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12th December 1812, Thursday

"You have just woken up?" Darcy asked Elizabeth as the both of them exited her father's library. Elizabeth's colour was high, and Darcy had little doubt that she was thinking about this morning, and how he had seen her in a less than decent state to say the least.

"Yes, I slept rather ill last night. I suppose I was too excited.” She gave him a self-conscious little smile, "I only really fell asleep sometime before dawn.

Only my mother's loud declarations of your arrival woke me, and before I knew it, I was at the window, wanting to see you for myself." Lizzy bit her lip, then gave him a contrite look, "Forgive me. I must have looked horrid."

"You were enchanting." Darcy contradicted softly and Lizzy's face softened at his quiet but heartfelt tone. There was a look of wonderment and pleasant surprise in her eyes as she gazed up at the taller gentleman and Darcy could not believe he had ever thought she had been trying to garner his good opinion and admiration with her teases and charming impertinence when this is what an admiring Elizabeth Bennet looked like.

"It is very unfair of you to say such things, Sir. And that too just before you leave." She gave him a tremulous smile, "You are making it infinitely harder for me to have to watch you go, Mr Darcy. "

And well- when she looked at him like that, and spoke to him like that, Darcy found himself unable to care about where he was or who might catch sight of them. He took Elizabeth's hand and placed a kiss upon it. And when she gave him a shy smile, coquettishly looking up at him through her lashes, he found that a kiss on the hand was not nearly enough and with the same hand tugged her closer into an embrace.

He fancied he felt her sigh blissfully against his chest, and her arms wrapped around his waist, her lithe, long, pianist fingers clutching at the back of his frock coat.

For a long moment, time stood still, and Darcy imagined having this for the rest of his life. The idea of it almost took his breath away, and he adjusted them slightly to place a kiss on his beloved's hair.

Then, he heard tittering.

It was quiet at first, but enough for the couple to stiffen in each other's arms. A loud, unlady like snort followed and the both of them pulled away as if they had been burned. Darcy looked up from where the noise had come from, only to see all the Bennet ladies peering down at them from the upstairs bannister. The eldest Miss Bennet's eyes were as wide as a saucer, her cheeks an embarrassed red, Miss Mary was frowning at them disapprovingly, while the youngest two were giggling shamelessly now, occasionally making kissy faces at each other. Mrs Bennet's eyes were gleeful and victorious. She looked very much like a cat who'd eaten the canary.

Darcy flushed at the audience, but they were his family now, and as vulgar as they were, all of them (except maybe Miss Mary (who really did look very disapproving) seemed very happy about the match. He gave them all a stiff bow in greeting, which seemed to unleash even more of their merriment,

"La! Jane, Look! I've never seen Lizzy so red!" Lydia giggled .

"Or Mr Darcy act so rakish ! Did you see how he just pulled Lizzy into him, mama? Oh! It was so romantic !" Kitty gasped, then promptly pretended to swoon into her younger sister's open arms.

Mary scowled, "A couple not married should not be taking such liberties with each other. Especially not in a place so public."

Mrs Bennet disregarded her plainest daughter with a flick of her hand, “Oh! Do be quiet, Mary! Mrs Darcy! Oh, how well that sounds! Lizzy, I knew you could not be so clever for nothing!"

─── ※ ·?· ※ ───

It took some fifteen minutes for all the hubbub at Longbourn to die down. Congratulations were offered, goodbyes were exchanged, and an invitation to dinner at Longbourn was issued for whenever the gentleman returned from his errands.

By nine o'clock, Elizabeth and Darcy were walking out of the house. A stable hand was bringing over Darcy's horse, though the dark stallion was fidgeting a bit much against its reins,

"Easy, Bubbles." Darcy called out sternly and the horse, after a moment, complied. Darcy turned back to his intended, only to see her eyes bright with mirth. He raised a silent brow in question,

"You have named your very tall, very intimidating, very dark horse 'bubbles', sir?" She teased him ,

Darcy rolled his eyes even as he smiled a little embarrassedly, "The creature's name was originally to be 'Beelzebub'. I had only just started Eton when my father gifted him to me. I was young, and the idea of naming such a large, dark beast after the devil himself had appealed to me. But then Georgiana was born, and my sister is very fond of horses. Even as a little child, she spent most of her time in the stables. The name 'Beelzebub' was perhaps a tad too complicated for her then, and so she called the beast 'Bubbles' instead and the name has stuck."

Elizabeth laughed even as she marvelled at Darcy's affection and his condescension towards his little sister. Her only experience with brothers had come from the interactions she had witnessed between the Lucas siblings, and while she is sure those men would do anything for their sisters now , as children, all they'd done was bully and bicker with each other. Perhaps it was because Miss Darcy was so much younger than her brother, but Mr Darcy's love for her almost felt paternal. He would be a good father, she thought, He would strike the perfect balance between severity and indulgence.

"Elizabeth?" Darcy called,

Elizabeth flushed. She had gotten quite stupidly lost in her daydreams. She gave Darcy a chagrined smile, "Forgive me, I was not attending."

"Ah." Darcy grinned, intending to tease, "I see I have already begun to bore you, madam. It does not say much for our future felicity. ”

Elizabeth laughed, “Not at all, sir. If there is one thing in the world I am convinced of, it is our marital felicity. I could spend a million lifetimes with you without repining a second."

Her words had the effect of making him quite speechless, she could tell, for he let out a shaky exhale, and instead of trying to convey his thoughts verbally, He stepped closer, cradled her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead .

"If I was a poet, I would write you a sonnet in farewell." He whispered against her heated skin before pulling back. Caressing her cheek, he tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, "As it is, I must content myself with saying, God bless you, dearest Elizabeth.”

He took a step back towards his horse, and then two more. His eyes were still settled on her face, and though Elizabeth wished to cry, she gathered every bit of courage in her soul to present him with her brightest, widest, most beatific smile,

" Au revoir , Fitzwilliam."

16th December 1812, Monday

The journey to Matlock had been both tedious and exhausting. He had made it to London on horseback and from there, had travelled the rest of the way in his carriage. He wanted to see Richard as soon as possible. Really, for the past eight and twenty years, that man had been like a brother to him. As close as Georgiana and in some ways even closer.

When Richard had been three and twenty and had decided against law and the church to instead make his living in the army, Darcy had been fearful for his safety. It did not help that Britain had just ended the Treaty of Amiens and declared war on France. Nothing and nobody could persuade the Earl’s second son from wanting to serve the country, and though immensely proud of his cousin, there were many times Darcy had wished Richard was a little less brave.

The Earl of Matlock was proud of his son. Less because of Richard’s patriotism and bravery and more because of the prominence and acclaim that that bravery brought him amongst his peers in the house of commons. David Fitzwilliam was not a bad father per se. He was not cruel or dismissive towards Richard, but he did give quite a bit of consequence to rank and prestige. As his first son and heir, Richard’s older brother Carlson was the Earl’s priority. Richard, as the second son, did not bring much to the Fitzwilliam name by himself. Richard needed to make something of himself if he wanted to be treated seriously. It was just the way of the world for the second sons of the Earl.

Elenor Fitzwilliam was different. Though from a well connected and affluent family herself, her love for her youngest and most favourite son made her softer towards those with a lower rank. She did not socialise much with those outside of her circle, but she did not turn her nose up at them either. Whatever affection Richard might have felt lacking from his father, his mother provided in abundance. She had been just as devastated as Darcy at Richard’s decision, if not more. Not only was he a second son, but Richard was also the youngest of his family. Aunt Elenor had a special place in her heart for him.

And now he was back after months of no word, and he was injured. Hopefully, a broken wrist, while not much impeding his everyday life, would make it impossible for him to return to the battlefield. God knew Darcy had enough estates in his name that giving over one to his brother would not be a hardship of any sort. But Richard had his pride. Hopefully, this incident will not give him much of a choice in the matter.

It took Darcy four days to reach Matlock. When he did, the earl and his wife were waiting for him at the entrance. Darcy stepped out of the carriage, and immediately disregarding propriety, Aunt Elenor ran down at the stone steps and enveloped her nephew in a hug, laughing softly even as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Darcy!”

“Aunt.” Darcy hugged her back tightly for a moment, then pulled away, “How is he?”

Elenor Fitzwilliam sniffled, trying to compose herself, “Awake. He’s been awake for a little over an hour. It’s the longest he’s been awake since he got here.” She gave Darcy a warm, loving, affectionate smile, “He asked for you. ”

Darcy’s throat hurt, the backs of his eyes burning in an effort to not cry. Such a display would be unseemly in front of anybody, but especially in front of the earl. Even more so because the occasion was a happy one. Darcy nodded, unable to say anything, and pressed his aunt’s arm fondly before climbing up the stairs to greet his uncle,

“Darcy. It is good you are here.” the Earl clapped his arm, and despite a lack of a relationship with his second son, his eyes were shining, his lips trembling ever so slightly as he maintained a congenial smile, “Come, my boy. Your rooms have been prepared and Elenor has ordered a bath.”

“I’d like to see Richard first, uncle.” Darcy replied, shrugging off his great coat and handing it off to one of the footmen standing inside the entrance. He did not wait for an answer, immediately making for the imperial staircase that led on to the upper floor where the family wings resided. Darcy knew the Matlock estate almost as well as he knew Pemberley. Having spent many a summer running around its many hallways and secret passages as a child, with his two older cousins in hot pursuit as they raced each other, Darcy had spent the better part of his childhood inside of these stone walls.

Richard’s rooms too, were almost as familiar to him as his own. Heavy dark oak furniture complimented the gold embroidered cream wallpaper and deep red draperies, a large four poster bed was placed such that it got much of the sun during the morning hours when the windows were open to let it in. Richard was sitting on the bed now, the sunlight shining on his dark hair and bringing attention to the reddish hue in his strands. He was awake, his eyes studying his left hand very intensely.

“Richard.” Darcy breathed, relieved and elated and the other man looked up, his face splitting in a grin at the sight of his favourite cousin,

“Darcy! ”

Fitzwilliam was a name they shared. It was Richard’s family name and Darcy’s first and could get very confusing very easily even amongst themselves, and so early on in their childhood, they had decided that neither of them would use it for the other. It had the corollary of the colonel having to address his best friend in a manner that was more formal than he would like, but he figured he would make up for it by teasing his cousin in that way Darcy seemed to allow only him.

Darcy grinned back, then marched over to his friend,

“Richard! Lord, it is bloody good to see your face!” Darcy laughed even as his cousin reached out his right hand and he grabbed it warmly by his left. The two hugged in a manner that was much too manly to be called a hug before pulling away. This close, Darcy could see the signs of fatigue on his friend’s face. The haggard lines on his forehead, the darkness under his eyes, the sunken cheeks and the sideburns sparsely stripped with grey. He also had scars and scratches along his otherwise clear skin that Darcy could only presume one acquired by spending an inordinate amount of time in trenches and among debris. Darcy’s smile slipped, only slightly.

“You gave us all a fright, my friend.” Darcy told him warmly, “We did not hear from you for months.”

Richard grimaced, “Not going to lie, I gave myself a fright there.” Ever since the day he had fallen off his horse, Richard had had the same dream every night. If he had fallen a moment too soon or a moment too late or a little to the right, that Marwari would’ve crushed the bones in his chest instead of just breaking his leg.

Darcy frowned, his concern overshadowing any joy he had been showing only moments before, “How are your injuries? Your mother wrote that your leg had set well? ”

“Aye.” Richard patted his left thigh gingerly, “ ‘Tis almost as good as new. But I will have a hell of a time trying to get it back in shape enough for me to walk any significant distance.”

Darcy nodded, “And the wrist?”

Now, Richard scowled. Raising his hand, he once again glared at the offending appendage, “The bone has healed.” He muttered under gritted teeth, “But I can’t bloody move a finger.”