One week before the wedding Bingley and Darcy had been required to clear up some last minute details in London, and returned two days before. On the evening of Bingley and Darcy’s return to Hertfordshire, they had been invited to dine at Longbourn. The invitation was accepted, and though she had looked forward to it, Elizabeth was disappointed to find her fiancée distant and quiet. During the course of the meal, she discovered that he had been obliged to spend the day at sport, at Mr. Hurst’s request. She also discovered, by way of a very subtle comment that Mr. Darcy made, that Miss Bingley had been in a rather foul mood that day. That, considered Elizabeth, would make even Jane wish to retreat to peace and quiet; instead, he was forced to endure her mother, Mrs. Phillips, and Mrs. Long.

By the end of the meal, Elizabeth was as aggravated with her mother and aunt as her fiancé was. It seemed there was no end to their chatter about the lace that Jane had chosen for her wedding gown, or the discerning taste Elizabeth had shown in choosing silk for hers, though she was sure she had also heard the phrase, “but Elizabeth’s gown is very plain indeed,” at least three thousand times. Also, Mrs. Bennet did not scruple to bemoan the fact that all the shopping her two eldest daughters had found themselves involved in, was deprived of her youngest.

Mr. Bennet, thankfully, was wise enough to make a well-placed comment about the shameful way in which Lydia’s marriage was brought about, which caused sufficient embarrassment on his wife’s part to prevent another such comment.

She did, however, wish to stress to Mrs. Long how well her daughters would be married, and Elizabeth and Jane’s London trip six weeks earlier could not be described in enough detail, and when she had run out of comments about the very great consideration Jane was given and that Elizabeth had been attended by Lord and Lady Matlock, Mrs. Bennet turned to Bingley and Darcy’s most recent absence. Why it had not occurred to her that such trips were quite common to both gentlemen, Elizabeth did not know, but she tried in earnest to stay quiet while Darcy was questioned. His reticence served him well; his short answers were not enough to interest Mrs. Bennet.

“But you know,” she rambled on, “Mr. Darcy was attentive even when he was gone to town, for Lizzy received letters from him every time he had to go. It seems to me to show some very particular attention to her; I do not know why she did not rip them open directly. She brought them up to her room and came back down again as though they meant nothing at all to her, and went on about her business. Jane, of course, read every letter her young man wrote to her immediately. What a blush she got on her cheeks! We, of course, did not tease her too much about it.”

Jane looked uneasily at Bingley and then Darcy. She might not have been the most forthright young woman, but no one could accuse her of not being an observant one; for she did see the redness wash over Darcy’s cheeks, and when she turned to her sister, the whiteness of her knuckles as she tried to hold the butter knife in her hand steady, and her eyes tightly clenched shut.

“Perhaps Elizabeth did not wish to be subjected to the same teasing,” offered Jane, her tone light, and then, she attempted to change the subject by introducing a new, rather boring, but highly neutral subject – the weather in Hertfordshire while the gentlemen were away.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and shot an uncharacteristically reproachful look in the direction of her mother, then watched Darcy excuse himself and walk from the dining room. She paused a moment or two before she followed him.

She found him in the sitting room. She approached him slowly, sighing before she spoke. “Mr. Darcy,” she began softly, “I am sorry that anything my mother would ever say would give you pain. She . . . does not always know of which she speaks, and I had thought . . . I was certain that you understood that.”

Darcy paused a moment. “I do understand, Elizabeth,” he said. “But you did not deny her speech, and your sister confirmed it.”

Elizabeth understood that her fiancé was quite unaccustomed to her mother’s ways, and that she had much better tolerance for them. Darcy was likely tired in any case, from his day of shooting, and she knew that he was not very fond of Mr. Hurst. It was clearly more aggravation than he could endure in one day; if he was being over-sensitive to her actions, she felt that perhaps his reaction was unavoidable.

“I am sorry if it gives you pain,” she repeated. “I cannot deny it.”

Hurt, Darcy turned toward the window, determined not to speak another word to her that evening.

“I may offer you an explanation of my actions, however, that might change your opinion on the subject.” When he was silent, she continued, standing next to him at the window, staring earnestly at the side of his face and his collar. “My mother is correct in saying that I did not read your letter until the very end of the day. However, the reason that she gives could not be farther from the truth.” Here, her tone had gotten a little more impertinent than she had wanted it to be, so she paused, and began again. “I know it is not easy for you to write in such a way. I know that you must have put more time and thought into one letter that you sent to me than any other letter you have written in at least three months. So I did not wish to read it so hastily in the sitting room with all my sisters and parents present. I wished to save it, for the last thing that I thought of that day. So that I could fall asleep thinking of nothing but you. So that all aggravations, and trips to the milliner’s, and discussion of lace and flowers and pin-money and elegant coaches would be at an end completely, and all I cared or needed to do was think of you. Mr. Darcy, there is nothing in the world more important to me than you are, and I hope that is visible in everything that I do, for the rest of my life.”

He turned to her, and looked at her hard. Then he dropped his head and took her hands. “I am sorry.”

“You have no need to be,” she said. “You have had a long day, and I am not hurt.”

He gazed at her, watching her eyes twinkle. “You continually surprise me, Lizzy.”

She smiled, pleased on hearing him use her nickname. “I should hope that is something that will always make you smile, but I have suspicions that perhaps it might not be.”

He smiled at this. “Yes, perhaps not . . . but Lizzy, I will always love you, whether I am upset with you or not.” He touched her cheek. “My . . . temper . . . is not very . . . even.”

“Mr. Darcy, I think both of our ill tempers were demonstrated quite well enough at one time. I hope you do not think you are the only one who learned a lesson that day about temper.”

“Yes, but you are still better at keeping yours in check than I. May I count on you to help me to learn to do the same?”

“If I am better at it,” said Elizabeth with a smile, “it is because Jane has always been there to teach me to choose my battles wisely. Had you no one as a younger man to do the same for you?”

He paused. “I suspect that my cousin the colonel would have, had I been able to spend more time with him. I suspect a lot of things in my life would be different, had I been able to spend more time with Fitzwilliam.”

She looked earnestly into his eyes, and knew that if there were any time she would get him to talk about himself and what had made him into the man he was, now was the time. Unfortunately, she heard her mother’s voice down the hall with Mrs. Long’s and Mrs. Phillips’, and the moment was lost. She apologized as they filtered into the room, along with Bingley, Jane, Mary, and Kitty.

“It is not our day,” he declared.

She smiled. “It is coming soon,” she reminded him, and it lifted his spirits.

Just when Darcy was getting ready to suggest to Bingley that they retire to Netherfield for the evening, Mrs. Hill came to Elizabeth and whispered in her ear a moment. She thanked Mrs. Hill, and approached Darcy.

“My father would see us in his library,” she whispered. “Mrs. Hill did not say what he would speak with us about.”

He noted that she looked worried. “Most likely, some last minute arrangements,” he said. “Never having a daughter properly married, I suppose, it is easy to forget some minor detail or another.”

She looked at him as he stood. “I wish I could scold you for mentioning Lydia’s wedding, but you are too correct, sir.”

The pain in her eyes was too much for him, and he began immediately castigating himself. “I am sorry,” he said simply. “I should know enough . . . I mean, it was wrong . . .”

She silenced him with a smile. “You and I must agree not to mention any of my sisters except Jane,” she said playfully. “Do not trouble yourself. My father waits.”

He nodded, following her into her father’s library. Not seeing him there, he watched longingly as his fiancée bit her lip and pushed her brow together.

“I wonder where he could be,” she commented, walking further into the room. “I am sure Mrs. Hill said he wished to see us here.”

“We should perhaps just enjoy the moment alone,” said Darcy, taking her delicate hand. “It is, at least, quiet in this room.”

Elizabeth smiled at her fiancé and nodded. “I am in need of a new book to read,” she said. “Mama has insisted repeatedly that the day before our weddings Jane and I are to stay in our rooms unless it be absolutely necessary to move from them, and I imagine it will be a long ride to London. I should need something to do – other than gazing at my new husband, that is.”

Darcy grinned at her. “You will not need a book in the carriage to London; that I promise you, Lizzy.”

She smiled back, blushing at his smoldering gaze. “I hope you will always call me Lizzy, even when I am not quite so young as to warrant it.”

In response, Darcy kissed her hand. As he was treated with the scent of lavender that, as a habit, she daily applied to her skin, he allowed his lips to linger longer than he ought. The fact that he was standing in Mr. Bennet’s library – indeed, his sanctuary – had not slipped his mind, and so when that gentleman coughed at the door to announce his presence, Darcy was neither startled nor flustered, and held steadfastly to the hand that would, in two days, become his.

Elizabeth, pleased that her lover was not so squeamish when it came to touching her that he would be intimidated by her father, smiled at Mr. Bennet. “You wished to see us, Papa?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Bennet, walking to his desk. He did not like the fact that Darcy had a hand on any part of his favorite daughter, regardless of the fact that they were practically married, but did realize that in two days’ time, he would touch more than her hand, and chose not to think of it. He got directly to his point. “I have received a letter from Mrs. Wickham today.”

Darcy tensed at the mention of the name, which Elizabeth imagined was her father’s retribution on Darcy for having touched her, so she ventured to continue the conversation. “What does Lydia have to say?”

“She insists that she will be here on Wednesday,” said Mr. Bennet. “She also insists that her husband will join her, but I imagine he will not. These points and the fact that she is to be expected tomorrow were the only intelligible parts of the letter, but if you wish to read it, it is here on my desk.” He gestured to the two pieces of scribbled-on paper. “I thought you both might like to know.”

“Suppose Mr. . . . suppose he did come,” mused Elizabeth. “What then?”

Mr. Bennet looked at Darcy. “It is your wedding, my boy,” he said. “If you want something done about it, now is the time to say so.”

Rankled, Darcy held tighter to his fiancée’s hand. “I will not be intimidated,” he said coolly. “My sister will not be embarrassed, and my wife will not be upset. Let him come, if he dares. My man Edison will handle him; he has done it before, and quite admirably.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. “There will be more than one pair of eyes on him, I imagine. Only say the word and you will not see him. I am sorry I must make such apologies for one of my sons-in-law.”

“Mr. Bennet, I flatter myself to think that the merits of your other two sons-in-law will far outweigh any embarrassment you might feel for that particular one. I beg you, do not make yourself uneasy, and do not think of it any longer. As long as Elizabeth and I leave Longbourn church as husband and wife, that is all that matters.”

Mr. Bennet nodded his approval, and even allowed a small grin. “Be along with you,” he said, “for it is late and I am to retire quite soon. Lizzy, I imagine your mother will be looking for you to do the same.”

“I suppose, then, that I should avoid the scene and retire directly.” She let go of Darcy’s hand and stepped over to her father’s desk, where she kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, Papa.”

Mr. Bennet shot a triumphant look at Darcy. “Goodnight, Lizzy.”

Darcy, however, would not be out done, and parted with her father quickly to follow her. She was halfway up the staircase when he saw her next. “Lizzy.”

She paused and turned, and walked a few steps down. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

“You said earlier that you saved my letter, for the last thing that you did in the day. So that you could fall asleep thinking of me. So that all you cared to do was think of me.”

She blushed and walked a few steps closer. “Yes. I still have it.”

He grinned. “Have you?” She nodded, stepped down once more, and bit her lip. “And had you planned to read it again?”

Slightly embarrassed, she replied, “I had.”

Darcy closed the gap between them by stepping up on the first stair and resting one foot on the second. They were at a relatively even level, so that she could look directly into his dark liquid eyes, and he could see her blazing green ones without having to bow his head. “I would hate to have to have you read my old tripe repeatedly,” he said quietly, “but, as I can’t have you dwelling over that conversation with your father either . . .”

Elizabeth hardly knew what was happening before she felt his lips on hers. He was gentle, but his movements still surprised her a little . . . but perhaps it was not so much his movements as it was her reaction to them. His mouth was incredibly warm, and though she had often mused that his lips looked quite soft, she now found them quite firm. Quite nicely firm . . . quite warm and nice . . . and firm. Quite.

When Darcy pulled away, he admired her for a moment. One hand was on her stomach, the other still on the railing. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly puckered, and her cheeks flushed. She wore an expression of astonished bliss as her lovely chest heaved. “I do love you, Lizzy,” she heard. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

“I shall have to warn my father not to hug me within your view until Wednesday,” she teased, coming out of the haze Darcy’s kiss had left her in.

“Truly,” said he, “you mistake me. I merely wished to give you new material to mull over while you drift off.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “And to think at one point during our acquaintance I had thought you devoid of a sense of humor.” She admired his victorious grin for a moment, and then touched his cheek. “But indeed, there will be many pleasant things for me to mull over. Good night, my love.”

Darcy kissed the palm of her hand and bowed gallantly as she mounted the stairs. He turned and hoped fervently that Bingley was ready to return to Netherfield, for having thoroughly enjoyed the taste of his fiancée, he had many things of his own to mull over.