Chapter 19

"Where are you taking me?" Lizzy asked with a laugh. A blindfolded covered her eyes and her husband's hands held hers firmly, carefully pulling her in the direction she was meant to go. From what she gathered, he was leading her slowly through the front gardens of Rosings to, what she assumed, was a waiting carriage.

She felt the gravel under her feet and raised her head slightly, trying to see beneath the dark fabric for any clues.

"No peeking, Mrs. Darcy," he taunted.

She pouted her lips and was met with an unexpected kiss from her husband. She giggled excitedly, and he led her forward once more.

He told her to step up once and then again before she was instructed to sit. She placed her hand on her still tender leg and felt her husband take his place next to her. The neigh of the horses as the carriage lurched forward prompted her to say, "Really, William, couldn't you have blindfolded me once I was inside the carriage?"

"Now there, Mrs. Darcy, what fun would that be?" he teased.

She could get used to these cheery moods of his. Ever since the day of Wickham's death, he, as Charles had put it, became his old self again. Fitzwilliam was more carefree and content. He walked as if he had no care in the world and she found him smiling more often than not. At first she was worried at this sudden change in him for she was so used to his brooding, unyielding character she could scarce believe it was he. As time went on however, she realized the man she initially fell in love with was a molded man, sculpted from the world around him: a warrior, soldier, leader. A man with a fierce sense of duty and pride. One who would not let anything hinder him from successfully completing a mission. But now, the mission and everything he had been training for was coming to a close. The major threat had been eliminated, and all that remained were the stray zombies that happened to still be roaming around England. Fitzwilliam told her he assumed Wickham had summoned all undead to Pemberley for the final battle, but he was not taking any chances. At his order, militia had been dispatched to survey every last inch of England. All undead would be slaughtered and burned, bring the plague to an end.

Elizabeth reached blindly in Darcy's direction, trying to take his hand in hers, craving his touch. Her palm instead met the hard tip of his knee. Elizabeth immediately tried to jerk back her hand but his swiftly covered it, trapping it in place and dragging it onto his thigh. She knew she shouldn't feel uncomfortable, as they were after all married, but she couldn't help the blush rising to her cheeks. She hoped the blindfold covered most of it. He ran his fingers lightly over hers and her initial rigidity soon waned to contentment and warmth.

How different they were now from their first meeting. From loathing and contempt to love and fidelity. There was still so much she didn't know, but she looked forward to peeling back the layers of this man, her husband, one at a time.

"Are we there yet?" she inquired, turning her blind eyes towards her husband.

"Almost," he responded, squeezing her hand tighter and not giving anything else away.

They had been riding for some time now and she was growing weary. From the silence outside, apart from the chirping birds, she knew they had to be in the country somewhere. She was wondering if they would be able to make the journey back during the daylight when the carriage slowed to a stop.

"Come," Fitzwilliam said before taking her hands once more and guiding her carefully out of the carriage.

She could feel the ground change from rough pebbles to soft grass beneath her feet. A cool breeze blew her hair gently about, and she took in a deep breath, drinking in the crisp, clean air as best she could.

She felt her husband move behind her as he went to undo the knot.

"My love," he whispered in her ear, "welcome to Lady Anne Hall."

The blindfold fell from her eyes and she squinted in the bright sunlight. Raising her hand to shield the sun's rays, her eyes were met by a beautiful gray-stone manor.

It was about the fourth of the size of Pemberley, boasting three stories. Vines crawled up the sides, shaping the windows and white molding. The large white door in the front was also filled with glass and a circular window shined above it like a halo. A small fountain stood in the front yard and she could see a second story terrace elegantly held up by white columns on the side of the house.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, grasping his arm tighter.

"It's yours," he said. She stood there silently, mouth agape, and he continued. "It was my mother's. My father's gifted it to her shortly after they were married and it became a sort of retreat for them. And…" he added hesitantly, "I thought it would the perfect place for us to honeymoon."

She slowly turned her head to face him and smiled, feeling another slight blush rising to her cheeks. His hand rose up and gently placed an unruly curl back into place before cupping her face, his thumb stroking her reddened cheek.

"Do you like it?" he prodded after she hadn't said anything else.

"I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve," she said with a grin.

Elizabeth raised her hand and placed it tenderly over his, intertwining their fingers. She stood there, memorizing his touch, the warmth and roughness of his hands. The hands that had fought on so many occasions against the undead. The hands that had saved her sister. The hands that had killed Wickham. The hands that could hold her so lovingly.

She opened her eyes and met his soft gaze. He leaned down and kissed her before scooping her into his arms and carrying her over the threshold of her new home.

Elizabeth was still in awe of the house. Her house. She determined it was only slightly bigger than Longbourn and that made it feel like home all the more. A group of four servants met them within the main foyer, where Fitzwilliam lowered her to the ground before they made introductions. After freshening up, dinner was served and then Fitzwilliam gave her a tour of the home, including the kitchens, den, sitting room, and library.

"My mother was an avid reader as well," he said after revealing the glorious two-floored library.

Shelves were lined with books all the way to the ceiling and a small walkway ran around the room halfway up the wall, made accessible by a circular stairway. Inviting chairs and couches sat by a lit fireplace, with several candelabras on tables around the vast space. Widows let in the brilliant moonlight, casting shadows on the floor.

"It's glorious," she breathed.

"Come," he said, extending his hand, "there's one more thing I want to show you."

Fitzwilliam led her out of the room, past the main stairs, and up a hallway. He opened a door that led to an elegantly decorated sitting area.

"This will be the beginning of your private chambers," he said.

"Beginning?" she questioned, feeling overwhelmed.

He led her through another doorway at the end of the room that held a bed, vanity, fireplace, and other necessities. The walls were a dusty rose color with golden detailing. A large mirror hung above the fireplace and the drapes framing the windows were drawn back, revealing the moonlit gardens at the back of the house. Empty traveling bags sat in the corner of the room and the more she glanced around, the more she noticed her personal belongings throughout the space. Fitzwilliam had thought of everything. And, naturally, the servants had unpacked for her during dinner. Elizabeth turned then to admire the bed, which looked plush and inviting after the journey.

"How lovely," she said, reaching out to feel the soft topper before nodding in the direction of the wall next to her bedside table. "What's through that door?"

He smirked and led her to it. Grasping the handle he turned and pushed the door opened, revealing his own room.

"My private quarters."

"But…" she stammered, "I thought you would sleep with me..."

Before she could even grow embarrassed for her forward and suggestive declaration, he explained, "My father talked in his sleep and it would keep my mother up many nights, so they had this room made for him."

"Don't worry," he added. "Unlike him, I fully intend on sharing a bed with my wife all night."

Fitzwilliam pulled her flush against him and kissed her. His hands wound around her, pressing against the small of her back, drawing her even closer. A hand then broke and began trailing up her back and tangled into her hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck, grasping the hair at the nape of his neck, falling completely into him.

"I have loved none but you," he whispered between kisses.

Elizabeth was about to draw him closer to the bed when he stopped.

"My darling," he breathed, "I have to go check the grounds."

"Now?" Elizabeth panted.

"The zombies from Pemberley may be gone, but we have to ensure no others remain. One of the servants said they saw a stray one yesterday but they aren't capable of killing them, so I must check. No one has searched the grounds since the start of the war and we cannot let them grow in number once more. Besides, if I don't go now," he added, "I never will."

"Then I'll go with you," Elizabeth stated matter-of-factly, stepping towards the door.

"No, my dear," Fitzwilliam responded, pulling her back. "Tonight, you are my bride."

He kissed her once more before grabbing his katana by the doorway.

"I won't be long, and then, we will continue," he said before she saw him rush out.

Elizabeth stood in front of her mirror in nothing but her white shift. Her brown hair was unpinned with her curls hanging loosely around her shoulders. She quickly grabbed a brush and began running it through her unruly hair. After several quick strokes she put it down, glanced cautiously at the door in the mirror, and went to stand next to the bed, her eyes never straying from the handle, waiting for it to turn. She could hear the rain falling on the roof above and hoped he would return soon.

She felt foolish and thought maybe she should sit to assuage her uneasiness. She sank into the comfortable top and rethought that idea after realizing it would make her appear clunky. She took in some deep breaths when she was standing once more, trying to calm her racing heart.

She knew what to expect, after all she was an avid reader and not all authors just skim the surface on such topics. But it's different when it's your reality.

She was nervous. But she shouldn't be. This was Fitzwilliam. Her confidant. Her love. Her husband.

Elizabeth was rethinking the lighting in the room when the doorknob turned and the door opened slowly. As soon as she saw him, nothing else mattered.

William gently closed the door and stood fixated in his spot. She watched as his eyes ran down her body and she took the opportunity to examine him as well.

He stood in the dark beeches and white linen shirt he had left in, but now he had on his overcoat as well. The wet white shirt clung to him, revealing dark chest hair peeking out of the top. His damp hair was falling over his eyes with little droplets falling to the floor, but she could tell he was too distracted to notice and this made her smile.

As soon as his eyes met hers again it was as if a current were pushing him towards her. He walked determinedly towards her. She breathed in, reading herself, but he stopped just short of touching her, their noses barely any distance apart. From here the fire in his eyes was as vibrant as ever.

Elizabeth dug her fingers beneath his jacket, making the first contact. Slowly she guided it over his shoulders and down his arms before letting it fall to the floor.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Her heart was overwhelmed. Her loving, caring husband stood before her and, as always, he was being as selfless as ever.

"Yes," she whispered breathlessly, fisting his linen shirt and pulling him the remaining distance, willing their bodies to mold together as they fell back onto the bed.

"You're so soft," Darcy observed as his fingers moved idly back and forth over Elizabeth's bare back. His wife laid draped over him, her head resting against his chest and legs entangled with his.

She stared up at him for a few moments before running a finger over the gash on her husband's check.

"I don't think it will ever go away," he said solemnly.

"Good," she responded, resting her head against him once more. "I like it."

She continued idly running her fingers back and forth. He smiled and kissed her palm.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her after many moments of silence.

She had been staring absentmindedly. So many thoughts and questions were swarming her mind at present, but Elizabeth chose the one that she was most inquisitive about. When did he know?

"Did you admire me for my impertinence?" she asked, answering him with a question.

Her head rose and fell with her husband's laughter. After giving it some thought, he replied, "For the liveliness of your mind, I did, and your superior warrior skills. I may not have realized it at the time, but I was yours once I saw your crane form at the Meryton dance."

She smiled, remembering the fight.

"If I had but known your heart and your true self," Elizabeth said, running her hand along his chest, "everything would have been so easy."

"I was wrestling with myself at the time," he admitted.

"Oh, I remember," Elizabeth said with a chuckle before quoting him. "'Miss Bennet, although I know many consider you to be decidedly inferior as a matter of your birth, family and circumstances, my feelings will not be repressed...'"

Darcy moaned, and she chuckled.

"At least I knew when you did agree to marry me, it was for me. Not my rank or wealth," he admitted.

"Rumor has it a large income is the best recipe for happiness," Elizabeth responded teasingly.

"Is that right?" inquired Darcy, tickling her sides. Elizabeth hollered with surprise and broke into uncontrollable laughter.

"How's your leg?" he asked once he had stopped, placing his hand gently on her thigh. "Was the walk earlier too much?"

"No," she responded, all humor now gone. His eyes met hers, and he removed his hand from her leg. He replaced it on her face and traced the now faint bruise marks on her face, then along her shoulders, and down her arms. His touch was so faint she felt goosebumps on her flesh.

"They're almost healed," he said as his hand came to a stop on her thigh once more. Her husband's eyes met hers questioningly.

"Yes," she answered all-knowingly.