“Aye! He was telling me about Mrs Reynolds and did a little impersonation of her. It transpires it was an uncommonly good one.”
“And wherefore were you discussing my housekeeper with Bingley?”
She wrinkled her nose, feeling a little embarrassed. “Because we were speaking of you.”
He looked momentarily surprised, then insufferably smug. She attempted to tug her hands from his grasp that she might ticklehim, but he was having none of it. Still pinning her arms in place, he wrapped his other hand beneath her and brought his lips to hers for a blistering kiss, banishing all thoughts of retribution from her mind. She signalled her surrender with a groan of pleasure, and he promptly tickled her other side, making her yelp against his lips.
“What has come over you?”
He pulled away and smirked at her, his countenance, if possible, even more handsome than usual for his present liveliness. “I am home,” he said simply, as though informing her of nothing less obvious than that day broke when the sun rose.
Noises from beyond a door caught both their attention. He rolled his eyes, kissed her forehead and removed from the bed, tugging his attire straight, then strode purposefully to the door to speak with whoever was without. She watched enthralled as her adoring and playful husband of moments before reverted effortlessly to the commanding, dignified and extraordinarily alluring master of Pemberley.
“As am I,” she whispered, full in the belief she was the most fortunate woman alive.
Wednesday 29 July 1812, Derbyshire
Elizabeth’s delight with her new home knew no bounds, though perhaps most precious to her was the fondness with which Darcy introduced her to every part of it. A full week had not been enough for her to learn all its passageways and rooms, but the orangery and the woods around the lake were already settled as two of her favouriteplaces in all of Pemberley. This morning, at her request, breakfast had been laid out on the veranda outside one and overlooking the other.
“What news from Grosvenor Street?”
Darcy ceased scowling at his letter and looked up. “IbelieveBingley is taking your sister to visit his family, but it is high Dutch for the most part.”
“Is his family not in Yorkshire?” When Darcy confirmed it with a nod, Elizabeth went on, “Then they will all but pass our door. Might we invite them to visit?”
“Are you certain you wish to receive them?” he replied, frowning slightly. “You were upset after your last visit with Jane.”
Since they parted ways, Elizabeth’s feelings towards her sister had vacillated constantly between indignation and the deepest concern. Yet, on one thing she was decided: they would not resolve the matter whilst five counties apart.
“I was, but we have quarrelled before. I am sure it will all be forgotten. Besides, I did not have the opportunity to show her our London home. I should dearly love for her to see Pemberley.”
Darcy smiled indulgently. “Then you had better invite them.”
He then turned his attention to his breakfast, and Elizabeth turned hers to her correspondence, opening a letter from her friend in Kent. She read and relayed the happy news that Charlotte Collins was with child, though Darcy was far more animated by the next report—that Mr Montgomery was presently at Rosings, paying court to Anne.
“This again?” Much to Elizabeth’s surprise, he threw his unfinished toast onto his plate and grabbed up his napkin, managing to make the innocuous act of dabbing the corners of his mouth appear the most resentful thing in the world. “I have told them Montgomery deserves better. Would that Mrs Sinclair had not pushed the match.”
“Are you truly so violently opposed to it?”
“I am. Montgomery is an excellent man and the means of uniting us, for which I owe him more than I can ever give. He deserves better than a joyless marriage with a malicious harpy as a mother.”
“There is nothing to say it will be a joyless marriage, and I daresay that, since you are able to put up with my mother, Mr Montgomery will find a way to tolerate Anne’s.”
“Yourmother is neither malicious nor disloyal. She may be a total stranger to propriety, but everything she does is done in what she believes to be the best interests of her family.”
Elizabeth bit her lip and gazed at him tenderly. “Thank you. But do you not suppose it possible that Lady Catherine also believes she has been acting in the best interests of her family?”
“Iam her family. How has she acted in my best interests?” he said with startling emotion. Never had he appeared so young, so vulnerable as in that rare unguarded moment, and Elizabeth thought her heart might break when his meaning struck her. Lady Catherine had been the one to proclaim herself almost his nearest relation, and she had been correct. It could surely only have been worse had Lady Anne Darcy herself scorned his choice of wife and industriously maligned him to the whole world.
She reached to squeeze his hand gently. “Well, I am your family now. And I love you enough to out vie a thousand ignoble aunts.”
Darcy stared at her silently for a moment, his gaze swimming with sentiment. Then his lips quirked, and he shook his head slightly. Reaching sideways, he plucked a leaf from a nearby potted plant and presented it to her with a look so intense it made her shiver. “You fell me, Elizabeth. I have no words.”
She beamed at him. “Good, for I have another letter to read, and your chatter would make the task impossible.”
She withstood his smouldering gaze very well as she read Mrs Gardiner’s note confirming their expected arrival on Saturday morning, by now more than comfortable being the object of his adoration.
Pemberley
