Chapter 48
AN EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES
For the first time in his life, Darcy viewed his Mayfair home with a particularly critical eye.
Surely those cushions had not appeared quite so worn the last time he noticed them?
And when had the wall-papers in the drawing room faded?
Georgiana had quickly departed for her rooms, and his London housekeeper, Mrs Bridges, had offered the new Mrs Darcy a tour—but rather foolishly, he had insisted upon giving it himself.
“Of course, you may decorate in any fashion you wish,” Darcy said, leading her into the first of two large drawing rooms, connected by folding doors; the Brussels carpets, he observed, were more than slightly threadbare.
The furniture was ornately carved and rather heavy; the chandeliers were glittering crystal showers.
He opened the doors to the other chamber, where expensive instruments were arranged, as if ready for musical entertainments.
The room, with its decorative plaster cornices, intricate ceiling roses, and elaborate woodwork mouldings reflected in the large gilt mirrors atop identical white marble hearths on either end of the room, all contributed to a showy impression.
His wife gazed about her without comment.
“Please, feel free to change it all. This house was a great source of pride to my mother—she loved town life, much more than she did the country. I can envision her here still, so easily. Mrs Bridges has suggested in the past that the house is in need of refurbishment—but I believe that in my efforts to keep it all as it was when my mother was alive, I refused to see it.”
She looked at him with the gentle smile he adored as she lightly touched an elegantly carved mantel. Or was its elegance only in his own mind?
“It is very lovely and very grand,” she spoke in reassuring tones.
“Perhaps instead of replacing everything that is showing wear, we can have repairs made to what is here. I am certain that I will want fabrics and colours of my own choosing in my private rooms, but it is obvious that everything here was chosen with care and timeless taste. The overall aesthetic is cohesive and polished.”
“You must leave your mark upon these rooms as well,” he urged. “I am certain your taste is as refined as my mother’s in every respect.”
She went to him then, wrapping her arms around him with the affection she so generously bequeathed. “I plan to love the country much more than town,” she said, smiling. “If you can feel your mother here, I would not want to change that.”
“We need not maintain this as a monument to her,” he said. “I want every home we have to bring you happiness.”
“That is why every home will. Not to mention, your happiness increases mine.”
He smiled at her, wondering if he had ever smiled so much in his life.
He had to kiss her then, to show her the deep and abiding ache of his desire. Due to the presence of his sister, he had been unable to be as free with her for the last several hours as had become his habit. Abruptly, he had a change of heart about continuing the tour.
“Perhaps I should now show you the rooms that will be yours,” he suggested.
“Perhaps you should.”
They climbed the stairs, and he led her along the long corridor that ended at the tall carved doors of the mistress’s chamber, and could not prevent a small smile when he heard her slight gasp.
The room really was wondrous, with a chair railing surround painted pale blue, creamy beadboard ceilings, ivory velvet and silk curtains and bed hangings, and delicately hand-painted wall-papers.
“This is the prettiest chamber I have ever seen. It is almost too pretty to sleep in.”
“Actually, I was hoping you would continue to sleep with me, as we did at Netherfield. Obviously, I would never insist. It is only a wish.”
“You do not wish your privacy, not ever?”
“Not ever,” he said with certainty. “What I wish, is to fall asleep hearing your soft breaths; I wish to reach out in the night—softly, so that you do not waken, knowing even in my dreams that you are safe and warm beside me. What I wish is to open my eyes each morning to see your dear face in dawn’s light.
It is all any man could ever want—you are all any man could ever want.
And whether you will lie near me nightly or not, I am the most privileged man in the world. ”
She reached up, tracing his cheekbone lightly with one finger. “There are times you may regret it.”
“If you desire your privacy, you need only take it back. This room is yours, however you wish to use it.”
“I like sharing a bed with you. I like that our marriage is nothing at all like my first one. I like that I am madly, passionately attached to my husband, and that I wish to sleep alongside him, so I can reach for him in the night whether it wakes him or not. Although it always seems to do so.”
“I adore your caresses, and a man would have to be dead not to waken when he is fortunate enough to feel them.”
She grinned. “You are a very light sleeper. What if I begin to snore?”
He gave her an answering smile. “When did you become so pessimistic? If your snores grow loud enough, I shall chuck you onto the floor, roll over, and go back to sleep.”
She giggled as he lifted her across the threshold, carrying her past the blues and ivories, through her sitting room—which she barely seemed to notice—and into his darker, more masculine rooms. He could not pay attention to whether she acknowledged the marble, wood and leather surroundings as he laid her down upon his mattresses.
“This is the softest bed upon which I have ever rested.”
“I did not have much of resting in mind,” he said, grinning.
Her answering smile grew sultry. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”
He looked down upon her, suddenly grown serious, filled with need and bliss, a heady combination. “This is all of what I want, dearest. You, with me, always. You are not at my beck and call. If you are too tired for anything more than sleep, you need only say the word. It is always your choice.”
“I love you,” she said softly, bringing him into her arms. “I choose you.”
It was a long, long while before Elizabeth slept at last. Darcy did not consider himself a fanciful man, but most of the night he lay awake beside her, unable to slumber for the sheer joy of having her in his bed, in his home, in his life.
He knew it would not always be like this—else crops would not be planted, and estates would fall and fail.
But he could take this night to cherish and treasure her and what they had together now, and what they would make of their future.
He could be overwhelmed with gratitude that he was her chosen love.