A light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees overhead, the grass soft underfoot as they wandered between them, from one patch of shade to the next. The day had started warm and built on from there. By mid-morning both Darcy and Elizabeth had agreed the novelty that days of being cosseted into a carriage together had presented, free to delight in one another but essentially travel non-stop, had worn off. His polite enquiry as to whether she'd prefer to divert from their course, perhaps to visit the estate of an acquaintance from Cambridge, had been met with enthusiasm. She expressed her continued wish to reach the north in as efficient a time as could be managed but concurred that the current pace was proving tiresome. And so, after a brief stop at the main house during which relations were re-established between old friends, wives were proudly introduced, and tales of boyhood dalliances were laughingly shared, Mr and Mrs Darcy were enthusiastically granted permission to take in the gardens. Recently remodelled at great expense, their presence was welcomed such was the opportunity to show off the completed works in the knowledge that it would aid the word spreading as to their magnificence.
"Jameson always possessed a more exuberant nature than my own," Darcy explained, "But he is a sound fellow despite that."
"You do surprise me, my dear," Lizzy replied with a smirk, "A man more outgoing than my husband. How could that be?"
He sighed with amusement. "How many months do you think it shall take before I learn not to walk directly into one of your traps?"
"I know not to which you refer!" she exclaimed with false shock, "I assure you that I do not seek to 'trap' you."
"No, merely to keep me sensible, my feet well grounded," he countered wryly. "I assure you, Madam, that they are well and truly anchored."
Her gentle laugh echoed out around the grove, a nearby bird shaken sufficiently to hop one tree further away causing them both to look over to see what it was they'd disturbed.
"See! Even the birds are responsive to your liveliness," Lizzy couldn't help but continue.
"Ha! That would be yours, not mine," he countered assuredly, his tone only darkening as he added, "And I would not have you any other way."
The compliment was sufficient to cease her teasing, bringing to mind other occasions on which such similar sentiments had been so easily given. It was a remarkable thing to be so loved and to be reminded of the fact with such frequency that it lit that which she was beginning to identify as the stirrings of desire. Lapsing into a contemplative silence, they followed the gravel path to where it divided, the left route skirting the lake sculptured into the landscape, the right curving back around through the formal garden where they'd no doubt experience dense planting of roses and other similar shrubs. Pausing they considered the options.
"I am not tired," Lizzy said, giving a slight tug where her hand lay in his arm so as to garner his full attention on her. "And am quite prepared to circle the lake if it pleases you to do so."
"I was wondering whether we had the inclination to make it to the temple," he said, a small gesture of his head indicating a building just visible on the brow of a small hill set some way into the estate. "I fancy the view back would be worth the effort." He faltered then, his eyes burying themselves into hers as he sought the right words. "I find I am able to speak more plainly whilst walking and I believe the distance would give me sufficient opportunity to do so."
"If you would oblige me, that is," he rushed to elaborate when her reply was not immediately forthcoming, "I do not wish to worry or frighten you, but I do believe there are matters of which we have not spoken."
"I'd oblige you anything, Fitzwilliam," she replied, the softness of her voice causing him to blink in surprise and find himself only able to nod his head in grateful acceptance.
They set out along the path that had been a continuation of the one they'd so recently taken, its form almost perfectly straight save for where it diverted around a fountain and then latterly an impressively formed statue of Grecian origin. Elizabeth wondered about remarking on the pleasantness of their surroundings, to offer him some time with which to summon his fortitude and his words but she felt fearful of putting him off his quest and so remained quiet. The wind continued its delicate dance through the branches, the small leaves of the limetrees seeming to shimmer, their vein-like structure revealed by the sun filtering through them. She'd anticipated a tension between them but instead found herself quite distracted so that when, at last, he did speak she found herself jolted back to the matter at hand, her attention re-focused.
"Do not tease me when I say I am not a man of many words," he began, "That is, I have words enough but I endeavour to offer them with discretion and thought, although I accept I have not always served you well in that regard."
Feeling a squeeze of encouragement on his arm, he continued.
"There is an air of worry about you, Lizzy. I am not immune to it. I have sensed it since our engagement but was not prepared to acknowledge that I was the cause. Not that I believe you to be unhappy, more that you are concerned."
"I am not unhappy," she agreed with rapidity, "I urge you to believe me that I am not."
Darcy brought his free hand onto hers, "I do believe you, dearest Lizzy, I know you would not lie. But I would not be a good husband if I didn't address the matter and I have been remiss in doing so."
Lizzy frowned, her stomach twisting as his opening salvo sunk in. It was a feeling with which she was becoming familiar along with those far more exhilarating ones she'd discovered in recent days. The constant lurching between bliss and fretfulness had taken its toll, of that much she was prepared to acknowledge, to herself at least. But that he might want a confession of such seemed a step beyond which she should venture, particularly as a wife not yet installed in her new home.
"Sir, please do not think that..." she stopped as she felt him bristle. Daring to look over she saw his eyes fixed upon some unknown spot on the horizon, their pace unchanging as he took up once more.
"I'm not sure I ever truly believed that I would marry," he said without opinion, "My father died and suddenly I was master and carer of Pemberley, its estate and tenants, of Georgina, a household of staff, and the responsibility weighed heavily. I embraced it earnestly and with gusto, never wanting to shirk my duties. It was as if the ghost of my parents were constantly on my shoulder, reminding me of the great responsibilities that had been placed upon me. At times it was overwhelming, but I was confident in the knowledge that had been imparted to me over the years and with determination I overcame the challenges. But by the time I surfaced it seemed I had lost something of my youth, my exuberance, you might say."
Not wishing to interrupt this revelation of feeling Elizabeth remained quiet, and was therefore surprised when he halted and turned to her. "You do not wish to reassure me of my wit and spirited nature?" he asked, his brow arching upwards.
"I...I do not...what I mean is..." she offered falteringly.
Darcy chuckled. "Forgive me, that wasn't fair," his lips twitching as he resisted breaking into a smile. "What I mean to say is that you have saved me," his face turned serious once more. "Saved me from my glum existence that had become drowned in a kind of pride and snobbery of the worst kind. Had Charles not enticed me to Netherfield then who knows what I would have become."
"You are too harsh upon yourself," she replied, "None of us are perfect. You were grieving and did what you must to protect yourself from further harm. We are all guilty of building walls around ourselves."
He blanched. Her explanation was so innocent, offered so easily as the plain truth of the matter. She hadn't flinched in her revelation, but a revelation it was and his shock at it rendered him mute.
"May I speak?" she ventured after a time.
He nodded his consent and, looking around, she gently pulled her hand free of him only to grasp it lightly and lead him to a stone bench set a few yards from the path. Sitting down she pulled him down beside her, the long grass tickling at their ankles as they each contemplated what was about to be shared.
"I know something of burdens and responsibility," she began, intertwining her fingers with his. "Society believes these are the purview of men but consider those of women. The disappointment of being born a girl not a boy, of being a financial drain instead of one of potential buoyancy, the fear of disappointing one's spouse by carrying a child who will only perpetuate this cycle. Those are the marks that I carry, carved deep into my chest, that dictate my actions, and yes sometimes even my inactions."
The last line was said with a stoicism that had his gaze jerking back up to her from where it had settled on their conjoined hands to capture her staring directly back at him.
"Fitzwilliam, my darling, my love," she continued, her free hand rising to cupped his face as she spoke with all the care that she felt. "I am yet young but you would surely agree that I am not far off the same age as you were when your load was thrust upon you, that I am perhaps wise beyond my years? Will you not now accept that, I too, am strong enough to share in it? That you are no longer alone in this? That I am not brittle? That I shall not break?"
His eyes shone at her questions, at the faith she implored him to impose on her, that she had unknowingly won from him many months before but had remained hidden. He leant towards her, the intimacy of their bodies growing as his will to protect them both from the truth unravelled.
"I cannot think of a better person on which to unburden myself," he confessed, his voice low enough to send a shiver through her as his forehead pressed against her own.
"Well then," she murmured in reply, "You may begin."
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