He carried her to their bed, nestling close all through the night. And within his stalwart embrace, gentle caresses, radiant heat, and enduring love, her emotions began the necessary journey of settling into a balance of sorrow and joy.
Christmas Present
“Ouch! Damn!”
The whispered curse forced her to burrow her face into the pillow, stifling the giggles that finally erupted after the past five minutes of listening to her husband attempt to sneak quietly about the dark room. He had already missed the chair back when tossing his robe onto it, the plop of heavy velvet hitting the floor surprisingly loud in the silent room. And the noises rendered by an ungainly one-legged hop and frantic rescue of the oil lamp that tipped when he lost his balance while taking off his shoes and stockings still echoed across the ceiling’s beams. She felt some sympathy for what she knew was a toe painfully jammed into the solid wood of the bed’s frame, but the humor of the situation overruled her pity. When would he learn?
“A single candle would have saved your poor foot, you know.”
After a long pause and bumbling search for where the edges met, the bed curtains parted and the vague outline of his head appeared in the gap. “Forgive me, dearest. I tried not to wake you.”
She laughed, rising up on one elbow to better see his face. “Amongst your many talents, stealth is not one of them. I would have thought that evident by now. Next time you choose to prowl about the halls in the middle of the night, please take a candle. I may still waken from the light but it will prevent damaged digits leaving blood on the carpets.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Darcy. Although in this case it is not the middle of the night but nearly dawn, and may I remind you that the halls of Pemberley are well lit? Only in here is it pitch dark.”
“What induced you to leave our warm bed at this hour anyway?”
“I wanted to ensure the tree had been properly erected in the ballroom as ordered.”
“And was it?”
“All twelve impressive feet of it. I daresay it is rather lovely and festive, despite my misgivings at the notion of a tree inside the manor.” The curtains opened further as he leaned in to kiss his wife.
“So now that you have satisfied your curiosity, how about you and your injured toes join me in bed?” But before he could answer, she balled her fists around the loose linen of his shirt and yanked him flush onto her body, a position he did not protest after the initial startled grunt.
After a long kiss he whispered huskily, “You are so demanding and impetuous, love. A trait I much admire although in this instance a modicum of restraint would have allotted me the chance to remove my clothing and join you under the blankets.”
“I’ll release you long enough for that task, but try not to injure yourself further.”
With a speed and precision at odds with his earlier clumsiness, he lit the bedside candles, disrobed, and was under the blankets nestled against her bare skin in record time. The faint glow of the rising sun mixed with the light from the candles, igniting the fiery red strands of her hair as he buried his fingers into the mass spilling over the pillow. He inhaled her scent and kissed the soft bend of her neck repeatedly.
“Happy Christmas, Alexander,” she murmured into his ear.
“I love you, Fiona,” he responded, burrowing deeper beneath the covers and preparing to establish their own Christmas tradition.
Far on the other side of the upper floor of the enormous manor house, the master’s chambers were silent. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Master of Pemberley, was soundly asleep and dreaming.
Christmas was one of his favorite seasons of the entire year and this one promised to be particularly spectacular and joyous for a number of special reasons. This indisputable awareness was why a sliver of his unconscious mind recognized how odd it was that his dreams were troubled. As the unsettling dream escalated to a true nightmare, that sliver of consciousness began to exert more force, sending signals to his twitching muscles and pounding heart, urging him to wake up.
However, it would not be his own will that ended his sleep and shattered the disturbing images.
“Hmmm… You’re moving finally. Are you waking up, William? It is dawn and I tire of waiting for your touch and kisses.”
Even his distressed, sleep-fogged brain dimly perceived the moist, full lips raining kisses over his bare shoulder and up his neck while a small, firmly caressing hand traveled over his chest. The jumble of negative dream sensations and visions collided with the pleasant impression of a woman possessively touching his skin with the utmost tenderness.
“Elizabeth? Is that you?” His rough voice cracked, one hand grabbing the tiny fingers winding a determined path down his chest. With the other he scrubbed at his gummed eyes, turning toward the face that was now floating above him and laughing.
“After three and twenty years you expected someone else? For that, I should leave in a huff and make you suffer.” But she only laughed harder and brushed a kiss over his slack mouth. “I shall forgive you, my dearest husband, as I know what a deep sleeper you are. Unless, of course, you confess to dreams of another woman in our bed waking you with kisses? In that case your punishment will be severe.”
She was still smiling, an impish quirk to her brows as she stared into his gradually clearing eyes. She was not the slightest bit concerned about his dreams involving another woman, knowing with full certainty that even in his sleeping state, only she appeared.
He exhaled in a gush, blinked, and pressed two fingertips tightly against the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. He then brought the slim hand he yet held to his lips, kissing her wrist and palm, and finally opening his eyes to focus on her face. His naturally sapphire-blue eyes were dark in the shadows, but they were lucid, piercing her with his familiar intensity.
Now that he was fully awake he snorted at her teasing and draped his free arm around her shoulders until his fingers were entwined in the hair at the nape of her neck, the rest spilling over his arm. “Never,” he answered decisively. “Rather I was enduring a nightmare where you were not a part of my life. I was old and wrinkled, grayer than my uncle, shuffling my body arthritically through the empty corridors of Pemberley, depressed and lonely. It was horrible.”
“I am sorry for your nightmare, love,” she said with true sincerity. “You should not suffer unpleasant dreams of that sort. I am your wife now and always.” She played with his thick, brown hair, trailing her fingertips over his features as her rich voice caressed and soothed. “We are all here as we have been and will be for a long while to come.”
She paused for a long interlude of tender kisses, withdrawing to continue reassuring, only with a playful lilt to her voice. “And you, my darling, are as robust and healthy as the day I married you. I only see three or four grey hairs—”
“Each placed there by Michael, I am sure.”
“—and tiny laugh crimps at the corners of your eyes are the only wrinkles on your perfect body. Fifty-one is far from old and considering how active your uncle still is, I doubt your virility will be an issue for many years to come, if ever.”
“Well, when you clarify it in those terms, the nightmare fades into oblivion.” He pulled until she lay completely atop him with limbs entangled.
“Since it is Christmas morning, we have a tradition to uphold,” she reminded him.
“Breakfast with the family?”
“Before that.”
“Waking the children before they pound upon our door?”
She giggled. “You know they will head directly to the ballroom and the tree sparing no thought of their parents. Try again.”