Title: Welcome Home
Rating: PG-13 (T) – for minor references to sexual intercourse between a loving married couple, but content is overall clean.
Disclaimer: Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.
Setting: Regency
Thanks: To R and Katiedid, both of whom assisted as Betas on this story.

Summary: Christmas fic. Darcy returns home to Pemberley to the loving arms of a wife he doesn't remember having...Novella-length. Sweet and mostly clean.

Happy Holidays to all! And happy birthday to myself. (Keep an eye out for Christmas movie/story references ;-P )

"Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams"

Bing Crosby, 1943
Song/Lyrics by Kim Gannon and Walter Kent

Part One: Pemberley

December 24, 1811
Derbyshire, near Lambton

Fitzwilliam Darcy slumped back against the plush squabs of his carriage and closed his eyes. Only a couple more hours and he would be home. Pemberley. His refuge from the insipid debutantes of London, their scheming mothers, a pair of fine eyes...

Darcy sat up straighter and opened his lids as the beguiling face of Elizabeth Bennet invaded the dark space behind them. As was always the case, she had been smiling in that arch little way that he found so tempting and her eyes, so fine, were challenging him. Over what, he could not say, but Darcy was inclined to answer that challenge with a kiss to those impertinent lips.

He groaned and rubbed his face with both hands as if trying to scour the image away. He could not have her, he should not want her and he wished that she would stop haunting him in this way. He could get no moment's peace from her siren lure! Had he been a sailor on a ship headed for the rocky shallows he could be no more doomed than he already was.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he reminded himself sternly, "is unsuitable. She has little fortune. Connections to trade. Her family is crass and vulgar to the most disturbing degree. I cannot marry her."

Also, he was muttering to himself like a madman now. Fantastic.

Oh, but she is so perfect otherwise, that irritating little voice of truth whispered to him in the back of his mind. She is kind, loving, intelligent, witty, caring, beautiful, warm...exactly the kind of woman any man should be thrilled to make his bride.

"But that makes her no more suitable than before," he argued with himself, almost feeling the fever of madness prickle at his skin beneath his collar. In actuality, it was quite cold and so he pulled his coat closer around him as he resettled into a more comfortable position.

She is everything you always wanted, that little voice scolded. And it was true. He had met many women, some of whom were even desirable in one way or another – either in suitability or attractiveness, though rarely were the two combined into one lady – but none had struck him the way Miss Elizabeth Bennet had. She was lovely, to be sure, but that was not the first thing he had found to praise in her; indeed, he had disparaged her looks upon first acquaintance, though now he realized exactly how much of an injustice this was. It was her wit that had initially attracted his notice in a positive way and held his attention. She could talk circles around anyone, he was sure, just as she had around him. It was a dizzying experience each time. He had never been particularly sociable, but he knew his intelligence was nothing to discount and she had made a point on several occasions of fencing with him, using her own mental acuity as a weapon. She had won a few verbal bouts, he felt as if he had been the victor in others, and there were several draws between them. She was his equal in this respect.

But he had to admit that the real reason he was in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet was because he yearned for her to treat him as tenderly as she did those she loved. When her sister had fallen ill at Netherfield, she had tromped through fields full of mud and dirt just to attend the elder Miss Bennet personally and nurse her back to health. Bingley's sisters had scoffed about her "scampering about the country just because her sister had a cold," inadvertently proving their lack of loyalty to one another, but he had found it more than simply charming. As Bingley had stated, it "showed an affection for her sister that was very pleasing" and Darcy could not disagree with that. He had longed all his life to be treated as such by someone, anyone, other than Mrs Reynolds who, for all her wonderful qualities, was a servant and paid to be in his service. He did not doubt her affection for him, nor his for her, but there was a vast chasm between them because of her status as his employee and his as her employer that could not, and should not, be breached. There would always be some sort of propriety between them.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet, however, seemed to love without reservation or condition, taking no consideration for her own well being in the pursuit of healing her sister. And she stood upon no ceremony, either; she had arrived in the breakfast room with her petticoats six inches deep in mud, her hair disheveled by the wind and even a few beads of sweat dotted along her brow from her exertions. This had invited scorn from Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, yet between her flushed cheeks and the brightening of her eyes Darcy had been enraptured. And he had then been aware for the first time that he was greatly in danger of succumbing to his infatuation with this country girl.

His parents, while good themselves, had not been particularly affectionate, either with their children or each other. Theirs had been a great marriage, a proper one, and had struggled little with strife of any sort; to have strife, he supposed, a couple must first care about one another more than in the common way. Mr George Darcy had not married his wife for affection or any such nonsense, but for the benefit of Pemberley and his own social standing. He, more so than his father before him or grandfather before that, had elevated their holdings to greater heights and provided a model of masculine responsibility for his son to follow. Would not romantic love have distracted him from these goals? Marrying Lady Anne Fitzwilliam had been the logical choice in respect to fortune, connections and propriety and had advanced their lifestyle considerably. As their son and heir, he had even been christened "Fitzwilliam" to honor this spectacular match which had ennobled the Darcy name, a name now intimately associated with the peers of the realm. Should he not respect that which his forebears had built and do the same?

Darcy's sister, Georgiana, was another matter entirely. More than ten years his junior, they could not be more separated in understanding for two siblings who had been raised under the same roof. Whereas Darcy prided himself on being rational and responsible, his sister was more of a romantic bent and this sometimes led her into poor decisions. Such as her near elopement with Wickham over the summer, something which could have ruined them both and left her in abject misery for the rest of her days. Because of this dissimilarity of sentiment and recent near-disastrous events, their relationship was more strained than ever before. They had never been as affectionate as he would have liked, what with the age difference and his role as her guardian, but there had at least been a comfortable familiarity with one another. That was gone now, possibly forever, as they could barely make eye contact since "the incident." Though he still looked forward to being home at Pemberley, he could not say that he was as eagerly anticipating his reunion with Georgiana as he still had no earthly idea what to say to her or even how to behave; he feared that their relationship, such as it was, was now irreparably damaged.

Elizabeth might know what to do...the voice pushed. He cursed at it – himself, really – for calling her "Elizabeth" as he had made the deliberate choice to think of her as "Miss Elizabeth Bennet" for the sake of keeping her at a distance, even from his innermost thoughts. If he were to slip now, to consider her as simply "Elizabeth" as he felt compelled to do, then the game was lost and he would give in to his feelings. He had already separated his friend from Jane Bennet for all the best reasons and he had no intention of succumbing himself to the younger sister. He could not.

He pushed her to the side and forced himself to consider his other relations. Richard, a colonel in the army now, had ever been his best friend, more of a brother than a cousin throughout their lives. They had grown into maturity together and shared the same hijinks as boys, fended off the bitter pranks of Wickham unified and enjoyed each others' company still. Despite all of this, he was a man and an especially masculine one so there could be nothing termed "affectionate" in their interactions. Certainly, they loved one another, but as males had never put it in such a way. Just the thought made Darcy squirm uncomfortably and he knew that, even were he inclined to bring it up, he would get a punch in the nose for even suggesting something so...so...

Ahem, moving on.

There were few relations left on his Darcy side at all, only a smattering of cousins he did not know well. A couple of them lived on the outer reaches of Derbyshire, but most were scattered about England in different counties, as isolated from each other as they were from him.

His Fitzwilliam relations were closer, but not always in a positive way. "Meddling" would be a good term for their presence in his life. Though Richard was a congenial companion, he alone of the Fitzwilliam clan seemed to be that way and all the others were some variation of ogre, rake or harpy. His Aunt Catherine might as well be a badger (though an actual badger might very well be more cuddly).

So, at any rate, he knew that he longed for the attention of Miss Elizabeth Bennet because he had yet to experience the heady feeling of unconditional, unrestrained devotion that he knew she was capable of. He had seen it in the way she nursed her sister, in the way she tolerated that abysmal family of hers and even in the way she treated her silly neighbors. She was a force of love and he wished to be the object – nay, the primary recipient – of her affections. What would it be like to be held in warm regard by such a woman? He ached to know.

No matter what kind of debate raged within him, it made no difference. Miss Elizabeth Bennet remained unsuitable.

The carriage stopped unexpectedly and Darcy lurched forward, bracing himself with the leather strap above the door to prevent himself from falling into an undignified heap on the floor. It was a near thing.

He heard a rap on the door and let down the window blind to see his coachman, Marley, standing just outside. His man held tightly to his hat as it was buffeted about by the wind and pelted constantly with sleet. "Beggin' yer pardon, Mr Darcy, but the weather is takin' a turn fer the worse. Lambton is just ahead an' we could stop fer the night, or we could press on to Pemberley."

Lambton. Only five miles from home. "What is your opinion?"

Marley stomped his feet and rubbed his hands together for friction against the nipping cold. "'Tis up to you, sir. It would be safer to stop here, o' course, but then we'd likely be stuck here over Christmas. Migh' be worth the risk to make fer Pemberley."

That settled the matter; he could not very well stay at an inn for the foreseeable future. Blizzards in Derbyshire had the tendency to last long and keep the residents of the county trapped within their own homes for weeks at a time. If they failed to make it to Pemberley tonight, he might very well start the new year in a rural inn.

"Press on," Darcy said to his driver, who tipped his hat to his employer. The blind was affixed back in place and, a short time later, they rumbled cautiously down the lane once again.

Outside the walls of the carriage, the wind screeched and howled in warning to anyone stupid enough to be out of doors in such weather. Darcy made a mental note to add a little something extra to the Christmas bonuses of the servants who traveled with him, particularly those who were forced out in the elements. Had they not been so close to their destination, he would have taken immediate pity on them and gone to the inn, no matter how long he expected to be trapped there. They would all be more comfortable at Pemberley.

Darcy waited for and finally felt the turn that would take them onto the long drive of his ancestral home. He held onto the handle above the door again, steadying himself against the shift in balance incurred by the sharp angle, and anticipated the moment his world would right itself once more. If only he could expect such a shift in his feelings for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He felt a jabbing pang, like the merciless thrust of a knife in his chest, as her fine eyes rose again in his imagination, warm and full of welcome. For him.

"Please, God...," he murmured, angling his face toward the roof of his conveyance. He squeezed his lids tightly shut as he pleaded, quietly but earnestly, "Tell me what to do."

"Woah!"

Darcy heard the shout of his coachman just as the carriage jerked hard, sending him sliding across the slick leather seat beneath him. His gloves lost their grip on their handle and –

Later...

Darcy rubbed his temple to assuage the pounding ache in his head as he mounted the front steps of his home. He had been very lucky, he knew that, but he would feel more gratitude for that fact once the pain subsided. He would retire to his study with a hot toddy, put his feet up by the fire and soothe the hurt away, all the while likely pretending that he had Elizabeth there to ply her loving ministrations to his throbbing skull.

'Miss Elizabeth Bennet,' he reminded himself silently, but firmly. Snow peppered his shoulders and seeped into his greatcoat as he squinted into the swirling whiteness, careful of his footing as he took each step. He longed to reach the warm comfort of his home quickly, but measured his speed for safety instead. Slipping and falling into a snow bank would be an inauspicious end to an already nearly disastrous day of bumpy travel.

The double doors opened ahead of him and his butler, Griswold, greeted him in the usual manner. "Welcome home, sir. I trust your journey was comfortable?"

A throb in Darcy's head reminded him of just the opposite. "Indeed."

He entered the great hall of Pemberley and released a breath that rose around him in a cloud. Griswold closed the doors behind them, keeping the weather firmly outside, and turned to accept the outerwear that Darcy was struggling to remove. First his cane, of course, then his hat and gloves; everything removed in the order of ease. These items were passed along to a footman who, in turn, would later hand them off to Darcy's valet for cleaning and maintenance.

His overcoat, soaked by the brief time spent hurrying from the carriage to the house, Darcy required assistance to remove. Griswold, standing behind him, grasped it beneath the shoulders and yanked sharply to peel it away from the clothing beneath.

"Thank you, Griswold." Darcy tugged at the bottom of his dark green coat to straighten it back into position. "See that Marley and Jacobs are given a hot meal in the kitchen after they have seen the horses and carriage to the stable. The weather is abysmal today."

"Not at all, sir. It shall be taken care of. Do you require anything else?" Griswold asked as he draped the damp clothing over one arm.

"Yes, please send word to Mrs Reynolds that I am arrived. I shall be in my study."

"At once, Mr Darcy." Griswold bowed and carted the overcoat away himself, disappearing into an antechamber to the side of the hall.

Now, to his sanctuary where he could rest in comfort and order himself a warm meal and a steaming hot toddy. He would send word to his sister, who was likely in the midst of her studies at this time of day, of his arrival once he had settled in a bit. No need to interrupt her just yet when their reunion promised to be awkward.

"William!"

Startled, Darcy jerked his head around toward the grand staircase as someone cried out in joyful greeting. He was not sure when he had given Georgiana leave to call him "William," but –

His mind stopped at the same time as his heart as the source of the shout became obvious.

"Elizabeth!" he exclaimed as none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet rushed down the staircase and hopped down from the last step to the marble floor of the entry hall. She did not pause at the base but instead gathered up her skirts and practically sprinted toward him across the distance that still remained between them.

When she reached Darcy, Elizabeth spread her arms wide and launched herself at him, her laughter echoing throughout the room like silver bells chiming. He reached out on instinct and caught her around the waist, drawing her to his chest. Upon contact, Darcy could feel his heart begin to pitter-patter against the inside of his ribs in time with each peal of her mirth.

As in each and every one of his dreams of her, Elizabeth clung tightly to him and weaved her fingers into the thick, wavy hair at the back of his head, holding him to her. She was as desperate for him as he was for her! Darcy could feel his heart swelling with the affection he had been trying so desperately to keep at bay.

But...what was she doing here? It could not be proper for her to come all the way to Pemberley, to the household of an unmarried man, and throw herself at him (much as he was enjoying it).

Over Elizabeth's shoulder, Darcy warily scanned the hall for signs of miscellaneous Bennets and curious servants, but all appeared to be in order. There were no other visible guests and his staff carried on as they always had, paying the couple in the entryway no mind other than casting them a few secret smiles as they scurried about their business. Mrs Reynolds stood at the top of the stairs, presumably following the mysterious young woman who had invaded their household, watching them and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. When she lowered it, Darcy could see her smiling – nay, grinning – at the scene unfolding before her. Griswold passed before his vision and, though he kept his face pointed forward and averted from the fervent greeting, Darcy could see him struggling to suppress his own delight.

What had he missed? Did they all somehow know Elizabeth, know how Darcy felt about her? Why would they all look the other way as their master was accosted, however amiably, in front of them?

Darcy felt Elizabeth shift and pull away from him finally, lowering herself down flat on her feet and leaning back to look him in the face. Instantly, Darcy was so enchanted by the glistening joy shining up at him from her fine green eyes that he forgot his confusion. Her cheeks were glowing with health as she said, "I am so glad you are home, dearest. How was your trip? Were you able to assist Charles?"

"I..." He genuinely did not know how to answer that. The last he was aware, he had been traveling home from London and had not seen Bingley for a month, at least. Wait. "Charles?"

Elizabeth flashed her impertinent smile at him and arched a brow in that way he liked. "Yes, my love, Charles. Did he and Jane like our gift? I do hope they fit little Holly for she grows so fast!"

"Holly?"

Elizabeth shook her head at him with what he thought looked like exasperated fondness, a few wispy curls that were dangling around her face swaying with the motion. "Oh, William. You did not even ask, did you? I shall have to write to my sister, then, and get her opinion directly."

"Uh..."

"William!" Elizabeth suddenly exclaimed, her brow crumpling in concern as she reached up and tenderly touched his hairline. He felt a jab of pain and hissed in response, causing her to recoil her hand a little. Her lips, the ones he had fantasized about kissing many, many times, were curved downward as she said, "You are hurt."

"I am?" He had rather forgotten about his accident.

She lowered her hand to show him the blood smeared on her fingertips. "Yes, you are. What happened?"

"It was nothing...," he tried to demur, though he was beginning to wonder if he had not struck his head more forcibly than he had originally thought to bring about this extremely wonderful dream. Was he unconscious right now, bleeding to death out in the snow while he reveled in one last fantasy of his beloved Elizabeth? Was he already dead? He could envision heaven exactly like this.

"It most certainly is not 'nothing,' Fitzwilliam Darcy!" she scolded, her forehead folding downward in displeasure. "You are bleeding."

He shrugged, feeling his cheeks warm at her ire. "Not much."

"Come," Elizabeth insisted, taking hold of one of his hands with both of her own. She tugged him toward a hallway that led them deeper into the house, turning to issue an order to the housekeeper on their way. "Mrs Reynolds, please fetch some warm water and clean toweling. We might also require the services of the surgeon."

Mrs Reynolds, who had scuttled down the stairs at Elizabeth's exclamation over his injury, hovered only long enough to accept these instructions before dashing off in the opposite direction, toward the kitchens. "Yes, ma'am."

Darcy arched his neck so that he could watch his most faithful servant rush away to see to the commands of a lady who was not her mistress as if she were. Wait, was she? Had he married Miss Elizabeth Bennet and then somehow forgotten?

Darcy was still missing an important piece of context for what was happening around him. Much as he enjoyed this new reality of an Elizabeth who was apparently his wife – for who else had the power to order his servants around besides the master and mistress? – and fussing over him like an affectionate lover would, he was mightily confused as to how it had come to be. He also struggled to accept all of this as real, hypothesizing that this was all some combination of his desperate love for an unsuitable country maid and a powerful strike to the head. Had his mind been addled?

Elizabeth steered him into his own study and directed him to sit in his favorite chair by the fire. The green leather squeaked beneath him as he sank into the plush seat and shifted into a comfortable position. His love – for she was his love no matter if all of this proved real or not – sat on the matching footstool before him and started working on pulling his boots off. He watched her intently, fixated upon each twisting curl caressing her cheek, the thick, dark lashes that shielded the color of her eyes and that sweet button nose dusted with cinnamon freckles even in December. She was magnificent.

Her task completed, Elizabeth left his boots on the hearth where they could be dried by the blazing fire and then returned to his side. She spread a blanket across his lap and tucked it beneath his thighs, leaning over him at an angle which allowed him to see down the front of her dress. Darcy told himself that he should look away, but his inner voice reminded him, she is your wife, fool.

Was she?

Elizabeth settled herself back onto her ottoman and smiled at him. "There now. All warm."

Darcy did not respond other than to stare at her. He still could not fathom this...this...was it reality or fantasy? Was she his wife or an unmarried country miss he had left behind?

If he had to guess by just her looks, he would suppose that she was his wife. Her physical charms, always lovely, were exactly as he had remembered, but she was dressed very differently than he had seen before. She could look nothing less than beautiful in even a potato sack, but her gown was more fashionably cut and constructed from finer material than her parents should have been able to afford. It was a deep burgundy red satin trimmed in ivory lace – just a touch at her neckline and cuffs, but clearly expensive all the same – and was accented with a green sash about the middle. It was very becoming on her, especially the way it dipped in the front to expose the tempting swell of her bosom to his gaze.

"A-hem," she coughed, interrupting his perusal of her person. He raised his eyes to her face, surely blushing, to meet her impish smile and forked brow. "I believe that shall have to wait for later, sir. For now, we shall see to your injury."

That? Could she mean...?

Darcy shifted in his seat to adjust his blanket, disguising his burgeoning reaction to the most tantalizing thought of Elizabeth upstairs in his – their? – chambers, just as Mrs Reynolds entered the room with the fresh toweling her mistress had requested. A maid trailed behind her with a steaming kettle while yet another followed the procession with a ceramic wash bowl.

"How is the patient, ma'am?" Mrs Reynolds queried, looking to Elizabeth.

His wife – wife! – smiled gratefully at the long time housekeeper and accepted the gift of plush fabric into her keeping. The basin was settled onto a small table that always rested beside his favorite chair and one of the maids poured steaming water from the kettle into it. "Stubbornly refusing to admit he's injured, of course. Has a message been dispatched to Mr McCallister yet?"

Mrs Reynolds positioned herself before her mistress, hands clasped together in front of her, as she gave her report. "Of course, ma'am. I am sure that he will be here directly, though the weather might delay his arrival."

"I do hope he shall be more careful out there than my husband," Elizabeth quipped, confirming their marital status when she glanced impishly in his direction. "It would not do to have him injured or ill when he is the one who is supposed to ride to the rescue! When he arrives, please direct him to the study and see that he is offered something warm to eat and drink before he leaves again."

"Yes, Mrs Darcy. Do you require anything else for the moment?"

Elizabeth pondered for an instant before dismissing the housekeeper. "No, that will be all, Mrs Reynolds. I shall ring if you're needed again."

The elderly woman bobbed as good a curtsy as her knees, always plagued with stiffness in the winter months, would allow and then shooed the maids out of the room. "Come now Clara, Marie, back to work now." She followed them, closing the door to the hallway behind her.

And so Darcy was alone with his wife. His wife. What could he say to the woman whom he had apparently married, yet had no recollection of having done so? He was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and demand details, but he was a bit stymied as to how to begin a conversation with someone he felt he knew, yet not at all. Not in these circumstances.

Luckily, he did not need to strain for long as Elizabeth turned back to him and smiled, her eyes crinkling with warmth as she observed him. She reached out her hand to again stroke at his hairline, just barely skating over the tender skin with even more tender fingertips, and he felt a pleasant tingle rushing over him at her contact. "My poor love," she cooed, allowing her hand to drop so that she stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Does it hurt?"

Not when she treated him so affectionately. "No," he replied, the word croaking out of his throat as if he were a frog.

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling like evergreens dusted with fresh snow. "My brave man. I trust you will be good whilst I clean your wound?"

Unable to resist this charming vision, he turned his face slightly so that he might brush his lips against the hand that was caressing his cheek. "Perfectly well behaved," he assured her.

Elizabeth's ringing laugh was his reward to his little tease. "I love you, William."

"And I you." The reciprocation felt as natural as breathing.

Elizabeth bent toward him and bestowed upon his lips a small kiss, one that felt like it had been given many times, and then moved to lean back. He reached out, however, and cupped her face between his palms and brought her back to him, pressing their mouths together where they belonged. He deepened the contact, sweeping his tongue out to meet hers, and they greeted each other for a moment before withdrawing. Darcy allowed their lips to part, but pressed his forehead to hers in order to linger over their embrace for a few moments longer.

"I missed you, too," Elizabeth whispered, her breath tickling his cheeks as if he could actually feel her words.

She sighed and, after pecking him one final time on the lips, leaned back and reached for the cloths Mrs Reynolds had brought, dipping one into the basin of warm water poured by the maids. She wrung out the excess and brought it to his wound, dabbing lightly at the tender spot. When the rag came away, it was splotched with crusty blood, but not much. It had likely stopped bleeding some time ago.

"I believe you will live, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth teased, rinsing the cloth and putting it to use again. "It does not look so bad now that the blood has been cleared away. Merely a scratch."

The warm water and her gentle touches felt soothing to his aching cranium, and he told her so. Elizabeth bent forward and pressed her lips to his forehead before sitting back on her cushion. "I am glad. What happened?"

He had yearned to be precious to another his entire life, petted and coddled as if he were treasured. Elizabeth's ministrations on his behalf were more than his fantasies had even suggested, soft and loving with a healing warmth that was as much a balm to his soul as to his body. He had imagined being treated this way many times over the past decades – by his parents, his sister and, most recently, by this woman who had captured him with her kindness – but there was no comparison to the reality of adoration. Darcy felt his heart swell as if it had grown three sizes, so full of love that it threatened to burst within his chest.

Belatedly, the expression of anticipation on her face reminded him that she had asked him a question. "I, ah...I cannot recall."

The dip of concern returned to her brow as he said this. "You cannot recall?"

"No," replied Darcy, reaching out to take one of her hands within his. "I think I bumped my head as we turned into the drive and must have blacked out. The next thing I knew, we were approaching the house and...I saw you."

"What is the last thing you remember before that?" she asked, gripping the hand that held hers.

"I, ah..." What should he tell her? He remembered leaving London two days ago, but she seemed to think he had been visiting Bingley at Netherfield where his friend was supposedly married to her sister, Jane. Well, at least that could not be classified as surprising; Bingley had been more than usually infatuated with the eldest Miss Bennet last autumn and Darcy could hardly fault him for his choice when he, apparently, had married the younger sister. "Honestly, I think I am a little confused. I remember leaving London to come here for Christmas to see...where is Georgiana?"

Elizabeth was looking increasingly worried as he explained his memory of the truth. "Georgiana? Why, she is at Bedford Hall."

"Oh...of course."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door before Elizabeth could interrogate him further. She bid the visitor enter and the surgeon, Mr McCallister, entered the room and bowed to his patrons. He was a youthful man of middling height, still relatively new to his business, with strikingly blond hair and blue eyes that darted about him nervously on every occasion. His collar and cravat were both damp from melted snow and his boots were dotted with moisture. "Apologies for the delay, Mrs Darcy. I was at the Cratchit farm seeing to little Timmy; poor lad has injured his leg again."

"Oh, dear. I hope he is alright."

"He will be fine," Mr McCallister assured her, a touch brusquely. He then moved on to the matter currently at hand without further pleasantries. "I understand Mr Darcy has suffered a bump to the head, madam?"

"Yes, and it seems his memory is a little faulty, as well." Elizabeth pivoted on her seat to address the surgeon directly. "He cannot seem to remember his trip today nor some of the things that came before it. Should we be concerned?"

Mr McCallister indicated with the wave of a hand that she should move aside so he could assess the patient. She stood and removed to Darcy's side, placing herself between him and the fireplace, as Mr McCallister seated himself on her vacated footrest. "Perhaps. I shall evaluate him and give you a more definitive answer. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable elsewhere, Mrs Darcy."

"Very well," she replied, albeit with visible reluctance on her face. She pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head and said, "I shall be in the library, my love."

As Elizabeth moved toward the exit, Darcy felt himself gripped by a sudden surge of panic. If she left the room, would the fantasy dissolve? Would she disappear and take this perfect life of warm affection with her? He snatched at her wrist and held it firmly, tugging her back toward his chair. "I would prefer you stay."

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise, both of her eyebrows raised high upon her forehead, but acquiesced easily enough. "Of course, if you wish." She loosened his fingers with her free hand so that she could slip her palm into his and hold it properly. She then resumed her station at his side, out of the way of the surgeon's work yet still within his peripheral line of sight. Darcy relaxed to have her with him still.

"Very well," conceded Mr McCallister, though the turn of his mouth convinced Darcy that he was displeased and only humoring his wealthy clients.

He proceeded with his exam, asking after Darcy's pain level, whether or not he had fallen unconscious after the accident or if he felt nauseated. Darcy replied to each query with his usual stoicism, faintly annoyed to be sharing what should be private time with his wife with this terse little man.

"Your wife says that you have been experiencing memory loss. Can you tell me the last thing you do remember?" Mr McCallister asked after inspecting the cleaned wound.

Darcy explained what he had already told Elizabeth and watched the surgeon's brow furrow deeper with each revelation of conflicting facts.

"Can you recall the date?"

"December the twenty-fourth," replied Darcy. He could feel his wife squeeze his hand and looked up at her to see alarm writ across her face.

"Very close." Mr McCallister leaned forward to peer into Darcy's eyes. He held his forefinger up and waved it slowly in front of Darcy's face. His patient followed it dutifully. "It is indeed December, but only the eighth."

"I see."

"And you believe that you hailed most recently from London?"

"Yes."

"Your wife tells me that you have just returned from your brother-in-law's estate. Do you recall anything like that?"

"I suppose I could have stopped at Netherfield on my way...," Darcy admitted, mostly to appease his increasingly worried wife.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth appeared more anxious than ever. "Netherfield! Whatever would you be doing there? The Bingleys have not lived at Netherfield since this past summer when they moved to McClane Manor. And you could not have gone so far as London for you have only been away since yesterday!"

Oh. Drat.

"I would not worry overmuch, Mrs Darcy," soothed Mr McCallister, "confusion and memory loss are fairly common with bumps to the head, though I would not have suspected a little scratch such as this one to cause it. He will likely recover it over the next few days. Otherwise, he seems in good health and shows no alarming symptoms that concern me overmuch."

"He is well?" Elizabeth's emerald eyes drifted toward the surgeon for reassurance.

Mr McCallister shrugged and then stood. "As well as can be expected considering the situation. His pain level is tolerable, he does not complain of blurred vision or nausea and he can walk without stumbling. Aside from his patchy memory and the cut on his head, I'd say he's perfectly well. If he complains of anything else, send me a note and I shall return and render my opinion."

"Thank you, sir," said Elizabeth, walking with him to the door. "Please see Cook for something warm to drink and a bit to eat before you leave us."

"Thank you, Mrs Darcy," he said, bowing.

"Oh, and I was sorry to hear that your clinic had been broken into recently. Did they catch the thieves?"

"Oh, yes." Mr McCallister's lips curled into a smile that could be considered nothing if not mischievous. "And I can guarantee you that these particular criminals will think twice before breaking into another person's property again."

Elizabeth laughed aloud and congratulated the surgeon on his cleverness. "So I have heard! Please, let us know if you require anything to fix the damage. You are such an asset to the neighborhood that we do not wish you to be without anything you need."

Mr McCallister thanked Elizabeth again and then left, presumably to accept his meal from the kitchens. She closed the door behind him and returned to her husband but this time, instead of seating herself on the ottoman, she propped her hip against the armrest of his chair and leaned against him, her head rested upon the top of his. She sighed. "Oh, William, what am I to do with you? I thought I was safely considered to be the wild one in our little family."

Darcy reached out and crept his arm around her waist, pulling her closer and into his lap directly. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled the rich scent of cinnamon and evergreen boughs. "I am sorry, my love. I shall do my best to worry you less."

"See that you do," she scolded playfully, twining the fingers of one hand into his hair and scratching his scalp in comforting circles. Darcy closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

This morning – well, he thought this morning, though perhaps he was wrong about that – he had woken up unmarried and pining for the woman draped across him. Now, he was growing ever more relaxed with the thought of her as his wife, even though the concept had been foreign to him only an hour ago. It had not been difficult; even before his accident, he had known that he was in love with her, he had instead denied himself the pleasure of it.

Of course, considering the words of the surgeon, perhaps he simply was not remembering things correctly. It was possible, maybe even probable, that the reality known to Elizabeth and all the other people around him was the correct one and he was trapped in an old, bitter memory of his time before marrying her. And how could he have ever tried to deny himself this? It was more perfect than he had even dared imagine.

There was one detail that still plagued him, however. "Elizabeth?"

"Hmm...?"

"You say that I went to visit Bingley, yes?"

"Yes, yesterday morning. You were due back around luncheon, but I suppose the weather prevented you," she surmised. Sounded reasonable to him.

"Why did you not come with me? I would have thought you would wish to visit with your sister," he asked. He need not add that he would have preferred to keep her at his side.

"Well, I have been so ill in the carriage recently that you felt it best I stayed behind." She leaned away from him a little so that they could meet eyes. "Do you not remember that, either?"

He shook his head in the negative. "I am afraid not. You have been ill?" Now he was the one to betray his worry to her.

Elizabeth stroked his hair as she answered, "It is only natural at this time, my love. Remember what Mrs Clausen said?"

No, he could not say as he did.

She laughed at the blank stare he gave her. "She said that the nausea would get better soon but that carriage rides might be uncomfortable until the end and that it was nothing to be concerned about."

"The end...?" Darcy did not like the sound of that. The end of what?

The motion of her free hand drew his attention downward and he observed her rubbing at her belly which, now that the fabric of her skirts was pressed against it, he could see was swollen into a moderate sized bump. Elizabeth petted her stomach the same way she did his head and he made the connection.

"You...you are...?"

Elizabeth frowned at him, the motion of her hand stilling at the crest of her protruding abdomen. "You do not remember that I am with child, either?"

Darcy could feel the joy which had been simmering within him ever since realizing that Elizabeth was his wife come to a full boil at this new information. He was to be a father! Elizabeth was carrying his child! What did it matter if he remembered or not?

His wife emitted a tiny squeak as he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her tightly to himself, cradling her as they would soon cradle their son or daughter. "I love you so!"

Elizabeth settled into his arms and wrapped her own around his neck, nuzzling down into his embrace. Despite her worries, she was apparently not unwilling to share in this moment with him. He kissed her hair, so delightfully scented with the aroma of Christmas spice and greenery, and reveled in the happiness that he desperately prayed was real. God had granted him his answer.

Elizabeth did not break their embrace for a long time, half an hour or more, but finally she did pull back and kissed him before entreating, "Come, my love, you must be famished after such a long day. Come upstairs to our rooms and I shall have trays brought up."

Their rooms. "Perfect."

... ... o0o ... ...

Late that evening, after their dinner had been consumed, both Darcy and Elizabeth were lounging by the fire in their personal sitting room and discussing some of the things he had apparently forgotten. They had both agreed to not be concerned about the memory loss for now as it changed nothing about the happiness of their present and, though their shared past had surely brought him much pleasure that he could not recall, he would not disparage this holiday gift by questioning it.

"When can we expect to meet this little one?" Darcy gently stroked the convex slope of Elizabeth's stomach as he spoke. They were seated on the floor upon the rug in front of the fire, she leaning into him with her chest against his back as he propped them both up with one arm. His other was wrapped around his wife and petting the bump that was his future child.

Elizabeth smiled down at her belly and tangled their fingers together on top of it. "In the spring. Mrs Clausen expects him or her to arrive around Easter."

"So we shall not visit Lady Catherine this year," he deduced.

Elizabeth laughed and he felt as much as heard the jingle of bells as she did. "As if I were invited!"

"No, I suppose not," Darcy agreed, deciding that sounded much like his aunt. Anne would never have agreed to marry him even if he had asked, so her hopes for a match were in vain, but there was never any convincing Lady Catherine of anything. It was likely that, even married, she still somehow expected him to send Elizabeth away somewhere and come crawling back to marry her daughter someday. Poor Anne was deathly terrified of childbirth, knowing as they all did that she would likely die in the attempt, so he made himself a promise to rescue her from any further attempts of her mother's to matchmake in the future.

The day outside their window had grown dark, but the stark whiteness of the snow could still be seen piling up on the sill as it continued to float from the heavens to earth. Knowing Derbyshire as he did, Darcy expected it to continue all night and into the morning when it might, possibly, taper off. If they were lucky.

In the meantime, he decided as he pulled his lovely wife closer to him, he did not mind the frightful weather outside as long as he was snowed in with Elizabeth. They could read to each other by a delightful fire in the library, play chess or cards in the parlor, go to the music room for some lovely songs or simply stay in bed all day while the world was at a standstill outside. The last prospect seemed most promising to him. Yes, indeed, there was no place to go; let it snow!

"William?"

"Hmm...?" Darcy closed his eyes, chin propped against the crown of her head. The cinnamon was intoxicating by the warm fire.

"Let's go to bed."

His eyes vaulted open and he looked down at her, visually gauging the meaning behind her sultry tone. Those sparkling evergreen eyes were looking up at him with mischief and promise in their depths and her plump lips were curved into the kind of smile he had never seen – well, never remembered seeing, in any event – on her face before, but one he could appreciate as a man in love.

Though she struggled a bit to flip over, Elizabeth was soon on her feet with his guiding aid and she reached out to him. He took her hands and got up to follow her into his bedroom...

Author's Note: This was originally intended to be a one shot, but it has grown too long so it had to be broken up into chapters. Five of them, lolz. All installments will be similarly long (hence the reason I broke it up, lolz) so settle in with your cocoa to enjoy. I really love this one and hope you will, too.

Hope you enjoyed my Christmas movie references. They're scattered throughout and make a fun treasure hunt (or drinking game) as you read. At the very end, I'll post an index of every reference I used (intentionally) so you can see how well you did ; )

In case you were wondering why the Darcys utilized a surgeon rather than a physician in this story, I did so for three reasons. Firstly, physicians primarily lived in urban areas such as London and there likely wouldn't have been one in the wilds of Derbyshire, no matter how rich the local landowner was. Secondly, a physician was a gentleman and therefore rather "hands off" with treatment whereas a surgeon would actually treat a wound. Finally, I followed Anne Elliot's (from Persuasion) lead; when Louisa Musgrove jumped from the sea wall at Lyme and hit her head, she sent Captain Benwick to fetch the surgeon to attend the girl. Since Darcy had a similar injury, that seemed the right way to go; Jane Austen herself recommended it.

Happy Holidays!

Next Update: December 15, 2019 (Weekly Updates! Woo hoo!)
Expected Completion Date: January 5, 2020

– MrsMarySmythe