Their laughter filtered out into the hallway; and as the Viscount stumbled toward his wife’s bedchamber, he wondered what in the world the ladies found so vastly amusing at that ungodly hour of the night.

Elizabeth Bennet was in a bed, under his roof, so near and yet so far. The union would take place in a matter of hours, yet Fitzwilliam Darcy wanted her as his wife then and there. He paced in his bedchamber, restless with unexpended energy, unfulfilled needs, and vascular congestion. Lusty yawns aside, he doubted he would sleep at all that night and knew it would be extremely hard in such a turgid state of frustration. His ravenous appetite was aroused; and although that hunger would not be sated, perhaps there was something he could do about a craving for something sweet and warm. Darcy headed for the kitchen and the desired hot chocolate. 

As he had expected, workers were still astir; and loyal Mrs. Reynolds was on hand to supervise last minute arrangements. When the housekeeper inquired why he had not simply rung for a tray, Darcy replied, “Well, in addition to having a hard … time getting to sleep, I was hor … horribly hungry and also wanted to check on preparations for tomorrow.” 

“Sir, I assure you everything is proceeding as it should. You must not concern yourself with such matters. It is very late, and you should be asleep. Now, what can I fetch for you?” Once his request was made, Mrs. Reynolds prepared his hot chocolate just the way he preferred it and set the mug before her young master at the large wooden table. 

“Mrs. Reynolds, will you and Mr. Reynolds be at the wedding ceremony?” 

“Of course, sir. Your parents have already kindly requested our presence, and Owen and I are honoured to attend. Now, please excuse me. I really must continue with my duties.” 

She hurried to her office and went over the list of tasks to be accomplished before she could catch a few hours of sleep. Darcy sipped his warm drink and thought he might abscond with a scone and retire to his bedchamber. 

The workers hustled and bustled around the enormous room, nervously glanced at their young master, and wondered why, of all places, he was in their midst on the eve of his nuptials. 

Darcy’s family, friends, and fiancée were all in their beds, snoozing, snuggling, snogging, or snoring; but the young man did not want to be alone with his wayward thoughts. The servants’ chatter, however, did nothing to alleviate his torment; and he caught segments of their conversations as they scurried about the kitchen. 

“ … and where’s the tureen fer that blasted clear meat soup? What’s it called? Consummate?” 

“Nay, it’s consommé, mate.” 

“Ain’t there larger punch bowls? I thought we had a couple.” 

“They’re on the top shelf. Careful of your noggin. You don’t wanna get bonked.” 

“Ah, Susie me luv, if yer offerin’, I wouldn’t mind gettin’ boinked.” 

“Oh, shove off, Randy, and go to bed!” 

“I’ve done finished the cider, Kate. Now what should I make, luv?” 

“Lud, I can’t remember what vegetables bloody Eggleston wanted me to pick. Was it potatoes, turnip, carrots, and ravish?” 

“That’s radish, corkbrain! And if Eggy hears you, he’ll be givin’ you a headache to sleep with.” 

“Why can’t I just leave them apple cores and peelings here tonight? Them horses can wait fer a treat. It’s too bloody cold out, the stable’s too far, and I don’t want to go all the way.” 

“Oh stop bein’ such a baby, and just go do it!” 

“See this here iron pan? Keep pesterin’ me, and it and yer backside are gonna become intimate!” 

“Well, now, that’s a fine way to talk, ain’t it? You need to learn gooder social intercourse.” 

“Don’t dare touch them biscuits! I’m savin’ ‘em fer Nick, Kate.” 

“AARGH!!!” The astonished servants froze in their places and gaped as Pemberley’s heir sprang from his chair and ran out the kitchen door into the frosty night without first donning a coat. 

After cooling off in the frigid air, Darcy returned to his lonely bedchamber and attempted to get his mind out of the smutty gutter by familiarizing himself with the beautiful words he would have to repeat during the wedding ceremony. He located his well-worn Anglican Book of Common Prayer and found next to it his copy of the ‘good book’. He picked up the latter and muttered, “Better yet, I should peruse this one; there are certain passages I should know, in the biblical sense.”

The gentlemen had thought the previous evening’s female clamour was rather diverting; however, on the morning after the night before, their aching heads wished for quietude and calm. George Darcy was not suffering from the repercussions of imbibitions of spirits but rather from the spirited activity rampant in his home. A giggling bridesmaid, giggling maids, and giggling maidens joined the cacophony of yipping, yapping, and barking dogs. Shrieks of laughter followed shrieks of shock as a wet Maltese, that resembled a drowned white rat, shook itself in Georgiana’s chamber; and squeals of delight resounded as the beautiful brides presented themselves to admiring family, friends, relatives, and one another.