Page 78 of Midnight at Pemberley

“Then we will lie together. I will send for French letters. They will prevent your ability to conceive a child. Or we may use treated sponges.”

Elizabeth frowned her disapproval. “I was thinking of something more intimate. Something spontaneous shared between a husband and a wife.”

“Elizabeth, do you not understand?” His voice sounded calm, but his hunched shoulders and taut expression said otherwise. “It can be however we want it to be. We will name our own terms.”

“This is madness!” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “What have you done with my most sensible husband?” She started for the door.

“Please, Elizabeth. I am begging you,” he called after her.

Elizabeth stopped suddenly and whirled around to face him. “Begging? That is not begging, William. That is demanding. It is manipulating!” And she strode off.

She was nearly to the door when a voice, so soft and so full of grief, froze her in her place. “This is begging.”

Elizabeth turned to find him in supplication, and he noted the tears forming in her eyes. She looked on in silence. “Oh, William,” she sighed before rushing forward and dropping to her own knees before him. Her arms encircled his neck while she peppered his face with an array of kisses. “I love you,” she assured him before starting the barrage of kisses again.

Darcy had made the decision the moment she stormed away. He would do anything to keep her with him. Their weeks together were the only joy he could recall in his life. Elizabeth offered paradise. Without her, there was no reason to live.

The following two days unfolded blissfully. Nothing troubled the exquisite serenity. Her husband had ridden out with his steward to inspect several of the storage barns for possible repair, settled a tenant dispute over property lines, and listened to the new vicar’s plea for a village school. In the early afternoon of the second day, he sat with Georgiana at the pianoforte playing several duets. In the evening, she and Darcy indulged in new intimacies. She knew it was only a matter of time and of trust before they knew the full pleasure. She watched the pure joy clinging to his features, and Elizabeth knew great sorrow he had missed so much of life by hiding from what might have been.

She sat in a winged chair looking out over the prospect, attempting to embroider a handkerchief for Darcy, her mind resting purely on the man himself. It might shock him to realize she found his laugh soulful. She would do anything to make him laugh. Her husband was a tall, supremely masculine man of impressive figure and imposing assurance, and she found an unexpected glimpse of him exhilarating.

“Ah, there you are,” the image spoke from behind her, and Elizabeth turned her head slowly to look into ocean blue eyes.

“Do you require something of me, Sir?”

A smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I always require you.” His voice warmed her as much as did his smile. “Actually, I thought we might share a walk. The sun warms the day.”

Elizabeth scrambled to her feet. “I would enjoy a stretch of the leg. Wait until I claim a pelisse and a scarf.”

“I will be in my study when you are prepared.” She caressed his cheek before hurrying on her way.

She bounded into his private room a quarter hour later. “I am prepared,” she singsonged. Viewing Darcy deep in thought, she paused close to his desk. Unable to interpret his expression, she asked, “Does the letter bring ill news?”

“Not exactly,” he mumbled. “It is from Miss Bingley.”

“Caroline Bingley? She thinks to write to a married man?” Elizabeth sat down suddenly. “Is it to do with Mr. Bingley?”

Darcy looked up, hearing the anxiety in her voice. “No,” he assured her. “I suppose it is Caroline’s congratulations upon our marriage.” He opened his desk drawer and placed the letter inside.

Elizabeth recognized how Darcy avoided speaking the truth. “I am certain Miss Bingley extended no such feelings. Wishing me congratulations after I stole the prize upon which she had set her heart is unlikely.”

Darcy’s eyes sparkled. “The prize? Shall I consider myself so worthy?” he half teased.

“I am confident Miss Bingley held you in high regard. As for me, I know I took pity on you.” She lifted her chin in challenge.

“I suspect you did.” Darcy winked at her. “I sing the praises of your humanity, my love.”

Elizabeth sat back in her chair, straightening the seams of her outer garments. “I must hear of Miss Bingley’s felicitations.”

“Are you confident you wish to know of her sentiments?” Darcy leaned back, retrieving the letter from the desk. “It will likely present an offense. Miss Bingley often lacks tact.”

Elizabeth sat straighter. Defiant. “There is little Miss Bingley could say to surprise me.”

“I never doubted your lack of surprise, but I would not intentionally provide you displeasure, Elizabeth. Some parts of the letter are ill worded.”

“I would still prefer for you to read it to me, William.”

Darcy sighed with resignation. “If you wish, my love.”