Fitzwilliam Darcy awoke to cold room and an empty bed. A stroke of fear for his new wife had him leaping out of bed in only his nightclothes, surveying the darkened room. The panic that had arisen at the thought that he had dreamt it all- finding Elizabeth again and marrying her- died upon seeing her silhouette on the balcony bathed in moonlight.
He joined her outside, offering her a nervous smile.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she explains.
“Would you like to walk, Lizzie?” Dary offered a hand to his wife, who took it with a brilliant smile.
They walked out into the Gardens of Darcy’s childhood home. The early morning mist formed dew droplets on the grass that dampened the soles of their bare feet. The couple didn’t speak as they walked to the edge of Pemberley, watching as the sky lightened above them. “Your hands are still cold, Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy smiled. He hadn’t even noticed, not with the warmth of her fingers clasped between his own.
* * *
“Where would you like to go today, my pearl?” Darcy’s quiet voice interrupted Lizzie’s thoughts as she spooned porridge into her mouth. Lizzie smiled warmly at his words.
“If you don’t mind, Fitz, I’’d like to visit Jane and Charles after mass.”
“Of course, my pearl. I’ll notify the staff that we’ll leave after lunch.” Mr. Darcy stood, pushing back his chair. A warm rush of feeling suffused Lizzie again at the mention of her new nickname, which was to be used only on Sundays.
She had never thought she’d be this happy with her husband, or this in love ever in her life. Lizzie could only thank the stars above for her wonderful husband, who took the time to call her the endearments which she had mentioned on their wedding night.
Lizzie was lucky, indeed.
* * *
Both Darcy and Lizzie relaxed back upon the bed, skin still tingling from their coupling only moments before. Darcy raised his head to look upon the face of his wife, still flushed and pink and trembling from the high.
The thought entered his thoughts all at once and escaped him in a rush of breath.
Lizzie turned to look down at him, collapsed in a boneless heap next to her. A satisfied smile played upon her features.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
Darcy raised his arm, cradled her cheek and brought himself closer to her. Her eyes fluttered shut as he lowered his lips to her neck, pressing soft kisses against her skin. His lips traced the skin up to her mouth, leaving a swift kiss upon them.
Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered, “My Goddess Divine.”
Lizzie pressed her lips to his once more.
* * *
The cavernous halls of Pemberley were filled with the screams of it’s Lady. Female servants were rushing in and out of the Master Bedroom, from which the screams were echoing. Chaos ensued within the room as women hustled linen and water to and from the Doctor, perched at the end of the bed and from Jane Bingley, poised next to her screaming sister. Most of the disorder was from the rapidly pacing Mr. Darcy, who despite recommendations he stay away from the house altogether, would not move from his wife’s side. He snapped irritably at any servant he deemed too incapable to care for his Lizzie, spreading panic upon the workers as he did so at nearly all of them.
Finally, the Doctor ordered all of the servants out of the room as he determined that the birth would occur in only minutes. Mr. Darcy, however, knelt at the opposite side of the bed as Jane, who also held her hand.
Lizzie screeched again, voice loud and jarring and full of pain. Her hand clenched harder upon his, and Mr. Darcy winced slightly. He pressed a gentle kiss to her sweaty knuckles, trying his best to reassure her.
“It’s not long now, Lizzie. Not long until-”
Lizzie screamed again, just as the Doctor shouted encouragement at the foot of the bed. “That’s it, keep pushing. The babe’s almost out now!”
Redoubling her efforts, Lizzie screamed and pushed, expelling her child from her womb. The Doctor cut the cord with a triumphant grin upon his features. The baby’s loud cry filled the room as her mother’s died down.
Jane leapt up from where she crouched next to her sister, and grabbed a blanket to swaddle her niece in. “Oh, Lizzie, Darcy, she’s beautiful!”
Mr. Darcy watched, almost frozen as Jane offered the baby- No, his daughter! - to Lizzie. Lizzie cradled the bundle in her arms, tears falling from her eyes as she beheld their child.
“Oh Fitz! She’s got your eyes!” Lizzie murmured.
Darcy stood slowly, his eyes trained upon the tiny child in her arms. She was so small! Her skin still pink and raw, tiny fingers curling delicately around Lizzie’s hair, her thick tufts of brown hair still damp.
“May- May I?” Darcy held his hands out hesitantly, quite unsure with what to do with himself but filled with the overwhelming urge to hold her. Lizzie smiled and handed their daughter to him, watching as his face slackened with awe. He offered her his finger, upon which she clung to with her delicate little fingers. Tears flooded Darcy’s eyes.
“Mrs. Darcy…” He whispered meeting his wife’s eyes, tears falling from his own. “She’s perfect.”