There are two general facts you should be aware of upon reading this. First, this is obviously a fanfiction, meaning I am invading upon the rights of Jane Austen for a bit of amusement. The other is that this charming piece of work is referred to, rather crudely, but nonetheless, as CRACK. Therefore, the journey you are about to embark upon with one Elizabeth Darcy and her beloved is neither historically or characteristically accurate on all points; furthermore I do hope it entertains you as much as the idea of it did me. Finally, this is meant as a better, alternative ending to the movie rendition starring Kiera Nightly, so delightfully accurate until that point. In no way does this intend to "poke fun" at Miss Jane Austen, a genius if ever there was.
Upon departing from the ornate church building after the conclusion of their nuptials, Elizabeth and Darcy were thrust up into a carriage, cried over sufficiently, and then sent away with Godspeed. Lizzie's head, set spinning from the rapture of marriage to Fitzwilliam Darcy, whom she so loved, and the passionate goodbye to her beloved Jane, felt near combustion. Darcy sat quietly beside her, only pressing her hand from time to time as the summer countryside whizzed past them and they were carried ever closer to Pemberley.
After considerable time had passed, Darcy broke the silence by stating, "I believe, my dear Elizabeth, the time is come when we must sort out our preferred terms of endearment, with which we henceforth may torture each other's sensibilities."
Looking away from the window, Lizzie turned her face to him, appalled. "I should hope my terms of endearment never torture your sensibilities."
"You assume I was referring only to myself as being tortured. No, my dear. I merely wish to establish what you shall like to be called."
"Well, what do you wish to call me?" Lizzie asked, quite puzzled.
Darcy cleared his throated. "I...suppose that should depend upon the occasion," he hedged.
"Generally, then."
"Generally, I should like to call you Lizzie or Eliza, when we are conversing with each other."
Lizzie smiled. "I suppose I should be able to endure that practice," she teased. "What would you wish me to call you, generally?"
Patiently, she waited while Darcy considered this. "Whichever of my names you prefer. Although, I would ask you only use my Christian name in familiar company."
Nodding, she agreed with his request. "I shall have to decide which of your names I wish to use, then. I confess I relish the privilege of calling you Fitzwilliam, but find it more natural to call you Darcy."
Pressing her hand with particular fondness, her husband laughed aloud. "Then perhaps you should use them both, according to your discretion."
Likely he would never know how she loved to make him laugh. "I shall do that then. But I hardly think you initiated this conversation to discuss our names. I think the words you used were 'our preferred terms of endearment.' What of that?"
Beside her Darcy began to fidget. Mayhap Lizzie enjoyed making the unflappable Darcy find himself at a loss as well. She would have to explore this newfound power a bit. "I meant pet names," he said, managing to sound businesslike and monotone.
"Pet names? Do you wish to have one?"
The great Mr. Darcy squirmed. "I thought perhaps you might."
"Ah. Well, I trust your sensibilities enough so that you may call me whatever generic pet names you wish, including, but not strictly limited to: darling, dearest, sweet, and love. I hope your trust will allow me the same freedom and privilege. But, when you are looking for a term to convey your deepest affections for me, allow me to suggest the use of 'Mrs. Darcy,' with that particular tone and expression that suggests you are still quite enchanted with my 'fine eyes.' I am singularly charmed by that term and expression."
Darcy looked at her with an expression of awe intermingled with bewilderment. "Mrs. Darcy?"
Lizzie shook her head. "Your tone is entirely too surprised. Try again."
"Mrs. Darcy," he said with a smile and twinkle in his eyes suggested he was enchanted with more than her eyes.
"There," Lizzie grinned at him, "precisely so. You must call me that whenever you are overflowing with happiness and love, which, I may say, I hope will occur quite often henceforth."
"Mrs. Darcy," Mr. Darcy repeated, leaning up a moment to close the curtains of the carriage window. "Mrs. Darcy, I find that words are not sufficient enough, despite their great abundance, to convey the deep love and happiness I feel in this moment. Even your preferred 'Mrs. Darcy' falls short. I am afraid I must resort to other measures." Saying so, he leaned forward and kissed his wife for the very first time.
Elizabeth found she was quite mistaken; she much preferred this newest form of expression over even the beloved name of 'Mrs. Darcy.'