31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

T he carriage was drawing closer to Pemberley. The village of Lambton came into sight, huddled in the valley, a pretty hamlet with thatched-roofed houses and a bridge over a little stream that coursed through it. Behind them, in the distance, Darcy could see the dark outline of the Peaks that had been so much of his childhood.

"We're almost there," he said, drinking in the sight, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "We are almost home."

" Almost? You have been saying that for several hours now. If I had known it would take so long to reach Pemberley, I would have gone through the mirror."

"This time, I mean it. Do you see that stone over there? That is the boundary of the estate. We are almost there, but Pemberley is quite large, and it will take some time to reach the house."

She gripped his arm, and a panicked look crossed her face as she surveyed the wall. "I have suddenly realized I am to be the mistress of a large household, with an estate that it takes many minutes to traverse. I have no idea how to go about it. I think I want to turn back."

Darcy threw back his head and guffawed. "You have faced Napoleon's mages, stopped an invasion, and saved the king, yet you are worried you will not be able to manage a household? My dearest Elizabeth, do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Well, if you express it that way—" She smiled sheepishly. "I suppose I will find a way."

"Of course you will find a way. And remember, you will not be alone. I will be by your side. It will be a new experience for me as well. Pemberley is my estate, and I have visited it many times over the years, but I have never stayed very long. The longest was last year, when you were asked to leave the Academy. The fact is, I will need guidance. My father died when I was young, before I had a chance to learn about managing an estate. I will be fumbling about in the dark."

"It sounds like we have a challenge ahead of us. But we can learn together, and together, I am certain, we can manage."

As they passed through the iron gates that marked the entrance to Pemberley, his heart quickened.

He had waited so long.

He had never really believed that it would happen — that he and Elizabeth would ever be free of the burden that had been placed on their shoulders. But now, as the landscape grew more and more familiar, it started to sink in.

He was going home.

As they came to the familiar road that led to Pemberley, a lump settled in his throat. It grew and grew until it threatened to choke him. Memories surfaced of his mother, his father, his baby sister Georgiana, all taken by the same fever. Happy childhood memories mingled with a terrible sense of loss. So much had happened since then. In some ways, he was a stranger to this place. In others, he knew it was where he belonged. He had dreamed of coming back for so many years, he could scarcely believe it was happening. The terrible lump in his throat expanded and to his utter horror a sob escaped him.

Elizabeth sat up and looked at him. Her eyes were full of sympathy. "Darcy?"

He shook his head, unable to speak. Why was he reacting this way? He had been here many times over the years — brief visits that had kept his connection to his home and his land, but he had not lived here since he was a boy. It was just that he was only now beginning to believe it. He was returning here as a man, and he was coming to stay. The war was over.

He did not know if the choking sensation was mourning the years he had lost, or if they were tears of joy. He had never cried, not once, since the death of his family, not even when his Twin Lord Cuthbert had died. He had held his tears inside and now they were refusing to stay there. He turned his face away, embarrassed, as he felt a hot tear trickling down his cheek.

It was useless to try and hide it from Elizabeth. She reached out and put her finger to trace the moisture on his face.

"Oh, Darcy," she said, quietly, her voice full of understanding. Tears of her own welled in her eyes.

He put out his thumb to wipe away the moisture from her eyes and gave a breathless laugh, trying to hold himself together. He reached out and drew her to him in a fierce hug, allowing the tears to fall, knowing she would not judge him for it. His sense of shame disappeared. All the bitterness and sadness and sense of time lost and wasted poured out, until finally he reached a feeling of peace.

If it were not for those years of war and pain, he would never have met Elizabeth. He would never have known what it was to truly love. He tightened his arms around her. She was his anchor, his safe harbor. Together they would make Pemberley into a happy home again.

"I am sorry," he said. "This was not how I imagined it would be like to come back." He gave a little laugh.

"You need not apologize," she said, gently. "You cannot control everything. I am glad you felt free enough with me to express your sadness." She kissed the wetness on his cheeks. "I have always wanted you to be honest with me about everything, good and bad."

As they emerged from the wooded road, the sun came out from behind a cloud, bathing Pemberley in the saffron light of late afternoon. The waters of the small lake glittered like liquid gold and the fountain his mother had installed sparkled like crystal.

Beside him, Elizabeth gasped. "This is Pemberley?" She stared out of the window. "I never imagined it would be so beautiful."

He smirked, satisfied by her reaction. The approach to Pemberley was breathtaking. His mother had an artistic talent for envisioning beauty, and his father had indulged it by bringing the best architects to put her ideas into practice.

As they drew closer, Darcy started to point out a few of his favorite spots to her, but she was looking everywhere, her eyes darting from one thing to another. He smiled. There would be time enough for him to show her the places he loved.

Then her gaze was glued on the house itself. He imagined what it must look like to her.

"And that is -- Pemberley," he murmured.

A small army of servants were lined up, waiting for them. He had sent word ahead, and now they all emerged in their livery and starched aprons and stood in a formal line to welcome them. His heart swelled as he spotted the familiar faces. Pemberley had stood empty for too long. Finally, he was back. A wide grin broke out on his face. Together, he and Elizabeth would make this a home again, full of laughter and joy.

He took Elizabeth's hand as they descended from the carriage. Entwining his fingers with hers, he walked forward.

He introduced everyone to her.

As they reached the top of the stairs, he turned and, encircling her waist with his hands, he picked her up.

She squeaked. "What are you doing?"

He laughed. "You are my bride, and I am carrying you across the threshold."

His heart bursting with happiness, he felt carefree for the first time in years. He brought her up in a wide arch and swung her over through the wide doorway. She laughed with joy and as they entered, they whirled together in a strange dance. Magic enveloped them in a bright glimmer, a bubble of light that sent little sparks fluttering down his skin.

He did not know if he imagined it, but he felt a magical tug from the house, a sense of completion, as if Pemberley was giving him and Elizabeth its approval.

Darcy considered whether there was time for them to retire to bed, but as if to chastise him, Mrs. Reynold appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"We have prepared a special meal for you tonight, with all your favorite foods, as well as those you advised us that Mrs. Darcy likes. But for now, I am certain Mrs. Darcy will wish to refresh herself and to recover from her long journey. I have assigned her a maid until her own maid arrives. Susan will show you the way to your room, Mrs. Darcy, if you would care to follow her?"

Mrs. Reynolds turned to Darcy. "Meanwhile, Mr. Tanner is waiting for you in the library to discuss one or two immediate concerns about the estate."

Darcy stared at Elizabeth as she was quite literally plucked from his side and dragged away from him. Elizabeth tossed him a saucy look and her eyes danced with laughter.

"See you soon," she said.

He growled to himself and considered whether he should consign his steward Mr. Tanner to the nether regions of hell. Confound it. This was his household, and he would do what he wished here. He had not come all the way to Pemberley to escape the demands of duty only to be trapped by his steward and his housekeeper.

"Dinner will be ready at six o'clock. We know you will wish to dine at London time until you grow accustomed again to our country ways. And then I am sure Mrs. Darcy will wish to bathe after dinner," said Mrs. Reynolds.

He had a feeling she was teasing him, but there was nothing in her expression that gave anything away. He had never known she was such a wily old fox. But he could not object, because after such a long absence, the least he could do was appreciate the efforts of the household staff to make him and Elizabeth feel comfortable.

Dinner was an endless parade of dishes, intended – clearly – to impress the new Mrs. Darcy. Then there was port after dinner, which Salter, the butler, assured him was a favorite of his father's.

"It is forty years old now," said Salter. "Your father earmarked it for your wedding. I remember the day like it was yesterday. He took me down to the cellar and pointed it out. ‘This one, Salter,' he said, ‘is for my boy, the day he marries. If I am not here, make sure to give it to him.'"

A memory came to Darcy, unbidden, of his father pointing out the bottle. He could still remember the feel of his father's large hand against his small one. He looked down into his port glass, recalling the time his father had let him take a sip out of this very glass. Darcy had spit it out, and his father had laughed, a loud, merry sound.

"He would have been so proud of everything you accomplished, sir," said Salter, his voice bringing him back to the present. "Is it true that you are to be knighted?"

Darcy was astonished, as always, how servants' gossip reached so far. "It is, indeed."

"I will instruct everyone about the new name."

"There is enough time," said Darcy. "We still have a few weeks before the ceremony."

Enough time. When was the last time he said that?

For now, he intended to live in the present. He stood up, taking his glass with him. He would not waste such a precious gift, but he needed to be upstairs, with Elizabeth.

He thanked Salter and made his way to his bedchamber, his heart increasing a beat with every step. The door between the adjoining rooms was open. With a smile, he made his way there, only to find that Elizabeth's bed chamber was swarming with servants carrying pails of hot water for a bath, towels, soaps, and scented oils.

Growling inwardly with impatience, he retreated to his room and waited for them to leave. He undressed and put on the dressing gown that had been laid out for him on his bed, then returned to Elizabeth's room.

The room was empty.

"Elizabeth?"

"In here," she said, laughing. "Hurry up, come in here, before one of the servants turns up to ask you to take care of something. I have sent the maids away."

As if to illustrate her point, someone scratched at the door of his bedchamber. He strode over and turned the key in the lock, loudly and deliberately, then went to the door of Elizabeth's bedchamber and locked it as well.

"Heavens, Darcy. Did you just lock all the doors? It must be a terrifying ordeal if you are so worried I might want to escape."

"I am not locking you in—" he began indignantly, but then as he stepped into the dressing room, he was met with the image of her in the porcelain tub, her wet hair cascading over the side, dripping into pools of water on the floor.

"I dismissed the maids," she said, "but now the towel is out of reach. Could you hand it to me?"

What on earth had given him the idea he would be dealing with a shy young maiden when nothing about Elizabeth had ever indicated that this is what she was?

She rose out of the bathtub, like a nymph out of the Greek myths rising from the water, completely in her element, her dark locks like glistening seaweed flowing behind her.

He was frozen, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but gaze and wonder as she held him in her thrall. She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. None of the alabaster statues that adorned the fountains or the museums could match her.

She was Elizabeth.

The steam floated up, swirling around her in lazy curling tendrils. He could feel the magic surrounding her, the magic in the water, the magic in the air.

"Are you going to give me the towel?" she said mischievously.

Speechless, completely awestruck, he handed her the towel, and she wrapped it tightly around herself and stepped out.

A nymph she might be, but when she entered the bedchamber, wrapped in a towel, the cracks in her armor became apparent. She was casting tentative looks at the large bed, hanging back awkwardly.

With a sudden insight, he realized she was stalling for time. He emerged from the daze that had befuddled him as he realized he was not the only one who was overwhelmed. She was unsure of herself. He needed to put her at ease.

"You will have to show me what to do," she said, "I only have a vague idea of what happens next." She looked chagrined and very pink, but he could not tell if it was a belated sense of embarrassment, or if it was the effect of the hot bath. He did not remember the last time he had seen her so flustered.

He chuckled. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, he could not resist the temptation to tease her.

"Well, there is not much to know, really. This when you submit to your conjugal duties," he said, smothering a smile. "We will blow out the candles, and you can close your eyes. I will do my best to get it over as quickly as possible."

She examined him apprehensively. "Really?"

He could not help it. He tried to keep a straight face. Instead, he dissolved into laughter.

"Of course not, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, soon to be Lady Elizabeth. I mean, you might wish to close your eyes, if you prefer. I certainly will, at some point. But I very much hope you are going to enjoy what happens next."

He sat on the bed, keeping his banyan on for now, and invited her to join him by patting the bed beside him. She kept the towel wrapped around her, and slid under the sheets, her wet hair unfurling onto the pillow.

Leaning over, he lowered his lips onto hers, touching, teasing, watching her eyes darken with passion. This was what he had been waiting for. He deepened the kiss, love turning into burning need. He spread his kisses beyond the corner of her mouth, past the curve of her jaw, down to the hollow at the bottom of her throat. His breath grew ragged as his lips moved across skin like velvet, sensations rippling through him like fire.

With my body, I thee worship.

He no longer had to hold back. He threw off his dressing gown and sank down, spreading himself against her.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel her fingers trailing down his back, stoking his hunger, driving him beyond himself.

Warm threads of her magic reached out to him, enveloping them, Bonding them together. He began to lose himself as silken threads spun around them, fine filaments sweeping across his skin. In response, some hidden magic surged inside him, reaching out through their Bond and flooding them both in a golden light that filled the room. He no longer knew where the boundary between them lay. Their bodies were entwined, tangled in threads of magic, melting into one, glowing with love.

When the magic receded, he lay back, breathing heavily, trying to understand what had just happened. Nothing had prepared him for this. No one had told him that Janus Twins could connect so deeply and completely. Still, a part of him, somewhere deep inside, had known that being with Elizabeth would take him beyond his control.

Beside him, Elizabeth was trying to catch her breath. She was smiling, her face bright and tender. He turned to gaze at her, marveling at this woman who had now become his wife.

"I love you," he said, his voice deep with all the feelings coursing through him.

"I love you, too," she said.

He moved one finger across her face, learning her features, the dips and contours that made her who she was.

"So is this what it's like, conjugal love?" she said. "Now I understand why you were worried about a child. It is an act of creation."

He let out a barking laugh. "Believe me, my love, this is not what conjugal love is like. At least, it is not what it is like normally."

"How do you know?" she said, raising her eyebrow. "You have never been married before."

"No, true, but—"

He had no way of explaining what he meant. Perhaps someday he would try to tell her. But for the moment, he was content to experience the wonder of it.

It was her turn to tease him now.

"Well, Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy. Now that I know what to expect, do you think you could perform some more of your magic again?"

***

THE END