention what she wanted to say.

“What I did not ask him, and what I will ask you now,” her father continued, as though she hadn’t spoken, “is whether you are well and safe? Whether you feel this marriage was entered into freely and willingly?”

Something dark and afraid twisted in Lizzy’s gut at the implication in his words. 

“It was,” she whispered. “And I am. That is, Mr. Darcy has been very considerate since our wedding.”

The same bland sentiment that she’d offered to Jane yesterday, and one that had been blown to absolute smithereens during the night they’d shared together. 

There was nothing merely considerate in the way he’d kissed and touched her, nothing polite or proper in the way she was beginning to feel about him. Finding a bit more of her courage, Lizzy continued.

“The events that…made this marriage necessary were my own doing as much as his.”

There was no use denying it, no sense in pretending she hadn’t been as much of an active participant as he had been. What that would make her in her father’s eyes, she did not know.

“It was not planned, and I cannot say I acted with any measure of reason or foresight,” Lizzy barreled on. “But nor was I coerced or forced. I…we…made a mistake. We were caught, and have made the best of it that we could.”

Mr. Bennet stared at his daughter for a good long while, as if seeing her for the first time. The clock on the mantle ticked slowly, and in the sun steaming through the window Lizzy could see the slow dance of dust motes in the light. The moment seemed oddly suspended, run through with tension she wasn’t sure if she knew how to resolve. She’d always been somewhat of a darling to her father, and the realization that she was likely now breaking some of the trust and affection he’d always had for her made something crack and fracture in her chest.

Still, there was nowhere for her to go but onwards.

“And besides,” Lizzy said, voice dropping low. “It was not only myself I had to consider in the consequences of my actions. Jane, Mary, Kitty, Lydia, all of them could have been harmed if there was any word of scandal.”

Mr. Bennet’s expression hardened. “That is no reason to make yourself a martyr.”

For a moment, Lizzy saw her situation as he must. Married to a stranger, and to an unpleasant one at that. They all saw Darcy for the haughty, aloof man he had been during his previous visit to Hertfordshire, and likely had noted Lizzy’s own antagonism toward him during that visit. She could not blame her father now for thinking that his beloved daughter had sacrificed all chance at future happiness and contentment by tying herself to him.

There was, Lizzy realized, likely nothing she could do or say now to rectify that fact. No solid shred of evidence or convincing performance she could give to allay his fears entirely. No, when she spoke again it was to the ultimately practical soul her father possessed, the same one he’d given to her.

“I am alright,” she said, with perfect confidence and steadfast resolve. “Mr. Darcy and I have…an understanding, of sorts. We are more than capable of seeing this through and making something satisfactory of this marriage.”

Even as she said the words, they tasted hollow and empty. 

But what else was there to say? Lizzy didn’t have the slightest idea how to sort through her own feelings, let alone voice them to someone else. In time, perhaps, there would something more she could offer, but not today.

At her proclamation, the lingering ire in her father’s face melted away, only to be replaced by a sense of sad weariness.

“If only that were anywhere near good enough for you, my dear Lizzy.”

The sharp sting of tears behind Lizzy’s eyes made her blink several times in quick succession. With nothing much more to be said, she simply nodded.

Still a bit shaken from her fraught conversation with her father, Lizzy found herself in dire need of some fresh air. 

She exited Longbourn without stopping to speak with her mother and sisters who were still taking breakfast in the dining room, and headed out into the yard instead. She had it half in her mind to return to the spot by the lake where she and Jane had retreated yesterday to have a few moments of peace and quiet to gather her thoughts, but a motion from near the stables caught her attention.

Two riders had entered the yard—Darcy and Bingley back from their ride to Netherfield.

Vaulting down from the horse’s back, Darcy crossed the yard in swift, ground-covering strides. He was dressed in a pair of fitted riding breeches, an open-necked white shirt with no cravat, and a worn riding coat. There was something particularly cavalier about him in such casual attire, something that caused Lizzy’s heart rate to tick decidedly upwards as he approached. Bingley left in the opposite direction, heading for the house, leaving Lizzy and Darcy alone in the yard together. She could not take her eyes off of him.

It was the ruggedness of him like this that appealed to her, she supposed, and the fact that dressed as casually as he was, he almost seemed to fit in with the surroundings. Striding across Longbourn's yard, he might have been no more than a humble country landowner’s heir, the type of unpretentious, salt-of-the-earth suitor she might have once expected for her husband, rather than the grand gentleman he was.

The contrast was undeniably tantalizing, made all the more so by the things he knew about him now. She knew the sounds he made when he was pleased by her, the way his voice lowered and deepened when he was encouraging her surrender. She knew the taste of him, the feel of his skin beneath her hands, and could do nothing to stop the flood of all those memories as he approached.

Just as he came to stop in front of her, Darcy reached a hand forward like he was going to clasp her own, only to hesitate and draw it back.

“Are you…well this morning?” he asked, eyes scanning her face like he was searching for any slight sign of regret for what everything they had shared last night, any sign she was not eager to see and speak with him this morning.

The idea struck Lizzy as unexpectedly, delightfully endearing. Darcy had always been a reserved, stoic man, but seeing him like this, seeing him almost shy, made a tender, wonderful sensation open up wide in her chest.

“I am very well, thank you,” Lizzy told him, keeping her voice low and daring to reach out and take the hand he had dropped, giving it a squeeze.

Something dark and promising flashed across Darcy’s expression as his fingers tightened around hers. He took a step closer. “I am glad to hear it.”

In his eyes, a hundred sensual promises. As if he couldn’t help himself, his gaze traced up and down her body, like he was remembering it as it had been the night before. Bared, straining, opening for him and melting into the hard contours of his own.

Lizzy simmered with tension and awareness once more. It felt, she thought, like someone had thrown open a door which would absolutely refuse to be shut again.

Remembering herself and where they were standing, Lizzy gave herself a mental shake and cleared her throat. “When are we to depart?”

Darcy, also getting a handle on himself, glanced back toward the stable. “If we’re to make it to the inn I arranged for us to stay tonight, we should leave within the hour.” His brow creased for a moment. “Unless you need more time here?”

“No,” Lizzy told him. “I’m ready.”

In truth, she would never be entirely ready to leave Longbourn, never feel quite at peace with leaving toward some unknown future. But it was time. As fast as all the changes had happened and as much as a part of her heart still ached for the simplicity of the life she had lived at Longbourn, it was time for the both of them to forge onwards to whatever awaited them in their married life.

The next hour passed in a flurry of activity. Darcy returned upstairs to change for the journey and gather his own things, and Lizzy oversaw the packing of her own bags into the carriage. More well wishes were given by her sisters, and by Mr. Bennet, who quit his study to give Lizzy a quiet, heartfelt send off as the time for leaving drew near.

Mrs. Bennet was the last to meet her daughter in the hall just inside the front door.

“My dear Lizzy,” she said, taking Lizzy’s face between her cupped palms and pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “Grown and married and leaving Longbourn for good.”

“Never for good, mama,” Lizzy told her, leaning into the embrace. “And once we’re settled, you and papa must come for a visit at Pemberley.”

When she pulled away, Mrs. Bennet’s eyes we’re shining with unshed tears. For any faults she may have, Mrs. Bennet loved her daughters, and wanted nothing more than the best that life could offer them. Just because that want sometimes manifested itself in an over-enthusiasm for scheming and matchmaking, and in an over-abundance of emotion didn’t make it any less true.

“Of course my darling,” Mrs. Bennet said, imparting one last kiss before letting Lizzy go. “Safe travels to you and Mr. Darcy on your journey north.”

The Bennet estate was again awash in chaos as Lizzy and Darcy prepared to leave. Mrs. Bennet’s effusive well wishes for the rest of their journey north and vehement enthusiasm for planning a visit to Pemberley once they were settled was interrupted by the sound of an argument spilling from inside the house.

“Mama!” Kitty wailed, Lydia trailing in her wake. “You must write to the Forsters!”

“Kitty my dear, whatever is the matter?” Mrs. Bennet asked.

Lydia, a satisfied smile on her lips, stepped forward clutching a letter in triumph. “An invitation to join Mr. and Mrs. Forster on a trip to Brighton!”

“There is no reason why they couldn’t have invited the both of us,” Kitty said, distraught. 

“Perhaps I’m simply better company,” Lydia crooned, prompting a fresh round of protestations from Kitty.

Lizzy shot a glance at Darcy, wincing a bit at the display. He seemed unperturbed, leaning down and speaking softly into her ear as Mrs. Bennet tried to mediate the situation nearby.

“You forget,” he said, a bit of laughter in his voice. “I have a younger sister, and am no stranger to some of the angst that entails.”

Lizzy’s smile spread wide, and relief eased away some of the embarrassment. “I had not forgotten,” she said, just as quietly. “And am glad to know that younger sisters pose the same sorts of problems to their brothers as well.”

Despite the chaos, they managed to give their final farewells, promises for visits, and climbed into the carriage with a hearty round of well-wishes.

And then they were off, carriage bumping down the quiet country road as they left Longbourn behind.

Chapter Text

It would be a four day journey north to Pemberley, with three evenings spent in inns along the way.

Despite the lingering melancholy that leaving her family home had put in Lizzy’s heart, she found a new excitement growing at the prospect of travel. Besides a few short trips away from Longbourn over the years, she hadn’t had much opportunity to see other parts of the country, and had certainly never been so far north as Derbyshire.

The day was as bright and fine as the one which had proceeded it, and travel was swift down the well-worn roads. As the carriage passed out of Meryton and Lizzy saw the last glimpse of of the village disappear outside her window, she turned to her husband and smiled wryly.

“Well,” she said, “you survived a visit to Longbourn.”

If she were being honest with herself, he had done much more than simply survive. Through his visit, not only had he succeeded in bringing happiness to Jane and Bingley, he’d done an admirable job at winning over the rest of her family.

Her father’s disappointment in her and in the situation and Jane and Charles’ feelings about Darcy role in their separation were lingering sorrows in Lizzy’s mind, but it seemed the rest of her family had started to change their tune about him. It bolstered her at least a little bit and gave her a small measure of hope that perhaps one day her family might come to celebrate her own marriage—if not with the effusive joy and praise they had for Jane and Charles, then at least with more than wary acceptance and resignation.

Whether Lizzy’s own feelings on her marriage would follow similar suit remained to be seen, but looking across the carriage at him now and seeing him return her smile, something shifted and settled in her chest.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Darcy said, all seriousness. “It was a very pleasant visit.”

Lizzy laughed. “A generous interpretation of the last twenty-four hours.”

Darcy’s wry humor matched her own as he settled back into the plush softness of the carriage seat and shook his head slightly. “Your family was very welcoming to me, all things considered. It was a great deal warmer of a reception than I might have hoped for.”

“My whole family?”

Her implication was clear enough. They hadn’t yet spoken of what Mr. Bennet had said to him during the time the two men had disappeared into his study, nor had her father given any indication of what had passed between them.

Darcy’s expression softened. “Nothing was said that was not entirely deserved on my part.”

“My father had some…stern words for me this morning,” Lizzy admitted. “What did he have to say to you, yesterday?”

Darcy spoke quietly, still looking at her with a mixture of tenderness and a hint of something Lizzy couldn’t quite identify. “Some of it, I can’t imagine he would want me to repeat. Most of it, however, remained centered on the fact that he cares a great deal for you, and only wants the best for you in your marriage.”

A pang of regret tightened in Lizzy’s chest. She’d known as much by her father’s words to her, but hearing them echoed back to her now in Darcy’s voice made them feel especially poignant.

“In any case,” she said, swallowing back that emotion. “I thank you for your patience with everything. With the chaos of Longbourn and with how overwhelming it all must have felt.”

He shook his head slowly. “Your thanks are appreciated, but not necessary. Your family is mine, now, and mine is yours. I only hope they have a somewhat better opinion of me than they did before.”

“And what of your opinion?” she asked. “What did you think of my family and home?”

The question left her before she might have thought better of it. Did she truly want to know? He’d certainly made his thoughts clear on the day he proposed to her, how much sense did it make to reopen that wound?

“I think it’s rather wonderful,” Darcy said quietly. “To be so surrounded by a family who so obviously loves and wants the best for you.”

The tightness in her chest grew even more pointed.

“The best, indeed,” Lizzy said, though with a thread of love rather than scorn in her tone. “My mother is likely still trying to find her scattered nerves, and compose them all back together. One daughter married and another engaged, all in the span of a few days.”

Darcy laughed a little at that. “Was Jane truly happy then, with Charles decision to offer for her hand?”

“She was, though I don’t think for a single moment she’ll let Charles off easily for the turmoil he put her through in the meantime.”

“And I do not fault her for it for a moment.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, though not discomfort, as they each processed the events of the last day. Lizzy still hadn’t let the impact of it fully sink in. They’d made it through another hurtle, together, and it felt like a larger victory than anything that had come before it.

It had not come without its challenges, but knowing that at the very least her family could wish them well, see them off with a fair attempt at civility and good cheer would have to be enough. There was not perhaps so much joy for her and Darcy as there might be for Jane and Charles, but to have a measure of acceptance was more than she might have hoped for, given the events that had brought them to this point.

She was about to offer some other comment, perhaps thank him for all he’d done to help alleviate some of the ill feelings and tension during their visit, but didn’t get the chance before he spoke again.

“Everything I said,” he began, seeming to choose his words carefully. “All the insults I leveled against your family, I was wrong for it. I spoke out of anger and pride and embarrassment, and dishonored myself with those words.”

Lizzy swallowed painfully around the sudden thickness in her throat.

His admission was…unexpected. Plain, earnest, offered without any prompting, it was another impossible moment when the proud, arrogant man she had thought she’d known dissolved completely into someone new, a man she was only beginning to know.

“The words of a gentleman,” he murmured to himself, repeating the damning accusation Lizzy had hurled at him that day.

“I should not have phrased it like—” Lizzy began, but was cut off by a gentle shake of Darcy’s head.

“No,” he assured her, “you were quite right.”

He looked at her fully, the deep blue of his eyes shining with enough sincerity to make her breath catch. Without thinking, she reached across the narrow space between them, taking one of his hands in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” she told him quietly. “Thank you for saying that, and for everything you did to help smooth things over during our visit.”

He simply nodded, and the two of them lapsed into silence once more.

As Lizzy released his hand and settled back into her seat, the tightness in her throat would not ease, and her emotions seemed to veer chaotically between the tangle of her thoughts.

Part of her could not help but wonder how much his opinion truly had changed. It was true, he had made it through the brief stay with her family relatively unscathed, but how much had that altered the way he viewed them? The Bennet family was in an entirely different social stratus than his own. In manner and wealth and connection, the gulf between them was vast. Could a single day change so much?

Still…he was trying. Just as he was trying with her, he had tried to make the best of things with her family as he could. The air was nowhere near cleared, especially where her father’s opinion was concerned, but it was a start.

They had the rest of their lives, she realized with a small pulse of hope. The rest of their lives to understand one another, to find a sense of peace and stability together. Perhaps even affection and friendship.

She would not let herself hope for love, not yet, not when everything still felt so new and when there were so many obstacles yet in front of them. Still, seeing Darcy’s effort softened a little bit more of Lizzy’s reserve, made her wonder where she might also have room to try, to put forth a little more effort as they made their way into their married life.

At the noon hour, they stopped in a small wayside village for a meal and to allow the horses to be refreshed. They took advantage of the beautiful spring day by stretching their legs and taking a walk down the village’s main street. The road was lined with tidy, well-kept shops, a couple of taverns, and plenty of other travelers and villagers enjoying the warm weather. A bookstore caught Lizzy’s attention, and Darcy graciously opened the door and held it for her before following her inside.

Stepping inside the shop, they spoke to the proprietor for a few moments before wandering around a bit to peruse the books on offer. One in particular caught Lizzy’s eye.

It was a book on Derbyshire, whose contents included a history of the region and description of the geography and major towns and villages. She held it up to him for his own inspection.

“Does it seem like a well-informed account of your home county?” she asked him as she flipped through the book.

He nodded while he scanned the pages, and then turned without a word and took it up toward the main counter. Lizzy trailed behind him, giving a half-hearted, laughing protest that she hadn’t meant giving him the book to be a ploy to get him to buy it for her.

“It’s your home county now, too,” he told her as he handed over a few coins to the proprietor. “I would be remiss in not giving you every opportunity to learn about it and come to love it as much as I do.”

That certainly settled the matter, and after a quick meal taken in the dining hall in one of the village’s inns, they returned to the carriage for the second leg of the day’s journey.

As they settled into their seats and waited for the coachman to finish readying the horses, Lizzy glanced at the stack of correspondence and papers Darcy had pulled from his bag earlier to read through to keep himself occupied during the long hours of travel.

“My reading material appears to be much more interesting than yours,” she teased him, cracking the book open to the introductory passage. “Thank you again for buying it for me.”

“We could both read it,” he suggested, “if you wanted to come and sit beside me.”

The suggestion was given so mildly, with such perfect casualness, that she would have missed the hint of impropriety in it if it wasn’t for the gleam in his eye.

“Is that entirely appropriate, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, even as she shifted forward to take a seat next to him on the other side of the carriage.

“Does it matter, Mrs. Darcy?” he returned, putting a hand to her waist and helping her down beside him. When she was settled, he gave a couple of taps on the carriage roof to signal the driver.

The seat was narrow enough, and he had pulled her close enough to him, that the entire length of their bodies sat flush to one another. As she settled into place she took the time to appreciate the press of his thigh against her own, the slight inhale of his breath as she set the book to balance on both their legs and brushed her fingers over his forearm as she reached forward to find the page she had been on.

And so they passed a enjoyable few hours engrossed in the book, Darcy all too pleased to tell her everything he could about the county she would now call home. Between turns of the page and passages read aloud they traded innocent, caressing touches. Fingers, brushed together on the page; the gentle press of his hand to her knee; a comment about some landmark or town offered low and intimate into her ear. She responded in kind, leaning into him, taking any excuse to touch him, reveling in the novelty of being alone with her husband and being able to talk and touch and enjoy each other’s company in privacy.

As evening fell, they stopped in another village to rest for the evening. Darcy helped her down the the carriage in front of a cozy, well-kept traveler’s inn. Inside, he spoke to the proprietor and received the keys to the rooms he had arranged for them.

Two rooms, to be precise, one for each of them. 

Lizzy tried not to be disappointed by it, tried not to read anything into it. After all, it was to be expected, she supposed. She was not entirely well-versed in the standards and expectations for married couples of the upper classes, but she knew enough to understand that husbands and wives typically spent nights in separate chambers.

Still, as they walked down the hallway to their rooms, a part of her wanted to ask if they could not spend the night together. Would he say yes? Did he want to share a bed with her again?

The questions hovered on the edge of her mind, right alongside the memories of everything they’d shared the previous night. The kisses and touches, the pleasure he’d given her, it was almost enough to make her blurt out her request right there in the middle of the hallway, make it known that she would not object in the slightest if they decided to forgo one of their rooms.

In the end, though, her courage and wavered with the uncertainty of not knowing what was to be expected of her, and she did not ask. He did not either, and politely opened her door and showed her inside her own rooms, letting her know that one of the inn’s staff would be in with her bags shortly, and that the establishment also had a lady’s maid on staff who could help her with her wardrobe and anything else she needed.

Another pang of disappointment ran through her at that, remembering the feel of his own ministrations the night before, the gentle brush of his hands on her back and in her hair.

Whether he shared that same disappointment, she didn’t know, and wasn’t able to get a read on him before he departed for his own rooms down the hall with the promise to call on her shortly for dinner.

As she freshened up, she tried her best not to let the worries in. After all, the day they had shared had been more than pleasant. Giving her leave to have her own room for the evening was likely no more than the courtesy he assumed she expected. 

Still, as the short hour between arriving and dinner passed, the solitude of her room did nothing to calm her. Her mind kept wandering corridors best left unexplored, replayed conversations and comments that she knew she shouldn’t read further into. When Darcy’s knock sounded from the hallway to escort her to dinner, she breathed a sharp sigh of relief to have some distraction from the tangle of her own thoughts.

Dinner in the inn’s small dining room was as pleasant as the rest of the day had been. They talked of their own past travels, Darcy’s much more extensive than Elizabeth’s, and when they were finished they rose and headed back to the privacy of their rooms. Reaching hers, she opened the door before turning back to face him.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked, hesitating on the threshold for a moment.

He nodded, and followed her inside.

Part of her wanted to let it be, simply enjoy this time with him, kiss him, give into that tempting intimacy that had sprung up between them last night. And indeed, when she turned and found him standing just an arm’s length away, she almost did. It would have been so easy to reach for him, wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, bring her lips to his. It’s what she’d done yesterday, wasn’t it, let the easy pull of being near him drown out everything else, and what a wonderful, all-consuming drowning it would be.

Still, Lizzy knew that wouldn’t do this evening.

There was something else she needed to ask him. It had been somewhat buried in her list of concerns these past few days as they navigated through everything with her family, but had begun to nag at the back of her mind again over these past few hours, rise up again to the forefront during the time she’d been left alone to stew in her thoughts.

Besides all the lingering uncertainty about the state of things between them, what it meant to truly inhabit her new role as his wife, and all the rest of it, there was another question that had planted itself in her thoughts and refused to be discarded.

She wanted to know about Wickham.

So many of their other concerns had been brought to light these last few days, so many of the sharp words passed between them during Darcy’s proposal given more meaning and context, yet this mystery remained.

“There is one more thing,” Lizzy said, steeling herself. “I wanted to ask you about the other matter of discord between us. The matter of Wickham and the nature of your relationship.”

For a moment, there was a flare of something like anger in Darcy’s eyes.

It was the first time Lizzy had seen such emotion from him since his response to her rejection of his proposal. It startled her, the vehemence of the expression that crossed his face.

It was what had upset him more than anything, she remembered, the question of Mr. Wickham and the nature of the disagreement between them—both during the dance they had shared at Netherfield and during their argument after his proposal. Seeing it come back to the fore now, after the ease and familiarity that had settled between them these last few days, knocked her entirely off balance.

Darcy, seeming to notice her shock, closed his eyes for a few long moments, taking a deep, steadying breath.

When he opened them, any hit of anger was gone, replaced by what looked to Lizzy to be deep weariness, perhaps even regret.

“It’s not my story to tell.”

Then whose is it? The question was on the tip of Lizzy’s tongue, but she bit it back. Darcy seemed…fragile, somehow, close to some edge she didn’t want to force him to tip over.

“Please know,” Darcy continued, “that I would like to provide you more clarity in this, but doing so would violate the trust of someone I hold dear, and I do not wish to break that confidence until I have had the chance to speak with that person first. To do otherwise would be…”

A betrayal. Lizzy heard the words he did not say as he trailed off into silence.

She didn’t have the faintest idea what he meant, but the conflict in him was clear enough. She didn’t know what to make of it, exactly, didn’t know enough about him to understand what he might mean. Still, she knew him well enough to believe he didn’t take the matter lightly, no matter what her own biases and previous judgment of Wickham might have been.

The realization hit her with a small pulse of surprise. She was coming to know her husband, to trust him. Even if that trust mean waylaying her own need for more information.

“Alright,” she told him. “I can accept that answer for now.”

And she would, even if her unease over the matter hadn’t entirely left her. After all, didn’t she know him better now, and hadn’t some of her previous assumptions about him already been proven false? It wasn’t enough to trust him completely, and certainly wouldn’t put her mind entirely at ease, but it would do for now.

“Forgive me,” Darcy said quietly, leaning in to press a brief kiss to her forehead. “I should retire for the evening.”

Please don’t. Stay. The words were again sitting just on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back with a nod. Wherever she’d pushed his mind, whatever lay behind the question, was obviously enough for him to prefer solitude for the evening.

He bid her a soft goodnight before slipping from the room, leaving Lizzy more conflicted and confused than ever.

The second day of their journey passed much more quietly than the first. Lizzy’s earlier enthusiasm had been dampened by their conversation last night, and Darcy too, though he was polite and solicitous throughout the day, seemed to have much on his mind as well.

Throughout the day they talked sparingly—mostly small comments on the passing scenery or remarks about the remaining days of their journey, comments about the things Lizzy read in her book on Derbyshire—each content enough to read or nap or spend the journey lost to their own contemplation.

When it came time to stop for the evening they followed the same pattern as the night before. Separate rooms, and a quiet dinner taken together before they each retired to their own rooms.

Left alone to dwell on her own worst anxieties, Lizzy had no idea what to do. She vacillated between wanting to toss all the rest of her caution to the wind and march straight to his door to demand entry, or to simply brood in silence completely, letting her frustration and ire bloom into surliness.

She settled for doing neither, remaining in her room that evening and doing what she could to walk the tightrope of polite civility that had fallen between them as they rose and resumed their journey the next morning.

By their third and final night on the road before the last leg to Pemberley, neither Lizzy nor Darcy were in the best of moods. The rain had started up that morning and had not eased all day, making the road muddy and progress slow. They had been cooped up in the carriage all day, save for the infrequent stops to make use of facilities in a few of the villages they passed through, and the volume of the rain pounding down on the hard roof had made conversation all but impossible.

As they once again adjourned to separate rooms, Lizzy felt tense and irritable, though she gave Darcy a tight smile as he opened the door to her room for her.

“I will call on you in an hour for dinner,” he told her softly before turning to head toward his own room.

Of course he would, and of course it would be every bit as polite and stilted as the last two days had been. 

Inside her room, Lizzy spotted a door at the side of the room, connecting the two suites. It was a different layout than the last two inns they had stayed in, in which they’d each been housed in separate rooms, and when she walked softly to the door, resting her ear lightly on the smooth wood, she could hear a little of what was happening on the other side. Faintly, she could hear the sound of movement within, the fall of booted footsteps, the soft opening of a travel case.

Close, he was so close, as he had been these last couple of days, but still so infinitely far away in any way that mattered.

Her body ached to be nearer to him, wanted with a need that was not only physical, but that she still couldn’t put name to. Standing there, conflicted and wanting, she couldn’t quite make herself act, knowing he was the one who had put this distance between them in the first place. 

Perhaps he didn’t…want her. 

After all, he hadn’t taken his own pleasure, that night at Longbourn, had he? Perhaps he would much prefer it if they didn’t share a bed, share that sort intimacy with one another.

Even as the miserable thought settled, she couldn’t quite accept it. He had made no move to push her away that night. He had touched her and kissed her and held her close. Not for a single moment had she felt unwanted. Just the memory of it, of soft touches and urgent words, of racing hearts and whispered endearments, made her blood stir in her veins.

So what had changed? Were whatever memories she’d dragged up by mentioning Wickham so terrible that he’d become utterly repulsed by her? Had she damaged things so much between them?

Lizzy gave her head a sharp shake, feeling ridiculous. He was her husband. She should be able to simply ask him about it, talk to him and find out.

As if that prospect didn’t scare the wits out of her.

Her hand reached tentatively on the handle of the door between their rooms, giving it a silent turn and finding it unlocked.

Lizzy Bennet—Elizabeth Darcy—was not a coward. She’d drawn on more courage than she thought she possessed to navigate through her unlikely marriage up to this point, there was no reason why she ought not to be able to summon a little more.

Steeling herself and taking a deep breath for courage, Lizzy pushed the door open and stepped through.

Chapter Text

As Lizzy stepped into the room, Darcy had his back to her. Standing at the low dresser, his hands were braced on the wooden top, every inch of him looking tense and stiff, and when he turned at the sound of the door shutting behind her Lizzy’s breath caught in her throat.

Jacket discarded, shirt undone half-way down his chest and hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it one too many times, he froze when he saw her standing there.

Handsome. He was so devastatingly handsome. She thought that she would have gotten used to it by now, but it still hit her fresh every time she looked at him.

“Elizabeth,” he said, gathering himself. “Is something—”

“Nothing’s the matter,” she said quickly. “I just…I wanted to…”

I missed you.

The words wouldn’t come, and all of a sudden Lizzy felt foolish.

She missed him? She’d seen him only minutes ago, and spent the entire day with him in the carriage.

For a few long, fraught moments, they both held their silent positions. Eyes traced faces and bodies, pulses quickened, tension stretched heavy and tight between them.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Lizzy said finally. “In private.”

Darcy nodded once, the motion a bit strained, and gestured to the two seats in front of the lit hearth in his room. Lizzy didn’t move, she couldn’t, all she could do was swallow painfully around the tight lump in her throat and gather every last scrap of her courage.

“Is there something I did,” she began in a low, steady voice, “or something I said that’s angered you?”

Darcy’s eyes widened, and he immediately shook his head, though she continued before he could say anything.

“Because I’ve been trying to figure it out these last two days, why you’ve been keeping your distance from me.”

At that, Darcy went a little pale. “It has nothing to do with that, I assure you.”

“Then what?” Lizzy asked, unable to keep the frustration out of her tone.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again like he thought better than whatever it was he had meant to say.

“I understand you can’t tell me about Wickham,” she continued. “But does that mean we must…that we cannot…”

Lizzy was tired, irritated, frustrated by pleasure and longing denied. He’d given her a taste of how things might be between them and then pulled away, leaving her with blank spaces to fill in with answers she didn’t have the faintest idea of. Part of her could recognize that her words were more shaped by those conflicted feelings than with reason and good sense, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop.

“I don’t know much about how a marriage is supposed to work,” she said with a brittle self-deprecating humor. “But nor did I ever imagine to feel so uncertain and worried that I would unintentionally say or do something that would make me feel like I’ve ruined everything and driven you away.”

A deep sorrow creased Darcy’s face, and he turned away to stare into the hearth fire as he spoke. “You haven’t ruined anything,” he told her in a tense, tight voice. “And it was never my intention to make you feel that way.”

“What was your intention?”

“Elizabeth…” he said, still facing away from her so she could not see the expression on his face.

Still, she should have heard the warning in his tone, should have heard it and heeded it before she considered what she would say next.

“Do you…want me?” she asked him, pushing further than wisdom might have allowed. “All this time…I…maybe I was mistaken. It’s only, when you kissed me at Rosings, after everything that’s happened since then, I thought maybe…”

Silence was his only reply. The muscles of his back bunched and loosened beneath his light linen shirt.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, everything else she was feeling, all the worst of of her insecurities, spilling over with words she could do nothing to stop. “Why did you kiss me, why did you feel like you had to make any kind claim on me when we were caught? It would have hardly made a dent in your own reputation, you didn’t have to—”

Darcy rounded on her, taking a few stalking steps forward. Lizzy’s heart leapt into her throat and she backed away until her shoulders bumped up against the wood-paneled wall. He met her there, hands braced on either side of her.

“Why did I claim your hand?” he asked, voice low and serious. “Do you have to ask me that, Elizabeth?”

She wasn’t at all certain she knew what he meant, but the way he was looking at her sent sparks shooting through her veins. Dark, close, possessive, Darcy moved one hand from the wall and brought it to rest lightly at the base of her throat. His thumb pressed gently into the divot right at her pulse point, as if marking the frantic beat of her heart.

“You were mine from the moment you kissed me back,” he said. “I was never going to let you go. You must know that.”

A shiver ran through her. She had known, hadn’t she?

“Did you think I’d be able to forget?” Darcy continued. “Once I knew the taste of you, the way you felt in my arms, there was no choice left for me. If we had not been caught, I still would have found some way to win you, to fix things.”

His other hand moved from the wall to the back of her head, fingers tangling into her hair and tightening slightly, tipping her face upwards and forcing her to look at him.

“Elizabeth Darcy,” he murmured. “One way or another, you were always going to be mine.”

Just like that, the fog of uncertainty cleared, wiped entirely away by a surge of heat and clarity.

This, this was the madness that had consumed them from the start. Like a living thing, it pulsed and insisted once more, tied them together on some deep, primal level. Even while her rational mind still chafed a bit against the idea of being claimed or owned by anyone, that undeniable instinct made her lean closer to him.

They stayed that way for a few endless moments, the truth of the matter laid bare and waiting between them, daring either of them to be brave enough to reach out and take it.

It was never a choice for her.

Lizzy kissed him, hard and possessive, staking a claim of her own. His hand flexed briefly around her throat before lowering to curve around her back, pulling her against him.

However, just as she was losing herself in the embrace, Darcy pulled away.

“Elizabeth,” he said harshly. “This isn’t…I don’t want you to feel obligated in any way. I want to give you the space you need to come to terms with our marriage before you…before we…”

He trailed off, running a hand through his hair and taking a few steps away from her to brace an arm against the mantle on the opposite wall. He looked, Lizzy thought as she studied him, like he was every bit as wrung through with frustration as she was.

They were a mess, the both of them.

Too careful, too cautious, too wrapped up in how things had been between them take the step forward and grasp what might be. She was tired of waiting.

“I don’t need any more time,” she told him.

Still, he shook his head. “That night at Longbourn, I ought not to have—”

Darcy’s words cut off as Lizzy crossed the room toward him in a few determined strides.

“What happened between us at Longbourn was my choice,” Lizzy told him, daring to reach out and lay a hand against the exposed skin at his chest, just over his fast-beating heart. Dropping her voice low, she pressed on. “And this is my choice, too.”

He took her face in both of his hands, studying her, looking again for any small sign of hesitation.

“Now it’s your choice, William.”

The words broke whatever small thread of restraint held him back.

His lips slanted over hers with blatant, unmistakable surrender. Surrender to her, to this, to everything that had been swirling and tempting between them since that very first night in Meryton, an ember that had only burned hotter since the hours they’d shared together at Longbourn.

Tonight, however, there was no time to waste.

They were inelegant in their haste. Hands fumbled through hair and at the fastenings of their clothing—grasping, caressing, impatient. With each bit of bared skin and eager touch that kindled flame blazed higher, until they were both consumed by it. 

Lizzy could have sworn she heard the tearing of a seam as she pulled at the soft linen of his shirt, the sound of a broken, desperate groan when she bent to run her mouth over the hot skin of his chest. She wasn’t sure, though, didn’t know anything for certain but the pull of need rising in her.

When they both bare, Darcy swung her into his arms and carried her toward the bed. She forgot to be embarrassed, forgot that she should probably be bashful about him seeing her, and her seeing him. All she knew was pleasure and relief when he laid her down on clean sheets.

Laying down beside her, his mouth didn’t leave hers for a moment, kissing her deep and slow, already starting to build her toward that same blinding peak she’d found with him before. It gathered low and warm in her core, had her leaning and melting into him, demanding more.

Darcy was all too happy to appease her.

His drugging kisses didn’t stop at her lips. With infinite patience and a steady, unerring resolve, he made a meal of her. Dragging his lips from her collarbones to her breasts, he lingered there a while to play with the two stiff, flushed peaks. When he had her arching and bowing and making noises of desperate need, he dipped lower. That hot, tormenting mouth of his skimmed her ribs, paused a moment to tease at her navel and then spent long, indulgent moments learning the lines of her hipbones where they rose gracefully from the lower planes of her stomach.

Lizzy felt worshiped. Every inch of her was his to explore and pay homage to, every sound he wrenched from her throat a cry of prayer and exaltation.

Finally at the juncture he sought, Darcy’s dark eyes darted back up to catch hers.

“Lizzy,” he said in a deep, sensual command. “Lizzy. Look at me.”

It took a monumental effort, but she peeled her eyes open and glanced down at him to look at where he waited low and patient against her core. The sight of him there—broad shoulders wedged under her thighs, hands resting on the flat of her belly as he waited for her attention, deep blue eyes fixed squarely on her—wrenched another sound of desperate want from the back of her throat.

“You remember what I told you last time?” Darcy asked. “If there’s anything you do not enjoy, tell me so at once.”

Lizzy nodded, and then gave him the words she already knew he’d insist upon. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

Satisfied with that, he lowered his head back down.

At the first brush of his mouth, the first warm stroke of his tongue over her heated, sensitive flesh, Lizzy cried out and lifted her hips off the bed. He was there in a moment, hand clasping her hip, holding her still while he drew wave after wave of pleasure from her.

It was nearly too much. The feel of him, the sensation he drew from her, it rose in spiraling, tightening waves. Again, some distant part of her mind wondered if she should be embarrassed, push him away, try to cling on to a little bit of her modesty, but it was all but drown out by pleasure. There was no room for anything else, nothing in the world that felt more natural and right than being close to him.

If she could have, she’d have drawn the pleasure out for an eternity, but before long it was cresting, breaking, sending her over a cliff’s edge to a dark, wondrous abyss below.

When she finally subsided, Darcy shifted up and and to the side of her, kissing his way up her body with languid, unhurried ardor.

Lizzy couldn’t keep her hands off of him. Taking every care to explore his body with the same tenderness and reverence he’d shown her, she ran searching fingers through the coarse, springy hair on his chest and over the firm planes of his stomach.

When she brushed her hand against the stiff length of him, Darcy drew in a sharp breath. His hips jerked reflexively forward into her touch, even as the muscles in his chest and abdomen tightened like he was trying to hold himself back.

“Is this alright?” she asked with another tentative touch.

“Yes,” he told her on a long exhale. “There’s no part of me that doesn’t belong to you.”

With that assurance, she continued her exploration, touching every inch of him that she could. He was lean and fit, skin warm and stretched tight over muscle. So much power there, so much strength. She delighted in the difference between them, the weight and the sheer size of him.

When he shifted to cover her body with his, kissing her again with an urgency she more than understood, Lizzy moved her own body to accommodate him and he settled squarely between her spread thighs.

A small pulse of uncertainty moved through her, but not fear. Never fear, not when she trusted him to treat her with the same care he’d shown her thus far. When he paused, however, and his body went still and rigid above her, she laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Darcy, she realized, was shaking.

She reached up and pushed some of the hair off his brow. There were deep creases in his forehead, lines of worry and tension.

“I don’t want…” he started, and then let out a harsh breath. “Christ, Lizzy, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lizzy. He called her Lizzy when they were like this. Held close, bared to one another, intimate in a way she could have never even imagined before she knew him.

“You won’t,” she promised.

A small lie, as she was well aware the act came with certain pains for a woman the first time. Still, she wanted this. She wanted him. Discomfort aside, she knew it would pass and when it did they would be closer than she’d ever be with another.

“You have to tell me,” he said to her, even as his hips jerked forward a reflexive inch, pressing more snugly against her core. “You have to tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“I will,” Lizzy said.

He pushed forward slowly, so carefully, and might have continued in his restraint if it weren’t for her. Sensing his lingering hesitation, his paralyzing tenderness, she lifted her hips against him. Bucking and straining, she begged with her body—begged him to let go, begged him to unleash himself, to give her everything he still wanted to hold back.

Darcy obliged.

With a long, unrelenting stroke, he buried himself fully within her.

It stung, but only a little. She shifted and canted her hips against him, breathed deep and tried to adjust herself to the feeling of him. He was….large. There was no way around it. Her body could accommodate, but only just, and the feel of him stretching her, filling her, made her breath catch in her throat and her hands fist into the sheets beneath her.

Darcy kissed her. Over and over, on brow and cheek and chin, catching her mouth in a sweet, warm apology.

“Lizzy,” he breathed against her lips. “Tell me you’re alright.”

She shifted, rolling her hips and testing the stretch of his invasion. Darcy groaned, dropping his head to her collarbone.

“Lizzy. Please.”

She placed a hand under his chin, nudging his face up so she could kiss him. Against his lips, she whispered. “I’m alright.”

He laced one hand in hers as he began to move within her and she squeezed tight as the last of the pain receded and something else began to take its place.

It was a different sensation than any she’d felt before. Deeper, heavier, she arched and strained into it, into him as the rhythm of their bodies learned each other’s cadence and timing. When his hand curved gently around the back of her knee and hitched her thigh up higher on his hip she let out a long, low moan at the change in sensation.

Lost, she was lost. The entirety of the world seemed to have pulled in close to the feel of their bodies moving together and the heated rush of their breath, to the words spilling from Darcy’s lips—words of praise and passion both—and to the sounds she couldn’t help but make.

When all her pleasure began to build again, he shifted a hand, touching her just so, and everything came apart once more.

He followed soon after, lost to the storm of his release as he groaned and shuddered over her. Lizzy clutched at him, drew him down even closer to her, filled with some nameless, formless need to have him near.

They stayed that way for a few long minutes, Darcy resting on his forearms to keep from crushing her completely, as both their breaths slowly returning to normal. His head dropped down to lay against the flushed, damp skin of her collarbone and she ran her fingers through his hair, drawing a low hum of pleasure from him.

He rolled carefully off of her a short time later, settling himself flat on the mattress for a moment with one hand pressed to the center of his chest and the other resting on his forehead. His eyes were closed, face entirely relaxed in pleasure.

Had she thought him handsome before? Because a satisfied, well-exhausted Darcy was even more irresistible.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he reached an arm over to move her gently toward him. Lizzy rolled into the embrace, angling herself so she was pressed up against the warm, solid length of his body.

“That was…” she started, face reddening a bit as she tried to think of what she could even say.

‘Nice’ certainly didn’t cover it, and ‘wonderful’ didn’t seem to be strong enough a word for it either. How did one describe something that left them feeling so fundamentally changed as a person?

Darcy cupped a hand around her cheek, tilting her face up toward him. All the emotions coursing through her seemed to be echoed back in his own eyes.

I know, they seemed to say. I agree.

As his thumb brushed gently over the curve of her cheek, he seemed just about to speak—to say what, she wasn’t sure—but instead of giving voice to it he just smiled and settled back down on the pillows and pulled her into him. Pulling the covers up and over them, he held her close enough for her to hear the beating of his heart and revel in the warmth of him.

For the moment, there was nothing more to say.

Chapter Text

Lizzy was alone when she woke the next morning, something that appeared to be becoming a pattern after nights spent with her husband. 

Sitting up and stretching her arms over her head, she took stock of her body. All seemed well enough. Her muscles were perhaps a bit sore, and there was a small twinge of tenderness between her legs, but even those slight pains felt more like a dull, pleasant ache.

Even more pleasant were the memories. 

The things Darcy had said, the assertions he’d made, the way he’d taken her apart piece by piece, showing her something and teaching her things about herself she never could have expected. It had a warm, mellow heat spreading from her chest and up her neck, staining her cheeks with a bit of color as the events of last night played themselves over and over in her mind.

Married. She was well and truly married now. No lingering doubts, no question, she was wedded and bedded and very firmly Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.

All of it had opened up a well of possibility between them that filled her with a glowing sort of hope.

If only her husband were here now to share it with her.

She didn’t have long to wait, however, because not five minutes later the door to the hallway opened softly and Darcy stepped through, a covered breakfast tray balanced on one hand.

Her stomach growled. She’d fallen asleep in his bed last night before any dinner could be ordered for them, and the emptiness in her belly made itself known with a vengeance. Still, in the light of day she became keenly aware of her own nakedness, the gown and chemise discarded somewhere in the room, likely hopelessly wrinkled. Her cheeks heated as Darcy followed her gaze, looked back to where she had the sheets pulled up to her chin, and worked out her dilemma on his own.

He chuckled as he set the tray down. “Did you pack a robe?”

“Yes,” she said, voice coming out a little strained. “In my traveling case, back in my room.”

“Give me a moment.”

He turned and went back through the adjoining door, returning a short minute later with the soft, plush, cream-colored robe she’d purchased while in Town. Coming over to the bedside, he held it up for her and waited.

The flush on her cheeks grew even deeper. But, she supposed, there really wasn’t much point in playing coy after last evening, so she hurriedly threw back the covers and got out of bed, allowing him to slip the robe on over her arms. He closed it over her front, arms circling around her in an embrace. 

The gesture was so easy, so natural, so tender and unexpected that she stiffened in surprise for a moment before laying her arms over his and leaning back into him.

“Good morning,” he said, lips pressing briefly to her temple. “I trust you slept well?”

“Very well,” she said, and her stomach chose that moment to rumble again.

Darcy laughed. “Come, I’ve had the kitchen send up their best.”

Taking a seat in one of the chairs before the hearth, Lizzy surveyed the spread. Several varieties of fresh bread and fruit preserves, a few delicious looking pastries, and steaming hot tea made her mouth water.

“I should have woken you,” Darcy said, a bit chagrined, taking the seat next to her as she bit into one of the pastries with gusto. “We could have had our dinner delivered to the room.”

Lizzy swallowed her bite and laughed. “With how exhausted I was, I slept like the dead. I don’t think there was any force on heaven or Earth that could have roused me.”

A subtle glint in his eye at that, as if he was very well aware of just what had exhausted her so thoroughly and quite proud to be the cause of it.

They spent the next hour eating and talking quietly about nothing of great note, trading weighted looks and teasing touches, and might have ended up back in bed if Darcy had not had the foresight to let her know that he’d also been down to speak to the coachman. They were to leave within the hour, and so with great reluctance they went about preparing for the journey.

After packing her things back into her traveling case, and with assistance from Darcy in getting into her gown for the day—assistance which looked a whole lot more like hindrance for all the distracted business he made of it—she stepped in front of the mirror and set about brushing out her hair.

Lizzy would have called for the lady’s maid on staff to come and help her pin her hair into place, but Darcy stepped behind her and took a long strand of it in hand, running it through his fingers.

“Leave it unbound for today?” he asked her. “I’m rather fond of it this way.”

Well then. That was that.

The previous day’s rain had subsided and the day was warm and fair as Darcy and Lizzy left the inn. After everything had been loaded up, he helped her into the carriage and climbed in after her, shutting the door and reaching a hand out to draw her forward from where she had been about to sit on the opposite bench.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her softly as she settled beside him. 

The question brought a bit of color to her cheeks. Truth be told, she was still a little sore, made all the more apparent by the firm cushion of the carriage’s seat beneath her.

“I’m well,” she told him, leaning her head down to rest against his shoulder. “Very well.”

The day’s journey was a bit slow after the previous day of rain, but they made excellent time on the last leg of their journey to Pemberley. Lizzy, for her part, was not too displeased at the pace they took. No, she was content to spend the hours with her husband, pleased enough to let the time stretch wide between now and whatever was to come.

It wasn’t that she was afraid, necessarily, of what changes awaited her at Pemberley, she simply had no idea what to expect. Darcy had told her so much over the last few days about the estate, about the tenant farms and the surrounding countryside, a little bit about the business interests that kept the estate so prosperous. 

Still, as much as she appreciated learning anything about Pemberley and Derbyshire, none of that gave Lizzy much insight into what her particular role would be as the manor’s mistress.

From Darcy’s telling, a Mrs. Reynolds—Pemberley’s long-time, much-respected housekeeper—had seen to much of the day-to-day organization and running of the household. By his own frank admission, Mrs. Reynolds had done such an admirable job over the years that aside from keeping an eye on the ledgers and periodically reviewing staffing needs, necessary upgrades and repairs to the house and grounds, and receiving regular reports from her, Darcy had hardly been hands-on with matters concerning the manor.

He was optimistic and adamant that Mrs. Reynolds would be more than happy to help Lizzy learn anything she needed to and accommodate any changes she would like to make, and he would provide any support she needed, but even those assurances were not enough to completely calm Lizzy’s nerves on the matter.

The simple fact was that nothing she had experienced thus far could have remotely prepared her for the life she was about to step into. Certainly, she knew a thing or two about the running of a small manor farm, the overseeing of a handful of servants, and the upkeep of a humble estate. But a place like Pemberley? It was a different thing entirely.

Lizzy couldn’t stop some of those worries from crowding in, even with as content and peaceful as she felt beside Darcy in the carriage. Even so, she let the strength and the warmth of him bolster her as they continued northward.

Outside the carriage the scenery grew hillier and more dramatic as their journey progressed. Darcy kept up a steady stream of narrative about the landmarks and villages they passed through, some of which they had read about in the preceding days. 

And, all of a sudden, there was Pemberley. The carriage came around a bend in the road and the vast estate opened up just outside the window. 

Acres of manicured lawn, an enormous man-made lake with two large fountains sending arcing streams of water skyward, all serving as accent to the manor itself. Vast, grand, made of stately, light tan stone with a grand balcony at its front, Lizzy could not stop her jaw from falling open as she beheld it for the first time.

Beside her, Darcy leaned in close, looking over her shoulder out the carriage window as they made their way toward the long drive leading up to the manor.

“Welcome home,” he said softly.

Lizzy’s sense of awe only grew more acute as the carriage came to a stop outside the front entrance.

She’d known, some part of her had always known that the life she was stepping into was far beyond anything within her scope of experience or even the wildest dream she might have had for the life she’d one day lead, but she still could have never imagined what was waiting for her now as the carriage approached the end of the drive.

The last few days had almost made her forget. Darcy House and London had been an eye-opening experience, a small taste of what it meant to be married to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, but the intervening days had allowed her to put that reality aside for a while. During their days of travel and the time they had spent at Longbourn, it had been easy enough to pretend like this other life wasn’t waiting for her all the while.

Now that it was here, staring her in the face once more, Lizzy wasn’t certain what to do.

She felt very small and entirely out of place as they crossed the threshold and stepped into the grand entrance hall, their footsteps ringing out in the quiet of the space. 

Inside, Pemberley was somehow even more impressive that it was from its exterior. With it’s black and white marble floor polished to a mirror-shine, ceilings impossibly high as they opened to the second floor balcony above, walls handsomely paneled and hung with art, and every fixture and furnishing adding an air of timeless elegance and sophistication.

A woman who looked to be somewhere in her early sixties was waiting for them at the foot of the grand staircase with a wide smile on her kind face. 

“Mrs. Reynolds,” Darcy said in greeting, “allow me the immense pleasure of introducing you to my wife, Elizabeth.”

Mrs. Reynolds smile grew wider, and was so genuine and open that Lizzy found herself returning it unconsciously, a small fraction of her nerves falling away.

“Welcome,” the housekeeper said. “I am so pleases to meet you Mrs. Darcy, and hope I may be of service to you as you settle into your new home.”

“Thank you,” Lizzy told her. “And I do plan on seeking your expertise quite extensively, Mr. Darcy has had nothing to say but your highest praise.”

As Mrs. Reynolds glanced to Darcy, Lizzy caught an unmistakable shine of almost maternal pride in her eyes. It spoke to a long familiarity and warmth between them, one Lizzy very much hoped would extend to her. Having Mrs. Reynolds as an ally would no doubt be a great help to her as she tried to learn the lay of the land at Pemberley and orient herself with her new responsibilities.

After promising to have the staff assembled first thing the following morning for introductions, Mrs. Reynolds left them for the evening. Darcy led Lizzy to one of the side doors off the entrance hall, explaining that he would show her around some of the private rooms tonight before a full, formal tour tomorrow.

There were whole sections of the manor that were considered more public spaces, open to occasional visitors in used in the receiving and hosting of guests. Those included a large ballroom, a formal dining space, ornate sitting and music rooms, and an art gallery. For tonight, Darcy told her, they would stick to the private family chambers, the rooms in which they would spend most of their time at Pemberley.

After a brief walk through an enormous kitchen, Darcy showed her the smaller, more intimate family dining space, a private drawing on the first floor with large windows that would no doubt let in a wonderful amount of light in the afternoons, and a brief glimpse into the library before heading toward the staircase leading to the second floor. 

At that particular stop on their tour, Lizzy couldn’t help but hover in the doorway looking longingly at the endless shelves of books. Darcy chuckled as he paused just behind her, hands braced lightly on her waist.

“Yours to spend as many hours in as you wish,” he told her softly, speaking low and warm into her ear.

The thought delighted her, and she smiled widely as she took his hand and let him lead her on.

The family wing on the second floor housed a multitude of bedchambers, a nursery, and Darcy’s private study. Further down the hallway, they passed the door to his own bedchamber before reaching the door to hers.

Lizzy had another moment of breath-stealing awe as they stepped inside. The whole of the space was probably larger than all of the bedchambers at Longbourn combined, with high ceilings and a great wall of windows that looked out on the front lawn.

The design sensibilities of the room felt similar to the room she had stayed in at Darcy House in London. Pale creams and peaches, light greens and pinks and some faint pops of lavender here and there. Pleasant, tasteful, and though not exactly what Lizzy might have chosen if she’d been decorating, the over all effect was undeniably elegant.

“Anything you want to change,” Darcy told her as he shut the door behind them, “just ask, and it’s done.”

The idea of completely redoing the perfectly good furnishings and decor in a room simply because they weren’t quite to her taste? An absurd idea. Still, he looked entirely casual about the suggestion, and it was just another reminder of the role she had stepped into.

He must have seen how wide her eyes had gone, or been able to note just how much the enormity of the difference in circumstance between her prior life and this one had affected her, because he was at her side in an instant.

“I realize how strange this all must be,” he told her gently as she turned to face him.

He had seen Longbourn for himself, known what sort of social sphere she’d been born and bred in. A country gentleman’s daughter, yes, and by all measures of society on the very same level as the great Darcy family when it came to formal rank. Still, the chasm between them could not have been more vast. 

“It’s…” she began, searching for the words. “Not something I ever imagined I would have to learn or navigate, being mistress of a place like this.”

It was as honest as she could be. For truly, in all the years she’d considered what her eventual marriage and life might look like, it had never touched anything near to this.

Darcy seemed to understand. He lifted both hands and placed them on her upper arms, beginning to speak in slow, reassuring tones as he stroked up and down.

“Nothing has changed,” he assured her. “Between you and I, in any expectations for where we go from here. Nothing has changed.”

But that was just it, wasn’t it? She had no expectations, no frame of reference for what came next or what was expected of her.

“I have every confidence in your abilities,” he continued, still running those soothing strokes over her arms. “Mrs. Reynolds has been a treasure to this house, and is one of the kindest people I have ever known. She will help you, and I have no doubt your natural cleverness will make the work a quick study. You’ll likely be bored of it within the week.”

Lizzy had to laugh at that. “Is that right? What else will I have here to occupy my time?”

She’d meant the question innocently, but as soon as it left her she noted the darkening of his eyes and the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. 

“I don’t know,” he told her, leaning in close. “I’m sure we can find something suitable.”

Lord, how quickly it came back. 

Even just his teasing, provoking little comment was enough to send a wave of warmth and wanting through her. And when he pulled her closer to his body? She might as well have gone up in flames entirely. Just like that, her lingering worries fled for the moment, replaced by a hunger and need that had not diminished in the slightest since last night.

If anything, it had only grown.

There was too much she wanted to feel, too much she wanted to give and take from him to decide where it was she wanted to start, but she settled for his mouth. Throwing her arms around his neck she kissed him deeply and thoroughly, reveling in the small growl of approval in the back of his throat and in the way his own hands tightened on her back and in the hair that was still unbound and hanging over her shoulders.

Even as he kissed her, his fingers went to work on the buttons at the back of her dress, and she was so distracted that she didn’t quite notice until the front of her bodice sagged exposing the white chemise beneath. With a couple more tugs and the slightest shift of her body it slid from her to pool around her feet. 

Darcy gave her a slight tug forward, toward the bed, and she almost went with him. 

There was something else she was curious about, though, an image that had planted itself in her mind since he’d kissed his way down her body and settled between her legs, pleasured her with lips and teeth and tongue until she was wild with sensation.

Lizzy gave him a wicked little smile as she raised her hands to his chest. She nudged him back, back, until the backs of his knees hit the seat of a plush upholstered chair at the side of the room and he sank down into it.

She dropped to her knees before him.

The noise that came from his throat was entirely unintelligible, somewhere between a groan and a strangled plea.

“Lizzy,” he managed to say when her hands started on the fastenings at the top of his trousers. “You don’t have to—”

“If there’s anything you don’t enjoy,” she teased, deliberately giving him back his own words, “you must tell me so at once.”

He said something that was either a curse or a word of prayer, but she was entirely too focused on the task in front of her to try and parse out which it was.

When she drew the length of him out, took him in hand and gave a few experimental strokes, however, there was no mistaking any sound he made for anything other than pleasure. And when she lowered her mouth to him, she tasted and felt that pleasure in every inch of him.

Enthusiasm had to take the place of any real skill or finesse, but for his part Darcy did not seem to mind. He praised and encouraged her, let her know exactly which touches set him aflame the same way he’d done to her, and each strangled, pleased sound he made sent little sparks of satisfaction and arousal coursing through her as well.

Lizzy could feel the coiled tension in him, the way the muscles of his thighs bunched and tightened on either side of her, the glimpses she got of clenched fists resting on the chair’s arms. She wanted to ease all of that tension, watch him come as undone as he had made her last night, but she never got the chance.

No, just when he seemed about to snap, he cupped his hands around her cheeks and lifted her head gently but firmly away from him.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Did I do—”

“No,” he groaned, standing and pulled her up with him. “Christ, no Lizzy. I just…I’m not…”

His words were lost in the press of her mouth on his, the eager tug of hands on clothing, two stumbling bodies falling into her bed. He gave her back every single drop of pleasure she’d given him, made her wild with hands and lips and endless, maddening touches until she came apart beneath him. Breath coming hard and fast in his chest, muscles tense with whatever it is he was trying to hold back, he shifted up and over her. Lizzy urged him on with her own grasping hands, needing him closer to her.

There was no pain this time, nothing but the slow warmth of him pressing into her, filling her, his lips on hers all the while. Already more in tune with each other than they’d been the night before, they learned the pace and rhythm that suited them both, the touches and angles that set them both aflame.

Afterwards, when they were both panting and sated, Darcy lay on his back against the pillows with Lizzy sprawled atop him. She nestled her face into the spot between his jaw and shoulder, and felt him let out a long, thoughtful breath.

“What is it?” Lizzy asked him.

The corners of Darcy’s mouth turned up in a soft smile as she glanced up at him. “Sometimes it’s still hard to believe that you’re here.”

It was. The whole evening had taken on an air of almost dream-like unreality. This place, her role in it, the vast unknown of how that all would fundamentally change her life in the coming weeks and months and years. These moments with him seemed something out of time and space, the last of their private bubble of calm before the true realities of married life began.

Even the rest of the quiet, intimate hours they shared together as night set fully in over Pemberley felt like a temporary pause, a reprieve for whatever would be waiting for her the following day. They shared a meal together in the chairs before the fireplace, tumbled back into bed together and spent a few more hours enjoying the simple pleasure of learning and knowing one another.

It was a reprieve that was not destined to last.

She was alone again when she woke the following morning, Darcy having left to his own chambers sometime in the night. 

Blinking awake in the beautiful, enormous room and appreciating the view of the vast manor grounds illuminated by the new day’s sun, it had taken her a few long moments to realize that her husband was not in bed beside her. After the bliss they’d shared, how close and intimate they had been, she had somehow not imagined she would wake up alone.

It put a knot in her stomach. 

A part of her could recognize this was the way things were done. For indeed, while her own parents shared a chamber at Longbourn, that was out of necessity and economy of space rather than preference or convention. And maybe this was Darcy’s preference, sharing her bed for a time and then retiring to his own. She shouldn’t take it personally, shouldn’t let it mean anything more than it did.

They had made so much progress, gotten to know each other so much better during this last week, and the simple matter of sleeping arrangements was not enough to make any of that less true. 

Throwing back the covers, she crossed the room and rang for the temporary lady’s maid who would be serving her until Cherise arrived. At her vanity, she picked up the unfamiliar brush and began running it through her sleep-tousled hair, looking at herself in the mirror and trying to steady her emotions.

After all, today was her first true day as Mistress of Pemberley.

Chapter Text

Despite having left her chambers the night before, Darcy was back at her door with a gentle knock shortly after she was dressed and ready for the day.

He greeted her with a soft smile and a tender kiss, looking handsome as ever and entirely in his element as Master of Pemberley. Indeed, there seemed to be nothing at all amiss, no sign that he’d left last night out of anything more than a desire or preference to keep chambers separate from hers. She somewhat reluctantly set her worries aside on the matter for the moment, choosing instead to focus all her capacity for conquering her nerves on the rest of what she had to face today.

“Ready?” Darcy asked her as they left the family wing and approached the top of the grand staircase back down to the entrance hall.

Lizzy let out a small, nervous bark of laughter. “Not even remotely.”

He reached up to gently squeeze the hand she had laid on his arm, taking her fingers in his. “You will do splendidly,” he assured her. 

Pemberley’s staff totaled over two dozen. Footmen, maids, kitchen staff, grooms, groundskeepers, Mrs. Reynolds as head housekeeper and a Mr. Rolland as Darcy’s steward who saw to estate business when Darcy was away.

Each and every member of that staff was waiting in the entrance hall today, eyes fixed on where Darcy and Lizzy made their way slowly down the stairs. Though she saw only kind speculation, curiosity and warmth shining back at her, being the object of so much attention made her distinctly uncomfortable.

Mrs. Reynolds was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, another kind smile on her face. It bolstered Lizzy somewhat, as did the steady feel of Darcy’s arm beneath hers. It was enough to keep her nerves at bay as they reached the bottom of the steps and Mrs. Reynolds began the lengthy process of introducing the staff.

As she had done at Darcy House, Lizzy greeted each staff member warmly and did her best to commit their names to memory. She was received with polite courtesy and smiles, the deference and respect due to the Mistress of Pemberley, even if she still didn’t feel anywhere near grand enough to inhabit that particular role.

Darcy stayed beside her all the while, never taking his arm from hers.

Her husband, she noted, while speaking with a large measure of kindness in his voice and being very attentive to each conversation, appeared more formal and stiff than she had seen him in many days. It confused her a little, at first, until she started to make note of the reactions of their staff to speaking with him.

There was a great deal of respect in their responses, bordering on nerves at times for some of the minor footmen, maids and grounds staff who likely did not often have occasion to speak with him. Darcy, for his part, exuded a sort of quiet, innate authority that fascinated Lizzy. If she would have observed him in this moment without having come to know him as well as she did, she may have once mistaken it for pride and a slight pulse of arrogance. However, now that she’d seen his humor, seen him both relaxed and burning with passion, she could see past that surface.

Here was the Master of Pemberley, the man who—at only eight and twenty—managed one of England’s great estates with deft competence and utter authority. It filled her with a warm, buoyant sort of admiration, an appreciation she was well aware she would have not been able to grasp before knowing him as she did now.

When their introductions concluded and Darcy had given a small speech to the assembled group—the same sort of words he had given at Darcy House about Lizzy speaking with his authority and assuming her role of mistress—the staff dispersed, leaving only the pair of them, Mrs. Reynolds, and Rolland standing in the entrance hall.

Darcy’s steward seemed to be waiting eagerly for events to conclude, no doubt filled to the brim with estate matters to bring to the master, but Darcy took the time to draw Lizzy aside for a moment, pausing at one side of the room and searching her face.

“How are you?” he asked her.

Lizzy took a steadying breath before answering, hand still grasping his arm like she could channel some of his cool, assured confidence.

“I’m alright,” she told him, offering a genuine smile. “Still a bit overwhelmed, but I suppose I’ll have to get over that, won’t I? If I’m to learn what it truly means to be Mrs. Darcy?”

He shifted to stand in front of her, dropping her arm only to take both her hands in his to tug her near. His lips landed on her forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there before he pulled away and looked down at her.

“Whatever pace you’d like to take is absolutely fine,” he assured her. “How much you’d like to take on, and how quickly, it’s all up to you.”

Elizabeth Darcy, never one to back down from a challenge, smiled up at him. “Then I think I’d better start today, because I mean to learn it all.”

Over their first week at Pemberley, their lives began to fall into a tentative pattern. 

Lizzy spent a great deal of each day getting a thorough education on the running of a great English country estate, and was at first was more than a little overwhelmed by just how much there was for her to learn.

True to Darcy’s assurances, though, Mrs. Reynolds was enormously helpful and had the patience of a saint as she walked Lizzy through each and every facet that went into Pemberley’s care and upkeep. She was accommodating and solicitous, encouraging Lizzy to make any changes she saw fit, not that Lizzy had the faintest idea at where she could improve upon the systems and routines Mrs. Reynolds already had in place.

The differences between Longbourn and Pemberley were vast enough to be nearly mind-numbing. Not only in size and scope, but in the stark difference in organization and the efficiency with which Mrs. Reynolds kept the estate running smoothly. Each member of the household staff had a defined duty, schedules orderly and routines perfectly planned out. Despite its size and sprawl, there was no corner of the manor that appeared dusty or forgotten. Some of the guest chambers and unused rooms in the family wing had been closed up for now—furnishings covered in crisp white sheets until they were needed, hearths left unlit in the winter months—but even those could be reopened and ready for use in the course of a day, Mrs. Reynolds assured her.

Darcy, meanwhile, was kept more than occupied by estate business that had been waiting for his attention upon his return.

He could not be with her every moment of every day. Of course he could not, almost from the moment they arrived, there had been questions and concerns waiting for him. Pemberley’s vast business interests, matters to settle with tenant farmers, endless responsibilities to attend to.

Still, he made as much time for her as he could. They took breakfast together each morning and he would tell her about the various tasks and duties he would be seeing to each day. It fascinated her, to be privy to the details of the estate, and Darcy was patient and open as she asked what were no doubt rudimentary questions.

In turn, he actively sought her opinion on estate matters great and small. He was interested in hearing about all she learned from Mrs. Reynolds, a bit abashed that he had taken such a passive interest in the running of the household these past few years, and enthusiastic about any small changes Lizzy suggested.

“I fear it may take me months, if not years, to fully understand the workings of it all,” she confessed one afternoon.

They were strolling through the stables, for which—Lizzy had recently learned—Pemberley was quite renowned in the horses they bred and trained. She was no great horsewoman herself, but enjoyed visiting the stables and listening to her husband talk about the varied breeds and lineages going back generations in the Darcy family’s history. From his own excellent horsemanship and the enthusiasm he showed when speaking about the topic, she’d gleaned it was a passion of his and took every opportunity to ask him more about it.

“Take all the time you need,” Darcy told her gently, stopping for a moment to run a soothing hand over the soft nose one of the mares had poked out from her stall. “I confess, even five years on as head of the estate, I still find myself constantly challenged and learning.”

Lizzy nodded thoughtfully. “You were right, as well, about Mrs. Reynolds. I don’t know if I’ve ever met a more competent person in my life.”

He smiled and took her arm as they continued on out of the stables. “Her presence here has been invaluable, for both myself and Georgiana.”

At mention of his sister, Lizzy’s attention perked. “You mentioned Georgiana will be returning to Pemberley soon?”

Darcy nodded. “Yes. She’s been visiting some of our relations on our father’s side these past weeks. She should be home within the month.”

Lizzy was eager to meet her. For someone who’d grown up with a house bursting at the seams with sisters, the halls of Pemberley felt unsettlingly empty and quiet at times, even for so large a place. It was one of the most difficult parts of her transition to her married life, the ache she felt for the company of her sisters. As much as they may sometimes get on each others nerves, she missed them all dearly, and while she was not certain whether she’d ever have the same kind of relationship with her new sister-in-law, she hoped that she and Georgiana may have the opportunity to strike up a friendship.

The late-May day was clear and bright, the gardens around Pemberley beginning to bloom into vibrant life as they strolled down one of the well-manicured paths. Finding a benched tucked back into a nook in the hedges, they sat together and enjoyed a few silent minutes of sunshine and birdsong.

“I wanted to ask you,” Darcy began, causing Lizzy’s eyes to slide open from where she’d had them closed as she basked. When she glanced over at him he was smiling faintly at her.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to know whether it would be of interest to you to meet some of the local wives and daughters of neighboring Derbyshire families?”

The question caught her off-guard. Straightening, she looked at him a bit perplexed. “Meeting some of our neighbors?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “From our time in Hertforshire, both before our marriage and after, it was not hard to observe that you had a great many friends amongst society there, not to mention the company of your sisters. I would not…that is to say, I would hate to think you find your situation in life lacking on that account. I know a new group of acquaintances can never replace those relationships, but want to give you every opportunity to find your place in society here as well, if that’s something you would wish.”

Lizzy considered the question for a few long moments. It was unexpected, and thoughtful, though another idea occurred to her as she thought it over.

“I suppose it’s expected of me?” she asked him. “As your wife. As Mrs. Darcy, to have a certain amount of visibility and mobility within Derbyshire society?”

Like it had in London, the idea of learning to move in new, elevated social circles filled her with a particular type of dread. Indeed, as much as she’d always felt welcomed and accepted amongst the Herfordshire gentry, it was more a matter of familiarity and deeply rooted connections to the community in which she’d been born and raised rather than any great social prowess that had made her feel that sense of comfort. Faced with an entirely new set of ladies and gentlemen, entering this slice of society as an outsider and an unknown, she wasn’t at all sure how she would fare.

Darcy took her hand. “It is wholly up to you. If you would like to attend every social function in Derby and chair a dozen charitable causes, you are free to do so. Or, if you’d prefer to remain a recluse for the rest of your days, I would freely support that as well.”

A relieved, amused smile curled her lips. “I can imagine the rumors now. The mysterious Mrs. Darcy, the spectre of this great house, how all of Derbyshire would talk.”

“Would you haunt the halls?” Darcy teased. “A phantom lady in grey preying upon unfortunate guests and servants?”

“No,” Lizzy said decisively. “No. I think the only person I would care to haunt would be my poor, dear husband.”

A quick kiss on his lips turned into two, and then three, though did not go further as he pulled away with a groan and told her that he must be off shortly to speak with a few of the tenants and neighboring landholders about needed repairs to a mill in one of the local villages. He’d be back by dinner, he promised, but it was still a mighty effort on both their parts to separate, straighten their clothes the best they could and start making their way back out of the garden.

“I think I would like to make some introductions,” Lizzy said as they neared one of the rear entrances to the manor. “Perhaps not all of Derbyshire at once, but it would be nice to get to know some of our neighbors.”

As soon as she was ready, Darcy told her, he would invite members of local society to come by for social visits. All would no doubt be interested in meeting the new Mrs. Darcy, and perhaps she would even make a few friends among the wives and daughters of the neighboring landholders. The idea of it still put a vague knot of nerves in her stomach, but it was a concern that could wait for the moment.

And besides, she had more than enough to occupy her with the task of learning more about the running of the manor. 

She set back to it as the afternoon wore on, grateful as always for Mrs. Reynold’s kind guidance.

Though he no doubt had enough concerns to keep him busy from sunrise to sunset, Darcy was still wont to seek her out at any point throughout the day. It delighted her to have him show up unexpectedly to take a midday meal together, or escape for an hour in the gardens or to some unexplored corner of the manor. Even more delightful was the fact that while these impromptu visits always started innocent and proper enough when they were in view of others, they quickly turned to something else entirely once Lizzy and Darcy had found somewhere private to tuck themselves away.

Lizzy did not imagine for a moment that anyone who saw them slipping away to some unseen place would not know exactly what they were doing, but it was hard for her to dredge up any true embarrassment or reluctance to let herself be led astray time and time again.

Indeed, those moments became the highlights of her day, and she was hardly surprised when he came to find her in the library one afternoon.

“Reading again, Mrs. Darcy?”

A small thrill went through her at his use of her married name. He didn’t often employ it, but when he did it was laced with sensual promise and a thread of deeply satisfied male pride. Ownership, Lizzy realized, but placed on her in a way that made her feel cherished rather than caged.

“Striving to improve my mind, as always, Mr. Darcy.” Lizzy’s teasing words hearkened back to another afternoon in another elegant room. 

Darcy raised an eyebrow at her, no doubt also remembering the drawing room at Netherfield Park, and the turn Lizzy had taken around the room with her arm tucked into Caroline Bingley’s.

How conscious she’d been then of her own humble attire, the inelegant styling of her hair, the slenderness of her figure compared with Caroline’s refined, buxom beauty. She felt none of that now as Darcy advanced toward her. His brow was still arched in speculation, his mouth set into a hard smirk.

Lord above, he was handsome. It had taken her a while to fully appreciate the appeal of Darcy’s serious, slightly arrogant Master of Pemberley persona given her previous negative associations of it, but now that she’d gotten to know a few other sides of him it was downright devastating. When he unleashed it fully, it made her equal parts provoked and aroused, made her desire to both rebel against and submit to him completely.

“Of course,” Darcy said, reaching the side of the couch she lounged on to tower over her. “As any accomplished lady should.”

Lizzy snapped the book shut and set it aside, crossing her arms smartly over her chest. “Sorry to disappoint you again, Mr. Darcy, but I’m afraid my accomplishments will never measure up to your lofty ideals.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken.” He reached down and scooped her easily into his arms. Lizzy yelped and clung to his neck for support. “Because there are few particular accomplishments of yours I admire more than anything in the world.”

Lizzy expected him to carry her to bed. It was a bit embarrassing to think of the scene they’d make for the servants, but as she pressed her lips against the strong line of his jaw and inhaled the spice and salt of his skin, she found she didn’t care.

Darcy, however, had other ideas.

With a few long strides across the room, he deposited her on a huge wooden desk. Sitting upright with her legs dangling over the side, she drew in a sharp breath when he used his muscled thighs to spread her own. Stepping between them, Darcy laid both his palms flat on the desk and leaned over her, taking her mouth in a savage-sweet kiss.

“If you only knew the things I’d been thinking about you that day,” Darcy said, low and dark into her ear when he finally released her lips. “You’d have run all the way back to Longbourn and refused to ever speak to me again.”

As he spoke, he tugged at the hem of her gown, pulling it up, up to expose her calves and thighs. He toyed with the waistband of her drawers, easing them down her slim hips and over the curve of her bottom. When his fingers pressed into the pliant flesh there, she lifted up slightly off the desk and let him pull them the rest of the way down her legs beneath her dress and chemise and discard them on the floor. 

Heart beating fast in her chest and cheeks stained with color, she struggled to maintain her composure.

“Whatever your thoughts were, I can’t imagine they were very flattering,” she teased, more than a little breathlessly. “Not when I was displayed side by side with Caroline Bingley.”

Darcy, who had dipped his head to kiss along her collarbone, stilled. When he pulled back to meet her eyes, his own were dark and serious and burning into hers. Lizzy’s breath caught.

“It’s only been you, Lizzy.” He pressed his lips softly to the side of her jaw. “Since the night of the Meryton assembly, I’ve wanted no one else.” A kiss to the tip of her nose, the center of her forehead. “I’ve scarcely been able to see anyone else with your beauty imprinted in my memory.”

He caught her lips in a deep, searing kiss.

“Tell me,” Lizzy said, pulling back after a few delicious moments. “Tell me what you were thinking that day.”

Challenge gleamed in Darcy’s eyes. His fingers traced up over her jaw, gripping it lightly and tipping her head back to expose the pale column of her throat. Lips brushing against it, he whispered into her skin.

“I was thinking how close you had been to me only the night before,” he told her. “Did you know that? The room you stayed in at Netherfield was only two doors away from my own. I stayed up half the night thinking about that particular fact.”

She hadn’t known. The idea of him pacing and thinking of her, bothered and restless with wanting, made a cascade of satisfying heat break over her.

“I was thinking about how beautiful you had looked the day you arrived,” he continued. “With your hair unbound and your cheeks pink from the wind and sun. You looked like a forest spirit come to flit through Netherfield’s halls and torment me.”

“A forest spirit with a hem caked in mud, you mean,” she teased. “A magical sight, indeed.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he allowed, drawing a look of open-mouthed indignation from Lizzy. “Perhaps I was mistaken. A goddess, I think, not a forest spirit at all. A woodland goddess I was meant to worship.”

She would have laughed at the excessive sentiment in his words, would have laughed at the completely unexpected, irreverent whimsy from Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, of all people. When he dropped to his knees in front of her, however, she didn’t have the chance. All her indignation and amusement fled, replaced by a sharp tug of need.

He only rose again when she was still trembling and panting, fingers aching from how tightly they’d been gripped into his hair. Darcy unfolded himself slowly, touching and caressing his way up her body until he have her a deep sensual kiss. She moaned at the sinful, erotic taste of herself on his mouth.

He caught both her exposed legs beneath her knees, lifting up so they were resting on his waist.

“Keep them there,” he told her, reaching between them to undo the laces at the top of his trousers.

Lizzy obeyed.

It wasn’t hard to do, when Darcy was like this. Commanding, confident, unerring in his desire for her. And when he freed himself and pushed into her, kept a strong arm banded around her back to hold her up when she went limp and boneless with pleasure, Lizzy ceased to have any rational thoughts at all.

Sex and intimacy between them continued to be an unexpected joy.

Darcy could be in turn demanding and giving, at times completely in control, and then more than pleased to let Lizzy do as she would and take her own pleasure exactly how she wanted it. It had been bewildering, at first, such a departure from the dutiful, mildly unpleasant act she’d once been told to expect. Now, however, as they explored and played together, found rich desire and joy and soul-deep connection in one another’s bodies, she had decided to embrace it fully. She could not get enough of him, could never envision a time when she would grow weary of having him near.

There were still other barriers between them—questions unanswered and tentative bridges they needed to build. They had still not yet come to know one another fully, trust one another entirely, but at least in this there was nothing wanting.

And now, panting and shaking and coming down off that peak together, Lizzy was content and at peace. 

Yet, later that evening—long after they’d shared dinner together and spent a few peaceful hours in the library reading and relaxing, after she’d led him back to her rooms and made love to him again—she woke up alone in the small hours of the morning.

The closer they grew, the more intolerable it became, having him go back to his own chambers each night after she was asleep, feeling the distance both physical and emotional stretch between them. 

Lizzy rolled onto her back and let out a long breath, mind racing. She had the half-mad urge to throw herself from bed even now and go after him, but did not. No, she laid and stewed silently for a time before coming to a resolution.

Ridiculous, she was being ridiculous. She would speak to him tomorrow.

Staying silent about what she was feeling had never served her before in this marriage, and would not do so now. She would have the courage to speak plainly and hope that there was enough affection and trust between them to discuss openly. It was foolish for her to have remained silent so long.

Still, she was self-aware enough to know why she had. 

It was because laying in wait on the other side of that question was the very real possibility that he did not feel the same. Perhaps he wanted their marriage to remain conventional, with the distance and formality typical of many marriages amongst society. Perhaps adhering to that convention suited him well, and he would not react favorably to her desire to eschew it for something closer and far less restricted and bound by expectation.

She didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it, with as warm and passionate as he always was with her. Already it seemed to her that they had laid a foundation for an unconventional relationship to flourish. With each passing day it grew, made her more and more certain she would never be satisfied with less, not from him.

Still, there were moments and small details that made her doubt. The lingering questions she had around Wickham, certainly, as well as the way he still sometimes seemed to hold himself back with her. Words he couldn’t quite say, glances that broke away when she turned to look, little moments of reticence she was never quite sure she had truly seen.

Another small voice in her mind questioned whether or not she had given him indication enough to lead him to believe any overtures he might make in that regard would be welcomed. Surely they were well beyond the cold, fraught thing their marriage had been at its outset, but perhaps it still wasn’t enough for him to believe he’d redeemed himself in her eyes. Or perhaps he thought this was what she would prefer, her own space and chambers away from his. Certainly, she’d never said anything to the contrary.

A mess, it was all a mess. She couldn’t parse it all now, couldn’t decide what the likely outcome of a conversation on the matter would be, and let out a long, frustrated breath. There would be no answers tonight, and she was likely better served by a good night of sleep than more worry about it.

As she rolled over and stared at the far wall of the bedchamber, though, a singular thought stuck in her mind.

Lizzy wanted to be intimate with her husband, she realized, and not only in the sharing of their bodies. It was his mind she craved, his soul and spirit and company, and all the quiet moments in between. She wanted to know him, trust him, for all the remaining barriers between them to fall away.

Now the only question that remained to her was whether Darcy wished the same.

Chapter Text

The next day, a Sunday, dawned bright and clear.

As Lizzy woke, rose from bed, and set about dressing with help from her interim lady's maid, there seemed to be something promising about the day, a certain air of purpose and auspiciousness that gave her a renewed sense of energy. As she prepared for the day it bolstered her, leaving her heart much lighter than it had been the night before.

Having donned one of the new gowns she had purchased while in Town, and with her hair swept back into a soft mass of curls at the back of her head, Lizzy scarcely recognized herself as she looked in the mirror.

Elegant, refined, sophisticated, and surrounded by the still unbelievable splendor of her chamber, it was the first time she had felt like she possessed even some small semblance to a woman who could be reasonably called the Mistress of Pemberley.

Darcy seemed to think so too as she opened her door and he gave her a good, long look. There was so much appreciative warmth behind his eyes that it made a bit of color rise in her cheeks.

“Good morning,” he told her, leaning in to press his lips against that color.

It would have been better if you’d shared it with me. The teasing remark rose just to the edge of her lips but she held it back for now. She already had it in her mind to tell him later tonight, to hold him close and invite him to stay. If the way he was still looking at her now was any indication, all her worries about that conversation might come to nothing.

To begin their day, they were traveling to the chapel in Lambton for Sunday service. It would be their first outing into the town since she’d arrived, and as they climbed up into the carriage to set off, Lizzy found herself eager and excited at the prospect of seeing more of her new home county.

Though, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease him a little as they started down the drive.

“I believe the distance from Pemberley to Lambton is not all that much further than the distance from Longbourn to Meryton.”

“Indeed,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he waited for her to elaborate.

“We could have walked. It would have been a fine day for it.”

Darcy’s lips quirked up into a smile. “Indeed,” he said again. “Should I have the driver pull over and let us out?”

“Maybe next time,” she allowed. “Are there many good places to journey by foot around the estate?”

He nodded, and spent the rest of the short ride into town telling her about the acres and acres of scenic wilderness around Pemberley, promising to show her some of his own favorite walking paths and forest trails now that the weather was improving.

They arrived at the chapel just as the bells had begun to toll the start of Sunday service, and though Lizzy thought she might have seen a few glances sent in their direction or a murmured comment here and there, they did not draw too much notice as they slipped inside and took their seats in a pew near the back.

For Lizzy, attending church service had always been a bit of a bore. Her mind was often too restless for her to be content with the long hour of prayer and hymns and sermons each Sunday, and she would often feel a sense of sharp relief when the hour ended and she was free to return out of doors.

Today, however, she felt less restless than usual.

The Lambton reverend was a man in his middle years with a deep voice and a style of delivering his sermon that was not at all like Collins’ stilted formality, or the frail, age-wizened voice of the Meryton reverend she’d grown up listening to each week. He spoke with understated gravitas and a gentle warmth that made the hour seem to pass quickly.

Darcy, sitting beside her, watched and listened to the service with an air of contemplative attention. They’d spoken little of faith, hadn’t set foot in a church since the morning of their own wedding, and she tucked away a mental note to discuss it with him one day soon.

As they exited the chapel after the service’s conclusion, a call from behind them halted their progress back to the carriage.

“Mr. Darcy,” said a man’s voice, and they both turned to look.

A youngish-looking couple approached them. The man was fair-haired and tall, and the woman who had her arm tucked into his was petite and lovely, with deep brown hair and a pink-cheeked complexion.

“Mr. Granville,” Darcy said, extending a hand to the man and then giving a nod of greeting to the woman. “Mrs. Granville. May I introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.”

The young couple simply stared at her for a moment, clearly not expecting to find Mr. Darcy with a wife, but that surprise was quickly pushed aside with warm greetings and friendly small talk.

One conversation turned into two, and then another as a few more of Darcy’s acquaintances and friends stepped forward. He introduced each new face to Lizzy, a quiet satisfaction in his voice as he told them they were married.

The general consensus around the announcement seemed to be more than a bit of surprise, though most everyone they spoke with were as quick as the Granvilles to bury whatever reaction they had with good manners and greetings. Most seemed curious about her, though she did feel that scrutiny a bit more keenly from some of the unmarried young women in the group. The reason for it didn’t escape her, and it was not hard to understand why they might be feeling a bit of frustration and ire at the county’s most eligible bachelor being snatched away by an unknown young woman from Hertfordshire.

Nevertheless, the conversations stayed genial, the congratulations warm, and Lizzy—surprising Darcy, and indeed even surprising herself a little—met each greeting with warm enthusiasm. By the time they were climbing into the carriage to head back to Pemberley she had issued invitations to three of the ladies to come for a social visit later that month.

Darcy smiled widely at her from the opposite seat as they pulled away from the chapel. There was something wonderfully relieved in his expression.

“What?” Lizzy couldn’t help but ask as he continued to study her.

He shook his head a little, still smiling. “Nothing, my dear, I’m just pleased to see you making new acquaintances in Derbyshire. And not surprised in the least that it did not take any interference from me to facilitate.”

My dear. The endearment was new, but offered so naturally that Lizzy wasn’t even sure he was aware he had said it. It put another bloom of warmth in her chest that stayed with her as they settled into the carriage, and lingered all the way back to Pemberley.

Returning to the estate, Darcy pronounced that Sundays were indeed a day of rest, and as he helped Lizzy down from the carriage he asked her how she’d like to spend the rest of it.

“A walk, I think, to start” she said, looking up at the clear blue sky.

They took advantage of the fine spring day to take one of those paths Darcy had alluded to earlier, setting off from Pemberley down through the manicured gardens and into the woods beyond. The trees above where just bursting into vibrant green life with their new spring leaves, and the forest was dappled with sunshine as they walked leisurely through.

Along the way, they traded stories of childhood memories and mischiefs. Darcy, it seemed, had gotten into quite a bit of trouble with his cousin, now the esteemed Colonel Fitzwilliam she had met at Rosings, and had preferred to spend all of his time out of doors. Whether traipsing through the woods, fishing in one of the nearby streams, or haunting the stables, he laughed as he told her he often had to be fetched back inside by force or he would have spent entire nights out under the stars.

Lizzy, too, had always preferred the clean, fresh Hertfordshire air to more traditional, feminine, indoor pursuits, and drew just as much laughter when she told him of the times she and her sisters had gone for dips in the Longbourn pond, often coming home caked head to toe in mud.

It was a wonderful way to spend the beautiful morning, and as they began their trek back to the manor to take their midday meal, Darcy caught her hand gently in his, turning her to face him.

“I was right,” Darcy told her, watching the sunlight play across her face.

“About what?”

“A woodland goddess indeed.”

Warmth and pleasure rushed through her, and she leaned up onto her toes to give him a kiss that tasted like spring.

After lunch, Lizzy suggested they go for a stroll through the gallery. She’d had occasion to see it a few times since she’d arrived, but never with Darcy, and was eager for him to share some of the history behind the exquisite works of art within. Darcy readily agreed and led her from the small family dining room through a long, formal hallway to the gallery.

The space had left Lizzy in a state of awe the first time she had seen it, and that impression had not dimmed as they stepped into the space. With floors of pristine marble, walls paneled in soft cream, and the entirety of the space filled with sculpture and statuary and paintings that could rival any great museum, it struck her for a moment how truly, wonderfully surreal it was that such a space existed in her own home.

One of the first places they stopped was a section of wall at the side of the room where various portraits of members of the Darcy family were hung in places of honor.

As she glanced up at the series of portraits featuring the long line of Darcy patriarchs, it occurred to her that they had not discussed his family at length, and for all that he knew about her own family, she did not know much about his.

Lizzy knew the barest details, gleaned from conversations that had happened around the time Darcy, Bingley and Caroline had first shown up in Hertfordshire. She knew his parents had both died, and that he had taken over the vast Darcy estate after the death of his father some five years past. It made her a bit ashamed, now, to remember taking part in the idle gossip and speculation about the man who had caused such a stir in Meryton with his arrival.

She wanted to know the details in his own words and in his own time. More than anything, she wanted him to feel like he could share those things with her, honestly and without hesitation.

And to her surprise as they walked through the row of paintings, he did.

He pointed out the large portrait of his father, set in line with a dozen or so other men in the Darcy line. Each seemed to wear an expression of serious, aloof solemnity, not so different than the one she’d often seen on her own husband’s face in the earliest days of their acquaintance.

Darcy’s father was as serious as the rest of them, and Lizzy noted that the resemblance between father and son was rather striking. The same dark hair, blue eyes, and serious set to their countenance. She wondered idly if the elder Mr. Darcy had also been wont to break that reserve at times, indulge in gaiety and laughter with those he was closest to.

Beside her, Darcy looked up and down the row of his ancestors, gaze going a bit thoughtful and contemplative as he studied each in turn.

“And where is yours?” Lizzy asked him as they moved slowly down the line of portraits.

A bit of color rose on Darcy’s cheeks. “I have not yet had occasion to sit for a formal portrait.”

“You’ll want to soon,” she teased him. “Now, while you’re still young and so handsome.”

He seemed a little taken aback, and inordinately pleased to hear her compliment so plainly given. “A fine suggestion. Best to do it now before I’m gout-ridden and stooped with age.”

She laughed, and in truth did not believe her own teasing comment for a moment. Looking at Darcy now, and studying the portrait of his father, it was not hard to imagine how her husband might look as he aged. The thought—of an older Darcy with silver streaked through his dark hair and his fine features made all the more striking and dignified by age—put a strange fluttery warmth in the bottom of her stomach. Not because she had any desire to wile away any amount of time with him, certainly, but simply from the knowledge that she would be the one by his side as the years passed between them.

As they came to stand in front of another painting though, that teasing air between them grew quiet and somber.

Painted in stunning, richly detailed splendor, the portrait was of a woman seated on an ornate wooden chair and a man standing just behind her, a hand laid on her shoulder. The man in the portrait was unmistakably the late Mr. Darcy, and it was not hard to deduce who the beautiful, fair-haired woman seated before him was.

“Your mother?” Lizzy asked quietly, studying the couple in the painting.

Darcy nodded. “This was painted just a year before Georgiana’s birth.” His expression grew softer and more thoughtful the longer he looked. “They had a very happy marriage, my mother and father. I remember him doting on her, the two of them always seemed to be together.”

Even in the posed, formal portrait, Lizzy thought she could see a hint of it. The slight tilt of their frames leaning toward one another, the way the artist had captured the softness and familiarity in their features.

Lizzy laid a hand against his arm. “They look very happy. A most handsome couple.”

He glanced down at her with a smile that did not quite meet his eyes and seemed to hesitate for just a moment before responding. “My father never did truly recover from her passing.”

“What happened?” Lizzy asked.

“A fever,” Darcy said simply. “One the physicians could not determine the cause of, and which swept through her in the matter of a week.”

Sorrow twisted Lizzy’s stomach. “How old were you?”

“Eighteen,” Darcy said, looking back to his mother’s portrait. “In my first year at Cambridge. I was summoned home as soon as they realized how serious it was, but it was not…I did not make it home in time.”

That sorrow became a sharp, pointed thing as she looked up at him. “And Georgiana?”

“Just seven,” he said. “Though she was kept away from the worst of it, I know she remembers it still. And my father…I think his heart broke that day and never truly recovered. He passed some five years after.”

The both of them fixed their attention back to the portrait.

“William,” she said softly, squeezing his hand again. “All of this, losing them both, how it must have affected you…”

Words failed her in that moment. Lizzy was overcome by a sense of sorrow so acute—for him, for his sister—it filled her up and choked off whatever words she might have said.

“It was much more difficult for Georgiana,” Darcy said quietly. “To lose our mother before she ever really got the chance to know her, and then our father just before her twelfth birthday. It’s still sometimes hard to believe they will never know the bright, kind young woman she’s become.”

Gazing up at the portrait again, Lizzy felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. Not only for the loss of his parents, but for everything he now carried because of it. To hear him dismiss his own sorrow, to center his sister in that grief, it made her ache to hold him to her.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I can’t imagine the pain of such loss. Or how it must have felt to press on despite it, with so much responsibility on your shoulders.”

“It took a few years,” Darcy admitted, “for it to stop feeling like the world would one day fall out from under me without warning.”

“And it’s stopped feeling that way, now?”

His free hand came up to cup her face, fingers threading lightly through the hair at her temple. “It had, for a good long while.”

“Until when?”

Instead of answering, he kissed her briefly. Lizzy could taste what she needed to know in the gentle press of his lips—the lingering fear, the slight edge of worry that this too might one day crumble. 

She wasn’t sure if she could tell him what he needed to hear, didn’t know how to find the right words to assure him she wasn’t going anywhere. Lizzy wanted to trust him, for him to trust her, for all the lingering shadows and unanswered questions between them to be finally resolved.

As they parted, and as Darcy paused again to glance up at the portrait of his parents, Lizzy found herself more than a little distracted by the tangle of her own thoughts.

Looking up at the handsome couple his parents had been and considering her own marriage, the same sort of anxious, formless want that had plagued her last night rose again in her chest.

Lizzy was, if anything, a pragmatist. She knew enough to be aware that wasn’t generally how marriages worked. Not amongst the country gentry she’d grown up in, and certainly not amongst the elevated social sphere she’d married into. Her own parents, for all their years together, did not seem to share any true, deep intimacy. They mostly got on well together, were dutiful and faithful to one another, and at times even seemed to enjoy each other’s company, but Lizzy had never gotten the sense that theirs was a profound, abiding love.

What she was beginning to feel for her own husband, however, seemed different.

She’d never experienced it, had no frame of reference to understand it, but somehow knew it could be something better than she might have ever expected to find withing the bonds of matrimony. Perhaps there could be more for them than the convention. Deep companionship, affection…love.

How long it would take them to get there, she did not know. They had years ahead together, decades, but her soul ached with impatience at the thought.

He had said he’d loved her, that day at Rosings, but had not renewed the sentiment since. How could she fault him for that, though, when she had reacted the way she did?

Lizzy still couldn’t say she would have done otherwise on that day, given what she’d known and how she’d felt then. However, glancing up at Darcy now as he still looked tenderly at his parents’ portraits, knowing him better, having seen the ways they’d both come to know each other more deeply and honestly, she was well aware just how far her feelings had shifted since that day.

What would she do now, if he told her he loved her again? 

Lizzy wasn’t sure, but the idea of it sent a rising wave of warmth through her chest. Darcy, having noticed her attention on him, looked down with a slightly bemused smile and a question in his eyes, but whatever either of them might have said in that moment was lost to the sound of a voice calling out to them from the gallery doorway.

“Mr. Darcy,” the harried steward—Rolland, Lizzy remembered his name was—said, appearing to gather his composure as he approached. “Mrs. Darcy.”

“Yes?” Darcy asked, brow furrowing at the interruption.

“There is a letter here for you, Mrs. Darcy, delivered with haste from Longbourn estate.”

Lizzy felt the bottom of her stomach cave in. Imagining a dozen different terrible scenarios, she took the letter with a small murmur of thanks, and Rolland made a hasty retreat. Running a finger under the wax seal with a trembling hand, she cracked it open and unfolded the page.

She read the three short lines from her father. Then read them again.

The terrible anticipation in her stomach curdled into sour dread. Without thinking, without hesitating for a moment, she handed the letter to Darcy. As he read it, a dark shadow fell over his eyes and his jaw clenched in unmistakable anger.

It couldn’t be. No, her youngest sister would not be that foolish. It could not be true, could not be…

“Lydia,” Lizzy whispered. “I don’t know what she would have been…why she would…”

She couldn’t form the words, couldn’t imagine why her younger sister would have fled the safety of her friends him with Mr. George Wickham. Of all the reckless, thoughtless things she could have done, the ways in which she could have damaged not only herself, but her family, this was one of the most dire.

Lizzy was still floundering in those thoughts when Darcy reached out and took her hands. When she met his gaze, it was filled with cold determination and resolve.

“I will leave at once for London.”

Mr. Bennet’s letter had indicated that’s likely where the couple had fled after leaving Brighton, but in a city that size they could be anywhere…they could disappear, be lost forever, Lydia entirely at the mercy of the man she’d run away with, and…

Darcy seemed to notice her spiraling, the way her fear clouded her eyes and left her mute. 

“Lizzy,” he said gently, pulling her attention back to him as he squeezed both the hands he held. “Look at me.”

Her mind was running entirely away from her, fixed on all the disastrous consequences that might yet come to pass. Not only for Lydia, but for her entire family. For Jane and Kitty and Mary, a stain that would color the entire Bennet name.

Still, at his insistent words she looked back at her husband. Darcy was staring down at her with absolute certainty blazing in his eyes, a conviction and rock-solid stability that moored her just the smallest bit in the storm of her own unsettled emotions.

“Trust me in this?” he asked her, giving her hands another squeeze. “I know you still do not have the full truth of what has passed between Wickham and I, but please trust me when I say that this is a matter I need to attend to. Personally.”

“Alright,” she said finally, voice coming out hoarse and thick.

A short hour later, Lizzy was pacing in Pemberley’s grand entrance hall, waiting to see her husband off.

How spectacularly this day had unraveled. Was it just a few hours before that she’d been filled with such hope for what might pass between them today? Just a few hours since they’d been playful and laughing in the spring sunshine? Unable to fully comprehend what had happened, to wrap her mind around the enormity of the situation, she paced and paced, hoping that if she kept moving she might be able to outrun the worries that even now still threatened to drown her.

At the sound of fast, striding footsteps coming down the stairs, she turned and felt her heart catch in her throat. Dressed for the journey in a crisp jacket and fitted trousers, Darcy exuded a implacable determination that made her feel an impossible, unlikely thread of calm in all the chaos.

He had taken charge without second thought, stepped up and taken on the responsibility of finding her sister, protecting the Bennet family name. He didn’t have to, he could have very easily dismissed the problem as one for her father or uncle, but as he moved toward her with those assured, ground-covering strides, she did not doubt him for a moment.

Meeting her where she waited near the door, Darcy took her face in both hands and pulled her gently to him, pressing a soft kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll be taking our smallest and fastest carriage,” he told her as he pulled away, the authority in his tone further easing her anxiety. “The coachman will change out for fresh horses as often as possible to keep the fastest pace to London as we can. Once there, I won’t rest until they are found.”

Lizzy nodded, throat too tight for her to speak.

He tipped her chin up, making her meet his eye. At the sight of her unshed tears, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to her own.

“Elizabeth, I…” he began, trailing off for a moment before shaking his head slightly and settling on what he wanted to say. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I promise to do everything with in my power to help Lydia.”

They stayed like that for a few long moments. Breathing each other in, savoring a precious few seconds of connection before they would be parted.

No part of Lizzy could stand to see him go. Not when they’d only just started to make their own way together, not when everything between the still felt so tremulous and unsettled between them.

For her sister, though, for a matter of this gravity, she could do nothing but accept his departure.

Wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, Lizzy pressed her cheek to the firm wall of his chest and fought against the tears that were still threatening to spill from her eyes. Darcy laid his cheek atop her head, a great shuddering breath breaking from him as he held her just as tightly.

The first three days of Darcy’s absence passed by painfully slow.

There was not a waking moment in which she did not worry and in which her heart did not ache. Even her dreams were haunted, leaving her just as tired when she woke up in the morning as when she’d gone to sleep the night before. There was no further news from Longbourn, nothing that might give her racing mind any amount of peace.

It was exhausting, and Lizzy was eternally grateful for Mrs. Reynolds and the kind patience she offered while Lizzy did her utmost to distract herself with work.

On the morning of the fourth day, Lizzy and Mrs. Reynolds were in the kitchens speaking with the staff about menus and orders and all the intricate details that kept the whole operation running smoothly when a cleared throat from the door way caught their attention.

Rolland gave Lizzy a deep bow as she turned. “My apologies for the interruption,” he said, “but your presence has been requested in the family drawing room.”

“By who?” Lizzy asked. She hadn’t expected any visitors, and certainly not any who were close enough to the Darcy family to warrant entry into the somewhat private space.

“By Miss Georgiana,” Rolland said. “She has returned home early from her travels and is most eager to meet you.”

Chapter Text

The private family parlor was washed in late morning light as Lizzy entered the room. 

An elegant space, the parlor was decorated in light, crisp creams, golds and blues, with richly made carpets and furnishings. Within, she found a young woman perched on the edge of a sofa waiting for her.

Miss Georgiana Darcy was just shy of seventeen years old, and still had an open, girlish innocence to her face. Fair-haired, slender, and tall, she was even more lovely than Lizzy had anticipated, and bore a strong resemblance to the portrait of Darcy’s mother.

“Hello,” Georgiana said warmly, rising from where she sat on the sofa with a wide smile.

“Miss Darcy,” Lizzy said with a smile of her own as she approached. “I am so glad we’re finally getting the chance to meet.”

Georgiana made a small waving motion with her hands. “Just Georgiana, please. There is no need for formality.”

“And you may call me Elizabeth, or Lizzy. Either is perfectly fine.”

The two women settled back onto the sofa. Before either of them could say anything else, the door to the room opened and a maid appeared bearing a tray of tea and small refreshments. Lizzy and Georgiana busied themselves for a moment with the tea service, letting a bit of the initial nerves and awkwardness subside.

Lizzy was the first to broach a topic of conversation.

“So,” she said, setting down her cup and wiping her fingers absently on a napkin. “I imagine it must be something of a surprise to come home and find a new sister-in-law has taken up residence in your home.”

Georgiana’s eyes widened a little at the open candor of the remark, but she quickly recovered and matched Lizzy’s teasing tone with a smile of her own.

“Yes,” Georgiana said, “I must admit I was quite taken by surprise by everything that’s happened these past few weeks.”

That was a vast understatement, Lizzy thought. She could hardly imagine how surprised she would have been to return home to find one of her own sisters married, how many questions she might have and how she might worry. She hoped to allay some of those fears for Georgiana.

“It all did happen rather quickly,” Lizzy told her. “And I’m more than happy to tell you anything you might wish to know or address any concerns you might have.”

Georgiana nodded, thinking for a moment. “In a letter he sent me, William said the two of you met during his time in Hertfordshire with Mr. Bingley and his sister?”

“Yes, my family lives just outside of Meryton. My eldest sister has also been fortunate enough to recently become engaged to Mr. Bingley.”

“Oh!” Georgiana exclaimed, clearly pleased. “I had not heard. Charles has been such a dear friend to William. I am so happy to hear he’s found happiness with your sister.”

They spent a few more minutes discussing Lizzy’s family and Darcy’s short stay in Hertfordshire. Lizzy did her best to filter it all in a more charitable light than she might have described those events a few weeks ago, but when Georgiana asked if she and Darcy had already had an understanding between them when he left Netherfield with Charles, Lizzy had to laugh.

“Not in the slightest,” she told Georgiana. 

Her sister-in-law arched a questioning brow at her. “So it must have been quite a whirlwind, then, if you met again so shortly after and wound up married?”

A flush climbed Lizzy’s cheek. “I suppose that’s a fair enough way to look at it.”

“He left very suddenly a few weeks ago, just before I went away with my aunt and uncle to visit some relatives,” Georgiana went on. “He left in such haste for Kent that he barely remembered to say goodbye.”

Lizzy’s lips turned up in a small, wry smile at the memory of what Darcy had said to her on that fateful afternoon at Rosings about making the trip there for no other design other than to see her, even as something sharp tugged on the center of her chest.

“Imagine my surprise,” Georgiana said with a smile of her own, shaking her head slightly, “when I received word that he was married. Not just engaged, but married, and to a young woman none of our family had ever heard of, much less met.”

Lizzy fought a flinch at that, and Georgiana seemed to note her reaction.

“Apologies,” she said quickly. “I did not mean any criticism by it, only surprise. My brother is not an impulsive person in the slightest, and I thought when I received the letter it must have been written by and meant for someone else.”

They both laughed a little at that.

“The circumstances of our marriage…” Lizzy began, trying to decide how she wanted to frame what had happened. “There was good reason we had to marry so quickly.”

Georgiana’s eyes went wide at that, clearly distressed. “Oh! I can’t believe that my brother would—”

Lizzy reached forward and grasped her hand in reassurance, cutting off the rest of her sentence. “It is quite alright,” she said. “A rocky beginning, perhaps, but we are both settling in very happily into the marriage.”

Georgiana did not seem entirely convinced and retained a bit of trepidation on her face, so Lizzy continued. Honesty, perhaps, might win a little bit more of her new sister’s trust.

“If I’m being completely truthful, your brother and I did not get on well at our first meeting, nor within the first few weeks of our acquaintance.”

“You did not?” Georgiana asked.

Lizzy laughed. “No, we did not. I believe he may have found me too informal and impertinent, and I believed him all too serious for us to be agreeable to one another.”

“And that has changed, now?”

“It has,” Lizzy said, hoping Georgiana could tell she was sincere. “I have learned so much more about him these past few weeks, and have come to admire and care for him a great deal. He has been very patient and very kind to me, and the more we come to know one another the more I think we both realize how very similar we are, despite those initial struggles.”

Georgiana thought about that for a moment, then her winsome smile appeared on her face once more.

“I am glad then, for you both,” she told Lizzy, squeezing her hand in reply.

They talked of other things for a little while—the journey Lizzy and Darcy had taken from Longbourn to Pemberley, Georgiana’s own travels with her relations, the first few days Lizzy had spent as Mistress of Pemberley. There was an immediate, easy rapport between them that made Lizzy’s heart glad.

A few more sips of tea and companionable silence passed before Georgiana spoke again.

“I’ve been told that William was called away on some business to Town,” she said. “Though I was not made aware of the reason for it.”

Lizzy’s stomach turned over. What should she say? If what Wickham had told her back in Hertfordshire about growing up alongside the Darcy children had been true, then Georgiana probably knew him as a friend, or at the very least as a friend of her brother’s. Would hearing what he’d done, what he’d become, distress her? And for Lydia’s sake, should she say anything at all?

She debated it for a few silent moments, finally coming to the conclusion that Georgiana was family now, that she would likely learn the truth of it in time when—or indeed if, though Lizzy didn’t want to contemplate that possibility—Lydia and Wickham were wed. Taking a deep breath, she began.

“He is in Town because of a matter related to my family,” she said slowly. “My youngest sister, Lydia, is in some trouble. She…she was in Brighton visiting with friends and ran into an acquaintance of ours, someone I believe you know as well, Mr. George Wickham. The two of them…they left from Brighton together, and have likely disappeared somewhere in London. Lydia is only fifteen and she…they…”

Her words trailed off as she saw that Georgiana’s face had gone sheet-white.

“I’m sorry,” Lizzy said, feeling distressed on the girl’s behalf. “I realize you must hold Mr. Wickham in very high regard, having grown up with him, and know it must be quite a shock to hear…”

Her words trailed off again at the vehement shaking of Georgiana’s head. Utterly confused, Lizzy waited for her to say something.

“It’s not that,” Georgiana said, voice a raspy whisper.

Lizzy remained silent as she watch Georgiana war with the decision of whether to say more.

“I want to be able to confide in you,” Georgiana said finally, voice still barely above a whisper. “I’ve never had a sister and I…I had hoped that the two of us might be…”

Lizzy turned on the sofa to face Georgiana more fully, grasping both her hands. “I have four sisters, and each one of them has been a blessing to me. I count myself even more blessed now to have a fifth. If you don’t feel comfortable confiding in me, though, please do not distress yourself over it. I realize I am still essentially a stranger to you.”

The younger woman’s eyes searched her face for a few moments, still very obviously conflicted. Lizzy was about to offer additional reassurance that she need not share more than she felt comfortable, when Georgiana reached forward unexpectedly and threw her arms around Lizzy in a strong embrace.

It surprised Lizzy, but she was no stranger to offering comfort to a sister in need, and quickly returned the hug, rubbing soothing strokes over Georgiana’s back. They stayed that way for a couple of minutes, and when Georgiana drew back there were tears dampening her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” Lizzy asked her, face creasing in concern.

Georgiana nodded. “I am. I mean, I’m as well as I can be. And I want to tell you more about what I know of Mr. Wickham.”

Georgiana’s story came out in stops and starts, in tight, miserable words laced with tears. Through it, Lizzy offered her hand and any supportive words she could, though the weight in the bottom of her belly grew heavier and heavier with each passing moment.

Fifteen. Georgiana had been only fifteen when Wickham had attempted to sweep her off her feet and sweep her away into matrimony.

The same age Lydia was now.

How charming he had been to her, the way Georgiana described it. It was charm Lizzy knew well—easy, self-deprecating humor and a sort of noble, long-suffering air about him as he talked so stoically about everything he had endured at the hands of the supposedly cruel Mr. Darcy. With Georgiana, any reproach of her brother had been traded for declarations of long-held affection, a deep feeling that had bloomed into a love he’d told her could not be denied.

And Georgiana, enamored, had almost made the same kind of disastrous mistake that Lydia had.

Darcy had been away when Wickham showed back up at Pemberley to try and tempt Georgiana away, but come home from Town when Mrs. Reynolds had written a distressed letter to him about her suspicions. Separating them, Darcy had been the one to pick up the pieces of Georgiana’s heart when she learned the truth about the nature of Wickham’s deception, his designs of getting his hands on her inheritance.

It was sickening, not only how deep Wickham’s lies had gone, but how Lizzy now realized she’d unfairly judged Darcy because of it, how much she’d let those lies color her view of him.

Here was the truth, and it made Lizzy’s heart ache.

There had been no denial of inheritance, no malicious intent driven by jealousy. Wickham had simply refused the living he’d been offered, taken it’s value as payment instead, and then disappeared from the estate where he’d spent his entire childhood to gamble it all away.

And then he’d come back, declared his love to the young woman who had harbored a secret, innocent affection for him since childhood, made her believe he returned that affection and that theirs would be a great love, if only they could steal away and be together.

Georgiana’s eyes and cheeks shone with tears as she concluded. Lizzy wrapped her in another hug, holding her and letting her cry out the rest of her grief and regret.

“Such a fool I was,” Georgiana murmured, more to herself than to Lizzy.

Lizzy held her tighter. “No. Not a fool at all. It was his transgression, and not yours. He knew full well what he was doing and what the consequences would be.”

“So did I,” Georgiana said miserably. “Some part of me did, anyways, and yet I still believed myself to be in love with him.”

At a loss of how else she might comfort the girl, Lizzy simply kept Georgiana in her embrace, hoping her presence would offer some comfort.

“Sometimes I think the worst part might be knowing how very deeply I disappointed William,” Georgiana admitted. “I can’t imagine what he must have thought when he first discovered my indiscretion. He barely made it back in time to put a stop to things, and even when he’d banished Mr. Wickham from the estate I could see the pain of it all in his eyes. I know I must have broken his trust in me completely.”

“No,” Lizzy said with enough conviction in her voice to have Georgiana pull back and look at her questioningly with tear-bright eyes. “Whatever else you believe, know that you mean the world to him. I have never heard him speak of you with anything but the utmost care and love.”

Georgiana gave her a wobbly, tearful smile. Lizzy wasn’t entirely sure if she was convinced, but the assurance was enough to have Georgiana mopping at her damp eyes with the back of her hand, and taking a deep, steadying breath before pulling away gently from Lizzy’s embrace.

“I do apologize,” Georgiana said. “But I think I will take a little while to clean up and compose myself.”

As the two women rose, a weight settled into Lizzy’s chest. How badly she had botched this first meeting. She’d hoped to make a good impression on her new sister-in-law, lay the foundations for a friendship between them, and all she’d managed to do was leave the poor girl in tears.

Like her thoughts were tracing the same path that Lizzy’s were, Georgiana reached over to give her hand one last squeeze. 

“I thank you for your honesty, Lizzy,” she said. “And though I’m sorry our first meeting was not a happier one, I do hope the two of us will be friends.”

“Of course,” Lizzy told her, heart lifting a little. “That is my sincere hope as well.”

After making plans to meet again later that afternoon once Georgiana had gotten some time to recover from her journey and the fraught events of the last hour, Lizzy sank back on the sofa as Georgiana left the parlor.

Her mind was racing with all she had learned.

How neatly the blanks were filled in, how much better she understood the nature of Darcy’s shocking enmity for the man and the reasons why he hadn’t been able to explain it to her. The enormity of it all had scarcely begun to set over her, and she thought she must be feeling some slight amount of shock.

The implications that the truth of the matter posed for Lydia, for Georgiana, for her own marriage and the future of her relationship with her husband were more than she could wrap her mind around at the moment.

Standing on legs that felt a bit shaky around the knees, Lizzy was at a loss about what to do with herself. 

Surely, she could spend the whole of the afternoon stewing in her own thoughts, but that was hardly like to help matters in the slightest. She longed for the opportunity to speak with Darcy, longed for more clarity and detail that she knew he would be able to provide, and also knew that she’d be entirely occupied with that longing in every idle moment for the entirety of their separation.

So, deciding that work could still be a balm for her, a much-needed distraction, she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirts and went off to find Mrs. Reynolds.

Later that afternoon, the two women met out on Pemberley’s grand balcony, and walked arm in arm down to the gardens to enjoy the remainder of the afternoon sunshine. They carefully avoided the topic of Lydia and Wickham for now, choosing instead to speak of the estate, the county, and their neighbors. Georgiana proved to be a fount of knowledge on that last front, regaling Lizzy with all sorts of stories about the marriages and families and little dramas that were not all that much different than the gossip of Hertfordshire. 

Talk turned to Georgiana and Darcy’s childhood growing up at Pemberley, which Georgiana spoke of fondly and with a great deal of affection for her older brother. It warmed Lizzy’s heart to know that despite all they had both lost, they had each other to lean on and very obviously cared for each other deeply. She couldn’t help but ask a few nosy questions about how Darcy had been as a youth and a young man, and Georgiana was all too eager to fill her in with details.

By Georgiana’s telling, he had been a bit too serious even when he was young, though he’d always had endless patience for his baby sister. She laughingly echoed Darcy’s own words about his love of the outdoors and of riding, the trouble he’d often found himself in with Colonel Fitzwilliam, though she sobered a little when she talked about the shift in him after he’d taken over as Master. He’d taken up the mantle with great diligence and determination, though it had only seemed to exacerbate his tendency toward seriousness, reserve, and introspection.

“Well,” Georgiana finished the thought. “At least until very recently.”

“What do you mean?” Lizzy asked her.

Georgiana smiled a little ruefully. “My brother was…changed when he came home from Hertfordshire earlier this spring. Restless and unsettled. I had no idea what to make of it at the time. He’s always had such a calm, steady quality about him that it was a bit concerning to see him so out of sorts.”

Lizzy bit her lip, holding back a laugh that mingled with a sudden stab of longing in her chest. 

“And the letter he wrote me to tell me of your marriage,” Georgiana continued, eyes going soft as she remembered it. “It was filled with more warm sentiment than I think I’ve ever heard from him.”

“Was it?” Lizzy asked, that stab of longing growing even more acute.

“He assured me of his deep affection for you, his hope that I would one day come to know and love you as a sister.” She paused for a moment, a bit of color on her cheeks. “He also wrote of your beauty and wit, your vivacious spirit and kindness.”

Lizzy had to laugh a little at that. “An overly generous estimation of my virtues, I am certain.”

Georgiana gently squeezed her arm. “My brother is not given to fancy or exaggeration. I’m sure he meant every word.”

Night fell over Pemberley with a gentle, rose-colored sunset, and after a quiet dinner taken with Georgiana, Lizzy retired to her rooms for the evening.

The space felt even more empty than usual.

Unlike earlier in the day, there was nothing now to distract her or to act as a barrier between her and her troubled thoughts. After she had bathed and changed into a nightgown and robe, she found herself standing in front of one of the wide windows looking out over Pemberley’s darkened grounds. She stared out into the night without truly seeing anything beyond the glass, and that tumult of conflicted emotion finally broke through the frail barriers she’d kept in place all day.

Despite her worries for her sister, the first thought her mind latched onto was of Darcy.

Did he think her a fool for so easily believing the things Wickham had said, the lies he had spun? Did it lessen his esteem for her? How much had these unspoken truths been responsible for the lingering distance between them?

Turning from the window and pacing her room, she cringed inwardly when she remembered the way she’d needled him about it both at Netherfield Park and during his proposal at Rosings. She’d judged him harshly, then, thought it a terrible cruelty to deny a man his rightful inheritance because of jealousy and resentment.

Wrong, she’d been entirely wrong.

Here she had been, wondering why he’d been holding back from her, why he hadn’t cared to spend the night with her. Had this been the reason? She didn’t know, couldn’t begin to guess how much this matter had colored his feelings toward her, and the worst part of it was that she knew she’d have no answers until he returned.

Lizzy wished more than anything in the world that she could speak to him, lay it all out and make the apologies she needed to. She did not know how the conversation would go or how deep his disappointment in her might be for so easily believing the worst of him, but she would take the risk of that uncertainty a thousand times over the pain of waiting for resolution.

And that was to say nothing of the deeper well of concern she felt for Lydia. By now, Darcy had surely reached London. Had he been able to find them? Was Lydia safe and would Wickham be held to account for his many, many sins?

As the hour grew later she knew sleep would not find her easily that night, but laid down in her empty bed anyways.

The maids had changed the linens two days ago, taking away any last trace of Darcy’s scent. It had been faint, but Lizzy had sworn she could smell the sharp spice of his cologne on the side of the bed he favored, and felt a pang of need in her stomach to have it back again, to have him back again.

She rolled to her back and then to her side, shifting and restless and unable to stop the racing of her thoughts.

It wasn’t until a few interminable hours later that sleep finally found her. As her eyes grew heavy and her heart even heavier, the last thought she could recall before sleep claimed her was to wonder if somewhere out there, wherever he was, Darcy was thinking of her too.

Chapter Text

By the end of the first week of Darcy’s absence, Lizzy felt like she was walking on a thinly iced pond, liable to fall through at any moment.

Any hint of hoof beats or carriage wheels on the drive caught her attention and sent her striding for the nearest window. Any time a servant came to her with estate news or a question, her hopes always rose at the thought it might be word that he had returned, only to be quickly dashed.

Rationally, she knew it would likely be several more days at the earliest until he returned, and perhaps far longer than that with the absolutely gargantuan task of finding a couple who likely did not want to be found in the great sprawl of London.

Irrationally, she ached for him.

Each passing day, each hour, made it more acute. She wanted to talk to him, yes, to resolve matters between them, but she also wanted the comfort and pleasure of his touch. Not only in the carnal sense, but in the way she knew it only took an embrace, a brief kiss, a single caress to make her feel anchored and calm.

Lizzy wasn’t sure exactly when it had developed, that sense of connection and grounding, she only knew that she did not want to live without it. Madness or reason or anything in between, it stuck with her day and night as she waited for his return.

The only brief respite she had was a short letter that had arrived a little over a week after he’d left. In it, he had told her that he had made it to London and was to start making inquiries about Lydia and Wickham. It held assurances that he had every hope of success in finding them and sincere, if somewhat unrealistic, hopes that Lizzy was not allowing herself to worry overmuch.

My dearest Lizzy, he had ended the letter, each hour I spend away from you is an hour too long. I think of you often, and cannot wait to be back with you at Pemberley. Please take heart that all will be well and that I should be home soon.
Yours, William

She’d read the letter over and over until she’d felt utterly ridiculous. It made her heart swell and ache at once and she knew it would have no resolution until the day that he did indeed return.

In the interim, she unconsciously channeled all of that nervous energy into her study and practice as the new Mistress of Pemberley. Far be it for Lizzy to let her head run away from her in her waking, observed hours, and she had channeled everything in her that was vulnerable to distraction and yearning into her lessons with Mrs. Reynolds.

After Georgiana’s return, those lessons often included the young Miss Darcy, who both seemed to value the time she got to spend with her new sister and who was eager to share what she had learned and implemented during her years as the tentative lady of Pemberley.

Lizzy had brief reservations that she may be stepping on Georgiana’s toes or overstepping her own authority, but any of those worries were swiftly crushed under Georgiana’s own admission that she would gladly cede management of the estate to her brother’s wife. At sixteen, she was only too content to pursue her own interests of music and reading and visiting with friends to want the weight of a great country manor sitting on her shoulders.

“It’s good fortune you came along when you did,” she assured Lizzy one day when Mrs. Reynolds was reviewing the protocol for hosting guests with them both. “I fear William has quite despaired of my own inelegant hand in making the estate ready for guests, or keeping things in order on the occasions when a lady’s touch is needed.”

“Your hand in the management of the estate is likely far more deft than mine will be for many years,” Lizzy told her. “Though I gladly take on the mantle of Mistress.”

“As glad as I will be to give it up,” Georgiana replied, earning a snort of laughter from Lizzy.

Georgiana joined in her laughter, hooking her arm through Lizzy’s as the two of them trailed after Mrs. Reynolds.

Georgiana’s help also proved invaluable at the beginning of the second week when the ladies Lizzy had met at church the week before came for their visit. Mrs. Granville, along with a Mrs. Twedt and a Miss Simmons all came for tea one afternoon.

The ladies were all very pleasant, though still curious about Lizzy and the circumstances of her and Darcy’s marriage. Lizzy was endlessly grateful to have Georgiana as a confidant and co-conspirator to make the events of their acquaintance, engagement and marriage much more palatable than the true course of events. 

Yes, they had met in Herfordshire and known each other for a few weeks. Yes, they had met again in Kent at the estate of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, a very esteemed matron. Yes, their engagement had been rather short, though neither Lizzy nor Georgiana were forthcoming about just how short. By the end of the conversation the two of them had done a rather admirable job of framing events in such a way that Lizzy was very confident no eyebrows would be raised when the tale inevitably made it from the lips of the three ladies into the ears of the other women of Derbyshire.

At the end of the visit, after the ladies had given their farewells and left Pemberley in a most jovial mood, Lizzy and Georgiana sat back down in the parlor. As the merriment and levity of the last hours fled, however, the weight of Darcy’s absence and the uncertainty of how events were unfolding in London weighed down on them once more.

Georgiana, Lizzy suspected, was feeling it almost as keenly as she was, especially as she grappled with her own lingering guilt and shame.

“Have you had any word from him?” Georgiana asked tentatively.

Lizzy shook her head. “Not a single letter since his note about arriving in London, and I can’t tell if that’s a good sign or a very bad one.”

The two lapsed into silence again, each left to her own musings.

They were musings that would have no resolution that day, nor any of the few that followed. For Lizzy, work was a blessing in disguise, and with each passing day she spent with Mrs. Reynolds and Georgiana she become more and more confident in her place as Mistress. Not so confident as she might have been if she’d had Darcy by her side to share her struggles and her small victories as she had grown so accustomed to doing during the short time they’d been in residence, but it was something.

In the tangle of everything else she was trying to manage in her mind, the fact that she was apparently succeeding as Mistress of Pemberley seemed a small and somewhat confounding matter. She took her solace where she could, though, and let the distraction carry her onward.

Still, on the morning of the twelfth day when Lizzy was reviewing household ledgers at the wide desk in the library she knew she’d never be able to see again without remembering the delicious moments she and Darcy had spent atop it, her heart flew into her chest when one of the serving men opened the door quietly and drew her attention.

“A Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are here for you, ma’am,” he told her. “I’ve invited them to sit in the front parlor with some refreshments.”

Standing immediately and thanking the young man, she exited the room and went quickly downstairs to the parlor.

Edward and Madeline Gardner had been married for nearly as long as Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Though they had no children of their own, they doted on the Bennet girls, with special fondness for the two eldest. Over the years, Lizzy had become particularly close to her aunt, whose nature agreed with Lizzy’s own. Practical, pragmatic, and with a steady, even-tempered constitution that made her an excellent source of council and advice.

In all the upheaval of the last few weeks, Lizzy only now recalled hearing that her aunt and uncle had been traveling north after they had brought Jane back to Longbourn. She hadn’t known their travels would take them through Derbyshire, but at the prospect of seeing them her heart swelled and the all-too-familiar feeling of tears behind her eyes welled once more.

How emotional she’d become these last few days. Shaking her head and getting a handle on herself, Lizzy pushed the door to the parlor open and found herself immediately enveloped in effusive greetings and welcome embraces as she stepped into the room. As always, her aunt’s embrace was a balm to her, a welcome comfort in the upheaval of the last two weeks.

“Lizzy, my dear,” Mrs. Gardiner said as she hugged her niece. “How are you? We’ve just gotten the news about poor Lydia.”

“Have you?” Lizzy asked, eager for any small crumb of information. “What do you know? Has she been found?”

Mrs. Gardiner shook her head, frowning. “I’m afraid the letter we got was delayed by at least a week. We were waylaid a bit in our journey by a temperamental carriage wheel. The letter from your father was waiting for us for several days at the Derby inn we stayed in last evening.”

Lizzy’s heart sank.

“It’s alright,” Lizzy told her. “I’m very glad you’re here.”

The three took seats. A few brief pleasantries were exchanged, but the topic of conversation soon turned back to the more urgent matter at hand. Mr. Gardiner drew the letter Mr. Bennet had sent him from his pocket, allowing Lizzy to scan the few brief lines. There was nothing within that gave any more insight into the matter than what her father had written to her.

“A terrible business,” Mr. Gardiner said, shaking his head in disgust. “I can’t believe her chaperones would have been so careless as to allow something like this to happen.”

Lizzy held her tongue, thinking of the young Mrs. Forster who’d long been a friend to Lydia. Though she was a married woman now, Lizzy had always known her to be as bubbly and flirtatious and irreverent as Lydia. The two of them had been thick as thieves in Meryton, and she couldn’t imagine their dynamic would have changed much, even given the fact that Mrs. Forster had married a militiaman.

“I hope Mr. Darcy will be able to find them quickly,” she said quietly, still somewhat lost to her own thoughts.

After giving the comment, she looked up to find Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner looking at her with identical expressions of confusion on their faces.

“Your Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Gardiner asked. “He went to London to help search for them?”

Of course they wouldn’t have known, if the only news they’d had was from Mr. Bennet, likely sent at the same time he’d written Lizzy.

“Yes,” Lizzy said, clearing her throat slightly around the emotion that had risen up from her chest. “He left immediately after we received word, and has been gone these past twelve days.”

There must have been a shine of tears in Lizzy’s eyes, or perhaps merely a small glimpse of the overwhelm she’d been working so hard to hold at bay. Whatever it was, Mrs. Gardiner picked up on it immediately, her eyes melting into understanding as she studied Lizzy’s face.

“Edward, my dear,” she said, laying a hand on her husband’s arm. “I do believe Lizzy and I need to speak privately for a few minutes. Is there not some pursuit you might find to take yourself elsewhere?”

Lizzy stifled a shaky laugh at the reminder of just how forthright and teasing her aunt and uncle always were with each other.

“A walk, I think,” Mr. Gardiner said, rising from his seat. “A welcome respite from days of being cooped up in a carriage.”

Lizzy and Mrs. Gardiner both gave him small smiles at his solicitousness, and before he left the room he placed a comforting hand on Lizzy shoulder.

“A good man, to be so concerned with helping out his new wife’s family. And with the Darcy name and connections behind him, I’m sure he’ll find them and have everything set to rights in short order.”

Lizzy thanked him softly and let him know he could ask any of the servants for assistance or direction if needed during his exploration of the estate. When he’d left the parlor, Lizzy turned back to her aunt. Mrs. Gardiner rose from the sofa she’d been sitting on across from Lizzy and came to settle beside her, immediately wrapping her niece in a hug.

“My dear,” she said quietly. “I feel there is likely a great deal more going on here than I know. How are you, truly?”

It all came out in a rush. Perhaps spurred on somewhat by the days of loneliness and worry, and comforted by the knowledge that Mrs. Gardiner would not judge her and would likely be able to offer badly needed advice, Lizzy was more honest with her aunt than she had been with anyone about everything that had happened between her and Darcy. There were a few details she withheld—the full nature of Georgiana’s indiscretion with Wickham, some of the more pointed remarks Darcy had made about the Bennet family and their want of connection—but she imparted enough detail to give Mrs. Gardiner the full picture of what had happened.

“We’ve barely had any time to settle matters within our own marriage,” Lizzy said as she finished her story. “And now to have all of this added to it…it seems like I’ve hardly been able to think straight these past few days.”

Mrs. Gardiner took Lizzy’s hand in her own. “It sounds to me, my dear, like you and Mr. Darcy are both doing your best to navigate the strained circumstances you found yourselves in.”

Lizzy nodded, feeling the prick of tears threatening again at the backs of her eyes.

“And,” Mrs. Gardiner continued, “what Edward said is true. It takes a good man to show the kind of initiative your Mr. Darcy did, to handle matters himself with conviction and without hesitation.”

“I know,” Lizzy said. “I only hope I haven’t damaged his opinion of me beyond repair by how unfairly I judged him in this matter.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s smile was gentle as she gave Lizzy’s hand another reassuring squeeze. “The beauty of forgiveness. If what you’ve told me is any indication, then I would guess you’ve already extended more than a bit of your own to him. There is no reason why he should not show you the same grace and consideration.”

Lizzy’s stomach continued to turn inwards on itself. Had she forgiven him? Certainly, she’d felt it in her heart, had been able to look at him for quite some time without the same resentment and ire that she’d felt on their wedding day. But had she ever said the words aloud?

“I don’t know if he knows,” Lizzy confessed. “We’ve still not spoken plainly about it all.”

“Your true thoughts and emotions are not so well hidden behind your wit and humor as you might think, my dear,” Mrs. Gardiner told her gently. “And unless your husband is a fool beyond measure he can surely see the truth of it.”

Lizzy nodded again, finding herself not quiet able to speak over the emotion still clogging her throat.

Mrs. Gardiner, ever the pragmatist, gave her hand a pat. “How about we go find where Edward has gotten himself to? A bit of fresh air, I think, is always a great balm for overtaxed nerves.”

Lizzy agreed with the suggestion gratefully.

When they’d caught up with Mr. Gardiner and taken a long, leisurely stroll through the grounds, they made their way back to Pemberley’s front entrance. Her uncle started to suggest that they return to Lambton to check into their rooms at the Rose & Crown when Lizzy interrupted him.

“You must stay here. I insist. I will arrange for one of the guest chambers to be readied.”

A few good-natured half-refusals were given before Mrs. Gardiner gave the final verdict.

She cupped a hand around Lizzy’s cheek, smiling at her affectionately. “Of course, my dear, if you insist. And look at you, already settling into your role of lady of the estate, we do so appreciate your hospitality.”

And so Lizzy showed them inside, her first houseguests as Mistress of Pemberley.

Well-aware of the severity of the ongoing situation with Lydia and Wickham, and promising to return for a visit when circumstances were better, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner left the next morning.

They’d taken a quiet dinner last night with Georgiana, followed by evening drinks in the family sitting room, and the company and conversation had made for a much-needed pleasant evening for everyone.

“Please do tell Mr. Darcy we were sorry to have missed him,” Edward said as he hugged his niece goodbye. “I do look forward to getting to meet him one day soon.”

As they prepared to depart, Mrs. Gardiner pulled Lizzy into one last hug, speaking soft words for only her to hear.

“The two of you will do very well together,” Mrs. Gardiner assured her niece. “Be patient, but don’t forget to trust yourself, and trust him as well. You may well be surprised what happens if you do.”

“Thank you,” Lizzy told her, returning her embrace and staying on the front steps until the carriage had disappeared at the end of Pemberley’s long drive.

Late that afternoon, Lizzy found herself back in the portrait gallery.

With the cloudy sky blocking out most of the light from shining through the glass panels in the roof high above, the room had a shadowy look to it today. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor as she made her way to the far wall where they portraits of his family hung in shadowed silence.

Looking at each of the Darcy patriarchs in turn, she found little pieces of her husband in each one. And when she came to stop in front of the portrait of his parents, she thought of everything he’d shared with her on their last day together.

How much he had taken onto his shoulders, and at so young an age. Lizzy, having learned only a small fraction of all that went in to managing not only Pemberley, but the lands and tenants and all their varied interests, could scarcely wrap her mind around it all. Nor could she wrap her mind around how Darcy, at only three and twenty, had been left to see that it had all stayed running smoothly, even while dealing with his own grief. Had there been anyone for him to confide in? Anyone he might have sought out for comfort or support, or had he gone it entirely alone?

Add to that a younger sister who he obviously felt a great deal of affection for, who’d he tried so hard to protect, and who he’d no doubt felt he’d failed when it came to the matter of Mr. Wickham.

Lizzy’s heart ached as she walked the length of the gallery, not truly seeing any of the great works of art around her.

How much did it weigh on him, the sense that he had failed two of the most important women in his life? By not being able to make it home in time to say goodbye to his mother, and then to see Georgiana hurt so thoroughly and know that he hadn’t been able to prevent that either.

Did he feel like he’d failed her, too?

Lizzy hoped he didn’t. She had long since resolved to speak everything as plainly as she could just as soon as he returned, lay it all bare between them and get to work repairing anything that needed fixing, but until then she fervently hoped she was not another worry added to his long list of burdens. 

She wanted to be a comfort to him, someone he could trust and take solace in. 

Thirteen days. Darcy had been gone for thirteen days. It felt nearly as long as the time they’d had together before he left, and with each passing hour it became more unbearable. 

It was all of that pent up emotion that had nowhere to go, all the questions without answers, all the uncertainty, that hounded her through the lengthening hours of the day and found her again standing at the dark of her window, looking out into the Derbyshire night long after she should have been abed.

Only tonight there was a new, needling realization beginning to take hold, one that wouldn’t give her a moment of peace.

She’d been falling in love with him for a while, hadn’t she?

If she sifted down past everything else—past her own hasty judgment of him back in Hertfordshire, past his pride and her ire over his words, past all the other layers of worry that had settled over her these past weeks—it had always been there. Some truth, nagging at the corners of her mind. Some recognition that could have told her from the start how similar they truly were, what fools they had been.

It was all of those thoughts which drew her from bed and had her padding softly from her bedchamber into his private study down the hall. Lizzy hadn’t spent more than a few moments in the space before now, but tonight she wanted to be there, to feel close to him.

Inside, she inhaled deeply, the scent of parchment and lamp oil and the sweet musk of books filling her lungs. Entering the room, she lit a couple of those lamps and trailed her fingertips over the smooth wood of his desk, imagining him working there.

A quiet knock at the door startled her, and she crossed quickly to open it. One of the maids on duty that evening waited on the other side, asking if she’d like a fire lit. She almost refused, ducked out and retreated back to her room, but as she took stock of herself and accepted that sleep would be a long time coming this evening, she accepted the offer.

When the fire was lit and the maid had slipped from the room, leaving her alone once more, Lizzy sank down into the comfortable sofa in front of the fire. She had grabbed a book from the shelf, some old tome of poetry she was sure she would have found interesting on any other day, and she flipped through it idly, not really seeing any of the words on the page.

After a time, she left it laying open in her lap, choosing instead to watch the fire and think. Her head leaned against the arm of the sofa and her eyes grew a bit heavy as she watched the embers dance.

So lost was she in those thoughts that it took her a few moments to register the soft click of the door opening once more, and she sat up slowly to see if the serving girl had returned to offer her some evening tea or a nightcap.

It was not the serving girl she found standing in the doorway, and her heart leapt into her throat as she sat up straight and saw her husband staring back at her.

Darcy looked positively disheveled.

Clothes dusty and wrinkled from his days on the road, he appeared entirely exhausted, though his eyes still shone with emotion as he beheld her.

“Lizzy,” was all he said in greeting from where he stood at the other side of the room.

She tossed her book aside and launched herself toward him. He met her in three long strides, closing his arms around her and crushing her to him.

Chapter Text

The force of Darcy’s embrace lifted Lizzy clean off her feet. She clung to him, arms around his neck and face pressed into his shoulder. 

Home. He was truly home.

It was almost as unbelievable as the last two weeks had been unbearable, but she wasn’t about to question it as she pressed closer to him and inhaled his familiar scent. Darcy, too, seemed to be in no hurry to let her go.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked her, no hint of accusation in his voice, only curiosity.

Lizzy smiled against his neck. “I couldn’t sleep, and this seemed as good a place as any to feel close to you.”

Darcy pulled away, eyes darting back and forth across her face as he processed her words.

When he set her back down after a few long moments he kept his hands on her. Brushing against her cheeks, smoothing her unbound hair away from her face. It filled her up from the soul outwards, spreading through her whole body with a warm, anticipatory heat.

That is, until she remembered he was likely exhausted, if the look of him was any indication, and as much as she wanted to continue mooning over him she realized she should give him a few moments to catch his breath.

“Sit,” Lizzy said, nudging him toward the sofa in front of the fire.

Darcy obeyed without a word, sinking into the comfortable, soft upholstery and leaning his head to rest against the sofa’s back. He closed his eyes and let out a long, exhausted breath.

Lizzy crossed the room and opened the door into the hall. She gave a few instructions to a passing servant before stepping back inside and crossing to the sideboard. When she returned to Darcy’s side, he cracked his eyes open to look up at her.

“Here,” she said, handing him a glass with three fingers of rich, smooth brandy. “There will be a bath waiting in your room, and dinner, too, when you’re ready.”

Darcy’s eyes gleamed with gratitude and he gave her a tired smile as he took a long sip. Lizzy was about to busy herself with something else, find some other way to be useful, when Darcy called after her.

“There’s something else I need.”

“Yes?” she asked, coming back to stand in front of him.

Darcy set the glass aside, looked at her for a moment, and then reached forward. With two strong, gentle hands, he pulled her down into his lap.

“What are you doing?” Lizzy asked with a laugh, squirming for a moment before giving into his hold.

Darcy didn’t answer right away, but settled her against him and nudged her to lay her head in the space between his jaw and collarbone. She obliged, and felt his sigh of relief reverberate all the way through her.

“There,” he murmured. “Much better.”

Lord, how she’d missed him. Beneath her cheek, she could feel the warmth of him even through the layers of his clothing. His hand traced up and down her back, her arms, and they spent a long few moments just like that, getting reacquainted with the feel of one another.

When Darcy spoke again it was in a low, somber tone.

“Lydia and Wickham are married.”

Warring emotions pulled Lizzy’s heart and mind in two entirely different directions. In her heart, she felt an immense sense of sorrow to know her sister was tied forever to such a horrible man. In her mind, she knew that even so, this was the best of all terrible outcomes that might have come to pass.

“You were able to find them in London, then?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I knew enough of the company Wickham kept, some friends we used to have in common, to ascertain where they’d been hiding. He’ll face some reprimand and punishment from his commanding officer for the neglect of his post, but a few well-placed payments were enough to smooth most of that over.”

Lizzy’s gut clenched. “You should not have been responsible for that. If there is any repayment to be made, any way my family might…”

She trailed off as Darcy’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer to his chest.

“I stopped by Longbourn on my way back north,” Darcy explained. “To speak with your father and tell him everything that happened between Lydia and Wickham.”

Lizzy let the information sink in for a few moments before replying. “And what was his response?”

Darcy let out a long breath. “Not best pleased, all things considered, but grateful at least that Lydia is no longer in danger of abandonment or ruin.”

“And what was his response that you were the one to make it so?”

Darcy remained silent for a moment before replying. “I don’t believe your father has quite so low an opinion of me as he did before.”

Lizzy felt the unlikely tug of a smile, though the idea that Darcy has essentially paid her own family’s debts still put a sour taste in the back of her mouth. He must have been able to sense it, because he lowered his face to press a kiss against the top of her head.

“It’s alright,” he told her. “It is a priceless thing, to me, to be able to have redeemed a few of the mistakes from my past and ensure Lydia was not left entirely destitute.”

She accepted that, for now.

“How is Lydia?” she asked, hardly knowing if she was ready to hear the truth. “Is she…alright? Has she been harmed or mistreated in any way?”

Darcy didn’t answer her right away, and when Lizzy glanced up at him his jaw was set into a hard line. It softened when he saw her looking at him, though the ghost of anger remained in his eyes.

“It is not a thing I would wish for her,” he said finally, “nor for any young lady, to be married to Wickham. But I did exact certain assurances from him that she would come to no harm as his wife.”

There was something a bit sinister in the words. It took Lizzy aback, enough so that she studied him even more closely, finding his face a careful mask.

“And how did you…exact those assurances?”

His face remained purposefully blank and he hesitated before answering her.

“William,” she prodded and, struck by suspicion, lifted one of his hands from where it had come to rest on her waist. 

Just there, over his knuckles, were the nearly faded but unmistakable shadows of bruises.

Her mouth fell open slightly as she turned his hand this way and that in the firelight, studying them. When she reached for his other hand, however, he kept it out of her grasp.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her, still holding some of that reserve in his face.

“I want to say that I disapprove,” she said hesitantly. “But I also do not wish to lie to you.”

“Bloodthirsty creature,” he teased softly, a thread of relief in his voice. “Please know I won’t make a habit of it.”

“I hope not. I’ve had enough to keep me up at night these last few weeks, even without knowing you were off somewhere bareknuckle fighting for my sister’s honor.”

His hold around her tightened. “I am sorry, to have caused you any worry at all.”

Another thought occurred to Lizzy, souring her stomach. “What about Jane and Mr. Bingley? Did news of this impact their engagement? I would hate to think that the scandal of it—”

Darcy silenced her with a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth before he murmured, “It would take heaven and Earth crashing down to dissuade Charles from his intent to marry her. They will withstand this unscathed.”

Lizzy nodded and let out a relieved breath, though a sliver of worry for Mary and Kitty still remained planted in her mind. How far had word spread? How much damage had already been done to the family?

Like he could read her thoughts, Darcy continued. “It will not go wholly unnoticed. Much like our own marriage, the speed with which the engagement and wedding occurred are sure to draw a bit of reproach from those who hear of it.”

At that, Lizzy let out a shaky breath and did finally crack a tentative smile. “I may have already made some progress on that front, at least where our own marriage is concerned.”

She told him briefly of the ladies’ visit to Pemberley and the framing she’d given of their early acquaintance, engagement, and marriage. Darcy was wearing an unlikely smile of his own when she finished.

“Clever of you,” he murmured, and the two of them lapsed into silence for a few long moments.

The fire in the hearth had begun to grow a bit low, but neither of them made any move to rise and add another log. Indeed, Lizzy did not think that there was any force in the world that could have pulled her from his side now that he’d returned.

“I almost forgot,” Darcy said a minute later, shifting a little and reaching for something in his pocket. “Before I left Longbourn, your father gave me this to deliver to you.”

He handed her a letter, addressed to Lizzy in her father’s familiar, scrawled script. She took it from him, but set it on the the small end table beside the sofa rather than opening it right away. It could wait for now.

Instead, she tucked herself more firmly against him, laying her head back down on his chest and letting her hands run soothing strokes over his shoulders, his neck, the back of his head as she raked gentle fingers through his hair. He relaxed into the plush softness of the sofa with a small, almost inaudible groan, folded her snugly into his sturdy embrace, and laid his cheek on the top of her head.

For a moment, there was only peace between them. A storm passed, a separation weathered. Though Lizzy had missed him every day while he was away, there was nothing that could have prepared her for the quiet, all-consuming joy and contentment at having him near once more. Touching him, having her body pressed to his, it soothed her and eased away the lingering ache in her muscles from days of anxious tension.

Breathing him deep, she took the warm, familiar scent of him into her lungs and held it there, wishing like anything that they’d never be separated for so long again.

“There’s something else,” Lizzy told him, holding on to the last of her composure by a bare thread but knowing there was still more that needed to be said. “Georgiana returned home just a few days after you left.”

Beneath her, Darcy went very, very still. “I wasn’t aware she was coming home so soon.”

“A change of plans,” Lizzy murmured, stroking one hand down the side of his face. “She told me. Everything that happened with Wickham, the events that led up to it, she told me all of it.”

Darcy released a long, unsteady breath. “I wanted it to be up to her.”

“It wasn’t your story to tell,” Lizzy said softly, repeating the words she had run over and over in her mind so many times these last couple weeks. “I understand. I only wish I would have known sooner.”

The words were laced with understanding…and with sorrow and regret.

Lizzy wanted to think she would have told her sisters, provided some kind of warning before Lydia went off to Brighton. Only…that didn’t ring quite true. What would she have said? There was no reason to think that Wickham would be in Brighton, no reason she would have had to spread word of Georgiana’s private heartbreak and indiscretion further. No, if Lizzy was truthful with herself, she likely would have only taken Jane into her confidence, if anyone.

It wasn’t her fault, though Lizzy knew she’d carry the burden of Lydia’s fate for a very long time. If the exhaustion and sorrow in Darcy’s face were any indication, she guessed that he would, too.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said. “I’m sorry I was not able to do more for Lydia, that I did not do more to make it known just how much of a reprobate he is.”

Tears gathered in Lizzy’s eyes. “You did more than enough. Without your interference…”

A shudder ran through her. Wickham would have never freely married her sister. Georgiana’s revelations about him made Lizzy absolutely certain of that fact. A life shackled to George Wickham was a bleak fate, but the alternative was far, far worse.

And truly, what could Darcy have done? Spread word of what had gone on between Wickham and Georgiana, shredding her reputation? Revealed Wickham’s vile character and invited questions that would have done more harm than good?

“It was the very least I could do,” Darcy told her. “After what Georgiana went through, after every bit of insult I’ve given your family. I’ve acted so abhorrently that I cannot—”

Lizzy silenced him with a kiss. 

Indeed, Darcy had owned up to his words. He’d said as much during the journey to Pemberley, hadn’t he? When he’d told her that what he’d said was wrong, that he’d spoken rashly, a frustration and haste borne out of rejection and embarrassment. 

And yet…

“You never did ask for forgiveness, for the things you said.”

Darcy laughed a little, though there was something broken in the sound of it. “I wanted to be worthy of the forgiveness I sought before I asked for it.”

Some part of Lizzy’s heart—the last little bit that didn’t already belong to him—broke and mended itself all at once.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she whispered, threading her fingers through the hair at his temples and making him look at her. “You could not be more worthy of it if you tried.”

He let out a low, harsh breath. “It will take me some time, I fear, to be able to believe I am worthy of any measure of forgiveness.”

“Why?” Lizzy asked him, heart aching to think he couldn’t accept it.

“I’ve felt so much guilt,” Darcy admitted. “In the years since, I’ve wondered every day if I could have spared her that pain. I was away when most of it happened, and returned too late to spare her from the worst of the damage when it all came undone.”

It made sense. In the same way she knew it would be a long, long time before she was able to even begin to unravel her own sense of guilt and grief over what had happened to Lydia.

“Georgiana’s wellbeing is my responsibility, and I failed her,” Darcy continued. “And then I failed to learn from those and many other mistakes when I let myself be consumed by pride and ego on the day I proposed to you.”

The pain in his eyes was unmistakable, and as much as Lizzy wanted to wipe it all away she knew that would be impossible. So, she gave him what she could.

“For what it’s worth, I forgive you. For all of it that I can.” Lizzy brushed a hand against his cheek. “I know that my forgiveness cannot fix everything, and that there is much we still need to speak of and resolve, but please know I wish for us to begin anew, without any of those shadows from the past following us forward.”

Darcy kissed her then. Soft, tender, more achingly sweet than she’d remembered, she began to kiss him back before remembering herself and the rest of what she needed to tell him.

“And I ask for your forgiveness as well.”

When he looked like he would argue with her, Lizzy shook her head and smiled.

“Let me finish,” she said gently. “For judging you as harshly as I did when we first met, for allowing that judgment to cloud the beginning of our acquaintance and our marriage, and make me believe the worst of you at times, I am sorry.”

Darcy shook his head slowly. “That judgment was not without cause, it’s not as if I—”

Lizzy kissed him again, a very effective method for putting an end to unwarranted self-recriminations.

“Hush,” she said when she pulled away. “Let me make the amends I must. For any pain I’ve caused you, I am sorry.”

His hand cupped her cheek, eyes searching her own for a few moments before he nodded solemnly and laid his forehead against hers. “I accept your apology.”

Lizzy’s heart felt near to bursting. “Just like that?”

A spark of joy and teasing came back to Darcy’s eye. “Just like that. I imagine we’ll have plenty to talk about and make sense of between us in the coming days and weeks, but lighten your heart, my dear. There is nothing else I want to do tonight other than be close to you.”

The fire in the hearth had almost burned down, and though the lamps still lit the room with a bright glow, a slight chill had started to creep in.

“Everything should be prepared by now, in your room,” she told him, albeit reluctantly. As much as she might wish to stay here all night with him, she could see the exhaustion still lingering in his eyes, and knew he must be ready to change out of his traveling clothes and get some rest.

Darcy nodded, a bit of that reluctance echoed in his expression. They stood, and he took her hand, leading her from the room.

As they started down the hall that led to both their chambers, Darcy’s footsteps slowed when they approached his door. Lizzy, utterly unwilling to be parted from him and entirely ready to have the conversation she needed to about what their sleeping arrangements would look like moving forward, leaned closer to him.

“Show me your rooms,” she said in a low, husky voice she hardly recognized.

It seemed to surprise Darcy as well. “You’re certain?”

“Yes,” she told him whole-heartedly, and gasped when he reached down and lifted her into his arms.

He swung her up into his embrace. “I suppose I’m thankful there’s still one threshold I have the honor of carrying you over.”

Lizzy laughed and leaned up to press a nipping kiss against his jaw. Every single nerve in her body seemed to come alive with anticipation as they stepped through the door.

Chapter Text

Darcy’s chambers felt immediately like…home.

The design sensibilities were so closely aligned to Lizzy’s own tastes that for a moment it was all she could to do blink at her surroundings.

The first of his chambers was a small sitting room with dark paneled walls and polished wooden floors laid with rugs of deep green. The rich, earthy tones continued into the furniture and artwork, accented here and there by splashes of golds and blues. 

Warm, inviting, and intimate, she never wanted to leave.

Darcy set her back on her feet, and she spun in a slow circle, taking it all in. When she turned back to face him he was looking at her with a little uncertainty on his face, like he was waiting for her to render judgment.

“I love it,” she told him.

The uncertainty faded away, replaced by a tentative smile. “And you haven’t even see it all yet.”

He took her hand and led her from the sitting room through an adjoining door into his bedchamber. A similar size to her own, it had the same high ceilings and wall of windows looking over the estate grounds, and the same warm neutral palette continued within. A fire had been lit in the hearth and Lizzy’s eyes caught immediately on the rich, brown fur rug in front of it. A flash of heat spread over her skin as she couldn’t help but imagine would it would be like to lay there with him, preferably without anything between their skin and the plush softness of it.

Darcy’s gaze followed her own, and he arched a knowing brow at her when she met his eye again.

Flushing, she quickly looked away to take in the rest of the space before her imagination ran entirely away from her. 

Inside his bed chamber, there were little pieces of him everywhere.

A book sitting on the table between the two chairs set before the hearth, a stack of papers left on the desk near the windows, a couple of small portraits on the nightstand. It smelled like him, too—the spice of his cologne, and the scent of rich leather and crisp, clean linen.

His bed was as large and grand as hers was, but carved of dark wood and hung with forest green curtains. It was piled high with soft linens and large pillows, and all of a sudden Lizzy felt a deliciously tired ache in her bones that made that great bed seem all too tempting a prospect.

Still, her husband needed tending. 

She looked around the room, spying another closed door at the side of his bedchamber, and gestured toward it. “Your bathing room?”

Darcy nodded. “Will you join me?”

Lizzy had bathed earlier that evening, but there was absolutely no chance that was going to stop her from nodding and taking his hand, letting him lead her into the bathing chamber.

This room, too, was well-appointed with clean tiling, a connecting door leading into a large wardrobe, and a large tub set into the center of the room filled with steaming water.

His clothes were more complicated than the simple nightgown and robe she wore, and Lizzy set to work stripping each piece from him. Her fingers were slow and gentle as she untied the loosened knot of his cravat, as she parted the front of his shirt and slipped the road-worn jacked from his shoulders. Each newly revealed bit of skin received a kiss or a caress, tender ministrations that drew sharp gasps and soft groans of pleasure from him.

He helped her off with her robe, and returned each touch she’d given him as her night gown slipped from her shoulders and pooled on the floor.

After the emotional honesty of the last hour, it felt only too natural to bare herself to him in this way as well, to admire the strength and the beauty of him as he lowered himself into the water and reached a hand out to help her in after him.

Lizzy turned herself so they were face to face, straddling him where he sat on the tub’s sunken bench. She rocked her hips over the solid heat of him, teased them both with every languid movement. Just a small shift, a realignment of bodies, and he’d be inside of her.

Darcy, though, seemed content enough to wait. He watched her with intent, hooded eyes, braced his hands on her bare hips and let her work herself on him. When she realized her teasing was doing just as much to distract her as it was to provoke him, though, she stilled for a moment and pressed her face into his neck, trying to get a handle on the fast beating of her heart.

“I believe I was promised a bath,” Darcy said, the words rumbling in his chest beneath her. “Is that still the case, or is your only intent here to torment me?”

A challenge would get to her every time, as her husband was no doubt more than aware, and Lizzy arched a brow at him as she sat up and reached for a cloth at the side of the bath. Wetting it and adding some of the crisp, pine and spice scented soap she now realized was the main, tantalizing scent she could always detect on him, Lizzy started rubbing slow strokes over his neck and chest and shoulders.

Darcy made a sound somewhere between a groan and a satisfied growl, closing his eyes relaxing back into the water and letting her work.

“Does the service meet your approval, Mr. Darcy?” she asked him as her hand dipped lower to brush against abdomen beneath the water. She was very satisfied when she felt the firm muscle there ripple under her touch.

“It does,” he told her, not deigning to open his eyes, though he was somewhat given away by the sensual tension starting to build around his mouth and on his brow.

“Good,” she murmured, leaning down to brush her lips against his neck, followed by the light rasp of her teeth. It drew another satisfying, if rather undignified, sound from him.

It was an unexpected pleasure, tending to him like this. With each minute that passed, she could see and feel him relax, watch a few more of his worries slip away with the rising tendrils of steam. It was as vulnerable as she’d ever seen him, and it tugged at something deep beneath her left ribs.

Darcy seemed to share the sentiment, taking the cloth from her to run it over her skin, trading touches and kisses in the warmth of the bath.

“There’s something immensely gratifying about having you in my rooms,” he told her, hands lightly caressing up and down her body.

“You could have had me here from the very first night we arrived.”

Darcy went still. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Lizzy told him.

She threaded her fingers into his damp hair and tilted his head back slightly. Darcy didn’t say anything further, but studied her intently like he was waiting for her to elaborate.

“Why have you kept this space between us?” she asked him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

Darcy shuddered. “I didn’t want to frighten or overwhelm you. If you needed space, I wanted to give it to you without making you feel like I was expecting anything more than you were willing to give.”

Lizzy laughed a little at the absurdity of the idea. “So considerate of you. And here I was, wondering what I’d done wrong to make you so eager to keep to your own chambers.”

His arms tightened around her. “Absolutely nothing, my Lizzy. You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.” 

Another laugh, this one brighter and more filled with mirth. “I do hope you keep that opinion of me forever. It will be nice to have a husband in whose eyes I can do no wrong.”

He kissed her soundly for that bit of impertinence, but when he pulled away there was a shadow of regret in his eyes.

“I acted out of fear,” he told her, hands brushing over her hips beneath the water. “I was paralyzed by it, so afraid of doing or saying something wrong, something that would make you pull away from me, that I thought caution the wiser course.”

“If you’d only known,” she murmured, “that all I wanted from the night we shared together at Longbourn was to be close to you, to have you with me while I slept and when I woke.”

She rocked on him again, and he stilled her hips with two firm hands.

“Enough of that,” he whispered against her mouth. “I want you in my bed.”

Keeping his arms around her, he stood them both up out of the water, rivulets running down both their bodies as he grabbed for a towel at the side of the bath. They only spared time for the most cursory of drying before she was in his arms again, carried from the bathing room back into his bedchamber and deposited on crisp, clean sheets.

Darcy settled back against the pillows, pulling her astride him. He held her tight and kept their bodies pressed close as she slowly sank down and took him inside of her.

“Welcome home, William,” she whispered into his ear.

If sex and intimacy had been a mystery to unravel for Lizzy, something to discover and delight in, then this was another thing entirely. She had never seen her husband so clearly, never known him like this. The movements were the same; she knew the push and pull and all the sensations as well as she knew anything in the world, but at the same time it was entirely new.

Darcy moved with her, forgoing his usual litany of praise and endearments for breathless groans and endless kisses on her mouth and neck and any spare bit of bare skin he could reach. Beyond words, it seemed, beyond anything but the pure pleasure of touch and connection.

When she’d cried out and gone limp with the bliss of her climax, he wrapped his arms around her again and flipped their position gently so she was laid out beneath him. His hand found hers on the pillow and he laced their fingers together. When he’d found his own pleasure, he remained above her for a few long moments, pressing kiss after lingering kiss against her skin and murmuring her name.

After they laid back and tucked themselves beneath the covers, bodies snuggled together and hands still caressing in idle, soothing strokes, they both fell silent for a long while.

And what was there to say, really? Could anything communicate more than this—being together and at  peace, sharing each others’ warmth and quiet company, reaching an understanding that somehow seemed to go beyond the words needed to describe it?

Dawn was just breaking outside the windows when Lizzy finally remembered there was indeed one last matter she needed to make very clear. Propping herself up on an elbow, she looked toward the dressing room at the side of his suite. 

“Do you think there will be enough room for my things in there?”

“What?” Darcy asked, absolutely baffled.

“In your closet,” Lizzy explained. “I’m moving in here, so you’ll need to make room for my things.”

Darcy blinked, glanced at the dressing room, and then looked back at her. “You’d like to stay here, truly? With me?”

There was something so earnest and hopeful in his voice that it made Lizzy laugh out of pure delight. Throwing herself across his chest, she kissed him soundly before replying.

“Yes, I would. I think we’ve spent enough time apart, don’t you?”

Darcy’s only reply was to hug her tightly and deepen the kiss. When they were both panting, bodies coming back to life with joy and desire, he pulled back a little and stared down at her from where he’d rolled her beneath him.

“I love you, Elizabeth Darcy,” he told her before brushing his lips tenderly across her forehead.

A slow smile broke over her face, gilded in the new light of dawn. “Most ardently, I believe you said the last time,” she teased, voice thick with emotion.

“Most ardently, my love.”

“As I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, body and soul.”

Chapter Text

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not a man predisposed to easy contentment. Left as master of Pemberley at far too young an age, any lingering boyish levity or carelessness in him had been swiftly crushed under the weight of responsibility. Responsibility for a younger sister left devastated and an orphan before her twelfth birthday. Responsibility for an estate and lands and tenants so numerous and vast that at times it overwhelmed even Darcy’s competent, rational mind. 

In the intervening years, moments of peace had been scarce, contentment fleeting, and joy always tinged with grief. Through it, he’d managed onwards with a combination of sheer, stubborn determination, cool control, and a life built around rigidly ordered routine.

That is, until a young woman with deep brown eyes and an impertinent smile had caught his attention across a crowded Meryton meeting hall, and set that carefully constructed sense of order on its head.

Taking her arm now at the top of Pemberley’s great staircase—which was bedecked in greenery and ribbon and shiny baubles for the Yuletide—he could not summon the necessary words in his mind to put name to the sense of gratitude and blessing he felt at having her there. There was no word strong enough to describe the relief of leaving that old life behind. 

No, Darcy had never been naturally inclined to be restful or content, but Lizzy had shown him what it was like to be both.

“Merry Christmas, William,” Lizzy said, leaning up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, my dear,” he told her, moving his head at the last moment so he could catch her lips with his. He tasted her smile and held her close for a few long moments as the splendor of the holiday sparkled around them.

As they parted and set off down the stairs, he could not help but reflect on the impossibility of it all. Of her, of them, of the wondrous life he now had spread before him.

How close he’d once come to missing out on it entirely. A few thoughtless words and mountain of misplaced pride had nearly cost him all of this. He’d once erroneously believed he could simply offer for her hand, marry her, and have her become a part of the tidy, organized life he’d led. 

How very wrong he’d been. 

The was no world in which Lizzy Bennet would have ever fit neatly into that constricted existence he’d built for himself, no way it ever would have been enough for her. He’d thought he’d loved her on the day he’d so horribly botched his proposal to her, but the feelings he’d once held were pale and thin compared to what he now felt for her.

Lizzy had changed him in ways he could have never imagined. Challenged him, humbled him, made him realize the ways in which he’d kept himself locked behind so many layers of rigid protection for so many years. She unlocked parts of him he’d thought long since disappeared—humor and whimsy and lightheartedness that shined once more simply because she’d made it so.

He loved the way she teased him, loved the softness lurking beneath the brave exterior of humor and wit. In bed and out of it, he could not get enough of her. He could not touch her enough or be close to her for long enough to ever grow weary of having her near.

It still frightened him a little at times. When he woke from dreams that still sometimes visited him, dreams of loss and grief, he would hold her close in the bed they shared and remind himself that she was not going anywhere. He would remind himself that despite life’s unending uncertainty, he loved her and she loved him, and that their love would be enough to sustain him for a lifetime.

And right now, he could be nothing but thankful that they were here—together as man and wife, blessed to be enjoying their first holiday season together.

Christmas at Pemberley had always been a joyous time in his youth.

When his mother had still been alive, there had never been a year in which the house was not filled with light and happiness and celebration during the holiday. His father, too, had taken every opportunity to give back to the estate’s tenants and shower his family with affection. There had been parties hosted and extravagant balls thrown in Pemberley’s ballroom, relatives and friends to fill the manor’s empty rooms, excursions to the many small hamlets which made up the estate.

Some of those traditions would no doubt reemerge with time, but this year Darcy and Lizzy had opted for a relatively quiet holiday shared with those closest to them.

The entire Bennet family had come. Mrs. Bennet, who had spent her first few hours at Pemberley in a state that could only be described as a near-hysterical awe. Mr. Bennet, who had shaken Darcy’s hand and looked at a joyful, beaming Lizzy with a twinkle in his eye. Jane and Charles, arm in arm and glowing with their lingering newlywed bliss. Kitty with her easy laughter and gaiety just beginning to reemerge after separation from her favorite sister. And Mary, who even in her dour seriousness was not immune to the sense of cheer and joy amongst the party. Georgiana rounded out their group, coaxed out of her bashfulness to play a duet with Mary, and giggle over cards with Kitty.

The single shadow in the sparkling firmament of the holiday was Lydia’s absence, but both Lizzy and Darcy agreed bringing Wickham into their home was a bridge too far. It was a relationship that may one day heal for Lydia's sake, or remain forever as distant and fraught as it was, but whatever the eventual outcome they still mourned Lydia’s absence quietly.

After dinner that evening, the entire party adjourned to the private family parlor. The hearth crackled merrily and the room was filled with warm laughter and good cheer.

It was—to Darcy’s chagrin—an evening which would have caused him great discomfort only a year ago. Raucous conversation and joking, a messy sort of disorderly, joyous chaos as presents were passed around and opened with glee.

He was not an entirely changed man, and could not deny there was a part of him that would breathe a sigh of relief when their guests left three days hence. But now, surrounded by the lively tumult, he felt no great discontent. He took Lizzy’s hand in his own, drank deep from his tumbler of good brandy, and watched the scene unfold alongside a new, unfurling warmth in his chest.

He smiled at Lizzy’s delight over the set of handsomely bound books he gave her, the beautiful new fur stole that her mother and Kitty cooed over. He accepted her thanks and her teasing lament that she’d fallen far short with her own presents to him. 

Darcy heeded none of her teasing, for truly, there was no greater gift on this earth than the one she had given him earlier that day. Burrowed under the covers, limbs entwined and bodies snuggled up against the slight chill in the morning air, Lizzy had laid her head against his chest and given him the news simply and quietly.

A babe. 

To be born in early summer, they would have a daughter or a son to bring new life to Pemberley. A piece of both their hearts to live and breathe and bring new purpose to them both.

Lizzy had placed her hand on her barely rounded belly as she’d spoken the words, cautioned him that she’d need to confirm with a physician, but Darcy had needed no further prompting. He’d lowered himself to her stomach and proceeded to whisper against her skin, telling their child how loved they were, how much he could not wait to meet them.

For her part, Lizzy had been the ever-patient, loving spouse, finally dissolving into mirth when Darcy chided their child and reminded them to be kind to their mother as she set out on her task to carry and bring them safely into the world.

An endless hour later, they’d extricated themselves from bed. Darcy had hovered over his wife, asking her a multitude of questions about her health and wellbeing to which she had no answers that would do even the slightest bit to calm his nerves, and generally made a nuisance of himself until they were dressed and ready to join their party for breakfast.

It was their secret to keep for the time being, they had both decided. They’d write to their families in good time and let them know, but for now it was their own quiet joy to savor. A precious joy, a tie between them that would last well beyond their own lives.

And now, sitting amongst the candlelight and laughter, he could do nothing but savor it all. 

Darcy knew he was blessed. He knew how unlikely it all had been, and how fiercely he would protect it.

A kiss in the rain on Lady Catherine’s estate. A life he never could have expected. A future filled with warmth and hope and possibility.

A wife he loved most ardently.