“You must leave your mark upon these rooms as well,” he urged. “I am certain your taste is as refined as my mother’s in every respect.”
She went to him then, wrapping her arms around him with the affection she so generously bequeathed. “I plan to love the country much more than town,” she said, smiling. “If you can feel your mother here, I would not want to change that.”
“We need not maintain this as a monument to her,” he said. “I want every home we have to bring you happiness.”
“That is why every home will. Not to mention, your happiness increases mine.”
He smiled at her, wondering if he had ever smiled so much in his life.
He had to kiss her then, to show her the deep and abiding ache of his desire. Due to the presence of his sister, he had been unable to be as free with her for the last several hours as had become his habit. Abruptly, he had a change of heart about continuing the tour.
“Perhaps I should now show you the rooms that will be yours,” he suggested.
“Perhaps you should.”
They climbed the stairs, and he led her along the long corridor that ended at the tall carved doors of the mistress’s chamber, and could not prevent a small smile when he heard her slight gasp. The room really was wondrous, with a chair railing surround painted pale blue, creamy beadboard ceilings, ivory velvet and silk curtains and bed hangings, and delicately hand-painted wall-papers.
“This is the prettiest chamber I have ever seen. It is almost too pretty to sleep in.”
“Actually, I was hoping you would continue to sleep with me, as we did at Netherfield. Obviously, I would never insist. It is only a wish.”
“You do not wish your privacy, not ever?”
“Not ever,” he said with certainty. “What I wish, is to fall asleep hearing your soft breaths; I wish to reach out in the night—softly, so that you do not waken, knowing even in my dreams that you are safe and warm beside me. What I wish is to open my eyes each morning to see your dear face in dawn’s light. It is all any man could ever want—youare all any man could ever want. And whether you will lie near me nightly or not, I am the most privileged man in the world.”
She reached up, tracing his cheekbone lightly with one finger. “There are times you may regret it.”
“If you desire your privacy, you need only take it back. This room is yours, however you wish to use it.”
“I like sharing a bed with you. I like that our marriage is nothing at all like my first one. I like that I am madly, passionately attached to my husband, and that I wish to sleep alongside him, so I can reach for him in the night whether it wakes him or not. Although it always seems to do so.”
“I adore your caresses, and a man would have to be dead not to waken when he is fortunate enough to feel them.”
She grinned. “You are a very light sleeper. What if I begin to snore?”
He gave her an answering smile. “When did you become so pessimistic? If your snores grow loud enough, I shall chuck you onto the floor, roll over, and go back to sleep.”
She giggled as he lifted her across the threshold, carrying her past the blues and ivories, through her sitting room—which she barely seemed to notice—and into his darker, more masculine rooms. He could not pay attention to whether she acknowledged the marble, wood and leather surroundings as he laid her down upon his mattresses.
“This is the softest bed upon which I have ever rested.”
“I did not have much of resting in mind,” he said, grinning.
Her answering smile grew sultry. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”
He looked down upon her, suddenly grown serious, filled with need and bliss, a heady combination. “This is all of what I want, dearest. You, with me, always. You are not atmy beck and call. If you are too tired for anything more than sleep, you need only say the word. It is always your choice.”
“I love you,” she said softly, bringing him into her arms. “I choose you.”
It was a long, long while before Elizabeth slept at last. Darcy did not consider himself a fanciful man, but most of the night he lay awake beside her, unable to slumber for the sheer joy of having her in his bed, in his home, in his life. He knew it would not always be like this—else crops would not be planted, and estates would fall and fail. But he could take this night to cherish and treasure her and what they had together now, and what they would make of their future. He could be overwhelmed with gratitude that he was her chosen love.
EPILOGUE
Nine Years Later
“Mama,” said seven-year-old Mary Beth, “I have something very important to discuss with you.”
Elizabeth glanced down at her daughter, who had many, many ideas about what was important and how often they should be discussed. In looks, she resembled her mother, which made her father almost incapable of disciplining her…not that she required much in the way of correction. But it did lead to her belief that she was aeons older than her two brothers, ages five and eighteen months, respectively, and worthy of a number of extra privileges due to her role as long-suffering eldest sister.
