Music recommendation:

Sadko: Hindu Song (arr. N. Mercz for Flute and Harp) - Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov


Her head rested upon his shoulder. She was dozing, though she had insisted she was not tired each time Darcy had gently suggested she rest. He chuckled under his breath to himself at her obstinance as he stroked the back of her hand - soft and steady.

"I know what you are thinking," Elizabeth murmured drowsily as she roused. "Do not say a word."

"I would not dream of it," he said as he dropped a kiss to her temple then brought her hand to his lips. Just above a whisper, he said, "Rest a little longer. We will be arriving soon." She hummed in response, tightening her fingers around his.

"Will you not rest?" Indeed, he did not think he could. He wondered how she had not heard or felt his heart racing for the whole of their journey to London. Rest was the last thing on his mind. It would have been logical to feel some semblance of fatigue after a restless night, an energetic wedding breakfast and their carriage ride that seemed to go on much longer than it should have, but his mind nor his form would allow for any kind of idleness. He reached to brush his thumb across her cheek, pressed his lips to the crown of her head.

"I am well," he assured her. Another hum of contentment as she nuzzled closer, but instead of the silence that would signify her recommenced slumber as he expected, she inhaled deeply and said, "Have I ever told you how lovely the sound of your voice is?" He thought of the letter still tucked away in his pocket.

"Once, perhaps," he replied in a tone that left no question of his wish for her to continue.

"Well, it is," she laughed and lifted her head from his shoulder to meet his eye. "Will you speak to me now?"

"Name the subject and I will talk as much as you wish." There were some moments that she looked down at their hands that rested atop the rug that covered them, contemplating as she deliberately traced the lines of his palms. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were alight.

"I dreamt of you last night. Did you dream of me?" He felt his heart cracking at how soft her tone was, accompanied by those eyes. There was no wonder that they had been the first thing about her to have ever enthralled him. The phrase 'the eye is the lamp of the body' had struck him with a new meaning as he had dwelled and dwelled upon the pair before him, and there had not yet been a time where he met them and was matched with a gaze replicated. Each time was original, each time was more exceptional than the last, and each time he thought it so remarkable that this woman could continue to make him feel every possible vigorous emotion.

"Elizabeth, I have dreamt of you so often there is hardly a night that passes that I do not close my eyes and see you waiting for me." Her smile faded, her hands stilled, and after a moment had passed she slowly reached out and brushed her fingers across his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut at so light a sensation. There was movement and then her whisper caressing him, "Will you tell me of your favorite dreams?" He turned his face to her and he could feel the warmth of her lips just a breath away from his, but she kept that torturous distance, waiting for his reply.

"The first night I dreamt of you, it troubled me at the time, of course, but it has never faded. That afternoon at Netherfield when we were left alone together but said not a word for half an hour; it was that very scene that greeted me in sleep, but you were reading to me and I had no mind for my own book. You read, and every now and again you would look up at me to smile charmingly then return to the page. The description is innocent enough, but it did not feel so when I woke." He opened his eyes when her lips just touched his cheek. When she pulled back, her gaze entreated he continue. "The night we first danced together, I dreamt we danced the whole evening. You never took another partner and I kept your hand for every set." Another kiss to his other cheek, the same entreating look. "Last winter was when I first began having dreams of almost kissing you, but your lips would never touch mine. I would always wake before I could get close enough. Then in Kent - good God, the torment." She laughed, low and teasing. "The more I resisted, the more vivid each vision of your acceptance became, but your refusal only invigorated my imagination. All my dreams through spring into summer taunted me with possibilities of how I should have addressed you, what our lives would have been if I had not spoken so ill, days we would have had together at Pemberley. And then you were there, and what I thought had been the limit to my imagination became only the beginning. Those two nights gave me visions so dear, but it was the dream the night before you left Lampton…" Her eyes were wide with expectation as he brought the memory forth, perhaps one of the best dream he had ever had… "The first time I dreamt of you in my arms, in my bed. We rose with the sun and did not speak upon waking. We only watched one another and were utterly contented to do just that. You wanted my embrace, you wanted our life together, you wanted me, and we laid there for hours, not stirring until -" He swallowed hard, leaning forward with the burning desire to just be closer "- we did not stir until you urged me atop you and I took you, leaving you in no doubt of the depth of my passion for you." Elizabeth released a shaky exhale, her chest rising as her breaths grew heavy. He took much satisfaction in her reaction and was rewarded further when the smallest sound of pleasure broke from her as he finally claimed a kiss.

He had not tasted her once over the course of the day, not even when they had found the refuge of the carriage and began their journey. The truth of it was that he had almost been afraid to, for he wanted her so ferociously, he feared starting what he might not be sensible enough to stop. But in that moment, though aching as he was, he felt master enough of himself. There was no separation approaching, no return to a house that put three miles of distance between them, and the assurance of it all stayed him. They would have their time tonight, no obligations on the morrow. He had no need and no intention of rushing. This kiss was not unlike their first; gentle, tender, but now with the confidence of many kisses shared and the promise of more ardent embraces to come. He cupped her cheek before gently breaking away and resting his brow to hers.

"I do not think I could ever doubt your passion, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth whispered with feeling, "not when you look at me, or speak to me, or kiss me this way." She reached to cover the hand that held her cheek and they rested in this way for some time when she said even softer than before, "I love you."

"And I love you," he promised, "so very much, my Elizabeth."


The rain began after they had entered London. Darcy was thankful it came when it did or they would have been longer on the road. Their arrival was already later than it should have been. He was eager for home, for a hot meal, for the quiet evening ahead of him and his wife - oh, how he relished calling Elizabeth his wife. Judging by her countenance and the way she frequently peered out the window, she was just as eager. And so it was no surprise that when they did finally approach the house, they both sighed simultaneously in relief and chuckled together at the occurrence. They were hurried inside where they were tended to and introductions were made between Elizabeth and the housekeeper, Mrs. Brey, as well as those of the staff who would be attending them that evening. Darcy watched on in delight as Elizabeth met the introduction gracefully and saw that she would fall into her role with ease, regardless of any apprehensions she might have had a partiality for.

Mrs. Brey informed them that dinner would be served as soon as they were changed, and before the housekeeper and servants dismissed themselves, Elizabeth thanked them most heartily for their warm welcome. Mrs. Brey replied, "It is our pleasure, Mrs. Darcy," and Elizabeth started, though not without her smile blooming into something more brilliant. She inclined her head and the staff dispersed. Darcy waited before he moved to her side, watching her turn her smile inward as she reveled in being addressed by her new title. Naturally, it was not the first time that day that they had heard the address, but perhaps it was being in their home and that the words came from their servant which made it all the more impactful. For Darcy's part, he had wished and waited to the point of pain for Elizabeth to take the title. That she stood there now and took apparent pleasure in embracing the start of this new life filled him with all the warmth of the deepest satisfaction.

He stepped close to her, brushing her fingers with his and whispering against her temple, "Well, Mrs. Darcy?" Her laugh was light and breathy as if she was almost in disbelief of where they stood and what they now were.

"It still takes me by surprise," she admitted, her smile unwavering as she turned to look up at him. He took both her hands in his.

"Then perhaps I should take every opportunity to exercise the title. Shall I escort you to your room, Mrs. Darcy?" She laughed in earnest with a small shake of her head and she bit her lip as she slipped her arm through his.

"Lead the way, Mr. Darcy."

"I've had changes made to your rooms," he began as they climbed the stairs, "that I thought might suit you, though should you wish to make any changes of your own, say the word and it will be done. I will see to it myself."

"I am sure that whatever you have had done will do very well," she took the hand that covered hers on his arm and twined their fingers together. "I quite like your tastes."

"Georgiana made her contributions as well. I cannot take all the credit."

"Then there is no doubt that it is all perfect."

He watched Elizabeth admire the halls when they fell silent. She took in all she could on their short journey and when he stopped them in front of her door, she met his eye. "It is not so unlike Pemberley. It is all so very… you." Her hand touched his cheek and he leaned into the touch. "Charming, tasteful, handsome." He had never smiled or laughed so much, he was sure. She had already brought so much color into his life and now she would bring that spirit into their home, in London and at Pemberley. With a kiss to her palm then to her brow, he murmured, "I shall meet you here when you are ready to go down. Do not be too long, Mrs. Darcy." Her complacent smile gave him much satisfaction as she rose on her toes and he bent to brush her lips with his.


They dined quietly, more smiles and gazes of affection exchanged than words. It was only at the end of the meal that Darcy expressed his wish to show Elizabeth the principle rooms of the house, all that would be necessary for the present. As he led her through the house, she voiced her admiration of the wallpaper, the furniture, the paintings, the manner in which each room was situated, but he most anticipated her reaction to the room he saved for last; the library. It was only a fraction of the size of the library at Pemberley, but he knew she would cherish it all the same. It was, perhaps, his favorite room in the London house. He preferred it to his study most nights, and he hoped that when they spent their time there, she would come to like it as much as he did.

Elizabeth released his arm when they entered, her eyes bright with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. Candles were lit about the room, the tomes cast in flickering shadows. She walked along the perimeter and every now and again reached to brush her fingers along the spines of the books before her.

"You knew I would like this room best," she smiled over her shoulder when she had surveyed half the shelves. He had been following at a distance behind, watching her every expression, taking note of each book she reached to touch.

"It is my favorite room in which to spend time of leisure when I am in London. I hoped you might like it best." She hummed as she continued on. Erelong, she pulled a book from the shelf, examining the cover before opening to the first page. Darcy neared, peering over her shoulder at her choice. It thrilled him to place his hand at the small of her back, feeling her ease back into his touch, to be this near and know that their intimacy would not be interrupted. Their time was not to be intermittent and dependent upon the spaces between obligations and propriety.

"Will you read to me?" He asked, low and soft.

"What would you have me read, sir?" He moved some paces away to take a title from its resting place and presented it to her. They removed to sit before the fire, and as Darcy leaned back into the corner of the settee, Elizabeth began to read aloud. She had a captivating way of telling stories, for she did not simply recite words. Her face was animated, she sometimes gestured as she spoke, and when she was truly inspired, she would interrupt the story with commentary of her own. He had read this particular novel countless times, but he had never enjoyed it as he did with his wife reading to him. He was making good on the promise he made to himself weeks before to ask her to read to him every evening. Mesmerized, contented, it was exactly how he had imagined an evening together would be. She had gone through two chapters when he sat forward to better admire her visage. He watched the way her mouth formed each word, how her expressions matched her tone, how her head subtly tilted to the side the more engrossed she became in the story. It left her neck exposed and all his attention given to the book took a different course. The ball two nights prior, the empty drawing room, moonlight illuminating their stollen moment. He had kissed her then and it had sated him enough, his indomitable patience revitalized. It would not be enough tonight, he knew, though his patience would be practiced in a different manner. He had no intention of enacting every fantasy he had imagined with her as the focus in one evening, but he knew he wanted to resume what they had been obliged to pause in that drawing room.

With the greatest deliberation, Darcy took his time lowering his head, pressing the most delicate of kisses to Elizabeth's shoulder. Though there was the slightest tremor in her voice, she did not cease. Darcy smiled against her skin with a deep inhale; eucalyptus, white tea leaves, lilac, cypress. She was absolutely divine. When he trailed the tip of his nose to that juncture of her neck and shoulder, she shuddered and the tone of her voice rose. He let his lips hover just above that spot, the warmth of his breath caressing her. She persevered, though one of her hands fell from the book and she placed it firmly upon his leg just above his knee. When he laced their fingers together, tracing his thumb along hers, she breathed, "I suggest you desist if you wish me to continue." His only answer was to slip his arm around her waist, bringing her closer, and that was incentive enough for her to abandon the book, take his face in her hands and press her lips to his. Tasting, savoring, reaching for something more.

"Elizabeth," Darcy murmured when they broke and shared breath. "My Elizabeth." A kiss, gentle and sweet. He tasted her smile. "Will you have me tonight?"

"Yes," her emphatic, breathless reply.

"Then allow me to escort you upstairs." Their book forgotten on the settee, he took her arm and they left the library. Their steps were not hurried, yet the atmosphere was heavy with urgency and suspense. They were approaching her door when he said, "Come to me when you are ready. The door within-"

"Leads to the sitting room, then yours," she laughed, placing a hand on his chest. "I remember." They gazed upon each other and when Darcy pressed a kiss to her cheek, he whispered with some desperation, "Take all the time you need. I will be waiting." She turned with a parting look of expectation and entered her room, leaving him breathless in the hall.