Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites

by Linda Berdoll

  Once Darcy was satisfied with the comfort and warmth provided by three blankets laid upon the ground, he assisted Elizabeth from the carriage and nestled her snuggly, insisting on placing another blanket over her. It truly was not that cold, but he refused to take any chances that she might become ill. She was beginning to wonder if he would ever relax and thought that perhaps picnic had not been such a good idea after all. She appreciated his diligence regarding her well-being but could not prevent becoming annoyed.

  To cover her waspishness, she busied herself with the lunch. Mrs. Hamilton had packed provisions enough for four grown men, including a bottle of red wine. The day was simply too marvelous and Lizzy far too happy in general to remain cranky for long. She also had learned over the past weeks that Mr. Darcy was especially mellow after dining. Today was no different.

  They chatted as they ate. Conversation now came so easily to them that it was impossible to imagine that they had ever struggled so. The topics ranged widely from childhood memories to current events to family matters to literature to future plans and various points in between. By the time they had eaten their fill, Darcy was totally untroubled. He laid his head in her lap and read out loud from a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets while Elizabeth played with his hair, deliriously content merely to stare at his face and listen to his resonant voice.

  After a bit they decided to stroll. They held hands as they meandered, sometimes talking and sometimes silent. They encountered not a soul. It was as if they were the only two people in the world. When passing a large oak tree, Darcy halted, leaned against the trunk, and gathered Elizabeth into his arms. For some time he merely held her pressed tight to his chest. She experienced a profound sense of peace and protection. His warmth radiated out of him, stalwart arms strong about her body, cheek resting on the top of her head.

  In due course his soft lips traveled through her hair to her ear and then her neck, raining gentle kisses and sweet endearments along the way. He caressed her back through her coat, drawing her ever closer to him. Elizabeth gave in to the pleasure that his breath and touch elicited. How wonderful to be married so that they could freely allow their emotions to wash over them! Darcy allowed his hands to open her overcoat and travel deliciously about her curves. Lizzy did the same, pressing her body into his, feeling his arousal. Naturally there was a limit; both of them were cognizant that although they were not exactly in public, they were not in the privacy of their bedchamber. The precipice was reached when Darcy noted his hands, as if of their own accord, grasping and lifting her skirts at the same time that Lizzy untucked his shirt while running one delicate hand up his chest. Darcy groaned and knew he was at the edge of his endurance so they regretfully ceased, mutually deciding that, all things considered, it was time to return to the inn.

  They packed up in haste and drove as speedily as safety permitted. Darcy bordered on curtness in instructing the servant that they would be dining at seven o’clock and not to disturb them for the rest of the afternoon. He failed to notice the servant’s smile of understanding, nor would he have cared.

  The door to their room was barely latched before they were in each other’s arms, removing clothing as fast as humanly possible. Darcy’s jacket and waistcoat were easy enough for Lizzy to manage; the cravat was another matter. Lizzy’s fingers fumbled with what seemed like a dozen knots and twists, the process not aided by the fact that she was kissing his neck at the same time.

  Darcy was distracted by her lips and focused on removing the innumerable pins binding her lustrous hair, but he became aware of her struggles when a singularly frantic tug at his neckcloth choked him. They both laughed, and Darcy competently removed the offending cravat, giving her free reign to assault his neck while he returned to her hair. Her tresses finally unencumbered, Darcy was mesmerized momentarily by the sensation of her dense silky curls entwined in his fingers.

  He was snapped back to reality with a gasp at the sublime currents racing up his body as her hands moved under the shirt she had untucked. The sudden intense need to feel her skin rocked him, so his hands moved to her back and attacked the tiny buttons of her gown. The ever proficient and assured Mr. Darcy was at a loss with the tightly clasped and seemingly inexhaustible row of buttons. The urge to grab the neckline in his strong hands and rend it open forcefully was overwhelming.

  Thankfully, as Lizzy did not own that many dresses, prompt inspiration dawned and he moved behind her to see better what he was doing. This led to the added revelation and intoxication for them both of tracing warm kisses down her spine as each button was released. Lizzy bemoaned his absence and the emptiness of her hands but was quickly overcome with shivers of pleasure at his lips on her back. The rest of her clothing, all totally unique to him and rather fascinating, came off slowly as he endeavored to educate himself and also because he discovered the increased arousal they both experienced by prolonging the stimulation.

  Finally she was naked before him, trembling from desire, as he lightly traced long fingers over the sensitive skin of her back, waist, and buttocks. He had not yet seen her from this angle. She was beautiful and perfect. He kissed her bared flesh, familiarizing himself intimately with every inch of her backside.

  He turned her about in his arms and kissed her sweet mouth, savoring her taste, and teasing her lips. “I love you so completely, my Elizabeth, my wife,” he breathed. He gazed into her shining eyes. “You own me, do you know that, my love? I do not exist without you.” He kissed her deeply, letting her feel the extent of the arousal derived solely by his love for her.

  He removed his shirt in one swift motion and crushed her to his chest. He abruptly took a step toward the bed, Lizzy in his arms, but their feet tangled on the discarded clothing. They both lost their balance and fell onto the mattress, laughing. Darcy landed on his back, Lizzy sprawled on top of him, one elbow connecting forcefully with his nose. They both laughed hard, Darcy massaging his sore but otherwise undamaged nose.

  “William! I am so sorry,” Lizzy apologized, kissing his nose and face and everywhere else, and then proceeding to finish undressing him.

  It was a novel experience and more than a little enjoyable. They laughed as they fumbled with the strange clasps and buttons, taking another step along the road of discovery and comfortable unity in their relationship. The end result of their playful exertions was as one would expect.

  With colossal effort and regret, they left their bed with barely enough time to make themselves presentable for dinner. Maintaining etiquette and decency throughout the meal bordered on painful. Luckily, the room was empty most of the time so, between bites, they shared a few kisses and squeezes.

  The food was delicious. They ate heartily, both ravenous from the energy expended over the past hours. Darcy was mesmerized by his wife, every movement generating ripples of delight through his body. His need to touch her overwhelmed him. Breaking pieces of bread and fruit, he fed her, lingering on her lips and losing all awareness in her sparkling eyes.

  “William, your food is growing cold,” she teased, kissing his finger.

  He smiled, leaning to nuzzle behind her ear and briefly kissing. “I care not, beloved. Famished I may be, but touching you is preferable. For once your parents are not present to preclude me fulfilling the fantasy of displaying how even the simple act of eating enhances my desire for you.”

  Lizzy giggled, fingers covering her mouth. “Oh, William! The vision! I wish you had acted on your impulses then so I could see Mama’s face, if nothing else!”

  Darcy laughed, resuming his seat and picking up his fork. “As entertaining as that may have been, Elizabeth, your father would likely have strangled me. Curbing my inclinations was not always easy, but wise. Thankfully I no longer need to do so. Well, within reason, of course.”

  After dinner they took a stroll in the silent garden. Darcy talked about Pemberley. The plan was to depart fairly early in the morning since the journey home would take most of the day. Darcy was in a state of uncontrollable bliss that h
is Lizzy would finally be with him in his home… their home. It was a dream he had harbored in his aching heart for so many months that the reality was incredible. Lizzy was excited and anxious at the same time. With Darcy by her side, his strong arms around her, it was difficult to feel any apprehension. However, she could not completely erase the gnawing doubts of her competence as Mistress of an estate such as Pemberley.

  For now though, her emotions were captured by her husband. Her happiness was unlimited and her desire simply to be with him transcended any fears. Before too long they returned to their room, wishing to thoroughly enjoy the last night at this place which would forever be special to them. They made love again, slowly and reverently worshipping each other’s bodies before they fell into a deep, peace-filled sleep. Lizzy ached in muscles and places she had hardly known existed, but her love for this man who had so wholly consumed her soul surpassed any discomfort. They slept entwined, cuddling and warm.

  MRS. REYNOLDS, HOUSEKEEPER OF Pemberley in Derbyshire, was in a state of jubilant expectancy that she had not experienced since… well, she could not remember a day she had ever anticipated more!

  Sometime this afternoon her master, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, would return to Pemberley with his new bride. The entire staff had hoped and waited for the arrival of this day for years, but few of them fully grasped the inexplicable joy in this particular day, this particular union.

  Mrs. Reynolds considered herself one of the luckiest servants in all of England. At the age of two-and-thirty she had joined the staff at Pemberley, along with her husband who had been a groom. Pemberley had a reputation throughout the country as an ideal estate. The Darcy family had for generations managed their holdings with honesty and generosity. The former housekeeper had been Mrs. Reynolds’s aunt. When she began to feel old age creeping up on her, the Darcys had authorized her to recommend a replacement.

  Mrs. Reynolds had been employed as a still-maid at a manor in Gloucestershire and was content in her service; however, the opportunity for advancement, coupled with the sterling name of Pemberley, swayed her to accept the position. Any trepidation she might have felt vanished the moment she met Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. For the past twenty-four years she had served faithfully and with ever-increasing happiness.

  Over the years she had grown to love the family she tended to. She had watched Master Fitzwilliam mature into a fine young man and Miss Georgiana into a beautiful young woman. She thoroughly enjoyed her duties and was an excellent housekeeper. There had been tremendous hardships and grief along the way. The death of Lady Anne some eleven years ago and of the elder Mr. Darcy six years ago, not to mention the passing of her own husband three years ago, had begotten sorrow in her heart that she realized would never dissipate. Yet the affection she harbored for Pemberley and, more specifically, for the two young Darcys could not be more genuine or profound if they had been her own flesh and blood.

  It was this love that had made the past several years so emotionally tortuous. Master Fitzwilliam had from his youth been far too serious and intense, too reserved, and too apt to seek solitude. The burdens that had been thrust upon him at the tender age of two-and-twenty, along with his acute sorrow, had nearly overwhelmed him. If possible, he had retreated further into himself, laughed and smiled less, and erected a rigid shell about his heart. He only had a handful of true friends, including his sister whom he loved to distraction, yet even they often found his tendency toward surliness and bitterness difficult to comprehend or tolerate. Mrs. Reynolds had fretted and worried, but there was nothing she could do but pray.

  As Mr. Darcy settled into his role as Master of Pemberley, she had noted a loosening of his stern demeanor. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a loyal companion who would tease the Master and encourage him to socialize more. Also, his friendship with Mr. Charles Bingley was providential. Mr. Bingley was the polar opposite of Mr. Darcy and, by all outward appearances, the two should have loathed each other. Luckily their relationship had created its own path, and the two young men had formed an abiding bond of mutual affection. Mr. Bingley’s sunny, effervescent nature was a soothing balm to the frequently brooding Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Reynolds began to believe that her dear Mr. Darcy would break out of his self-imposed prison. Her sincerest hope was that he would find a young lady to mend and fill his aching heart.

  Then abruptly, that past April, Mr. Darcy had plunged into a dark pit of despondency and depression unlike anything Mrs. Reynolds had previously witnessed. It was not unlike the immense grief to which the former Mr. Darcy had succumbed when his wife had expired. There was no basis for young Mr. Darcy’s anguish, as far as she could ascertain. Eventually he did partially return to the world of the living, but a lingering pain in his blue eyes refused to lift.

  Until one glorious day in early September.

  Mrs. Reynolds remembered the day vividly, although it had initially dawned virtually identical to all other days. Mr. Darcy was in Town, not expected to return until the next day. Mrs. Reynolds had welcomed visitors to the manor, not a frequent occurrence, but one that happened often enough not to register as significant this time. The visitors, an older couple and their young niece, were polite and gracious.

  The niece seemed vaguely uncomfortable and nervous, but Mrs. Reynolds did not dwell on it overly. She executed her duty as tour guide with pleasure, being quite proud of the house and its furnishings. She recalled being a bit startled to discover that the young lady was acquainted with Mr. Darcy as she did not immediately strike Mrs. Reynolds as being in the same class with her master. However, as his personal affairs were for the most part outside her purview, she did not thoroughly ponder the situation.

  Toward the end of the tour, the niece became separated from the group. It could not have been more than fifteen minutes before she came bounding around the side of the house to where her aunt and uncle were standing by their carriage, expressing their thanks to Mrs. Reynolds. The lady, Lizzy her aunt called her, was extremely agitated. She insisted on walking back to Lambton, wringing her hands and shifting her feet the entire time she asked to do this. She kept glancing toward the house as if she feared something or someone was going to barge out of the front doors and attack her! It was most unusual. Mrs. Reynolds stood speechless, wishing she knew the root of the young woman’s distress, fearing greatly that something terrible had happened and wondering if she should inquire. In the end, Miss Lizzy left, nigh on running down the road toward the bridge.

  Mrs. Reynolds stood in the drive for a few minutes ruminating on the odd behavior of Miss Lizzy. She determined that she would ask the other servants if they had seen the young lady after she had been left behind in the gallery. She needed to guarantee that nothing untoward had occurred. She entered the foyer and ascended the stairs to the main floor, but before she could advance any farther than five feet, she was paralyzed with shock when Mr. Darcy, whom she was unaware was even home, fairly flew out of the parlor door. He was frantic, but his face was radiant and he wore the broadest grin. He skidded to a stop mere seconds before bowling her over.

  “Mrs. Reynolds,” he shouted breathlessly, “send word to the stables to resaddle Parsifal, immediately!” Without another word he dashed around the corner, heading toward the stairs leading to his chambers.

  She stood there with her mouth hanging open, only then aware that Miss Georgiana was standing in the doorway, also displaying a ridiculously bright smile. “Hurry, Mrs. Reynolds! Do as he asks and then come back and I shall tell you what is happening. Oh, it is the most wonderful thing!”

  The next month had been fraught with emotions and angst. Miss Georgiana had told her the whole sorry tale. That Mr. Darcy was head over heels in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet was an indisputable fact. What was not so clear was whether Miss Bennet was in love with him. Mrs. Reynolds adored her master and was initially vexed, assuming that any lady who had refused him once was unworthy of him. However, as the truth was revealed, she did understand and eventually recognized that Miss Bennet was precisely what Mr. Darcy
so urgently required to heal his wounded heart.

  Two months ago she and Miss Georgiana had at long last received the missives they had been longing for. Mr. Darcy’s ecstasy at Miss Elizabeth accepting his hand was uncontainable. Mrs. Reynolds had received hundreds of pieces of correspondence from her master over the years, but none remotely similar to the letters he now wrote. Why, she could remit them to a publisher for a book of romantic musings and poetry! Her heart was overflowing with joy.

  Mr. Darcy had been quite specific in his orders regarding the new Mistress. His mother’s chambers had been aired out and thoroughly scrubbed. Old furnishings had been removed. His plan was to allow Mrs. Darcy to redecorate the rooms at her leisure, so for now they needed only to be clean and comfortable. He had purchased several items that had been sent ahead, including a new bathing tub and washbasin, a new mattress, a stationery set for her desk, and an enormous painting of a landscape. All he had hinted was that the scene was special in some way and he wished it to be a surprise for his new bride. The painting was to be hung, he instructed, in her dressing room behind the vanity.

  He had entrusted Mrs. Reynolds to acquire any feminine objects that were essential and to stock the bathing room with the finest linens. Numerous odd packages had arrived from Mr. Darcy, trinkets, he told her, that he picked up here and there: various hair accoutrements, perfumes, ribbons, small pieces of jewelry, a musical snuffbox, robes with matching slippers, a set of silk handkerchiefs, several books, and other odds and ends. These she had carefully distributed as he instructed. The last touch was numerous vases of flowers randomly placed about the rooms, the largest a bouquet of white roses and lavender to be placed on the vanity.

  He also had detailed directives regarding his own bedchamber and private sitting room. They, too, were to be thoroughly cleaned. New bed linens and coverings of a lighter design than the dark colors he usually preferred were sent. Some of the more masculine furnishings were to be removed and exchanged with new pieces he purchased in Town or with specific objects from elsewhere in the manor. The small table was replaced with a larger one with two overstuffed chairs. The old rug, a remnant from when the rooms were his father’s, was discarded and replaced with a gorgeous Persian carpet of pale blues and golds. The overall effect was subtle; the rooms were already beautifully decorated, but the changes added an airiness that was altogether inviting.