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

Chapter Fourteen The Days In-between

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, Lizzy’s sleep was invaded by a loud rumbling. She attempted to ignore the annoying sound but eventually her consciousness fully returned, along with the recognition of what the sound was. Her husband was snoring! In a month of marriage, this was a first. There had been a couple of instances where she had been mildly roused by his deep respirations and warm breath tickling her neck, but never had he snored. Of course, this was also the only night he had fallen asleep after having overly imbibed, which most likely was the catalyst. Lizzy rolled over, surprised to find Darcy’s back to her, another first. She nudged him but his reverberations did not cease, so she grasped his shoulder and tugged. He rolled over heavily, snorted, and resumed his singing. Lizzy was vaguely irritated yet could not resist smiling and kissing his cheek. Even snoring and inebriated he was handsome, and he was hers. She pushed the hair away from his eyes, mesmerized by the thickness of his lashes and the play of shadows on his face in the dimly moonlit chamber. Oh, how I love him!

Suddenly she remembered the key. The locked cabinet with private books had been a running joke between them since their honeymoon. She had been surprised, pleasantly so, yet rather confused by how competently her purportedly virtuous new husband had performed. That is when he had spoken of the specifically topical books used to enhance his education and how they were kept in a safe place. She had teased him several times about sharing the books with her, in truth not very interested as she was amply content and satisfied to allow him to dominate and teach in the intimate portion of their relationship.

Even thinking of the books now did not pique her curiosity as much as the fact that he had entrusted her with a key to his personal and private items. His vulnerability, honesty, and faith in her and their bond caused her heart to swell. Lizzy paused for a moment in her tender caresses. Have I given myself as wholly to him as he has to me? Would I trust him with my journals? Yes, I would, without hesitation, for I have given him all of me. She recollected his confession on Christmas Eve of how he yearned for her and was inundated by his need. Those phrases had registered as encapsulating precisely her emotions for him. The little brass key was symbolic. His soul was hers utterly, and likewise he owned her. The only reason he had not given it to her immediately is that Mr. Darcy was learning to tease!

Nonetheless, she was inquisitive and wide awake. She kissed his full, puffing lips and left the bed. Snaring one of his thickest robes and a lamp, she quietly tiptoed through the empty, diffusely lit corridors to his study. Passing by the parlor, she glimpsed the glow from the Yule log shimmering on the slumbering boy in the chair beside the fireplace. She paused and smiled. The older offspring of the servants were awarded the honor of tending the Log to ensure it remained perpetually alight through Twelfth Night, per tradition. Tonight, Phillips’s son Caleb had been assigned the duty. The blanket had slipped to the floor and Lizzy hankered to cover the boy, but she knew he would be mortified if he awoke realizing the Mistress had caught him dozing, so she left him undisturbed.

The cabinet in question was a grand, antique armoire of ornately carved oak. There was an identical armoire against the opposite wall, also locked securely, in which were kept the estate documents, ledgers, funds, and such. Lizzy had previously been given a key to this cabinet, the only other keepers being Mr. Keith, Mrs. Reynolds, and Darcy, naturally. Lizzy lit an additional lamp and then unlocked the door to Darcy’s personal storage area. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the array of correlative leather-bound books filling the top shelf and roughly half of the second. She retrieved the first book, his journal with Fitzwilliam Darcy etched on the cover, and opening it to the first page, she began to read.

The first paragraph elicited a smile. It was dated November 10 of 1801, his thirteenth birthday, and he had written in his firm, precise hand a dry narrative of who he was, where he lived, his family, what he was studying with his tutor, and other pertinent particulars. It was detailed but wholly devoid of any emotion or insight. Then he wrote:

“My father gifted this unfilled book to me for the express intent that I initiate inscribing my daily musings, undertakings, and activities of import. I extended my gratefulness, however, deemed it essential in the interest of maintaining frank communication and honesty to inform him that the concept of elucidating personal minutiae betwixt the pages of a book was ludicrous and demeaning. He assured me that it was a worthy endeavor, one that he has partaken in since he was a young man, and further guaranteed my future appreciation in possessing a catalog of my memories. I persist in judging the exercise inane; nonetheless, I shall trust my father and obey his dictates.”

Lizzy laughed out loud. So like him to overanalyze even the simple matter of keeping a journal! She returned the slim volume to its designated space. It would consume months if she ever wished to read all the books, so instead she proceeded to the third shelf. Here were stacked several cigar boxes of varying sizes and brands. The oldest by appearance contained an odd assortment of what she could only assume were his “mementos.” There was a glass jar filled with a disgusting collection of dead bugs and spiders, oddly shaped knots of wood, ten rocks of diverse colors and textures, a small case with pinned moths, the well-preserved flattened corpse of a toad, and a book with meticulously fine labeled drawings of leaves.

Clearly the treasures of a young boy, although Lizzy could well remember her own fascination with the oddities and marvels of nature. Each subsequent box revealed the maturing Darcy as his possessions grew more sophisticated: a lock of his mother’s hair; numerous other sketch books of flowers, trees, animals, insects, and more, all detailed and labeled; programmes from an astounding number of operas and plays; letters from his father, mother, sister, and other loved ones; the reports of his marks from Cambridge (all excellent, Lizzy noted); stamped passage and boarding tags from excursions abroad; and a vast amount of other odds and ends, many of which indubitably held meaning only fathomable to Darcy.

The last box was entirely devoted to Lizzy. A parchment note lying on top of the items was addressed to her:

“My dearest, most precious wife,

Conscious as I am of your formidable and boundless curiosity, my beloved Elizabeth, it is doubtless that you have hastened with alacrity to my armoire and books contained therein, have dutifully scrutinized each page of text and illustrations, and are already formulating diverse methods of employing your newfound enlightenment to shock me! I render this allegation yet wish to assure you, my lover, that I harbor no anguish or repulsion at the idea. I am yours to do with as you will. My only chagrin is that I am too much the gentleman to wager with Vernor and the gang as to how long it takes you from the key’s presentation to when you utilize it. I envision you tiptoeing through the corridors early Christmas morning; however, I may be amiss by a day or two.

Eventually you shall make your way to these boxes. I trust that, after a month of wedded bliss, you will be sufficiently enamored with me so as to not be appalled nor amused by my cloying sentimentality. I jest, for in truth we both know that our mutual love has afforded me the latitude to relinquish the rigid walls of reticence I had erected. I can now relax my guard without shame or fear of rejection, and it is all due to you, my darling wife. I have not the words to convey how you have touched my life. All that hides in this cabinet is yours to explore, my love. You already possess the key to my heart and soul, and the greater value lies therein.

Yours for all eternity,

William”

Lizzy was laughing and weeping simultaneously. Would he believe that she had not first examined the special books? Yes, because despite the rapture savored in the physical aspect of their marriage, the joy of their two lonely souls redeemed and melded into one was unparalleled. She was moved by his declarations of love and faith yet also tickled by his humor and accurate assessment of her actions. With a smile she turned her attention to the box.

Among the anticipated letters she had written during their separations while betrothed were some surprises: one of her handkerchiefs, confiscated she knew not when; a green ribbon loosened from her bonnet that she had completely forgotten to retrieve from him; the hairpin he had intentionally and scandalously removed so he could play with a lock of her hair; the crown of jasmine she had placed on his head at the fountain; the stub of the life candle from his birthday party; one of the gold ribbons worn in her hair at their wedding; a pressed and dried gardenia that she had tucked behind his ear one day while walking; the cork from the champagne drunk on their wedding night; the programme from the symphony performance attended while in London; and so many other little tokens.

Lizzy was amazed. She knew that her William was a romantic, but she had not comprehended the depth of his sentimentality. The astounding plethora of memorabilia collected over his lifetime belied his thirteen-year-old assertions of the inanity of cataloguing his memories and displayed how mawkish he had always been despite his cool exterior. What a complex man she had married!

Lastly, she turned her attention to the books. There were six of them of differing sizes. The largest was a medical textbook devoted to human reproduction and sexuality from the clinical viewpoint. She flipped through it quickly, noting numerous comprehensive illustrations and exhaustive chapters covering everything from bodily systems to diseases to pregnancy. She made a mental note to absorb the latter so she would be prepared for what she prayed was a timely blessing.

The remaining books were decidedly more carnal in nature and brought a ready blush to her cheeks. Perhaps Darcy was correct in keeping these books from her, she thought, as an acute rush of embarrassment washed over her. The illustrations and text were blunt, inclusive, and graphic, clarifying the question of her husband’s competence in the bedroom!

The clock chimed five, startling Lizzy. She had been here for almost two hours. She grabbed one of the books at random for perusal at her leisure, folded the letter under the front flap, and made her way silently back to her chambers. Darcy was soundly asleep but no longer snoring. She secreted the book in her bed stand, crawled under the covers, and nestled close to her husband’s warm body. He sighed deeply, pulled her into his embrace, sleepily murmured her name, and kissed her forehead without waking. Within seconds she was asleep.

Lord and Lady Matlock departed that morning after breakfast. Lady Matlock embraced Lizzy warmly, thanking her for a delightful Christmas. The Earl, looking a wee bit peaked, kissed her hand also thanking her, and smilingly assured her that he would gladly thrash his nephew if he maltreated her in any way. Lizzy laughed and with a nod to her husband pledged to accept the offer if necessary.

The three younger men were all rather pale, wincing in the bright sunlight and trembling. They spent their day in quiet pursuits, primarily in the library with the draperies drawn. The servants, although somewhat bleary eyed from their own night of revelry, had boxed up the feast residuals for the orphanages. Lizzy insisted on delivering them herself, and Amelia agreed to accompany her. The two orphanages nearest to Pemberley were large establishments housed in solid brick buildings, full to capacity, maintained and financed by the combined charity of the prominent families of the Shire and the local parishes. The first was actually on Pemberley lands in the tiny village and was managed by the Church, the second in Baslow and operated by the Catholics.

Lizzy was overwhelmed and fiercely moved by the children’s pleasure and charm. Each of them was adorable in their own special way, appreciative, playful, and loving. Her wonder and joy in observing their delight was immense. This simple Boxing Day tradition would translate into another Mistress of Pemberley benevolence, as Lizzy would volunteer most every Friday afternoon at the Pemberley orphanage in the years to come.

For the inhabitants and guests at Pemberley, the eleven days between Christmas and Twelfth Night were memorable and exceedingly pleasurable. The weather was primarily clear, if extremely cold, another three inches of snow dropping only one other night. This fairness allowed for frequent walks, more ice skating, fishing twice again with Col. Fitzwilliam and Darcy partaking once, horseback riding, and the annual winter fox hunt for the gentlemen of the region. The men socialized at the coffeehouse once and The Red Deer pub twice, while the ladies strolled through Lambton shopping. For the most part, they remained inside the manor enjoying its warmth and homey comforts, excellent entertainments by the diversely artistic group, games of all varieties, conversation, and fine dining. Afternoon retreats to the upper chambers for napping and intimate occupations were not uncommon.

The Lathrops and Gardiners were to stay until the ninth of January. Richard, unfortunately, was required to return to his regiment in Town on the third. Madame du Loire delivered Lizzy’s ball gown on the second, performing the final fitting personally. The women were all twittery and gushy, casting numerous sly glances Darcy’s way, much to his embarrassment but escalating excitement.

Lizzy had precious few private moments to glance through the book she had taken from Darcy’s cabinet and no opportunity to discuss his letter, personal memoirs, or the books with him until the morning of the twenty-eighth. Between the whirlwind of activities and host duties and Darcy’s indisposition the day after Christmas, they had secured no private time at all. This day she decided, with deliberate planning, to wake her husband early and monopolize the entire morning. Such was her anticipation that she slept poorly, yet undeterred and with bounding heart, she slipped out of bed at the crack of dawn to freshen up and garb herself in Darcy’s favorite gauzy nightgown. She returned hastily. Darcy slept supine with one arm across her empty pillow as if reaching for her. He was lulled into partial awareness by the pleasurable sensation of his wife nuzzling and kissing his neck while caressing his chest.

“Hmmm…” He sighed, impulsively hugging her tightly and lacing his fingers through her cascading hair. Far more asleep than awake, he nonetheless sought her lips and kissed her lazily and then with increasing ardor as he roused further in response to her insistence. Once she sensed he was completely awake, she pulled away from his iron grip, not an easy task, and sat up on her knees.

“Elizabeth,” he pleaded, voice hoarse from sleep and desire, “please…”

She halted his words with a finger to his lips. It was then that he fully noted her attire and his grin spread. “Happy anniversary, my darling husband,” she said in a throaty whisper while lightly running her fingers over his face. “Did you forget, my love, that today marks one month of our wedded bliss?”

“No, beloved. I simply intended to allow you to sleep longer before I gave you your gift,” he replied, reaching up and firmly tugging on one of the ties to her gown.

“Would you prefer to resume your slumber then? Or can I interest you in an alternate bedroom activity?”

“I shall assume those are rhetorical questions requiring no answer.” Another tie released.

“Very well then.” She reached across his body, deliberately, for the book resting on his bed stand. Somehow the third tie came loose.

“Ha!” he laughed harshly when he saw the book. “How long have you had that?”

She primly pursed her lips and lifted her chin, “Let us just say that you would have lost your bet with Mr. Vernor, had you made it.” He continued to chuckle as another tie was undone and she slapped his hand. “Focus, sir.”

“I am,” he mumbled, but she ignored him.

Lizzy opened the book, trying unsuccessfully not to blush. “Page five is promising, as is thirteen. However, twenty intrigues me. Of course we could attempt all three.” She said the last in a whisper, cheeks flushed, and eyes downcast.

Darcy watched her with amusement and overwhelming love. “You promised not to incapacitate me, love. I am only human.”

She smiled and met his twinkling eyes. “I made no such promise. You merely asked me to pity your advanced age and presumed I would acquiesce. Besides, I have the utmost faith in your stamina and capabilities.”

“Ah, a challenge!” he declared, briskly snatching the book from her hands. “The gauntlet has been thrown! Let me see, page five… Hmmm, yes it is doable.” He slyly glanced at her bright face, turning the book to the left and studying it intently. Lizzy giggled and lay at his side with her head on his shoulder so she could see the pages. He flipped to page thirteen and employed a clinical tone, “Interesting, very interesting. Excellent choice Mrs. Darcy, if you deem yourself adequately flexible. Your taste is impeccable.” She hid her rosy face in his upper arm, shaking with mirth. “Now, page twenty. Intriguing indeed! Allow me a moment to peruse the text to comprehend the finer nuances…”

Suddenly the book was jerked from his grip, tossed onto the floor and Lizzy’s lips descended onto his forcefully. He rolled her to the side clasping her tightly, one hand cupping her face. “Elizabeth,” he breathed, “I love you wholeheartedly. Happy anniversary, beloved.” He released the last tie to her gown and, with a happy smile, peeled the silky fabric away from one creamy shoulder, kissing the exposed flesh softly and murmuring “page five” before claiming her mouth. He stroked her arm with feather touches, no urgency in his actions as of yet.

They lay facing each other for a long while, kissing and caressing, legs entwined, allowing their passion to rise gradually. Lizzy’s suggestions, all intoxicating to Darcy, would require tremendous control on his part and the truth was that he did not think he could manage all three positions in one lovemaking session. He appreciated his wife’s confidence in his sexual prowess, but he knew his own limits. He adored her innocent enthusiasm, though, and was determined to please her now and forever.

His kisses traveled over her neck, following the trail blazed by his fingers until reaching their destination at her bosom. Lizzy moaned softly as Darcy rolled her onto her back. “Sweet, delicious wife,” he murmured as he kissed her breasts, Lizzy arching into him as her hands moved over his shoulders.

“William?”

“Hmmm?”

“I have a confession about the book.”

He lifted so as to see her blushing face. “A confession?” His fingers assumed the task of delighting her breasts as his lips feathered over her neck to the tender spot behind her ear.

Lizzy moaned and shivered. “Yes,” she responded breathlessly. “The truth is that I have been too occupied to more than glance at the book. Ooohh… Fitzwilliam, pity please! I am trying to speak!” She grasped his head, pulling his mouth away from her neck so she could meet his eyes.

He grinned. “As you command, my love. You were saying?” He gave his attention but lightly caressed his hand over her hips and buttocks.

“I did note page five, but as for thirteen and twenty… I selected them at random. The first I saw the pictures was when you turned to them.”

He was honestly surprised. “How long have you had the book?” She told him the whole tale, how she had snuck down the morning after Christmas and found his note and examined all his mementos.

“I cannot believe you collected so many trinkets, William. You are so romantic and sentimental! I love this about you. Mostly I love that only I know this about you, and that you have shared yourself with me so completely. You amaze me.” He was blushing and she pulled his face to her, kissing him ardently.

“I still am stunned about the books,” he mumbled.

“Ridiculous man! Do you not yet comprehend how satisfied I am with you? I trust you to please me and teach me and be the leader. On occasion I shall surprise you, beloved, never fear. After all, I am the clever one, remember?”

He laughed and rolled onto his back, taking her along until her body was fully on top, embracing her tightly and wrapping her legs under his, squeezing her thighs. His hands traveled over her back and bottom as he kissed her probingly. “Lesson one, Elizabeth Darcy: Whenever you feel the urge, I am happy to submit to your dominance in our bed. As you did on our one-week anniversary and in your dressing room. I find it… intensely arousing.”

“Do you? This is good to know.” She rocked her hips into his, adoring the sensation of his firm muscles flexing along her outer thighs where he held her captive. She caressed his sides, gliding fingers along the solid ridges of his chest and abdomen as far as she could reach, squeezing and tickling, while she assaulted his neck. He moaned, one hand entangled in her hair as he inhaled her scent.

“Elizabeth, beautiful Elizabeth, my lover. I need you so.” Gently but clearly clutching her hair, he sought her lips. They kissed deeply, starved for each other’s breath and taste. Tongues mingled, lips suckling lips as they writhed against each other with passion rising. Darcy, always wondrously graceful in his power and strength, rolled and then rose to his knees with Elizabeth secure in his arms and nestled on his lap. Arms wound over his shoulders and hands flattened on his back, Lizzy nuzzled his neck and bestowed tiny bites.

“Precious love. My Lizzy.” He arched his neck, moaning and hugging her tight. “Remember page five, my heart?”

She giggled and focused on his expectant face. Playfully they loved, experimenting with the illustrations from the book, but mostly blissfully caught up with the sensations derived so lusciously from each other. Embracing tightly as they merged and moved in perfect unison.

“Fitzwilliam, my darling husband,” she whispered, glazed eyes locked. “I love you… I live for your love and touch… your eyes on me… your voice… your mouth… your skin…” Each phrase spaced as she kissed and caressed his chest and shoulders. “Your words of devotion… I so adore you!… I want you… so utterly you belong to me… and I to you… my soul.”

It was powerful; Darcy was amazed at his control and stamina in light of his wife’s wanton need. As expected, he was unable to withstand all three pages, but neither cared. Their release was blinding, leaving them both shaken and blissfully satiated.

Later they lay entwined, dozing in their happy exhaustion. Lizzy caressed his chest lazily, running the tips of her fingers through his hair, inhaling deeply of his masculine smell. “William?”

“Yes, beloved?”

“I am a little afraid of the books.”

“Afraid? I do not understand.”

“Do you ever wonder if our lovemaking will always be like this? Will we, perhaps… run out of new experiences or get bored?”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He was silent for a spell, collecting his thoughts. He understood this was one of those moments where, despite his previous inexperience, his overall maturity and worldliness gave him a certain wisdom she lacked. “Elizabeth, I will eternally love you and desire to make love to you. I know this for certain. Right now the activity is novel and perhaps that lends a dimension to it that will not be there twenty or thirty years from now.

“Yet by then our love will have grown stronger. We will have had children together, been through hardships, created memories, and built a marriage that is deep. We may not be tearing our clothes in passion or making love three times a day, although maybe we will,” he laughed and kissed her head, “yet when we do love each other it will, I believe, be stronger and more powerful, as can only occur between two souls who have bonded for so many years. This is how it is meant to be. Do you understand?”

He lightly grasped her chin and turned her face to his, surprised to see tears in her eyes. In alarm he cupped her cheeks and kissed her. “Beloved, please do not fear! I will always desire you, Elizabeth. We can discard the books if you wish.” She halted him with a kiss, long and deep.

“Why do you put up with me?” she finally said. “I am so silly and you are so wise!”

“Neither is true, Elizabeth,” he interrupted, “and I put up with you because I could not survive without you.” He kissed her eyes and then her nose before continuing. “Happy anniversary, my precious wife, today and every day for all my life I will love you and thank God He brought you to me. This I can assert with confidence.” He laughed softly as he stroked her hair and playfully nibbled her lips. “I have not tired of riding my horses after all these years, so how could I tire of riding you? You, precious Elizabeth, are profoundly superior.”

The preparations for the Ball consumed most of Lizzy’s thoughts. As the imminent event drew nearer, Lizzy’s original excitement and blasé attitude was replaced by a fair amount of nervousness. She was apprised of several facts regarding the Masque, which either calmed her or escalated her anxiety. Firstly, the annual Cole Twelfth Night Masquerade Ball was a Derbyshire extravaganza dating back more than fifty years and was the premier social affair.

The fact that the surpassingly eligible bachelor, the prime bull as he put it, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, had only deigned to attend four times since his coming of age was a minor scandal, viewed by some as a hideous breach of propriety. This philosophy signified the momentous weight ascribed to this singular celebration and Lizzy’s opportunity to make a positive impression as Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley. It was in no way vanity for her to rightfully surmise that all eyes would be on her for a variety of reasons.

Knowing this, Lizzy was uncertain whether she was happy or dismayed to discover that, although a “Masque,” few masks were worn. The tradition of actually attempting to disguise oneself in the relatively insular community of Derbyshire had long ago been deemed ludicrous. Therefore, the style had faded only to be affected by the more frivolous—usually single—attendees who sought an air of mystery.

Darcy had flatly refused even to consider wearing a mask, ever. Lizzy had initially been relieved, since the idea held no appeal to her either, yet as the import of the Ball registered fully upon her consciousness, the comfort of hiding behind a mask did seem providential!

Then there was the gown itself. Lizzy trusted the genius of Madame du Loire and, having beheld her gown, she could abstractly proclaim it a masterpiece. Yet therein lay her disquiet. Lizzy had never in her life entertained the notion of donning such a fabulous garment. It was so far removed from her character to cover herself with yards upon yards of finery. She recognized that if ever there was a night she needed to be comfortable with who she was, it was this night. How could she possibly be “Lizzy” dressed like this? Of course, she was no longer just “Lizzy”—she was Mrs. Darcy, and desired to present herself as such to please her husband and impress the denizens of Derbyshire. Oh, the dilemma! It gave her a headache.

Lastly, Mr. Vernor had informed Darcy that Sir Cole had agreed to sanction the waltz for two dances this year. The scandalous Viennese dance had gained reserved favor last year when the Prince Regent had introduced it at a royal affair in the palace. The older members of society had suffered a collective case of apoplexy, but the younger elite had secretly applauded the Prince’s action. Outwardly they nodded sagacious agreement with their elders, yet the dance persisted in popping up throughout the cotillions and balls of the ton. Lizzy had frankly been shocked speechless to learn that her shy, priggish, and rigid husband had learned the dance years ago when touring Austria and practiced further two years ago while in Paris. Lizzy was ragingly jealous to imagine him dancing so intimately with another woman.

This intelligence had been disclosed to her four days after Christmas. They had all returned from one of their excursions into Lambton where, while the men dallied at the pub, Mr. Vernor had enlightened Darcy about the waltz. Resting in their sitting room for the afternoon, Darcy disclosed this information to Lizzy along with his experience in dancing the waltz and his great willingness to teach her if she wished it. Lizzy was dumbstruck, primarily at the idea of her husband knowing the notorious dance, but also at the concept of performing it herself. Darcy, she could easily tell, was quite enamored by the vision.

He gazed at her expectantly until finally she stammered, “You dance the waltz! But… you do not like to dance… any dance! How did you learn…” She blushed profusely. “With whom did you… I have heard it is so, so… intimate!” She was inexplicably furious and leapt from her chair with the probable intent of storming from the room, but Darcy grabbed her arm.

“Elizabeth, stop. You are being silly,” he began, but her angry face halted his words and he released her arm. With a final glare she did storm out of the room and into her dressing room, slamming the door with astonishing vigor. Darcy stood in the middle of the room in a welter of emotion. Anger, dismay, amusement, and bewilderment warred internally. With stunning clarity, he realized they had just had their first married fight and he was absolutely at a loss as to what to do. Well, a letter is out of the question, he thought with irony as he fell into his chair.

If Darcy boasted one character trait above all others, it would be his ability to succinctly and reliably rationalize. The problem was that he did not always possess all the necessary evidence to form a perfect conclusion, ergo the disastrous first proposal to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Mrs. Darcy was another matter. Darcy would never be so presumptuous as to assert that he wholly understood his complex, adorable wife, but in their time together he had amply gleaned the nuances of her thinking, character, and actions.

Most importantly, he loved her ardently and refused to allow her to feel any pain, if it was within his power to relieve. Therefore, he shoved his emotions aside, another trait he possessed, and allotted himself the time necessary to ponder all that had happened, what she had said and not said, and what he knew of her until he reached a conclusion. After a prayer and a deep cleansing breath, he approached her door.

He heard a faintly muffled sound from within that he thought might be crying, piercing his heart. He knocked softly. “Elizabeth?” No answer. “Elizabeth my love, we must talk. May I come in, please?” It was some time before he heard a muted yes.

She stood leaning against the wall by the small window, arms crossed. Her face was averted but he instantly knew, based on his intimacy with her body, that she had been crying but was also still angry. He longed to hold her with a palpable ache but he paused just inside the door.

“Elizabeth, I beg your forgiveness on several counts. First, I have been horribly insensitive to your feelings lately regarding the Ball and what I now begin to comprehend might be anxiety on your part. I am unbelievably obtuse at times, and I believe this is one of those times. I take the society and denizens of Derbyshire for granted. It has forever been a part of my life and I am remiss, outrageously so, for not remembering that you are acquainted with few of our neighbors.

“In addition, I am so much in awe of your ability to converse and socialize with strangers that it frankly never occurred to me that you may be nervous. Perhaps you are not and I am, again, leaping to a false conclusion. I can only surmise your nervousness, based on the few subtle signs I have noted—as you have chosen, if I may risk incurring further wrath, not to share your feelings with me.” He noted that she jerked slightly at his last statement and almost turned toward him.

He hesitated momentarily to collect his thoughts. “As for the waltz, I must tell you that I am offended and hurt that you would infer, knowing me as well as you should, that my learning the waltz in any way means that I have been intimate with another woman.”

She hung her head and her shoulders shook, making it nigh on impossible for him not to move to her. “Oddly, at the same time, your jealousy and possessiveness is charming and gratifying to my ego. I suppose the logical denouement is that we humans, even those who love each other as profoundly as we do, still need reassurance and reiteration.”

He took a few steps closer to her before continuing. “Both times I danced the waltz, it was painful to me and I was under great duress. I can bore you with the details later if you wish. Any proficiency I claim is due to Georgiana.” Lizzy was so startled by this that she spun around, her mouth agape.

“Georgiana!” she blurted, her tear streaked face so precious to him.

He smiled and stepped close enough to wipe the tears away with one finger. “When Bingley told her I had danced it in Paris, with the intent of embarrassing me—which he succeeded in doing—Georgiana would not let it rest. You know how weak I am when it comes to granting the wishes of those I love, so I capitulated and taught her.” He shrugged. “It is not unusual, actually. Who else do you think teaches her to dance?”

He stroked her cheek as he cocked his head and knitted his brow. “By the way, you have obviously deduced that I do not like to dance. This is not true. I abhor balls with all the protocol and vapid conversation that attend them, and I detest being on display. However, I enjoy dancing and have been told I am accomplished. One could even say I am light of foot!” he chuckled. “I have simply never been properly partnered, except for one time during which I behaved idiotically.”

Lizzy was crying again and fell into his arms, burying her face into his chest. “William, I am a fool! Please forgive…” He checked her apology with a deep kiss, and she responded fervently with a rapid transposition of her despair and anger to passion. Darcy swept her into his arms and swiftly carried her to their bed. He held her tightly, locked to her mouth as he gently sat on the bed with her in his embrace.

He pulled back mere inches and met her eyes. “Elizabeth, my love, there is no other but you, never has been, and never will be.” His voice was low and husky as he stroked her face, tenderly kissing her eyes and nose and every other feature. His fingers moved to the clasps on her gown, beginning the familiar process of undressing each other, a process they had discovered early on to be tremendously stimulating.

At last they were naked, crazily aroused yet peacefully content enough in their love simply to enjoy the sensation of touching each other. They knelt in the middle of the enormous bed, face to face, the unencumbered access to their bodies allowing for languid exploration. There was not an inch of Darcy’s sumptuous six-foot-three-inch physique that Lizzy did not adore.

His many scars were the evidence of a rugged youth and badge of a virile adulthood. A light dusting of freckles across the fair skin of his shoulders created a pattern she enjoyed tracing with her fingertips. The downy hair on his chest, the strong pulse in the hollow of his throat, every muscle defined and firm, and his hands… Oh, how she loved his hands! Not only how they felt on her body and the passion his skillful fingers could incite in her, but the very look of them: strong with calluses on the palms, yet soft with long, refined fingers. Then there was his face with piercing blue eyes, lush lips, strong jaw, cleft chin, and noble English nose all combined masterfully. She touched all of him, arousing him with her devotion.

Darcy equally worshipped his wife. Elizabeth was so alive and vibrant and spirited that he frequently found himself freshly amazed at how petite she was. Her bones were so delicate he wondered she did not break in their wild passion, her body svelte yet firmly muscled, skin velvety smooth and flawless, and breasts that perfectly fit his large hands. He towered over her and around her, but rather than prompting a sense of dominance, his potent manliness activated a profound need to protect and satisfy her.

He loved the small mole located precisely where her right buttock swelled from her back, her narrow waist, the dimple at the base of her spine, her pink nipples, her fragility, the thin wrists that he could encircle with his thumb and index finger, her dainty ears, and her face. He could and often did become enraptured by her face. Elizabeth was beautiful by any standard, but what captivated Darcy was the vital force and character that shone on her countenance and primarily in her fine eyes.

He kissed her and she responded with fervor, as they held and touched and squeezed and teased. He trailed his mouth along her jaw to her ear, whispering, “Best beloved, do you remember the first time we touched?”

She hesitated for only a second. “When you assisted me into the carriage at Netherfield. I remember, yes.”

“We have not spoken of that event. What, if anything, did you feel?” He nuzzled her neck, planting feather kisses while his fingers lightly traced up her backbone.

“Initially I was merely surprised that you would extend the courtesy as I thought you disliked me. A bit angry, too, with what I perceived as presumptuousness. The way you looked at me though… it disturbed me. I could not decipher your expression, but I was captured by something in your eyes and the warmth of your hand.”

He was studying her eyes, smiling softly as they relived an odd yet now happy memory. “I felt a jolt rush to my heart and my hand tingled all the way home. I did not understand it and was troubled. I still am not sure what happened. I know I did not care for you then, and I do not believe it was a sexual response. Perhaps it was like a signal, if I had been listening, that there was more between us than I imagined. It affected me and I relived the moment in my dreams, yet I cannot explain it. I do know one thing; it was the first time I consciously accounted you handsome.” She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair.

Darcy caressed his thumb over her lips and jaw as he cupped her face. “I did not plan to take your hand. It was impulsive. The instant I touched you, I knew I had acted from a desire to feel you, not out of courtesy. I was stunned by the emotions rushing through me. Prior to that moment, you had intrigued me but only as a challenge to my intellect, an enigma I failed to comprehend. I thought you lovely but no more so than many other women I had seen. At least this was my reasoning.

“You had already invaded my dreams,” he smiled and blushed mildly, “and I thought of you incessantly. I think I needed to touch you so I could rid myself of this obsession, rationalizing that the dreams were not reality. I was a fool. The instant your skin met mine, I was yours. I knew I loved you. Of course, you know the rest, how great my self-deception and denial.”

He took her face into his strong hands and drew closer, raptly staring into her eyes. “Elizabeth, I have touched other women’s hands and never, not once, have I felt anything, not a ripple. In addition, I have never dreamt of another. Whatever… sensual… dreams I have had in my life were vague with no discernable partner. You were vivid, much to my shame. I pictured you in stunning detail and that touch, as brief as it was, lived in me and came alive and grew with each dream. I love you, my Lizzy. No one compares to you.”

By the afternoon of the fifth, Lizzy was relatively calm and excited at the prospect of the Masque. She owed her renewed peace solely to her husband. His mild chastisement for her not sharing her anxieties had struck a nerve. After making love, they had cuddled and talked for hours, Darcy effortlessly ignoring any misgivings regarding his duties to their guests. His wife was precious to him, and her peace of mind was of paramount importance. His assurance to her of this incontrovertible fact alone was enough to placate the majority of her concerns.

Although Darcy was cautious not to label her silly again, Lizzy realized that she was precisely that. Her place in his life was indelible not because of the license that legally bound them, but because of the invincible love that connected them. Simply stated, Lizzy had nothing to fear from the society of Derbyshire, or anywhere else. They belonged to each other in a love and devotion that exceeded logic. They both ended up laughing at how ridiculous they occasionally were in their vulnerability.

Darcy taught her the relatively basic steps of the waltz while still in their bedchamber, theorizing that if she could learn in this setting, then dancing while in a ball gown would be facile. If his generally well-honed ability to rationalize did not succeed as he had deduced, the unforeseen result of ending back in their bed was delightful and welcomed.

Over the next several days, Lizzy practiced with Darcy in the more appropriate location of the music room with Georgiana at the pianoforte, accompanied by both the Lathrops and the Gardiners, who happily embraced the fun. Once over her initial embarrassment at the close proximity of her partner, she found the waltz immensely enjoyable. In truth, much of her pleasure was precisely due to the closeness of Darcy, yet in no small measure was it also due to the graceful, swaying motions of the dance.