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Darcy's favourite part of the day is the morning.
Before he married Elizabeth, he would always wake up with the sunlight in his eyes; a manservant would have already opened all the curtains. And that is exactly what he wants. He has tasks to see to, being the master of Pemberley. The brightness is conducive to alertness.
Now, the servants know not to disturb the Darcys. No one even knocks on their bedroom door.
Slivers of light peek out from dark green curtains. The whole room has a hazy, sleepy effect.
Darcy is usually the first to wake. He shifts lazily, thinking he should get ready for the day. But then Elizabeth mumbles breathily, snuggles closer against him, and tucks her face into the space between his neck and shoulder. A few of her brown curls spill against Darcy's chest. He dutifully, and with no little gladness, abandons all thought of getting up and lays back down. Elizabeth sighs a sigh of satisfaction and attempts to nestle closer to him. She fails in her half-conscious objective because she is already pressed as close to him as possible.
When Elizabeth blinks sleep away, she halfheartedly chastises Darcy for not waking her. "I do not want to keep you from your day," she says. He smiles and sits up slowly, savouring the moment. The streaks of morning light illuminates Elizabeth's face in a strange, dreamy way. She laughs at his hair, which is always a little mussed from a night of tossing and turning. Then she sits beside Darcy and buries her head in his hair while stroking his cheek.
Elizabeth kneels with her legs tangled in between Darcy's. The light now shines on Elizabeth's hair. Darcy says it is his turn to mess up her hair and runs his hand through it. Elizabeth says it is not fair that her hair looks like an absolutely haggard fright, sticking out at all angles, while his looks as immaculate and handsome as ever. Darcy demurs on her behalf, though her observation really is true. They are so close, their noses are brushing. Elizabeth kisses him- a quick, chaste kiss, because they don't want to make it any harder than it already is for them to get up and out of bed.
They stay like that for a while, though: sitting on the bed, her in his lap, eyes locked, faces mere inches apart, his arms around her waist, her legs around his waist.
Elizabeth sighs melodramatically and mournfully and says she fears they must carry on with their day. Darcy asks- almost pleads, "One more minute?" But Elizabeth shakes her head. Darcy knows it's for their own benefit. One more minute will turn into one more hour before they know it.
Then Elizabeth is going to her dressing room, Darcy is ringing for his valet, and they resignedly wait to meet at breakfast.