Fitzwilliam Darcy journeyed into Hertfordshire in the summer with his good friend, Charles Bingley. By the following Christmas they were both married to sisters from the same inconsequential country family, but so incandescently happy with their lot that neither had cause to repine.

The new mistress of Pemberley was a slight but feisty girl of twenty-one who had been deemed a great beauty in the county of Hertfordshire. Whilst unsure of her place in charge of this palatial country seat, Elizabeth Darcy was more than ready to take up the challenge before her. Even though his new bride had deemed her new home fit, Darcy had commissioned the rebuilding of the south front of the house in the new Palladian style by an impressive young architect from the continent. As well as adding a new grand saloon, state bedroom suite, portico, giant fluted columns and a new attic block for his increasing staff, he also added a balcony very similar to the one at Chatsworth that Elizabeth had waxed lyrical about for months. It meant, however, that for the first seven years of her tenure, the new Mrs Darcy was living in a building site, a very grand and beautiful building site, but a building site nonetheless.

The family moved their living quarters into the oldest part of the house - only a few parts of the house had remained after the war and in the rush to rebuild the grand medieval banqueting hall, now refashioned as a rather elaborate entrance, had been surrounded by a warren of smaller rooms and chambers, which in their part had been interwoven into a newer design half a century earlier. As such, the East wing of the house could feel like travelling through time. Elizabeth's favourite place to enjoy her new home was the library - Darcy had remodelled this room when he first came of age and it was a beautifully modern room hidden away at the far corner of the building. To reach it Elizabeth had to pass through the family drawing room, with its grand fireplace and stained-glass windows, through the Stag parlour, where the portrait of the beautiful Sophia Darcy hung, dart across the dining room and through the ante-room. She was excited to see her husband's designs for the house come to fruition, and she could not wait to see what the new grand staircase was going to look like, she just wished that the craftsmen could find it in their hearts to save her the journey halfway around the house and finish it quickly.

In the library the warm oak floors gave way to soft, wool rugs, led into ornate cream panelling, beautifully patterned wallpaper, gilded coving and rows upon rows of books. The walls were a warm yellow. It reminded her of the dying days of summer, when the sun was warm, and the days were long. In the first few lonely months of marriage, when the winter sun crested over the hills, the whole room was illuminated in a glorious gold and, warmed by the sunshine, she could imagine herself back in her father's study at Longbourne. It was when Darcy was called away to town that she found herself missing her father the most. Georgiana always sensed this in Elizabeth and would play a new piece of music or suggest a trip to the village for a diversion. The new Mrs Darcy was grateful for her new sister and the pair enjoyed each other's company, but Lizzy's idea of relaxation was to curl up in the reading nook, tucked away in the corner of the room. Supervised by the pictures, portraits and engravings of Darcy ancestors going back generations, the Mistress of Pemberley would make plans, manage staff, write letters and devour the years of plays, poems and literature that they had collected and collated in this small room in the oldest part of the house.

Darcy always knew where to find his wife upon his return - most often she would be asleep with a book in her hand, and he would stoke the fire, take a seat next to her and wait for her to awake and welcome him home. He had never dreamed that he would have found such a happy situation in life, never thought that he would find a wife who was so like him - who tested and challenged him daily, with no regard, well not in a real sense, for his rank or fortune. They had argued before he had left – strong words about her management of her lady's maid, Ellen – how she dealt with her in a less than formal manner and how she needed to be aware of her station. Elizabeth had snapped back with a few choice phrases and had refused to apologise or acknowledge her fault. Already late to depart, he had left without properly saying goodbye and even though they God had joined them together he wondered, albeit briefly, if he would have had an easier life with a one of the society beauties who knew three languages and their place.

He had travelled to London by horse but his anger, which had been so vehement the night before when he had stopped in the inn at Grantham, had abated and he sent his wife a small missive with an apology. There was a response waiting for him two days later when he returned to Derbyshire House after completing his business there, and even though Mrs Darcy had accepted his apology there was still a hint of frostiness in her phrasing that put him on edge and reminded him of the cold response to his first failed proposal. Darcy was a proud man, it was part of him, part of his very being, but his love for Elizabeth overshadowed that. He realised that now. It did not matter that she was overly familiar with her maid, that she cared about the family servants – Pemberley was a big house, yes, but the people in it were very much human. As was his wife. Despite having almost a day of appointments remaining, he saddled his horse and begun the journey home to Derbyshire, not wanting to spend another hour away from home. The beacons were lit as he rode up to the north entrance in the early hours of the evening, he handed his horse over to a stable hand and ran through the courtyard, up the stairway and into the entrance hall. He could hear music and followed it upstairs, Georgiana was in the drawing room practicing on the pianoforte, the candles illuminating the concentration on her face. He stopped momentarily as if to stop and embrace her, she looked up, acknowledged his return and continued to play. He was glad, he just wanted Elizabeth and knew immediately where she would be.

Darcy found his wife where he always found her, but this time she was surrounded by papers and ink and large books on household management. She looked confused and slightly perplexed. He was grateful for this as the tone of her last letter suggested that she might not be there at all.

'Mrs Darcy?' He realised this was more formal than usual, but he was unsure as to where the land lay, and he was erring on the side of caution.

'Darcy!'

She smiled. She smiled! He visibly felt the relief surge through his body. She wasn't cross with him, or at least she was less cross.

"Is there reason for you returning earlier than expected?"

'My business was cut short and so I decided to return home more promptly than first arranged. If this vexes you in some way I apologise, but I felt that I must see you after the events of last week'.

She glanced up and looked directly at his face, she could sense that he was nervous about something, but she was unsure what.

'Darcy, are you alright? Here, let me fetch you a glass."

She walked over towards him and gently stroked his arm before placing a tumbler of brandy in his hand and returning to the table and her work. Darcy sipped it and then walked over to the fire. He realised that he had not removed his overcoat or boots and was standing in the middle of his library looking almost savage. The smell of the journey loitered on his skin and he drank quickly before placing the tumbler down and stating what he needed to.

'Do you regret your match with me, Mrs Darcy. Am I not, despite the large fortune that your Mother found so desirous, what you require in a marital partner?'

He said it fast, almost not sure what he was saying before it was said and out there, loitering in the air. Elizabeth looked up quickly.

'What did you say?' She said questioningly, her eyes searching for his.

'Do you regret this…this marriage. Do you regret our hasty engagement?'

Elizabeth walked over to her husband and placed the back of her hand on his forehead. He could smell her scent; violets and bergamot, the perfume she had bought as part of her wedding trousseau and which would ever remind him of those weeks spent in the Lake country for their honeymoon. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

'Darcy, are you sick? What is the matter… do I need to call Dr Jeffries?'

She sounded genuinely concerned as she took his still gloved hand and led him over the settee, where a stack of books and papers still resided. She sat him down, moved the papers and took a seat next to him. She gently stroked the back of his neck.

'Madam, please do not toy with me.' He brushed her hand away.

She searched his face, questioningly, his eyes looking at everything except hers until he couldn't not look at her. He took her hand in his and looked at the Welsh gold wedding band on her finger.

'Do you wish you hadn't married me, Lizzie? I am asking you a direct question and I would appreciate a direct response.'

Elizabeth looked confused and then, as she realised, she sighed.

'This is because of our discussion a few days ago… I see now.'

'See what?' he snapped, he had no idea what was happening.

'Darcy, we disagreed on an issue. You had one idea of how something would happen, and I had another, but this does not mean that we now have a dysfunctional marriage or that I regret anything of what we have.'

'The tone of your letter, Mrs Darcy, suggested otherwise!'

'Yes, because I was cross with you and when I came to apologise in the morning for my behaviour and find a resolve, you had already left for town. I had so many questions about the Ball to ask you about and you had skulked off before I could ask you any of them.'

Ah yes, the Lady Anne Ball – why had he not remembered about this. Held on the anniversary of his mother's birthday, the Ball was one of the most important events in the calendar – it was a massive undertaking for any woman and even his Aunt, Lady Matlock, had struggled with the arrangements in previous years.

'I am sorry if I was short with you, Sir, and I apologise if my letter sounded ill. It was written in haste and I fear it may have sounded angrier than I actually was.'

Darcy looked at her and she smiled, her eyes concerned for the worry she had caused him.

'Oh, Elizabeth, I am a fool.' He hid his head in his hands and gently laughed, relief coursed through him. How idiotic for him to think that his wife would declare their marriage a failure after one disagreement.

'Yes, Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are a fool... I understand why you must think that confrontation of any kind is a bad thing – our courtship, for what it was, played off that confrontation though and our differences as well as our similarities are what make us such a good match. I would not have agreed to your second proposal if I had not seen how good we would work together.' She gently kissed his temples and placed her hand on his cheek, stroking the roughness of his sideburn until it was smooth. 'My family are not as refined as yours – our arguments are all out in the open, my parents argue in front of their children and their servants, it was a natural thing to the residents of our home to see them bicker and then resolve their differences. I understand that I am a Darcy now, and that there are all these unspoken rules that I must follow, and I am fully prepared to learn all of these to be as good a Mistress of this house as I can be. It really is something, you know.'

Elizabeth looked at him, she wanted him to understand, he loved her face – her warm, caring, beautiful face - he knew that she was a long way away from her family, in both miles and manner, and he did understand now. He pulled her into him and felt her body fall into his, from comfort and relief, and then...

'You reek! Please go and bathe…before you stink out the whole house with your stench!'

He grinned – partly to cover his mortification, but partly because he was so happy to have someone who knew him well enough to tell him he stank with such candour. He got up, kissing her on the forehead as he did.

'No, you are seriously vile. Have you rolled in manure? Please. Go and wash, I implore you!'

Darcy practically ran to his dressing room, where his valet Brown had already lit the fire and heated the water.

When Darcy returned to the library, Elizabeth was drawing out a map on a piece of parchment – which was more difficult that she had obviously anticipated. The paper was curling up at the corners and ink had splashed onto her favourite yellow gown, he knew this would annoy her and made a mental note to have a replacement made.

'The problem, you see, is that we have closed off the entire South wing and so we have five bedrooms that are unable to be used, and the new Saloon will not be ready by then – so where do we put everyone? We have over one hundred people who have already confirmed attendance and I have Mrs Reynolds demanding answers!'

His wife looked up at him exasperatedly, her hair falling out of its pins and hanging around her face in tendrils. He smiled at her.

"What do you find so amusing, husband? Is it my horrendous seating plan or the ink on my gown that entertains you so greatly?"

"I think you look rather fetching when you are planning things, dearest wife." He placed the errant curls behind her ears and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I should let you plan things more often..."

"Now Mr Darcy, we don't have time for any of that nonsense right now. As you know I am a very important lady and have"- His firm kiss on her lips silenced her for a moment, the quill still in her hand. "And what would be your opinion on White Soup to start…?"

"Eliza, could this wait until the morning? It is late, and I have been away from you for far too long…"

Elizabeth's eyes flashed mischievously and teasingly she pushed him back at arms length, "Dearest Fitz, I really need to finish this…. but…I had a leisurely breakfast, a hearty amount of coffee and….I had planned to be awake until dawn."

She loosened his cravat and leaned up to softly kiss behind his ear.

"Oh…Oh!" Darcy focused. "Alright, we need some supper."

Darcy called for meat, cheese, wine and Georgiana, and together the three of them worked out their plan of action for the day, night and morning after of the Ball. He had even agreed to purchase a pineapple, a new found fashionable fruit that was seen to be the height of sophistication, at the request of Georgiana who had heard Caroline Bingley boasting about the pineapple her sister Mrs Hurst had at their house in town. Darcy knew that this Ball would cost him a fortune – it would have to be the most successful, lavish and decadent Lady Anne Ball that Pemberley had ever seen. Darcy knew how unforgiving the highest members of society could be, he had heard the rumours after his marriage – rumours that made him much prefer being here in Pemberley than in London. The disdain amongst his peers for his new wife was palpable, but if Elizabeth could hold her own with Miss Bingley, he was confident that she would be able to brush off the comments of the society ladies with a witty retort and a confident smile. Looking at her now, conversing easily with his sister as if she was her own – smiling and laughing on the settee, drinking wine in their stockinged feet - he knew that no other woman would make him as happy as she did. All the ladies of the Ton, with the exception of a few close friends and family members, were desperate to see Elizabeth fail in her first year of tenure and the Ball would be the event that they would damn her with. And he would be damned if he let them.

Georgiana had already retired for the evening and as they were sitting on the floor in front of the fire, resting their backs against the settee and talking about the food they had planned, events in town and Caroline Bingley's upcoming nuptials, Elizabeth had placed her head on his thigh, entwining her hand in his, and fallen asleep. He ran his fingers down her cheek, his hand over her arm and then pulled a blanket over her protectively. As he looked at the portrait of John William Darcy - the great statesman who married to help restore the family fortune, the man to whom he was indebted to for his fortuitous situation in life and the full family coffers that had helped to fund the restoration of the room he was sitting in - Darcy knew that to have lived without love would have been something he would have been unable to bear. He looked down at his sleeping wife - wife!- even calling her that now, now after they had been married nearly seven months was amazing to him - Darcy knew that he was a remarkably, lucky man, and he knew that, whilst marriage was a hard journey, that life would have many obstacles and challenges for him, that he was glad that Elizabeth was the one standing by his side