“I am relieved to hear it,” she said. Reaching down, she drew out a small package. “I have something for you,” she added, a bit shyly, as she handed it to him.

“For me?” he inquired, surprised.

“Yes, it is a… umm, replacement. When I left Lambton that day, I took something of yours with me that I never returned.”

“Besides my heart?” He smiled warmly at her.

“That I cannot replace, nor would I have any wish to do so! This is something much simpler.”

Opening the package, he discovered that it held a handkerchief, embroidered with his initials within a small circle of flowers. Elizabeth reached over and touched the flowers. “They are forget-me-nots and sweet williams,” she explained. “Do you remember that day we walked in the garden and spoke of flowers for each other?”

“Vividly.” He took her hand in his. “Thank you, my dearest. I shall treasure it, not least as a sign that you thought of me while we were apart. But you also left something behind in Lambton.”

“Besides my heart?”

He could not resist kissing her lingeringly. “Besides that.” From his pocket he produced a neatly folded handkerchief that she recognized as her own. “It has been my constant companion, and no, you may not have it back. I have grown quite fond of it.”

“Then it is yours, my love. You may have noticed that I chose to replace, and not return, yours. I think I shall put that under the category of those worldly goods with which you endowed me earlier.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow at her. “You are willing to accept the handkerchief, but not the house, the coach, or the finances?” he teased. “Will you always be this easy to please?”

“Quite likely, since the only thing I truly want is you, and have no need for your worldly goods. Although I might make an exception for the grounds at Pemberley, as I am looking forward to many long walks through them.”

“The handkerchief and the grounds at Pemberley? That seems a reasonable enough request. They are yours, along with my heart, and all my other worldly goods,” he said playfully. “So, would you like to hear about our London house or not?”

“I suppose I must, mustn’t I?”

“Let me see… it is about a block from the docks, a dark, drafty place. The roof leaks, and—” His teasing was interrupted in a most pleasant way.

“There is only one crucial thing I need to know about this terrible place,” said Elizabeth as she drew back. “How will the housekeeper respond to my presence?”

“Mrs. Adams? She will take one look at you and decide where you will fit in her extremely organized household, and I strongly suggest gracious submission on your part. Mrs. Reynolds at Pemberley at least allows the illusion that I am—or we are—in charge, but there is no question as to who runs the household in London.”

“I find it hard to picture you submitting graciously, Fitzwilliam!”

Hard to picture! What did she think he had been doing since he met her? Well, perhaps some of it involved submitting less than graciously. There were so many possible responses to her comment, nearly all of them provocative, and he knew full well where that would lead. Desire rose in him, and he briefly regretted sitting so close to her, but managed to stay still by sheer willpower. He had strict plans for his behavior on this particular day, and, in deference to his desire to retain some degree of sanity when they reached London, those plans did not include permitting any passionate interludes while they were alone in a coach for two hours. Finally he forced himself to say, “I know better than to argue with Mrs. Adams!”

She tilted her head to look up at him with a bewitching smile. “I shall look forward to seeing that.”

The temptation to kiss her was nearly overpowering. Sighing, he settled himself back for what was clearly going to seem like a very long journey.

*   *   *

Darcy’s townhouse did not disappoint; it demonstrated the same elegance and good taste which had characterized Pemberley. Elizabeth could still not quite credit that she would be living in such lovely homes, and felt disconcerted as she was greeted by each servant in turn—and there were so many of them!—as Mrs. Darcy. The alarming Mrs. Adams turned out to be a plump, motherly woman who greeted Darcy with obvious affection and welcomed Elizabeth warmly.

After a brief period of refreshment, Darcy took Elizabeth on a tour of the house to which she attended with great interest, though she was continually more distracted by thoughts of the night that lay ahead. She was not surprised to find an extensive and clearly well-used library; she could picture Darcy spending hours there. She paused in the dining room, where a portrait of a lovely woman bearing a distinct resemblance to Georgiana graced the wall over the mantle. She looked over her shoulder at Darcy. “Is that your mother?” she asked.

He came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. “Yes, that was painted shortly after she married my father. She would have liked you.”

“I wish I could have met her,” she said, leaning back against him. She relaxed in his arms, but Darcy’s response was far from relaxation—he had been suffering in silence quite long enough. He bent his head and began to press gentle, slow kisses on her exposed neck. She gasped, involuntarily arching her neck to allow him better access. She whispered his name with longing as he moved onward to explore the hollows of her shoulder. She felt a deep desire rise in her as he allowed his hands to caress her, and struggled to reach his lips with hers in an effort to gain some relief.

Their mouths met with a deep hunger, and Darcy pulled away sooner than she would have wished. She looked up into his eyes, dark with passion, as he released her and whispered, “Soon, my love, soon.”

Elizabeth blushed a fiery red at his acknowledgement of the night to come, unaware that he was thinking if he touched her for one minute longer, he would lose all his good intentions and carry her upstairs immediately.

God, but he loved making her want him! And he had plans to do a great deal more of it. Later.

Mrs. Adams materialized in the doorway, making Elizabeth wonder in embarrassment how long she might have been waiting for a decent moment to walk in. “Mrs. Darcy, I was wondering if you would like me to show you to your rooms so that you can refresh yourself before supper?”

Elizabeth consented, but was aware of a pair of dark eyes that followed her intently as she left.

*   *   *

Supper was a somewhat forced affair, with both Darcy and Elizabeth trying to keep a light conversation going while their minds were quite occupied elsewhere. Sudden pauses would occur, accompanied by a coloring of her cheeks, but for the most part they successfully talked of their plans for London and Pemberley with great perseverance. Afterward Darcy requested the pleasure of a song at the pianoforte, in which Elizabeth was happy to oblige him, not least because it provided an opportunity for distraction from her thoughts of what lay ahead. Shortly thereafter, she came to the conclusion that this period of waiting was only making her more nervous, and announced her intent to retire for the night.

She met her new maid, who assisted her in her preparations quietly and unobtrusively. Another thing to get used to, my own maid, she thought philosophically as she dressed herself in her silk nightgown and matching dressing gown, a gift from her aunt Gardiner for the occasion. As she brushed out her hair, she pondered Mrs. Gardiner’s other gift, a gentle but frank discussion of what this night would involve. It was rather difficult to picture, she decided, then recalled her aunt’s words—It may seem quite confusing, but remember, my dear, to trust your husband; he loves you and will be gentle. She was glad now she and Darcy had taken some liberties ahead of this day, so at least it would not all be foreign. Some of his kisses had led to startling enough effects on their own.

In the next room, Darcy was similarly preoccupied as he carefully reviewed in his mind his plans for the night. He had given the question of how to approach Elizabeth a great deal of thought—after all, it had been one of his favorite subjects for consideration for some time—and had concluded that his greatest challenge was to be patient and gentle when his every instinct was craving immediate satisfaction. He had been present over the years at enough late-night conversations at his club—not to mention a few carefully placed words of advice from Mr. Gardiner—to be aware that for a protected, gently bred young woman the wedding night offered potential for an unpleasant experience, and he was determined that his passionate and responsive Elizabeth should have no reason after this night to be any less passionate or responsive.

Taking his planning down to great detail, he had decided that it might be a little too disconcerting for Elizabeth to see him this first time in his nightshirt and robes. He had determined that he would approach her in his shirt and breeches, which might be less shocking.

Unfortunately, there was only so far that planning could take him, and then he had to face the uncertain realities of the situation. This is it, man, he told himself, this is what you have been waiting for these many months. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the adjoining door to her room and knocked lightly.

Hearing her soft voice bidding him enter, he opened the door to see her sitting at her vanity brushing out her hair. The sight of her in her nightclothes, her dark hair loose around her shoulders as he had so often imagined, nearly made him dizzy with desire at the thought of being alone with her and uninterrupted. He leaned a hand against the doorframe for support as he drank in the picture for a moment, then walked over to stand behind her chair, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders.