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“My dear Mr. Darcy,” said that gentleman’s wife to him.

“Yes, love?” he replied.

“May I see your watch, for I appear to have left mine behind?”

The gentleman obliged, handing her the timepiece that his father had once given him. He watched as she opened it and made a great show of carefully studying the placement of the hands.

“Can this be correct?” she cried. “Sir, are you quite certain that you have not forgotten to wind it?”

As any of his close friends and family would know, Fitzwilliam Darcy was a creature of habit.

Despite recent, significant changes in his personal life, he was as unlikely to forget this action as his various other morning ablutions.

And even then, his meticulous valet would have sooner thrown himself into the Thames than send his master out with an unwound clock.

Suspecting that a tease was forthcoming, Darcy nonetheless took back the watch and studied it for a moment. “I believe that it is quite correct, my dear. Are we late for some engagement of which I was unaware? I’d not realized our social calendar was so full, nor so regimented.”

At this, the lady’s amusement sparkled for a moment before she resumed her serious demeanor, for indeed, the couple had done little but please themselves for the last fortnight.

The housekeeper of Seacrest Manor had quickly learned that the newlyweds preferred to take breakfast in their rooms and so the servants left covered trays in the master suite’s private sitting room.

The couple served themselves, and it was not much whispered about that the maids occasionally found crumbs in the bed when they changed the linens later in the day.

Whenever the weather was fine (and it had been a particularly lovely autumn), the new Mr. and Mrs. Darcy took a picnic lunch and rambled far and wide along the coast. Such walking was certainly beneficial exercise, for the manor’s temporary master and mistress often retired to bed soon after enjoying Cook’s excellent dinners.

All of this flickered through Fitzwilliam’s mind as he returned his watch to its proper pocket and waited for his wife’s impertinent reply, the likes of which he was certain he would never tire.

“Well, sir, I am afraid I must inform you that, if your clock is correct, you have greatly neglected your husbandly duties, for it has been nearly two hours since you last kissed your wife.”

There could be only one correct response to such a statement, and for some minutes the picnic hamper lay on its side where Darcy had unceremoniously dropped it.

Once he was certain that his duty had been discharged thoroughly and to the great satisfaction of his wife, Fitzwilliam recollected the basket and, securing his lady’s hand, directed their steps once more toward a particular cliff where they had decided to dine.

After walking for some minutes in a dreamy silence, Elizabeth rested her head against his shoulder and sighed happily. “Must we leave this place for London? The last fortnight has been nothing short of idyllic…”

Darcy chuckled. “I’d planned to rely on you to convince me of the very great pleasures awaiting us in town, as you know that I’ve no great liking for the place.”

The lady favored him with an amused smile.

When they reached their picnic area, they spread their blanket by several boulders where they would be shielded from the wind but still have a superb view of the white-capped waves breaking onto the rocky beach below.

When her husband’s hand brushed hers, Elizabeth no longer blushed quite as hotly as she would have a fortnight before, but the tingle she felt at his touch was just as strong and had far greater meaning.

Darcy removed his coat and stretched out on the blanket, leaning back on his elbows and crossing his legs at the ankles while watching his wife unpack their lunch from the basket. For the first time in his life, he felt wholly content.

The bachelor he had been would have insisted that they adhere to the schedule as it had been planned, for, as he had once told Mr. Bingley, he did not consider precipitance to be a laudable trait.

However, since his marriage (and really, since the day that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had taken him to task for that very statement in his friend’s drawing room), he had found himself generally happy to accede to that lady’s wishes.

Choosing an apple and beginning to peel it with his pocketknife, he asked, “Shall we stay longer, then? I would need to write Michael Trevor to make certain he hasn’t made other plans for the house, but in truth I’d be very surprised if he has.”

Elizabeth shifted so that she could lean back against one of the boulders and run her fingers through her husband’s dark curls.

For a minute, she merely stared out over the ocean, enjoying the surge of joy that came with the thought of extending this time alone together, unfettered by the duties and demands that would surely intrude upon their lives when they rejoined the world.

Eventually, however, she sighed and answered honestly, “When I consider the logistics, I fear it would be more trouble than it’s worth, for it isn’t just the Viscount Hampden who would need to informed.

The Gardiners would be concerned if we did not call, and your household would have to be notified… ”

“ Our household,” Fitzwilliam corrected softly, reaching up to feed her a slice of apple.

The newly minted Mrs. Darcy blushed prettily at him. “I beg your pardon, sir— our household. You shall have to check all my letters to make certain that I do not sign them ‘Elizabeth Bennet ’ in a moment of absent-mindedness.”

At that, Will sat up, tossed his pocketknife into the basket, and turned to face her so that he might cup one cheek and draw her to him. “Gladly, and for the rest of our lives.”

It was some minutes before any conversation was resumed and even then Mrs. Darcy found herself in the happy position of being cradled against her husband’s chest. She sighed beatifically. “And the Fitzwilliams would have to be told, and Georgiana, of course.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Darcy’s mind had not travelled along a similar path to his wife’s and, indeed, was much more pleasantly engaged in activities that he had no desire to share with his baby sister, or any other relatives for that matter.

Elizabeth giggled and leaned far enough away that her husband was forced to cease feathering kisses along her shoulder…

for the moment. “I meant that we may as well return to town on Friday as planned, unless we care to take out an advertisement in the Times for all the people who would need to be notified if we changed our plans.”

“We would not need to pay for an advertisement—it would probably show up in the gossip columns through no effort of our own,” Fitzwilliam grumbled.

He had been extremely displeased to learn that his footmen had had to escort a newspaper artist out of the church during his wedding; a man sent up from London to sketch the newly married Mr. Darcy and his “country bride.”

Elizabeth only giggled and returned to her previous position. “Poor, poor Mr. Darcy… ‘tis such a trial to be so very rich and important.”

Darcy grumbled but she also could feel a chuckle rumble in his chest. He was still learning to be teased (and to tease in return), but even a few short weeks in her intimate company had leavened his cynical view of the world significantly.

He would never enjoy Society, but he was learning how to laugh at its antics rather than constantly condemn.

“And besides, I’m quite looking forward to seeing the gown that Madame Lavoisier is creating for me to wear at the Matlock ball.” Elizabeth attempted to look up at him with an innocent look but the mischievous sparkle in her eyes quite gave her away.

Darcy was no connoisseur of ladies’ fashions (although he had often noticed that the second eldest Miss Bennet had a simple, elegant style that complimented her natural handsomeness, quite in contrast to Miss Bingley and her ilk’s overly-ornamented ensembles).

However, he could certainly appreciate how his wife’s newer dresses enhanced her figure; the gown she had worn on their wedding day had left his mouth dry, and the simple silk sheath she had donned before meeting him on their first night as husband and wife had nearly stopped his heart altogether.

With a growl, Fitzwilliam tumbled her off his lap and onto the blanket, capturing both of her hands with his own so that he might nuzzle her neck unimpeded.

“It’s final, then… we shall go nowhere, for I have no desire to share you with anyone else, particularly all the men whom my aunt shall deem necessary to invite to her blasted ball. ”

It was some minutes before Lizzy could catch her breath long enough to inquire, “And my ball gown? If we miss the Matlock ball—which is being given in our honor, might I remind you—when shall I ever have the chance to wear it?”

Will whispered a suggestion in her ear that made her simultaneously blush and giggle, and nothing else was said for some time.