by Robin Helm
“They will lose nothing, for I agreed to pay them for the time. The men were very grateful for a chance to spend the day with their families.”
She stood on her tiptoes, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him soundly.
“When I visited Pemberley the summer before we wed, Mrs. Reynolds said you were the best master. She told me she knew none so kind or handsome as you. At the time, I thought your housekeeper overstated your good qualities, but I have come to realize that she did not praise you enough,” she said, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
Darcy blushed. “Mrs. Reynolds has always thought more highly of me than I deserve. Come. Let me show you the house.”
Elizabeth walked through the spacious mansion with him, delighted with the arrangement of the rooms, exclaiming over the abundance of natural light.
“I did not understand how comfortable this design would be. I remember when you showed me the plans, but I could not see it in my mind,” she said.
Darcy stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “I am pleased with the work, but I have done all I can. Now you must choose the wallpapers, rugs, curtains, furniture, and anything else needed to make it comfortable. Amon Wilds, the architect who drew up the plans, left some fabric and wallpaper samples for you. He is quite well-known, very much in demand in London and Bath. I was fortunate to meet him and contract his services when we were last in Town. His son works with him, and they both contributed to the project.”
She clasped her hands together. “Have they already left Lambton? We really should ask them to dine with us at Pemberley. This house has modern conveniences which we lack at Pemberley. Perhaps he would supervise a few improvements which would add to our enjoyment of our own home.”
“They are at the inn now. I shall send an invitation today, inviting them for dinner tomorrow, if that suits,” he answered. “Charles and Jane, along with their child, shall be here soon. Perhaps she would enjoy helping you furnish the house.”
Elizabeth sighed.
“I thought you would be pleased at the prospect of seeing your sister and nephew. Are you not?” he asked, perplexed.
She turned around to face him. “I have greatly enjoyed our time alone, though I knew it could not last forever. Of course, I shall be most content to have Jane and her family visit, as you shall spend your days with Charles. In Jane’s last letter, she hinted that they wished to leave Hertfordshire. Are they interested in moving here?”
He nodded. “Yes, but I shall not spend all my time with Charles. Though he wishes to purchase a country house in the area, and he asked for my advice, I have no idea of neglecting you again. My love, I have enjoyed these days together fully as much as you have.”
Her face brightened considerably.
“So, while Jane and I furnish the dower house, you and Charles will explore the area for available estates?”
Darcy lowered his forehead to hers. “Exactly so, though we shall not be searching blindly. Both Charles and I have contacted our solicitors, and they shall soon send us the listings of all the eligible purchases within ten miles. We both hope to settle the matter quickly.”
“I should have known you would have everything arranged. You are attentive to every detail.”
“Shall we go?” he asked. “We have two more activities before we return to Pemberley for our dinner.”
“I am yours to command for another two hours, at least.”
They were soon on their horses, galloping down a path which led to a meadow where stacks of hay were arranged. Darcy reined in Xanthos, and Elizabeth drew up beside him.
“Right now,” he said, “if Patience is spooked and gallops where there are fallen trees, streams, or hedges, you would be thrown. For your own safety, you must learn to make her jump, and neither of you shall be hurt if I teach you in this manner. If she does not clear the short haystacks, she will simply knock them down. We shall begin with short stacks, building them as you learn to trust your abilities. Stay where you are and observe.”
Darcy nudged Xanthos into a gallop, easily jumping over each of the four obstacles. He circled back around, motioning for her to join him. She reined Patience to a stop beside Xanthos. When Darcy began to walk his horse over the haystacks, she did the same after him. After a few times, Darcy had her trot, then canter. As Elizabeth and Patience gained confidence, Darcy built the stacks a bit higher.
Eventually Patience jumped the obstacles at a trot, then a cantor, and finally, while galloping. Darcy reached into his greatcoat pocket, bringing out apples for each horse. He looked up at his wife, beaming with pride, handing her an apple for Patience.
“Excellent work. Your courage rises with every challenge. You have done quite enough for today. We have one more stop before we return. Are you tired?”
She shook her head, following him as he turned Xanthos in a different direction.
He pointed to a stand of large oak trees. “That is another one of my favourite places on the grounds. I hope you will like it as well as I do.”
They rode side-by-side until they arrived at the leafless trees. He dismounted and threw the reins around a low-hanging limb, then reached up to help her down. Darcy took her hand in his, walking into the grove until he found the tree he sought.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“A swing! How did you know I wished for a swing?” She ran to sit on one side of the large swing which hung from a sturdy branch. He joined her, using his strong legs to push them high into the air. The sounds of their combined laughter rang through the grove.
One day, we shall bring our children here, she thought.
Only encroaching darkness forced the joyful couple to return to Pemberley. The torches had been lit to welcome them, and Mr. Anderson waited with a stable boy to take charge of the horses.
“There is nothing like coming home for real comfort,” she said, turning her face up to his.
“Home is wherever you are, my love.”
Chapter Eight
I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.
Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
As the weeks passed, January faded into February, and Elizabeth continued to dream sporadically, recording each one she remembered in her journal.
She limited Darcy to reading one journal entry per day. When he had come to the end of them, he requested that she allow him to read her earlier dreams, from the time she met him. Elizabeth agreed, but only after considerable persuasion on her husband’s part.
She privately acknowledged that he was quite adept in the art of inducement, relentless when he set his mind to a goal. She also kept to herself how very much she enjoyed being the object of his skill, for to be persuaded by such a man was pleasing in the extreme. In fact, a part of her was tempted to continue in her obstinance simply to enjoy her husband’s attentions a bit longer, but she relented, realizing she was in danger of being selfish.
Elizabeth soon found being the object of Darcy’s gratitude was a most happy circumstance, as well. Having secured her agreement, he began, straightaway, to devour her journal. As he read, he was properly humbled by her account of his words and actions from time to time, but he enjoyed himself immensely, and his good humour was perpetual. His glimpses into her mind made him hunger for more of the same.
“My love,” Darcy beseeched her, “you should not limit yourself to writing your dreams. I wish to read your memories and thoughts, too, as I feel it will lead to a greater understanding between the two of us.”
Elizabeth found her handsome husband was just as masterful in beseeching her as he had been in persuading her. She simply could not resist him. Consequently, most mornings Darcy’s beautiful young wife could be found seated at her desk, writing furiously. A morning in the middle of February was no exception.
She was recording her dream from the night before when, hearing footsteps behind her, she lifted
her eyes from her journal, covering her writing with her hand when a familiar scent enveloped her. Her husband leaned over her shoulder to nibble her ear, causing her to shiver.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, noticing his fleeting smirk. He did that on purpose, for he knows how he affects me.
“Did you have a dream last night?” he asked, his voice low. “I should like to read it.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she breathed, turning her face up to his. “I have not yet finished writing it down.”
And I have not yet decided if you should read it. She closed the book and placed it into its accustomed drawer.
“Come with me,” he said softly, stepping to her side, reaching out his hand to her.
Standing, Elizabeth put her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to their suite of rooms.
A small, round table covered with a snowy cloth, flanked by two chairs, occupied their private sitting room. A vase of her preferred roses graced the setting, and the rose tea set displayed some of her favourite delicacies. He escorted her to the table and pulled out her chair.
“What a lovely surprise,” she murmured. “Is there some important occasion I have forgotten? Today is not my birthday, nor yours, and our wedding anniversary falls in December.”
His smile held a secret. “Even so, today is a very special day. Sit, my dear.”
“I see you are determined to be mysterious,” she replied archly, doing as he requested. “Shall I pour?”
Darcy nodded, eyes lively.
Elizabeth prepared his tea according to his preferences and set it before him. He waited until she finished adding milk and sugar to hers before he took a sip.
“I have so enjoyed reading your journal. You have given me all sorts of ideas,” he said, retrieving an ornate box from beside his chair and placing it beside her plate.
“What is that? A treasure chest? Like the one in my dream?” she asked, delighted.
Darcy nodded. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
She opened the box to find it filled with small, folded papers. “Valentine’s Day? Did you write the things I dreamed of?”
“Some of them. More than anything else, I want to make all your dreams, in addition to a few of mine, come true. Unlike the Darcy of your sleeping hours, however, I shall allow you to read only one paper each day.”
“Only one?” She pursed her lips. “I see Mr. Bossy is back.”
He chuckled. “Yes. After all, you limit me to one journal entry per day. I am following your plan.”
“How many are there? Fifty-five?” she asked, looking into the chest.
Darcy shook his head. “Three hundred sixty-five. Enough for one each day until next Valentine’s Day.”
She laughed, holding her hand to her mouth. “Just how much time have you devoted to this project?”
“I started writing my fancies down as soon as I read your dream,” he said.
Her mouth dropped open. “That was just over a month ago, at most. You must have put a great deal of thought into this to write more than ten per day.”
His crooked smile spoke volumes as he gazed at her through his lashes. “Elizabeth, thinking each day of ten or eleven things I want to do with you is no work at all. You have no idea how much of my mind you occupy. Indeed, simply knowing that you dreamed of such things made me feel freer to tell you what I hold in my own heart.”
“I suppose that explains why it was so difficult to allow you to read my dreams. I was fearful that you might think me too forward,” she admitted, blushing.
“I would never feel that way.” Darcy held her face in his hands and kissed her.
“Now,” he said, pulling back a bit, releasing her, “choose a paper and read it aloud.”
She selected one, opening the folded parchment as she took it from the chest. “Join me for an evening of star gazing in the conservatory. Dinner provided.”
“What do you think?” he asked. “Shall we share our knowledge of the constellations?”
“I like the idea. How shall I dress?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Something warm and comfortable enough to sleep in. I intend for our entire night to be among the plants and trees, under the stars.”
She raised a brow. “What if I am cold?”
“The fireplaces and I shall keep you warm,” he said, laughing under his breath.
“What shall we eat?”
“Dishes that you favour, along with a few surprises.”
“But I love strawberries, and it is winter,” she pouted.
“Then I shall do my best to bring you summer for your Valentine’s Day present,” he answered.
“I confess I lost track of the days and did not realize today is February fourteenth. I must think of a gift for you, but you set the bar so high. How shall I ever reach it?” she asked, laying her hand over his. “You have given me so much already, yet you continue to increase my debt.”
His eyes glistened as he dropped a kiss on her nose. “I want for nothing, my love, but if you wish to give me something, ’tis not a difficult undertaking. Simply imagine what I would like. You must have noticed a few things in the past year or so.”
“A game of chess?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“Not tonight, but some other time. Keep thinking.”
She scratched her cheek with one finger. “Another foot massage?”
“That was indeed wonderful. You may do that again at any time – except tonight.”
“Hmm …. I have an idea.”
“So do I,” he murmured. “I wonder if we have the same notion?”
Elizabeth smiled. “You shall just have to wait to find out.”
“Anticipation. You play this game well,” he replied in a whisper.
“We shall see how good I am,” she teased. “It all depends on how much you like my gift, I suppose.”
He took a bit of a jam tartlet, then fed the rest to her. “You have yet to disappoint me. I doubt you will this evening.”
“Then I shall have to do my best not to steal your joy.”
“I think that would be impossible, my love.”
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
Jenny was assisting Elizabeth in dressing for the evening when they heard a knock.
The maid crossed the room, opening the door to accept a note from a footman. She quickly delivered the folded paper to her mistress.
Elizabeth broke the seal and read silently.
Remember to dress comfortably, unless you wish to change for bed in the conservatory. Perhaps a warm nightgown under a dressing gown would be better than an evening dress.
I eagerly await you for our evening under the stars, my heart.
Your devoted husband,
Mr. Bossy
She burst into laughter. Mr. Bossy, indeed!
“Jenny, simply brush my hair and tie it back with a ribbon. I shall wear the blue cotton night shift with my thickest robe.”
The maid quickly did as her mistress directed. “Shall you need me for anything else?”
“I think not,” Elizabeth answered pleasantly. “I require nothing else until the morning.”
Jenny curtseyed and hurried from the room.
Elizabeth retrieved Darcy’s gift from her dresser and hid it in the pocket of her robe. She took a last look in her mirror, and pushing her feet into slippers, picked up a candlestick to light her way to the conservatory.
Darcy waited at the open door for her, sans cravat, waistcoat, and jacket. He took her hand, taking her candlestick as he led her to a small table set for two by the middle fireplace. “You are lovely.”
“I find you quite dashing in half-dress, husband. Shall you play the brigand this evening?”
“Would you like that?”
“Another time. Surprise me as a highwayman or pirate.”
“That may take a bit of planning,” he replied, holding her chair.
“Fortunate that planning is your forte.”
She sat down, glancing around at the myriads of
candles glowing in the darkness.
He moved to stand behind her, untying the ribbon, slowly pulling it from her hair as he spread the curls over her shoulders.
Darcy lifted the lids from several dishes. “Beef tips in wine, roasted baby potatoes, and artichokes baked in a cheese sauce.”
“We have no plates.”
“There is no need for them. I shall feed both of us from the hot dishes.”
He speared a piece of meat and held it to her lips.
“Mmm…” She chewed slowly, watching him as he ate a piece.
When they had eaten all they desired, he took the lid from another dish with a flourish.
Her face brightened. “Is that a chocolate sauce?”
“Yes, and ’tis warm enough for this.” He raised the final lid, setting it aside to reveal peeled orange slices.
“From the orange trees here in the conservatory. The strawberries have yet to ripen,” he explained, dipping an orange slice into the chocolate, offering it to her.
Elizabeth took a bite, closing her eyes and sighing. “Delicious.”
He ate the rest. “Decadent?”
“Oh, yes.”
As they finished, she said, “I have your present.”
“But there is still more to mine.”
“I thought as much, but I believe you shall want mine now.”
She drew the package from her pocket, placing it on the table before her husband.
He untied the ribbon and drew her journal from the paper.
Darcy raised a brow in question.
“’Tis my dream from last night,” she whispered. “I have a marker holding the proper place.”
He opened the book and began to read:
I dreamed something wonderful last night, though I dare not tell my husband about it, for he would be sorely disappointed should it not be true. I cannot bear to cause him pain.
Still, the dream pleased me greatly.
I am heavy with child, looking through our parlour window at the riotous autumn colours of the trees.
My ankles are so swollen, I am obliged to give up my daily constitutionals.
I begin to cry several times each day for no discernable reason, and I waddle rather than walk. Most of my time is spent visiting my chamber pot.