Section I, Section II, Section III, Section IV, Section V

Chapter 22

"Mrs. Reynolds!" Darcy bounded up the first flight of stairs, the weight of Lisa in his arms not affecting him at all. "Jean!"

She sat up straight in her bed, as Darcy had never called her by her first name before. The one and only time his father ever had was when his mother was going into labor with the very child who screamed her name right now.

She ran to the hall. "Mr. Darcy?"

"Mrs. Reynolds, I need you, please hurry!"

Mrs. Reynolds saw, for a fleeting minute, that he was holding a limp body in his arms, and she ran after him. She gasped. "Georgiana!"

"No," said Darcy, his voice catching in his throat as he laid her down on the bed, "Elizabeth, Mrs. Reynolds, she has been outside in the rain, I don't know for how long, and she is unconscious. Help me, please . . . I lost her once. I can not bear to lose her again."

They exchanged a look of the deepest meaning, and Mrs. Reynolds rushed into the room where he had laid Lisa, and looked her over. "Get her out of these wet clothes," she instructed calmly. She knew Lisa was probably okay, and would just have a bit of a headache when she woke, but for her employer's benefit, would spare no precaution. She liked this woman very much from the start, as she had a good, honest face and no pretenses, and made Darcy so happy. "Looks like she got a bump on the head. I shall return with my first aid kit and dry clothing." She flew down the hall.

Darcy turned back to Lisa. "Lisa," he said, shaking her gently, "Lisa, can you hear me?" He picked her up and brought her to the divan at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning her jacket. "Please, darling, answer me . . . Lisa, please . . ."

"Fitz?"

"Lisa!" Darcy sighed with relief, and held her wet, cold body to his.

"Fitz, what is going on? Why am I wet, and why are you undressing me?" she asked weakly.

"I have no ill intentions, I assure you," he replied. "How long ago did you go outside?"

"I don't know . . . I think it was eleven or so," she replied weakly.

"Lord, it's near one in the morning," he said. "What do you remember?"

"I couldn't sleep . . . so I put my jacket on and went outside. It's so beautiful here, when it's not raining. I was looking up at the stars . . . I must have tripped."

"Does your head hurt?"

"A little," she replied. "I must have hit it on something."

Mrs. Reynolds was back in the room. "It could have been a rock, even a small one," she said. "Go, now, Mr. Darcy, I shall take care of this. You need some dry clothes yourself, once again."

"Mrs. Reynolds--"

"Go," she insisted. Darcy had every confidence in Mrs. Reynolds' abilities, otherwise he would have stayed.

"I shall be outside."

"You shall be putting on some dry clothing. When I am through I shall tell you," replied the old housekeeper, amused. She shut the door behind Darcy.

He did as he was told, and returned to the room. After what seemed an eternity, but was in actuality only about fifteen minutes, she opened the door again. "She is fine," she smiled.

He darted for the door, but she cut him off. "Today was May the eighth," she said. "The ghosts of Pemberley must have been at work in these recent turn of events."

Darcy smiled at her. "Yes," he agreed, "Pemberley is home again. Remind me tomorrow to make the journal entry." He stepped through the door, catching Lisa's tired gaze. He smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What do you mean by coming into my home like this, and scaring me half to death?" he asked teasingly.

"I found you wet," she replied, "so I thought it appropriate that you find me the same way." Mrs. Reynolds knocked on the door, opened it, and quietly handed Lisa a cup of tea with the instructions to drink the entire cup, no matter if she liked it. Lisa nodded and turned back to Darcy as she left the room. "Will I like it?"

Darcy smiled. "No, but it is of little use to try and get out of it. You shall be drinking an entire cup whether you like it or not."

She smiled at him. "I'm sorry to be such a pain," she said, taking her first sip. She wrinkled her nose. "Jeez, this really is bad."

"Mm, yes, it is. But it will prevent you from catching a cold. I don't know what is in it, but any time I am told to drink the stuff, because I never ask for it, I am ten times better than I was before." He watched her take another few sips. "You'll be here for another day or so," he said. "If you would like a book to pass the time, or anything else, for that matter, please let me know." Lord, man, can you sound any more stupid?

"Oh, I can't stay," she said. "I'm here to spend some time with Jane, and I can't be a burden." Screw Jane. If I could, I would send for my clothes in the States and stay forever. I want to stay forever.

He shook his head fervently. "No. You are not a burden; you shall stay until you are well. Please do not argue with me on this point. You are weak and need your rest, and you won't win anyway." He smiled at her, wanting to lean over and kiss her deeply.

She paused, searching his eyes. "Fitz . . . why are you so good to me?" she asked, her eyes wide, full, wondering.

"Lisa, I love you. And what's more, I realized today, while we played your silly football game, that I always will." He grinned.

She smiled gently in return. "I believe you still feel the same about me," she said, "I do, honestly. I just don't know why."

"How could I not?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. "Because I called you a pig . . . because I was so selfish with my emotions. I was really mean to you. And yet . . . you still feel the same." He nodded. She grinned. "Even after I slapped Aunt Kitty?"

He nodded again, his eyes sparkling. "As I have said before, I have never met a woman like you. You are positively fearless, and that is a large part of what I find so . . . attractive." Lisa's face flushed, and she looked down. Darcy continued. "I said in the lobby that first night that most women were either too conservative or too shameless to tempt me. By that I meant that all of the women I know are either extremely aristocratic, which is the type of woman my Aunt Catherine would like to see me with, or too obviously focused on my family's wealth, which is unfortunately the type of woman with whom I most often find myself. Lisa, I will be the first person to tell you that for a long time, I was an only child, and I come of wealthy parents, and therefore, I am a selfish, snobbish Brit. I am generally accustomed to getting everything and anything I want. People do not often show me any kind of disrespect, and usually obey my wishes." He paused a minute, his eyes deeply searching hers. "Can you imagine my shock upon traveling halfway across the globe, to a tiny town in Wisconsin, in the United States, where a woman turns up blatantly late for a meeting, dressed quite inappropriately, and not three hours later I find her arguing with one of her superiors in the hallway? Or my further shock as I defend her. My only shock, however, as I sat in a smoky comedy club and fell in love with her, was that she was not already taken."

She stifled the urge to lean over and kiss him. "And what exactly do you mean by 'I am generally accustomed to getting anything and everything I want?' Because if you think you can just snap your fingers and I'll be at your beckon call, you can forget about it. My name isn't Caroline Bingley, and my father didn't raise me to be the heel of a man."

His face turned solemn, and he took her hand in his. "My mother did not raise me to treat women as such," he said, stroking her skin with his thumb. "I hope that I have not." His eyes slowly blinked, dancing as they took in her beautiful face. He took in a breath, looking at their hands intertwined, wishing they would forever remain so. "Elizabeth," he said, inwardly rejoicing at the smile she produced upon hearing him speak her full name, "I understand you are most likely tired, and in need of a proper rest, but I must know . . . would you answer me two questions before you sleep?"

Lisa nodded, a smile on her lips. "You can ask me anything."

"Do you love me?"

The strength of his voice as he asked this startled her, but she smiled happily at the chance to tell him, without much awkwardness, her feelings. "Yes. Deeply and honestly, Fitzwilliam Darcy, I love you."

Her answer rendered him breathless and deliriously happy, and yet he could not move, could not breathe, and almost could not speak his next question. It was a question he had asked once before, but last time, when he rode with her that day, he was much more sure of himself, much less flustered. Last time he assumed her answer would be no; this time, he feared it. He continued to look at her for the mere sake of looking at her, to drink in her beauty, to lose himself in her eyes. He took in several breaths, letting them out slowly, his mouth moving incoherently, but his throat made no sound, until she tilted her head at him again, in an unspoken nudge of encouragement. "Lisa," he said, his voice catching in his throat, "would you . . . would you do me the honor . . . would you consent to be my wife? Will you marry me?"

Lisa's dark eyes shone with happy tears, and she smiled at him. "Do you think Aunt Kitty would approve of me as Mrs. Darcy?" she asked, her heart skipping a beat as she spoke the name. "I am, after all, an American, like that abominable Jane character."

"I do not care what Aunt Kitty thinks," he replied decisively, raising his eyebrow. "My personal matters of heart are no concern of hers." He inched closer to her on the bed, taking the other hand and holding them both close to his heart. "What is your answer?"

Despite the rain and thunder on the outside, inside the sun shone brightly in both their hearts. "I wish--"

Darcy shook her hands gently, closing his eyes in passionate frustration. "Please, a definitive answer. I beg you."

The look on his face was too sincere to ignore, and she bit her lower lip and nodded. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely.

Darcy sucked in a breath, unable to stop himself. "And children," he said, inching still closer to her, "will you give me children?"

"As many as you'll let me," she said, the tears spilling over.

He leaned closer to her, kissing the tears on her cheeks, and rested his head in the crook of her neck. "And when I am old and frail," he said, his voice shaky, "when I am old, will you bring me my morning tea, and will you sit with me and rock our grandchildren, and tell them stories? Will you love me even then? Will you love me forever?"

"Yes. Forever," she whispered, nuzzling his face with her own with a sniffle.

He paused a minute, holding her, just wanting to be close to her, to know she was safe, to know her warmth and love. "Soon," he said, pulling away. "We must marry soon."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I . . . I want you," he explained, lowering his face. "I do not mean to offend you, but I have wanted you since the day I met you. And the day I met your parents . . . when you came in the house, your hair tangled, your clothes rumpled . . . that spot of mud on your knee . . . when you fell into my arms trying to get up, I wanted to kiss away the bruise the horse left you with and make love to you slowly, gently . . ." He trailed off, and he rose to face the window. "I apologize again, Lisa, but you must understand that I am very frustrated right now."

Lisa smiled and leaned against the pillows that propped her up in the bed. "One month."

Darcy turned from the window. "You will be ready in a month?" he asked, hopeful.

She nodded, her smiled broadening. "Well, Jane did it, didn't she? It might take a bit of doing, and I don't even know where to start, but yes, I will be ready in a month."

Darcy rushed back to the side of the bed, taking her hands once again, a toothy smile plastered on his face. "Mrs. Reynolds will assure you every convenience. I have no preference of time or location. I only wish it to be a holy ceremony."

"So if I want to get married at the Vatican or Buckingham Palace . . . ?" she joked.

He touched her cheek tenderly. "Then it shall be done. It will be as simple or as elaborate as you dictate."

She smiled at him again. "I love you." She laughed. "I love you. I love to say it."

"I love to hear it."

Her smile became serious. "I love to love you."

"I love that you love me," he said with the same expression. They gazed into each other's eyes for a long while, until he leaned over and kissed her lips gently. "I should bring you to your room," he said.

She smiled gamely. "I don't think I can walk."

He raised his eyebrow at her, and lifted her into his strong arms to carry her up another flight of stairs. He set her back down on the bed; she made an embarrassed comment about the rumpled condition the sheets were in. "You mentioned having trouble sleeping," he said, amused. He tucked her in and kissed her forehead. "If you think these sheets are in bad shape, you should see mine."

She smiled up at him, and he sat down at the edge of her bed once again. She rumpled her brow as a thought crossed her mind. "Fitz, can I ask you a question?"

"My darling Lisa, we are to be married in a month." His heat skipped a beat as he made the statement. "If you can not ask me a question, I should think we need to wait a while longer."

Nervously, she decided to cut to the chase. "Are you a virgin?"

His entire face turned a bright red as he realized she must be, else she would not have asked the question. He shook his head. "No." He gazed into her eyes, but couldn't tell what she was thinking. "Does that upset you?"

She sighed. "To be honest, it makes me a little jealous."

He nodded in understanding, touching her soft face. "You need not be."

She smiled softly. "I know."

He leaned over to kiss her, brushing a few stray curls out of her face, and crawling onto the bed beside her, cradled her, rocking her gently as she fell asleep.

Chapter 23

Exactly one month later, the simple ceremony began with Reverend Jacob in Pemberley's west garden.

"Dearly beloved," he began with a smile, "welcome. Perhaps we should rise and gather round so that we may share a little intimacy." The guests, which were small in number, happily did as they were asked. They were Georgiana, who had brought a date upon Darcy's approval, Lydia and her daughter, Katie, Mary, the Bingleys, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, and Anne and a most unhappy Lady Catherine DeBourgh. The old priest smiled, folding his hands over the bible he held. "I was fortunate enough to have officiated the service in which George Darcy took the hand of Lady Anne Fitzwilliam in holy matrimony. It was in a small, intimate ceremony that they joined together, as Fitzwilliam joins now to Elizabeth. Theirs was a match made of nothing but pure love and gentle affection. Though it was thirty years ago, I do not believe I have ever seen a Darcy as full of joy as I see this one." He paused to smile at the groom. "Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth have asked all of us to share in their happiness this day as they exchange vows of marriage. It is time now for them to make their pledge of love and devotion to each other." He turned to Bingley, who reached in his pocket and placed the wedding bands upon the bible to be blessed. Reverend Jacobs did so, and again turned to the groom. "Fitzwilliam, please turn to your bride, and take her hands." He did. "Repeat after me."

Darcy looked earnestly into Lisa's eyes, believing down to his toes every word he said. "I, Fitzwilliam Darcy, take you, Elizabeth Bennet, as my wedded wife. From this day forward, I swear that I shall remain forever faithful. I shall be at your side through whatever comes. I promise to be honest and understanding, loving and giving. I promise to be an honorable, respectful father to each child God may bless us with. I shall never doubt you or take you for granted, and it will take my death to stop loving you."

A tear trickled down her cheek, and he reached out and brushed it away with his thumb, adding to his vows, "Elizabeth, you are my life."

This prompted a crushing smile to grace her lips, and another tear followed.

"Place the ring on her finger," smiled the priest, and as Darcy did so, continued, "repeat after me."

"With this ring, I thee wed," he repeated, "and join my life to yours."

His eyes held hers as she promised and vowed the same, slipping the band on his finger.

The priest paused, allowing Darcy and Lisa to smile briefly at one another. "You have made a serious promise to each other; a promise which will be tested throughout your life together. I wish you strength of heart for this journey." He smiled at them, and turned to their families. "If there is any one here who does not believe this union should commence, it is time now for you to speak." He allowed a minute for the objection to take place, but there was nothing but silence from the great Lady.

"Then by the power vested in me by the Church, I announce that this union is complete. You are man and wife." Darcy brushed another tear from Lisa's face. "You may kiss your bride." Reverend Jacobs smiled at him.

Taking her face in his hands, he whispered, "I love you, Lisa," before he kissed her lips, pure and sweet, not for too long, but he made it a kiss to remember.

Lisa had never felt as positively beautiful as she did that day. Following her permanent arrival in England a few weeks prior, she and Georgiana and Jane had spent a day in London, mostly at a shop owned by a friend of Mrs. Reynolds, where many of the wedding particulars were planned. The shopkeeper, a Mrs. Andrews, had made the crown of white lace and sequins, and the simple white a-line gown she wore, a bow beneath her breasts and filmy, tiered top layers on the skirt. Mrs. Andrews had insisted on gloves, and Lisa was glad that Jane convinced her to go along with it. That morning, a maid had fussed over her, ensuring her dress was in perfect condition, that her hair was soft yet firmly in place, that she had a handkerchief just in case she might shed a tear. Another ensured that she did not see Darcy until they walked out to the garden together.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy held hands throughout the wedding brunch, just as beautifully simple as the ceremony, and thanked the Reverend before he left again for Lambton. As they walked back to the drawing room, where everyone sat after the meal, Lisa was interrupted by one of the maids, who curtsied, blushed, and asked for assistance concerning one of her trunks.

Lisa smiled at her; she must have been only about sixteen. "I'll be right back," she said, and Darcy kissed her hand as he headed for the drawing room.

As the two ladies headed up the stairs, the younger turned to her new mistress and whispered quietly, "May I ask you a question, Miss B-- I mean, Mrs. Darcy?"

Lisa turned to her and smiled at the top of the stair case. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Sarah," she replied. "Sarah Weldon is my name." She kept her head bowed ever so slightly.

"Sarah," said Lisa, trying to make her make eye contact with her, "Sarah, look at me." She did. "You don't have to be so shy. You can call me Lisa."

"Oh, but Mrs. Darcy, I can't. You see, Mrs. Reynolds--"

"Sarah," said Lisa more firmly, "if I'm supposed to call you by your first name, you should call me by my first name. Otherwise, you should be Miss Weldon and I should be Mrs. Darcy, and frankly, I don't like that arrangement. If this is going to be my home, I want the people living in it to be like family to me." She paused, watching Sarah's expression turn more and more relaxed. "I'm American, if you didn't already surmise that by my funny accent, and I wasn't raised with a housekeeper or any maids around. I wash dishes and cook for myself, and I vacuum and clean dirty bathtubs . . . and anyway, I just don't think I'm any different than you. Just call me Lisa, please. If for no other reason than that it makes me more comfortable."

Sarah smiled broadly. "I would like that very much," she said.

"Good. Now, what was it you had to ask me?" continued Lisa, walking down the hall to the room in which the boxes containing the things from her apartment had been placed.

"Well," said Sarah as she entered the room with Lisa in tow, "it's all these dishes. Mr. Darcy has many, many sets of dishes, china sets and regular ones too. But if you want to use them, I'll put them in one of the hutches. Plus, there's lots of other things like that; you've got a blender in there, too."

Lisa paused to think a minute. "Do you know anyone who might put them to good use?" she asked.

Sarah looked down at her feet. "If you wouldn't mind," she said sheepishly, "my sister's getting married on Saturday, and I think she would be happy to have some of these things. They're practically brand new."

"They're hers," replied Lisa. "If she wants them. Some of this stuff I never used. I think Jane bought this blender," she commented.

"Miss B-- I mean, Mrs. D-- I mean, I'm sorry, Lisa," began Sarah again, flushing to the roots of her golden hair, "I need to ask you something else. Something a bit more personal."

"Okay," said Lisa, sitting daintily on a chair.

More uneasily than before, Sarah said, "I heard Lady Catherine talking about you," she whispered. "I heard her call you harlot. I've never been very fond of the Lady, but sometimes she knows what she's talking about. Now I don't believe for a second that you're like that, and I don't believe Mr. Darcy would even see someone like that, but I wanted to ask you . . . will tonight be your first night with him?"

Lisa looked at her, a little amused. She smiled comfortingly. "Tonight will be my first night with anyone," she replied boldly. "I'm proud of the fact that I'm a virgin. And I'll tell you something, the Lady, and I use the term loosely, doesn't know what she's talking about most of the time." She smiled at the younger girl. "Why do you ask?"

Sarah was back to looking at the floor. "I've got a boyfriend . . ." she trailed off.

"I see. Well," said Lisa, surmising the situation, "I'll tell you this much. My father always taught me that my virginity was a gift for me to give to the man I loved on our wedding night. I've had boyfriends who tried to pressure me, too. To me, it was a precious, precious thing, and I chose to keep it, and I'm glad I did. It's your gift, Sarah, so it's your choice. You have to decide what it means to you. And it's nobody's business but your own. Remember that. And if this guy breaks up with you because you won't sleep with him, he's worthless anyway."

Sarah nodded, smiling. "Thank you, mum," she said, and then, caught herself, "Oh! I mean, Lisa."

Lisa smiled at her again, nodding. "Could you show me back downstairs?" she asked, unsure of where she was in this huge house.

Sarah agreed to help her, and they walked back down the long staircase. Sarah paused to look out one of the windows. "Looks like your guests are heading out to the family garden," she commented. "This one, right outside." She pointed out a window. "I don't see Mr. Darcy with them."

"He's probably in the drawing room waiting for me," she said. "Thanks for your help, Sarah."

"No, no. Thank you." Sarah smiled widely at her, curtsied, and turned back to the staircase.

As Lisa entered the drawing room, she heard Lady Catherine angrily whispering to Darcy, "I just don't understand why you married beneath yourself, to begin with, and further, Fitzwilliam, you should have--"

Lisa coughed, a gloved fist at her lips. "You didn't expect him to really go through with this, did you?"

Lady Catherine stood, an indignant expression on her face. "No, I did not," she replied. "But Fitzwilliam was impulsive as a young lad. I am certain that soon, he shall see the mistake he made here."

"Aunt Catherine, I have made no mistake. I love Lisa, and I intend to spend the rest of my life with her here at Pemberley." He folded his hands behind his back. "I think you would do well to remember that she is my wife now, and mistress of this estate."

"Perhaps for now. Mark my words, Fitzwilliam, she will betray you. She is an untrustworthy American harlot; she is only out for your money."

The anger was apparent in Darcy's face, the tips of his ears burning, his teeth grinding. He maintained his countenance as he turned to Lisa. "It has always been the tradition," he said to her, "that the current Mrs. Darcy was manager of Pemberley House. I had no wish to put such a responsibility upon you your very first day."

Lisa glanced back at him, and then turned to Lady Catherine. She was just as upset as her new husband, and twice as insulted. She thought carefully for a second, and decided the best thing to do would be to ask her to leave. After all, what would be the point of getting into a screaming match with her today? She would only make herself more upset, and it was her wedding day. She put her hands on her hips. "Well, Aunt Kitty, thanks for making our wedding day so perfect. I think your job here is done. I think you know where the door is." She turned and walked toward the entrance.

A red-faced Lady Catherine followed her. "My name is Lady Catherine, and you shall address me as such!" She waddled after Lisa, waving her finger at her back. "I will not stand for this disrespect!"

As Lisa reached the door, she turned sharply. "Look," she said, her eyes flashing, "you might be some big wig here in England, but I think you should remember that I'm from Wisconsin. I could give a damn who you are, or more accurately, who you think you are. If you really, truly cared for your nephew, you would know that I love him unconditionally, and he loves me the same. You wouldn't care what kind of ceremony we were married in, and you wouldn't tell him that he married beneath himself. You think Americans are rude and opinionated; well, let me tell you something, sweetheart, New Yorkers have nothing on you." She paused to stare Aunt Kitty down. "Thank you for welcoming me into your family with such warmth."

Exasperated, Lady Catherine turned to Darcy. "You would let your wife speak to me like this? Have you no control over her?"

Darcy almost looked amused. "Catherine, Lisa may do whatever she pleases. It is not for me to control her."

The Lady could only look back at him in disbelief. Lisa sauntered past her to join her other family members in the garden. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out."

"Fitzwilliam!" cried Lady Catherine as Lisa disappeared, "what would your mother think? Allowing such a woman into your home and life like this! You shall see, I promise you, that you have made a mistake. I only hope your mother is not looking down upon this and shedding any tears. Your poor mother!"

"Aunt Catherine, please," said Darcy, a tone of exasperation in his voice. "If you say such things about my mother, I do not believe you knew your sister very well. I remember the stories my father told me about her in his last days. I believe I remember one about a dance in the rain, and one about a horseback ride about the grounds of Pemberley. Ten hours is quite enough time to wander about, is it not? Even as a child, I remember her in the garden, on her hands and knees, getting muddy and sweaty, and I remember the look my father would give her when she would come into the house to wash. I remember, and quite distinctively, that every Saturday, I would not see my mother for a long time after she went in to wash. I don't suppose it takes hours to wash one's hands, does it, Aunt Catherine?"

"Fitzwilliam!" she exclaimed. "One does not speak about one's parents in such a manner!"

"So it is inappropriate for me to remember the loving relationship of my parents, and yet perfectly acceptable for you to stand before me and insult my wife, to call her a harlot, to tell her she is not good enough for the Darcy name, which, I'd like to point out, is not even yours!" He was more angry than he supposed he had ever been. "You would tell her that my mother would never have approved of her were she alive! How dare you say that she is untrustworthy! How dare you accuse her of being capable of betrayal!" Darcy paused a minute, trying to collect himself. "I had hoped that you would be able to see in Elizabeth what I see in her. I know now that it is not possible. I understand that you are only able to see skin deep."

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing! Can you not see where she comes from? Her family is barely tolerable! That mother of hers--"

"Aunt Catherine," interrupted Darcy, quite firmly, "I know her family is not perfect. No one's family is perfect, and least of all ours. Now, if you please, this is my wedding day, and I should like to spend it in the company of my wife, rather than the company of my selfish aunt." Wit that, he turned and left the hall.

All too soon the day was over and the Darcy's guests headed into Lambton to spend the night, with the exception of the Bingleys, who would stay in the house as guests.

An unexpected call from one of the board members drew Bingley and Darcy into Darcy's office for a brief conference. He apologized several times, and Lisa had reassured him several times that it was okay, and followed Georgiana as she showed her to Darcy's bedroom.

"Where are my bags?" she asked upon reaching the room, confused. "There was a big blue suitcase and a little leather bag."

"Probably in your room," said Georgiana, also confused. "This is William's room. You wanted to see it, didn't you?"

"Oh, don't tell me we have separate bedrooms," she said with an eye roll. "That's so silly. How would that even work?"

"Well, you do have separate bedrooms," smiled Georgiana. "This is his bedroom. Your bedroom is down the hall more. You also have a bedroom together, through that door, between the two." She pointed to a huge, heavy-looking door, stained dark and polished perfectly, with a shiny brass handle. "It's been that way since the house was built."

"Oh. Do you know a lot about this house and its previous owners?" asked Lisa.

"I know some things," she replied. "I know that it's always been a Darcy home. I know that whoever Master Darcy was, he wasn't always as kind as William. I heard a story once about one of our ancestors, that he was very bitter and mean. It was a long time ago, a hundred years, I think, and the story goes that the master married only to have an heir. He chose a lady named Christabel for her wealth and beauty, and they had one boy together, and after that she moved to Londonhouse to raise him."

"That's so sad," commented Lisa. "Where is Londonhouse?"

Georgiana nodded. "Londonhouse is the family townhouse in London. It never had a real name; that one just sort of evolved from its location. Maybe we shouldn't talk about things like that tonight," said Georgiana with a smile. "I'll show you to your bedroom, and then I think William will be expecting you in the master suite."

Lisa took in a breath, placing her hand on her stomach. "Do you think he's in there right now?" she asked, her expression anxious.

"He's on the phone right now," replied Georgiana, furrowing her brow. "What's wrong?"

Lisa let out a chuckle. "I'm nervous," she replied. "I'm excited, and I'm happy, and tired, but I'm nervous. Would you get Jane for me?"

Georgiana nodded, and rushed down the stairs. Jane followed her to the bedroom and knocked on the door. "Lisa, it's Jane."

Lisa rose to open the door for Jane, the same anxious expression on her face. "Hi," she said, stepping aside. Jane entered the room, and as soon as the door was shut, wrapped her arms around her sister.

"I know what you're going to say," she said, her voice muffled against Lisa's shoulder. "I know how nervous you are right now."

Lisa pulled back and turned to face the window. "God, Jane, I don't know what to do. I literally don't know what to do. What if he doesn't like the way I look, or what if I say something wrong . . . you know how I have that unfortunate talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or what if I do it wrong? Oh . . . a month ago this seemed so simple."

"Lisa," said Jane, a smile on her lips, "it is simple. You are going to know what to do. He's going to love the way you look, and you aren't going to say something wrong, and you can't do it wrong. Now, I don't know if there's anything I can say that's going to make you less nervous, but I will tell you one thing. You think you love that man right now, but it is nothing, nothing compared to what you will feel at the moment you truly become one. One person, one heart, one soul. It is only going to get better from there. Imagine when you find out you're going to have his baby." Jane smiled as she put her hand on her abdomen, now bulging slightly with four month's growth. "Lisa, I promise, everything will be okay. You just have to relax."

"Okay," she said, turning from the window. "I trust you. What do I do?"

"Well, the first thing you should do is change."

Lisa looked down at her wedding gown, and ran her hands over the skirt. "But I don't want to change," she protested. "Jane, I don't ever want to take this off. I feel so beautiful."

"Oh," was Jane's reply. "Well, then . . . don't. Don't take it off. Let him." She smiled. "Just relax, and let him take over. Lis, you have to trust Fitz. He's not going to hurt you; tonight is going to be very special. I promise."

Lisa finally smiled at her sister, sighing. "Okay." She picked up her blue suitcase and moved toward the door Georgiana had pointed out as the door leading to their bedroom. "Would you take that little bag?"

Jane's brow rumpled. "You're leaving already?" she asked, a half-grin on her face.

"No," said Lisa with a laugh. "I guess this is his bedroom, and I have a bedroom, and then we both have a bedroom . . . or something like that. It seems a little over-done to me." Jane followed her. "I've never been in this room," she whispered as she opened the door. She gasped as she stepped inside.

The first thing she saw was the enormous four-poster bed, draped in a rich cream-colored canopy. There was a table on either side of it, each decorated with a cream runner and lamp. The windows were elegantly draped in the cream cloth also, and were very large; there was a divan at the foot of the bed; a beautiful old writing desk, a dresser on each side of the room, and the carpet on the floor was extremely plush. The bedding was a wonderful contrast to the dark wood of the furniture. Lisa walked over to the bed, running her hands over the posts. She chuckled. "Jane, there are drapes on this bed."

"It's a beautiful room, Lisa," smiled Jane. She rumpled her brow, looking around. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to what looked like the entrance to another room.

"Probably the entrance to my room," she replied. She stepped through, and walked around the room for a minute. She took in a breath. "It smells like lavender in here." She didn't know why, but she smiled. It was a small, intimate room, with many pictures of ancestors on the walls. She turned to one in particular, a portrait above the fireplace, which looked strikingly like Georgiana. Lisa thought perhaps it was her mother, but the painting was far too old. She looked closer, noticing a nameplate beneath it. "Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, 1787," it read. Ah, the original Lady Anne, she thought.

Lisa turned and looked above the headboard to another portrait, which looked like . . . well, like her. She had fine eyes with a hint of mischief, and a genuine, warm smile. She inched closer to see who this dark-eyed beauty was. "Elizabeth Darcy, 1813." Lisa was taken aback both by their similarity in features and by their name. I'm apparently not the original Elizabeth Darcy.

"Lisa, are you going to stare at pictures for the rest of the night?" Jane came up behind her, placing her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Surely, you have better things to do."

Lisa smiled and walked back to the main room with Jane in tow. She glanced about briefly, until her eyes met with another door. "If that is your room, and that is Fitz's room," said Jane, pointing, "what is that?"

"Open the door, and you'll probably find out," said Lisa.

She did, and stepped through with a smile. "It's a nursery, Lisa." She smiled. "It's a huge, beautiful nursery." She paused again, wandering about, her hands on her stomach, looking at the old photographs on dressers and walls. "I hear footsteps," said Jane, craning her neck. "I better go." She smiled at her sister.

"Thank you, Jane," said Lisa, hugging her. "I'll let you get back to your husband. It's late, and you need your rest."

"Okay," said Jane, pulling back. "Remember what I said. Remember to relax. Remember to breathe." She smiled and left the room, closing the doors behind her.

Chapter 24

As Jane turned to go back downstairs, she met the curious glance of Darcy. "Is everything all right?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Yes," smiled Jane. "She's very nervous, Fitz. She just needed a little reassurance."

Darcy nodded. "I suppose I never realized what she might be feeling right now. I am aware that she is . . . that she is a virgin." He let out a breath, and swallowed. "I am nervous as well."

"It might comfort her to know that," said Jane, walking over to her brother-in-law. She kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand. "Goodnight, Fitz."

Darcy nodded. "Goodnight, Jane." He moved to stand before the doors of this chamber, which he had not been in since he was but a boy of fifteen, even though it was right next to his, and closed his eyes. He had given the instructions to Mrs. Reynolds to have it entirely cleaned a week ago, and promised himself that he would see it before this moment, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Now, he didn't know whether he would remember the room as the place he had first seen his baby sister Georgiana when she returned from the hospital, and had played with her countless times since, or if he would remember it as the place where his mother had suffered so long with cancer and passed on.

He opened his eyes with a start, deciding that he could not think about such things tonight, with Lisa so vulnerable and nervous, and his desire for her burning so vividly. He swallowed, turned the knob on the door, and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the plush rug beneath his feet. He closed his eyes again briefly and smiled in remembrance of the feeling beneath the feet of his footed pajamas as a young child. He opened his eyes, closed the door, and looked to his left to find his bride standing at one of the picture windows. She was still dressed in her wedding gown, for which Darcy was appreciative, leaning her temple against the window pane. "Lisa."

She turned. "Fitz." She smiled feebly.

He crossed the room, and took her hand. "Do you . . . do you like these rooms?" He asked. "They are the master suite. You may choose to redecorate."

"They're beautiful," she replied. "I wouldn't redecorate them."

Darcy looked earnestly into her eyes, not knowing what to say next. "I apologize again for leaving you," he finally stammered. "I kept the conversation as short as I possibly could."

"Don't worry about it," replied Lisa. She, too, was uncertain of where to go from there, until she remembered her wedding gift. "I've got something for you," she said with a smile. "Wait here just a minute." She walked over to where her luggage sat, and reached inside the leather bag to produce a small, gift wrapped box. She held it out to him. "I know we said no wedding gifts, but I have inside sources . . ."

He raised his eyebrow. "Blasted Jane," he mumbled.

She smiled. "No, it wasn't Jane," she said admonishingly. "It was Mrs. Reynolds."

"Well, then," he said, smiling, "blasted Mrs. Reynolds."

"Are you going to take it?" she asked.

He smiled and took the little box from her hand, and sat down on the divan at the foot of the bed to open it. A small, hard case was inside, and he opened the top with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, Lisa," he breathed, picking up the pocket watch, "Lisa, where did you find this?"

"Well, I remember seeing the replica of it in the gallery," she said, sitting next to him. "When Jane, Georgiana, and I were in London, we walked by an antique store, and for whatever reason, I decided to go in. It was a pretty typical antique store, dark and mostly full of junk, but this caught my eye. It was in a case near the register, where this crabby old man was standing. It looked so much like the one in the gallery, I decided to buy it, just because it would always remind me of you. After I bought it, I was looking it over, and I saw the etching on the back. I realized it must be the original watch. I verified its age with a few dealers that Mrs. Reynolds' friend knew. They offered to buy it from me, for a lot more than I paid for it, but I said no, and I decided to give it to you as a wedding present."

His smile was uncontrollable. "Thank you," he said, bending to kiss her. "You know how much my ancestry means to me."

She returned his smile. "Yes," she said. "It's something I hope you are able to pass on to your son."

He could only smile more. He gazed into her eyes a moment, then realized he had something for her as well. "Wait here." She nodded, and he stood, carefully placing the watch back into the case. He set it on one of the dressers and disappeared into his bedroom for a minute, returning with the same glowing smile and a red velvet box in one hand. He walked over to her, stood in front of her, and presented the box. "This is also a family heirloom," he said proudly. He opened the box, and Lisa gasped as she saw the beautiful antique silver cross. He explained its significance, and that this year, he had been doubtful of the tradition continuing. That was, of course, until he stood in his front hall, dripping wet, as she descended the stairs, practically laughing at him. He removed the cross from the box, and fastened it behind her hair. "I have never seen it grace a more beautiful neck."

She smiled. "Thank you."

They smiled at each other a while, she admiring the shallow dimple in his left cheek, he admiring her long, lovely lashes. "Elizabeth," he finally said with a swallow, "may I always call you Elizabeth?" She smiled and nodded, and he kissed her hand. "I understand you are very nervous." He swallowed again. "I am also."

"But you have done this before," she replied, "and I never have." Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest.

"No," he said, shaking his head and smiling at her. "No, I have never done this before. I have never made love before. I could not have. I have never been so in love." She smiled at him again, her heart refusing to slow. "I have every hope that we will share many intimate moments. I love you with every fiber of my being."

She smiled up at him. "I love you, too," she replied. They took another moment to gaze lovingly into each other's eyes. "I didn't want to change," she said honestly. "I feel so beautiful today."

"I shall endeavor to make you feel as such every day, for you are beautiful, my love," he said, kissing her hand. "You are exquisite, and it has nothing to do with your clothing. Though you are a picture today," he admitted. "I did not want you to take your gown off." He smiled seductively. "You could not imagine the joy I felt in my heart when I first saw you this morning."

She blushed again, her cheeks becoming an ever-increasingly intense shade of red. He moved in to kiss her, a very soft, very gentle one at first, but growing more and more passionate. She began to shake, her thoughts whirling in her head, her heart pounding, and he stopped. "I do not want you to be afraid of me," he said, his voice velvet.

She looked up at him, her large, dark eyes swimming with the desire she was terrified to unleash. "I'm not afraid of you," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm afraid of me."

He tilted his head, his eyebrows pushed together. "Whatever do you mean?" he asked, truly confused. She just looked back at him, uncertain of whether he would understand. "Please, Elizabeth, tell me your fears."

She took in a deep breath, tipping her chin toward the ceiling, her curls tumbling down her back. "Fitz, I love you, and I want . . . I want to be with you," she said, "but I don't know what to do." She looked back at him. "I'm sorry."

He grinned at her. "Do not be sorry," he said, stroking her face with his thumb. He searched her eyes. "You must have questions."

She let out a breath, relieved that he understood, and nodded. "Yes," she said, standing and walking to the window. "Yes. What do I do? How am I going to know?" She looked worried.

"You will know," he reassured her with a smile. He stood and crossed the room to her. He wrapped her in his arms. "It will come almost as a reflex." He briefly kissed her soft lips. "And, with practice, you will become more sure of yourself." He smiled bewitchingly.

She sucked in a breath, slowly opening her eyes. "Do you . . . I mean, are you . . . am I . . ." she looked down at herself.

"Beautiful," he replied with another kiss. "Simply ravishing." His kisses became more and more fervent. "I love you, Elizabeth. I will not hurt you. Please trust me."

"I trust you," she whispered. She responded to his kisses by running her hands up his chest, feeling the firm ripple of his muscles beneath his shirt.

He moved his mouth to her chin, her neck, and her shoulders, and she let out a moan. "Oh, Elizabeth . . ."

For fear of saying the wrong thing, she kept her mouth shut. She was beginning to relax against him, his strong arms and wonderful lips comforting her. She felt him pull the zipper of her dress down, and ran his hands along the bare flesh he exposed. As he kissed her neck, she opened her eyes to notice his ear at her lips, and took it in her mouth. "Mmm . . ." He removed one shoulder of her dress, then another, gently kissing each side. He tugged the gown further off, and she let it fall from her arms and drop to the floor; the shy smile she produced only made him want her more.

He returned her smile, and stepped back to admire her. She had long since taken off her shoes and hose and went bare-footed through the gardens and the rest of the house. "Are your feet sore?" he asked. She shook her head, smiling. He stepped closer to her, his hands finding her waist. He began kissing her again, and she smiled through the kisses, draping her arms about his shoulders.

After a minute, she pulled back, and ran her hands down his chest, and back up again. With a solemn face, she carefully slipped his jacket off his shoulders, laying it on the divan. She began on the buttons of his shirt, and though he was desperate in his longing for her, he kept patient, letting her take her time. As she removed his shirt, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her lips, and effortlessly removed the rest of her clothing. He held their kiss; she stopped, letting the tingling sensation envelop her body. Oh, how wonderful this feels, she thought. Why didn't I realize this before? Why didn't I realize how wonderful this would be?

He picked her up, effortlessly carrying her to the bed, their bed, and laid her down, admiring her dark curls as they spread out on the white pillow. He reached out for her, and let his hands feel their way down her soft skin. "Elizabeth," he breathed again, "Elizabeth, my love . . ."

The early morning hours at Pemberley House found the newest Mr. and Mrs. Darcy tightly wound together with the sheets, his fingers in her tousled hair, her hands on his chest, a smile on both their faces as their feet caressed each other. "Hullo, Mrs. Darcy," he drawled, his tired eyes blinking slowly.

"Hello, Mr. Darcy," she replied.

"I seem to recall one other time you called me Mr. Darcy," he said. "I don't think I will ever hear that name from your lips and not think of your e-mail to me."

She blushed. "You know," she said reflectively, "I still don't like Fitz or Fitzwilliam. I'm sorry that I don't like your name." She grinned.

He returned the smile. "Georgiana has always called me William," he said. "However, for some reason, I do not want you to call me by that name."

She rumpled her brow, propping herself up on her elbow. "Why not?"

"Because it is not . . . intimate enough," he replied, kissing her lips. "Mm . . . you taste marvelous." He grinned wickedly.

"Oh, I do, do I?" she asked, amused. She returned his kiss. "You'll just have to have me for breakfast."

He smiled at her, rejoicing at her eagerness for this new activity, and could only take her up on her offer.

"You will spoil me," he declared, kissing her breathlessly. He pulled her towards him. "I could get quite used to this."

"I'm already quite used to it," she breathed, snuggling him. "I love you."

He laughed heartily at her. "I love you," he replied.

"Have you decided what I should call you," she asked, kissing him, "on intimate occasions like this?"

"Yes," he replied, still catching his breath. "Yes, I have. You should call me Will. No one has ever called me Will."

She laughed. "I could easily choose a name no one has ever called you," she replied. "I'm sure you've never been called Jack before, but I'm not about to call you that."

"You know full well what I mean," he said with a grin. "I always imagined that a person as close as my wife would be to me should have a special name to call me, and one for me to call her. Of course, you do not have to call me Will. You can easily come up with a cutesy nickname, I'm sure, like Sugar or Sweet Cheeks, or something like that."

She smiled at him again, cuddling closer to his strong chest. "Okay, then. What will you call me?"

"I will follow the same pattern in which the name Will came about, and take the middle of your name, and call you Izab."

She chuckled and raised her eyebrow at him. "You can't be serious."

"Of course not," he replied, laughing. "Last night I asked if I could always call you Elizabeth, and I always will." He paused to hold her closer, if that was possible, and smell her hair. "I have a wedding gift for you."

Lisa rumpled her brow. "You already gave me your wedding gift," she said, touching the cross that adorned her neck.

"I have given you the traditional Darcy wedding gift," he said. "I have given you something meaningful to me. I intend to give you something which is meaningful to you."

Lisa was confused, but merely smiled. "Not right now," she begged him. "Hold me . . . Will." Again, he gladly obliged her.

Later that afternoon, they walked hand in hand through the grounds of Pemberley to the stable. "This is where your wedding gift comes in, my love," smiled Darcy as he opened the door for her.

"Oh . . . Fitz," she said, a serious expression on her face, "you didn't get me another horse, did you?" she asked, placing her hand on his chest. "I don't want to disappoint you, but Pepper . . . Pepper is special. I hated that I had to give her away, but I don't want another horse."

He smiled at his bride, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I have not," he said. He motioned for her to continue into the stable. "James," he called to a young man, who was brushing a sleek Arabian, "where is she?"

James pointed. "Still fightin' with 'er, sir," he replied with a smile.

Darcy nodded and walked in the direction of James' finger. Something seemed to be creating quite a commotion around the corner, and as Darcy knew precisely what it was, he innocently teased, "I wonder what all the fuss is about?"

As the Darcys turned, Lisa saw a large horse thrashing its head back and forth, refusing to be bridled. The stable hands turned at the appearance of Mr. Darcy, and the horse calmed enough for Lisa to recognize the diamond of white in the black face and the speckling of her rump.

"Pepper!"

Lisa let go of her husband's hand and ran to her, patting her face and her ears, running her hand down Pepper's long neck. "Fitz, you found her!"

One of the stable hands sighed his relief. "Perhaps you can bridle her, mum?" he said with a grin, holding the bridle out.

Lisa turned and took it from him. "Sure." She turned her attentions back to Pepper. "How 'bout a ride, honey?" she said, rearranging the bridle. "Bit."

Pepper obediently opened her jaw.

The stable hands laughed and instructed Mrs. Darcy of the saddle's whereabouts, and turned to get on with other matters.

"Should you like to take her out alone?" asked Darcy.

"No," she said, turning to her husband. "No. Come out with me."

"I shall saddle Thunder and be along directly," he said with a smile.

The ride to acquaint Pepper with her new surroundings was a good one, though it was slow and all too short for any of them. After returning to the stable, Lisa met her husband on the way back to the house with a passionate kiss.

"If every ride with Thunder and Pepper will end in this way," said Darcy, his voice low and throaty, "I believe we shall take them out every day."

Lisa gazed back at him. "Thank you for finding Pepper," she said. "I don't know how I can ever thank you."

He drew her in close. "Nurse me back to health when I am ill," he replied, his deep eyes expressive. "Listen to me when I rant about my horrible visit to London. Rub my shoulders when they are stiff. Reach across the dinner table and quietly support me with a touch of your hand. Be a friend to Georgiana. Bear my children. Hold me at night, as tightly as you did last night. Always love me."

A tear rolled down Lisa's cheek. "What can I say to that?" she whispered.

"Say that you will. Especially that last part about loving me. I could not bear it again if I thought you did not love me."

"I love you, Fitz," choked Lisa through her tears. "I love you, and I need you . . ." she trailed off, not knowing what more there was to say to Darcy's request. She wrapped her arms around him as he pulled her body toward his, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You have breathed the life back into Pemberley," he said. "I had no wish to cause you tears."

She calmed yet clung to him tightly, never wanting this tender moment to end.

"I love you, Elizabeth." He pulled back and took her hand in his, and placed a gentle kiss on it.

"I love you too, Fitzwilliam." They gazed into each other's eyes, the sun glinting off the water of the stream, spraying a twinkling reflection of lights on them.

As Mrs. Reynolds watched this scene from an upper window, she wiped a tear from her own cheek, and thanked the ghosts of Pemberley for helping its most current occupant return it to the home it was always meant to be.

The End!!