"This is my favorite time of year," Elizabeth said drowsily as she leaned back into the couch. Darcy put an arm around her. In the grate, the fire leapt and swayed like the most skillful dancer, throwing alternate ribbons of light and shadow quivering over the room. In the window, snowflakes fluttered silently down from the pearly sky to spin across the winds and land gently on the ground.
"It is nice," Darcy agreed. He wasn't generally one for voicing natural beauty- except perhaps the one sitting beside him. Elizabeth leaned into him with a happy sigh.
"My aunt Catherine sent over a tin of raspberry tea," Darcy said after a while. "She swears that it was what got my mother through while in labor with my sister."
Elizabeth allowed herself a faint smile. "Then I won't need it for another month. Your aunt certainly is in power of things, as usual."
The shoot of hope had by now grown into a healthy, thriving tree, Fitzwilliam Darcy reflected as his wife's eyelids drooped. A tree soon to be expanded, indeed.
"But it's the waiting, really," Elizabeth murmured. "My friend Charlotte says that waiting is always the hardest part."
Darcy thought about that. "Is it, if you know what you are waiting for?"
But Elizabeth had fallen asleep. The firelight played across her face, and Darcy didn't overly mind that his question hadn't been answered. He thought briefly of carrying her upstairs to bed, but decided against it.
Sometimes, you just let things be and let them take their turns.
