Page 78 of Christmases at Pemberley

February 11 th , 1813

Fitzwilliam Darcy opened his eyes and looked around carefully. It was early, perhaps still the middle of the night – but no, it must be close to seven o’clock, for the first hint of dawn was turning the darkness outside the great windows to dark gray. He could hear the winds howling and roaring, but Pemberley was well built and the room was, while chilly, not freezing, thanks to the faithful service of one of the maids, who crept in at six o’clock every morning to build up the fire.

He leaned back in his pillow and carefully stretched his limbs, then turned over to regard his beloved wife, who was curled up beside him. They shared a bed most nights, though Elizabeth, as mistress of the house, had her own bedchamber on the other side of their shared sitting room.

His eyes, now adjusted to the flickering light emanating from the fire, watched his beloved wife’s face as she slumbered peacefully. Elizabeth was expecting a child and thus her nights were often disturbed, so he was thankful that for now, she was able to rest.

A moment later, to his surprise, Mrs. Darcy’s eyes flew open.

“Fitzwilliam?” she asked sleepily.

“Yes, my love?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I woke a few minutes ago and was enjoying the opportunity to watch you when you were not bustling around at full speed.”

Elizabeth chuckled and stretched out one hand, which he eagerly took in his own. “I do not feel particularly energetic these days.”

“You are carrying our child, which is reason enough to be less active.”

“Mmmm, true,” she murmured back, and wiggled a little closer to him.

“Are you cold?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes…”

He shifted still closer to her and, with the ease of familiarity, Elizabeth rolled over and nestled against his tall frame.

“Better?”

“Much better,” his wife said softly. “It must be quite cold outside.”

“I am certain it is,” Darcy returned, his hand on her growing midsection where his child, their child, was growing and maturing.

“We will need to check on the Radcliffes,” she murmured drowsily.

“Their house is solid,” Darcy assured her, kissing her head. “I checked it myself, and it is better than it was before the fire.”

“What about their clothing, though?” Elizabeth continued, sounding more awake now. “I know that they have some clothing, but they lost so much in the fire, and they have a large family.”

“I will tell our steward to ensure that they have sufficient clothing and bedding,” Darcy answered in a soothing tone.

She released a soft hum of approval and then lapsed into silence, as Darcy lifted one hand to run his fingers through her hair.

“Do you know what day it is?” he asked a few minutes later.

Elizabeth tilted her head, obviously in thought, and then said, “The 11th of February?”

“Yes. Do you know why this date is significant?”

“No?”

“One year ago, we met one another by chance at Hookham’s Library.”

Elizabeth rolled over at these words and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on Darcy’s mouth.

“That was a blessed encounter,” she whispered.

“It was indeed.”

The End