After a luxurious bath and some pleasant time lounging at the cabin, Elizabeth announced that they would have a picnic lunch out-of-doors.

"You are certain?" Darcy asked, glancing out of the nearest window. "The skies look rather ominous."

"Then we shall not walk far," Elizabeth replied with a smile.

Everything that she had planned for their picnic and more could be done in the cottage, but she had not come to the Lakes to stay indoors. She did not mind a little rain; surely, that was how the area stayed so beautifully green.

"And you will bring your hooded cloak?" Darcy prompted.

Unable to help herself from laughing lightly, Elizabeth vowed that she would.

It was the work of a moment to gather her cloak and to secure the picnic basket. Darcy had, as he said, engaged an excellent cook, who had, at Elizabeth's request, kindly packed the hamper full of bread, cheese, meats, fruit, and cakes. Elizabeth also slid in a little volume of poetry.

"What is that?" Darcy asked, an eyebrow quirked in interest.

"A surprise," Elizabeth replied airily.

Ever the gentleman, Darcy gallantly took the basket in one hand, and offered Elizabeth his other arm.

"Lead the way, my dear," he said.

Elizabeth was glad to oblige him. They traveled under a lovely canopy of trees and over a picturesque bridge, past some fearsome rocks, and up, up a hill, until they reached the crest of it. From the summit, there were emerald hills and sparkling waters as far as the eye could see. Elizabeth exhaled, not from the exertion of the climb so much as being overwhelmed by the beauty all about her.

"It is breathtaking, is it not?" she asked Darcy.

"You have certainly chosen well," he agreed with a smile.

"In our destination and in my partner," Elizabeth rejoined easily.

Darcy hid another smile as he busied himself spreading the blanket. To assist him, Elizabeth helped arrange their luncheon.

For a time, they ate in companionable silence, enjoying the view and each other's presence. When they had finished their luncheon, Elizabeth retrieved her book of poetry, and settled herself comfortably on the blanket, her head in her husband's lap.

"Poetry?" Darcy asked with a smile, observing the book in his wife's hands.

"Yes, and do not tease me, for I believe I told you once that poetry could be efficacious in developing a 'fine, stout love.'"

She dared to look up at him, and saw him laughing softly.

"Indeed," he replied; "I very much hope that is what we have."

Elizabeth nodded her assent, her eyes closing briefly in contentment as Darcy lightly stroked her hair.

Finally, she opened the book, and found the page she was looking for.

"'Oh, there is a blessing in this gentle breeze'," she began,

That blows from the green fields and from the clouds

And from the sky; it beats against my cheek,

And seems half-conscious of the joy it gives.'"

For a time, she read on; she could think of no poem more appropriate than this one from "The Prelude," written by Wordsworth, a native of the area and one to whom many of its newest visitors were indebted for making the Lakes known as a place of such beauty. It truly did feel as though the Earth rejoiced with them in their happiness, ensconced here on their blanket amongst the grasses and rocks and clouds - even if the wind had turned rather chilly, and rather too strong to be merely a "breeze."

She carried on, however, to her conclusion:

"'what we have loved

Others will love, and we will teach them how;

Instruct them how the mind of man becomes

A thousand times more beautiful than the earth

On which he dwells, above this frame of things

(Which, 'mid all revolution in the hopes

And fears of men, doth still remain unchanged)

In beauty exalted, as it is itself

Of quality and fabric more divine.'"

Silence settled on them for a moment as each savored the words. Had she not been reading, Elizabeth almost felt that she might have fallen asleep, so pleasant were Darcy's gentle ministrations as he stroked her temples and her hair. She wondered if, someday, she and Darcy might teach their children to love nature as they did - but she was quite content, for now, to enjoy the environs solely in her husband's company.

"Shall I read you," Darcy said, in a voice low and hesitating, "'Strange fits of passion'?"

"Oh! no," replied Elizabeth at once; "not here - I could not bear it."

Something flitted across Darcy's countenance that made Elizabeth flush.

"The Lucy cycle is so dreadfully sad," she explained. "Let this be a time - this place - be one of joy."

Darcy agreed, and Elizabeth laid the book aside. She placed her fingers on his arm in the hopes of coaxing him to lie down beside her.

"You might kiss me now," she whispered conspiratorially. "There is no one else in sight."

"Elizabeth," Darcy said lowly, remaining as he was despite appearing to understand her intent, "someone could see us."

Keeping her voice low as well, she replied, "Then lie down beside me, and the rocks and grass shall hide us."

Darcy murmured something about how that was even more improper, but he allowed her to gently pull him down until he was lying on his side next to her, their noses nearly touching. As the grasses waved and whispered around them, Elizabeth shifted to press her lips gently to her husband's.

They remained there only for a few moments, for the ground was rather rocky, and Elizabeth did not truly intend to commit any impropriety. Furthermore, Darcy had been correct in his earlier prediction of precipitation: a few large raindrops began to splash their cheeks. Darcy sat up at once, helping Elizabeth don her cloak. As they hurried to pack the blanket and plates and silver back into the basket, the wind picked up and the rain fell harder; Elizabeth only laughed.

"Here - quickly," Darcy urged, taking Elizabeth's hand to help her down the steeper part of the path down the hill.

"I don't mind getting a little damp," Elizabeth assured him, turning to look at him through the strands of her hair that had come loose from their styling.

Darcy shook his head good-naturedly at her, saying, "I expect worse than that."

He was proven correct once again, and by the time they had reached the cottage, both husband and wife were totally soaked, even though they had half-run back to their shelter, Elizabeth laughing as they went.

Despite being wet through, Elizabeth did not mind - it was remedied easily by a change of attire, then she grew warm and dry by the fireside, safe in her husband's embrace.

Author's Note: This version of the Prelude by William Wordsworth was written in 1805, but one source says it was not published until 1850, presumably after the Darcy wedding-trip. If that is so, please forgive the anachronism, for it seemed such a perfect poem for this chapter.