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

by Sharon Lathan

  “I would love to hear you play.”

  Darcy laughed, “No, my love, you truly would not, trust me! Perhaps some evening when I have indulged in far too many brandies.” He took her hand and led her to the northern wing. They visited the conservatory and game rooms, and then he led her into the formal dining room.

  Elizabeth had never imagined a single room could be so huge. A massive, sheet-draped table in the shape of a “U” filled the space. Darcy told her it could comfortably seat one hundred-fifty people. Lizzy was stunned. The room was beautiful and elegant, as all the rooms were, but there was an emptiness to it, an atmosphere of long disuse with dust thick in some areas.

  “We have not opened this room since my mother died,” he remarked softly. “She loved to entertain. Here at Pemberley, that is. She did not care for Town. Twice a year, at Christmas and on the first day of summer, we hosted a feast for the tenants and community. Additional tables would be placed in the ballroom. It was a tradition for generations and quite the party, let me tell you! Christmas carols in the winter and music and dancing on the terrace in the summer.” He smiled and his eyes were far away with the memory.

  “Traditions must be adhered to,” Lizzy declared briskly. “This Christmas is too soon for me to prepare a party, but by summer I will have figured my way around. We can arrange for it then, do you agree, my love?”

  Darcy was smiling broadly. “Mistress of Pemberley indeed.” He placed his arm across her shoulders, drew her close to his side, kissed the top of her head, and then steered toward the next room. Lizzy quickly became lost in the long hallways and vast rooms, all of which had several doorways tucked into draped alcoves leading to more rooms. Eventually she would learn that Darcy spoke the truth: Pemberley was patterned in a clear square and hallways that seemed initially to dissect randomly did, in fact, follow a predictable scheme. However, this would take time and she was abundantly thankful he intended to stay close to her. He diverted from the sculpture gallery and portrait hall for now, stating that it would take too much time to fully appreciate.

  They encountered Mrs. Reynolds as they entered the main parlor. She curtseyed and addressed them both formally, “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, the staff will be assembled in the ballroom in one half hour. After which, luncheon will be served. Does this meet with your approval?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. That will be fine.”

  Lizzy strolled around the room, fondly remembering the miraculous days in early September when she surprised Mr. Darcy and his sister and then enjoyed luncheon and a glorious afternoon in their company. Observing him in his home had released her heart wholly. She vividly recalled sitting here transfixed by his peaceful face and demeanor and realizing that she loved him. Georgiana had played several tunes on her new pianoforte, Lizzy lifting her voice a time or two, while Darcy gazed at her with a tender expression. Naturally it had all worked out, but Lizzy could not help wondering how differently things might have transpired if only they had known the truth of the emotions behind their barely regulated features.

  Now he was pointing out features and furnishings, sharing with her the memories attached. His parents had enjoyed having their children with them in the evenings, he told her, and they had generally relaxed here. He and Georgiana naturally gravitated to this parlor as well. The mixture of his childhood memories, the yearlong unrelenting daydreams of Elizabeth here with their children running about their feet, and now the reality that she was his wife bathed him in contentment.

  “My father would read a book or newspaper in that chair,” he pointed. “My mother would sit in the one alongside it, sewing or reading or singing to Georgiana in her lap. I was usually reading as well. Still do, actually, or I listen to Georgiana read to me. She has a sweet voice.”

  “Do you sit in his chair?” Lizzy inquired, studying his luminous face.

  “No, I prefer the sofa. More comfortable and I can stretch further. I am taller than my father was, so my legs get cramped by the table in front. Suppose I could simply rearrange the furniture; however, I am a creature of habit so things have remained unchanged.” He smiled brightly. “Probably could use some shaking up around here, Elizabeth, so indulge yourself.”

  “I was reflecting on the prospect of how stimulating it will be sitting by your side, touching you on the sofa, so I believe I shall keep the table as it is,” she responded with a little laugh. She had moved to the far window as he had been talking and created an angelic vision with the sun shining on her. She was leaning against the wall, so still and calm, watching him. She was enchanting and Darcy was fascinated anew by the mere presence of her. He dazedly observed her for a spell and then found his feet drawn toward her as a moth to the flame.

  She looked up at him, caressed his cheek, and smiled. “I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she purred, her features awash with love. She rarely used his full name, treasuring it for the most intimate of moments, and her tone was intensely seductive and vibrant when she did. Hearing her call him so here, now, nearly brought him to his knees. He embraced her, nestling his face in her neck, moaning her name with desire and need. In a fluid motion he sat on the window seat, drawing her onto his lap.

  He wondered if she grasped how vital she was to him, and whether she recognized that after all of the trials of the last year, the separations, the misunderstandings, the long waiting, and the gnawing urgency he had felt for her, these moments in her arms were like oxygen to a drowning man. He whispered her name over and over as he gently kissed her neck and shoulders. His torrid hunger for her was as powerful as ever, yet his desire to simply hold her was stronger.

  Elizabeth ran her fingers through his hair and along the edge of his collar. She knew they probably should not be in this position outside their bedchamber, but she did not care. Being back in this room had evoked clear memories of her wonderful day here with him but also of the horrible separation afterwards. Those awful weeks of not knowing if he still loved her or if she would ever see him again, musings that seemed pointless in the face of Lydia’s scandal. She shuddered anew at the pain and despair she had experienced.

  Darcy felt her trembling and pulled back. “What is it, my heart?”

  She kissed him. “Awful memories of how close I came to losing you. I do not think I could have lived if you had not come back to me, William,” she said with a small sob.

  “Shhhh…” he soothed, kissing her teary cheeks. “Let it go, Elizabeth. It is history. We are one now and will be forever. I refuse to allow this time to be clouded by the foolishness of the past.” His wits restored somewhat, he bestowed a soft but lingering kiss before rising from the seat. He hugged her tight and then released her. He smiled gaily and reminded her they had an appointment to keep.

  He offered an arm, “Shall we, Mrs. Darcy?”

  She smiled bravely and placed her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Lead the way, Mr. Darcy.”

  As they walked down another long hallway she had yet not discovered, she inquired, “How many people does it take to keep Pemberley operating?”

  He seemed puzzled by the question. “I am not sure the exact number. As many as is needed to get the jobs done.”

  Lizzy smiled inwardly. To him, who grew up surrounded by innumerable servants, the question would seem ludicrous.

  The ballroom near the formal dining room was so mammoth that it dwarfed the latter chamber. Lizzy speculated that all of Longbourn could fit into this one room, and she would not have been far off. Details of the elegant room were ignored for now, however, as her eyes were drawn to the array of people in front of her. They were separated, accidentally or on purpose she did not know, into small clusters, rigidly at attention and wearing pristine uniforms. Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Taylor, the butler, stood formally in front. In unison, everyone in the room bowed or curtseyed. The perfection of it stunned Lizzy.

  Mrs. Reynolds stepped forward. “The staff awaits your inspection, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  Lizzy felt the
urge to laugh. It was all so stiff and slightly ridiculous to her. One glance at her husband’s visage, though, and she reconsidered. This was his world. Here he was the Master. In the weeks of their engagement, she had seen only her “William.” He talked about his home and his duties frequently, to the point where she understood much of what life at Pemberley must be like. During that time, the stern, commanding presence of “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley” had faded, and she had forgotten that side of him. In all honesty, she had never actually seen that side of him.

  She saw it now and experienced a surge of pride. What she had originally deemed haughty arrogance was in reality nobility, authority, power, and superior confidence. Here was a man utterly assured of his place in life and his responsibilities. He gave orders and expected them to be carried out without question.

  With sudden insight she put all the pieces together. How a man of enormous capabilities, absolute command, and control over such vast properties and lives could be laid low by consuming love for a woman he thought he could not have. How this vulnerability and helplessness would engulf and stagger him. Perhaps to a degree he had needed to be humbled, yet all Lizzy could feel now was fresh pain and thankfulness that he would suffer no more.

  She decided immediately that there was no possible way she would remember all their names, so she did not try. There was the kitchen staff, commanded by the iron fist of Mrs. Langton. The footmen, under the authority of Mr. Taylor. The household staff consisted of a dozen maids and numerous helpers and answered to Mrs. Reynolds. The outside staff, gardeners and maintenance men, led by the head groundskeeper, a Mr. Clark. Marguerite, Samuel, and Mr. Keith stood off to the side as they were under the direct and only command of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Darcy explained to Elizabeth that the grooms and stable boys would be introduced later at the stables. She maintained her composure, but was inwardly overawed and suddenly understood how her husband could not possibly know the precise number of staff.

  Afterwards they retired to the smaller dining room, the “breakfast room” as Darcy called it. Lizzy was feeling more than a little overwhelmed, so she was thankful for the reprieve. As soon as they were served, the servants exited and shut the doors firmly behind them. They had done the same at dinner last night and it mystified her.

  “Do the servants always leave?” she inquired. “At Longbourn they remain in case we need something.”

  Darcy reached over and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for an intoxicating kiss to each of her knuckles before tenderly sucking the tip of each finger. “If they remained, I would not be able to do this,” he declared with a mischievous grin and a smoldering gaze. Lizzy was instantly breathless and weak. How was it that his eyes on her and one touch of his lips could arouse her so?

  Before she lost all restraint, not that she was necessarily averse to the idea, she flippantly retorted, “Am I to understand that the Master’s commands include keeping me sequestered behind closed doors to be at his disposal?”

  He continued to ravage her hand, now having progressed to the sensitive flesh of her palm and inner wrist. “I warned you, Madame, did I not? I desire unfettered access. You should be grateful I permitted you out of our chambers at all today.” His exploring mouth was sending shivers of excitement coursing through her body.

  “Does the Master’s absolute control extend to me?” she stammered, finding it extremely difficult to speak.

  “Your vows included the promise to obey, my love.” He wormed one finger under her sleeve, pushing it up to her elbow with his lips following. “Do my requirements perturb you, beloved? I would never wish to force unpleasantness upon you,” he said with a playful nibble to her inner elbow.

  “William!” she pleaded, her voice a husky whisper.

  He smiled with satisfaction. “Are you begging me to stop, dearest wife, or to carry on?”

  “I…” The truth was she wanted desperately for him to have his way with her right then, but she could not bring herself to say it. She felt his smile on her skin, and then with one last kiss, he released her arm, gently returning the hand to her lap. Their eyes met, his full of passion and a hint of amusement, hers glazed with forlorn yearning.

  “Eat your food, Elizabeth. You will need your strength as I intend to carry you to our bed the second we are finished.” And he did exactly that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Stroll in the Garden

  THAT EVENING, AS ELIZABETH prepared for dinner, she could not stop smiling. Her happiness was boundless.

  Marguerite fussed with her hair, creating a masterpiece arrangement Lizzy would not have thought possible. The only disruption to her joy came when she contemplated her limited wardrobe. Her father had scraped together as much money as he possibly could for her and Jane; however, most of it had gone toward their wedding gowns and trousseau. She and Jane had managed to purchase cloth for two dresses each, which they sewed themselves. At the time Lizzy, in her innocence, had deemed this more than adequate. She had never been the type of woman to trouble herself with fashion or style. Her gowns were functional and comfortable. She owned only two fancy gowns, her wedding dress and her white ball gown; however, even they now appeared dowdy and plain amidst the splendor of Pemberley.

  The question was how to broach the subject with Darcy. She persisted in harboring feelings of embarrassment regarding the topic of his wealth. Should she blatantly solicit money for gowns? She shuddered at the thought.

  She decided to wear her burgundy gown. She reached for the pearls, but Marguerite interrupted politely suggesting that the rubies would be a preferred accessory.

  “Marguerite, I do not own rubies.”

  “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Darcy, but you do. I was instructed to relinquish this into your keeping,” and she pulled a small key from her pocket, “It opens the closet with the Darcy jewels. I regret that there has not been the appropriate time. Please forgive me.”

  “Of course,” Lizzy murmured, amazed anew. “Which cabinet is it?”

  The cabinet was floor to ceiling and about one foot wide. Inside, lying on cushions of velvet was a staggering assortment of jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings, hair clips, brooches, and more in every gem she had ever heard of and some she did not recognize. Many of the pieces were quite old and of a style that Elizabeth could never imagine herself wearing, yet they were all exquisite. Her hands trembled as she touched the spectacular ruby necklace that Marguerite indicated. “Could you please assist me, Marguerite? I do not think I can manage.”

  She stood before the mirror for one last inspection and was started by a deep, sonorous voice. “You are exceptionally captivating tonight, Mrs. Darcy.”

  She whirled around to see her husband leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and eyes lazily exploring her body while an inviting smile danced on his lips. He was wearing a blue coat, naturally, with matching blue breeches and a waistcoat of green with gold stripes. She decided to match his bold inventory of her appearance by doing the same. To her pleasure she noted the increased flame in his eyes. She smiled wickedly. “You surprised me, Mr. Darcy.”

  “You assured me I was welcome in your dressing room anytime and that I am not required to knock. Is the offer valid, Madame?”

  “Yes, it is, although you might take caution not to sneak so. You are liable to frighten poor Marguerite into a heart seizure,” she said with a laugh and a wink to her maid, who had placidly busied herself straightening the vanity.

  Marguerite calmly turned toward her mistress, her face a study in serene indifference, intoning unemotionally, “I warrant my heart is able to withstand the shock, Madame. Will you be requiring my services further, Mrs. Darcy?”

  “No, Marguerite, thank you.”

  “Very well. Sir… Madame,” and with perfect curtseys, she left.

  Lizzy peered at her husband, who remained insolently lounging in the doorway, “You scared her,” she teased, and turned back to the mirror.

  “It appears to be a failing of m
ine,” he remarked dryly. He came behind her and stroked the curve of her hips before clasping his hands about her waist and pulling her against him, nibbling along her neck at the same time.

  “You are so beautiful, Elizabeth. I love you immensely.” She could feel his heat; desire and craving evident in how he embraced her.

  She melted against his body. “Have you not yet gotten enough of me, Mr. Darcy?” she sassed. “Have I not satisfied you sufficiently?”

  “You have satisfied me, my heart, lavishly and in ways previously undreamed of. But, enough? No, there is no risk of me ever reaching a state of over-saturation. Your love, your existence in my life, is as crucial as food and air.” He ceaselessly kissed and caressed as he spoke. “I see you found the jewelry cabinet. The rubies are lovely on you, or rather your beauty augments their loveliness.”

  “Perhaps it is merely an odd coincidence; however, it seems that you are forever attempting to delay our meals with your amorous attentions.”

  “The fault is entirely yours, my wife, for being such a temptress. I am only a man and cannot be expected to control myself when confronted with such succulent delights before me.”

  “Why, sir, I was under the mistaken impression you were a gentleman!”

  He laughed and turned her around, taking her face into his hands, “I see I have accomplished my goal of deceiving you. Would a gentleman do this?” he asked, and claimed her mouth in a kiss of incredible depth and implication. When he at last pulled away it was to see his wife’s face suffused with passion, eyes half open and breath shallow. He gazed upon her, mightily thrilled at his ability to inflame her.

  Eventually she calmed enough to meet his eyes. “No, my husband, I do not believe you are a gentleman, and I cannot express how happy that makes me!”

  Darcy smiled and kissed the tip of her pert nose. “Come, Mrs. Darcy, let us not delay our meal any longer. I can survive in the knowledge that I may not be a perfect gentleman, but perish the thought that I am a brute who starves his wife!” He offered her his arm and led her out the door.