“Starved,” he mumbled into her ear, lips and tongue exploring along her neck, journeying from shoulder to bosom, one hand stroking her inner thigh. Unhurriedly, he roused her with the magic of his hands and mouth, worshipping all of her body as he drove her insane.

Lizzy's need for food was forgotten as her husband artfully restimulated her ardor. Skillfully, he brought her to the pinnacle of perfect desire, her release sending ripples of frenzy washing head to toe. Rapidly he was there, enfolding her trembling body against his sturdy chest with arms and legs wrapped about her. Murmuring endearments incessantly, he kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair until she was breathing easier. He cupped one cheek, loitering over her mouth with his, sighing happily. “Mine, sweet wife only mine, forever. I love you so tremendously, Elizabeth, my soul.”

Lizzy smiled. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are truly amazing. I think I should order you out of bed every morning for a long ride!” She kissed him, nestling tightly into his embrace with a contented sigh.

Later that day, after a boisterous luncheon with the entire Pemberley household, Darcy retreated to the solitude of his study to catch up on a stack of neglected papers. All were fairly straightforward, more along the lines of reports and inventories with an occasional document requiring his signature. Midway through the pile, a gentle knock at the door revealed his lovely wife. She smiled sweetly at his beaming face, crossing the room with a flowing grace until near enough to bestow a tender kiss to his brow.

“What do you need of me, dearest?”

“I need you, only you, my love,” he answered, reaching to clasp her head and pull in for a kiss.

Lizzy caressed his face, love clearly evident in their eyes. “You are silly, William, but I do so love you. You called me in here merely for a kiss?”

Darcy raised a brow in surprise. “I did not call for you, love. Not that I am complaining mind you.”

Lizzy frowned. “Mrs. Reynolds said you asked for me.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Leaving the mystery aside for the present, Darcy granted entrance. To the shock of both Darcys, it was Samuel and Marguerite. Samuel approached hesitantly, clearly nervous, with Marguerite a pace behind.

Samuel was the quintessential valet: utterly proper and seriously devoted to his Master. He had been Darcy's manservant since Darcy was twenty, Samuel now in his early forties. Yet, despite the long association and obvious intimacy with Darcy's personal preferences and requirements, Darcy had revealed to Lizzy that Samuel was intensely private. Any attempts on Darcy's part to converse or familiarize himself with Samuel as an individual was met with stony silence and disapproval. Therefore, Darcy had given up years ago. That Samuel was incredibly shy was evident. Lizzy had probably heard him speak a handful of times and he rarely addressed her.

Marguerite was nearly as decorous. She took her job very seriously and had endeavored to learn all personal information with a steadfast vigor. However, she did laugh upon occasion with her Mistress and shared the sporadic story or anecdote, albeit with reserve and caution. Lizzy knew little about her private life or intimate thoughts, but there was warmth between the two women and her dry humor frequently shone forth, even with Mr. Darcy.

Both Master and Mistress had not the least doubt they could trust their personal servant implicitly and although not friendly, they cared deeply for them and would grant nearly any wish requested. Seeing them enter the study together was astonishing. That Samuel and Marguerite spoke was manifest by how Lizzy and Darcy's clothing inevitably matched whenever dressing for a formal event, the frequent messages passed, and the perfection in timing between the two dressing rooms. However, neither had ever actually witnessed them speaking or in the same room, for that matter.

Samuel bowed toward his Master and then toward Lizzy, Marguerite dropping flawless curtseys. “Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Pardon the deception. Miss Charbonneau and I implored Mrs. Reynolds's assistance, as we wished to speak with you together in a formal setting.” He paused, glancing to Marguerite, who smiled faintly and nodded. Samuel cleared his throat, cheeks pink as he met Darcy's confused eyes. Lizzy was looking from one to the other with a dawning suspicion.

Samuel continued, “Sir, Miss Charbonneau and I have, naturally, increased our acquaintance since she joined the staff. Our friendship has grown to an affection and,” he paused and took a deep breath, Marguerite stepping closer until beside him, arms brushing lightly. “Sir, Madame, we humbly request your permission for us to be wed.” He finished in a rush, visage scarlet. Marguerite was smiling lovingly, delicate face radiant as she possessively laid her hand on his arm.

Darcy was stunned speechless. Lizzy was equally as surprised but collected her wits before her husband, rounding the desk to clasp Marguerite's hands. “Oh! This is marvelous! We are so delighted for you both. Surprised, certainly, but extremely thrilled.” She leaned in to kiss Marguerite's flushed cheek, squeezing Samuel's hand briefly.

Darcy stood, senses slowly restored, as he too rounded the desk. Clasping Samuel's hand, to the valet's intense embarrassment, Darcy congratulated him as well, adding, “You do not need my permission, Samuel, but you do have my complete blessing. This is remarkable news. Mrs. Darcy and I are delighted and will grant whatever you wish for your nuptials.”

Samuel's face was a shade of red truly magnificent to behold. Lizzy wanted to laugh but maintained her composure. “Thank you, sir,” he stammered, “Miss Charbonneau and I do not want a fuss nor to disrupt the household or abandon our duties. We can marry quietly in the village without causing any disturbance or lack of service to you or Mrs. Darcy.”

Darcy waved his hand airily. “Nonsense, Samuel! Weddings are special events and a marriage should not begin in haste or with anyone besides the couple unduly considered. It is your day and we, Mrs. Darcy and I, intend to make it as unforgettable as possible. Many staff members have been married in the Pemberley Chapel and, naturally, you two would need time alone afterwards. We can arrange this for whatever date you wish.”

“Definitely!” Lizzy chimed in with enthusiasm, “There are available rooms in the couple's apartments both downstairs and at the Staff Domicile. In fact, one of the cottages is vacant since Morrison's wife passed. Mrs. Reynolds will happily show you the options, and you can choose whichever one suits your taste.”

Lizzy and Darcy continued to verbalize plans and offerings, Samuel and Marguerite nearly forgotten in their excitement. Their personal servants were overwhelmed by the outpouring, rarely interjecting into the conversation. In the end, it was decided that the two would be wed in the Pemberley Chapel one month hence. Marguerite was to be dressed in a new gown purchased as a gift from Mrs. Darcy, and then the newlyweds would embark on a two-week honeymoon to the Lake District arranged and paid for by Mr. Darcy.

Samuel's mien had rapidly transmuted from its impressive shade of maroon to bloodless ivory at the concept of his Master without Samuel's service for two whole weeks, stuttering and stammering in embarrassed shock. Darcy, however, waved his concerns aside, clapped him on the back, and assured the devoted valet that his absence was in fact fortuitous.

“I will be vacationing with Mrs. Darcy at the seacoast during that time and was not planning on taking you with me anyway, so now you will have a far more pleasant diversion to occupy your time than fretting about me.”

“But, sir,” Samuel spluttered, the redness creeping over his cheeks once again, “Who will shave you or assist you dressing or draw your bath or—”

“Have no fear, Samuel. I can take care of myself in a pinch, and there will be staff available. None as efficient as you, but I will survive.” Darcy smiled at his servant, touched at his devotion, and terribly amused, wisely choosing not to remind the man that he had managed capably before Samuel's procurement and on several occasions over the years. Marguerite was smiling serenely but with a hint of adoring humor, noticeably not offering the same arguments regarding her Mistress.

Eventually it was settled; Samuel's bashfulness was so acute at moments that Lizzy honestly feared the man would faint. She offered to learn how to shave her husband, thinking the idea would ease his disquiet, but he had looked at her with such horror at the concept that she hastily demurred. Marguerite's dulcet tones of French accented English calmed him while she skillfully and lovingly steered the wedding discussions along their proper course, all matters eventually established as Lizzy strongly suspected she had intended it all along.

When the betrothed couple finally exited, the Darcys collapsed onto the sofa in hysterical laughter. “After an hour of discussion, I am yet flabbergasted at what has been revealed here! Have you ever seen the two of them together?” Darcy asked his wife.

“Rarely, and never speaking to each other,” she answered, wiping at wet eyes and still laughing.

Darcy shook his head. “She must be the most tenacious woman on the planet to crack Samuel's shell. I have noted maids gazing speculatively at my valet in the past, but I am quite certain he has remained oblivious.” He laughed afresh. “Heavens! The man's shyness is unparalleled. I am convivial compared to him! I never thought I would see the day. Must be the rumored allurement of the French. The sensual mystique they purportedly have,” he mused with a small smile.