“I think so, although it is far easier with your telescope.” She sighed. “It is a jumble to me, I am afraid. I rather think one could paint all kinds of pictures. For instance,” she pointed as she said, “if you connect that star to that one and then down to those three and back up and over, you form a fork!” They laughed.

“My wife the astronomer. We can dub it Elizabeth's Trident.” He bestowed soft kisses along her neck, returning to her hair and inhaling deeply. “I love you, Elizabeth, more than I have the words to express. Forgive me for my outburst earlier. I cannot seem to avoid worrying about you and the baby.”

She turned in his arms, hugging his waist securely. “All is forgiven. Your job is to worry, I suppose, while I get to enjoy the pleasurable sensations of nausea, raging hunger, and a constantly full bladder!”

She kissed him, but he frowned. “I hate that you must suffer so, Elizabeth. I wish I could ease your burdens.”

“I shall remind you of your wish, husband, when I need someone to massage my aching back and feet, provide the strange foods for the bizarre cravings that reportedly occur, and listen to me whine at how plump I have become.”

“Very well. I accept the employment.”

“Oh! So hasty to concede! Consider the job description cautiously, Mr. Darcy, before you so readily acquiesce. At moments like this, what with moonlight and stars, you tend to get all fuzzy and romantic. You forget to whom you are avowing to placate. I have been known, a time or two, to be difficult.” She beamed up at his grinning face.

“I cannot comprehend how you could possibly become any more tiresome and grueling than you already have been, Mrs. Darcy, so I believe I can handle the challenge.”

“Ha! I shall show you tiresome and grueling!” And with that, she began tickling him, which was her one advantage over his superior strength.

Chapter Four

Under the Willows

On their last day in Hertfordshire, Darcy and Bingley left at the crack of dawn for a last minute hunt with several other men. The weather had consistently remained pleasant, not too hot with a soft breeze blowing frequently. Darcy was busy everyday while Lizzy generally did little. Her fatigue appeared to be increasing, much to her extreme annoyance, despite sleeping each night as if sedated. To her great relief and Darcy's also, she did not faint again nor experience any light-headedness. The nausea randomly occurred and the food aversions varied day by day, offering her no ability to plan ahead. She tried to be jolly but it was a chore. For the most part, she did not feel poorly, and after being inundated by the mothers of the community with story after story of pregnancy woes, she realized that her symptoms were in truth rather minor. Nonetheless, Lizzy did not have the temperament to easily deal with lethargy.

On her third afternoon, while attending a tea party in her honor, Lizzy actually fell asleep in the middle of the parlor! She was mortified, although the ladies were gracious and nodded with sage understanding, using her misfortune to launch into further tales of pregnancy related mishaps.

Once safely returned to Netherfield, Lizzy threw herself onto the chaise with a bark of disgust. “Jane, please recall me to my senses if I ever become the type of old woman who glories in relating all my ailments with relish!”

Jane laughed. “Do not fear, Lizzy. It is not in your nature.”

“Neither is this confounded tiredness. My mind desires to walk the fields, yet I know my legs would collapse under me ere I traversed a mile!” Jane smiled indulgently as Lizzy sighed, gazing out the window at the beautiful scenery. “Oh pooh, I am being such a baby. Here I am, married to the best man in the world, carrying our child, and all I can do is grouse.” She turned to her sister and laughed. “Poor William! What the man has to look forward to is simply not fair. You see, Jane, I am becoming Mama already!”

“Heaven forbid!” Jane declared with mock horror, and they both laughed. To avoid any further embarrassing incidents, Lizzy opted to stay at Netherfield or Longbourn for the remaining days. She rested frequently and began to feel stronger. Therefore, on the final afternoon, after eating well at lunch and napping briefly, Lizzy decided to take a walk. There was one favorite haunt she wished to visit before she left.

So, with a book and a small basket of edible treats and lemonade, she headed toward a copse of willows she had, when a young girl, christened Willow Bench. On a small rise located at the fenced boundary of Longbourn, where Netherfield abutted, grew a cluster of six willows. A seventh had, at some time in the far past, died and fallen over creating a long wooden settee. Therefore, an eleven-year-old, unoriginal Lizzy had named it Willow Bench. It was one of many secluded spots Lizzy retreated to for respite from her boisterous household.

Approaching from Netherfield, it required climbing over the five foot fence. Lizzy accomplished this easily, tired from the long walk, but exhilarated to be out in the fresh air. She settled onto the log, removed shoes and stockings, drank some lemonade, and bit into an apple. Sighing contentedly, she allowed her mind to wander as she munched. Inevitably, the memory of the first time she had encountered Darcy at this locale entered her thoughts. She smiled.

It had occurred early one morning about a week after Jane and she returned to Longbourn from their sojourn at Netherfield during Jane's illness. She had sat much as she did now, reading, when she noted a flash in her peripheral vision. Glancing up, she recognized a man dashing on a black horse across the field. Almost instantly she realized that it was Mr. Darcy. She had seen him once on his horse at Netherfield, but it was not that fact as much as something in his posture, even from a great distance, that assured her it was him. She frowned with irritation, yet found herself rising to her feet and climbing the fence to better observe him. Even to her relatively untrained eye, there was no doubt he was a superb horseman. He would have to be in order to attain the speed he had raced along at. It was mesmerizing. Grace, power, and oneness with his mount beautifully exhibited as he zoomed along, turning in a wide, flowing arc toward the trees where she stood. He did not see her, nor was she fully cognizant of his directional change until he was nearly beside her. He skidded to a halt, both he and the horse breathing heavily, and rudely stared at her for a very long while, his face a mask of shocked surprise and some other emotion she could not identify. For her part, she was merely embarrassed to have been caught spying on him and annoyed that now her solitude was disturbed and she would be forced to talk to him when he so obviously disliked her.

She raised her chin impudently, noted a flash of confusion cross his visage, and snapped, “Demons chasing you, Mr. Darcy, or do you have a death wish?”

He seemed to have partially recovered his composure and replied seriously in a shaky voice, “Good day to you, Miss Elizabeth. Neither demons nor a death wish inspire me. I assure you I am capable of handling my mount and Parsifal delights in speed. He would be sorely displeased with me if we galloped sedately.” His voice warmed slightly as he affectionately patted the horse's sweaty neck.

“Parsifal is it? Can I assume, therefore, that you appreciate the German poem by von Eschenbach, or is it a coincidence?”

Darcy raised his brows, clearly amazed. “I am impressed, Miss Elizabeth. Do you read all German poetry, or is it Arthurian legends which interest you?”

She shrugged. “My father has eclectic tastes, Mr. Darcy. He will read whatever he can get his hands on and then he lends the volume to me. I confess to enjoying medieval literature, although not the romantic varieties as much. As for German poetry, well, I am afraid my knowledge of the modern languages is limited. I am not so accomplished, you see.”

Darcy flushed and coughed. “Accomplishment is gauged in a myriad of ways, Miss Elizabeth. Do not take Miss Bingley's words too seriously.”

She laughed gaily, eliciting a small smile from him. “Oh, be comforted, sir. I actually have a reputation for frivolity and irreverence. Miss Bingley did not disturb me.”

Silence descended, Mr. Darcy staring at her in that strange, undecipherable manner of his. Lizzy, to her utter horror, found her eyes drifting from his face to the open collar of his shirt. She flushed, averting her gaze quickly, mind suddenly revisiting the touch of his bare, warm, and strong hand when he assisted her into the carriage when leaving Netherfield. Anger rose in her chest then, as if it was somehow his fault for the slant of her musings, and she flared. “I imagine you and your sister read von Eschenbach in the original German?” She cringed inwardly at the inanity of her remark as well as the tone but glared challengingly and lifted her chin nonetheless.

Mr. Darcy frowned slightly. “Yes, of course, although Miss Darcy's German is not as fluent as her French. She is improving though.” He trailed off lamely.

Concluding that he must be bored silly and annoyed with the conversation, especially with her, Lizzy declared briskly, “Well, Mr. Darcy, if you will excuse me, I need to be returning to Longbourn and I have detained your horse from his race quite long enough.”

He seemed to hesitate, struggling internally with something, and then bowed his head. “Of course, Miss Elizabeth. Forgive me for keeping you. I pray your day continues to be a pleasant one.” Despite his farewell, he yet hesitated for a moment further then abruptly clenched his jaw and with a curt bow spun Parsifal and cantered off, spurring into a hard run before getting thirty feet away.