Darcy sprinted up the stairs to the nursery, whistling and grinning.

He'd been out several hours this morning, working with his steward to finalize the spring planting. They had expected the work to take all day, but had gotten everything done much quicker than anticipated. Now he was free for the afternoon - a lovely, warm day it was, too - and he wanted to spend the time with his two favorite ladies.

"Good afternoon, sir."

He bowed to his daughter's nanny, who sat in a corner at a small table with his darling child, reading to her. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Sommers."

"Papa! Papa!" Anne cried, getting out of her chair. She raced over to him as fast as her chubby three year old legs would go. Her eyes sparkled at him, her sweet little face alight with happiness. Every now and again it struck him like a fist to the gut, just how much she was like his Lizzy. Now was one of those moments. Her spirit, her energy, her mischievousness. She was showing signs of being just as smart as her mother, from the questions she asked and the observations she made. And Anne would be just as beautiful as Lizzy was, he was absolutely sure of it. Thank Heaven it was many, many years until he would have to deal with her coming out ball, and the suitors and requests for courtships that were sure to come pouring in. Right now, he could enjoy his adorable daughter in all her childhood innocence.

"Hello, darling," he smiled down at her, picking her up and tapping her nose gently with a finger. She giggled and tapped his nose, less gently, in response. It was one of their games. "Have you been good for Mrs. Sommers today?"

"Yes, Papa," Anne said obediently, nodding. He raised an eyebrow and glanced at the nanny, knowing full well his daughter's energy could be a trying thing. Ever since she had learned to walk, she was known for scampering off - as fast as a small child could go - in the house, or on the grounds when she took walks with her parents or aunt or the staff. Running off, exploring, and quite often not listening when called back. "That is just what Lizzy did at her age. You certainly have your hands full," Mr. Bennet had laughed proudly, more than once during his recent stay at Pemberly for the Christmas and New Years holidays.

"Miss Anne has done well today, sir," Mrs. Sommers reported. "We took a short walk this morning and identified some of the trees. She had luncheon half an hour ago, and we were just looking at letters. She has not had her nap yet, she should be put down soon."

"Thank you. I am going to take Anne with me, for a little while. I will either return to put her down for her nap, or she will sleep in Mrs. Darcy's rooms." They did this quite often, when they wanted all the family to be together. Anne would nap between them in Lizzy's bed, while they talked softly or slept themselves. It always made Darcy's heart swell with tenderness and love, being so close to his wife and child.

Children. The three - well, truly - four of them had been together in Lizzy's bed just a few weeks ago. Darcy and Lizzy had tried to explain to Anne that she would have a new brother or sister in the fall. They weren't quite sure what she understood, but it was clear Anne knew where the baby was growing. He smiled at the memory of his daughter playing with her mother's belly, rubbing it gently, talking to it. She'd fallen asleep on his chest as he cuddled with his wife, whispering about names for their new baby.

"Very good, sir."

He strode out of the nursery, holding his daughter on his hip. "Are we going to see Mama?" she asked as she grabbed at his hair, tugging it this way and that.

"Yes," he said, smiling, knowing that Anne probably had his hair sticking up all over his head. I must look a sight, he thought, hoping to avoid his staff on the way to his wife's rooms. But it was all worth it.

Anything that made his ladies happy.

And he knew it pleased his wife to no end to see he and Anne interact with each other. "I love you always, Fitzwilliam, but I love you the most when I see you like this," Lizzy had told him, when their daughter was an infant and he had cuddled her tiny, warm body in his arms, gazing down at her in wonder.

She'd kissed him softly, and then whispered, so as not to wake the baby, "You are the most beautiful sight in the world."

"Mama's sleeping," his daughter proclaimed.

And so she was. His wife lay in her bed - their bed, even though it was in the mistress's rooms. From their wedding night well over four years ago, they had, not caring about the traditions or expectations of the ton, shared a bed. Since Darcy could hardly bear to be separated from his Lizzy, it was a rare night indeed when husband and wife slept alone. Truly, he had come to rely on her warm, loving presence, and could not sleep well without his wife in his arms.

"Yes, she is," he replied.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding Anne on his lap, studying his wife in sleep. She lay turned slightly on her side, hands resting on her belly. Her hair was loose, spilling chocolate brown curls over the pillows. She was so beautiful, her creamy skin and silky hair and sparkling eyes unchanging as the day he'd first set eyes on her. What a long road of confusion and denial, misunderstanding and hurt he'd traveled! And then finally, finally receiving his reward when Lizzy agreed to marry him.

There had been people - there were still people, after almost five years of marriage - who called him a fool for making her his wife. The ton's expectations for a man like him had been to marry for wealth and connections and beauty, and there had been no shortage of available, eligible females who met those three criteria. But the ton knew nothing, understood nothing, valued nothing that was real and true. His Lizzy made him feel alive as he never had before. Once he finally realized that love and joy were more important than the ton, there was nothing he would not do to win her hand and heart for his own. And that had included the messy, expensive business of Wickham and Lydia, who were, thank God, on their way to America.

"I want down," Anne whined softly.

"Don't wake your mother," Darcy said, as he sat on the edge of the bed and released his daughter.

"I want to kiss Mama, Papa."

Darcy sighed. He didn't want to wake Lizzy. She'd been more tired these first few months of this pregnancy than she had been with Anne. It worried him, even though his wife and the midwife - and their London surgeon - were all on the watch for any oddities. But each time a woman was with child was different, they said. So Lizzy rested more - although it was still less than he would have preferred. He had the memory of his mother's decline and death on his mind, and tried not to be as overprotective - overbearing and demanding, his wife called it - as he had been when Lizzy carried Anne.

Darcy smiled, watching as Anne pressed a kiss to Lizzy's forehead. His wife did not stir.

"Papa, you kiss Mama." Anne spoke softly, but her tone was demanding. Deciding to humor his little sprite, Darcy bent carefully, and kissed his wife on the cheek.

"We'll come back later, darling." He carried her out of the mistress' bedroom, into the sitting room that they shared. He knew there were a few children's books in there, and some small toys, for the times they had Anne together and wanted to read to her. "Let's let your Mama rest."

"Mama is a sleeping beauty. Like in my picturebook," Anne declared, giggling.

Darcy grinned at the statement. He could not agree more.

"Where is Anne, Mrs. Sommers?"

"Oh, ma'am, the master came by an hour or so ago, and took her out," the nanny said, putting her mending to one side. "Said they were going to visit you. I have not seen the master nor Miss Anne since."

"But I was sleeping an hour ago," Lizzy said, frowning. "They did not come and wake me. I wonder where they went."

"Miss Anne was soon to be napping, ma'am, so perhaps they are somewhere the child could sleep," the nanny replied.

"Ah," Lizzy nodded, a knowing smile on her face. "I know where they are now, Mrs. Sommers. Thank you." She gave a small nod to the nanny, and left the room.

It wasn't often that she and Fitzwilliam shared the bed in the master's suite, but from time to time they could be found there.

Lizzy remembered being surprised, during her first few weeks as a new bride, learning that her husband was far more interested in having them share her rooms than his, even though both suites were equally spacious and luxuriously appointed.

She had been even more surprised at the answer when she asked why one evening some weeks after their wedding, when they were lying in bed after making love.

"You never seem to want us to be together in your rooms anymore," she said, leaning towards him and running a hand over his gently over his chest. "But you did at first. Do you no longer like your suites, dearest?" Her last comment was said in a bit of a teasing tone, as she looked up at him and caught his eye.

Her husband leaned back against the headboard, putting his hands behind his head. Lizzy smiled when he gave her a little smirk, something he had done more frequently since their marriage. She enjoyed seeing this look, as it was a sign of long-dormant playfulness in her mostly serious, reserved husband. "Oh, I like them as well as I ever did, my love. But I find I like being in your rooms infinitely better."

"And why is that?" It didn't make any sense to her. "This bed is not bigger, nor more or less comfortable than your own."

"No, it is not. But there is something about being allowed in my wife's rooms. Something more exciting than being with you in my own." Lizzy started as Fitzwilliam put his hands on her waist and gently set her atop his body, so that she was straddling his waist. "It is similar to being inside you, my love," he whispered, staring into her eyes. Staring into her soul. She gasped as she felt his fingers lightly touch her sensitive nub, stroking the soft, wet flesh. "You willingly open your room, your bed, your body and heart to me, and it makes me - I feel powerful. Like a king."

Having no immediate answer to this unexpected reply, she simply stared at him. Brown eyes locked with brown. For a long moment, neither moved, but drank each other in.

Then, overcome with her husband's honesty and love, she leaned forward and kissed him.

In that answer almost five years ago, Lizzy had realized she knew very little about the hearts and desires of men. But she had plenty of time since then to observe and learn.

I know much more now, she thought, standing outside the door to her husband's room. Not wanting to wake anyone inside, if indeed Fitzwilliam and Anne were sleeping, she carefully turned the knob and entered the room, slowly closing the door behind her.

She smiled, her heart full of happiness, to see her two beloveds asleep. Her husband was on his back, his head turned to one side. Anne rested on his chest and torso, tucked closely in. Protected, even in sleep.

Quietly she walked over to the bed and crawled upon it. Sitting next to them, she looked down at their sweet faces.

Little Anne. Named for her late grandmother, their daughter did not have the coloring of the Fitzwilliams, as Georgiana did. Miss Anne Darcy was pale complected, like her parents, and had same dark, almost wild curls her father did. Lizzy blushed when her husband teased her, saying there was a little version of Lizzy running around the estate.

Because, according to some, Anne acted a bit like her.

Their darling daughter was curious. Adventurous. Thinking. Physical. At age three, she was already showing signs of loving to walk and having the stamina to last a long while. She had also been caught attempting to climb a small tree. Lizzy traced her daughter's cheek, wondering what mischief she would get up to as she got older. What she would do when the new babe came, and how she might adjust to her role as older sister.

Lizzy did not wonder what Fitzwilliam would do when their new child was born. Having been through the process before, he would be ecstatic and terrified until her delivery was done and all was proclaimed to be well. Then he would alternate between attitudes - sometimes hovering and fussing, making sure she was resting and eating and had everything she could ever imagine to ask for. Other times, he would be relaxed and content, holding the tiny new life they'd created in his large, capable hands, staring at the babe in wonder and telling the child all kinds of stories about the past, present, and future.

She reached down, brushing her hand through his dark hair. He was so very dear to her, she did not know what she would do if something took him from her.

From a money standpoint, she had no worries in that area. The marriage articles had been set out so well, she knew she would never, ever want for anything, even though there was very little she did want.

No, it was him she would grieve. All the parts of him he shared with her.

The strong, responsible master. The father - proud, adoring, encouraging. The forthright man of business.

The husband - protective, supportive, kind, yet challenging.

The lover - at turns tender and gentle, passionate and vigorous.

And the man. Surviving through loss and worry and weighty duties. For many years lonely and weary, but hiding it all under a mask of pride. Then, as he had told her many times, she had come into his life and knocked him off his pedestal. While she had said the words, he had the open mind and the bravery to admit he was wrong and needed to change.

That was the part she loved the most. The honesty and inner courage that made him a truly honorable man.

"Lizzy," he murmured, turning toward her. His brown eyes were still closed, but he was smiling. The dimples she loved winked up at her, and she leaned down to press a light kiss to his cheek.

"Have I told you yet today that I love you, Fitzwilliam?" she whispered.

"Yes." Now his eyes were opened, glowing at her.

"Well, I shall tell you again, in case you forgot." Lizzy lay down beside him propping her head on one arm.

"I love you, my darling." She bent to give him a lingering kiss.

Then against his sweet lips she murmured, "You truly are the most beautiful sight in the world."