An Odd Notion of Kindness
Chapter Twelve

Elizabeth's satisfaction in her declaration was fleeting. The gratification aroused by Darcy's warm reception was just as short-lived. It was exhilarating to know, despite all that had happened since the fateful day in April he had first proposed, that Darcy still desired her as a wife. On that day, she had been blind, prejudiced, partial and absurd. In the months since, duty to her family and her heart had led her to act in ways that were immodest, immoral and unchaste. She was pleased for herself that Darcy still valued her so highly. She was pleased for the child she carried who may yet be recognized by all the world as belonging to somebody.

On the occasion of his first proposal, Elizabeth's understanding of Darcy's character had been inaccurate. With her stubborn resolve to think ill of him, she had created an image of a vengeful and ill-tempered man. She had taken slander and revered it as gospel. In the time since, Elizabeth's impressions could only grow more accurate. She had been given a score of opportunities since that day to know him better. Darcy had written a letter to explain his own perspective. She had met his housekeeper at Pemberley who spoke of him in glowing terms. As his lover, she had experienced him at both his most selfish and his most generous. Though Elizabeth had thought she understood Darcy better at present than she had formerly, his confessions to-day nevertheless proved to her that she was as oblivious to his mind as she had ever been. His own impression of events indicated the reverse was true as well.

Knowing him as poorly as she did, Elizabeth could not take Darcy's words to mean he sincerely intended to take her as his wife. Persons were known to have idle wishes in their hearts that they had no intention of pursuing. As much as he might have wished to marry her, a gentleman who brought his mistress to the altar would be ostracized. Kings and peers, with their titles to protect them were embraced in all their proclivities. Kitty's fashionably impure role model Sophia Dubochet now enjoyed an idle life as Lady Berwick, wife of the Baron. Men of every class enjoyed their paid companions, but without the power wielded by the highest among them, marrying one would be scandalous.

When Elizabeth had been a young virgin with an impeccable reputation and genteel father, Darcy had struggled against his feelings for her. He had thought marrying her would be a degradation. It had been the work of many months for him to overcome his objections, and even then, he still felt them. The force of his passion had induced him to be ruled by his heart rather than his sense. Elizabeth the Cyprian already answered to his passion. Now that a marriage between them would be truly reprehensible, how could he overcome his natural objections?

Would he gamble his standing in society on the chance that wealth alone could protect him from the disgust of the world?

Should he?

She had not the power to divine Darcy's feelings and intentions from his words. So often, she had trusted only herself and her own perceptions and misconceptions, leading her to inaccurate conclusions about his mind and intentions. She should not assume Darcy's unwillingness to marry another woman was meant as an offer of marriage to her. If it was, their tendency to misunderstand one another, compounded by isolation from society, could very well trap them both in lifelong misery.

For the good of her child, there was no question in Elizabeth's mind that she would marry him if Darcy was willing. Her unreliable assessment of his character aside, she did think Darcy was too aware of his own wishes, too concerned with his own happiness, to rush headlong into a match that would lead him to disappointment. She could not be happy in a marriage that made her husband miserable. The example of her parents had taught her too well. She had not been willing to sacrifice her own happiness in marriage when she resided in her uncle's house. Now, her child's legitimacy was at stake. If a union with Darcy proved to be an unhappy one, she would consider her suffering a just penance for her foolishness.

Darcy intruded on Elizabeth's musings with a sharp instruction: "Write your mother."

Stirred from her thoughts, Elizabeth looked at him, then at their hands. Darcy had curled his fingers around her own, his thumbs stroking her knuckles. "Pardon?"

"Pray, you must write your mother," Darcy repeated. When repetition failed to produce a gasp of comprehension from Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy entreated: "Miss Bennet, am I understanding you correctly in thinking you have agreed to be my wife?"

His direct, clear question, that could not be misinterpreted, was gratefully received. "You are," Elizabeth affirmed. When he had asked, Darcy sounded worried. She wanted to attribute that to love on his part. Perhaps a corner of his heart feared she would not have him. Yet, Elizabeth knew better than to trust in her perception of him.

Darcy smiled and squeezed her fingers. "That being the case, you must write your mother and ask for her approval."

His consideration for her mother flooded her person with affection.

With stronger conviction than she had felt a moment ago, Elizabeth replied, "I am of age." Parental permission to wed was needed by brides and bridegrooms younger than one and twenty, but she had reached her majority long before they left London. Mr. Darcy himself was nearly thirty.

"We may not need her permission in the eyes of the law," Darcy said, "but we would do better to show her respect. Though I will not pretend that we can avoid scandal, all things that can be done properly should be done."

So scandal was on his mind, Elizabeth thought grimly. She prayed desperately he could not be swayed, but if he could, it would be better to know as soon as possible. "Are you certain this is what you want?" Elizabeth asked. "I have not spent so much time in Town as to feel the absence of London society. What is it to me if people I have never met shun me? It is you who are in a position to be harmed if we marry."

"Miss Bennet," he said, then with greater feeling, "Elizabeth. I have long been certain that above all else, I wished to call you my wife. What is it to me if the world disapproves if you do not?"

"It will be more than disapproval," she reminded him. "We shall not be invited anywhere. You may find it difficult to conduct business. And Miss Darcy!" Her heart sunk. "Your scandal must harm her reputation."

Darcy swallowed hard, his grip on her hands tightening. "Elizabeth," he said with trepidation, "is it your intention to cry off, or to convince me to do so?"

In a tremulous voice, she said, "For my part, I am determined, sir."

Darcy let out a slow breath. He drew one of her hands to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. "I am determined," he echoed. "However, I fear you are correct. Our marriage can only harm Georgiana's prospects. If it were possible to wait until she was wed…" He shook his head. "We are not afforded the luxury of time."

"We are in luck, then," Elizabeth said, attempting to cajole him into better spirits with a tease, "that there is so little to be prepared."

Taking her at her word, Darcy replied, "I had not realized that was to our advantage."

She had meant it as a tease, but it was true. "Indeed. Being that I am already here in your neighborhood, I have no need for good-bye visits. You had new gowns made for me only recently that will do fine for wedding clothes. My mother will give her permission. You can have no cause to think otherwise. In fact, she may invite herself to come live in Derbyshire."

"Though I think you will be happier in the country than Town," Darcy said, "I do fear you would grow lonely with only myself for company."

"How soon I should long for such loneliness," Elizabeth replied mischievously, "if Mama is to come to Pemberley!"

"She would bring your sisters," Darcy pointed out. He dropped one of her hands and curled his palm around her cheek instead. "That would make you happy."

Elizabeth's eyes softly closed. His skin was warm against her face. His voice was gentle. Listening to him made her ache in ways she had not known she could. Darcy was too pragmatic to think they would have an easy life, but she could hear his hopeful voice yearn for happiness.

She opened her eyes. Elizabeth had expected his lips to follow his hands, as they so often did. His gaze was fixed on her mouth. Deliberately, she licked her lips and closed her eyes again. Darcy's response to the invitation was tentative. The touch of his lips was too brief and light to even be called tender. He bestowed upon her a perfunctory kiss to seal their engagement.

"Sir," Elizabeth ventured, opening her eyes, "I hope you will not think me forward if I tell you I am not Missish."

A chuckle escaped him. "Too late for that, I suppose," Darcy observed.

"Indeed. I am not such a hypocrite that I can make a hasty dash to church while pretending kisses offend my sensibilities."

"You have been angry with me," he replied.

Though she could not deny it, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "I feel inclined to forgive you." How neatly an offer of marriage diffused all of her anger! She had long been suspicious of his vows to never wed, but they had been born from a sincere devotion to her. He had not lied about his intentions. Her ire had been raised by his lack of consideration for their child, but in that respect he had shown himself to be interested and invested. In doing so, however, he had given his mistress a book that praised marriage and disparaged ladies of the demimonde. As his bride, Elizabeth was willing to overlook that offense. Darcy professed a steady regard for her that had remained fixed throughout these months of strife. She had not been so steady. Even as she strove to give him all that she could, her love had been tossed about like a small boat on rough seas. Through the steadiness of his character and the strength of his love, Darcy had returned her to shore.

"Magnanimous." Darcy dipped his head and nipped at her mouth. She laughed.

When kissing proved powerless to stifle laughter, Darcy found something more effective: "We must tell my sister."

Sober, Elizabeth agreed. It needed to be done. Being that their route to the altar would be a hasty one, informing Georgiana could not be delayed. Darcy confirmed that Georgiana would be at home, so they called for Elizabeth's carriage to be brought around. He had ridden on horseback when he called, but Elizabeth was no horsewoman. She could not return on horseback with him, and Darcy was unwilling to consider their walking to Pemberley House while Elizabeth was increasing.

The great stone house was as beautiful and elegant as Elizabeth remembered. Inside, the furnishings were as fine and tasteful. In a lesser place, the servants might have looked at her askance, but Darcy's men behaved perfectly well, whether they were stabling the horses or taking a message for Miss Darcy.

Darcy asked that Georgiana wait upon them in a sitting room that he had recently decorated for her use. For Elizabeth, it would be her first time conversing with Miss Darcy since using their friendship to gain admittance to her brother. In doing so, she had given up the right to call Miss Darcy her friend. She knew Georgiana was aware that Darcy had taken her as a mistress. Elizabeth wondered if he had told his sister about the child. It was not something he could have hidden from her for long. Still, he must have dreaded doing so. Her mind a jumble of such thoughts, Elizabeth sat where Darcy directed her. He settled beside her.

After a brief, awkward wait, a footman announced Miss Darcy's entrance. Though Georgiana's first steps into the room were taken with the confidence of a young lady moving about her own home and her own spaces, when she saw Elizabeth, she paled. Miss Darcy took a step back, but recovered herself quickly and stalked determinedly to the chair nearest the settee occupied by Elizabeth and her intended husband.

"Miss Bennet," Georgiana said softly, eyes fixed on her own slippers, "what a pleasure to see you again. It has been too long since we last saw one another."

Elizabeth eyed Darcy. His expression offered little illumination on his sister's manners. "So it has been!" she replied. "We were all last together in London, with my sister, Jane, and aunt Gardiner."

"Is your sister well?" Georgiana asked stiffly. "And your aunt and uncle?"

"Jane has left London for Kent," Elizabeth said. "She finds it very agreeable. My aunt and uncle are very well, I thank you."

"And your mother?" Georgiana asked. "And your other sisters?" She glanced away from her own shoes to her brother for a brief moment. "You have several sisters, if I am not mistaken?"

With relief, Elizabeth latched onto the opening to bring Darcy into the conversation. "Mr. Darcy," she prompted, "have you been spreading news about my sisters?"

He shrugged.

"My brother does not gossip," Georgiana put in hurriedly. Wringing her hands, she added, "He has mentioned that...the former Miss Mary Bennet married?"

Elizabeth nodded. "To a Mr. Chapman, yes."

"Yes," Georgiana agreed. "I hope she was made very happy by her marriage."

Elizabeth smiled. "I thank you, and hope for that as well."

"You do not -?" Georgiana squeaked, then flushed, and stammered, "Oh, no, I suppose not, I would have thought sisters more forgiving than that implies, but I am terribly sorry to hear it."

Mr. Darcy should take pity on his sister's lack of composure and say his piece, Elizabeth thought. Though still perched on the settee, he was now staring distractedly out a window. She supposed he was carefully formulating his words. She was not unwilling to give him time to decide how he wanted to proceed. Darcy had been intent on sharing their news with his sister immediately. He had not had the time to decide how he wanted to present their engagement to her. Looking back, it would have been better to have composed his speech first, if he desired an exacting one, and call on her afterwards.

But, Elizabeth told herself, amused, perhaps she was being too confident in her assessment of him. He could be distracted by thoughts of dinner or sport or whatever else young men thought about.

Before her own musings and the combined reticence of the Darcy siblings had made the pause in conversation unbearably awkward, Elizabeth said to Georgiana, "You must tell me what else your brother has shared about my sisters."

"There is a Miss Catherine?" Georgiana asked with uncertainty.

Elizabeth laughed. "I would call her Kitty, as would many of her acquaintance, but I cannot imagine your brother regaling you with stories of Miss Kitty."

Some portion of Darcy's attention had stayed with the ladies' conversation, for he suddenly inquired, "Is she called 'Miss Kitty' in company?"

Incredulous, Elizabeth laughingly answered, "Certainly!"

"It is rather undignified," Darcy pronounced.

"It suits her very well, then."

"And you," he continued, "were you called Miss Lizzy?"

"Certainly!" Trading a look with Georgiana, Elizabeth continued, "Some within your hearing, I can assure you! You are disengaged in company! You must tell us, for I am sure your sister wonders as much as I, but holds you too much in awe to ask, what it is that monopolizes your attention so?"

Darcy did not direct his answer to Elizabeth, but to his sister: "Though I cannot doubt Miss Bennet knows quite well I am often distracted by contemplations of herself, it is unlike her to seek compliments so brazenly."

"It is not!" Elizabeth insisted. To Georgiana, she explained, "I simply do not seek them from him! He is far too fastidious and rarely compliments anyone."

Elizabeth and Darcy's quick exchange of barbs and teases had done nothing for Georgiana's ease. She sat stiff and tense, her eyes wide.

"Georgiana," Darcy said, "Miss Bennet has done me the compliment of agreeing to become my wife."

That Georgiana felt the shock of such a statement could not be denied. Looking at the distressed girl, Elizabeth wondered why Darcy had spent so long hesitating before sharing the news. He had not found a way to say it that would be sympathetic to Georgiana's feelings on such an occasion. Perhaps he thought there was no such way, and after deliberation, decided it was best to say it outright.

Her brother took enough pity on her that he did not require a response before he continued, "The circumstances are not ideal. If we could wait for you to be settled in a union of your own before proceeding, we would. I will do everything in my power to lessen your association with my misdeeds."

"Fitzwilliam," she said weakly, "I...I do not know what it is I should say to you."

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth cut in, "perhaps Miss Darcy and I might have a word alone? Separation of the sexes is as much for we ladies as you men. It will be easier to discuss such joyful news without a gentleman present."

Darcy glanced between the two women and assented. "For a moment."

Droll, Elizabeth replied, "You are all kindness, Mr. Darcy."

"I shall not go far," he said.

"No, no, heaven knows what mischief we could cause if left to ourselves. A quarter of an hour should be sufficient time for we ladies to understand one another without giving you too much cause for concern?"

Darcy bowed and exited.

Elizabeth, left alone with his sister, heaved an exasperated sigh and said, "Well. I know how you look up to him and should hate above anything to disappoint him. To Miss Bennet, I hope, you can speak your mind?"

"May I wish you joy, Miss Bennet?" Georgiana asked.

Relieved, Elizabeth cried, "You may! I daresay you may wish your brother joy, as well."

"I am pleased for your sake, Miss Bennet," Georgiana said.

"But not for his," Elizabeth surmised.

"Oh," Georgiana fretted, "pray do not misunderstand me!"

Wryly, Elizabeth observed, "I have a unique gift for misunderstanding your family. Please, speak plainly with no fear of giving offense, otherwise we might never understand one another."

Georgiana bit her lip. "You were my friend," she said quietly. "Then my brother...he took you." She furrowed her brow. "I am not as naive as one would expect. I know men...do such things. Even the best of men! But you were a gentlewoman and my friend, and he did it anyway. I am happy, for your sake, that he will respect you as he should. I do not know what to think of him."

"I felt the same way," Elizabeth confessed, "when he made the offer. He, who I thought I had understood, became somewhat of a stranger to me. Nevertheless," she added with a smile, "I could do worse than marrying him. Whether the reverse is true remains to be seen."

"You think he will be hurt by it?" Georgiana asked, distressed. "Before we came to Pemberley, we visited my uncle. My cousin thought he would be alright."

"Your cousin the Viscount, or Colonel Fitzwilliam?" After Georgiana indicated the former, Elizabeth sighed. "A viscount in the same position, I expect, would be alright. He has a title to protect him, not to mention his father. Darcy is a gentleman. A gentleman with powerful connections," she admitted, "but a gentleman. A gentleman with a mistress is a cause for concern to no one." Except, she reflected, his younger sister, if the mistress in question was from a good family and a particular friend. "A woman is hated if she knows a man without the benefit of marriage. A man is hated if he knows a woman and decides he would prefer her as his wife. It is an odd thing, is it not? The same act that will forgive my sins will condemn him in the eyes of the world."

"My uncle will protect him," Georgiana insisted.

Elizabeth smiled at Miss Darcy's conviction. Did Darcy share it, she wondered. She had supposed he would not have anticipated the support of his family when he took such a step. "Am I correct in thinking this is something you have discussed?" she asked.

Georgiana blushed. "A very small bit," she admitted. "My cousins were unhappy with his choice."

"Because I am a gentleman's daughter," Elizabeth wondered, "or because I was previously acquainted with yourself and Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"Both, I should think," she replied.

"Shall they welcome the news of our engagement?" Georgiana faltered instead of answering, which was answer enough. "I shall not be displeased with you if you give me your honest impression of their opinions," Elizabeth assured her.

"A marriage is preferable to a gently bred mistress," she said, "but I think they both would find setting you up someplace far away to be preferable to that. Of course," she hurried to add, "we must avoid any appearances of discord in the family. They will be kind to you."

"Well, I believe we all have our future roles well delineated. Your brother will respect me, I shall try to make him happy, your cousins will be kind, your uncle protective." With a lopsided smile, Elizabeth said, "Miss Darcy, I believe yours is the hardest duty of them all."

She frowned, thoughtfully. "Mine?"

"Indeed. For yours is to accept that sometimes the people we love behave in ways we do not agree with, yet they are no less worthy of our love. It is a lesson I have both learned and taught these last months. I look forward to taking on a new role."

When her brother returned, Georgiana wished him joy. For his part, Darcy feared more for Georgiana's future than his own. He eloquently expressed his regret for how his actions had led him to a point where he had to choose, but ultimately Darcy admitted to his sister, "I have been a poor replacement for our father. I have given you whatever trinkets I thought would please you, but I have never guided or nurtured you as you deserve. I must do better for my own children."

The following weeks were a flurry of activity. The first object was to secure the future of the child through marriage. It would be impossible to pretend the child had been conceived in wedlock, but as the parents were not immune to illness or accident, they elected to be wed within the month.

As Elizabeth predicted, the preparations were fewer than what would be necessary for a conventional marriage. There were few good-byes to make, no wedding clothes to order. It was not customary for friends and relatives to travel for a wedding ceremony, so even a large wedding breakfast was unnecessary. Only Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana would be in attendance. After the ceremony, he would escort her to his father's house, where it had been decided she would live.

Through a series of rapid letters, it had been determined the greater share of the uncle's protection rightfully belonged to the niece. Darcy had made his choice and would not be swayed, but his sister was innocent. When Parliament began its session in the winter and the gentry returned to Town, the Countess would be Georgiana's guide and chaperone. The Darcys would remain in the country to avoid distinction. They would publish nothing.

Come winter, there would be talk, of course. Mr. Darcy's failure to appear would invite curiosity. With luck, the endless amusements of London and the Earl discouraging gossip would mean Darcy would be soon forgotten. In the event that his wealth meant his absence was still keenly felt, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were nevertheless confident that when their firstborn was ready to move in the world, many other scandals would have come and gone. The almost tragedy of a narrowly escaped illegitimate birth would be of lesser interest than his or her inheritance.

The morning of the wedding, bride and bridegroom met at the altar to be joined according to God's ordinance. The birth was five months away. The rector wisely said nothing. The circumstances of the marriage did not prevent Darcy from throwing handfuls of coins to the locals who had gathered at the church steps, which was all they cared about. The sister wept for happiness and anticipated homesickness. The Colonel bundled her into his carriage when all was done.

For the rest of the day, Elizabeth and her husband barely parted from one another. Happiness suited him very well. When the supper had been served and eaten, however, they bid one another adieu. According to 'Aristotle,' consummation of the marriage would need to be delayed for two months. At that time, they could safely meet in amorous congress. Now, copulation threatened to shake down her courses.

Elizabeth had never envisioned a wedding night where she and her husband parted ways. An apartment had been fitted up for her use. The room was airy and elegant, the furniture fine without being ostentatious. It was in every way exquisite. As much as it would be a pleasure to sleep there, Elizabeth did not care to do so alone now that she was a wife.

Robinson assisted Elizabeth in her evening ablutions. The dressing room was as delightful as the bedroom. Even her fashionably bored abigail was visibly pleased with everything about Pemberley. After dismissing Robinson for the night, Elizabeth slipped on her dressing gown and padded the grand hallways of her new home to her husband's apartment.

She rapped on the door. Darcy's muffled voice bid her to enter, and she stepped inside. Her husband was reclining on his bed, book in hand. Upon seeing her, he sat up. "Elizabeth!" The book was shut and tossed aside. "I had not expected to see you to-night."

Crossing the room to him, Elizabeth replied, "You have wed a bold woman, sir. I recommend resigning yourself to it as soon as possible."

He said, "I would ask for none other," and rewarded her with a brief kiss once she had climbed onto his bed.

It was as good an opportunity as any. "If I may," she said, "I have a question I would ask." Elizabeth could be bold, impertinent and independent-minded, but she was not inclined to speak inappropriately. One of the questions that had weighed most heavily on her mind throughout their short engagement, she had not asked. There were occasions where a wife could speak when an intended bride would be better served holding her tongue.

"You may ask anything," Darcy said. "I would prefer you ask me, openly and frankly, any time you have cause for concern. Not speaking shall not aid us in understanding one another."

"You must allow such excellent advice to guide your own conduct as well," Elizabeth told him. "I have no wish for a marriage built on strife and frustration, which is precisely what we will have if we are not frank with one another."

"I am glad we are of one mind in this," Darcy said. "Your question?"

"Be warned," she said archly, "I am speaking frankly, and you may find yourself despising my presumption." Darcy chuckled, which spurred Elizabeth to continue with confidence. "I find myself wondering why you did not offer marriage."

With evident surprise, he said, "I did, if you will recall."

"When I was living in London," Elizabeth specified, "You and my uncle spoke 'too often' of his hoping to marry me off. Why did you not offer for me then? I will boldly say that I do not believe it was from a lack of interest on your part." She did not add that such motives were what she had attributed his silence to at the time.

Darcy rolled his head back against the headboard. "I considered it, of course. Elizabeth," he sighed. "Mr. Gardiner felt Lydia's actions would prevent a man of any standing in the world from offering for you. He is a sensible man. You heard the justice in his way of thinking and felt the same."

Here, she nodded.

Darcy exhaled slowly before continuing. "To my thinking, it would be very likely that if such a man did offer, you would feel obliged to accept. The tradesmen you could more easily disregard. They could not offer you anything but a roof over your head. A man of consequence would elevate you in society. He would provide for your family. You could not justify refusing an offer of marriage in such circumstances. Though I was the last man in the world you would ever choose to marry, you would not have had a choice, and that, I found repugnant."

Tears pricked at her eyes. Perception of himself as an unwanted object had been the foundation of his silence. With such a view, it was understandable that Darcy would think the offer he had made would be so undesirable that he was in no danger of its being accepted. He had told her, Elizabeth remembered, that her family would laud her for rejecting such a degrading proposition. He anticipated she would refuse. When she needed fortification, she could remember him, remember she had options beyond her uncle's word, and carry on in pursuit of her own happiness.

"When I came to you," she said, "having reconsidered becoming your lover without the benefit of marriage, you must have known that a woman willing to become your mistress would be willing to become your wife!"

"What a neat trap that would have been," he cried with some agitation, "to rescind the offer you had accepted and put in its place one you had already rejected! Had I prized myself in manipulation, I am sure I would have done that very thing."

Though it was a useless point to make now, Elizabeth could not help herself from saying, "You would not have had to rescind. The two offers could have existed together and I could choose whichever I preferred. That should have pleased you, for I know how you enjoy the power of choice."

"Two unhappy alternatives," he replied. "Had you married me, it would have been because it was the only honorable offer you had received. Had you agreed to become my mistress regardless, it would have been because you wished to retain the power to leave and find a more agreeable situation."

"But you did such a fine job of warning me off other protectors!"

"There are women in London," Darcy said, "who do very well for themselves amassing a number of lovers and collecting gifts and money from them all. A Cyprian has the ability to leave her lover when he displeases her. A wife does not. Though it was a comfort to me that such an option was yours, I did everything in my power to discourage you from leaving. Any apology I issued for that would be far from sincere, I am afraid."

"That is just as well," Elizabeth confessed. "I often thought of what I would need to do should you terminate our connection, and never with any pleasure."

"The terms of our contract were designed so that you would never need to do anything distasteful," Darcy pointed out.

"And I had every confidence that you set it up in good faith," she replied, "but I understand that once a relationship has ended, women often have difficulty collecting money owed."

"I told you again and again that I would not abandon you."

Her left thumb sought the gold band on her ring finger. Darcy had put it on her hand that morning in church. The ring was cool and solid, a testament to his responsibility to her and their family. It was a reminder of all she had sworn to do: love him, honor him, obey him. It was a reminder of all that he had promised to her. The ties that bind a man to his mistress were easy to dissolve. The bond between a man and his wife was nearly impossible.

"Pretty words," Elizabeth said, "but not so comforting as a ring."

Cupping her face in both hands, Darcy said, "Elizabeth, you must have known I loved you."

Her own hands fitted so well with his, her palms sliding along his wrists, her fingers brushing his thumbs as he stroked her cheeks. "You were so distant," she whispered. "After Lydia… I did not know what to think."

Leaning his forehead against hers, Darcy admitted, "You were unmoved by my love. I told myself it did not signify, as long as I cared for you. Over time, that changed. I realized the only way your lack of feeling for me could mean nothing was if I felt nothing for you. I did everything in my power to convince myself I no longer cared. The day you refused me in London, I realized I had done that and more. I had convinced myself you were no longer someone to be respected it. I was horrified. It was in every way deplorable! I could not continue fighting my better feelings - my desire for your happiness, my wish to take care of you. It is no longer a mystery to me that you are not be moved by such a man."

Elizabeth slid her hands from his wrists to his shoulders. He had laid her fears to rest. Oh, she had been terrified after he had left that final day in London! They were not to see one another again for weeks. Could his commitment to her withstand a refusal followed by a lengthy separation? But when they reunited, he had been warm and welcoming, everything amiable and pleasing. When she came to him with a new fear, the fear for their child's future, he had married her. Though it had meant scandal, sacrificing any hope of being welcomed in good society and giving over the guidance of his sister at a crucial point in her life, Darcy had married her without a moment's hesitation. Just as he had relieved the burdens on her heart, so must she relieve the burdens on his. Elizabeth pressed her lips to his temple and wondered, how was she to do so?

Darcy stirred in her arms and Elizabeth released him from her hug.

"As I have answered your question," Darcy said, "you must answer one of mine."

"You may ask anything," she replied.

"On several occasions, you told me you could not resign yourself to a marriage made in material considerations." To this statement, Elizabeth could only agree. "As there are a very few people able to marry without considering practicalities, I have often found myself wondering," Darcy said, "what it is that you dislike about the institution?"

Elizabeth laughed at the question. She could not help herself. "Let me assure you, husband, I hold nothing against the institution of marriage."

"Do not think I criticize you for not entering a union that would make you unhappy, for I would not. But it is my understanding that you have refused a number of men. They cannot all have been wanting."

"No," she agreed deftly, "they were not all bad men, regardless of what I may have thought at the time." Sobering, Elizabeth explained, "I loved and respected my father, and was grateful for all the affection and care he showed me, but I do not believe he was a pleasing husband to my mother, nor was she a wife able to make him happy. They did not respect one another. When I was a girl, what I desired most was a marriage made in mutual respect."

"Your uncle's friends were all respectable men," Darcy said.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "Yes. My uncle is an educated, gentleman-like man. He would not be friends with men I could not respect. By then, however, my heart was engaged elsewhere. I could not marry a man who would make me a wife, give me an establishment of my own, while I loved another. To resign myself to that unhappiness was impossible."

Darcy was silent for a long moment. Finally, he asked, his voice raw and pained, "Do you still love him?"

What a question! She had promised that very morning to love him until death parted them! "It has not been an easy road," Elizabeth admitted. "There were times I thought myself a fool for ever entertaining the notion, and there were times I thought loving him was as necessary to my life as breath."

The fool of a man beside her dropped his head into his palms and groaned, "Elizabeth."

The fool of a woman that was herself realized she had still failed to be clear. "I do not love him as well as I should like," she continued, "so I am very happy to know I shall have all of our lives to improve upon my study of the subject." Elizabeth pried his hands from his face. Somewhere in between finding his lips with her own and climbing onto his lap, she thought he reached a proper understanding.

Darcy looked up at her in silent confusion. After grinding the heel of his hand into one of his eyes and finding his wife still intently peering at him, he asked, "Elizabeth, what are you doing?"

Elizabeth was straddling his thighs. She thought it rather obvious and declined to answer the question. She followed his eyes as he squinted at the grand clock in his bedroom. Taking pity on him, she supplied, "It is eight o'clock, sir." Gently chiding him, she added, "Two years we have been in the country and you still insist on keeping London hours. You are not yet out of bed, while I have had the time to go for a walk and attend to my correspondence. I received a letter from my aunt that is very nearly pleasant."

"Eight o'clock," he repeated, shaking the sleep from his voice. "Your sisters will be expecting you for breakfast."

"They are capable of entertaining themselves for one meal," Elizabeth replied. Truthfully, it was more likely that Jane would prevent Lydia from entertaining herself, but she thought they would manage to eat well enough. Lydia had come to Pemberley soon after the wedding for Elizabeth's peace of mind. Her wild ways could not be curbed by anything less than the formidable stare of Mr. Darcy. Her daughter, Lydia had left in Kent to be raised by Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth had invited her mother to come to Derbyshire as well, but the inconvenience of traveling with a small child exacerbated her nervous dislike of gallivanting about the country. With her sister's marriage raising the Bennet sisters from disgrace, the determined flirt Kitty had abandoned her aspirations to become a rich man's mistress and set her cap at becoming a rich man's wife. Her widowed landlord Mr. Cleese, in need of a mother for his small children, found the idea of a pretty young wife agreeable. Mrs. Bennet happily moved into Kitty's home. Jane, seeing her younger sisters pursue every bit of satisfaction and respectability in their paths, was prevailed to act in her own happiness, and so made her home with Elizabeth.

After taking a moment to process his wife's excuse, Darcy asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected interview?"

"I must commend your wit, sir," Elizabeth said, her hands stealing beneath his night shirt, "for that was a most excellently worded question."

Her diligent hands produced from him a grunt and a question. "Now?"

"Now is the very best time," she cheered, "for you kindly informed me some years ago that you awaken each morning with an erection. And I thought...why does a man have a wife, if not to provide assistance at such times? Let us not forget, 'for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other' is one of the reasons God ordained marriage."

"So it was," he murmured.

"And," Elizabeth admitted, "I had a favor to ask."

Darcy frowned. "This is an unconventional way to go about it. Pray do not think I require your convivial society as payments for favors."

She flushed pink. "Oh, no," she assured him. "Your society itself is the favor."

Awkwardly, he sat up. Elizabeth linked her elbows around his shoulders. His hands settled on her hips. She brushed her nose against his and reflected that this was an easier thing to say when they were cocooned so nicely. "You have been so tender with me," she whispered. Their mouths so close, it was almost hard to speak instead of kiss.

One of those hands that had been so comfortable on her hip abandoned it for her chin. He needed only to tilt her head a fraction, and then they were kissing. Elizabeth squirmed on his lap, teasing him until he kissed her with all the desperation she had already felt.

Breaking away with a ragged breath, Elizabeth continued, "I appreciate how gentle you have been. I do. But sometimes," she dropped her voice, "I miss the way you used to touch me."

"You are my wife. You are the mother of my son."

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. He sounded so scandalized. A man had the right to partake in the pleasures of his wife's body when he chose and the responsibility to do so tenderly. "And I prefer it so! When you come to me, I am so pleased, Fitzwilliam." She licked her lips and continued. "You restrain your passion out of respect for me. I appreciate that. It is only...there are times when I wished you did not practice such control." She knew he was capable of so much more than what he had been allowing himself to give, so much more than what he had been allowing himself to feel.

"You would rather I did what?" he asked. "March you to your bed in the middle of the day? Press you against a wall?"

A small moan escaped her lips at the memory of passionate encounters long past. "Yes."

Good man that he was, Elizabeth could not fault Darcy for failure to be accommodating. He all but leapt from the bed, Elizabeth in his arms, her legs wrapped happily around his waist. She bit her lip in eager anticipation when her back met the wall. Darcy tickled her thighs and in response, she let her feet hit the floor. He surveyed her a moment, but his restraint was not so easily toppled. "Fitzwilliam," she whispered, "please."

"I will," he said, promise heavy in his voice. "But this first."

Darcy dropped to his knees.

Thank you to my betas, Jessie and Sophie and thank you to everyone who has stuck with me until the end!