Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One

Chapter Eight An Anniversary

The next several days passed in much the same manner. Lizzy and Darcy were together almost twenty-four hours a day, and they were incredibly blissful.

While they lounged in bed on their second morning at Pemberley, their fourth day of marriage, Lizzy confessed with some embarrassment her actions the previous morning when she had awoken without him by her side. He laughed out loud, which she considered blatantly unfair.

“Forgive me, beloved; however, I had this vision of you running through the halls in your nightgown. I venture to speculate that any fright I might have given poor Marguerite yesterday would pale in comparison to the panic amongst the house staff at that sight!”

“You beast!” and she hit him with a pillow, which led to him grasping her wrists to stop her, which lead to them kissing several times. When she came up for air, she continued the topic. “I was going to apologize for accidentally pushing you into the doorway yesterday, but now that I think of it, it was your entire fault anyway, so I shall not.”

“How do you reason it was my fault?”

“You should never have left me in the first place!” she declared with a pout. “You have set the standard, Mr. Darcy, by being entirely too wonderful, so your desertion was an overwhelming shock. My feeble wits could not handle it and I acted precipitously. Your bruises are therefore the penalty for your cruelty. Nonetheless, I shall be magnanimous and will even kiss your aches away. Turn over,” she commanded.

She actually was surprised and remorseful to note a small bruise over his mid-spine, which she dutifully kissed. However, she was more taken at the pleasing sight of her husband’s backside. Using all the strength she could muster, she massaged his shoulders, back, and derriere. Darcy moaned with pleasure, his eyes closed. Elizabeth, for being so delicate, had incredibly strong hands.

As expected, her innocent conduct eventually took on a decidedly sensual flavor. She straddled him at his waist, sitting on his bottom, directing her attentions first to his shoulders, massaging as hard as she could. He tried to caress her knees but she slapped him and told him to behave, earning a chuckle. For thirty or so minutes, she diligently applied herself to kneading and manipulating every muscle. Darcy slipped into a daze of relaxing euphoria, unaware, for a time, of Elizabeth’s presence. That was until she scooted off his bottom to his legs and began squeezing his rump and thighs. Her strokes gradually turned from firm and deep to soft and caressing. She traveled over and under his hips, down outer and up inner thighs. His breathing changed from deep and relaxed to sharp and fitful.

He rumbled her name deep in his throat, begging, and she ceased, lying fully onto his back and kissing the nape of his neck as she ran her fingers through his hair, before meeting seeking lips as she rolled off. Darcy gathered her into his arms, passionately kissing her with a ravenous hunger. He pulled away and met her eyes, those beautiful eyes that had intrigued and captivated him almost from the first moment he saw her in Meryton.

“What you do to me, love. So beautiful… exciting… precious. My wife, my only love, my soul.” His endearments and declarations were incessant as he kissed her eyes, lips, nose, cheeks, chin, and neck. They made love slowly initially, quickening as their mutual passion grew.

Darcy whispered words and phrases of love in a pattern that would become very familiar. Like a dam overflowing, words poured from his lips, verbalizing his emotions and burning need. “God, love… I never dreamed loving you would be so… spectacular, exhilarating! Your skin… like silk… your hands, Oh Lord, your hands, Lizzy!… touching my skin… it is electric, flames… burning my flesh… shivers through me…” He moaned hoarsely, voice low and grating. “Your scent… I am delirious… your moans and sighs of pleasure… for me… my love… mine always… only!”

The pace accelerated, Darcy stridently moaning as he loved her. “Elizabeth, I love you… God how I need you! You squeeze me so tight… your legs, your arms, your body… made for me… love me, my darling! Now!”

Coherent language was lost as passion overcame them both with uttered cries and whimpers, shudders through every nerve and pore. Total abandon and uninhibited release. Two individuals joining as one. Souls combined in the purest expression of love. For timeless minutes they merged and were no longer separate.

If the journeys varied, the destination was the same. It was a beautiful period of discovery for them both. As they explored each other’s bodies and grew daily more aware of their own sensibilities, their intimate relationship blossomed into a fullness and union of souls unreservedly profound. As the initial days turned into the first week, the last vestiges of any embarrassment or awkwardness totally disappeared. At times they were playful. Other times they were serious and tender. Sometimes they were swept away with their passionate hunger. Yet always they were moved by the melding of their spirits, the harmony, and the love that defied logic by growing deeper with each passing day.

Once they emerged from their chambers, it was rarely with any particular destination in mind. They simply wanted to be together. Their keenest desire was to learn more about how the other thought and felt. The intimate nature of their communication evolved as they each had suspected it would once they were married.

Darcy no longer suffered the pain of his loneliness and grief. Wounded areas of his heart were unearthed and healed, some of which he was ignorant even existed. The past no longer haunted him, and he was able to remember and share the happy memories without the instantaneous ache of sadness overwhelming him.

As for Lizzy, she gave herself to him wholly. Her rigid independence, selfreliance, and need to prove herself all shattered before the force of his love. To be essential to another human being, to be vulnerable, to have another assign themselves generously and selflessly is the ultimate expression of true love, and they understood how lucky they were.

Most days they moseyed around Pemberley. Slowly Lizzy began to acquaint herself with the manor’s layout. Darcy was correct in stating that it really was not that confusing. The hallways were set up in a linear fashion and the rooms universally square or rectangular. Perhaps not overly imaginative, but it was easy to navigate. By the end of her first week as Mistress, she was confident enough to wander on her own around the main floor, which she did on those few occasions when Darcy was occupied with a business matter. Nonetheless, she was constantly amazed and, frankly, significantly intimidated by the vastness of the house and by the plethora of art, furnishings, history, wealth, and beauty that Pemberley housed. The more she saw, the more she was awed by the responsibilities her husband carried on his broad shoulders.

The staff was mysteriously everywhere and yet unobtrusive at the same time. Lizzy never once actually witnessed a maid cleaning, yet the manor was spotless. A footman materialized magically when Darcy needed one, then vanished as speedily. Darcy greatly impressed Lizzy by knowing the names of each of them, always making eye contact, and unfailingly inserting “please” and “thank you” into each command. The staff’s devotion to their master and to Pemberley was apparent in their manner and in the pristine condition of the house.

Lizzy had learned much about the estate’s interests during her engagement. Darcy’s pride and pleasure regarding Pemberley were unmistakable. Unwittingly, conversations about his home, both then and now, had given Lizzy tremendous insight into the business affairs that her husband managed. She knew that his income stemmed not only from Pemberley itself but also from investments, trade, and industrial and commercial enterprises in England and abroad.

Nonetheless, the bulk of the estate’s income came from agriculture, livestock, cotton milling, and horse breeding. The farmlands were extensive and offered varying produce, including fruit orchards and grains. Two mills used the power of the River Derwent and modern technology to process the grains and shorn wool. Livestock consisted primarily of sheep with a few goats and wandering fowl. The wild game was generally left unmolested except for the occasional hunting parties Darcy allowed and, of course, for their own table.

Her husband handled all of these aspects of Pemberley’s business efficiently and dutifully. However, Lizzy had rapidly established that his heart lay with his horses. Darcy was a horseman through and through. He confessed to her that, if it were possible, he would happily consign all his responsibilities to someone else and immerse his energies into breeding and training the fine horses of Pemberley.

Thus it was on Lizzy’s second day that Darcy enthusiastically escorted her to the stables. The complex that accommodated the horses, carriages, and equipment, and the massive staff necessary was only slightly smaller than the main house. It too was a marvel of exquisite architecture and craftsmanship. At two stories high, the building could easily house all the staff, store the equipment and numerous carriages, and shelter the horses. A high arch facing south opened onto an enormous courtyard amid the complex where the animals were groomed and cared for. The thoroughbreds were separated from the working horses, each with their own handlers and grooms.

The weather had taken an abrupt turn for the worse. Ominous clouds hovered on the horizon, and Darcy assured Lizzy that it would snow by that evening. Despite the cold, the grooms went about their duties. They acknowledged Darcy’s presence and, as always, Darcy addressed each of them by name.

Lizzy did not ride and was actually quite frightened of horses in general. That was not to say she did not value the beauty and majesty of the species, and it was immediately apparent even to her uneducated eyes that the thoroughbreds of Pemberley were magnificent. Darcy seemed intimately acquainted with each one of them. Parsifal, naturally, had the best stall and was visited by his master first. Treats were given and he was again introduced to Lizzy, who overcame her fear enough to stroke his soft nose.

Darcy knew of Lizzy’s apprehension, so he thought it best to take her to the new colt first. Who could not fall in love with a baby? They arrived just as one of the grooms was about to feed the young animal. Darcy assumed the task and encouraged Lizzy to assist him. One look into the playful, sweet face of the foal and she was captured. Before long she was kneeling in the straw, Darcy beside her, holding onto the makeshift milk bladder and nipple while the colt suckled. It was a fantastic experience. Despite all expectations to the contrary, Lizzy bonded with the foal and would become a frequent visitor. She named him Wolfram, after Wolfram von Eschenbach, the poet who wrote Parzival from which Darcy had taken Parsifal’s name. This brought a huge grin to Darcy’s lips and filled his heart with joy.

Next he took her outside to the training pen where a staggeringly feisty stallion was actively being broken. Heedless of what anyone might think, Darcy pulled Elizabeth against his chest, wrapping her with his thick greatcoat. Holding her tight to keep her warm in the gathering gloom, he explained the process unfolding in the corral. Elizabeth was both fascinated and horrified.

“It looks to be rather dangerous,” she said.

“Yes, it can be. The stallions are incredibly strong and unpredictable. One must attain the perfect balance between harboring that strength and controlling it. The mares tend to be slightly more docile, but not by far.”

“And you do this, William? You get in there with these perilous animals?”

“When I can. Unfortunately, my duties do not allow me the freedom I would wish to be consistently hands on.”

“Well, I am glad for that! It terrifies me to think of you in there. Have you ever been hurt?”

“No more than an occasional bruise or the wind knocked out of me. Once I had a mild concussion after being thrown, and there was the time I injured my thigh.” He outlined his wounds with the same concern as if mentioning a paper cut.

Lizzy shuddered. She wished she could forbid him doing something she considered so reckless, but she had no right. One look at the intense emotion on his face as he watched the trainer at work, and she knew she would never wish him deprived of an occupation he so enthusiastically enjoyed. For his sake, she would exhibit interest in the stables and the world contained therein, but it would never be easy for her.

As Darcy predicted, the rain and then snow hit that evening. The intermittently inclement weather made exploring the extensive grounds beyond the immediate surroundings impossible for most of the winter. Instead, Darcy took her to random chambers on the top floor and pointed to features visible from the windows. When seen between storms, the panoramic vista was breathtaking.

Pemberley Manor rested on a gentle hill so, from the third story elevation, the countryside appeared to stretch for endless miles to the hazy horizon. She saw the pastures, orchards, and forest laid out like a patchwork quilt. She had a bird’s eye view of the incredible and varied gardens, the Maze, the ponds and streams, the trout lake with fountains, and the Cascade waterfall with the Greek Temple barely discernible above. In September she had strolled through a couple of the gardens closest to the house, but her emotions had been so taut and her sensibilities so acutely affected by the man next to her that she scarcely recollected any of it.

Now they stood before the tall window, Lizzy enfolded in Darcy’s strong arms, watching the snow gently blanket the earth and vegetation far below. Darcy’s lips were near her ear, intermittently planting soft kisses as he spoke.

“Up above the Greek Temple is a secluded grotto,” he told her. “There is a tiny pool sheltered by tall pines, elder, and willows. The pool is fed from underground so it is perpetually tranquil, acting as a mirror. The trees and bushes are so thick that when you enter, it is as if you have been transported to another world. When I was a child I would escape there with a book or my journal or nothing, just wanting to be alone. I would pretend I had magically left Earth for Mars or Jupiter. I even attempted to write a story once, relaying my adventures as the conqueror of this other planet.” He laughed and Lizzy smiled at the vision of Darcy as a young boy. “I do not know what ever happened to that story, although I would surely be mortified if it was unearthed!”

He tightened his grip around his wife and continued, “I had not visited the grotto for years until this past June. After Rosings and then attempting to drown my sorrow in London and too much brandy, I returned to Pemberley. The first place I thought of was the grotto, which surprised me after so many years, but I went again and again as if compelled. I did my best selfexamination there.

“As you know, beloved, I did not expect ever to have you in my life, to be given this chance to prove my love to you. I only wished to become a better man, to learn from my mistakes. The peace that pervades the place soothed me beyond words. I remember musing once, fleetingly so as not to hope where no hope seemed forthcoming, that if ever I was so blessed as to earn your love, I would take you there. It would become our special place. I only wish the weather allowed me to do so now, but I must content myself with fantasies until the spring.”

He smiled down at her. She brought her hand up to caress his face, meeting his loving and intense gaze. She grasped his neck and pulled his head to her, meeting his lips with a hungry kiss. She turned in his arms and encircled his waist, pressing her body to his, and whispered, “So, describe these grotto fantasies. Or better yet, employ this gift for pretending you appear to possess and show me, right here and right now.”

Darcy did not hesitate. In quick long strides he crossed the room, locked the door, and returned to her arms. Between kisses and increasingly indulgent and fervent caresses, he painted a picture of hanging branches with dappled sunlight leaking through, gentle breezes, soft grass carpet, and the heady aroma of earth and pine and wild honeysuckle. If the room was cold, neither of them felt it; the heat they generated abundantly adequate.

These pleasant diversions during the long cold afternoons were not an unusual occurrence. Pemberley was a very large house and, aside for the servants, who were under strict orders to discreetly vacate any room the Master and Mistress entered, Darcy and Lizzy were alone. Darcy was discovering the sublime exhilaration of making love to his wife outside their bedchamber. Nothing quite compared to the comfort of their bed or the rapture of cuddling afterwards and falling asleep in each other’s embrace. However, there was an element of naughtiness and danger attached when they were elsewhere that was intoxicating and tremendously arousing to them both. They understood that these dalliances would become a rare event once Georgiana returned, so they recklessly luxuriated in the activity in her absence.

On the fourth day of Lizzy’s residence at Pemberley, she was alone in her parlor waiting impatiently for Darcy, who was discussing a business proposal with Mr. Keith. She was standing by the window watching the snow falling when Mrs. Reynolds knocked at the open door.

“Pardon me, Mrs. Darcy, am I disturbing you?”

“Of course not, Mrs. Reynolds. Please come in.”

“Mr. Darcy asked me to discuss the Christmas arrangements with you.” “Oh! Very well. Please sit down. How can I help you?”

“Christmas for the past several years has been a quiet affair. Mr. Darcy prefers this, as does Miss Darcy. Usually a few guests are invited, Mr. Bingley and his sisters on occasion, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and twice Lord and Lady Matlock have graced us. Now that you have joined the family, Mr. Darcy requested that you have the final authority on who was invited as well as the arrangements and festivities.”

“I see.” Lizzy hesitated. “The truth is, Mrs. Reynolds, I have given minimal thought to Christmas, my mind being focused on my wedding and not getting lost in the corridors! I rather imagined the holiday would proceed as Mr. Darcy and Miss Georgiana have traditionally done so. I will confer with Mr. Darcy regarding the guest list and proffer the invitations. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the usual festivities?”

“Certainly,” and Mrs. Reynolds launched into a detailed report of a typical Pemberley Christmas. After a half hour, Lizzy had a great deal to ponder. She told Mrs. Reynolds that she would talk to Mr. Darcy and meet with her again tomorrow. While Mrs. Reynolds was there, Lizzy enlisted her assistance in another matter she had been brooding on. It was the first time she and the housekeeper had said more than a few words to each other, and although the conversation did not result in much decision making, Lizzy still felt as if she had taken a small step toward assuming her role as Mistress of Pemberley.

Two days later Lizzy was awoken by the sensation of something velvety with a lovely aroma brushing across her face. She opened her eyes to see her husband’s handsome face hovering over her. His jubilantly dimpled smile, sparkling blue eyes, and disheveled hair were enough to instantly set her heart racing. It took her a moment to realize that he held a pink rose in his hands and it was this with which he was gently tickling her face.

“Happy anniversary, my precious wife,” he declared in his rich, musical voice. “Elizabeth my love… my light… my heart… my pearl… my lover… my Lizzy.” He unceasingly grazed her face, neck, and shoulders with the rose, sprinkling kisses between his endearments. “One week ago today, you made me the happiest of men, Mrs. Darcy, my beloved.” He kissed her deeply then, pulling her body onto his, caressing her back with his hand and the flower.

“My husband, I note you are wearing your trousers. Under the present circumstances, is this not a ludicrous encumbrance?” she tantalized, planting nibbles to his neck.

“Nothing that cannot be easily rectified, my love.” He laughed. “I did not think it wise of me to traipse to the conservatory unclothed. The staff has been shocked enough lately at my lack of modesty and propriety.”

“You went to the conservatory this morning?” she asked with slight alarm. “I needed to pick this for you,” he touched her adorable nose with the rose, “and those as well.” He waved his hand about the room and the five vases of varied flowers scattered about the chamber.

Lizzy sat up in bed, unconscious of the heavenly sight she presented to her husband, and smiled radiantly at the array of blooms. She turned her smile onto Darcy, devastating him further with love and desire, and teased, “You are doing it again, Mr. Darcy. Being entirely too fabulous, spoiling me beyond endurance, and setting the standard so high that you may exhaust yourself in an effort to reach higher than the previous pinnacle!”

He rose and kissed her quickly on the cheek. “Let me worry about that,” he responded, and then left the bed before her beguiling charms drove further thought away. He returned from his dressing room swiftly with an enormous box, which he placed on the bed in front of her.

“William, you must cease buying me gifts! I do not require such gestures.

” “Whether you require them or not is irrelevant, Mrs. Darcy. I will shower you with presents because I am entirely egocentric and I extract pleasure from admiring your happy face! Humor me, if nothing else.”

She pretended a scowl, but could not maintain it for long. She opened the box and gasped in shock. She pulled out an ankle-length pelisse of russet wool, lined and edged with sable. It was by far the most exquisite garment she had ever owned. With a squeal of glee, she robustly hugged her husband and then stood up on the bed, wrapping herself in the lush softness of the coat. The luxuriant contact of the fur on her bare skin was positively vivifying. She pranced seductively about the bed, making Darcy smile and laugh aloud.

“You see,” he gushed, “the pleasure is wholly mine. I am selfishly overcome with joy.” He clutched her legs and drew her onto his lap. “Now let me see what other self-serving indulgences I can secure.”

Just prior to noon, Lizzy sat in Darcy’s study while he worked at his desk. She pretended to read a book, but was more fascinated with inspecting her husband. A small crease sat between his brows as he concentrated. He rolled the quill in his fingers and rubbed his chin when ruminating. Occasionally his lips would silently mouth the words on the document before him. Frequently he would sigh or harrumph or aah or curse or grumble, without being aware he did so. Lizzy adored simply observing him, learning more about him in these unconscious mannerisms.

A knock at the door led to the entrance of Mr. Keith, who requested a moment of Mr. Darcy’s time. With alacrity, and a thankful nod to Mr. Keith, Lizzy rose and left the two gentlemen alone. Mrs. Reynolds stood outside the door. “Is everything ready?” Lizzy asked.

“As you requested, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Thank you!” and with a brief squeeze to Mrs. Reynolds’ hands, Lizzy flew up to her dressing room where Marguerite was waiting.

About forty-five minutes later, Mr. Darcy emerged from his study, asked a footman where Mrs. Darcy could be found, and was told that she was in the conservatory. Darcy walked speedily, already lamenting the absence of his wife. He called to her when he entered, and her voice came from the far side of the room. He made his way around the profusion of potted plants and trees. The tableau before him stopped him dead in his tracks.

A clearing had been made and a luncheon was arranged as if outdoors, hamper and all. Elizabeth stood, wearing her lightest muslin summer gown with only a thin chemise underneath and satin lawn slippers. Her hair was down, with the side strands twisted into an elaborate braid in back. The warmth of the conservatory, the aroma of the blooms, the sunlight shining through the ceiling and walls of glass, along with the blanket on the floor, created the perfect summer scenario.

“Happy anniversary, Fitzwilliam!” Lizzy approached her stunned husband and without preamble began unbuttoning his coat. “I know it is a poor substitute for your grotto, so we must pretend.” She laid his coat aside and then kissed him. “I could not forget the day you made me the happiest woman in the world, my love. One whole week you have tolerated me! You have earned a medal, but instead you will get only lunch. Now sit. I shall serve our food.”

Lizzy also had a gift for her husband. “It is rather silly,” she blushingly remarked when she handed him the small box. “I did not have the foresight to buy a real gift for you. Instead I recalled an inane French novel I read when I was a girl, a poorly written romantic piece of tripe. There was this one thing I thought sweet, in my girlish idea of romance.”

Darcy opened the box and saw a small satin pouch with a drawstring closure. “Look inside,” Lizzy said, biting her lip in nervousness. He pulled out a long slender tress of her silky hair that had been braided and tied on each end with fine thread. “You see,” she explained, “now you will permanently have a small part of me with you even if I am not there.”

He stared at her in unbelief. “You thought this was silly? This is… astounding! Elizabeth, I do not have the words!” He kissed her tenderly and held her chin with his fingers. “My love, I resort to buying gifts because it is what I am accustomed to. You look inward to your heart and give far more generously than I. I will cherish this and bear it with me for all my life. I so love you, Elizabeth.”

It was a lovely afternoon. There is something mysterious about picnics— even indoor ones—that immediately causes one to feel mellow and whimsical. One week of wedded bliss, and they both already had scores of memories to record into their journals, not that either of them would ever forget the passion and joy of these first days.