Chapter 22
Darcy
I woke before Elizabeth.
The gray light of dawn filtered through the curtains. She slept on her side, her face turned toward me, one hand resting near her mouth. Her hair spread across the pillow in disarray no one else would see. The blanket had slipped to her waist, revealing a bare shoulder and the curve of a breast.
My wife.
I had never felt such profound joy, nor such immediate fear of losing her.
The previous night returned in fragments: her courage, her pleasure under my touch, the pain I could not spare her, her legs around me, the words spoken after.
I love you.
I had heard them. Yet part of me still feared they had been wrung from her by the emotion of the moment. Elizabeth did not lie, but she could be mistaken about herself. She had been before. So had I.
She opened her eyes.
“You’re watching me.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough to fear you’ll find me unsettling.”
“I found you unsettling long before I married you.”
Her voice was still heavy with sleep. She stretched, then winced slightly.
I sat up at once.
“You’re in pain.”
“A little.”
“I should have stopped.”
“We’ve already had this conversation.”
“Not this morning.”
She placed her hand on my chest.
“Fitzwilliam, I am tender, not injured. And I accepted every step.”
“I saw your pain.”
“You also saw the rest.”
Color rose to her cheeks, but her gaze did not leave mine.
I took her fingers and kissed them.
“I will never forget the rest.”
“Well, that’s reassuring about my talents as a beginner.”
I laughed despite myself. She moved closer and rested her head on my shoulder.
“Do you regret telling me you loved me?” I asked.
She sat up slowly.
“So that’s what’s troubling you.”
“Nothing is troubling me.”
“You are naked, disheveled, in my bed, and you still manage to lie with dignity.”
“Our bed.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
I looked away.
“You spoke those words after a night charged with emotion. I would not want you to feel obliged to repeat them today.”
She remained silent.
My heart tightened.
Then she straddled me, pulling the blanket around her hips. The movement surprised me as much as the sight of her naked body above mine.
“Elizabeth…”
“Look at me.”
I obeyed.
“I accepted you the first time because I was afraid,” she said.
“You were right to doubt that yes. I accepted you a second time because I had chosen you. You demanded to hear it clearly. I told you last night that I loved you because it was true. How many times must I speak before you stop preferring your fears to my word?”
The lesson was just. Again.
I placed my hands on her hips.
“Once should be enough.”
“Indeed.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Granted, provided you don’t turn every morning of our marriage into an interrogation.”
“What may I do instead?”
Her gaze dropped between our bodies. I felt my desire stir beneath her with a swiftness ill-suited to her discomfort.
“Today,” she said, “you may order breakfast.”
I let my head fall back on the pillow.
“You are merciless.”
She laughed and leaned down to kiss me.
We remained in London one more day so she could rest. I showed her the house, the small gallery where several portraits of my family hung, the library that immediately became her favorite room.
We wrote together to Longbourn and Netherfield.
Elizabeth added to her mother’s letter a description of the guest room so detailed that I understood she was already preparing for a visit.
“You'll regret this invitation,” I told her.
“Certainly. But I'd regret it more if I didn't extend it.”
We left for Pemberley the next day.
The journey took several days. At each stop, Elizabeth showed interest in the landscapes, the people, the differences between counties.
She spoke to the servants with an easy manner, never forcing a familiarity that would have been out of place.
She asked me about the lands, the farms, the estate schools.
I watched her take her place in my life before we even arrived home.
When Pemberley finally appeared beyond the trees, she leaned toward the window.
The house stood on the far side of the river, vast but without undue grandeur, surrounded by wooded slopes. I awaited her verdict with ridiculous anxiety.
“It's magnificent,” she murmured.
“You never imagined it this way?”
“I had imagined a house as severe as its owner.”
“And are you disappointed?”
“Deeply. I shall have to find other subjects for mockery.”
I took her hand.
The servants waited for us on the steps. Mrs. Reynolds, who had managed the house since my childhood, stepped forward first. Her gaze settled on Elizabeth with warm curiosity.
“Welcome to Pemberley, madam.”
Elizabeth stepped down from the carriage. She stood still for a moment, perhaps overwhelmed by the number of people lined up before her. Then she smiled.
“Thank you. I'm afraid I know very little about the customs of this house. I hope you will help me learn them without letting me commit too many disasters.”
An amused murmur rippled through the servants. Mrs. Reynolds smiled broadly.
“We shall do our best, madam.”
I understood that Pemberley already loved her.
The first days were filled with introductions. Elizabeth met the steward, the pastor, several farming families, and the principal servants. She asked questions, sometimes made mistakes, laughed at herself, and refused to pretend she knew what she did not.
In the evenings, she joined me in our chamber.
We learned each other's bodies with the same frankness as everything else.
I discovered the places where she liked to be kissed, the way her breath changed when my hand slipped between her thighs, the growing boldness with which she touched me.
She discovered that pleasure could erase all pain, that her boldness did not shock me, and that I had far more difficulty keeping my composure when she was naked in my lap.
A week after our arrival, she found me in the library while I was examining accounts.
“You've been working for three hours.”
“Two.”
“Mrs. Reynolds says three.”
“Mrs. Reynolds has a generous notion of time.”
Elizabeth closed the ledger.
“Your wife demands your presence elsewhere.”
“My wife is becoming quite authoritarian.”
“She has received excellent training.”
She sat in my lap, which put an end to any attempt at seriousness.
“Where do you require my presence?” I asked.
“In our chamber.”
“For any particular reason?”
She leaned toward my ear.
“I would like to continue my education.”
I carried her upstairs despite her laughter and the carefully averted gazes of the servants.
Later, lying against me, she traced lazy lines on my chest with her fingertip.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Hunsford.”
I stiffened.
“That memory is hardly conducive to marital satisfaction.”
“On the contrary. I was thinking that I had accepted a man I did not know. I didn't yet know you were capable of admitting your mistakes, of laughing, of consoling Kitty, or of losing all dignity when a woman touches you in certain ways.”
“That last piece of information must remain confidential.”
“I shall employ it only for private purposes.”
I kissed her forehead.
“And I believed I was marrying a woman who would eventually love me if I showed enough patience. I did not understand that I would first have to learn to let her choose.”
She raised her head.
“We were very foolish.”
“You were less so than I.”
“Don’t be so generous that you become tedious.”
I smiled.
Pemberley, which had always been my duty, became a home with her.
And every time she spoke my name in the intimacy of our chamber or laughed in the middle of an overly solemn dinner, I understood the fortune contained in the word she had spoken twice.
Yes.