Page 53 of Midnight at Pemberley

Darcy stared at her in disbelief. His authority was rarely questioned. It struck him as amusing, and he laughed. Softly, at first, and then loudly. He scooped her into his arms, and twirled her around as he let his head fall back in deep, room-filling laughter. “You, my lovely wife, are magnificent!”

His laughter was contagious. Her laughter joined his. She locked her hands behind his neck and pulled closer to him. “And you, my husband, are a conundrum.”

“Now on that fact we agree,” he said, still chuckling. “Let us begin our day.”

“Did we settle something?”

“We decided we would disagree,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“As long as we can agree to disagree,” she replied in what sounded of confusion. Offering him a full smile, Elizabeth added, “I am happy you see the situation my way.”

Darcy laughed again as he set her on her feet. “I did no such thing, and you know it well.”

“But I will use all my arts and allurements to win you over,” she warned.

“I will enjoy the battle.” Darcy reached for the bell cord to summon the servants. “I will meet you downstairs for breakfast.” He left her standing in the middle of her room as he crossed to the adjoining dressing rooms. Reaching his suite, he waited patiently for Sheffield to attend Darcy’s needs. He replayed the past few minutes, as well as their confrontation the previous evening. Elizabeth was correct in one regard. He would protect her reputation as his wife. The Darcy staff would soon know how Sally found him in Elizabeth’s bed. By mid-afternoon, much of the neighborhood would be likewise informed. Then a horrible thought struck him, and Darcy quickly returned to Elizabeth’s room. She was just removing her nightgown, and under other circumstances he would have appreciated her sensual beauty. His wife’s waist was small and her legs were elegantly curvaceous.

Elizabeth clasped the garment to her and gasped, “William!”

“My apologies, but we have only a moment.” He stood immobile, his thoughts distracted by his wife’s proximity. “The servants believe we spent our wedding night in that bed.” He gestured towards the rumpled bed linens.

“Yes?”

“They will assume you were no maiden.” He stumbled through his thoughts, which were divided by his need to hurry and his need to touch her.

Elizabeth smiled, realizing perfectly where his thoughts rested. “I dealt with our needs. Actually, I did so last night before you joined me.” She indicated a reddish-brown stain on the linens—only a few droplets, but, obviously, proof of their night together.

“How?” Darcy’s thoughts returned to her nakedness, and his member swelled. He wondered idly whether he would spend the remainder of his days in a perpetual state of arousal.

“A simple prick of the finger, Mr. Darcy.” She held up her left index finger. “Aunt Gardiner kindly regaled me with details of what to expect on the wedding night. She thought to protect my sensibilities, but I found her tale quite enlightening. She cautioned me about the pain and the blood.” She, too, gestured towards the linens. “It creates a nice effect, does it not?” She sat on the bed, still holding the gown to her breasts.

Darcy took in the perfect curvature of her hips and how Elizabeth’s hair streamed down her back. He prayed for her to drop the gown so he might view all of her. It seemed for a moment she might oblige, but a light tap on the door told them Sally had returned. He motioned for Elizabeth to wait before claiming her maid’s services. Then he bowed and disappeared quickly through the dressing rooms.

Wickham followed Darcy and Elizabeth to the park, watching them from a copse of trees near the Serpentine. Even he, although he was loath to admit it, saw they made a charming couple. Wickham’s finely honed intuition told him Darcy loved Elizabeth. The rules of the game were, therefore, altered. Elizabeth would become another source for revenge, but his opponent’s love for the woman, the first true affection Wickham had observed between a descendant of Ellender D’Arcy and another human, created dangerous complications. If Darcy were alone in the world, he might gladly die, but Elizabeth Darcy provided him with reasons to live and to fight.

Wickham turned from the Darcys’ scene of domesticity. A few well-placed questions and a coin or two would provide him information on their plans for the day and of their departure for Pemberley. At the entrance to Rotten Row, Mrs. Younge awaited him. “We have some time before we make an appearance. Let us return to Edward Street.”

Darcy and Elizabeth called for Georgiana at the girl’s residence. Darcy escorted both ladies on a shopping excursion before they departed for Pemberley. He dutifully led the ladies from shop to shop. Elizabeth, having four sisters, understood what Georgiana experienced as a woman in bloom, providing them a natural, easy, and lighthearted connection.

“You look smug, Mr. Darcy,” his wife whispered as he held the shop’s door.

“Just thinking how fortunate I am, my dear.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Why should you not feel fortunate?” she taunted. “Two women idolize you,” she paused, recognizing his anticipation. “Your dear sister and Caroline Bingley.” She swatted his arm with her fan before following Georgiana into the well-lit store.

She paused at the counter and waited for his approach. Darcy stepped behind her to say, “Does my wife not idolize me?”

Elizabeth answered softly, delivering the lines without turning. “Your wife, Mr. Darcy, is of a practical nature. Idols are for schoolgirls and desperate women. I prefer the flesh-and-blood man, someone who strives for perfection and often falls short, but someone who stirs my very soul.”

“Then I am not just fortunate, but blessed.”

Elizabeth remained at the counter as Darcy strolled away. Her eyes never left her husband’s back. As she moved among the tables bearing gloves and scarves and fans, he half turned, and his profile was revealed. The strong chin line, the aristocratic nose, the thick brows, and the lips held tightly as he fought back a grin. All these were almost as familiar to her now as her own reflection. The flesh-and-blood man was indeed something to behold.

Flirtatiously, Elizabeth followed. “William, may your sister and I leave your company for a few minutes? We wish to choose some intimate garments, and we both must purchase a special gift for the idolized man in our lives, and as you are that man, it might be easier if you were not part of our company.”

“Now I am your idol, Mrs. Darcy?”

Elizabeth laughed at her own words. “I bow to the higher intelligence of Miss Bingley. After all, the woman cannot be wrong about everything.”