Ten.

"Thanks for agreeing to this." His wife doesn't seem to know the way she's lounging on the bed is making it exponentially hard to focus on what she says. "I know it's not what you're used to."

He smiles as he slides on to the bed, leaning on his side - and pulls her close.

"I don't have anything against a quiet Christmas." He kisses her. "My favorite gift is right here anyway."

She giggles when he kisses her jaw. He knows it's the stubble - but he did like her reaction.

"You don't miss your friends?" She leans on his chest. Her skimpy nightgown isn't doing any favors for his focusing skills. "I mean, I know it's normal for honeymooners to want to be alone - but I know how men tease each other about being whipped."

He grins against her hair. His hands run up and down her half-exposed back.

Even the expansive Pemberley master suite can't take away the sense of intimacy he feels now.

"My only male friend whose opinion I care for is called Charles Bingley. Do you honestly think he cares?"

It's Lizzie's turn to laugh.

It's a delightful sound.

"I'm sure he's glad to have Jane all to himself too." Her cheeks lift against his chest when she smiles. "Three kids can be a handful."

"I'm sure."

For a few, lovely minutes, they both seem to prefer soft kisses and caresses over words.

"You know the other upside to this, don't you?" He whispers. She's lying on her back now; he's hovering above her. It's prime position for a lot of things.

"That you don't need to feel pressured about your presents?"

"Ha." He chuckles. "Well, that too."

"What were you gonna say?" She runs a finger from his crown to his jaw to his shoulders.

"With a private Christmas, we won't have to see Caroline Bingley."

Lizzie makes a face. She tends to strike a good balance between possessiveness and pettily jealousy - optimal, really.

"You don't miss her?" He asks playfully.

"Do you?"

"No." He laughs, nuzzling her neck. "Of course not."

"Good."

"Why would I when I have you?'

They don't talk much for the following hour - nothing much beyond a few logistical requests and plenty of moans and sighs.

There's something special about private Christmases. Maybe, eventually, kids and dogs and middle age will replace today's simplicity. Maybe, who knows, that remote day in the future is only as remote as they want it to be. Maybe today is their first, or their last, Christmas all to themselves.

Frankly, he's just happy they have today.

"Did you like your present?" He kisses her forehead. He can't seem to stop kissing her, on whatever expanse or sliver of skin that offers itself.

"I really thought you'd save the diamonds for anniversaries." She looks - appreciatively, he hopes - at the sparkles on her wrist. It's both funny and endearing that she wants to wear the thing to bed.

"You deserve better than just anniversary presents."

"Well, you deserve more than a wife who doesn't give you anything."

"I said I didn't want - "

"Well, so did I."

He meets her eye languidly, almost distractedly. Her hair, splayed all over her pillow, frames her face perfectly.

He doesn't have much of an argument to offer.

So he kisses her instead.

"Merry Christmas, Lizzie," he says before he drifts asleep, half an hour and three dozen kisses later.

Her lips press softly on his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Will."

A/N: Merry Christmas, everyone! I know this chapter may feel a little anticlimactic. I just want something quiet and fluffy for them after all those dramatic Christmases :) Enjoy the holidays!