Chapter Text
While it was tempting to escape the sweltering Derbyshire summers with a sojourn at the coast, in truth, neither Mr nor Mrs Darcy could be tempted to quit their home. Although Mr Darcy’s attachment to Pemberley was to be expected, his wife had a love for it that was as deep rooted as though she had herself been born and raised within the park itself. Though Elizabeth found Pemberley a truly dazzling prospect during any season, it was during the summer when the estate sparkled the most in her estimation. Perhaps such a preference could be traced back to the fact that her first impressions of her future home had been made on a particularly fateful August day several years prior; regardless, on any given summer day, Mrs Darcy would rather enjoy such fine weather at her magnificent Derbyshire home than anywhere else.
Ahead of the arrival of the Gardiners, and their gaggle of growing children, who would shortly be warmly welcomed to Pemberley, the Darcys were determined to make the most of their final day of peace before they would be engaged in entertaining their venerable guests. It was not that Elizabeth and Mr Darcy resented sharing Pemberley with others, but the children–though exceedingly well-mannered–were inevitably a whirlwind of chaotic energy that tore through the place; still, the young Gardiners provided excellent company for the Darcy brood. But this welcome diversion for the children was not the sole reason that the Gardiners’ presence was so welcomed at Pemberley. No, neither Darcy nor Elizabeth could ever forget how instrumental her beloved aunt and uncle had been in uniting them, and both were always keen to show their appreciation for the happiness that Elizabeth being brought into Derbyshire on that fateful trip all those years ago had occasioned them ever since.
Naturally, as it did on any summer day such as this, Elizabeth’s mind roamed back to that consequential day. Though she had enjoyed so many years of health and happiness with her beloved Mr Darcy, the remarkability of the fact that she was fortunate enough to experience such felicity with the last man that she would, at one time, have ever expected to was hardly lost upon her. Even now, as she found herself nestled against him, with the remnants of a much-enjoyed picnic strewn on the rug they had thereafter stretched out upon to laze away the remains of the day, a certain ethereal quality lingered in the air. That she had once been so decided against even visiting Pemberley made the fact that she was its mistress all the more incredible.
As her cheek rested upon the warm expanse of her husband’s broad chest, Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath, intent upon savouring every aspect of this moment. From the leaves rustling in the tall trees above; to the faint sounds of the birds chirping and singing; to the river swooshing on its course through the valley from somewhere further still; Elizabeth committed every sound to memory. Then she paid attention to the sounds yet closer; the light, even sounds emanating from her husband’s nose and mouth, which indicated that Mr Darcy had indeed–as she had suspected–dozed off; to the thud of his heart from somewhere deep within his chest. A steady, certain sound that was as dependable as the man himself.
‘Fitzwilliam?’ called Elizabeth.
The only reply Mr Darcy was capable of extending to his wife, in his present dozy state–as he lingered between wakefulness and sleep–was a coarse grunt, and a ‘hm?’
‘You are getting to be quite an old man. All we have done today is enjoyed a gentle stroll and indulged in a picnic. Yet, you cannot keep your eyes open!’
The quip about the lateness of the hour the previous night, when she had finally left him alone long enough to drift off, with her safely tucked in his arms, died upon his lips. For Elizabeth soon spoke the three words that never failed to draw a reaction from him:
‘It is fortunate that I love you, though you are turning into quite an old man.’
Elizabeth could have sworn that, at the very moment she affirmed her love for him, Mr Darcy’s heart suddenly thundered rather violently in his chest. Was it possible that his heart really did beat faster for her?
‘Oh no! Are you now so aged that your ears have begun to fail you?’ remarked Elizabeth mirthfully. ‘I said… I love you,’ she repeated, and definitely heard the pace of his heartbeat increase.
Quite puzzled by her determination to repeat the three words–though no less eager to hear them spoken in her lovely voice–Darcy was none the wiser that Elizabeth was beginning to uncover the power over his heart that she wielded. Dutiful husband that he was, he replied: ‘No, indeed I quite comprehend you. You know I love you too, darling.’
Elizabeth’s wit had always been quick. Under the guise of continuing to tease him, she next reached for Mr Darcy’s hand and joked that it would soon begin to wrinkle like an improperly cared for gown of muslin. And when she assured him that she would love him anyway, as her lips placed a gentle kiss upon his wrist, Elizabeth felt his pulse there quicken, just as she had felt it against his chest. Moments later, when she had finished speaking, it once again slowed.
Darcy, for his part, remained rather perplexed by his wife’s comments about his advancing age. It was true that his fortieth year did now approach with a lot more haste than he would prefer, but he was reasonably sure that he remained virile enough to please her—certainly if last night was any indication. So distracted was he, that he scarcely noticed Elizabeth move to pepper his jaw with light kisses, before she moved her attention to his neck.
‘I love you,’ whispered Elizabeth again against the pulse her lips had quickly detected there. She promptly felt his pulse quicken against her skin. No, she was not mistaken. His heartbeat did increase when she said those words.
Elizabeth chuckled, for as much as she was touched, she was deeply amused by the notion that she exerted such influence over a man she had once been so determined to despise.
‘What on earth is the matter with you today?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Elizabeth,’ said Darcy, in such an exasperated manner that Elizabeth found exceedingly pleasing, for she knew that she had succeeded in teasing him.
‘Oh, ’tis nothing, really,’ she sighed. But Darcy was not impressed with her evasiveness and her desire to keep teasing him. That much was evident, due to the dark look in his eyes. So, she decided upon a merciful approach, and promptly put him out of his misery: ‘Only, that I fear your heart appears determined to beat out of your chest whenever I affirm my love for you.’
Darcy chuckled, and shook his head at her antics. Delightful, teasing creature!
‘Then, perhaps you should say those words again, and properly feel my heartbeat this time, instead of resorting to your tricks,’ entreated Darcy, as he moved Elizabeth’s hand and rested her palm upon his chest.
‘I will gladly say it ad finitum,’ chuckled Elizabeth.
Though she would indeed repeat that phrase often throughout her life, for the present, a single utterance of those three words was enough to confirm her suspicions. Though Mr Darcy assured her that her words did have an impact upon him, he reassured her that he intended to keep his heart firmly within the walls of his chest, so that they could enjoy many more happy years together.
Mr Darcy never quite lived down the teasing he received from his wife upon her gaining such knowledge. His own treacherous heart had betrayed him, in illuminating the depth of his devotion. Though if he were ever in need of ammunition to weaponise against Elizabeth in retaliation, he certainly had it; for whenever Darcy declared his love, her cheeks would glow in a manner that brought to mind her appearance that morning at Netherfield when she had walked three miles through the dirt to visit her ailing sister.
Though such a scene in the breakfast-parlour of Netherfield now seemed so long ago, Mr Darcy was just as much in love with Elizabeth as he had been then—though now his admiration boasted a genuine foundation. Rather than boasting merely a superficial attraction, he deeply adored her for many reasons, including for her wit, even though he had been on the receiving end of her teasing remarks on too many occasions to count. Even so, he could not imagine how dull his life would have been without her. Mr Darcy would never stop being thankful that he was privileged enough to tell Elizabeth that he loved her. And to hear those three words reciprocated by such a remarkable woman… well, who could reasonably blame Mr Darcy for the nature of his reaction?