“My love”—she laughed lightly—“I hardly think I would have married you one week ago had I not already done so.” She tilted her head up to him in order to look upon his face. “Truly, Fitzwilliam, it has long been forgot; however, as your wife, I must reserve the right to tease you about it on occasion.”
“Apparently, it has not been long forgot, but very well, my lovely wife, if you insist, I must then reserve the right to do this on occasion.” He then leaned in to kiss her. “Do you object, Mrs. Darcy?” he whispered.
She swallowed and, with heavily lidded eyes, shook her head. “Who am I to object to something that brings us both such pleasure?”
“Elizabeth,” he said in a ragged voice, his eyes filled with desire, “you cannot possibly know the true extent of what loving you has done to me. You have become everything to me, Elizabeth—everything.”
He kissed her again, teasing her lips apart with his tongue so he could taste all the delights of her mouth as he clasped her body firmly against his. “Everything,” he breathed, over and over again. “Everything,” as he slowly eased her back onto the pillows and covered her body with his. “Everything,” as he tasted and tantalized her in all the ways he knew would bring her pleasure, and finally, a softly gasped, “Lizzy,” as he skillfully brought them both over the edge of their passion, the familiar, dizzying waves of ecstasy washing over them in a release so poignant, so powerful, it would cost them every remaining ounce of energy they possessed between them.
Elizabeth awoke the following morning to find Darcy observing her with an expression of contentment. She stretched and laid her hand upon his cheek, which, having not yet been shaven, felt delightfully abrasive. “Merry Christmas, Fitzwilliam,” she purred.
Darcy caressed her lips with his own. “Merry Christmas, my sweetest Elizabeth,” he murmured happily. Before he could return his lips to hers for another kiss, however, she gently pushed him away and sat up.
“I almost forgot! Wait right here, and do not leave before I return.” And with that, she threw back the counterpane, wrapped herself in her discarded dressing gown, and hurried to the door that joined her husband’s rooms with hers. She returned in a moment with a small, neatly wrapped box and handed it to Darcy with a look of delight as she climbed back under the covers.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It is a present, my dearest,” she replied, barely managing to contain her pleasure.
“Elizabeth, there is no need for you to give me any gifts.”
“Yes, I know, but I wanted to give you this gift. You have been so wonderful to me, and I merely wished to do something special for you in return. Now open it, Fitzwilliam, before Christmas is over and the New Year is upon us!”
Darcy smiled and began to remove the thick paper surrounding the box. He lifted the lid to find several gentlemen’s handkerchiefs, all embroidered with his monogram. He removed them and was about to compliment her on the fine quality of her workmanship, when he beheld a beautifully painted miniature of his beloved wife staring up at him, a glint of mischief in her eyes, which the artist had captured to perfection. “Elizabeth! This is absolutely exquisite. It is exactly what I have most desired, after having been so fortunate as to acquire the original, of course,” he said with a grin. “Thank you. I shall carry it with me and treasure it always.”
Elizabeth beamed. “You are very welcome. I was hoping you would.”
Darcy ran his finger over the glass covering the miniature, caressing with tenderness the tiny version of his wife. “It is truly an excellent likeness of you. Did you sit for it while you have been in London?”
Elizabeth smiled. “No, I had it framed in London. I sat for it when I was still in Hertfordshire.”
“Hertfordshire? May I ask the name of the artist?”
“Bennet,” she replied.
It was not what Darcy had expected to hear. “Bennet?”
“My sister Kitty has many talents aside from that of chasing after poor, unsuspecting officers with Lydia. She was very pleased to do it and took great pleasure in the knowledge that it would be my gift to you. I believe she has never before concentrated so much of her effort on one tiny painting!”
“It is a small masterpiece. I had no idea Katherine was so gifted. She would benefit greatly from having a London master, do not you think?”
“That she would, indeed; however, my parents hardly have the means to support such an endeavor.”
Darcy looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “And are you not the mistress of Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy? Surely, we can well afford to have your sister stay with us in Town and forward her education.”
Elizabeth kissed him soundly. “You are truly a generous man, Fitzwilliam.”
He laughed. “Yes, I certainly am!” He removed himself from her embrace and left the bed to procure a small, elegantly wrapped parcel from his own dressing room. When he returned, he presented it to Elizabeth with a flourish and resumed his place beside her under the counterpane.
Without ceremony, she eagerly tore off the wrapping, exclaiming with pleasure at the delicately painted porcelain box she cradled in her hands.
Darcy lifted the hinged lid, and a beautiful melody began to fill the room. Elizabeth smiled as he explained, “It is a waltz. It is still considered quite scandalous in England, but I assure you it is very popular in Austria. A gentleman and a lady twirl and glide across the dance floor, holding one another quite close. It is very beautiful to watch but, I daresay, highly inappropriate.” He smiled as he gave her a penetrating look of longing. “I am determined to dance with you someday while I hold you in my arms, Elizabeth. No doubt, it will bring me immense pleasure.”
She placed the music box upon the nightstand and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, until then, sir, perhaps you will allow me to bring you immense pleasure in some other way?”
“I would by no means wish to suspend any pleasure of yours, Mrs. Darcy.”
Christmas day at the Fitzwilliams’ home in Berkeley Square was, most unfortunately, a far cry from the pleasurable evening Darcy and Elizabeth had spent with her family in Gracechurch Street the night before. Though Elizabeth did experience many enjoyable moments conversing with Georgiana, Lord and Lady Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and his brothers, she found very little pleasure in the society of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who also happened to be in attendance with her daughter, Anne.
Contrary to Elizabeth’s expectations, Darcy’s cousin proved to be quite the opposite of her mother—slight and frail, extremely pale, and almost sickly in appearance. She spoke very little to anyone, or rather, Lady Catherine did not permit her to voice more than a few syllables before interrupting. Elizabeth noticed Miss de Bourgh’s sickly pallor took on a crimson hue, not only whenever her mother treated her in such an unfeeling and controlling manner, but also whenever she happened to attempt to malign Elizabeth and even Darcy, for what she deemed his inappropriate choice of wife. Though she was a young woman of very large fortune and the sole heiress to Rosings Park, which Elizabeth had understood from Mr. Collins’s accounts to be a very grand estate, Elizabeth could not help but feel pity for Miss de Bourgh. In spite of her obvious wealth, her life seemed to hold little in the way of pleasure.