A/N

Last week, whilst on holiday in Derbyshire, we went to Chatsworth House and it got me imagining little stories all the way around. This is the first of those, which fleshes out the "incandescent morning" I talked about in Fortune, seeing as a few of you asked for a continuation. Thinking I may do a series to go with Pride as well but we shall see. Enjoy!

Competition

Skirts held indecorously halfway up her shins, Lizzy smelled the box leaves either side of her as she prepared for the race. She tried to reason that her not inconsiderable pride was at stake here but in reality, she knew it was her unbridled competitiveness clouding her usually sensible brain. She could not bear the thought of her dear Fitzwilliam beating her to the centre of the Pemberley Maze and thus having license to tease her mercilessly for the foreseeable future. That it had been his Maze since childhood was yet to cross her competitive mind. Allowing her usually vivacious expression to morph into a fierce mask of concentration, she dug the toes of her leather boots into the mud as they counted down from three.

Georgiana, the adjudicator, let out a delighted chuckle at the silliness of it all. To see her usually earnest brother behaving like the excitable boy she had once known enchanted her and she shouted "begin," with alacrity from her perch atop the stone steps in the centre of the maze. She heard a scuffle of boots and knew that the game was afoot.

Noting the starting time, she reasoned that it may take them a while to reach her, so she perched on the top step and took out the novel she was currently reading. She endeavoured to concentrate despite the occasional grumble of "ah dead end," or "not again," from both her brother and her sister. It was amusing to hear that Fitzwilliam was confounded by the maze that he had grown up with as a child, but she reasoned that he hadn't the occasion to use it since he had had the estate management and her guardianship thrust upon him. She shuddered to remember the withdrawn man that he had become at that young age, and could not help silently thanking Lizzy once again for the joy she had brought them. Her dear sister was truly a delight and Pemberley had flourished since she had become its Mistress five months ago.

...

Lizzy cursed under her breath as she hit yet another dead end, for she was almost certain that she had already attempted every turn possible. Alarmed that she may very well lose this race, she called out to her sister.

"Georgiana my dear," she voiced, "pray tell me that your brother is not yet arrived in your presence."

"Indeed he is not, dear sister," she chuckled anew at the surprising competitiveness between her brother and his bride. It was so contrary to the polite submission she had expected from her brother's potential wife, but not at all unwelcome. In fact, she began to entertain hopes of a husband that would treat her so, and allow her the respect to behave as dear Lizzy did. She was becoming more used to her sister's misbehaving, though she must own to still be slightly scandalised at some of the more adventurous of Lizzy's suggestions. It was a breath of fresh air to the stifled tradition and rigour of her upbringing under her stern brother in the shades of such an old house as Pemberley.

"Confound it all! I used to know my way around this blasted maze," the man himself cried, "but now I seem to be afflicted with running into every single dead end in this confusing web."

"You soon shall find me, brother dear," she replied sweetly, having judged his voice to be quite close. Elizabeth replied with a harrumph under her breath and a quickening of her pace. She regretted agreeing to this small competition, certain now that her husband would best her and unwilling to suffer the consequences if he did.

"Huzzah," he exclaimed, "do try to keep up, Elizabeth." She had long since been 'Lizzy' in private but it made her chuckle to hear him use her full name in company. Her many appellations were too much to keep up with. She replied to any of them regardless. Putting on a front, she responded to his jibe.

"Fitzwilliam I think you will find that it is you who should be keeping up with me, if I am not mistaken!" This remark went unchallenged as both tried to figure out their next turns.

...

It had started as it always did with a little bit of teasing in her husband's study after breakfast that morning. He had been talking - complaining - about how he hadn't had any decent competition since the Bingleys' visit two months ago. He and Charles had partaken in a wager whereby they each could successfully shoot the first deer of the September hunt. He had been bursting with pride to reveal that he had won that particular bet, and had worked it into conversation no less than fifteen times since the incident - not that she was counting.

"Fitzwilliam, will you never stop talking about that deer, dear?" Her loving smile softened the frustrated comment but the mischievous undertone warned him that she had a plan brewing.

"That depends dear," he replied with equal playfulness, "on whether there are any more deer, or friends, for me to defeat."

She sauntered over to where he was sitting, swaying her hips seductively, and placed herself elegantly on his desk. His gaze was hot on the length of her body and she secretly thrilled in her feminine power over him. His thoughts were diverted from the mention of competition to his fond memories of a not dissimilar morning a month or so passed, when he had capitulated to the exact charms she was exerting on him currently. It had been a very enjoyable morning. Today however, he reigned in such dangerous thoughts and tried to concentrate on the competition he so desired.

"Is that so my love?" She asked in a slow murmur, "and what makes you so certain that you could defeat me?" She employed the full force of her entrancing eyes and he was at pains to try to think of a witty response.

"Well I am currently not surrendering to your considerable attempts to distract and defeat me," he replied gruffly with a voice much lower than his usual soft baritone, "so against much lesser challenges I am quite confident that you will be no match for me."

This had left Elizabeth quite speechless and, unwilling to concede, she moved slowly and deliberately onto his lap and kissed him soundly. Effective in ensuring neither party felt defeated, she thought she had terminated the discussion and would not have to hear about his incident with Bingley for the foreseeable future. There were far more pleasant endeavours to occupy their time in any case.

It was with great surprise that, seated in the green parlour conversing with Georgiana two hours later, she received a missive addressed to Mrs Darcy.

'Meet me at the Maze at 11:30 to settle our debate. I shall be ready and waiting.

Yours affectionately,

F.D.'

Her pulse quickened at the promise of a competition and she went in search of her maid to dress her correctly for the match. She was sure she could beat Fitzwilliam on this matter, for he was always so slow and fastidious about everything. With her quick wit and feet she would certainly be the victor here. She quickly applied to Georgiana to be the adjudicator and the matter was settled with great excitement on all counts.

...

She estimated that they had been in the maze for just under ten minutes when she turned abruptly after reaching a dead end and her cheek connected with the hard fabric of her husband's greatcoat.

Placing a hand over her lips to silence her cry of shock, Mr Darcy pulled her into an embrace. She melted into it in spite of her competitiveness and considered calling it a draw and engaging in much more pleasurable pursuits. His lips were persistent on hers and his hands began to wander over her clothed skin. She shuddered at his intimacy and, realising that she really would abandon the game then and there if she did not take drastic measures, she pulled away from him, stamped lightly on his foot and ran past him into the shadows. Dazed, he woodenly followed her and tried to clear the lustful haze from his mind in order to work his way to the centre. That he had a small limp he would not mention, for Lizzy's tread had been harder than she had intended in the cloud of competition. In any case, he deserved it for being such a scoundrel in his indecorous attempts to distract her.

She was certain that she now had the edge and, still holding her mud-stained skirts, she ran as fast as her legs would take her. She heard uneven padding from an implacable pursuer. Reaching another dead end, she turned and tried another route.

A curious thought entered her mind as she contemplated the many routes she had so far unsuccessfully attempted.

What if to go in she had to go out?

She knew the Darcys to all have the same mischievous streak she so admired in her husband. What if his father had decided to confound his guests by constructing a maze with outward routes to the centre? It seemed the perfect mixture of intelligence and impishness that was so perfectly emulated in Mr Darcy.

She took the next left and, upon following it as it curved around, found it to reach the layer before the centre. She could see tantalising peeks of Georgiana through the small gaps in the leaves and pushed herself towards the next turn, the finish line.

With trepidation, she heard great, clamping footsteps behind her. Aware that her husband was upon her, she rounded the final turn just as he caught up with her.

There was a minor scuffle in which Mrs Darcy's hair became unpinned, Mr Darcy's cravat became untied and Lizzy's nails made contact with the soft skin of his cheeks. In the uncertainty of the tussle, Georgiana could not discern the winner of the race. The two competitors had a small argument about who pushed who and who was first across the line, to which they reached the same conclusion. It did not much matter anyway.

...

The next morning, happily ensconced in their private chambers, Mr and Mrs Darcy reflected on the previous afternoon's fun. Lizzy's hand guiltily traced the red line running the length of her husband's cheekbone. She placed a kiss there for good measure, before placing her head on his broad shoulder and studying the pattern of the canopy above them.

"I cannot wait for such a time as a few years hence, when there will be small Darcys wreaking havoc in that maze," remarked Elizabeth. Mr Darcy's mein softened to contemplate his future felicity.

"Indeed," he replied in his honeyed baritone, "we shall have an annual maze run to commemorate this silly afternoon."

"Oh that sounds fantastic darling," she smiled, stealing a glance at his handsome face, before returning her gaze to the awning. "To think of Pemberley so full of life and playfulness."

"Yes, we have much to be grateful for," he smiled adoringly at his lovely wife. Lizzy, oblivious to his attention, continued to follow the patterns on the rich fabric canopy above the bed.

"How lucky we are, to be starting a family," she said with an air of innocence. Mr Darcy's smile faltered, replaced for a moment with a mask of shock. He could not be certain of his wife's meaning.

Elizabeth took pity on him and, chuckling gently, murmured "you're going to be a father," softly, so as to not disturb the stillness of the incandescent morning. She looked radiant in the dawn sunlight streaming from the gilded window. He placed his large palm on her soft abdomen and a look of wonder overtook his face.

His glowing countenance displayed the deep joy he was hard-pressed to convey in his gentle, proud "I adore you, Elizabeth Darcy."

"Well, we must certainly have an event to commemorate this most joyous occasion now," she jested. "And you well know I adore you too Fitzwilliam."

Thus the beautiful morning continued, sunlight eventually blanketing the whole estate, the maze included.