Chapter 3
Elizabeth lay sleeping in the crook of Darcy’s arm as they entered the lane to Pemberley.
Looking at her, a wave of tender emotion assailed him.
Astonishing, really. He loved her when he met her, but now, having stood at the altar with her, having pledged her his troth, there was so much more.
She was everything to him, and he was at times almost terrified by how much he needed her.
He had hoped marriage would alleviate his hunger, at least a little, but instead he found he needed her even more.
Did she love him as he did her? Did anyone love someone else the way he loved her? He thought it impossible.
He rapped on the roof of the carriage when they reached a particular spot where the house might be seen to advantage. It had snowed the night prior, and Pemberley was a shimmering white paradise, perfect for introduction to his bride.
His knocking woke her. “Are we nearly there?” she asked sleepily.
“Come see.” He opened the door and waved the coachman away, helping her down himself. Then he offered his arm, and they stood side by side, gazing out over the delightful vista.
“Your new home, Mrs Darcy.” He pulled her more tightly to his side. “I have waited such a long, long time for you to be here.”
Giggling, she looked up, teasing him. “Such a long time? You have only known me two months complete.”
He shook his head at her. “My heart has known you forever. It was only finding you that took so long.”
The days passed quickly at Pemberley. Before she knew it, Christmas had come and gone and it was winter, heavy snow turning Pemberley into a magical winter wonderland.
There was a stark beauty to the denuded trees and frozen pond that somehow fit the bold terrain that was Derbyshire.
Still, Elizabeth could not imagine how much more lovely it might be come spring and summer, as the meadows softened and became verdant and the gardens came alive with colour.
Autumn would be beautiful as well, with the colours and odours of the harvest surrounding her.
Her life felt like a dream, a true paradise. She still could not believe she was mistress to such a place as Pemberley, that she lived there with her perfect husband and had such daily happiness and love surrounding her.
Her morning call had taken a bit longer than expected, but for good cause.
Her host was entertaining other young ladies, and they had found much to speak of among themselves.
As she entered Pemberley, the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, came forward to assist with her pelisse, informing her, “Mr Darcy wishes you to attend him immediately in his study, Mrs Darcy.”
“Tell him I must briefly refresh myself and shall visit him shortly.”
A deep voice answered, “That will not do, Mrs Darcy. I believe Mr Darcy requires your presence right away. This very instant, in fact.”
She turned, seeing Darcy had come into the hall and was leaning against a door frame, giving her a light-hearted grin that instantly warmed her. “Very well, Mr Darcy.”
Holding out his arm to indicate she should precede him, he then followed her to his study. He was silent as they walked along the corridor and said nothing as they entered the room, pausing to close and lock the door behind them. She turned to look at him. “What…?”
“Hush.” He pulled her into his embrace. “You were gone an excessively long time.” He began to kiss her passionately, his need clearly expressed by his persistent mouth and hands laying urgent claim to her.
She giggled at his amorousness. “It has been but a few hours.”
“You may never, ever leave me alone that long again.” His fingers fumbled with the buttons on the back of her dress, opening it.
She protested weakly amid consenting laughter, her body already trembling with desire. “We cannot do this here.”
“We can,” he murmured. “I have thought about it all morning and have worked out just how it will be done.” He gave her a naughty smile that nearly melted her. Picking her up, he carried her to his desk, then blindly shoved his papers to the floor, laying her in their place.
“Your papers!” She meant to say more, to make him realise he might have ruined his work, damaged something important, or lost something of value, but then she forgot it completely, her mind filled with her husband.
Not so long later, he asked, caressing her back gently, “How did I manage for seven-and-twenty years without you, when now, I cannot get through even a few hours without needing you desperately?”
She turned in his arms just enough to wrap her arms around him and kiss his face. “I feel just the same.”
“No more calls,” he declared. “Send word to the neighbours that the Darcys will enjoy only their own society for at least the next year, possibly two.” She giggled at the prospect and kissed his cheek.
“Silly man,” she said affectionately. “My silly man.”
As the weeks of winter passed, Elizabeth found more to love in her husband almost daily.
They had had such a brief courtship—nay, a brief acquaintance—that there was much of him she did not know, and it thrilled her to discover him.
Both were avid readers and enjoyed many spirited discussions of the books they had read, sometimes agreeing and sometimes not.
He could make her laugh as no one else did, and for the first time in her remembrance, she felt that displaying her wit was acceptable, even desirable.
More important than anything, though, was how very loved she felt by him.
She knew not why he had fallen for her so quickly and so completely, but she felt the assurance of her power over him.
It amazed her—she, who had been always the less pretty sister, the least admired by her mother—that she had obtained the ardent devotion of such a man as Darcy.
At the end of January, Elizabeth received a letter from her dearest sister telling her that Mr Bingley had proposed. She ran to find her husband, seeing him in his favourite chair in the library, his own letter in his hand.
“You tell me first,” he said with a smile.
“Jane and Bingley are getting married!”
He chuckled, moving a bit so she could sit beside him. “You are happy for her?”
“Beyond everything! And happy for us as well—now we shall all be brothers and sisters, and our children will be cousins, and we shall…do you think there are any eligible properties to be had near Pemberley? Because three days is simply too long, and perhaps if they were closer, we could—”
Laughing, he silenced her with a kiss. “When we attend the wedding, let us bring a wagon with us, and we can begin removing their belongings immediately.”
“Oh you!” She poked him. “I am simply so happy for her. She had begun to think it could not happen.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Well…’tis no great secret that Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were not in favour of the match.”
“Likely they believed she did not love him.”
“Likely they believed she was not fine enough for him,” Elizabeth replied. “Because I should think her attachment to him was quite plain.”
“Perhaps.” Darcy sounded dubious. “I myself had wondered at the strength of her feelings.”
“You did?”
“Her heart did not seem easily touched, and I feared that she might marry him for practical advantage.”
Her joy was immediately cast down, and she stared at her husband, smarting with indignation at such a response. “Jane is not mercenary,” she said calmly, if a touch coolly.
Darcy was perusing his letter again. “No,” he said absently. “But she does seem to wish to please your mother, and your mother’s wishes were clear.”
Yes, Mrs Bennet never had been circumspect about her goal of marrying her girls to wealthy men. Still, for Darcy to think ill of Jane for it! Elizabeth rose, feeling herself about to lose her grip on her irritation. “Excuse me.”
“Darling, have I upset you in some way?”
“Upset me? Oh no!” Elizabeth gave a little, bitter laugh. “Why should I be upset that you think my sister would marry your friend for prudence only? Tell me—do you think it of me too?”
“In my darker hours, yes, I do.”
Elizabeth gasped. After standing stupidly agape for a moment, she turned, intending to run off to who knew where. Before she could, he stopped her.
“Pray understand, I do not think it a mark on your character—it is only my own fears that make me think so.”
“What cause have I given you to fear anything?” she cried, turning to face him. “What cause has Jane given you to doubt her attachment to your friend?”
“None,” he said, soothingly. “I am not saying they are reasonable doubts, only those sorts of worries that come about late in the evening or when I have had too much port. I begin to ask myself whether you could really love me—and I fear my friend having the same dreadful moments.”
“Jane loves Mr Bingley. Categorically and with nothing held back. Just as I love you.”
“I am sorry, very sorry, for my doubt.”
“But what is required for you to know I love you? What must happen for those doubts to be slain?”
He pulled her to his chest then. “I know not, but trust me when I say that it is nothing for you. You are the perfect wife, and I need only to accustom myself to my good fortune.”
Caroline Bingley sighed at the card handed to her. It was one thing to serve as Georgiana Darcy’s confidante whilst attempting to secure the affections of her brother, it was quite enough to do it for no reason whatsoever.