An autumn storm blew in shortly after Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley arrived at Longbourn. Elizabeth, standing next to Darcy at one of the windows in the drawing room, had suggested they withdraw to the library in lieu of their customary walk. They had joined Mr. Bennet in the library on other occasions, and the gentleman always welcomed them gladly into his sanctuary. Darcy supposed it gave him the convenience of observing his favorite daughter with her fiancé without leaving the comfort of his favorite chair (which he often had no mind to do). On this day, the way of things was no different; they sat cordially with Mr. Bennet, each absorbed in their own chosen literature - at least, Darcy attempted to maintain his attention.

Elizabeth sat serenely in the chair adjacent to him. He watched her from the corner of his eye, sometimes his gaze strayed from the pages of his book when he could no longer restrain himself from stealing a glance. It did not go unnoticed by Mr. Bennet, and sometimes Darcy thought he chuckled to himself under his breath. Being on to find amusement where he could, it was clear Mr. Bennet was entertained in seeing his daughter in love, for she would often steal her own glances and blush with a knowing smile when she was caught.

A knock interrupted their solitude, and Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, entered. She asserted that Mr. Bennet's presence was wanted directly, as the stables were taking on water damage due to the storm. Darcy looked away from his reading to find that Mr. Bennet had looked to him, then to Elizabeth, and with a shameless grin, he obliged to follow Mrs. Hill to the back of the house. It was only a few moments after Mr. Bennet had quit the room before Darcy lowered his book and allowed his gaze to rest where it had strayed.

"It seems you have ultimately decided to abandon your book after all, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth quipped, her eyes unmoving from the pages before her. Darcy was growing used to her teasing after being in her company daily for a fortnight. Now, more than ever, he found it one of the most endearing things about her.

"I confess I am quite diverted," was his reply. Elizabeth was grinning as she turned a page.

"Could it be the storm that disturbs you? It is quite distracting." He could tell by her expression that she was quite pleased with herself, that flash of mischief in her eye inviting him to play along. The rain had been lapping heavily against the windows, and were he at home in London or at Pemberley, he would have found it an aid to his reading. Today, nothing would have aided him, even if he had wanted to read.

"I had thought reading brought you much pleasure," Elizabeth subjoined erelong.

"Indeed, and yet for the present, it has become rather tedious." Here, she met his gaze. When they were alone in this way, he felt that she could read him as easily as if he were speaking his thoughts aloud. One look would enthrall him, and he was pleasantly reminded that his attachment was reciprocated.

"Then, I suppose it is nonsensical to feign interest," Elizabeth said, snapping her book shut, and she stood to return it to its place on one of the shelves behind her. She was conscious of Darcy's eyes following her; just as Darcy had grown used to her teasing, Elizabeth had grown accustomed to his penetrating stare. Not for the first time, Darcy thought of how ignorant he had been to Elizabeth's complete indifference a year before. Now, to see her so evidently in love, he felt his soul soar; it was for him, and him alone that she looked in this way. She turned and remained by the bookcase, looking toward the windows and sighing softly.

"What are you thinking, my dear?" Darcy murmured, softly calling to her. It was one of the endearments he had adopted gradually in their most recent days together. It pleased him to learn which addresses most affected her. Her smile reached her eyes as she looked down, and shyly bit her bottom lip.

"In truth, I am considering how varied the library at Pemberley seemed to be," said she, "though I think if I am to make any progress, it will not be for some time."

"What would impede you in your endeavor?"

"Well," she began moving slowly about the room, her lips pursed, "for one, the extensive grounds. I intend to explore every acre of the park, and if I am to do so before winter settles, then I'm afraid an exploration of the library will have to be put off." Darcy stood and joined her when she reached the window at the far end of the room. "For another, I am sure I shall be principally engaged with assimilating into my new situation." She paused, a slight betrayal of uncertainty in that smile. "There is much I will need to learn."

"And you shall have your husband to assist you, should you desire it." Elizabeth's hand found his.

"I would be grateful for it."

"Then," Darcy murmured, "I promise I shall be at your side."

He watched her as she raised their entwined fingers, resting his palm against her cheek. She sighed, closing her eyes with a contented smile, and then she recited in almost a whisper, "I was yours before I knew, and you have always been mine, too."*

Their heads were drawn together, resting softly, one against the other. Darcy closed his eyes and felt that moment mark his memory; the sound of the rain, every soft breath, the warmth of her cheek in his hand. This was the promise of their lives before them. It consumed him, this quiet haven that had enveloped them, and it felt as natural as living. He had hardly hesitated as he moved to hold her, his touch unhurried and questioning. She sighed into him, resting her fingers delicately on his chest in answer.

"Always."

When he next looked into her eyes, they struck him as they often did - their depth, their meaningful shine - her serene smile soothing him. He promised inwardly that he would ask her to read to him and let her lull him into this dreamlike feeling every evening, to feel such tender comfort in this nearness. He saw her embracing him in dim candlelight, waking every morning beside him, the light of the sun casting a soft aura around her as they whispered to each other.

"I would stay with you thus 'till evening," Elizabeth whispered.

"As would I." In truth, he would stand with her in that way for the entirety of the fortnight that remained until they wed. "Are you happy, Elizabeth?"

"I believe I could not be more so. Are you happy?" A simple answer would not do. To say he was happy would do no justice to his feelings. She was happiness, his hope, his heart. What he could not say in words, he said with the gentle touch of his lips. He could not have stopped himself if he had wanted to, not when she looked up at him so adoringly, held in his arms. This first kiss shared was tentative, subtle, though nonetheless tender, and soon she had reached slowly to hold him closer, her hands framing his face. There was a rush through him, his head swimming, his senses overwhelmed. Most unwillingly, he broke from her lips before he became completely senseless to the world around them. He would cease now for fear he would not at all. Elizabeth looked up at him with half hooded eyes, her fingers moving lightly over his skin.

"You have proven me wrong, Fitzwilliam," she laughed. She traced the curve of his answering smile.

Darcy entreated her to read to him, for it would not do for them to be found in that way. He let her leave him arms with great reluctance, but she returned to the bookshelf for a selection of poems. Not long after they had settled back into their respective chairs had Mr. Bennet returned, and Darcy observed Elizabeth flush pink upon her father's entrance. It was with great eagerness that Darcy contemplated when he might hold her again, though it would not be long, he assured himself, before he would have the pleasure of keeping her near as long as he wished. There would be no other bliss to compare with her as his wife.

* Always - Lord Byron