Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

D arcy groaned in protest at the sunlight attempting to seep through his closed eyelids; he was still tired and had no intention of rising just yet. He meant to utilise his arm to deaden the glare but found it immovable. Cracking open one bleary eye, he could not resist a broad grin as he beheld the hindrance. Elizabeth.

After she had accepted his proposal the night before—and oh, how his heart swelled in remembrance of that tender interlude—they had, at length, restrained their ardour, but not before Darcy had lowered Elizabeth to the hearth rug in a panting heap. It had taken the full strength of his mighty will to stop before bringing them both the ultimate pleasure, but he had managed it because his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth deserved better than being taken on the floor of his mother's former study. He would wait until their wedding night, much as it pained him to delay, and show her every ounce of consideration she was entitled to as his wife. A comfortable bed was the least of what she was owed.

Darcy's smile softened as he brushed a curl away from Elizabeth's cheek. It would not be long—mere weeks if he had his way—before he would wake up to this cherished face every day. The mistress was afforded her own chambers, to be sure, but Darcy meant to keep Elizabeth with him as often as she would allow it. He might even argue that the mistress's apartments ought to be transformed into a sitting room or study, just to prevent them from spending their nights apart. He would cede to her wishes, of course, but he intended to be most persuasive in this pursuit.

Elizabeth made a delectable little moan and rolled deeper into his embrace. Her countenance was now hidden from his view, but Darcy did not mind; he buried his nose in her voluminous hair and inhaled deeply of her honeysuckle scent. I may be a wealthy man, but until now, I have never felt so rich.

Once their passion had cooled and their breathing calmed, the pair of them had lain awake on the plush hearth rug, snuggled together to ward Elizabeth from the chill of the room, and spoken for hours. He was not sure how long they had staved off sleep in this manner, but they had managed to canvass all sorts of topics they had each been too awkward to broach before. Darcy had apologised, most profusely, for the manner of his previous proposal, and Elizabeth had, in turn, begged her own forgiveness for how she had responded to it. He still felt himself burdened with most of the blame from that encounter, but it was agreed between them that they ought to absolve one another forthwith and never dwell upon it again. "Let us remember the past only as it brings us pleasure," Elizabeth had wisely counselled, and Darcy had been happy to comply.

After that, they had spoken only of lighter subjects, such as how soon they wished to marry—"On the morrow," had been Darcy's suggestion, for which he had received a chiming laugh—and how they planned to announce their impending nuptials to the household. Nothing was yet decided upon, but they had succumbed to the arms of Morpheus with smiles upon their faces.

Now, on this most glorious of mornings, Elizabeth was stirring against his chest, and Darcy was peppering her with soft kisses. She moaned again and he chuckled; despite being an early riser like him, it seemed as though she was difficult to rouse. "Good morning, my love."

Elizabeth stilled a moment, then relaxed against him. "Good morning, Fitzwilliam. Have you been waiting for me to wake?"

"Not very long, and I cannot say that it was a dreadful experience."

"Then you cannot have seen my hair yet!"

This quip was met by yet another kiss to the crown of her head, which was, indeed, sprouting in every direction. Darcy found it uncommonly charming. "I assure you that I have, and my affection has not diminished a whit."

Elizabeth tilted her head up to rest her chin against his chest, her striking blue-green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "That is most reassuring, given that you will be subjected to it for the rest of our lives. And possibly beyond, should we overstay our tenure here like some of your ancestors."

Darcy chuckled. "I assure you, two centuries from now, I shall still find you eminently enchanting as we roam these halls playing tricks upon our descendants."

"I believe you are teasing me, Mr Darcy."

"I believe I am."

Elizabeth propped herself upon one arm, her hair falling about her in bountiful waves. Her nightgown, weighted by his banyan, slipped down her shoulder again, drawing Darcy's wandering eye. "Well, I still say that our little mishap last evening cannot be explained as a mere accident. There were other forces at work to bring us both to the gallery then trap us in here."

Forcing himself to return his gaze to Elizabeth's face, Darcy replied, "I remain sceptical that restless spirits exist, much less that they roam the halls of my home uniting unsuspecting couples."

"And yet, here we are." Elizabeth flicked her wrist to indicate the room around them, a saucy smirk curling along her mouth.

"Yes, behind a stuck door in a room that is rarely used. The latch no doubt requires some oil."

"Even so, you could not budge it at all."

"The wood must have swollen because of the storm."

"And the light that lured us in here?"

Darcy pondered a moment before snapping his fingers. "The reflection of moonlight upon some item within the room."

Elizabeth laughed. "You have an answer for everything, sir! How neat and tidy of you. I, however, am not so convinced that we were entirely alone last night."

"Certainly not. Freddy was with us."

She lightly smacked his arm. "You know very well what I mean."

"I might concede that Fate played a part in bringing us together," he replied, snatching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm, "but why should long-dead spirits have any stake in our happiness?"

"So you believe in Fate but not ghosts?" Elizabeth bubbled over with mirth when he shrugged his agreement. "Perhaps they are merely romantics, or…" Her voice trailed off, and the smile slipped from her face.

Darcy sat up. "What is it? "

"Oh no, it is a silly thought."

"Tell me. I shall not think ill of you, no matter what it is."

Elizabeth bit her lip. "I was only thinking…what if the ghosts are known to you?"

Darcy felt a sharp thrust of discomfort in his gut, but it was gone in the next instant. Even so, it must have shown on his face, for Elizabeth rushed to apologise and comfort him. He silenced her contrition with a soft kiss. "Never fear, my love, I am not upset. It is only that I miss my parents so very much and dearly wish your conjecture might be true. That is all."

Elizabeth crawled into his lap and embraced him. "I am still sorry that I brought it up. I had not meant to pain you."

Wrapping her tightly in his arms, Darcy pulled her flush against him and buried his face in her neck. After some time spent in this position, with Elizabeth rubbing soothing circles on his back and cooing words of love in his ear, he drew back. "The house will be waking soon, and we ought not to be discovered here, even if our intent is to marry. If the door still will not open, I shall hide so you can draw attention to yourself and be rescued."

"Your servants will not think less of me for being in here, unescorted, overnight?"

"Certainly not! Especially when they learn you are to be their new mistress."

With this plan in mind, Darcy stood, helped Elizabeth to her feet, and crossed to the door. In the light of day, the mechanism was more distinct, and he was able to reaffix, however impermanently, the knob in place. A few jiggling motions later, he easily pulled the door open with no apparent resistance. On the other side, Freddy climbed to her feet with a happy bark and leapt upon him, sending them both staggering backwards.

"I see that the spirits have seen fit to release us," Elizabeth said in a teasing manner as Darcy wrestled the dog from his person.

Once Freddy was back under proper regulation, or at least not bathing his face with her tongue, Darcy replied, "The storm is over, and the door is no longer swollen. It is not so marvellous."

"You believe that, if it gives you comfort."

"Minx," Darcy playfully grumbled before grabbing Elizabeth about the waist and pulling her against him, not yet willing to abandon their private haven after all. She squealed but submitted willingly to his affections and made no attempt to escape.