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  He sighed and bowed. “Come, let me escort you. Your maid shall be waiting in your room. My valet shall ensure I retire soon as well. I shall see you tomorrow, madam.”

  He thought he could see her look almost relieved when he parted ways with a simple kiss on her hand. But, tonight, he chose not to think upon it much longer.

  The resolution, of course, only resulted in those selfsame thoughts chasing him into his dreams.

  • • •

  Sundays were generally a favorite for him. The ladies and their pretty gowns, the men with their finest coats, and the serenity of morning church had never failed to offer a most delightful repose. Just as his parents had wished, Bingley had purchased Brigham Park quite soon after Cambridge and became landed gentry. The fact was not to say, however, that he enjoyed being a gentleman farmer quite as much.

  Sundays and their promised social gatherings, therefore, had always been particularly welcome.

  “Good day, ma’am.” Jane's smiling and curtsying form beside him reminded him of the many villagers glancing their way. It was, after all, but natural for them to be curious about the sister brides from Hertfordshire. Bingley flew to his wife – er, bride's – aid.

  He bowed deeply to the next few parties, everything courteous. “Mrs. Gregory, Mrs. Lane.”

  Jane, ever perfect, followed his lead with every greeting.

  Bingley had never been a man given to pride. Today, he felt illustriously accomplished.

  “Mr. Bingley – Mrs. Bingley.” He turned at the greeting – and smiled widely before urging his dear Jane to turn as well.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!” Bingley cried happily as he drew closer, Jane on his arm. He may not have recognized Mrs. Darcy's voice, but he surely would not mistake Darcy's fancy church coat. “How fare you this fair morning?”

  Mrs. Darcy smiled and bowed accordingly, though her expression leaned closer towards a smirk. “You dress my sister well, sir.”

  Bingley took two seconds to absorb the comment.

  He looked kindly upon Jane's figure. Of course, had he not insisted that she wear the blue dress that he had purchased the week before, rather than a selection from her own trousseau?

  “Lizzy, you make it difficult to maintain my modesty,” Jane said towards her sister – before the two women exchanged glowing smiles.

  “Jane!” Mrs. Darcy flaunted decorum once more when she gathered her sister into a hug. The younger Jane seemed, at least, to welcome the outburst. Bingley spared a look at Darcy, the man he could most count upon to disapprove of such public displays.

  Surprisingly, Darcy merely smiled.

  “Come, Elizabeth, we may need to hurry lest our entrance be grander than we intend,” Darcy spoke with a teasing lilt towards his bride as he tugged on her arm. Bingley dutifully restored a glowing Jane to his side. Both sisters smiled in silent knowledge of what must have been a quick exchange of whispered feminine secrets.

  Bingley smiled too. It seemed that this Sunday was destined to become the most cheerful of them all!

  “Charles,” Jane's sweet voice said beside him. He leaned closer. “May I – may I walk with Elizabeth?”

  A slight pang of disappointment indicated just how much he had been wishing to march into church this morning with the fairest bride of all upon his arm. The selfish intent involved in such a wish, however, quickly sobered him.

  “Of course,” Bingley granted, pleased with this morning of mornings. He may have yet to kiss his bride – but he was already the proudest of husbands. He longed for the first fortnight to end, that he may claim her as his own at last.

  Jane thanked him with a smile that would suit the most elegant of princesses and quickly joined arms with her sister. Behind them, Darcy and Bingley walked together.

  “You seem happy,” Darcy spoke first as their steps fell upon the stony path. With Miss Darcy escorted by her companion, the older male Darcy seemed to have released himself from the role of grave, overseeing brother.

  “As do you,” Bingley remarked – and Darcy seemed to start. Bingley frowned. “Are you not pleased with your bride? She seems lively enough.”

  Darcy chuckled. “Lively indeed. She is everything Georgiana needs.”

  Bingley noticed that his friend did not speak of himself. Perhaps it was improper for a gentleman to gush?

  “And your Miss Bennet?” Darcy inquired in turn.

  Bingley could not help smiling again. “She is everything lovely. Caroline herself had to agree. She accused Jane yesterday of misplacing her brooch – and Jane devoted herself entirely to searching for it until we uncovered its place beneath Caroline's bed.”

  Darcy nodded with understanding.

  “Mrs. Gardiner chose well,” Darcy said before they reached the parish door at last.

  “Very well.” Bingley smiled.

  The ladies had stopped before the door, separating to wait for their respective grooms. Bingley beamed. A better bride he could not ever find!

  • • •

  Elizabeth began her Sunday afternoon seated in perfect posture upon the chaise, much like her new sister's pose. A few moments of observing Mr. Darcy's relaxed reclining on his chair, however, quickly assured her that she may un-stiffen herself as well.

  “The morning was amenable to your tastes, I hope,” Mr. Da – Fitzwilliam asked kindly. Elizabeth smiled up from the book she had brought. She was ever armed with one.

  “I am of a mind to think that church aims not to please my tastes, sir.” She reveled in every new attempt to jest. Perhaps marriage need not be as stuffy and serious as Mama had always led her to believe. “Regardless of how much the villagers may raise their pitchforks, their opinion, alas, matters as little as mine.”

  The smile that grew gradually on Fitzwilliam's face brought her great satisfaction. The Lord had blessed her indeed! For Papa, he was a scholar; for Mama, he was as rich as a king.

  As for her – he was, after all, truly handsome as anything.

  “Elizabeth,” Georgiana's small voice, a constant presence in Elizabeth's life for the past week, drew her attention towards the delicate, white-clad figure, “your Sunday gown looks wonderful.”

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth felt her chest warming. The posh yet subtle furnishings framed her afternoon as if it were a most delightful painting. 'Sunday Rest,' the title would read. “Uncle Gardiner procures the most lovely fabrics.”

  “Your uncle purchases fabric?” Georgiana asked innocently. Elizabeth quickly turned to Darcy, surprised at the quick turn of conversation towards her relatives in trade. Her mother was right enough in her description that Elizabeth always spoke a word too many!

  Fitzwilliam, admirably, only smiled in encouragement. The warmth in her heart grew quickly into a fire.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Right, yes.” The new Mrs. Darcy restored her focus to her female companion. Elizabeth smiled. “Please – call me Lizzy.”

  “Lizzy,” attempted Georgiana shyly.

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth smiled as she placed a hand over Georgiana's. “My Uncle Gardiner is a very successful tradesman. His imports are constantly setting the tone for London's fashions.”

  “You must find his products most helpful.” Georgiana's voice grew stronger, as did her smile. “Your tastes cannot help but be refined by his aid.”

  At that – Elizabeth laughed. “I dare not claim high fashion for myself, I'm afraid. Jane – my sister – is always dressed impeccably. I, however, constantly prefer comfort over vanity – to my mother's eternal frustration.”

  Elizabeth's fervent description seemed to take Georgiana aback, as the young girl watched wide-eyed.

  The latter's brother, thankfully, came to her deliverance.

  “I would not fault your good sense, Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam spoke fondly by the fire. His smile was handsome, disconcertingly so. “Comfort is often undervalued by young women today.”

  The fire in her chest raged uninhibited. Her very fingers felt alive, and she quickly r
emoved her hand from Georgiana's lest the young girl felt the fire.

  “Elizabeth,” her groom coaxed when she found herself distracted.

  She smiled brightly at him. “Lizzy. I mean, please – call me Lizzy.”

  “As your family does,” came his response.

  “Yes.” Her heart tightened of its own accord. “As my family.”

  For one wordless moment, everything in the room faded as if they were light strokes of a child's paintbrush. Georgiana herself blurred into a glistening reflection. On this day, at this very moment – the only person she saw was her groom.

  Was this feeling of ethereal floating what Aunt Gardiner had hinted was to come?

  “Lizzy,” Darcy called gently. He had straightened himself in his seat, no longer reclining.

  Elizabeth wrestled her heart back to Earth. A stray thought assaulted her, and she could not help but wonder.

  Was completing a marriage before the first meeting truly as unwise as it seemed?

  The entrance of servants and tea interrupted her musings, and their quiet family of three resumed their companionable rest. Supper came and went in similar comfort, though Elizabeth found food particularly uninteresting.

  She had been paired for little less than a week – but her heart was already in danger.

  “Madam,” Fitzwilliam greeted her, when they stood within their sitting room before bed that night, strangely formal.

  “Sir,” she replied, curtsy in tow.

  “I wish you – good rest,” he said gallantly. She prayed the tension in her nerves did not display themselves upon her face.

  “As to you – sir.” She had called him by his Christian name before – but his reverence tonight seemed not to lend itself to such casual words.

  Fitzwilliam stood silent for a good ten seconds – before he bowed. Instead of reaching for her hand, as she thought he would, however, he ended his bow with a powerful step forward.

  “Goodnight, Elizabeth.” He pressed a warm kiss on her brow. Her every limb longed to draw him near.

  He pulled away slowly.

  “Goodnight, Fitzwilliam.”

  Chapter 3

  His heart beat wildly in his chest as he finally departed his room. Though wearing the coolest colors his valet could find, he found his whole body still recklessly warm. His pulse throbbed as if he were running for his life.

  He looked up carefully when he entered their joint sitting room. Elizabeth did not tarry often in one place – but the past two weeks had proven this sitting room at least one among her favored haunts. If he were to meet her now, then he was determined to be as suave as he could be.

  The empty sitting room greeted his disappointed eyes, and Darcy let out the breath he had been holding. While the first week in his bride's company had mostly brought relief, the second had awakened things within him that he would rather not name – not, at least, in front of Georgiana.

  The sound of rustling skirts drew his mind towards the hallway door. His mind, filled with possibilities, had refused him rest last night until the stars had begun to sleep. His late rising this morning was natural – and unfortunate.

  Begrudgingly reconciled to the fact that he was not to see Elizabeth's smile commencing his day, he walked decisively towards the door. He hoped, at least, that she would still be at breakfast.

  “Oh!” A flash of rose fabric and chestnut hair slid across him in the hall – accompanied by a feminine giggle. He turned, eyes wide, towards the source of the action.

  Elizabeth, curls unraveled all around her flushed face, breathed heavily and smiled. She pressed her hands together right at her waist as she continued to pant, and smile.

  “I apologize, sir.” She did not seem the least apologetic. Her eyes shone brighter than yesterday's stars. “I – Georgiana is looking for me, and I –”

  “Lizzy!” His sister's voice emerged as if summoned. Its echo up the staircase indicated her imminent approach.

  Darcy glanced at his bride, who was suddenly quiet. Eyes eloquent and lips silent, she slid wordlessly into the sunken area of the wall. Betwixt the dark wood and bright flowers, her subtle rose shades disappeared completely. Darcy watched – captivated.

  “Lizzy?” Georgiana drew closer still.

  “Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth reclaimed his gaze. Her joyous countenance matched little with his own anxiety. Had she forgotten that they stood on the very threshold of their first meeting?

  “Fitzwilliam, come.” Her voice mesmerized him far more than any trace of classic beauty could have done. He looked at her obediently. She waved him towards her, and he acquiesced. The realization that to join her was to be pressed in a very tight space between the console, the wall, and her came five seconds too late.

  “Georgiana was melancholy and needed – a game. Sardines was the first that came to mind,” she explained under her breath. Darcy found his breeches tightening. May Heaven spare him from her discovery! He nodded mutely. She continued, “I know it is entirely silly. I am sorry if we seem to make sport of Pemberley. Sardines is hardly a game to play with merely two persons.”

  “It is no trouble,” he managed to mumble. Her responding smile spread the tightening to his chest. He wondered if she realized their scandalous proximity.

  Then, again – they were married, were they not?

  Darcy found himself eyeing her supple lips, not daring to glance lower at a bosom delightfully heaving. Her sudden silence seemed to indicate her own epiphany.

  He shifted towards her. She did not move.

  The sensation of her face aligned so perfectly with his – her chest to his chest, her waist to his hips, their breaths mingling as one – rendered every other element in the entire universe moot. If he had thought her singularly alluring in the drawing room the past Sunday, he found her utterly irresistible now.

  Would one kiss truly hurt?

  His right hand found the wall behind and beside her hair as he drew closer. He felt her lifting her face reciprocally. The haze of young love addled his mind and crippled it entirely. His soul, informed of her wisdom and intelligence and spirit, overpowered his thoughts and pushed him nearer still.

  His lips hovered mere inches from hers when he –

  “Fitzwilliam! Have you seen – oh, Lizzy!”

  Darcy stepped back into the hallway as soon as the first word struck. It would never do to have his young sister catch him in a manner so unseemly.

  When Elizabeth glanced teasingly at him, while assuring Georgiana of her victory, however, Darcy was glad they had their secret to share.

  Entirely unprompted, Darcy smiled.

  Tonight – tonight was to be his night.

  Tonight, he would make Elizabeth his wife.

  • • •

  The rumbling carriage mirrored the one from months past. It replicated almost the exact route, the same servants, and an only slightly darker view of the night. Tonight, however, he had the beautiful Jane in place of Darcy in his company – and Bingley simply could not be happier.

  “You look beautiful this evening,” he spoke freely in the privacy of their carriage. After his urge to outfit her with his personal choices had subsided at the conclusion of their first week together, he had grown to admire even more Jane's gentle tastes in fashion. She did not favor ostentatious colors and styles as Caroline did – but rather glowed demurely in her delicately embroidered gowns.

  “Thank you. You look fine yourself, sir.” Jane, too perfect to disappoint, smiled sweetly at him in the dim light. Each glimpse of her angelic face tingled his every nerve. Oh why had he been foolish enough to promise abstinence before tonight? Every touch with her the past fortnight had been sweet torture in full – whether the feeling was as simple as a hand on his arm or a brush of her shoulder.

  How was a man expected to withhold from embracing such a kind and gorgeous woman?

  Bingley frowned slightly at the recollection of Caroline's words that morning. Was his sister's insult based at all upon truth? Caroline's sti
nging mannerisms had made clear that she would rather her brother be unhappy as long as she herself was – and Bingley had wondered if it was indeed possible that untimely courses could impede his completion with Jane tonight.

  He glanced at his glowing bride – and decided Caroline's threats must have been entirely empty.

  “Are you – fretting?” Jane asked gingerly as their carriage tumbled towards town. Bingley's heart warmed at the concern.

  “I freely admit that nerves are not exclusive to the fairer sex.” Bingley smiled brightly.

  He reached across the center, grasping her hands. Then, unsatisfied with merely touching her gloves, he boldly removed himself to sit beside her. She shuffled to give him room, and the narrowness of the bench was much appreciated.

  “You need not worry, sir,” Jane assured after two quiet minutes. Her hand in his sent warmth radiating from his palm to his shoulder. She lowered her eyes. “I shall not fuss regardless of your choice. I have always been determined to be content in every circumstance.”

  The true meaning of her words dawned on him – evoking surprise and dismay.

  “Jane!” He grasped her hand tightly between his as he turned to face her completely. She watched him timidly, eyes watery. His own eyes stung. “Jane – dearest Jane. I shall not – I dare not – would not –”

  His breath had suddenly turned heavy, barely sustaining his person. He drew her hand to his lips.

  “Jane, I love you.” The words flowed of their own accord. He lowered her hand, yet gripped it determinedly. “I – I could not ever dream of a life without your smile. I profess, naturally, that such violent emotions do not seem likely at the briefness of our acquaintance – but I own them, every one.”

  He kissed her hand again, and she gasped daintily.

  “Jane, darling –” Bingley could feel the depths of his heart bubbling forth and overflowing. He had never before felt such fervor burning through his very limbs, radiant and sublime. Her pursed lips beckoned his. He spent every last drop of his self-control to relinquish her hand to her own control.