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

by Sharon Lathan

  “You see,” he gushed, “the pleasure is wholly mine. I am selfishly overcome with joy.” He clutched her legs and drew her onto his lap. “Now let me see what other self-serving indulgences I can secure.”

  Just prior to noon, Lizzy sat in Darcy’s study while he worked at his desk. She pretended to read a book, but was more fascinated with inspecting her husband. A small crease sat between his brows as he concentrated. He rolled the quill in his fingers and rubbed his chin when ruminating. Occasionally his lips would silently mouth the words on the document before him. Frequently he would sigh or harrumph or aah or curse or grumble, without being aware he did so. Lizzy adored simply observing him, learning more about him in these unconscious mannerisms.

  A knock at the door led to the entrance of Mr. Keith, who requested a moment of Mr. Darcy’s time. With alacrity, and a thankful nod to Mr. Keith, Lizzy rose and left the two gentlemen alone. Mrs. Reynolds stood outside the door. “Is everything ready?” Lizzy asked.

  “As you requested, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Thank you!” and with a brief squeeze to Mrs. Reynolds’ hands, Lizzy flew up to her dressing room where Marguerite was waiting.

  About forty-five minutes later, Mr. Darcy emerged from his study, asked a footman where Mrs. Darcy could be found, and was told that she was in the conservatory. Darcy walked speedily, already lamenting the absence of his wife. He called to her when he entered, and her voice came from the far side of the room. He made his way around the profusion of potted plants and trees. The tableau before him stopped him dead in his tracks.

  A clearing had been made and a luncheon was arranged as if outdoors, hamper and all. Elizabeth stood, wearing her lightest muslin summer gown with only a thin chemise underneath and satin lawn slippers. Her hair was down, with the side strands twisted into an elaborate braid in back. The warmth of the conservatory, the aroma of the blooms, the sunlight shining through the ceiling and walls of glass, along with the blanket on the floor, created the perfect summer scenario.

  “Happy anniversary, Fitzwilliam!” Lizzy approached her stunned husband and without preamble began unbuttoning his coat. “I know it is a poor substitute for your grotto, so we must pretend.” She laid his coat aside and then kissed him. “I could not forget the day you made me the happiest woman in the world, my love. One whole week you have tolerated me! You have earned a medal, but instead you will get only lunch. Now sit. I shall serve our food.”

  Lizzy also had a gift for her husband. “It is rather silly,” she blushingly remarked when she handed him the small box. “I did not have the foresight to buy a real gift for you. Instead I recalled an inane French novel I read when I was a girl, a poorly written romantic piece of tripe. There was this one thing I thought sweet, in my girlish idea of romance.”

  Darcy opened the box and saw a small satin pouch with a drawstring closure. “Look inside,” Lizzy said, biting her lip in nervousness. He pulled out a long slender tress of her silky hair that had been braided and tied on each end with fine thread. “You see,” she explained, “now you will permanently have a small part of me with you even if I am not there.”

  He stared at her in unbelief. “You thought this was silly? This is… astounding! Elizabeth, I do not have the words!” He kissed her tenderly and held her chin with his fingers. “My love, I resort to buying gifts because it is what I am accustomed to. You look inward to your heart and give far more generously than I. I will cherish this and bear it with me for all my life. I so love you, Elizabeth.”

  It was a lovely afternoon. There is something mysterious about picnics— even indoor ones—that immediately causes one to feel mellow and whimsical. One week of wedded bliss, and they both already had scores of memories to record into their journals, not that either of them would ever forget the passion and joy of these first days.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Shopping!

  MONDAY ARRIVED AND LIZZY was slightly ashamed, but she could not deny her excitement. Never in her entire life had she been able to shop without worry for the cost. She still was not sure she could manage it, but she intended to try. Darcy seemed as eager as she was. She had learned early in their engagement that he adored buying gifts for those he loved—for her, of course, but also for Georgiana and even his cousin Richard or Bingley. He was almost absentminded about it, simply seeing something that he knew they would enjoy and purchasing it on the spot. It was endearing.

  Although she felt somewhat like a child let loose in a candy store, she understood that her excursion today was necessary. Each day, as she wandered about Pemberley, the awareness of her new station in life became increasingly apparent. If for no other reason than to make her husband proud that he had married a simple country girl, she would present herself as exactly what society demanded from the Mistress of Pemberley.

  She wore her new pelisse over her gown, feeling more regal than she ever had. She tucked a wad of her pin money into her reticule, just in case, and met her smiling husband in the foyer.

  First they had luncheon at the Carriage Inn, one of Lambton’s oldest and most prominent establishments. Lizzy blushed initially at the number of stares her appearance on the arm of Mr. Darcy engendered, but his air of indifference and obvious pride at her gracing his side calmed her. She was introduced to several people, all of whom had heard of Mr. Darcy’s marriage. “Word travels quickly in these small communities, as you well know, Elizabeth,” he whispered.

  After luncheon Darcy and Lizzy walked to Madame du Loire’s salon. Along the way they encountered a distinguished older gentleman who approached the Darcys with a broad grin.

  “Why, Mr. Darcy! How fortunate I am to meet you so unexpectedly. This must be the Mrs. Darcy we are all hearing about.” He bowed deeply to Lizzy. He had a very open face and Lizzy found herself liking him immediately.

  “Mr. Vernor,” Darcy replied with a happy smile, “you are correct. This is my wife, Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy, may I introduce you to our closest neighbor, Mr. Henry Vernor of Sanburl Hall.”

  Lizzy curtseyed. “Mr. Vernor, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” “Thank you, Mrs. Darcy, however, I must insist that the pleasure is entirely mine. I am certain that Mr. Darcy has warned you that the rumors of your grace and beauty have preceded your entry into our little community. Now I shall be able to brag to all that I beheld you first and can glowingly proclaim that the rumors pale in comparison to the reality that was before me.”

  Lizzy was a bit shocked at Mr. Vernor’s ebullient charm and assumed Darcy would be miffed, so she was further surprised to hear him laugh boomingly. “It sunders my heart to disappoint you, my old friend, but we have just come from the Carriage Inn and I was honored to introduce my lovely wife to a number of the denizens of Lambton. Tell me, Vernor, how much have you scoundrels wagered on who would espy my wife first?”

  Mr. Vernor feigned indignation, “Darcy, you wound me, sir! A true gentleman would never wager on such a thing.” His words, however, were denied by the wink he gave to Lizzy and by Darcy’s continued laughter.

  Darcy turned to his wife, who was beginning to find the entire encounter extremely amusing. “You see, my love, Lambton offers little in the ways of diversion so the gentlemen frequently resort to petty indulgences to offset the boredom. I know for a fact that there has been a long standing wager as to when I would enter the esteemed state of matrimony and to which society lady it would be. How did those bets turn out, Vernor? Any luck, my friend?”

  Vernor assumed a visage of tremendous mourning. “Mr. Creswell won on the age. There was some debate since you were eight and twenty when you became betrothed, but the wager was for age at marriage, so Creswell edged out Sir Cole. Sadly for us all, although undoubtedly happily and wisely for you and Mrs. Darcy,” he bowed again to Lizzy, “you ventured outside London society, a move none of us anticipated.”

  Lizzy laughed, “I do not believe my husband anticipated it either, Mr. Vernor. His chagrin was tremendous, let me assure you.” With a twinkle she glanced a
t her husband. “He fought valiantly against it, but in the end we ladies usually achieve what we want, is that not true, Mr. Vernor?”

  “Most definitely, Mrs. Darcy. When it comes to matters of the heart, the fairer sex has the distinct advantage.”

  “My wife is far too generous, Vernor. She led me on a merry chase in which I was all too delighted to engage.” He briefly kissed Elizabeth’s hand, saying, “The prize was well worth the effort.” Darcy was beaming and Vernor could not mistake the looks shared with his wife as anything other than the deepest love. Vernor had been a great friend to Darcy’s father, and his son, Gerald, had been a childhood playmate of Darcy’s and was one of his dearest friends still. The families were close so it warmed Vernor’s heart to see the young man finally so happy.

  Darcy turned his attention back to Vernor and clapped him on the shoulder. “It brings joy to my heart to know I have disrupted the gaming. By the way, where are you heading? Will you take a glass of wine with me?”

  “Gerald is meeting me and would undoubtedly delight in visiting with you, too.”

  Darcy nodded. “I am escorting Mrs. Darcy to Madame du Loire’s. Let’s plan soon for a game of billiards at Pemberley?”

  Mr. Vernor winced. “I do not think I have quite recovered my pride from your last thrashing at billiards, Darcy.” He addressed Lizzy, “Your husband is the champion billiard player in all of Derbyshire, Mrs. Darcy. Last summer was the first time anyone had beaten him in a decade, and then it took Mr. Hughes, our next best player, to accomplish the feat.”

  Darcy scowled and glanced at his wife. “I was distracted most of last summer with personal matters and Hughes caught me on an off day.”

  Vernor smiled, completely misapprehending Darcy’s reference. “Yes, I imagine you were distracted, and we now all comprehend the reason. Mrs. Darcy, my wife and the other ladies of Derbyshire are anxious to meet you. As soon as Mr. Darcy is willing to share, you must dine with us.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Vernor. I shall look forward to it.”

  Lizzy spent an exhausting afternoon admiring fabrics and accessories finer than any she had ever owned. Darcy had made it abundantly clear that she was to be outfitted fully, top to bottom, with expense not an issue. With Phillips as chaperone and lending two strong arms as baggage carrier, she shuffled from one shop to another purchasing new slippers and boots, nightgowns and robes, undergarments, stockings, bonnets and hats, outerwear, gloves, and more. The focus was winter wear, naturally, so the fabrics were heavy wools and velvet with fur for warmth. By the end of the day, she had three new gowns quickly altered to her dimensions by the seamstresses in attendance and another two dozen gowns to be made with fabrics acquired from the drapers.

  Madame du Loire was a genius. Lizzy had often lamented her, shall we say, less than curvy figure. She was not generally the type to follow fashion, nor was she particularly vain. Nonetheless, with four sisters shaped full and lush, Lizzy could not help but notice the obvious difference in her own form. Her mother had frequently and mournfully commented on Lizzy’s overly svelte physique, loudly bemoaning it as a probable deterrent to any man finding her attractive. All her young adult life, Lizzy had scoffed at her mother’s words, but deep inside she had harbored feelings of inadequacy.

  Darcy’s wanton approbation of her body and his frank and blatant intoxication with her feminine shape had erased most of her uncertainties. Even so, she was amazed and delighted at the skill Madame du Loire employed to enhance her limited assets and accentuate her attributes. She taught Lizzy how to manipulate stays and gathers and lace and numerous other things to present a more pleasing and alluring vision. Considering her husband’s already overwhelming amorousness for her, Lizzy was not totally sure this was a wise plan! Thoughts of how he would be affected by her new attire brought a blush to her face as well as shivers of desire, most inappropriate in the current setting.

  Late in the afternoon, exhausted but exhilarated, Lizzy said her final farewells to shopping. The purchases were packed up and secured into the carriage, but Lizzy opted to stroll along the streets of Lambton. With Phillips as escort she headed to meet her husband, passing numerous shops of interest. The desire to buy needless items for Darcy burned in her chest; however, the hour was growing late so she made mental notes and bypassed them for the time being.

  Later that evening, after dinner, Lizzy and Darcy relaxed in their sitting room. Darcy had carried out Lizzy’s requests and the room had been rearranged. The painting was now hanging over the fireplace mantel directly across from the doorway so one’s eye was drawn to it immediately upon entering the room. A mammoth new carpet, which Darcy had discovered on his last trip to London, had arrived the day before. It was a Serapi Persian rug, plush and thick, patterned exotically with soft golds and greens. It lay in front of the fireplace and dominated the room. The chaise and two chairs with ottomans sat before the flames. A breakfast sideboard stood against one wall with their small dining table nearby. Lizzy had unpacked her favorite books, placing them into the bookcase with Darcy’s. Lizzy had fallen in love with a petite desk she had discovered in one of the guest’s chambers, so it had been relocated to their sitting room and placed close to Darcy’s desk in one corner before the window. The room was cozy, serene, and inviting. In truth, they had spent scant time relaxing in any of the downstairs rooms, much preferring to be here, together and informal.

  So it was tonight. Lizzy sat at her desk and Darcy was at his. They were not quite close enough to physically touch, but the desks were arranged in a rough “V” so they could converse easily if necessary and could view each other unobstructed across the negligible space. Darcy had removed his coats and cravat. The household account ledger was in front of him, and a minute crease twisted between his brows as he concentrated. Lizzy was in her nightgown and robe and alternated between watching her husband and the task she worked on. As always, he distracted her by his very presence, but pleasantly so.

  She was amused at how he fidgeted while he worked. He held his body straight and erect, but his fingers were incessantly moving, either twirling his quill or stroking his chin or, as now, playing with a palm-sized glass ball. She was further fascinated at how dexterous he was in his unconscious toying. He absently tossed and rolled the little ball, balanced it on his fingertips and even reeled it across his knuckles, not once taking his eyes or focus off the ledger. She shook her head in amazement, smiled, and returned her deliberations to her letter.

  She had completed a long, detail-filled correspondence to Jane, which she had been composing in bits and pieces for several days. She missed Jane, even as content as she was at Pemberley. At odd moments throughout her day, she would find herself thinking of her sister, wondering what she was doing and how she would react to something Lizzy was saying or doing. Mostly, Lizzy was curious about whether her sister was as happy in her marriage as she was. Lizzy adored Mr. Bingley and was certain he loved her sister, so she was not particularly worried about Jane’s happiness. No, she simply missed sharing in that happiness and being able to talk about her own felicity.

  Also, Christmas was fast approaching and although Lizzy was delighted at the prospect of spending the holidays with her husband and new family, it would be the first holiday season in her life without her parents and sisters. It was a bittersweet reality, which led to the task before her. She and Darcy had discussed the Christmas plans, and he had embraced the idea of a major celebration. For more than ten years, since his mother had died, Christmas at Pemberley had been a quiet affair. He felt it was time they put past grief behind them and commemorated the season as it deserved to be.

  To that end, Lizzy had penned formal invitations. Darcy had insisted on inviting the Gardiners, so one invitation had been written to them. Another had been written to Col. Fitzwilliam and yet another to Lord and Lady Matlock. Georgiana would be returning to Pemberley in a little over a week. Col. Fitzwilliam and his parents, who had been gracious enough to keep Georgiana in Town during these first weeks of
the Darcy’s marriage, would be bringing her home when they returned to their estate in Matlock for the winter.

  Lizzy had won the affection of the Matlocks while in London during her engagement. It had been a tortuous battle, what with Lady Catherine’s vocal disapproval and attempts to thwart Darcy’s marriage to “the country upstart.” However, eventually Lizzy’s natural charm and wit, along with the obvious love Darcy held for her, had swayed the Matlocks. Lizzy was far from comfortable with them, imposing characters though they were, but she respected them. Mostly, she knew how valuable they were to Darcy, so she had declared they should be invited for Christmas Day as well.

  Lastly, Darcy requested the presence of a friend of his from Leicester, a Mr. Stephen Lathrop, and his young wife Amelia. Darcy had met Mr. Lathrop years ago at Cambridge, and the two had become friendly, being of similar temperaments. Mr. Lathrop owned a small estate in Leicestershire and his father had died this past year, leaving Mr. Lathrop without any family except for his wife of one year. She was Scottish so her family lived quite far away, and Darcy thought it would be a nice gesture to have them join the Pemberley festivities, understanding thoroughly how grief stricken his friend would be this holiday. Lizzy had not met them, but was very pleased to include them.

  Inviting Lady Catherine and Miss Anne was positively out of the question. Lizzy had gently broached the issue, but Darcy, in a rare display of anger toward his wife, had flatly refused even to consider it or to discuss the subject. Lizzy feared the breach between the two was irreparable and it saddened her. She was quite content never to set eyes on Lady Catherine again, thinking her in all ways a horrible woman. Nonetheless, she was Darcy’s aunt, sister to his mother, and as the schism was a direct result of her existence, it pained her.