Sharon Lathan - Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One

“Yes, well, job well done, Elizabeth, well done,” declared the Earl as he resumed his seat, grinning broadly.

The opening of presents absorbed the bulk of the early afternoon. There was rampant laughter, expressions of awe and delight, and pleasurable conversation. The gentlemen accompanied Darcy to his study, reverently, to select the perfect location to display his statue, after which they repaired to the game room where Darcy skillfully defeated each of them in billiards. The ladies visited contentedly.

Christmas dinner was served promptly at four. The feast lavishing the table eclipsed the last evening’s repast. There was enough food to satisfy twice as many diners: venison, goose, turkey, an assortment of vegetables, gravies, rare fruits such as oranges and pomegranates imported for the occasion, breads, souse, trifle, fruit and plum cakes, and a variety of pies. The remains of their banquet, as well as from the servants’ feast, which would occur later in the evening, were to be distributed to the two orphanages in the vicinity and the neediest tenants on Boxing Day. The courses were proffered in spaced intervals, allowing time for digestion and conversation.

The weather had deteriorated substantially, with snow swirling and drifting as the wind howled. An after-dinner stroll in the garden was unfeasible and therefore deferred in favor of a ramble through the Sculpture Gallery, Portrait Hall, and conservatory.

Mr. Lathrop was impressed. “Darcy, you have acquired some spectacular pieces since I was last here.”

“Miss Darcy, your bust is an amazing likeness,” Mrs. Lathrop exclaimed. “As is yours, Mr. Darcy. Superb artisanship. Mrs. Darcy, will you have a bust sculpted as well?”

Lizzy was genuinely taken aback. She had not considered the notion. She turned to her husband and saw an identical expression of mystification.

“In truth, Mrs. Lathrop, I had not given the prospect any deliberation,” Darcy said. “Thank you for the idea. Mrs. Darcy’s beautiful face should be here next to mine.” Darcy smiled at his wife’s blush.

“Mr. Darcy, I do not believe my husband and I ever expressed how awestruck we were by the art collection of Pemberley,” Mrs. Gardiner declared. “I allege no expertise in the artistic realm myself; however, I adore museums and viewing the works of the masters. Your collection rivals any I have observed in London.”

Darcy bowed graciously. “Thank you, Mrs. Gardiner. My family has amassed the pieces gradually over the centuries. I can personally accept few accolades.”

Paintings and sculptures were scattered throughout the entire manor. Those that graced the gallery were the rarest and dominated by marbles. The Portrait Hall, in truth the long hallway leading to the ballroom and formal dining hall, exclusively housed paintings of the Darcy family. The oldest, from 1438, was a group portrait of Alexander and Clara Darcy with their three children. When Lizzy had initially beheld this painting a week after her arrival at Pemberley, she had been stunned by the resemblance of the eldest son, also named Alexander, to her husband. The boy in the painting was approximately eleven and had the clear blue eyes of his mother, chestnut brown hair, and a serious set to his mouth, all of which were the image of the current Master. Lizzy smiled each time she viewed this painting, visualizing their future son.

The entire hall was a revelation of Darcy features. Blue eyes cropped up frequently. Brown hair dominated, although there was a smattering of redheads and numerous blonds. The men were usually tall and lanky with broad shoulders. Darcy’s chin cleft was a newer attribute, first noted on Emily Darcy, his grandmother, in 1760. Almost universally the men appeared serious and aloof, rarely showing the slightest smile, whereas the women displayed more good humor. Pemberley Manor and horses served predominately as backdrops.

Darcy’s parents had been painted shortly after their marriage, the love evident on their faces, even eliciting a small smile from James Darcy. A later portrait of Anne Darcy and her two children, commissioned two years after Georgiana’s birth, clearly captured a beautiful yet pale and tired Anne. Georgiana was a chubby, adorably bright toddler. Darcy at thirteen was incredibly tall, nearly six feet and grave, with a keen intelligence manifest in his eyes but also a lingering grief. This grief would consume his eyes further as the years progressed, until Elizabeth.

No one commented, but the thought was on all of their minds. Darcy, however, was gazing at his parents and marveling at the absence of pain in his soul. He missed them naturally, and always would, yet the melancholy was no more. He looked down at Elizabeth, squeezed her arm firmly to his side, and smiled charmingly.

Entering the conservatory at the very end of the northern annex was akin to stepping into summer. The snow continued to fall, blanketing the ground and the glass roof, yet the flowers and bushes inside bloomed. The room was perpetually warm and humid, fragrant and colorful. The group impulsively broke up as they strolled among the greenery. Darcy purposefully steered Lizzy to a far corner well concealed by an enormous weeping maple and pulled her into his arms. He held her against his chest and she closed her eyes in happiness, devouring his heat and strength.

“Are you enjoying your first Christmas at Pemberley, my love?” He inquired, resonant voice vibrating in her ear.

“I am enjoying my first Christmas with you, beloved. We could be on the moon and I would be delirious with joy. William, I have not had the opportunity to thank you properly for your gifts.” She tilted her face up to meet his eyes. “The gowns are lovely; the shawl is stunning; you know how I love books; and the stationery set is perfect and useful. Mostly I must tell you how touched I am by the seal. I am a Darcy! I know it is ridiculous, yet I still forget at times. I suppose I have been a Bennet for too long.” She laughed and he smiled.

“Have no fear, Mrs. Darcy, I shall remind you a hundred times a day if need be. I will never allow you to forget you are mine.” He tenderly caressed her cheek, then cupped her face with his hands and lavished light pecks all over her features.

Col. Fitzwilliam’s voice from around the tree successfully quashed any further romantic enticements, sadly. Darcy frowned and scowled at his cousin in annoyance, Richard merely raising one eyebrow and pointedly ignoring him. Lizzy took Georgiana’s arm and, with Lizzy giving her husband an amused glance, the sisters resumed their walk.

“Fine day, Darcy, wouldn’t you agree?” Richard asked with a grin.

“Tremendous,” Darcy replied with dripping sarcasm and Richard laughed.

The remainder of the evening passed in varied pursuits. Georgiana delighted them all on the pianoforte. Carols were sung, Richard adding his talents several times, as did Darcy twice. Refreshments were furnished, although no one was particularly hungry. A rousing game of charades was highly successful, as was a lively round of musical chairs, with Georgiana the ultimate victor. Richard challenged Darcy to a bout of darts. Darcy was fully aware he would lose miserably, to which Richard proclaimed it was healthy to be humbled periodically. Upon this decision, the gentlemen repaired to the game room for port, brandy, and manly activities.

The ladies retired to the parlor, ending what was universally agreed to be a first-rate Christmas with quiet conversation, cards, and a mind-boggling game of dictionary that they were all far too weary to take seriously.

Lizzy retired hours earlier than Darcy, the gentlemen capping their evening off rowdily. She was deeply asleep when he staggered into bed and only marginally aware of him gathering her into his arms. The urge to tease him the next day for his raging headache was potent, but she resisted. After all, she rationalized, fun was had by all and he deserved to celebrate as he deemed appropriate. Instead, the ladies allowed their smug smiles to speak volumes as to their lack of sympathy. Suffice to say, this Christmas would be remembered by all for a multitude of reasons! 

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, Lizzy’s sleep was invaded by a loud rumbling. She attempted to ignore the annoying sound but eventually her consciousness fully returned, along with the recognition of what the sound was. Her husband was snoring! In a month of marriage, this was a first. There had been a couple of instances where she had been mildly roused by his deep respirations and warm breath tickling her neck, but never had he snored. Of course, this was also the only night he had fallen asleep after having overly imbibed, which most likely was the catalyst. Lizzy rolled over, surprised to find Darcy’s back to her, another first. She nudged him but his reverberations did not cease, so she grasped his shoulder and tugged. He rolled over heavily, snorted, and resumed his singing. Lizzy was vaguely irritated yet could not resist smiling and kissing his cheek. Even snoring and inebriated he was handsome, and he was hers. She pushed the hair away from his eyes, mesmerized by the thickness of his lashes and the play of shadows on his face in the dimly moonlit chamber. Oh, how I love him!

Suddenly she remembered the key. The locked cabinet with private books had been a running joke between them since their honeymoon. She had been surprised, pleasantly so, yet rather confused by how competently her purportedly virtuous new husband had performed. That is when he had spoken of the specifically topical books used to enhance his education and how they were kept in a safe place. She had teased him several times about sharing the books with her, in truth not very interested as she was amply content and satisfied to allow him to dominate and teach in the intimate portion of their relationship.