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Lizzy burst into giggles at the thought of her serious, upstanding husband in a sailors’ ink shop.

She leaned over so that she might rest her chin on his chest and ran a fingernail around the edges of the wax.

“And then, whenever we are at a party and some other lady flirts with you, I shall have only to step up and rip open your shirt to show that you belong to me!”

After his deep chuckle joined her laughter for some minutes, Lizzy found herself rolled onto her back, her husband covering the full length of her body and his face inches from her own.

“You are branded on my heart, my dearest, loveliest Liz. A heart that was never touched before and which is now and will always be yours alone, for the rest of our lives.”

After kissing him as warmly as such a sentiment surely deserved, Elizabeth let her head fall back against the pillow. “I suppose I am fretting a bit over the Matlock ball,” she confessed softly as her finger played with the one unruly curl that always fell across his forehead.

Darcy wrinkled his brow. “I was out in Society for nearly ten years, but you are the only one I have ever wished to marry… surely you are not concerned that…”

“Oh, no, not that!” said Lizzy quickly, realizing that he had not followed line of thinking. “I have no concerns about you .”

Fitzwilliam was reassured by the surprise on her face, for it would have hurt him if she had doubted his devotion.

“I only meant that, though you know all the personalities who will be attending, I do not. I was thinking on it this morning; I can navigate Meryton society without any apprehension because I know who dislikes who, what topics to avoid in conversation, who is likely to be unpleasant through no fault of my own, and so forth. This shall be entire roomfuls of strangers…”

Understanding, Will kissed her pert nose. “And neither of us perform well to strangers.”

Elizabeth smiled, as he had intended her to, but when he went on to reassure her that he would not leave her side throughout the night, her expression became serious again and she shook her head. “I appreciate the sentiment, Will, but you know it is not possible for you to be always by me.”

She kissed his chin, trying to soothe his concern. “I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill… I’m sure to have met a least a few of the ladies when I helped Aunt Gardiner and Mrs. Watson with their various charity work over the years.”

“The people who put significant time into charity work are not usually the ones whom you must be wary of at a ball,” muttered Fitzwilliam, not at all reassured.

“Hmmm… you might be surprised. Besides, those whom I have already met do not worry me so much… I suppose my greatest fear is that I will mistake someone terribly important and make some horrible faux pas .” Suddenly Elizabeth brightened and tapped his chest with a finger to gain his full attention.

“Perhaps I will have a chat with your Aunt Eleanor—we need to review the guest list anyway.”

Darcy nodded slowly; it was an excellent idea, for certainly the Countess of Matlock could advise Elizabeth on the array of personalities attending the ball better than himself.

Suddenly he recalled a note he had read earlier and set aside.

“Actually, she may have thought of it already. I received a message from the Earl earlier, asking if we plan to attend services at St. George’s in the morning and inviting us for Sunday dinner at Matlock House. ”

Elizabeth studied him for a moment. “You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic about the idea.”

He shrugged. “Georgiana and I usually attend the early service at Grosvenor Chapel over on South Audley Street. St. George’s is quite…”

“Large?”

His pained look made her giggle. “I was about to say crowded, but both are true, I suppose. As the chapel-at-ease, Grosvenor is considered small and… well, less showy than St. George’s. ‘Tis a mix of gentry and tradesmen and so forth. I suppose we prefer it because it reminds us of Lambton.”

Elizabeth grinned. “Quite a liberal sentiment, Mr. Darcy.”

“The chapel also has a history of attracting some of the most promising theological students as curates, so the sermons are generally of a very high standard.”

“And at St. George’s?”

Not liking to criticize a member of the clergy, Darcy paused and chose his words carefully; “The rector there holds several livings, but he makes a point of taking the pulpit when the church is… full.” Seeing her raised eyebrow, he shut his eyes and finally admitted, “Mr. Poole is rather more concerned with his place in Society than I generally like to see in a cleric.”

“Ah, well… take comfort that at least he is not Mr. Collins.”

“Thank heavens!” muttered Fitzwilliam fervently, truly appalled by such a thought.

When their amusement quieted, Lizzy suggested, “As my preferences are much like your own, I expect that I shall prefer the chapel as well. However, I suspect that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy should make at least one appearance at St. George’s while we are in town.

Let us accept your uncle’s invitation and make a day of it, shall we? ”

Fitzwilliam grunted. “A very reasonable suggestion, but I would still prefer to attend the early service at the chapel.”

“And so we shall… next Sunday.”

Once Darcy had been convinced, his mind returned to his relations. “Now that I think on it, I’m surprised that Aunt Eleanor has not already volunteered to…” He trailed off, not quite certain how to phrase his thought without raising the specter of the Bennets’ lower social position.

“Educate your new wife?” Elizabeth smiled, although her expression was not quite as carefree as before.

“She has indeed indicated that she would be glad to help me prepare for the Season next spring—my presentation at court and so forth—it shall all work out quite nicely with Georgiana coming out at the same time.”

She giggled at the grimace that always creased Darcy’s face whenever the subject of his baby sister’s debut was raised. This time he responded with kisses. “I… do not… want… to think… about that… right… now…”

The cook was rather irked when the master and mistress were late coming down for dinner, causing the sauce to simmer longer than it should and the bird to be slightly dry.

However, their excellent spirits and the enthusiastic compliments on the meal that were carried down to the kitchen along with empty plates and did a great deal to smooth her ruffled feathers.

The next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy did indeed garner considerable attention when they descended from their carriage in front of St. George’s Cathedral.

Elizabeth was amused to see many of the ladies dressed as if for a grand ball; had the Darcy family’s pew not been so close to the front, their view of the pulpit might have been entirely hidden by the feathers.

As Fitzwilliam had predicted, the service was theologically sound but uninspired.

Even so, Elizabeth was pleased when the congregation was called upon to sing one of her favorite hymns, and several of the more devout in the audience noted approvingly that neither of the Darcys required their hymnal.

When the service finally concluded, Mr. Darcy prepared himself to brave the crowd, guessing correctly that a seething curiosity over his bride had spread like fire through the congregation.

His skin fairly crawled from the sensation of a thousand eyes staring at him and his visage was as stony as any in London had ever seen it.

Stony, that was, until a certain young lady touched his arm and whispered something in his ear that no one else could hear.

Mr. Darcy did not exactly smile, but a dozen minute changes softened his expression such that the affection he felt for his wife was obvious to any who cared to look.

Before he could do more than squeeze her hand and tuck it around his arm, however, his Fitzwilliam relations were upon them.

“Darcy, Elizabeth… capital, capital! Excellent to see you both!” boomed the Earl of Matlock sincerely, although he already had one eye down the aisle on a political crony to whom he wished to speak.

He was rapidly replaced by the Countess, whose greetings were equally genuine but rather more focused.

Lady Eleanor was very pleased to see her nephew looking so well and the happiness that the couple shared was immediately clear.

With her husband’s heir married to a lady for whom Eleanor had little liking and her younger son showing no signs of resigning his bachelor status, the marriage of her favorite nephew to a charming, intelligent young lady pleased her no end.

The Countess of Matlock was determined to bring her considerable power to bear in making certain that the new Mrs. Darcy was a great success in Society.

“Elizabeth, my dear… has Darcy introduced you to Mr. Poole, yet?” Wh en the younger woman admitted that he had not, Lady Eleanor nodded decisively. “Well then, let’s get that over with and then we can leave. Darcy—come along, nephew.”

Fitzwilliam dutifully detached himself from his cousins and escorted his wife and aunt to meet the cleric. This was not difficult as that man was already making his way toward them.

Thomas Poole was an earnest gentleman in his thirties.

He had taken orders because that was what second sons in his family did, and he took the advancements offered because of his connections as his due.

He performed his clerical duties conscientiously if without any great enthusiasm, and if some wealthy heiress were to grant him the honor of her hand and alter his place in the world, he would not regret it in the least.