It was not above many days after the arrival of their guests, that escaping the house for their brief daily interlude became a not entirely unpleasant diversion for Darcy; the temporary respite from the more unwelcome amongst them was actually a timely and blessed relief. It had becoming increasingly obvious to the gentleman at least, that concealment in one’s study is only effective for so long, and equally as obvious that Mr. Collins was becoming far too attuned to his habits.

As they wandered in silent contentment, Darcy’s thoughts were singularly occupied; he was weighing the evils of demeaning himself with an application to his aunt to recall her religious servant, against the joyous fantasy of having Pemberley to himself again. Elizabeth, less disturbed by such pressing matters, was more distracted with the ambience of the scene before them, her mind indulging in a little innocent reflection. Taking in her husband’s troubled countenance, she drew them to a stop under a large tree, hoping the serenity of their environs would work its effects on his distressed mind. But as she observed their location, a sudden though struck her, encouraging an arch but engaging smile.

“Do you realise, Mr Darcy,” she began, “that it is almost a year since a very important event took place.”

Darcy, disturbed from his meditations, turned toward her but did not respond immediately, safe in the knowledge that his implacable countenance would well conceal any temporary confusion and ignorance he may have felt. As a man who carefully considered his words, a pause of some moments was not unusual, and in this case extremely fortuitous; he had absolutely no comprehension of what she spoke, but as a sensible man, indeed as a sensible husband, he knew the value of a good memory at times such as these.

The outward serenity of his expression masked the furious workings of his mind as it rapidly engaged in a mental inventory of those occasions relevant – wedding anniversary (December), wife’s birthday (February), engagement (November), first meeting (September), Netherfield ball (November), first proposal (April)….A contemplation which left him stranded in August with absolutely no clue as to what she meant.

After allowing an adequate time for response and gaining none, Elizabeth recognized his dilemma. “You have no idea what I’m talking about do you, William,” she said with a smile, her fingers toying idly with a piece of grass she had picked along the way.

Again he did not respond – for an admission of ignorance would surely be worse than a silent acknowledgement, besides which, his mind at that particular moment was fully occupied in a recollection of his movements at that time – he had been in London, quite alone, and there was nothing at all remarkable about that.

“Perhaps if I give you a clue, sir,” she interrupted again, “it may inspire your memory?”

“Please do – I should not wish to wallow in ignorance forever.”

“I am certain you would not,” she responded playfully, “What I am speaking of occurred almost a year ago, exactly where we stand today.”

Darcy stopped, and looking about him noted only the pleasant but quite unremarkable vista of the lake, and the shrubbery that bordered it, from which emerged the occasional noisome quack from his ample population of avian as they territorially defended their nests.

Being entirely clueless is not a pleasant thing for a man of Darcy’s sensibilities, and as such his temper shortened accordingly. “And what in this picture do you find so remarkable, madam; do you have an affinity for ponds? Do the Pemberley ducks excite your affection? Or is there some other relevant point that I am failing to see?”

Elizabeth laughed at his obvious displeasure. “While I adore your flock of water fowl, indeed they played a part in the occasion of which I speak, they were not the focus of the delightful scene which so captured my imagination.”

Silence reigned, bar the occasional splash of feather hitting water, and the gentle caress of the wind through the trees that surrounded them. Darcy stood in mute concentration; unfocused, he gazed at the view that lay before them, his fingers resuming their old nervous habit – the perpetual twist of the family crest that adorned one lithe finger. Elizabeth, somewhat less pre-occupied, watched him in amusement until she felt something like sympathy creeping into her heart. However much she enjoyed seeing her husband squirm, making him suffer unduly she knew was an affront to his dignity that would likely put him in an ill humour.

“Do you not remember your somewhat memorable return from London, sir?” she asked with a hint of mischief.

Sudden enlightenment leant a becoming glow of understanding to his face, in the form of a relaxation of his previously furrowed brow and the gentle arch of his lips into a reluctant smile.

“How sinful of me to forget,” he replied, placing a tender kiss on her neck as his arms drew her back against him, “I believe I had an uninvited guest.”

“You had several, sir, or have you also forgotten that I was not alone?”

“I might remark that I only had eyes for you, Elizabeth, but undoubtedly such trite sentiments would divert your amusement from my reproachful memory firmly towards my lapse into foppish romanticism.”

Elizabeth smiled at her husband’s rather dry wit and leaned back against him as he placed his arms about her. He was rarely given to utter such sentiments, and when he did indulge, a countering statement on how they would be accepted by her more often than not accompanied them. She had no notion of where he had gotten this idea that she should laugh at him if he should seriously express such thoughts, but she found it unaccountably odd that he should think it.

They remained in this comfortable repose for some time, basking happily in the warmth of the lovely summer’s morning and the contentment of their mutual affection. And as they stood together in silence, their thoughts replayed that one particular day when both had first felt a sliver of hope at a brighter future. In the minds of each yielded a contemplation of the multitude of feelings that had attended the occasion, and the events that had occurred.

It is strange the way one remembers things, the sounds, the smells, and all the little details that make up a scene; some people focus on aesthetics, where others will recall only conversation or affectionate sensation. Such was the way with Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, for while their recollections followed a similar path, in essentials, they were very, very different.

“Why are you smiling, Elizabeth?” he asked, on seeing her distracted expression.

She turned to look at him as she replied. “I shall never forget the sight of you that morning.”

Darcy looked bemused. “And what was so memorable in it,” he said dryly, “I recall only acute embarrassment.”

“Certainly there were elements of that,” she agreed teasingly, and then her tone softening she allowed her hands to drift slyly within the confines of his clothing. “But I believe it was more the way you emerged from the path by the lake – you looked so boyishly handsome,” she paused to indulge her reflections before continuing in a more distracted tone, “…dripping wet, your shirt clinging to your body, chest heaving with the exertion of your swim….”

Again her words drifted off, her private recollections and the movement of her hands taking preference over her need for conversation.

In the ensuing pause however, Darcy laughed, loudly, a circumstance unusual in itself, and even more so given the tenderness of the moment. “I beg your pardon,” he said eventually when his amusement subsided, “I did no such thing.”

Elizabeth, unwillingly brought back to reality and made uncomfortable by his rare display of mirth drew away, removed her hands in protest and looked at him in confusion. “How can you deny it?” she said, “we stood on this very spot by the lake, near the little greenery. The ducks were at our feet making every kind of noise imaginable, as you filled your boots with their pond water.”

He did not reply, but simply raised a brow and shook his head slightly.

“You look as if you do not believe me,” she said, with clear astonishment.

“When you carry this ridiculously untrue notion with such conviction I think it wisest to keep my opinions to myself,” he replied diplomatically.

There was a pause as Elizabeth considered his smug expression with slight annoyance. “Perhaps it is not I who is mistaken,” she said with false sweetness, “Perhaps your memory has failed you again, sir?”

Darcy smiled, recognizing her game almost immediately. He was well enough acquainted with his wife to know her argumental tactics.

“I am hardly likely to forget the occasion when the only woman I have ever loved turns up on my doorstep,” he replied honestly, gently pulling her closer. “Believe me, Elizabeth, it is not the sort of thing one’s memory fails on. I will concede that my faculties were undoubtedly slightly lacking in your presence, but I can assure you that I was fully dressed and quite dry,” he ended with an amused shake of his head.

“You think me mad don’t you,” she said incredulously as she drew herself from his grasp.

Darcy, noting her heightened colour chose his words carefully. “I think you mistaken.”

Elizabeth scoffed in a rather unladylike fashion, and then looked at him with a steady eye and a slightly arched brow. “Very well – tell me what you recall of that day,” she challenged.

He paused in contemplation briefly, but it did not take long to formulate what was already clear in his mind. “I remember being hot, dirty, and exhausted following my ride – and yet most certainly fully dressed. I recall walking from the stables across the courtyard, rounding the corner and finding you under my nose. Never in my life had I been more shocked - to see you standing here at Pemberley that day is something I am not likely to forget.”

Vexation – hot and strong flowed through her veins. She was not wrong – she was absolutely certain of it. And if the fault lay not with her – then it must be with him, but convincing Mr. Darcy of the fact was a near impossible task.

“Besides being the most singularly unromantic description of a lovers’ meeting I think I have ever heard,” she replied succinctly, “I am not at all surprised that you have forgotten the details, by your account the occasion sounds rather dull.”

Darcy fixed her with an unrelenting glare. “And yours is the most fancifully romantic nonsense I have ever heard you utter – I do wonder how you, of all people, could come up with such a notion. Aside from the essential elements of location and relative dampness being quite wrong, I distinctly recall that we were far from lovers at the time, and however much I may have wished otherwise,” he continued with a significant look, “I am quite convinced that your thoughts did not then tend in that direction. You showed no sign of interest or affection beyond politeness, and a quite becoming display of embarrassment. Your desperation to be out of my company as soon as you were aware of my presence was quite obvious.”

“In that at least we are agreed,” she replied determinedly, “I did wish to be gone.”

Darcy stiffened. “A point on which I could well do without consensus,” he declared, turning away clearly displeased by her frank admission.

There was a silence of some minutes as she observed the familiar sight of his back. It was his thinking stance, where he unconsciously blocked out everything physically and mentally. She wondered briefly if he was aware of how often he did it, and how disconcerting it could be for those in his company. It was tantamount to a snub, in every sense of the word, and had she not been on the receiving end of this rather unpleasant habit more times than she cared to contemplate she might have been more offended. But it was just one of those little nuances that was very much her husband, and to take offense at such an action now seemed a little ridiculous. His words however were another matter entirely.

Darcy, although initially nettled by the reminder of her early indifference soon found his thoughts diverted elsewhere - to the recollection of events a year before. He hated to argue but then he also hated to be wrong, and with two such disparate views of events, someone must be in error. He was absolutely certain that he had not been swimming, and indeed had not ventured anywhere near the lake. He had not been silly enough to even dip his toes in its chilly waters since he was twelve years old. How Elizabeth could be so mistaken, therefore, was a complete mystery. There were arguments on which he would concede, but in this he could not.

Turning back he looked at her with serious concern. “This is quite unlike you, Elizabeth, perhaps you have walked too far in the sun today. Come, let us go back to the house,” he said evenly, attempting to steer her in that direction.

But Elizabeth would not be so easily led. “And now you think me delusional,” she said incredulously.

He paused as he contemplated the best way to phrase agreement on this point. In her fragile state he did not wish to cause upset nor imply that her mind was unstable. But really there was no delicate way of putting it. And as he abhorred disguise of any sort, tempering his words to cater for the fragile feelings of others was not a habit he was particularly familiar with; as such he said exactly what he thought.

“Yes I do actually.”

There was a moment of silence, almost terrible in its intensity. Elizabeth looked at him in open-mouthed fury; he knew it as such from the way her brow furrowed slightly and her eyes widened in anger. Had he been staring into the gates of hell he could not have imagined a sight more awful; the wrath of his wife was a thing to behold.

A slight chill ran down his spine, but he stood resolute. Inspiring her temper had not been his intent, especially over such a trivial matter, but perhaps this would serve to illustrate a point: one which he had been trying to impress upon her for several weeks – that her habit of taking long walks would eventually affect her well-being. On this occasion it obviously had, the effects of the sun, or exertion, had made her delusional, and he had proved his point. He had not wished to provoke disagreement but perhaps this would make her see reason.

But anger and not understanding was obviously the result, and while observing her expression he prepared himself for her next move. He knew at this point that she would do one of two things; she would either turn on her heel and stalk away, or vent her vitriol in a vocal tirade, the force of which he would not likely forget. She chose the later, and just as she was about to speak, he was spared the fall of the blade by the sound of a familiar call…

“Mr. Darcy, Mr Darcy!”

It was Collins, the rising inflection of his voice carrying unmistakably across the lawn, exciting a near panic amongst the duck population as he descended upon them in a flurry. For Elizabeth the timing could not have been worse, for Darcy it was for once a blessed relief.

“Mr. Darcy – I am so glad I have caught you at last,” he puffed when he finally reached them. “I saw you from the window of the drawing room, and I could not let this moment pass. Forgive me the intrusion on your pleasant little tete-a-tete, but it is imperative that we discuss the arrangement for the christening. Really, sir, it cannot be left any longer.”

Darcy paused, noting the stubborn set of his wife’s jaw. “I believe it is the common habit to at least wait until the child is born,” he replied dismissively.

But Mr. Collins was not easily perturbed. “Ah yes,” he continued, “But I assure you it is of little consequence, for the babe shall come at some time, and I think we may safely set a date a few weeks hence.”

Darcy graced him with his most arrogant stare. “I have not yet discussed it with my wife,” he responded coolly. “I believe we at least need to reach consensus, and as I’m sure you’ll appreciate we are not in agreement on all things.”

Mr Collins, mistaking his mood and meaning entirely turned to look at Elizabeth with a disapproving eye. “Indeed sir,” he replied officiously, “ As a husband myself I can fully appreciate the ignominity of your position. It has been my observation of late that the pleasure of taking a wife may be sadly diminished by the untimely and unregulated expression of opinions they seem so eager to share. I am uncertain if this is a consequence of our modern times, and the idea of educating young ladies, but as God’s servant I am of quite a different mind - the sanctity of marriage should never be taken lightly, nor should a wife’s position.”

Darcy’s eyes widened slightly at this poorly timed expression of offensive opinion, as he glanced briefly at Elizabeth. She, unable to utter any coherent thought, gasped in indignation, not sure if she was more affronted for herself, annoyed at her husband, or sympathetic to her poor friend Charlotte. To have to endure the punishment of living with such a silly man, she was quite certain was more than her friend had anticipated on marrying, which simply brought her to the realisation that one should never underestimate the stupidity of the truly ignorant.

But it was a reaction that went entirely unnoticed by her cousin, for Mr. Darcy universally engaged his attention. She could not help but think that it was a fitting punishment for him to be the object of such devoted interest, and for once she was not sorry for the presence of her cousin.

Darcy looked pained, resentful and somewhat astonished at being so victimised, but on surveying the distance to the house found there was too much ground to be covered to adopt his usual habit of simply snubbing the gentleman and walking away. And where it had been his habit of late to catch a footman’s eye and prompt him for an interruption to the discourse, situated as they were in the middle of the lawn, all avenues of escape there were now blocked.

His last resort was his wife, and as he turned toward her in the hope of inspiring some form of rescue, he was surprised to find that her aroused temper seemed to have been quickly replaced by a look of unreserved delight. More than a little surprised by this sudden change in her temper, he wondered why she, who had only moments before been seething with anger, now looked vastly pleased with herself. It was not above many minutes later that he began to perceive why.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see quite clearly that she was edging away, back toward the path that led in the direction of the house. When she had ventured perhaps ten yards, she turned, and with what he perceived was a light spring in her step, furthered the distance between them with the application of a rapid walk.

Darcy seethed - she would not do it to him, she could not; the cruelty, the degradation of being stuck here with this insidious little man went against everything he believed tolerable…and yet, it was quite obvious that desertion was her intent.

This was not to be borne; something must be done.

“You were not leaving, madam,” he called out to her, more a command than a question.

She stopped, but did not turn, and for a brief moment he thought she looked as if she would continue along the path. At length she turned to look at them, her husband’s tall and upright stature shadowing that of her subservient cousin. Observing his implacable countenance her resolve wavered and almost gave way. But her cousin’s condescending smile was her undoing.

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, embarrassed at being caught out, “I think I must.”

Darcy looked a little surprised at this. “You are not displeased with the company.”

“No. Not at all,” she replied automatically, speaking only a half-truth.

“Then you approve of it,” he asked.

Elizabeth paused briefly. “Of course,” she replied with agitation, ”but then there were few who would not approve.”

He looked at her intently. “But your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore more worth the earning.”

They gazed at each other for a long moment, almost oblivious to the shadow of Mr Collins lurking in the background. It was a strange conversation, and yet not completely unfamiliar to either. Elizabeth could not think where she had heard such sentiments before, but their origin remained a complete mystery; Mr Darcy was equally perplexed that the words should emerge from his mouth unbidden. But before either could consider it further, the moment passed.

Clearing his throat, Mr Darcy’s eyes did not leave his wife’s for a moment. “Shall we all walk back to the house perhaps?” he said with feeling.

The silent agreement of two overrode the incessant chattering of the third, as Mr Darcy’s long stride, and his wife’s quick step carried them forwards at a pace that they knew could not be easily accommodated by Mr. Collins. As a gentleman who did not walk often, he adopted the occasional skip to keep up, and was vastly disappointed to find that despite these efforts, upon reaching the house before him the parties determinedly went their separate ways. Elizabeth ventured to the privacy of her rooms for the afternoon nap that had become her habit of late; Mr Darcy went purposefully to his study - the door firmly closed. Mr. Collins remained unhappily exiled in the hallway.

He flustered and twittered briefly, smiling politely at the unmoving footmen as he debated his next move. A step in the direction of the master’s study prompted the removal of one of his options; for the footman that interceded between himself and his object proved to be an immovable obstacle. He sighed unhappily, and with another gracious smile backed away from the door - his progress halted only when his boot came in contact with a large, and somewhat fragile statue. Unprepared for such an attack it swayed precariously; the gentleman sensing potential disaster did his best to steady it, a fumbling attempt which caused several of the servants to raise their eyebrows in alarm. Only the quick thinking of one eventually saved the piece from impending doom, for he unceremoniously pushed the clergyman aside with nary an apology, grasped the object quite firmly thereby saving it from certain disaster.

Mr. Collins, more than a little affronted at such treatment by the Pemberley servants, thereafter retreated to his rooms in a disappointed huff. Had he a owned a little more sense and a little less self-importance he might have felt a good deal of mortification over the scene that had just unfolded; but such is the blessing of the foolish – forever fated to miss that which is so obvious to everyone around them.


Part Two – A Lady’s Perception

Whilst the afternoon and evening had served to calm Elizabeth’s temper, she was still not in such a good humour as to allow her to look on her husband with any sense of complacency. That he should think her wrong was certainly not agreeable, but that he should think her delusional was downright irksome.

His temperament was more forgiving, and given her condition he could quite easily allow for the occasional lapse of memory. Regardless, there was always that tolerably strong feeling in his heart that made it impossible to think anything but well of her, despite her attempts to leave him to the fate of the odious Collins.

But in spite of their previous disagreement, Elizabeth was surprised to find that discussion of the point was not at an end. Darcy was persistently good humoured and patient in his wish to know more, and although she suspected some elements of teasing, he betrayed nothing of overt amusement. Every little detail must be described, where he had stood, what he was wearing, even down to the colour of his breeches; and all asked under the guise of clarification. If he was in error perhaps he just needed something to jog his memory, and yet by the subtle smile he wore almost perpetually throughout this discussion she knew that he had absolutely no intention of altering his opinion. After going over her version of events several times, he had declared unequivocally that he was still not convinced. He could not in any way rationalise it to that of his own recollection.

From the very start, there was no doubt in her mind that he would not relent, he rarely laid claim to error, and when at fault his expression would alter to one of implacable intensity. He showed nothing of it in his countenance now, his tone was light and his manners engaging, and with such a charming display of his abilities before her it was rather difficult to stay vexed with him for long.

It was an impasse in which neither would concede, and no reasonable solution could be reached. For his own part, Darcy was vastly intrigued that she should come up with such a fanciful notion of things; that she should find such a picture of himself attractive was even stranger. He had always been of the understanding that ladies preferred to see men in the height of fashion, and even wondered briefly why Jenkins lingered so labouriously over his neck-tie, when by all accounts she should not wish to see it all. That she preferred to see him dripping wet and half dressed was an idea that had never occurred to him – his sense of dignity was such that he had imagined only the basest labourers to fancy this notion of attire. But the minds of ladies work in mysterious ways he was beginning to find, and where he had always attributed to Elizabeth uncommon good sense and rationality, he now had cause to consider that even the most sensible of the sex could harbour fanciful romantic delusions.

For Elizabeth, his position was annoying, but not terribly distressing, They often suffered differences of opinion, which regularly resulted in lively debate, but the degree of their variance on this point was curious. She was convinced she wasn’t wrong, and she could only attribute his contrary assertions to acute embarrassment over his less than gentlemanly attire that day. His temper had relaxed somewhat since their marriage, but in principles he was still very much as he was – correct and always the gentleman. Her repeated assurances of how attractive she had found him caused no movement in his position, and they had ended with an agreement to disagree.

One thing was established though, and that was that she was not to go walking in the sun. She had conceded on this point, only because the genuine worry he expressed over her condition was enough to cause him visible distress. She knew the impending birth was a serious concern for him, besides which, the interior of Pemberley was large enough to provide good light and ample room for exercise anyway.

And so confined to the house and the company of her guests, Elizabeth reverted back to those entertainments which chiefly occupied her mind when in company – those of observance. The pleasure she took in character dissection had not diminished since the advent of her marriage, and whilst the society in the vicinity of Pemberley was a little more confined and unvarying than it had been at Longbourn, there were still objects enough to provide her with the occasional amusement.

Georgiana, always immediately before her, she had observed many times, so her character did not come under much notice, but with the presence of others in the house her interest was inclined toward a more purposeful examination.

The subtle interactions between husband and wife had always been a topic close to her heart, as one would expect from the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. And indeed, with such contrasting subjects before her, the happy combination of ample material and perfect opportunity were united to provide the basis for a broad and entertaining study.

As one would expect, the Collinses provided excellent sources of diversion, and Elizabeth was alternately intrigued and amused by all the little oddities she found. Mrs. Collins habit of turning away when her husband should enter the room, of humming to herself when he should approach, and of excusing herself in need of a private chamber when he should initiate conversation, were endearments questionable to a good marriage, but seemingly well justified. Charlotte was not unhappy, and yet she could not help thinking that to any casual observer, her behaviour must surely invite speculation that her constitution be highly uncertain or her bladder unusually weak.

But as amusing as the Collinses were, one can only be occupied by them for so long without venturing into more unpleasant feelings such as pity. Elizabeth had no wish to think of her friend in those terms, Charlotte had chosen her path willingly after all, and so she directed her observance in another direction, towards the Bingleys. Here she was provided with objects equally as interesting, and yet not in any way ridiculous. With them there was more to please and less to amuse; their perfect understanding and mutual affection evident in everything they did, giving Elizabeth cause to look on her sister’s marriage with nothing less than complete satisfaction.

That their marriage was the embodiment of connubial bliss was not in any way surprising - the depth of their affections and their open temperaments leant an almost hazy glow of felicity over the pair. As she had expected, Mr. Bingley was very attentive to his wife, as he had been in the days before they were married. When Jane sewed he supplied her with needles and thread, when she sat quietly and read a book he would do the same, and whenever she spoke he answered her solicitously and with good humour, more often that not adding some little intimate endearment. This was spoken in a manner not entirely unbecoming, and the resultant happiness of his wife was evident in the perpetual smile she wore.

But one does not often undertake a study such as this without having some sort of revelation along the way, and it was not above many days after her confinement to the house that Elizabeth found the mirror of observance turned inward, and her reflections dwelling on her own marital relations. And whilst not finding her situation in any way wanting, nor wishing for anything of the Collins domestic happiness, she could not help but admire, with a slightly jealous eye, the near perfect picture that the Bingleys presented.

How such behaviour would fit her husband she did not really consider. She knew well enough that he was not of a romantic sensibility, in that sense of indulging in ostentatious displays, but his heart was as true and steady as the most ardent of lovers, and his temperament of an intensity where she could not be anything but constantly aware of the strength of his regard. Indeed, such qualities needed no embellishment or decoration, but then the thin romantic inclination in her, would certainly not reject any overture should it come from such a lover.

How receptive Mr. Darcy would be to the idea, she was not entirely certain, and as at the time she was sitting quietly with her good friend, she voiced her thoughts as had been her habit in the days before they were married.

“Do you not sometimes wish for your husband to be more romantic, Charlotte?” she asked absently.

Mrs. Collins considered this briefly, and found that such a sentiment in no way reflected her own wishes. She had never been of a sentimental disposition, as had been proven by the circumstances of her marriage. But as she observed the distracted attention of her companion, she guessed quite correctly that Mrs. Darcy was speaking chiefly of herself. For her own part she could not find agreeable any idea which would encourage a husband to be more attentive, be it under the guise of romance or any other form. But she saw where her friend was heading, occupied as she was by observing the behaviour of the two other inhabitants of the room. And as she considered the respective sensibilities of the parties involved, she found it difficult to envisage how a man of Mr Darcy’s temperament could be convinced to act more in the manner of his friend Bingley. Although always very polite, his manners she was convinced were still not agreeable, nor were they ones that leant themselves to solicitous attentions as his friends did. That he loved his wife she did not doubt, but that he would act in such a manner willingly and with good humour, she certainly did.

“Be careful what you wish for, Lizzy,” she wisely advised.

But it was a recommendation that was ignored in the absent distraction of Mrs Darcy’s musings, for once the idea had entered Elizabeth’s head, it could not be easily removed. And the more she observed of the Bingleys’ relationship, the more fixed in her head was a slight feeling of injustice. Why could Mr. Darcy not be attentive and affectionate like his friend? Why could he not adopt some little endearment with which to greet her each morning? She knew that he had it within him - had he not on their engagement declared himself as insensibly as a man violently in love was supposed to do? Perhaps, she thought with a subtle smile, he just needs a little encouragement to express himself.

After pondering the point for several minutes longer, and with her mind quite unchanged, she rose, and excusing herself from her guests, ventured in the direction of her husband’s study. There she found him, enjoying the sanctity of his private rooms, secure from the attentions of Mr Collins. Having retreated after lunch under the excuse of matters of business to attend, she was pleased to see that in this instance he was true to his word. His head was bent over his work, and upon the desk in front of him lay several open letters, one of which he appeared to be responding to.

He did not look up as she entered, but gleaned the identity of the intruder by other means. No one else entered his study without at least knocking, and as it was not uncommon for the scent of her perfume to fill that room at various times of the day it was not hard to discern. She had developed a habit of dropping in on him for no particular reason, and as ‘matters of business’ had a tendency to become tediously boring, a little diversion every now and then in the form of a wifely visit he was in no way averse to. Interruptions from others however, he found not so agreeable. The footmen rarely intruded unless it was a particularly pressing matter, and even Georgiana thought twice about entering his study when the door was firmly closed.

He greeted her in his usual manner, a succinct “good afternoon, Mrs Darcy,” without bothering to look up from his work. On any other occasion this would have caused her no offense, but having just spent considerable time observing the attentiveness of his friend, she could not help feeling a little slighted. She replied in the same manner, and watched with vague annoyance as he continued undisturbed.

He worked in silence for some length of time, and Elizabeth, nursing her small grievance, resolved not to speak until he should trouble himself to do so. When a wait of ten minutes yielded nothing, she thought better of it – of all people she should know that her husband could quite happily pass a whole afternoon without opening his lips.

But just when it was quite fixed in her head that he would not speak, he did just that. “And how are our guests behaving, Mrs. Darcy?” he began. “Is Mr. Bingley keeping you entertained with his usual frivolities? I shall be exceedingly sorry to miss it if he is,” he said in his usual manner.

In spite of her previous ill humour Elizabeth could not help smiling at his perpetually dry wit. “Your friend is behaving admirably, Mr. Darcy,” she replied.

“Excellent, I am pleased to hear it.”

Watching the continuous flow of his hand across the paper she could not help but admire what a handsome picture he presented in his shirtsleeves. Indeed, she thought with a wry smile, a little more attention from such a lover would certainly not go astray.

Turning back to the window she sighed slightly at his preoccupation. “I fear if he was waiting on entertainment from his host he would be quite at a loose end,” she said none too subtly, “he is fortunate in having ample sources of occupation so close to home.”

Darcy would have to be dull-witted indeed to miss the meaning in that statement. His curiosity piqued; he at last looked up, raising a brow in question.

“Mr. Bingley is chiefly engaged in seeing to the needs of his wife,” she answered, “He is a very attentive husband.”

“Yes he is,” Darcy replied smiling, “and I perpetually wonder that Mrs. Bingley never tires of it.”

Elizabeth paused before responding, measuring her words carefully. “Perhaps you should try something of this yourself,” she said archly. “A lady likes a little attention every now and then.”

Darcy, sitting up straighter, leaned back in his chair and observed her with an amused look. “And from this I take it you feel that you are feeling neglected. You think me lacking as a husband, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Not as such,” she said mildly, “but you have been spending an awful lot of time working, and indeed,” she said, hesitating uncertainly, “in terms of romance and the tenderness of love, perhaps you could be a little more forward, a little more vocal perhaps.”

He did not reply immediately, but looked at her intently. Elizabeth, suddenly feeling slightly ridiculous to have even made such a suggestion, looked away as she felt the heat rising to her cheeks.

“A little more vocal,” he said, laying his pen aside. And then looking at her directly with a somewhat bemused smile, he asked, “Do you doubt my affections?”

“Certainly not,” she replied “it is just that sometimes a lady likes to hear how much she is appreciated.”

“I see,” was his only response, but she could hardly miss the slight smile that graced his countenance, despite the presence of his fist resting gently against his lips.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and looked heavenward, she should have known that he would not take such a request seriously. Teasing, teasing man, she thought.

“So, madam,” he said eventually, his lips still slightly arched, “Do you think you are not appreciated or is it simply my manner that offends? Perhaps if I were to wax lyrical and rhapsodise over your many fine features this may appease you?”

Bowing her head to hide her smile she said only, “Romance is not necessarily a bad thing, Mr Darcy, a very little is becoming.”

“Yes, and too much very often results in repulsion,” he replied drily. “I have not forgotten your treatise on poetry being the death of all affection.”

Elizabeth gasped. “How can you recall every silly thing I have ever said,” she declared laughing, “it is very unfair.”

Darcy, resting his chin on his fist smiled at her engagingly, and lowered his tone slightly as he spoke. “Why should I not? These were the precious few jewels of your wit on which my regard was formed. Do you think it odd that I treasure them? You should not think so harshly yourself, Elizabeth, without them, you would not have drawn my attention.”

“And this I should be thankful for?” she said with a teasing smile in his direction.

“You know my thoughts on that point,” he replied in his most serious manner, “and a gracious appreciation for the gift of my love may be bestowed on my person at any time you see fit.” 

He said no more, for his preference at that moment was in the indulgence of a lengthy and earnest gaze upon her person, which, all things considered, she had to concede more than adequately demonstrated the depth of his affections. His lips curved up slightly, and he raised a hand towards her in invitation.

“So you had better come here then my dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth,” he said softly, but with distinct purpose. “I think now is a more than adequate moment.”

She shook her head in disbelief at his arrogance and audacity, and as her feet carried her toward him, she pondered how charming he could be without even attempting it. For a man who spoke so rarely, without flattery or falseness, his powers of persuasion were highly admirable.

When she reached his extended hand he pulled her down directly into his lap, but did no more, leaving the bestowal of appreciation he obviously thought necessary entirely up to her. Elizabeth, although knowing her husband to be extremely vain at times, also knew him to be extremely teasing, and regardless of either, extremely attractive. She kissed him, not from any desire to encourage his self-congratulation or vanity, but because she loved him, deeply, a point which he was already well acquainted with.

But what she may have begun, he was more than willing to contribute to, and once their lips met, he drew her closer in a loving embrace, and intensified what she had intended only to be a light show of affection. Had she ever doubted the constancy of his affections or the depth of his love, the kiss he returned went a fair way to removing any lingering uncertainty. With fleeting distraction did she wonder, at what had ever possessed her to dare suggest improvement on what she knew was by and large without fault.


Part Three – A Gentleman’s Response

When Elizabeth had left the study in a happier, placated and certainly more disheveled state, Darcy had sat for some time pondering the conversation that had just taken place, wondering how best to address the issue that had been raised. For despite his less than serious response that he had just presented to her suggestions, it was not something he could easily put out of his thoughts. He took nothing lightly, even that which was spoken in jest. He was not averse to modifying his behaviour to suit the whim of his wife. Indeed, he had done so in the past and found the results not wholly unpleasant.

And so whilst the idea had been firmly quelched in Elizabeth’s mind, it had the opposite effect on him. Although fully convinced of the ridicularity of the notion, and certain that her desire for attention had sprung from nothing but observance of his friend, it was obvious something needed to be done. But there lay a dilemma of no small significance. If he was to behave in the manner of Mr. Bingley, not only would he struggle to maintain such behaviour for any length of time, but they would drive each other to distraction by the end of the week. But just how was he to persuade her of the fact?

In addition to this, his vanity weighed heavily on his conscience. He did not like to be thought lacking in anything and if his wife thought him unromantic, then it was an opinion that needed to be changed. He knew well enough that money and gifts would not alter her opinion, a different approach was required.

At length the solution came to him, as he stood musing over the view from his window. A strategy of dual attack was required, for to resolve both dilemmas to a satisfactory conclusion required a plan of distraction, combined with one of direct action. There was no time to be lost in the execution, and he returned to his desk with renewed vigor, attacking the pen and paper before him with distinct purpose. His missive scripted, he sat back and regarded it before folding, sealing it and calling the footman for an express delivery.

‘There must be absolutely no delays in delivery’ were the master’s instructions – and the rider must await an answer. And as the footman hurried off with an air of serious importance, Darcy sat back and eyed the ducks on the lawn with an air of distinct satisfaction.

She thinks me unromantic? He thought with a slight smile, well we shall just see about that…

When Elizabeth emerged from her rooms that evening, freshly washed and elegantly dressed, she was surprised to find her husband pacing the hall. It was generally his habit to await her in the drawing room, perhaps passing the time with his sister or any guests they may have in residence. But on this particular day he had chosen not to, why he had avoided coming into her room was unclear. Instead he wore down the carpet outside her door in his usual impatient manner, causing her to watch him curiously for some minutes before the realization struck that he was no longer alone.

On seeing her he stopped, and turning, met her look of bemused surprise with one of overt admiration. He smiled, rather becomingly, and held up his arm for her escort. She took it of course, as was to be expected, and they ventured silently along the hallway until they reached the head of the grand staircase. Darcy paused momentarily as they prepared to descend and leaning over whispered in her ear, “You are looking particularly lovely this evening, Elizabeth. Have I told you lately how very dear you are to me?”

Elizabeth looked at him and raised an eyebrow in response. “No you have not. And I thank you – your thoughts are much appreciated.”

Seemingly pleased with this, he smiled, bowing somewhat formally in acknowledgment before continuing their descent in silence.

Whilst certainly very flattering to her vanity, Elizabeth could only regard his behaviour as nothing short of curious. Perhaps our discussion that afternoon had yielded some results, she thought with satisfaction, encouraging a small smile of triumph to grace her countenance; an affectation which leant an extra glow of happiness to the pair as they entered the drawing room.

The rest of the evening passed in the usual manner; dinner, followed by a brief interlude where the ladies left the gentleman to their port and politics. Darcy, as on many occasions of late, was unusually eager to return to his wife. It had been at least a week since his suspicions had been confirmed - that one of his guests was as ignorant of many things as he had first suspected; he could not help but worry for the future of Longbourn with such a man as the intended heir.

A period of music followed, in which they were entertained chiefly by Miss Darcy. Neither Mrs. Collins, nor Mrs. Bingley’s talents extended into the arena of performance, and Mrs. Darcy, finding it increasingly difficult to seat herself at the piano politely declined. On the express application of her husband however, she relented briefly to perform one piece, declaring firmly that she would not sing; the exertion of vocal entertainment had for some time been leaving her a little breathless.

When finally seated as comfortably as could be expected at the instrument, she looked up in surprise to find that she had an eager assistant. When it was normally Mr Darcy’s habit to either pace, or remain seated in his favourite aspect, she was bound to notice a change, so when he extended his servitude to solicitously assist with the selection of the music as well, it caught her unawares. That he should then spend ten minutes vetoing every piece she chose was somewhat more vexing, for every one of her selections he had negatived on the premise that the exertion would be too much for such a delicate flower.

Again she was struck by the change in his manner – that he should not let her choose for herself was unusual, that he should use flattery and endearments in place of argument even more so. And when he then hovered over her playing with an attention bordering on impatience, she could only wonder at the alteration.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, trying to hide something of her diversion, noting the way in which his expression betrayed nothing of humour. By all appearances he was earnest in his attentions, and yet she could not help feeling that there was something of a tease in the way he asked, “Would you like me to turn the pages for you?”

An idea given significantly more weight when he lowered his voice to add, “my most beloved, Elizabeth.”

Astonishment must have been clear on her face, for both Charlotte and Jane looked at her curiously, and yet her husband gave only the slightest of smiles, seemingly quite innocent.

It soon became apparent that Mr. Darcy’s altered behaviour was not to be the work of a single day, it extended on into the rest of the week; the result being that much less time was spent attending matters of business, and more in occupation with his wife. He was still as disinterested in his guests as he had been, but this was not entirely unsatisfactory to Elizabeth; he was in general excellent company, and the change in his manner was not only flattering to her vanity, but endearing him even more in her affections.

But what she had first attributed to a mere affectation, a light tease if you will, soon developed into something strangely more permanent. Her husband, the taciturn Fitzwilliam Darcy, seemingly overnight developed into a model of agreeable behaviour. He flattered, he listened, he was constantly at her side, he occasionally even attempted to make conversation with Mrs. Collins; and yet in some things at least, he remained exactly as he had been - he consistently and steadfastly avoided that lady’s husband.

Such attentions she could bare with equanimity, even when she noticed her friend’s eyes upon them with a curiously diligent regularity. That Charlotte suspected what he was about bothered her not; how she bore such attention she was a little more careful to disguise. In truth, after several days she began to tire of having him constantly under her feet, and then as if sensing that this was the case, he returned to something of his old habits, disappearing for extended periods of time. Only now, he no longer escaped to his study, instead choosing to take his horse and canter off down the road.

Exercise was not unusual for her husband – he was an excellent rider with a fine seat. Perhaps no suspicions would have been raised if she had thought this was really what he was doing, but several things first suggested the question of duplicity in his dealings. That he rarely took Bingley with him was the first; that his horse returned untroubled by the exercise was the second. Wherever he went, he did not travel far, and whatever occupied him whilst gone took most of each morning and the better part of every afternoon.

She did not question him initially, hoping that he would raise the issue himself. Generally, if there was a matter of business that occupied so much of his time, he had been in the habit of raising it with her. But as several days passed, his lips remained sealed and his attention to herself unwavering; she could find no fault with his behaviour but that there was an obvious concealment, a situation she could not like.

Curiosity eventually overrode compunction and she was forced to ask what he was about – he looked at her steadily before answering in an unusually thoughtful manner, “There is some work being undertaken at the gate-keeper’s cottage that requires my consultation. I apologise for my absence but I fear it shall continue another two weeks at least. The tradesman is working as diligently as possible, but it is, I fear, something that cannot be rushed.”

“Can you not hire more labourers?” she had asked, not completely satisfied with his vague explanation.

“He is a very skilled artisan – the work can be completed by only him. He has come express from London to complete it and has particularly requested my assistance for the duration.”

To Darcy this was close enough to deception as he could be comfortable with. Concealment of purpose was one thing, but disguise of action was another. He spoke in terms vague but not wholly untrue, and was more than a little relieved to find that she seemed comfortable, yet not completely satisfied with this explanation.

It was only a few days after this conversation that an express from Lady Catherine was delivered. The excitement attending the arrival of such a missive sent Mr. Collins into a flurry of postulations, and very nearly rendered him senseless when it was discovered that the instruction was actually addressed to himself and not to Mr. Darcy as they had all expected. He fluttered for some minutes in perusal of this missive, and at length it became clear that the agitation of his movements precluded any possibility of reading it with some degree of understanding. At length his wife took the paper and read it herself, giving them all to understand that the object of such an urgent an application was as follows:

It was Lady Catherine’s express desire that Mr. Collins return to Hunsford – he had been gone too long, and as such the tenants, desperately in need of divine guidance, were becoming sinfully argumentative. Something, or someone was needed to quell their complaints over the annual rent increases she had just implemented, and as she was certain it was the work of the devil, then he must be the one. No time must be lost, lest the peasants discover the notion of revolting.

Whilst both Elizabeth and Mrs. Collins thought this alarming application seemed to be overstating the danger a little, Mr. Collins seemed to feel it exceedingly. There must be no delay with such a divine calling at hand; the Darcys’ child was all to be forgot. This was no affront to Elizabeth, for what had been subtly hinted at for some weeks had finally been achieved. Thus when Mr. Darcy returned later that afternoon, he was very pleased to find his house quieter for the absence of two guests, and that his Aunt, however offended she had been by his marriage, was not entirely without compassion.

Pemberley now returned to the quietness of a more agreeable family party, with only Miss Darcy and the Bingleys enjoying the pleasure of a summer at Pemberley. But with the removal of the Collins party and their many attendant distractions, her home became so strangely agreeable that Elizabeth began to feel restless. Whether it was the quietness of the company or the impending birth she could not tell, but with barely two weeks until the child was due to arrive, a strange impatience afflicted her. She could not sit still in one aspect for long, she took long and absent-minded walks along the vacant halls of the house, and she ate sparingly in deference to the discomfort afforded by her increasing size.

Jane was an exceptionably good companion, trying her best not to fret, nor advise, but Elizabeth had never been very good at taking advice, and her temper was worn thin by waiting. Any suggestion therefore, was generally not very well met. There seemed to be some silent complicity among the rest of the family that Mrs. Darcy should suffer no excitement lest she be thrown into a state of premature labour. All in all things became exceedingly dull.

Mr. Darcy still maintained his absence for much of the day, which was probably a very good thing for she was in an ill humour with him also. His altered behaviour had continued unabated and she was beginning to find even his company a little tediously trying. Not only had his excessive flattery continued, but he gave way on everything, to the point where it was almost annoying. Where previously he would have argued or questioned her wishes, he invariably conceded without question on any difference of opinion that arose. It was a situation she could not like. Half the fun of being married to Mr Darcy was the regular debates in which they engaged on topics both weighty and superficial. She found a discussion on the relative value of a complicated men’s cravat tie, no less engaging than she did a treatise on the state of politics on the continent. His opinions on everything were full of wit and insight, and she herself found great pleasure in eliciting those rare smiles that emerged whenever she was of a mind to tease him.

But apparently such things were not to be discussed in her fragile state, instead he never teased her, and continued to address her by those odd little endearments he had become so fond of. Indeed, what had started rather mildly some weeks before, had since escalated into an exceedingly annoying affectation. He took to uttering these names at all times, when alone, when in company, and most disturbingly of all, in the comfort of their bed. Where once she had been thrilled to hear his gasping cries of ‘Elizabeth’, she now suffered through a tortured plea addressed to a wide variety of pseudonyms, none ever repeated again, and steadily growing more ridiculous by the day. She had to wonder over the fact that he obviously spent some time originating these expressions, and admire his resolution in remembering them at distracting moments. In such an intimate setting, however, she could only think that it sounded oddly impersonal. Desperately did she wish to hear him speak her name. Just once at least.

Therein lay the difficulty though, for she had first raised the subject all those weeks ago, and now that he had so generously adhered to her wishes, just how was she to tell him politely to desist? If it were any other matter she would tell him directly and concede her error, yet in this she could not, lest she offend his feelings.

Delicately, was the only answer, she whispered to herself with resolution. But good intentions are rarely remembered in the spur of the moment.

In the several days following this decision, she found little opportunity to address her husband over this most pressing matter, or any other as the case may be; he seemed to grow increasingly more absent as the number of days before the birth waned. It was only in the evenings when she could rely on his presence, for she had taken to sleeping late, and he now no longer returned for lunch.

And so it happened that whilst laying in bed one night, recovering from the mild exertion of a pleasantly subdued bout of passion, Mr. Darcy drew his wife’s body close against him, nuzzled his lips against her neck and then whispered in her ear.

“How are you feeling, my delicate flower of love?”

This was not unusual, he had murmured similar sentiments on many nights previous; but for Elizabeth, exhausted, frustrated and not a little fractious, it suddenly became all too much. She did not shed tears of frustration however, as one might expect – her vexation, not surprisingly, was expressed in mirth. She laughed, quietly at first, biting her lip in a hopeless attempt at subjugation, her humour increasing steadily as she began to recall the many ridiculous terms he had addressed her by over the past weeks.

Darcy remained silent in the face of her amusement, but this was not the product of offense. Had her face been turned toward him she would have seen the smile of satisfaction that graced his countenance.

“What amuses you so, my treasure?” he asked gently, laying his lips in loving application across her skin.

Turning, she looked at him as earnestly as she could manage at the time.

“Only that I am beginning to think you have forgotten the name of your wife,” she said with a barely subdued smile.

Darcy was relieved, and yet strangely, found himself a little reluctant to give up the game when it was so close to conclusion. He was actually surprised she had endured such affectations with good humour for so long.

He remained thoughtful for a minute, his expression betraying neither affront nor amusement. At length he spoke, and in a manner of some ambiguity. “I take it then that you do not care for my manner of address?”

Elizabeth watched him carefully, trying to determine the extent of his wounded feelings. It was not evidently clear, but she had said too much to remain silent. “There is something to be said for excessive flattery,” she whispered quietly, kissing him gently in the hope that this may placate him, her fingers softly caressing his cheek, “too much I think lessens the impact of the sentiments.”

Slowly she drew back, beginning to fear that she had offended him, but he said nothing. At length however he smiled, ever so slightly, “I see,” he began, “Now you think me a gushing lover, and this you do not like. Am I correct?”

Shaking her head, she breathed a sigh of relief at this sudden return of his teasing manner. “I think you have the essence of it.”

“Very well,” he said slyly, his fingers toying with the ringlets of her hair, “I had been given to understand that a fine, stout, healthy love could withstand such torments - perhaps it is just that a different approach is required.”

Elizabeth said nothing, but noting the subtle curve of his lips, and the mischievous glint in his eye, began to suspect that he had been toying with her all along. By nature he was unusually tenacious, fond of a challenge, and under the power of her influence had developed some of her very bad habits. It was not surprising therefore that this was the result.

Unwilling to give up this notion of romance completely, he soon began his campaign of making his declaration truth. He did not cease in his affectations of address, but they did indeed take a slight alteration.

No longer did he declare her to be the keeper of his heart when affection inspired him, he instead whispered something which sounded very much like ‘Tu es la fleur de mon cœur.”

When she awoke in the morning he smiled down at her and declared ‘Fleur tendre de mes rêves.’ When she brushed against him at the luncheon buffet he uttered, ‘tu es l’essence même de ma vie.’ And when he kissed her lightly in the evening after supper he whispered, ‘tes lèvres ont le goût de fraises sauvages.’

And so it happened that his declarations of love turned decidedly gallic with barely a hitch in his stride.

Now that she knew he was not completely serious, such affectations bothered her but little, if at all. She was not wholly averse to the way in which the words glided off his tongue. French was a very romantic language after all – there was absolutely no denying that. The problem remained however, that she didn’t speak it – nor did she understand it, a situation that her husband was undoubtedly well acquainted with. He knew the extent of her abilities and education, and knew the failings in her accomplishments. She could not help being curious about what exactly he was saying, especially when she caught Georgiana smothering a stifled giggle on overhearing a whispered endearment.

When she had questioned her later in the absence of her husband, she gleaned only that he had spoken of her in terms favourably, but in some way associated with fruit. Miss Darcy would not elaborate further, but by the furious blush that graced her countenance, Elizabeth gathered that perhaps it had been a suggestion not entirely fitting for maidenly ears. She duly considered that either he needed to be a little more circumspect, or his sister needed to be a little less diligent in her studies.

With subtle reversion to his usual behaviour, did Mr Darcy rise significantly in his wife’s estimation. He still attended her more than was his habit, but she fancied this was in deference to her condition; he still addressed her in tender words of French, but this she suspected was to keep her impatient spirits distracted. He still would not argue with her, but it was an indulgence she had little energy for anyway.

As the week drew on, she began to feel slightly more discomfort; the attendance of various midwives and the occasional doctor confirmed that her time was undoubtedly very near. And that was without the numerous house servants who seemed able to glean how many hours to delivery with only the most circumspect glance at her belly. She began to feel something of nerves, despite all resolutions to remain calm, and yet she still suspected that it was more from a desire to hold her babe safely in her arms, rather than any alarm at what must be endured beforehand.

Mr Darcy was solicitous of her comfort – to the point of some vexation; he moved her into his suites temporarily whilst he had work completed in her own, minor adjustments only, but the labour of perhaps two days. Why he had not done this before she could not comprehend, but it was of little inconvenience; they never slept apart anyway. She did worry rather unnecessarily that come time for the birth he would have nowhere to sleep, but then recalling the number of empty chambers in the house dismissed this notion as somewhat ridiculous.

And it was on a warm afternoon in August as Elizabeth paced the gallery of fine paintings, that the presence of the next generation made itself known in no uncertain terms. A spasm, or contraction, of some force came upon her suddenly, and she grasped a side table for support.

A passing servant, noting her distress, turned quickly and ran off down the hall. The master returned within barely a minute, face flush from the exertion of his rapid ascent of two flights of stairs, concern evident in every feature. He escorted her below, with only a brief argument on whether she should be carried or not. She managed to walk half way before another pain seized her, rendering her temporarily immobile and somewhat speechless.

When she reached her chamber, he escorted her directly inside and saw to her comfort himself. She would have preferred to remain upright, but he insisted she lay down. As soon as he turned his back however, she stood, her curiosity piqued by the changes that had been made in her chamber. On one wall hung a curtain, of the type that conceals a painting not open to public view.

“What is that, William?” she asked, thoroughly dumbfounded.

Looking slightly embarrassed he did not answer directly, but came to stand beside her. “It is a surprise, a project I have been working on for some weeks – I had hoped that it might provide a little relief during the difficulties ahead.”

The temptation too great, she released the sash and was astonished to find a picture of her husband, as she had seen him but rarely. It was an excellent likeness, in essentials of feature, and tenderness of expression, unparalleled. Even more surprising however was the scene in which it was set, for it was exactly how she had related their first meeting at Pemberley – in just his damp shirtsleeves, boots and breeches, accompanied by an expression of uncertainty and embarrassment, underpinned by a strong element of pride. She would have sighed theatrically if she’d been of a temperament to sustain such actions – for truly he looked as handsome as she had remembered.

“I hope you appreciate it, it came at no small cost to my dignity,” he said after some minutes of her stunned silence. When she raised her brows in question at his suddenly taciturn frown, he replied simply, “The artist thought me exceedingly odd, I had to pay extra to be assured of his secrecy lest half of London learn of Mrs Darcy’s odd fetishes.”

Elizabeth laughed, and hugged him tighter, but any gratitude she may have wished to express was curtailed by an intense contraction followed by the sudden arrival of the midwife; a woman who was most determined in having the master removed.

With great reluctance did he prepare to relinquish her temporarily to the care of others; grasping her hand tightly, he kissed her gently on the lips and whispered “I wish you luck, mon coeur.”

Then as an afterthought he turned back, his expression earnest, and leaning down he laid his lips gently on the forehead and said in a voice which was admirably steady despite the tumult of his feelings, “Know that I love you, Elizabeth, with all my heart.”

With many thanks to Renee for the excellent translations – and for those of us, like Lizzy, not blessed with an understanding of the language of love, explanations provided below….

‘Tu es la fleur de mon cœur.” – Flower of my heart

‘Fleur tendre de mes rêves.’ – Tender flower of my dreams

‘tu es l’essence même de ma vie. – You are the very essence of my life

‘tes lèvres ont le goût de fraises sauvages.’ – Your lips taste like wild strawberries