“Elizabeth, beautiful Elizabeth, my lover. I need you so.” Gently but clearly clutching her hair, he sought her lips. They kissed deeply, starved for each other’s breath and taste. Tongues mingled, lips suckling lips as they writhed against each other with passion rising. Darcy, always wondrously graceful in his power and strength, rolled and then rose to his knees with Elizabeth secure in his arms and nestled on his lap. Arms wound over his shoulders and hands flattened on his back, Lizzy nuzzled his neck and bestowed tiny bites.

“Precious love. My Lizzy.” He arched his neck, moaning and hugging her tight. “Remember page five, my heart?”

She giggled and focused on his expectant face. Playfully they loved, experimenting with the illustrations from the book, but mostly blissfully caught up with the sensations derived so lusciously from each other. Embracing tightly as they merged and moved in perfect unison.

“Fitzwilliam, my darling husband,” she whispered, glazed eyes locked. “I love you… I live for your love and touch… your eyes on me… your voice… your mouth… your skin…” Each phrase spaced as she kissed and caressed his chest and shoulders. “Your words of devotion… I so adore you!… I want you… so utterly you belong to me… and I to you… my soul.”

It was powerful; Darcy was amazed at his control and stamina in light of his wife’s wanton need. As expected, he was unable to withstand all three pages, but neither cared. Their release was blinding, leaving them both shaken and blissfully satiated.

Later they lay entwined, dozing in their happy exhaustion. Lizzy caressed his chest lazily, running the tips of her fingers through his hair, inhaling deeply of his masculine smell. “William?”

“Yes, beloved?”

“I am a little afraid of the books.”

“Afraid? I do not understand.”

“Do you ever wonder if our lovemaking will always be like this? Will we, perhaps… run out of new experiences or get bored?”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He was silent for a spell, collecting his thoughts. He understood this was one of those moments where, despite his previous inexperience, his overall maturity and worldliness gave him a certain wisdom she lacked. “Elizabeth, I will eternally love you and desire to make love to you. I know this for certain. Right now the activity is novel and perhaps that lends a dimension to it that will not be there twenty or thirty years from now.

“Yet by then our love will have grown stronger. We will have had children together, been through hardships, created memories, and built a marriage that is deep. We may not be tearing our clothes in passion or making love three times a day, although maybe we will,” he laughed and kissed her head, “yet when we do love each other it will, I believe, be stronger and more powerful, as can only occur between two souls who have bonded for so many years. This is how it is meant to be. Do you understand?”

He lightly grasped her chin and turned her face to his, surprised to see tears in her eyes. In alarm he cupped her cheeks and kissed her. “Beloved, please do not fear! I will always desire you, Elizabeth. We can discard the books if you wish.” She halted him with a kiss, long and deep.

“Why do you put up with me?” she finally said. “I am so silly and you are so wise!”

“Neither is true, Elizabeth,” he interrupted, “and I put up with you because I could not survive without you.” He kissed her eyes and then her nose before continuing. “Happy anniversary, my precious wife, today and every day for all my life I will love you and thank God He brought you to me. This I can assert with confidence.” He laughed softly as he stroked her hair and playfully nibbled her lips. “I have not tired of riding my horses after all these years, so how could I tire of riding you? You, precious Elizabeth, are profoundly superior.”

The preparations for the Ball consumed most of Lizzy’s thoughts. As the imminent event drew nearer, Lizzy’s original excitement and blasé attitude was replaced by a fair amount of nervousness. She was apprised of several facts regarding the Masque, which either calmed her or escalated her anxiety. Firstly, the annual Cole Twelfth Night Masquerade Ball was a Derbyshire extravaganza dating back more than fifty years and was the premier social affair.

The fact that the surpassingly eligible bachelor, the prime bull as he put it, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, had only deigned to attend four times since his coming of age was a minor scandal, viewed by some as a hideous breach of propriety. This philosophy signified the momentous weight ascribed to this singular celebration and Lizzy’s opportunity to make a positive impression as Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley. It was in no way vanity for her to rightfully surmise that all eyes would be on her for a variety of reasons.

Knowing this, Lizzy was uncertain whether she was happy or dismayed to discover that, although a “Masque,” few masks were worn. The tradition of actually attempting to disguise oneself in the relatively insular community of Derbyshire had long ago been deemed ludicrous. Therefore, the style had faded only to be affected by the more frivolous—usually single—attendees who sought an air of mystery.

Darcy had flatly refused even to consider wearing a mask, ever. Lizzy had initially been relieved, since the idea held no appeal to her either, yet as the import of the Ball registered fully upon her consciousness, the comfort of hiding behind a mask did seem providential!

Then there was the gown itself. Lizzy trusted the genius of Madame du Loire and, having beheld her gown, she could abstractly proclaim it a masterpiece. Yet therein lay her disquiet. Lizzy had never in her life entertained the notion of donning such a fabulous garment. It was so far removed from her character to cover herself with yards upon yards of finery. She recognized that if ever there was a night she needed to be comfortable with who she was, it was this night. How could she possibly be “Lizzy” dressed like this? Of course, she was no longer just “Lizzy”—she was Mrs. Darcy, and desired to present herself as such to please her husband and impress the denizens of Derbyshire. Oh, the dilemma! It gave her a headache.

Lastly, Mr. Vernor had informed Darcy that Sir Cole had agreed to sanction the waltz for two dances this year. The scandalous Viennese dance had gained reserved favor last year when the Prince Regent had introduced it at a royal affair in the palace. The older members of society had suffered a collective case of apoplexy, but the younger elite had secretly applauded the Prince’s action. Outwardly they nodded sagacious agreement with their elders, yet the dance persisted in popping up throughout the cotillions and balls of the ton. Lizzy had frankly been shocked speechless to learn that her shy, priggish, and rigid husband had learned the dance years ago when touring Austria and practiced further two years ago while in Paris. Lizzy was ragingly jealous to imagine him dancing so intimately with another woman.

This intelligence had been disclosed to her four days after Christmas. They had all returned from one of their excursions into Lambton where, while the men dallied at the pub, Mr. Vernor had enlightened Darcy about the waltz. Resting in their sitting room for the afternoon, Darcy disclosed this information to Lizzy along with his experience in dancing the waltz and his great willingness to teach her if she wished it. Lizzy was dumbstruck, primarily at the idea of her husband knowing the notorious dance, but also at the concept of performing it herself. Darcy, she could easily tell, was quite enamored by the vision.

He gazed at her expectantly until finally she stammered, “You dance the waltz! But… you do not like to dance… any dance! How did you learn…” She blushed profusely. “With whom did you… I have heard it is so, so… intimate!” She was inexplicably furious and leapt from her chair with the probable intent of storming from the room, but Darcy grabbed her arm.

“Elizabeth, stop. You are being silly,” he began, but her angry face halted his words and he released her arm. With a final glare she did storm out of the room and into her dressing room, slamming the door with astonishing vigor. Darcy stood in the middle of the room in a welter of emotion. Anger, dismay, amusement, and bewilderment warred internally. With stunning clarity, he realized they had just had their first married fight and he was absolutely at a loss as to what to do. Well, a letter is out of the question, he thought with irony as he fell into his chair.