A.

The safety measures in place at Cork's finest hotel meant the staff often travelled in pairs. It was a quiet, autumnal Saturday when two young staffers arrived at the hotel's famous---famously expensive---Rose Suite.

They had a delivery for a Mr. F. Darcy.

One girl pushed a room-service cart. The second girl carried a laundry basket. It was just past noon. Both stopped at the small sign hanging cockeyed on the door handle. It read "do not disturb."

“Do you think we should knock?” one girl spoke.

“Of course we should knock,” said the other girl.

“But the sign—do not disturb?”

“He ordered room service, didn't he?”

The laundress was not as timid as the waitress. She stepped forward and knocked once. “They missed the mid-day turn down service. Seems like he hasn't left the room since check-in."

The waitress's round, rosy cheeks brightened. “Oh, but what if he's just a little old man? What if he's all alone in there and he's too weak to eat in the first floor dining room?”

“He probably is old,” agreed the laundress. “But I bet he's also rich and lazy. Probably doesn't want to get off the couch."

The waitress frowned. "Mary, that's unkind."

"What did he order? There's a red rose in that rosette vase.”

“There's always roses in the rosette vase for room service." The waitress sighed. "This is the Rose Suite. They serve everything with roses here. It's supposed to look posh.”

“It does look posh. And I'm just saying, people don't ask for steak and kidney pie with roses on the side. Roses are romantic. What else did he order?”

“Well, it's not much to make a meal from, especially at lunchtime. Strawberries and whipped cream. Double fudge cake. Champagne. What if he—should we knock louder? I'm not sure he heard.”

The laundress's blue eyes narrowed. “Champagne. Did he ask for two glasses?”

“Yes, he ordered two glasses. But why should that--”

“Susie, are you truly thick? What if it's some couple on their honeymoon? Sheesh, maybe just leave the cart. We can come back for it.”

Too late. Susie heard footsteps. The door swung open.

It was a man, they'd been right about that. Not old, though, or feeble, or weak.

Mr. Darcy was young, and tall, with broad shoulders and strong legs. Dark hair touched his brow. His eyes were even darker, and warm with distraction. He had sharp cheekbones. A poet's mouth. Beyond that, he was sporting nothing more than the hotel's white terrycloth robe and his own, gold wedding ring.

“Hello.” He grinned at the pair. One hand braced the door frame. The wedding band caught in the mid day light. “You're just in time. My wife is looking forward to that double chocolate cake.”

“Oh, you're—” the waitress sighed, “lovely. I mean--” she shook her head. “Lovely. Cake. The cake is really--" she let out a nervous laugh, "really very lovely.”

“Yes, I hoped it would be good.” He rubbed at his jaw. “Did they have the champagne I requested? The concierge wasn't sure if they had any stocked tonight. It's Cork, though. I figured they'd find wine somewhere.”

The waitress simply stared. The laundress nudged her. “Susie, the champagne?”

“Yes?”

“The champagne for Mr. Darcy? ”

“Ah. Mm. It's all here.”

“Great.” Mr. Darcy's hand slipped into the pocket of his robe. “I've told the concierge to add the cost of the food to my bill. As for the delivery fee, this should cover us.”

The hotel's delivery fee for room service was a flat 10 euros. He handed the waitress a 50 euro bill. A bill for a matching amount was handed to the laundress.

His dark gaze shifted to the laundress. “We won't need a turn-down service. However, there is a garment---you have a seamstress on staff who can repair something? We'll pay for it, of course. Wait there. I'll see if we can find it.”

He left, leaving the door ajar. Breathless, the waitress looked to the laundress. The laundress started giggling.

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“What do you reckon his wife looks like?” asked the waitress.

“Him? The usual type? Busty. Model. Legs for days.” The laundress sighed. “She's a lucky bird, whoever she is.”

“I think she'll be tall, too. Tall men usually like tall women. I bet he's married to a glamorous heiress. Someone who goes skiing in the Alps every winter, and vacations in the Seychelles every summer.”

“They can afford a weekend stay here, can't they? A 50 euro tip!”

“Only, what if he's with one if it's someone famous like—”

“Who, a Monaco royal? He's married, remember? He spoke about his wife.”

“Maybe his wife's an actress? Who was that actress who starred in Forever Tomorrow? Cordelia Gariden?”

“Oh, well, Cordelia Gariden, she's an absolute stunner. What if--”

The door swung open again. The woman behind it giggled as she moved out of her husband's teasing embrace. She was barefoot and garbed only in a white tuxedo shirt. A man's shirt. Luckily, this was long enough for modesty's sake. It swamped her, brushing her thighs, and hiding her arms.

This was Mrs. Darcy. She wasn't an Amazon. Or a Monagasque royal, or famed actress Cordelia Gariden. She was, instead, five-foot-something, with raven-dark hair, daintily pretty features, and bright, mischievous eyes. Her cheeks held a petal-pink blush.

“I hope this wasn't loads of trouble for you, bringing all this food.” Her accent was a playfully lilting, country Irish. Cork, or somewhere near it. “Which one of the pair of you is the seamstress? Oh, it's you? We wouldn't bother repairing this garment, only it's one of Will's favorites. The strap is torn.”

Mrs. Darcy handed her the garment. It was a slip made of thin, silvery silk. She saw the rip. Mr Darcy slid his arm around his wife's shoulder. Mrs. Darcy leaned back comfortably against him.

“We're checking out of the hotel tomorrow,” said Mr. Darcy. “Will it be ready by then?”

“Oh yes, this is quick work. We can have it finished by tonight.”

“Tomorrow,” said Mr. Darcy, drawing the service cart into the room. “Tomorrow's soon enough.”



**


“You ordered champagne, Will? And strawberries, too.” Elizabeth giggled as his hands wrapped around her waist. “Well, it's our one-year anniversary. It only happens once. Why not have a little bit of everything to celebrate.”

“You're wearing my shirt.” His gaze roved over her. “Drives me crazy.”

“I hope so.” She swiped another thumb full of chocolate, drawing it up to his lips. The romantic in her realized they'd engaged in this gesture at this time last year. Cake at midmorning. Their treat at the wedding was a custard-fruit tart. “Want a bite? It's the nearest thing to heaven, and...”

“Mm.” He captured her mouth instead. It was a sound, hungry kiss. Her knees softened; her hands sought him. They swayed together, moving towards the service cart. Trays rattled. When he drew back, both were breathless.

“You had chocolate on your lips,” he murmured.

She was going to have chocolate absolutely everywhere if they didn't steer away from the service cart. Her chocolate covered fingers had clutched at the fabric between them while he kissed her. Chocolate fingerprints now covered her shirt and his robe.

“I—Will...” She swayed towards him. His kisses made her dizzy. She smiled. “There's chocolate on my shirt.”

“My shirt,” he said, drawing her into another kiss. "But what's yours is mine." She giggled as they tumbled toward the bed.

By supper, they'd finished off the cake, and popped open the champagne. Just a little, Elizabeth had warned. She wanted to remember the whole day come sunrise.

Will stretched out in bed, the bed sheet strewn across him. Elizabeth, now in his terrycloth robe, stood at the hotel balcony's threshold. She'd opened one balcony door, letting the breeze in. It teased at her loose hair, fluttering the edges of her robe.

They'd had their wedding in England last year, in his home town. For their anniversary, he'd wanted to take her to her own native land, to a city she knew and loved. He'd wanted to see Cork through her eyes, to hear the accent she'd known all her life, and feel the rhythm of the small city. He wanted to bring her home.

They might have gone to Ballydeirc. That, too, was an option he'd offered for their anniversary. They weren't far from it, and her parents would want to see her. She'd chosen Cork, instead. They would take a trip to the island before their return journey. She knew everyone in Ballydeirc, and they all knew her. Cork, at least, would afford them some privacy. Or, as she'd put it, if we stay at the village inn in Ballydeirc, we'd have every housewife and fisherman knocking on our door. My brothers, their wives, my nieces, my teachers. You'd hardly have ten minutes with me. .

Cork it was, then.

This first year together had been a wonder. Never in his life had he been this happy. There had been challenges to work through, of course. They'd supported each other. They'd learned how to function as a household. They'd faced family challenges together. Georgiana was growing older. Growing more rebellious. They were small rebellions, but they were rebellions nonetheless. He'd never have managed Georgie's changing moods, her growing needs, without Elizabeth's insight. Without her wisdom.

He loved her. His heart ached with it, he loved her so much.

“You're supposed to be sleeping,” she whispered with a smile, drawing away from the balcony. He watched her tip just a little champagne into one long flute. She picked her path across the clothing they'd abandoned on the floor.

“I'll sleep on the flight back.”

“Promise?” She settled on his side of the bed. Her warm fingers brushed his brow. “You won't work on your phone? Check emails from Hayter?”

“If you promise not to thumb through the choreography notebook you stuffed in your purse.”

“Oh, mercy.” Elizabeth laughed. “What a pair we make.”

His fingers encircled hers, touching the champagne flute. “What do you think of the drink?”

“It's grand.” She laughed. “And the bubbles tickle my nose. Finish it off for me, will you?”

He grinned, taking the last swig of champagne left in the glass. “It's the same champagne they served at our wedding.”

“Is it?” She set the champagne glass on the bedside table. His hands curved around her, easing her back into bed with him. “You're a romantic, Will Darcy. Bringing me all the way to Ireland."

"I wanted to. You married at Pemberley for me. You moved to my apartment. You changed your life."

“Yes.” She traced the scar tissue that stretched across his shoulder, teasing up his collarbone. "But I wanted those changes."

"Do you miss any of it?"

"Ireland? Sometimes. I miss what's familiar. But you're home to me now, Will. And I don't miss my old London flat. Or the door that jams. The endless stairs I had to climb up whenever I brought groceries home---usually in the dark. The dodgy neighbors....”

“The long walk from your job at the pub to your flat,” Will murmured. “That bad lock on the fire escape. All the hours I worried when you slept there alone.”

“I know you worried after me,” Elizabeth whispered. “Your flat at the Montgomery is beautiful, Will. I always feel safe there.”

“Our flat, love. Not just mine.”

“I know. It feels that way now. It's still hard to get used to, though.”

He frowned. “The apartment?”

“No, mo chroi, I--I love the apartment.” Her hand moved, brushing her raven-dark hair back. She could distract him with a simple toss of her hair. Her diamond engagement ring caught in the light. “I mean...what I mean is...I don't miss the old flat. But everything in it was mine. I sold my furniture when I married you, and I---I know it wasn't very nice furniture, but..”

“But it was your furniture.” He shifted their positions, rolling her onto her back so he could look into her eyes. “Love, you could have told me.”

Her green eyes softened. Elizabeth's fingers brushed the hollows of his cheek. “Told you that I missed second-hand furniture I'd bought at a market?”

“If that's how you felt,” he said firmly, “yes.”

“Told you that..." Elizabeth shifted, drawing her hands up his back, "I wondered sometimes what it would be like if you made love to me in my bed? The bed I picked out? The bed I bought with my own money?”

“Geeze, Elizabeth, yes .”

“Okay, but--” Elizabeth's teeth sank into her lip, “now you have this look in your eyes. This...determined look, like you're going to do the impossible and try tracking down every bit of ratty furniture I ever sold.”

“You want me to try?”

“No!” Elizabeth laughed. “No, no. I don't want that.”

“We can get new bedroom furniture. And a new bed. You can pick it out, pay for it. Whatever you want.”

“Big spender. I like our bedroom furniture just the way it is,” she teased, tipping her chin up, kissing him.“Fitzwilliam, buying a bed is enough for me.”

The kiss left Will momentarily breathless. “Listen to me. I mean this. You could redecorate the whole apartment if you want.”

“I know. This is enough.”

They kissed again, long, tender kisses that led to other thoughts, and other actions.

Will was right. They could rest when they travelled.

They did end up sleeping eventually. Past three that morning, fatigued tugged at them, pulling them both into a dreamless sleep.

Elizabeth woke hours later, nestled close to him. Her wrists were sore. A strange complaint, but there it was. When the seasons shifted, her lupus stirred, offering a reminder of her condition in her joints. She shifted gently in his embrace, trying not to wake him.

Will made a small, mumbling sound. “'Lizabeth?”

“I'm here,” Elizabeth whispered, slipping on the robe and sliding from the bed.

Will rubbed his tired eyes. “What time is it?”

“Um..." She wasn't sure. She searched blindly for the wall clock. "Half past nine in the morning? I'll be right back. I'm popping into the bathroom. Go back to sleep, love.”

He wouldn't, of course. Will's gaze was keenly focused on her when she slid back into bed and tucked close to him again.

“What hurts?”

“Nothing much. It's my wrists,” she whispered. “But it's no fault of yours, I swear it.”

He caught her wrist gently, drawing it towards him. “Elizabeth...when we---if I--”

“You didn't. You've never hurt me, Will." She offered him a soft touch, caressing his cheeks. "It's autumn. It's...weather. That's all. Remember our wedding night?”

His voice was low. “Elizabeth, I could be ten feet buried in the ground, and I'd still remember it.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Will, you could be from Eire with those words. A year with me and you're sounding like an Irishman.” She shifted, drawing their bodies closer. “Our first time together, our wedding night...do you remember how nervous we were?”

It was the right topic. It drew his mind away from her health, back to thoughts of celebration. His dimples emerged. “I remember you swore to me that you weren't nervous.”

“Yes.” She laughed. “Bit of a bluff, that was.”

“You weren't the only one that felt that way.” He remembered it. He remembered how they'd touched and whispered, and talked, learned about each other. Loved each other. “But it was perfect for us.”

“Yes. It was a beautiful night. A beautiful morning, too. Just as lovely as this one is. Our first year went by so quickly.”

“I think so, too.”

“Will, do you often,” she hesitated, “think about our life in five years, or ten years?”

His hand brushed her ear. “Sure.”

“Do you often think about our thirties? Having children of our own by that age?”

His mouth brushed hers. The moment lengthened with a soft kiss. “Sure. Do you?”

"Yes. One day, when the time is right. I know there's no rush for any of it." She took a breath. "Just because Emma's due to deliver soon, and Anne and Fred have their baby...it doesn't leave us in a rush.”

“No,” Will echoed gently, “it doesn't.”

His hands curved around her hips. Children would never be as easy a proposition for Elizabeth as it was for her friends. Lupus would complicate childbearing. Adoption, if they chose it, would take time. Beyond that, her career as a ballerina was so physically demanding, and she'd worked so hard for it, sacrificed so much of her life, and had so many goals she still wished to reach. If they had children of their own, the right moment would come in time.

“One day,” he whispered to his wife.

She nodded. "One day." A small smile graced her lips as she nudged her mouth upwards, kissing him again. It was a promise. Right now, they still had a whole year to celebrate.

B. Sick Days

Will had a whirlwind day planned: four separate meetings scheduled throughout the morning, a noon lunch with the department head, a deposition scheduled from 2:00 to 5:00.

Will couldn't be sick. He refused to be. He certainly couldn't be sick today, of all days, there was too much riding on him. And so he ignored the sweat on his skin as he tugged off his pajamas that morning. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge the dizzy tilt of the floor as he stepped from the shower. His stomach rumbled as he dressed.

Elizabeth had arrived home late last night. So late, in fact, that he'd dozed off while he waited for her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fallen asleep on the couch before she'd come home. The later her call time at the opera house, the more determined he usually was about staying awake to greet her.

She'd woken him with a quiet kiss on the cheek when she'd returned. She'd also said something about how he'd felt warmer than usual, and then she'd pushed him off to bed. He hadn't protested.

Now he felt dizzy. Will braced one hand on the bedpost, allowing himself another breath.

Elizabeth was dozing in the center of their brand new bed. While he'd showered, she'd kicked down the sheets. She was clutching a pillow. Her hair had fallen loose from its braid. Her t-shirt had moved while she slept, revealing her soft stomach and the delicate, violet lace line of her underwear.

Might as well enjoy the view, he thought with another shaky breath.

Then his stomach roiled. Bloody hell . Will pushed around the bed, jogging to the bathroom.

He barely reached the toilet in time before his stomach emptied out.

It wasn't long before he heard soft footsteps behind him. Elizabeth knelt, rubbing his aching shoulders. She said nothing while he vomited again. The action left his stomach aching and his head dizzy. When he pushed away from the toilet, he was shivering.

“Mo chroi, you've got some stomach bug,” Elizabeth murmured. She unknotted his tie, slipping it from his neck. Her hand touched his forehead. “You're taking off work today. Tomorrow too, probably.”

“Can't.” He shook his head. “My deposition...”

“It can wait until you're well again. Come back to bed with me. I'll find the thermometer, fetch you something to calm your stomach...”

She led him back to their bedroom. The ache in his head was growing louder, and their bedroom was so still. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all...

She'd already taken care of his tie. Silently, she unbuttoned his white dress shirt, sliding it from his shivering shoulders.

“Cold?” she whispered. “I can turn the heat on?”

“No, I'm--” Will's teeth clicked together, “h-hot. Lizzie, I can...”

“Alright, mo chroi.”

Her fingers slipped beneath his white t-shirt, gently sliding it off him. She unbuckled his pressed leather belt, setting the object aside, then slipped off his newly pressed trousers. Her hands were soft and steady as she guided him into a new pair of pajamas.

Will was sweating by the time she settled him back into bed and pulled up their sheets.

“Close your eyes, love,” she murmured. “I'm getting that thermometer.”

“Lizzie--” he shivered. His eyelids were heavy. He couldn't keep from shutting them. “My meetings--”

“I know where your mobile phone is. I can call your office, Will. Just sleep.”

He exhaled, willing his shivering body to still. He could Lizzie's phone chirp as she turned it on.

“Char? Yeah, it's Lizzie. You know the stomach bug that's been spreading through the opera house like a wildfire? I think Will's caught it. Tell Alistair I won't be able to make rehearsals today. I'm staying with him. Yes. I know. Uh-huh. Could you ask Svetlana or Ksenia to dance Manon tonight? If Sveta ends up doing it, tell her I'll trade her the Monday afternoon matinee, if she wants. That way she can have a three day weekend."

When he woke again, hours later, his head still ached. Elizabeth, sporting black leggings and his old New College sweatshirt, had settled in the chair by the windows. She was reading. Through the panoramic view, he saw the sun hung low in the sky.

His stomach was empty. His body was sore. Noticing his movements, she set her book aside and moved across the room.

“Hey.” She reached for a drink she'd set by the night table. “Have a sip of this. You're probably dehydrated. How do you feel?”

“Like I'm hung over."

“Stomach flu, I'm afraid.” Her smile was soft. “Loads of people in the opera house have had it. I spoke with Anne on the phone during lunch. She said Adrian had the same thing last week, the poor little lad. She told me it lasts a few days.”

“Anne...” he looked down. His shivering had passed, but his cotton shirt was now drenched in sweat. Weary, he sat up and pealed his shirt off. “Weren't you meeting Anne and Emma for lunch today?”

“Canceled. We'll get together next week. All the girls agreed. The last thing I want is little Laura Knightley picking this up from me or from Anne.” She took the garment from his hands. “I can wash this for you. Drink some more water, love. How's your stomach?”

“Better than the morning.”

“Good. I'll go heat up some broth for you. How do a few crackers sound?”

“Not bad.” He rubbed at his pounding temple. “I think a shower would help. I'm going to head there now.”

“Alright. I'm getting you another aspirin. Take your shower. I'll fix your broth.”

They spent the evening on their living room couch. He managed to keep the broth down, though his stomach roiled whenever he stood too quickly. Mostly, Will just dozed, his head resting in his wife's lap. While he slept, Elizabeth read and watched a little television.

When his eyes opened again, his dark brown gaze settled on her. “What time is it?”

“Just past 8:30. Not that it matters. You're not going anywhere tomorrow. Your fever's better, but it's not gone. Hayter and Blakeney are very capable. I'm sure they'll handle things tomorrow.” She brushed his hair. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better.” He hadn't felt this bad since he split that bottle of scotch with Frederick years ago. “What are you watching?”

“A romantic movie. They're broadcasting it on ITV. I haven't seen it in ages.”

He grunted. “It's not that one about the boat, is it?”

“No, it's not the one about the boat. It's the one from the '90s about the rich man and the call girl. Silly." She reached for the remote, clicking the television off. "But I still get soppy over it when she wears the red dress and he takes her to the opera.”

Will released a quiet, tired exhale. "Lizzie..."

"Yes?"

"For today...thank you."

"That's how this works, Will. We help each other when we're sick." Her smile was soft. “I'll help you up. Let's go to bed. You'll feel better in the morning.”



C. Birthdays


Elizabeth pushed the door shut, planting the paper bag on the counter. Will was here in the kitchen. She snuck up behind him, wrapping her arms around his midsection. “Happy thirtieth birthday.”

"Thanks." She could hear the smile in his voice. Will lifted his arm, winding her around him until she was between his body and the kitchen counter. “Though I'm twenty-nine for two more hours.”

“Happy last few hours of your twenty-ninth year , how's that?” The words were teasing, but her eyes were kind. She tiptoed, kissing him. “Thirty...it's just a number, Will. It doesn't matter to me one bit, you know that.”

His mouth teased up at one edge. “Easy to claim at the comfortable age of twenty-five.”

“Well, who could blame me for finding an older man so handsome, and dashing, and compelling, and--” Elizabeth squealed as his hands slid, wrapping around her hips and lifting her onto the counter.

“There's no one I'd rather face thirty with.” Will bent, giving her a sound kiss. He touched her knee as he drew back. “I'm glad you're back. Take off your coat."

She shrugged. "I can keep it on until we unpack. We'll have to take the trash downstairs tonight."

"I'll do it after we eat. You shouldn't be out for long in this rain."

She sighed. She'd complained this early March morning of a dull ache in her knees, nothing more than that. “Oh, Will, I'm positively fine--”

“Nope.” He walked to the cabinets, drawing out three plates. “It's my birthday. You've got to listen to me today.”

“Oh, now it's your birthday? I think you have a conveniently fluid concept of time, Mr. Darcy.”

He laughed. “First thing I learned as a barrister. Always know your angles.”

She glanced back at the living room. "What's Georgie up to? Poldark's going to be on TV soon. That's one of her favorites. I was going to watch it with her.

"I already tried talking her out of her room. She seems set on staying in there. I decided not to fight her on it."

"Oh." Elizabeth shrugged, finally unbuttoning her coat. The rainstorm had left the gray wool damp. "Well, we should tell her that supper's finally here."

"Certainly." Will glanced in the paper bag. "This smells amazing, by the way. Is this dim sum?”

“Not just any dim sum.” She hopped down from the counter. “It's dim sum from your favorite Chinese restaurant.”

He popped one lid. “You're kidding? They don't do take-away.”

“Well, you told me you didn't want to go out tonight, so...I talked them into making an exception. Aren't you a lucky boy?”

He grinned. His fingers looped in the belt of her jeans as he tugged her closer to him. “Guess I should settle my delivery fee.”

“Mr Darcy, this is most unconventional. The chef said they only take cash, credit or--” she giggled as he nuzzled her neck, “personal check!”

On his actual thirtieth birthday, she was determined to let him sleep in. Brunch. She could make him that.

The kitchen wasn't empty. Georgiana, now sixteen years old, had made herself the largest bowl of cereal Elizabeth had ever seen in her life. She was slowly eating it while she paged through a booklet of sheet music.

“Morning, Georgie, love,” Elizabeth greeted her.

Georgiana allowed herself a moment to pull out the earphones from her ears. She smiled. Georgiana's feet were perched on the chair next to her. The teen wore a hodgepodge of clothes: a plaid sweatshirt, a tiny green miniskirt that looked suspiciously like one Elizabeth owned, and pale blue heels. There was glitter eye shadow on her eyelids.

Heels and eye shadow . thought Elizabeth, popping bread into the toaster. What had she been into at age sixteen? Sailboats and pointe shoes, mostly.

“Georgie, I'm making your brother's favorites for his birthday,” Elizabeth said. “Lincolnshire sausages, cooked tomatoes, scrambled eggs on toast. We'll have plenty. Would you like some?”

Georgiana was now studying her phone. Frowning at it, actually. Elizabeth pulled the eggs from the fridge. “Georgie? Did you want eggs?”

Georgiana shrugged. “No, thanks.”

“Alright. If you change you're mind, they're no trouble to make.” She hesitated, offering another glance at the girl. “How's your coursework?”

“Fine.” The earphones went back on.

She pulled out a bowl and started cracking eggs, trying to remind herself that beneath the girl's current teenage mood, Georgiana was still as much of a sweetheart as ever.

She and Will had talked, in a dreamy sort of way, about children and the future, and what that might look like for them. Every time she saw Anne and Fred with little Adrian or baby Michael, or Emma and Knightley with Laura, she felt a tug in her own heart. But that tug could wait. At the present moment, sweet Georgiana Darcy felt like enough of a handful.

The call box buzzed. “Mrs. Darcy?”

“Yes. I'm--” Elizabeth hesitated. She'd put sausage on the stove, she had a bowl full of whisked eggs in her hands, and Georgie was off somewhere in Neverland. Elizabeth slid over to the call box. She pressed it with her elbow. “I'm here.”

“The delivery's here. Would you like it parked in front of the building, or in the car park?”

“In the front. Thank you.”

“It's no trouble, Mrs. D. Gunner and I both saw it. Mr. Darcy's gonna be gobsmacked when he finds it.”

She hoped so. It was never easy buying a present for the man who could buy anything. The toast popped up. She poured whisked egg into her frying pan. The coffee was brewing. Miraculously, Will still slept.

“Lizzie?” Georgie asked. Perhaps the smell had compelled Georgie to finally remove her earphones. Maybe she could talk the girl into eating more than cereal. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure, Georgie.” She reached for two mugs, pouring coffee into each. “I'm an open book.”

“Could I have some coffee?”

Elizabeth's own mother would never have allowed her coffee at sixteen. Even though Elizabeth generally frowned on the idea of coffee for a growing teen, birthdays were for exceptions.

“Coffee's not your question, is it?”

“No.” Georgie tucked a brown curl behind her ear.

No, she hadn't thought so. “Cream or sugar?”

“Sugar, please.”

She handed one coffee cup to Georgiana. “So what's the bee in your bonnet? Trouble at school?”

“No. Not exactly, anyway.”

“Trouble with friends?”

Georgiana shook her head. “No.” She bit her lip. “Lizzie, do you remember who your first kiss was?”

She hadn't thought about this in years. Elizabeth moved back to the stove, switching off the burner beneath the eggs. “Stage kiss, or real kiss?”

Georgiana straightened in her chair. “There's a difference?”

“Yes, a big one. I suppose you mean a real kiss.”

Georgiana pushed her phone away, reaching for her coffee cup. “Yes. What was it like?”

"Like most peoples', I expect." Elizabeth picked up the fork, gently pushing the sausage across the pan. "We hadn't an ounce of experience between us.”

“Who was he?”

“A village boy.”

“And how old were you?”

Open book or not, it felt strange to talk about this on Will's birthday, of days. “I was seventeen. He was a friend. He was a year younger than I was.” She gave Georgie an amused smile. “There isn't much to say about it.”

“Was it awkward?”

Elizabeth's laugh was small. “Uh huh.”

Bobby had been the boy's name. He'd been soft spoken. He'd served as her study-mate over the course of the summer, helping her catch up on her coursework before she'd left for Dublin at the end of the summer.

One day in late July, with a chemistry book between their laps, Bobby had leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She'd been too stunned that shy, quiet Bobby had tried such a move to react to it.

Then she'd heard her brothers talking in the kitchen, and he'd jerked away like a startled deer. Her eldest brother had entered the living room moments later. Bobby had babbled about forgetting a chore for his mum. Then he'd left.

“Georgie, I don't think anyone's very first kiss is the stuff of poetry.” She hesitated. “Well, perhaps for Anne and Frederick it was. But they're the exception, Georgie. They're not the rule.”

“What about stage kisses? How are they different from the real thing?”

“Oh, you're thinking of a hundred things during a stage kiss. Where's your mark on stage? What are the next steps in the pas de deux? What if he accidentally steps on the hem of my dress? It isn't romantic. You're kissing your coworker.”

She thought of another exception to that statement. Jenna Fairfax and Franklin Churchill. They were spouses off stage, free to indulge in their own passions during those stage kisses. Jenna usually usually came out of a kiss with her husband a full five beats behind the music.

“Who was your first stage kiss?” asked Georgiana.

Elizabeth lifted the lid on the sausage, testing the center of it with her fork. Her first stage kiss? She had to think harder about that.

Now she remembered. His name had been Carlo. Carlo....Something. She remembered his face more than she remembered his name. He'd had thin lips, and pale blond hair.

“That was in Dublin, a year later. I understudied Giselle. He was our Albrecht. I was eighteen. He was--” she lifted one shoulder, “older.”

Curiosity brightened her sandy brown eyes. Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, no. Don't think it. I cross my heart, there wasn't a speck of romance in it.”

“How much older was he?”

“Twenty-seven. Those sorts of things are common in the theater. You get paired with a good dancer, not a good age match. Carlo wasn't someone I fancied, Georgie, and he didn't fancy me. There was no feeling in it. It was just acting.”

Both the sausage and the eggs were done. She switched off the burner, set down her fork and slid into chair next to Georgie's.

“I expect Will should wake up soon. Georgie. So if there's something you'd rather not share with him, now might be the time to say it.”

Georgiana's mouth thinned. She started to fiddle with her spoon. “Ewan. He kissed me.”

“With your permission?”

Georgiana gave a small nod. “Yes. Only---oh, Lizzie, it was nothing like---it wasn't---it...wasn't at all.”

“Quite what you'd hoped it would be?” Elizabeth guessed gently.

“No, it was so terribly awkward. Gosh. When I see you and Will kiss, it looks like—like—” She shook her head. “Well, it looks just wonderful. So natural and easy and passionate. The way you get caught up with each other...”

“Georgie, sweetheart...” she said gently, “Will and I are in love. He's my husband.”

“I know. Only I didn't really expect it to be like what I saw with you and Will. Those fireworks, I mean. I just thought it might be...rather pleasant?” Georgiana sighed, scooting lower in her chair. “Lizzie, I like Ewan very much. He's very kind to me, and he's wonderfully intelligent, and when we finally tried to kiss, I just wanted so much to feel...butterflies.”

“How did you feel?” Elizabeth said softly.

Georigana remained silent. She'd felt disappointed, not only with the kiss, but with her reaction to it. She'd wanted Ewan to give her butterflies. She liked his humor, she liked his intellect. And yet...

There were still other boys in school who made her heart race. Jim Thorpe, for one, who was growing more handsome with every passing year. And Marius Pontmercy, the gorgeous French boy. Marius sat across from her in her harmonics course. As fascinating as the subject of multi-tonic systems was, she could stare at Marius for hours.

The worst part was knowing, deep inside her heart, that none of those boys measured up yet to the young man who'd charmed her so many years ago: Tye Bertram.

“I wish I felt more for Ewan than I do,” she said miserably. “I wish I felt less when I get smiled at by boys like Marius Pontmercy. Marius is the biggest flirt in school, Lizzie, I'd be a fool to like him. But he's so handsome...”

“Everyone feels attraction, Georgie,” Elizabeth said softly. “The question is how you react to it. If you don't trust Marius, than listen to those feelings.”

“The thing is, Ewan's more interesting than Marius. I don't want to be superficial. But I don't quite know what I feel for Ewan, either, and I don't want to hurt his feelings. Does kissing get easier the more you do it?”

"Yes. But chemistry's a big part of it, too. You should never feel pressured to be in a relationship anyone—ever, especially at this age. You have the rest of your life to kiss, or be kissed. There's no rush, sweetheart."

“I know. I just wish it was a little easier."

“What's easier?” Will's low voice sounded behind them. “Something smells amazing in here. Again.” He yawned, walking to the pan cooling on the stove top. “Sausage?”

Elizabeth squeezed Georgiana's hand once, then stood. “That, and eggs and toast.”

“All my favorites.” He bent down, kissing his wife good morning. He loved seeing her like this, her raven-dark hair loose and wild. Her skin smelled like shea butter and strawberries. “Have you been up long?”

“Not too long.” Her fingers slid up his chest. “Georgie's been keeping me company.”

“Good. Glad to hear it."

Georgiana smiled at him. “Happy thirtieth birthday, Will.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

His gaze sharpened. Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or was there something sparkly smeared on her eyelids?

And what was she wearing? It was an odd mixture of clothes. He didn't have a problem with the plaid shirt, she could wear plaid every day for all he cared. He did recognize that short green skirt. He'd always enjoyed ogling Elizabeth in that, it made Lizzie's legs look spectacular. And was Georgiana wearing a pair of Elizabeth's rarely-worn high heels?

"When did you--" he rubbed his eyes again. "Georgie...where did you get those clothes?"

“Will,” Elizabeth whispered, “not now."

"Oh. Um..." Georgiana blushed. "I didn't think Elizabeth would mind?"

"You know what?” Elizabeth said, taking Will's hand, “breakfast can wait a few minutes. Georgie, stay here with the food, will you? Help yourself to the eggs and the sausage. I have a present for Will, and we have to go downstairs to see it. We'll be back!”

She pulled Will out of the apartment with record speed, closing the door behind him. “Is she wearing makeup and heels?” Will demanded.

“Yes.” She led the way to the lift, pressed her thumb to the down button, then wrapped her arms around him again while they waited.

"And is that your green skirt?"

"Yes."

“She's sixteen. She's too young for that outfit. Do you remember what happened the last time you wore it for me?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth laughed. “It's not my fault that you have a weakness for me in anything short."

"But--"

"Georgie's feeling sensitive right now, Will. I know you mean well, and I know you're protective, but now isn't the time to make a big deal about her appearance. Trust me on that."

“Did she ask you if she could borrow those things?” he demanded. The lift pinged. The doors opened. Elizabeth pulled him inside.

“No. But we're family, Will. She's sixteen." The lift jolted downward. She looked up at him. "She wants a bigger wardrobe, she wants to feel like a grown woman...”

“She's not a grown woman, she's a teenager playing dress up.”

“Borrowing clothing, it's a rite of passage for a girl. When I was her age, I used to borrow my aunt's clothing all the time. My aunt had these beautiful knit jumpers from France and Germany.”

“Yeah, well, jumpers are sensible. Jumpers are appropriate for a girl of sixteen. Let's buy her a few of those.”

Her arms wrapped around him again. “It's just for one day, Will. She'll be here at the apartment with us for your birthday party, anyway. I'll speak with her about borrowing my skirt later.”

He grunted. "I would have preferred it if you were the one wearing it.”

Both felt the lift stop on the ground floor. “I think what I'm going to be wearing for you under my dress tonight will make up for it.”

His dark eyes warmed. “You're serious?"

"Yes. I bought something from Adelina's just for you."

"Is it too late to cancel this party?”

“Yes,” she laughed again. They stepped into the lobby. “People will start arriving around 7:00. Andie and Richard, the Knightleys, the Wentworths. Blakeney's bringing the beautiful Marguerite. Your football mates are coming. Hayter's finally popped the question to Candy, so...”

He winced. He would have settled for a quiet night alone with his beautiful wife. This was starting to sound like their wedding reception. “I've said it before, but we know too many people.”

“But how grand that they all want to celebrate the big 3-0 with you.”

The doormen nodded to him as Elizabeth pulled him to the front door. She paused at the sidewalk, offering him her loveliest, most charming smile. “So, what do you think?”

“I think your smile could cut me at the knees. Is there something else I'm supposed to be noticing?”

“Yes, Will. Look right.”

He'd been too distracted by the sight of his wife's smile and those Irish green eyes to notice what she was gesturing to.

It was a shining, silver two-seater. A BMW Z-8 roadster. It was a match to the car he'd sold two years ago, days before he'd married Elizabeth. This was a curve-hugging, speed-loving sports car, a quarter-of-a-million pound purchase. He'd traded it in for a four-door years ago, for Elizabeth's sake. Sports cars were flashy. Luxury made Elizabeth squirm---she'd been more comfortable with the four door. And yet, two years later, here it was. If not the same car, than one just like it.

“You bought this back for me?”

“Yes. Though not with the pounds in my piggy bank,” she laughed. “I had to access the shared funds in one of your--- our ---accounts to pay for this. I know you always say it's our money, Will, but I swear to you I felt dizzy writing a check that big. I know you're wealthy. I know you could have made one phone call and bought this car, or a fleet of cars, over the last few years. But you sold this for me, and I know how you loved it, and I know it's extravagant, but you're only young once and we don't have kids yet, and I thought you might like it, so---”

Will cut off her words, catching her in a heated kiss. Behind them, one of the doormen grinned. The other ducked his head, looking intently at the ferns planted by the door.

“I love it,” Will murmured when his drew back. “I love you. This is nothing I would have done for myself. Want to take it around the block?”

Elizabeth grinned. “Absolutely.”



**


Emma and George Knightley arrived early. Emma came with quite a few eager suggestions to help Lizzie with the hors d'oeuvres, then begged to see Lizzie's dress for the night. George came with the offer to clear out the apartment whenever Will grew tired of company, and offered to take a stroll around the London block.

“You're a good friend, Knightley,” Will said as the men ambled down the block. “Often a better friend than I deserved growing up.”

“I wouldn't put it like that.”

"I would." Will studied the skyline. "I tested your patience plenty when we were teens."

“Will," George Knightley's serious mouth curved to a grin, "if anyone tested my patience at that age, it was the blonde and beautiful American who's currently talking to your wife. Thirty's making you feel reflective, huh?”

“More than I thought it would.”

Knightley nodded. “Just wait. Kids will do that for you, too. They've done that for Emma and I.”

“Kids..." Will's brow furrowed. “Plural?"

“Yep.” George Knightley grinned. “We found out last week.”

“Wow." Will whistled. "Were you and Emma...”

“Planning on having another baby so soon? Here's the thing," he lowered his voice, "we've both been so busy with work, and Laura wakes us half the night. I don't mind it, Will. But when Emme and I finally do get some time alone together, we don't always remember to...”

“Take precautions?”

“Yeah. So we talked about it awhile back, Emma and I. We both decided that we were ready for another child. Laura's the light of our lives, Will. So we just decided to stop worrying and let whatever happens, happen. And now, what do you know, she's pregnant again.”

“I'm glad for you.” A broad grin flashed across Will's face. “Congratulations. You're a great father, George. You and Fred, both.”

"You would be too, Will, I'm sure of it."

Will laughed. "Knightley, trust me, right now my sister makes me feel like father enough. Just wait till Laura turns sixteen. Georgiana's getting into all sorts of things. Makeup. Clothing. Just wait till she starts talking about boys."

George Knightley chuckled. "Why do you think I'm learning to use the phrase 'go talk to your mother'?"

In the privacy of the bedroom, Elizabeth and Emma were also confiding in each other. Today Emma wore a white blouson dress and matching heels. She'd settled at the edge of their bed. Elizabeth, per her request, was in the center of the bedroom, showing Emma her dress for the evening.

“What do you think?” Elizabeth asked, spinning once. Her party dress was a delicate rose shade. The dress hem fluttered as she spun. It had a short, pleated skirt, and a halter neck that tied in the back. With Emma's help, she'd pinned her hair up in an elegant chignon. “This dress isn't too short, is it?”

“It's plenty short, and Will's going to absolutely love it. He'll get that look in his eyes. Like he's the wolf, and you're red riding hood.”

“Emma!” Elizabeth laughed.

“Well, it's true. You and Will are adorable.” Emma sighed happily. “After seeing you dance in the Nutcracker this Christmas, Laura's now convinced you've sprung out of a storybook. She thinks you're a fairy.”

“Emme, that wee little girl of yours melts me into a puddle.”

“She melts me, too. I hope she likes being a sister by November.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened. “Truly, Emme?”

“Yes.”

“Already?” Elizabeth laughed. She moved to the bed, settling beside her. Best female friends, she would later tell Will, really did share nearly everything with one another—if not specifics, than at least the generalities. She'd known for some time that the pair were trying for a second baby. "I wasn't sure how long it would take.”

“Well, we stayed with Daddy at Hartfield in early February, and he always keeps a nanny on staff for us, which means George and I had more time alone together. And anyway, a few weeks of that, and it just...happened. George is moving out of ER work, and into family medicine, and I've started painting at home, and...”

Another friend pregnant. Anne Wentworth had just given birth that winter to a bouncing baby boy, Michael.

“You'll be having a baby in the same year as Anne and Fred,” Elizabeth teased. “Again!”

“I know. Wouldn't it be funny if our children ended up close? Laura and Adrian, or Michael Wentworth and...well, whoever this little one is going to be. I don't know why, but the very thought makes me teary.”

Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “That's just because your pregnant, Emme.”

“Yes. Want to go back to the kitchen so I can cry over the hors d'oeuvres?”

“I'd love to.”

Guests started arriving at the flat around 7:00. Richard Fitzwilliam arrived with a hug for Will on his birthday, and a box of his favorite Virginia bourbon. Andie was currently in the fourth month of her first— and, she swore, her only--- pregnancy. She was having twins. She'd cut her black hair into a bob. As sophisticated as ever, she wore lemon yellow silk with a drop-waist and long sleeves.

Richard was still stationed in Florida, and they'd be remaining there for the duration of the summer, through the remainder of Andie's pregnancy and past the birth. Will's birthday would be their last trip to England before the twins' arrival.

Andie announced herself to be pleasantly tired and settled on the couch. Richard went search of a cork screw for the bourbon.

“Richard, I'll open that." Will moved behind his cousin, pulling a cork screw from one drawer. He was wearing trousers, a pressed shirt and a tailored waistcoat.

“Lizzie, you're looking beautiful," Richard greeted Elizabeth as she moved toward the kitchen. "New dress?”

"You like it?" she asked.

Richard greeted his cousin-in-law with a kiss to her right cheek. "Who wouldn't?"

"Richard," Will spoke up, "My wife has one Fitzwilliam here to flirt with her. She doesn't need two." Will eyed Elizabeth with an appreciative grin, then pulled the cork from the bottle. "Even if you are right about the dress."

She always blushed like a school girl when he smiled at her like that.

“And is this fellow still treating you right?” asked Richard.

“Always,” said Elizabeth. The doorbell rang again. She moved toward the door, hearing bits of their conversation amongst the party chit-chat.

“The bourbon's not your only present," said Richard. "I brought you a cigar, too, Will."

Elizabeth's nose wrinkled. “Smoking, Richard?”

“No, no,” said Richard. “It's to celebrate when the babies are born. Due date's in August.”

The door opened to reveal fair-haired Frederick Wentworth and his beautiful Spanish wife Anne.

“Who's due in August?” Frederick questioned as he stepped into the apartment. Anne followed him with a smile. A bouquet of roses was pressed into Elizabeth's hands.

"That'd be my gorgeous wife, Andie,” Richard called out.

“Lizzie,” Anne gave Elizabeth a warm smile. “You're looking absolutely beautiful.”

“All these compliments,” Elizabeth teased. “Come in, come in. It's the birthday boy who deserves your attention today.”

She felt Will's hand touch her shoulder. His lips were warm against her ear.

“Compliments are offered where they're due,” he whispered in her ear. “You take my breath away.”

More guests entered. Blakeney and Marguerite arrived with a second cake, because Marguerite announced one could never have too many sweets at a party. Candy, Will's assistant at work, giddily confessed the story of how Charles Hayter had finally proposed. Will's football friends arrived, most of them with dates on their arms.

Anne Wentworth settled by Andie De Bourgh-Fitzwilliam. Together they skimmed through photos of little Adrian and baby Michael, and discussed birthing preparations. Richard sat by Georgiana, talking with the young girl until he'd managed to bring a smile to her face.

Fred put on music. The light, playful rhythm filled the space. Couples, including Will and Elizabeth, started dancing. By the time the party wrapped, even Georgiana was laughing.

“Come stay with us tonight, Georgie,” Richard urged Georgiana as he slipped on his leather jacket. Richard and Andie were the last to go.
“We have a hotel suite with an extra bed.”

“Oh, no, Richard. I couldn't. It's--” Georgiana hesitated, “I'm headed back to Bardwell on Sunday night. I don't want to be an imposition.”

“It's no trouble,” Andie confirmed. “We'd love your company for an evening.”

“Exactly. Come on, Georgie,” Richard urged her. “We're staying at the Delshire Grand. Cable and room service. We'll do it up. It'll be a pre-baby celebration.”

Georgiana looked back at Will and Elizabeth. “Would you mind terribly, Will? It is your birthday, after all.”

“Georgie,” Will spoke, “if you'd like to spend some time with Andie and Richard, we certainly don't mind.”

"You're sure?"

"Go have fun, sweetheart.”

“Thank you!” With a small skip of excitement, Georgiana ran for her overnight bag.

Andie pressed a kiss to Will's cheek, a knowing smile on her lips. “Goodnight, birthday boy. Enjoy your time with Lizzie."

"Night, Andie." Will kissed her back, his lips soft on her cheek. Even before her marriage to Richard, Andromeda Yang-De Bourgh had always been a second sister to him.

"Georgiana," Andromeda said, "I'll meet you in the elevator.”

“All set, Georgie?” Richard called out.

“I'm ready. I'm ready!” Georgiana emerged from her bedroom holding up her overnight bag. “Will, I've never stayed at the Delshire.”

“It's a beautiful hotel,” Will assured her.

“With a beautiful view,” Elizabeth confirmed. “Goodnight, Georgie. We'll meet you at the hotel tomorrow?”

They stood by the door and watched the curly-haired teen follow Andromeda into the lift.

“Richard--” Will called out as Richard headed in after them. "Thank you."

The man glanced back, giving the pair a final grin. “Happy thirtieth, buddy.”

At last the door was shut. Will drew Elizabeth into his arms. Her hands slid up his chest.

“Having a nice birthday, Mr. Darcy?” she whispered, touching the buttons of his waistcoat. She started loosening them. Will grinned.

"The best yet." It was all he needed to say before his mouth caught hers.

D. Lessons


Elizabeth had everything she needed for her afternoon: the music, the lesson plan, the tools.

There was just one thing missing: a pianist.

These past few years, the British Opera House's general director had been generous enough to allow her charity to conduct once-weekly classes in one of the smaller, unused rehearsal spaces. Her usual pianist, Frida, had called in sick. It wouldn't be so critical—she could teach to taped music—but today's student, Kelly, would be taking her very first lesson. The child was blind; she would be relying only on hearing and touch.

Elizabeth wanted to offer her little student the joy of live music, darn it. The opera house was crammed with musicians. Surely she could track one down to help her.

The pianist who played for the corps de ballet's morning class was booked on the main stage for the afternoon, playing for one of Tilney's rehearsals. Every orchestra member she could track down was busy. She asked five other musicians in the course of the afternoon. Each one of them said no.

She ran halfway around the opera house praying for a pianist, only for God to deliver one right to her doorstep.

Her rehearsal space, when she returned to it, wasn't empty. There was a youth at the piano. It was the gold-haired, dark-eyed son of Mansfield Park. He hadn't been seen at the British Opera House in years. The opera house's many attempts to woo him back here as a headlining performer had always rebuffed.

There was no sheet music in front of him. He didn't need it. He played from memory, notes singing out in quick, fluid succession.

And how he plays...

At last he paused, looked up.

“Ah.” A chagrined smile played at his mouth. He noticed her clothing—the leotard and tights. A ballerina. That was his cue to exit, then. “Sorry. I've never been very good at noticing when I have an audience. You're probably waiting to use this place. My apologies.”

“Tye,” she said as he pushed from his seat, “it's Elizabeth Darcy.”

The name made him pause. His dark gaze landed on her. At last, he laughed. “No kidding.”

She held out her hand. “Do you remember me? I'm Will's wife.”

Something sparked in his dark eyes. “Do you go by---Lizzie, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Right. I remember now. Georgiana writes about you. I've heard quite a few of her stories. She's convinced that you're the most remarkable woman she's ever met.”

“Oh, no!” Elizabeth laughed. “I always thought it was just—loads about Bach and Beethoven in those letters she sent you.”

“Oh, there's plenty of that too.” A warm smile was softening his mouth. Sobriety suited him. His skin held a healthy tan. There was new, strong muscle on his frame. He looks so young, she thought. More boyish than he'd ever looked a handful of years back. “It's been a few years, Mrs Darcy. I didn't really remember your face. There are so many dancers here, I hadn't---”

“It's fine. There's no reason you ought to know me.”

“I should, though. Georgiana's a friend. I should recognize her family on sight.” He gestured toward the door. “Anyway, I was here to visit Edmund. There are a few kinks in my newest composition, and I had a few hours free, and I thought---well, Ed said this room might be free.”

“It is. Or at least it will be until 4:00. Tye,” She took a breath. “you play the piano...”

Tye laughed. “When I can't get my hands on a violin, sure.”

“I know I have no right to ask this of you, but—um....what are you doing for the next two hours?”


**


Elizabeth sat on the floor by the barre. Her student, a nine year old child with honey white hair, sat with her. Kelly was shy, and nervous, and worried about not being within arm's reach of her cane.

She had trouble with spacial awareness, trouble with balance and coordination.

For now, they would begin on the floor, simply talking. Nerves set in when the moment Kelly's mother left.

Tye lifted one hand. Music?

Elizabeth shook her head. Not yet. She studied Kelly's nervous gulps. She wanted the child to grow comfortable with the sounds of the room, and the feel of it.

“It's always exciting to have a new student,” Elizabeth said, “It always gives me butterflies.”

Kelly managed a shy smile. Her head ducked.

“When I first started dancing, I was always nervous about other people watching me. Right now, it's only you and me here, and our pianist. He's a lad named Tye. But Tye's promised me that he won't even notice us. He'll play when I ask him, but we can do as we please.”

"Oh," whispered Kelly.

“We're in a small room,” Elizabeth continued softly, “longer than it is wide. There are two great windows at one end. Why don't we move closer to those so we can sit in the sunlight? It's nice and warm over there.”

They settled where the barre ended, in the sunlight. Elizabeth had her run her hands along the grain of the polished floor. Then they pressed their hands to the mirror glass.

“If i can't see in it, how will I know what I'll do wrong?” Kelly whispered.

“Ah there's the question of a true dancer,” Elizabeth said, “ballerinas have just the same worry when they first get on the stage. There's no mirror in a live performance. You've only own body to guide you. I'll teach you how to do without it, Kelly, I promise.”

Teaching a blind student required different tools, but the base of it was the same. She started with hands and feet. The barre would be Kelly's anchor, serving to steady her when her cane couldn't. They tried stretches, then plies, then simple tendus in all five positions.

“That's it, Kelly, beautiful. Toes pointed, arch of your foot curved. Pretend that the tip of your toes is an oar and you're pushing yourself out to sea.” Elizabeth knelt, placing her hand on the ground. “Push out until your foot touches my hand. And now...draw back...wonderful.”

The comment made Kelly beam. “Really?”

“I swear it. You're a natural.”

The cascade of gentle notes from the piano nearly took Lizzie's breath away. She'd only asked for background music. He'd given her that and much more than it. He sank into sonatas, turning them into lullabies, sweet and tender.

If not for the reverberation from the piano, she would have thought it a recording. In all her years in the opera house, all the many piano concertos she'd heard performed live, she'd only heard playing of this skill level neared by one other person: her own sister-in-law, Georgiana.

“Need me to change keys, Lizzie?” Tye asked.

“No, thank you, Tye.” Elizabeth stood, touching the barre. “He's a fine player, isn't he Kelly?”

Kelly offered a small smile. “As pretty as the music from a Disney movie.”

Tye's laugh was kind. Of all the compliments he'd received, that was a new favorite. “I also take requests.”

It turned out Tye, courtesy of having a very young half-sister, knew all Kelly's favorites: every song from every princess-themed film that Kelly could think to ask for.

Kelly, her nerves forgotten, giggled when Elizabeth guided her into simply having fun for the remainder of the lesson. Twirling, giggling, laughing, these were the cool-down activities Kelly's mother arrived to watch.

“I've never heard Kelly laugh so much around strangers,” Mrs. Vanwer remarked.

“Mummy,” Kelly, reached out, taking her mother's arm. The girl's small cheeks were flushed with excitement. “Can I come back again?”

“Same time, if it suits you,” Elizabeth confirmed with a smile. “We can keep with the princess theme. Next time we'll try curtsies.”

“Goodbye! And thank you!”

It was only when Kelly and Mrs. Vanwer had departed that Elizabeth allowed herself to press her hands to her cheeks. They were damp.

“That's a nice thing you did.” Tye stood, digging into his jean pockets. “You alright?”

“Yes. I'm just--” she let out an emotional breath, “happy for her. Thank you for your generosity, Tye. I really can't say it enough. If there's anything I can do to thank you...”

“There might be one thing." He moved around the piano. “Could you pass on a message to Georgiana. Tell her I've enjoyed her letters?”

“Well..." Elizabeth hesitated." "She's coming to my home for supper tonight. Why don't you come with me and tell her yourself?”


**

Supper, as it happened, was already in process when Elizabeth arrived home. There was a roast in the oven, and vegetables ready, and some sort of rice dish that, given the mess on the counter, had involved many of the ingredients that remained in the fridge.

“Will,” she shrugged off her coat. She discarded both that and her purse in a nearby chair, “did your trial hearing end early?”

“No.” Will approached, offering her a welcome-home kiss. “This is all Georgie. It was a work in progress when I got here.”

She laughed. “Truly?”

He was a breath away from kissing her again when she halted him, “where's your sister now?”

“In the bathroom." Will frowned. "Why?”

“Because I brought someone home for supper.”

“Love, you make it sound like a stray dog.” He stole another kiss. “Who is it? Charlotte?”

“No, love, it's not Charlotte.”

“Frank Churchill? Frank's not my favorite guy, Lizzie, but I endure him for you.”

“Would you? Mo chori...it's not quite Frank, either."

There was a rumble in his throat. “It's not my aunt, is it? I don't care what she tells you, we don't owe her a single pound...”

“No, it's not your aunty.” She tiptoed, distracting him with another kiss. “It's Tye Bertram.”

“It's—what?”

“Okay, Will--but it's the least I could do. Frida canceled at the last minute. I ran into Tye at the opera house, and one thing led to another...and he played two whole hours! Kelly's whole dance lesson!”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Why?”

"Because it was a nice thing to do." She pulled back from his arms. "If you can't see that for what it is, then---then I'll have to tell him my husband is too rude to share a single meal with him. I thought we were done with judgments that were set in stone, you and I.”

"I--" he took a breath. Bloody hell , he couldn't argue with that. “I don't like him.”

“I know, Will. But...” she shrugged, “Georgie does. Maybe it's time to try and figure out why.”

"You know how grateful I am that you're never my opposing counsel?" He reached for her, drawing her close again. “I'll bring him up here myself. Where's he waiting?”

“The lobby.” Her mouth brushed his. “Thank you, Will.”

“One of us,” Will murmured, “will have to go warn Georgie.”

“Warn me about what?”

Slowly, the pair pulled away from one another. Elizabeth's fingers knotted together. “Georgie, we've—there's someone coming for dinner.”

One more person for dinner? Georgiana hoped they didn't expect much from her. She'd cooked supper, after all, wasn't that asking enough of her? She'd already scrubbed off her makeup and put spot cream on her cheeks. She'd found her reading glasses. The sweatpants she wore were faded and stretched. Her post-supper plans for the night involved eating ice cream.

“Who's coming?” She leaned against the counter. “Anne and Fred?”

"Well, if it's Charlotte and Bill Collins, I just hope Mr. Collins doesn't ask me to--"

“Georgie,” Will interrupted, “It's Tye Bertram.”

Georgiana snorted. “Oh, very funny.”

“Georgie, he's quite serious. I ran into Tye downtown, and...” Elizabeth hesitated, “he ended up doing me a favor. He served as my pianist for my afternoon class. I'm repaying him with dinner.”

“I—but--” She shook her head, dizzy and dazed. “He's really downstairs?”

“Yes, Georgie. In the lobby.”

“How could...he's not...”

Tye? Here? Now? Her heart started racing. Why hadn't he told her he was in London? Why hadn't Will warned her? Why had she scrubbed off her makeup already? Why had no one warned her? Oh, why hadn't Elizabeth pounded on the bathroom door and said...she might have said---

“I'll go downstairs,” Will said crisply, "bring him up here."

“Oh my gosh, Will," Georgiana blurted out, "don't you dare.”

“But--”

“Not yet—not yet! I need ten minutes. Geeze.” The girl darted for the bathroom. “Where's my make up bag?! Where are my contacts! I have nothing to wear. What am I going to wear? Ugh, all my clothes are dreadful!”

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “I'll help her. Go downstairs to Tye. I'll text you when she's ready.”



**

He'd accepted that his would be a life filled with sisters. There was dear, opinionated Mariah, wry, quiet Julia. Little Lynnie, his half-sister, the new apple of his eye.

Somehow, over the last few years, Georgiana Darcy had ended up getting herself added to that list. Another would-be sister in his life.

Through letters, he'd coached her through the prospect of performing for others the way he'd coached Mariah during her brief stint at piano lessons. He'd debated Beethoven with Georgie the same way he would have with Julia---honestly and frankly. He worried about people using her the way he knew that he'd eventually worry about Lynnie.

It was the simplest friendship he'd ever experienced, completely devoid of complications.

If Lizzie's dinner offer meant visiting Georgie too, than why not say yes? Even if it did mean sitting down at a table with one Will Darcy—that idea made him tug at his collar the moment he stepped in the door---he could still manage it.

“Are you thirsty?” Will questioned, swinging the refrigerator door open. “We have water, tea, soda...”

Subtly done. Tye doubted that the Darcys maintained a completely dry kitchen, but Will hadn't made him uncomfortable by offering more than that. “Soda's fine.”

He pulled out the bottle, twisting it open. “Georgiana didn't mention you were in town.”

“I didn't mention it to her. I wasn't even sure I'd be coming until a few weeks ago. My agent was discussing a booking on the continent. I wasn't sure if I'd say yes.”

Will nodded, handing him the drink. “But you chose to do it.”

“Only because La Scala met my condition. No press. They can put me on the poster, but--” He let out a breath. “I just want to pick up the violin and play. Anything more stressful than that----I'm not sure I'm ready for it.”

Dark, unreadable eyes met his. “That seems a wise decision.”

It was the first remark even remotely near a compliment that Darcy had ever offered him. No follow-up asides. Just a frank answer. Honestly, Tye wasn't sure what to make of it.

“Look, Mr. Bertram--”

“Tye,” he corrected with a wince.

“Tye,” Will said. “I know that you and I haven't always been on good footing.”

“No.” Tye's mouth hardened. “That was my fault, for the record. I was drunk more than I was sober when we first met. I'm not proud of that part of my life.”

“Yes, well, I have Georgiana's assurances that you've put that part of your life behind you. We all have moments in our life we're not proud of, Tye.”

“Some of us more than others.”

“Regardless, it sounds like you've learned from yours.” Will paused. He'd never expected to look at young Tye Bertram and see any part of himself---but he did now. The regrets were different, but the persistent self-reproach was the same. “We can only learn from the past and move beyond it, Tye. It sounds like you're doing that.”

“Trying.” Tye's gaze met Will's. “Thanks for saying it, though.”

“It sounds like it deserves to be said.”

“Tye!”

Georgiana was rushing towards him. He hadn't expected her to look exactly the same. There was a big gap between fourteen and sixteen. He remembered he'd grown inches and inches at that age.

Those girlish features of hers were slowly maturing into a young woman's face. She wasn't there yet, but in two or three years, perhaps, she'd finish growing into those Darcy features. Her brown curls were pulled into a plait. She wore a burgundy day dress, with capped sleeves and a hem that touched her knees. The makeup was new: rose gloss on her lips.

She looked sweet, precisely her age, sixteen and no older.

Tye greeted her with a grin. “It's good to see you, Georgie.”

“You are back!” He would have offered her a simple handshake, just as he'd offered to Will. Instead she bolted for him, charging him with a hug. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Easy,” he untangled from her with a laugh. “It was a last minute trip.”

“But you should have—you might have---” Georgiana shook her head, breathless. “I can't believe you're here.”

“Your family was nice enough to host me for dinner.”

“Yes, I hope Will hasn't given you a hard time while you waited for me.”

“He's been fine, Georgie,” said Tye.

It was strange for Tye, not just saying those words, but actually meaning them. Will Darcy, a decent guy for the length of an evening.

Elizabeth moved around the pair, linking fingers with her husband.

“Georgie's a grand cook, Tye,” said Elizabeth. “There's a roast in the oven. What do you say we head to the dinner table and dig in?”


**

For Georgiana, dinner passed too quickly. Nerves—and Will and Lizzie's presence---meant she was only brave enough to speak a handful of her inquiries: how long would he be here, was he moving back to England?

He was still teaching in snow Canada. The department head kept begging him to expand his course load, to give lectures, to start touring.

“But you have no interest in that?” asked Will.

Tye's laugh was short. He set down his fork, reaching for a napkin. “With all due respect, Mr. Darcy, if I wanted that, I'd be teaching at Cambridge. Anonymity's new to me. I'm set on enjoy it for a few more years. Besides, the free time's giving me a chance to compose.”

He's not Peter Pan anymore, thought Georgiana. He knows himself now. He knows what he wants.

And then Tye brushed a lock of shining blond hair back from his eyes, sent a distracted smile her way, and she forgot to breathe, much less think.

“Are you enjoying Canada, Tye?”

“Yeah, I have to admit I am. I like the lack of pretensions. No lords, or ladies or any of it. Mostly people don't know who I am, and those who do know don't seem to care much.” He took another bite of his roast. “Of course, as much as I love Grace Jennings, bunking at her house comes with a few conditions I could do without. But I work around it.”

Will picked up his wine glass, taking a sip. His right hand slid over to his wife's shoulder, resting there. “And Grace is?”

“My mentor, and an old friend.”

“What are her conditions?” asked Elizabeth.

Tye actually blushed. “They're more like—suggestions. She keeps trying to set me up with her granddaughters. Carolina's eighteen, and Charlotte's twenty-one. Nice enough girls.”

The color drained from Georgiana's face. Perhaps noticing it, Elizabeth spoke quickly, “Well, you're young yet, Tye. It's always nice to get to know new people, right?”

“Ah, Lina's too young for me. And Charlotte's really...” a laugh slipped out of him, “well, she's exactly like her mum. You can hear her coming from a mile down the road. Grace is pretty set on having Lottie married off. I love Grace a lot, but the truth is, I'm not looking to date Lottie or Lina, or any one else. Not at this point in my life. I've been clear with her on that.”

“Well, that's good,” Elizabeth said softly. “We're big believers of being honest with people in this household.”

“Yeah, me too.” Looking eager to change topics, he cleared his throat. “Georgie, I never knew you liked to cook. When did that interest take hold?”

“Hm?” She was nearly too distracted with thoughts of him around two mystery girls named Lina and Lottie to answer. Were they very beautiful? Were they charming and witty? Lina especially worried her. She wasn't that much older than Georgie herself. Too young, he said, but maybe he wouldn't feel that way in a year, or two years.

Seriously Georgie , she thought to herself, you have to pull yourself together .

“Oh, well, recently, I guess. I like it. I like activities that use my hands.”

“Right,” he grinned, “that's evident. Few cooks can play the octave jumps in Franz Liszt's Rondo Fantastique.”

A shy blush brightened her cheeks. “I still have trouble with that piece.”

“Is it the tempo that's the problem?”

“That and the trills.”

“I could help you work through that.” His dark eyes scanned the room. “No piano?”

“There's one in Will's office,” Elizabeth remarked. “It's a very small one, squeezed in by the window, but it works. Why don't you two try it out?”

Will, thank heaven, was saying nothing.

Her brother looked remarkably relaxed, though from time to time he glanced from Georgiana, then to Tye, and then back again, with some conclusion in his eyes. Maybe he was simply being quiet for Georgie's sake—she invited so few guests over. Maybe it was something Elizabeth had said before Tye's arrival. Or maybe it was simply the wine his wife had poured into his glass, and her hand rubbing gently at his knee.

Whatever it was, he wasn't embarrassing her by saying no to the idea.

When dinner cleared out, Georgiana led Tye to the study. It felt like a dream, having him here—seeing him have a civil conversation with her brother, having him eat her food, hearing him even compliment it--

“This is quite a place your brother's got here,” Tye said. He was studying the framed photographs on the wall. He'd stopped at one. It was an old photograph of Elizabeth and Will in Ireland. They were standing together on the bow of a boat. Will was holding Elizabeth's hands tenderly in his. She was looking up at him with a sweet, shy smile, as if Will were the only man in the world worth looking at.

She recognized that photo. It was a memento from Killian and Ginny's wedding, the summer before they'd married.

“Your brother's a lucky man.”

Her stomach flip-flopped. “Yes, Lizzie's so beautiful.”

“Lizzie's a pretty girl. That's not what I meant, though.”

“No?”

Tye moved from the photo, towards the small, upright piano squeezed at the edge of the room. “I don't know your brother and sister-in-law, Georgie, not really. But after sitting with them at dinner, even I can see they're crazy about each other. That's rare, at least in my family.” Tye settled at the piano. “Take a seat, Georgie. Let's see if they keep this baby in tune.”

She settled beside him at the piano bench. The practice commenced. She tried to pretend she was back at Bardwell, and this was just another lesson. Every time Tye's hand brushed against hers, every time he corrected her placement or reached across her to play a trill, lightning raced through her.

Tye remained oblivious to it. He spoke about movement in the hands verses the stability in the wrists. He talked about dynamics and pacing. He never stopped to look in the sixteen year old's eyes. He never softened his voice to anything less than a firm, informative voice.

It wasn't romantic at all. But oh, she wanted it to be.

At the end of the lesson, when the sheet music was put aside, both stood. “I hope you're having some fun at Bardwell, Georgie. You've kept up your friendships?”

“Oh, yes. Margaret's still my best friend, and my friend Janey, she's a flutist, and--”

“How's that fellow Ewan treating you?”

The name made her freeze. She'd written about him in so many letters, named so many of her friends. Ewan must have been the one name that came up most. She'd never said the word boyfriend. Clearly, he'd put two and two together.

A grin broke across his mouth. “You don't have to talk about it, Georgie. I don't want to embarrass you. I just hope the young guy's treating you right.”

“It's just--” she shook her head. Her heart was racing. “Ewan's been nothing but kind to me.”

“I hope so. From your stories, he's really smitten with you, Georgie.”

“Yes, but he's not--” Georgiana hesitated. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. He's not you .

“How old is this Ewan?”

“My age. Sixteen.”

“Well, here's a word of advice from a friend. Don't be too hard on those sixteen year old boys. They have a lot of growing to do. Be grateful he had the guts to go up to you at all. Girls are very intimidating at his age. I probably wouldn't have had the courage.”

“You--” At least her brown gaze did meet his. “Tye, I don't think you had a shy day in all your life. Particularly around women.”

“Believe me, I caught up quickly.” He rubbed his cheek ruefully, glancing away from her. “But, if your descriptions are anything to go by, I was probably more like your Ewan at that age than you reckon.”

“I--” she was speechless. Impossible. By his late teens, he'd already romanced the stunning lingerie model, Emma Woodhouse. By twenty, he was one of London's most eligible bachelors. Women around the world wanted him. “I can't imagine it.”

“Well, I still remember it.” Tye laughed. “I had a big growth spurt at the end of my sixteenth year. Everything changed---my body, my height, my shoe size. Just some advice from a friend, Georgie. People change.”

Advice from a friend. It wasn't all that she wanted from him, but it was still what he was to her. A friend.

Georgiana , she told herself as she led him out of the study, Be happy with that.

Part 4

E. Children



As Georgiana grew older, she grew more independent. She had a driver's license now, and her own schedule, her own friends, and goals. She was making plans to travel for her gap year, she was taking tours of universities, she was talking about the future.


Emma and George Knightley moved households. George secured himself a partnership with a local family practice near Donwell Abbey. Emma still maintained the London art gallery, now staffed by a young team of art curators. She continued to sell her work there. Donwell Abbey was large enough for an art studio, though, and the countryside, said Emma, was constantly inspiring her.

Anne and Frederick, too, found their lives changing. Anne changed primary schools, taking a local post teaching Year One students at a school just a few blocks from their home. Fredrick, after an injury abroad, was removed from active duty, and was settling into his new role as a squadron trainer at the military base.

Will was offered a new position at work. They discussed the offer over dinner—in a pizza shop, of all places, squeezed together into one side of a booth. An hour of back-and-forth discussion led to one conclusion: he didn't want the promotion.

“Elizabeth, ten years ago I would have called myself crazy for passing this job up. Now I can't bring myself to say yes to it.” He sighed. “The travel this would involve---it would be double what I'm doing now. This isn't a job for someone with a spouse.”

“Not for someone with a spouse,” Elizabeth whispered carefully. “Or...not for someone with a family?”

He stayed silent. She felt his fingers tease at her ear. Perhaps this whole hour of conversation-- what they needed, what would work for their lives--- had really been leading up to this.

“Georgie needs less of us...” Elizabeth continued.

Will pressed a kiss to her temple. “Yes.”

“And I know we talked about waiting longer...”

"What do you want?” His dark gaze sought hers. “What about your dancing?”

“I love ballet, Will, you know that. But..." she hesitated, "the way that I love it is—it's not my whole life anymore. I started my career at seventeen. This will be my ninth year dancing Nutcracker. My eighth year dancing Swan Lake. I've been cast in every ballet I could ever hope to dance in. Even if I do continue dancing, I've met all my goals on the stage. My charity work is more fulfilling--and I can continue that even if we do have a baby.”

“A child's a big change.”

“I know. But I'm ready for motherhood, Will. I'm sure of that. Would you—do you--”

He leaned down, kissing her softly. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.” He kissed her again. He was five years older, thirty-one now. Maybe he'd been ready for awhile.

Adoption, pregnancy. As time passed, they talked about both. Elizabeth wanted both eventually, in the years to come. They agreed to start with adoption. The process could take months, if not years.

It wasn't easy. They'd known it wouldn't be. Even choosing which country to adopt from left Elizabeth's stomach in knots. They'd love any child equally, no matter where that child came from.

It was a combination of factors that made them settle on one particular country in Eastern Europe. Will traveled there frequently for business, he knew their diplomats, he knew their courts, he knew their legal system. Beyond that, his late mother had had ties to the country. Her grandmother—Will's great grandmother—had emigrated from there to England in 1918.

One evening Will took out a photo box, letting her look through it in the privacy of their bedroom.

"Your maternal great-grandmother was an emigre?" she murmured as she looked through the photos. "Will, you never mentioned it..."

"There wasn't much to say," said Will, tugging off his sweatshirt. He settled on the bed next to her, unhooking his watch and setting on the bedside table. "She died when my mother was young."

Her husband was so undeniably English, so tied to centuries of history in England. As an Irish national, she found it delightful that he had a bit of some other culture in him, too. Even if it was a small bit.

There were photos of his great grandmother dating back to the early 20th century. Why had she never made this cultural connection before? His maternal aunt was named Catherine, after all. His mother was named Anastasia. The 'Ana' in Georgiana's name came from that name. Was it really such a surprise that a small portion of his family came from somewhere other than Derbyshire?

One black-and-white, circa 1915, photo showed an elegant woman draped in pearls and fur. This was her, Will's great grandmother. Clearly she, too, had been wealthy. An emigre, thought Elizabeth, but not the sort who'd come here with nothing in her pockets.

“She must have had a thousand stories," she said. "What was her name?”

“Galina.”

She tucked the photo back into the photo box, set the box aside, then settled into his embrace. “Elegant name, Galina. My whole career, I've been surrounded by girls with beautiful names like that. Being called Lizzie seems a bit ordinary.”

"I don't think so. Are you saying you don't like your name?"

"Well, I--"

"I love your name." Her husband rolled her over. "Elizabeth, I've always loved your name. Right from the start."

"It's not quite exotic." She laughed as his hands trailed up her stomach. "It's not a long, beautiful name like Oksana, or Ekaterina, or Alina."

"You have a long," Will's lips pressed to her skin, "--beautiful name. Elizabeth Rose.”

“Well,” she said, breathless, “I suppose when you like say it like that..."

It could take months simply to get approval to adopt. Some couples waited years for a child. A few lucky ones passed through the process within six to eight months. It would happen, they agreed, whenever God willed it to happen.

The next few months were the most stressful, paper-work filled months of Elizabeth's entire life. There were dossiers for Will to submit, and forms to fill out. Elizabeth was required to get a letter from three separate physicians---her rheumatologist, her family physician, and her nephrologist---stating she was physically fit for adoption, that her lupus wouldn't be a hindrance to caring for a child.

They were assigned an adoption facilitator. There were interviews in-office, and at their home. They had a home inspection. They needed character references. Fees had to be paid. Will had to file paperwork with the embassy in London and the embassy abroad. They received a certificate of eligibility.

In August they were matched with a child in an orphanage. It was a baby boy, Nicholas. He was eight months old on the match date—this was barely old enough, the facilitator told them, to even be on the adoption registry. But, God willing, he would be their son.

In September, they traveled to visit the baby. Laws required that adopters reside in the country for four weeks.

In person, Nicholas was shy and heart-breakingly small. He had pale hair and sky blue eyes. The medical report said he was anemic. He wasn't crawling yet, or even trying to. The baby wasn't trusting enough to let them hold him. When they returned to their rented hotel room, Will hugged her tight. Both cried.

They returned to the orphanage day after day, week after week. For their allotted hour, Will and Elizabeth sat with the baby, talking and offering the small toys they'd brought with them. Nicholas was cautious with the toys, and with the Darcys. By the end of the second week, he'd accepted one toy, along with the Darcy's careful touch, letting both hold him.

After that, it was more meetings with a local judge, and more paperwork to file with two separate embassies. A four week visit became eight slow weeks, all of October and November. Nicholas needed a visa authorizing travel out of his own country's borders, and a second set of papers authorizing entrance with Will and Elizabeth into the United Kingdom. Their stay stretched beyond their required residence mark, and still Nicholas wasn't theirs yet. The wait was endless, painful---Will started having with nightmares, Elizabeth suffered insomnia.

“I'm worried about your health, love,” Will murmured one sleepless night while she was in his embrace.

"I know."

"You feel warm." His fingers touched her cheek. "You're getting a rash."

She buried her cheek against his chest. She'd noticed it too. That butterfly rash was a marker of her condition acting up. “Nicholas will be ours soon. I'll be fine then.”

The irony wasn't lost on either of them: the adoption was possibly more difficult for her health than pregnancy would have been. A few more weeks of this stress, and she'd risk a serious lupus flare.

Will left at dawn that morning. He was gone for the whole day, holed up at the local magistrate's office.

And then, finally (and, she suspected, in large part due to some pressure placed on the magistrate by her barrister husband), Nicholas was theirs.

Months had passed since they'd settled home with their baby. Her rash faded quickly when they returned to London. Her health improved. She and Will settled into life here with Nicholas.

And then, a few weeks into January, came a surprise: Elizabeth was pregnant. It was her nephrologist, of all people, perhaps the least sensitive, most blunt physician in all of London, who gave her the happy news.

"But--" Elizabeth shook her head. Dumb surprise warred with joy. Pregnant? "I've been married for years, but I'm diligent about making sure I---that is, I always remember to---"

"Mrs. Darcy, the truth is, all of us have our forgetful days." The doctor flipped through her chart. "You were on prednisone recently."

"Briefly." Her mind was still spinning. She always remembered. But what if she hadn't, recently. They'd been adjusting to the baby, and-- "For two weeks in December."

"Who prescribed that?"

"Well, my regular physician. I had a mild flare but--"

"There are some studies showing prednisone may briefly heighten a woman's fertility. Or perhaps it was simple forgetfulness on your part."

"But--" Elizabeth's joy was quickly paired with panic, "--what if I conceived while I was on it? Would it hurt the baby?"

"You said it was a two week drug course in December. Based on the information you've given, my calculations say you conceived in January. You should be fine. You may be a pregnant woman, but as far as I can tell you are a healthy pregnant woman. Might I remind you, I am not an obstetrician, Mrs. Darcy. Any further questions should be addressed to a specialist. We are here to talk about your kidneys, so could we please move on to that?"

Their family of three would be a family of four by early October.

She was now seven months into her--very health---pregnancy. Her old bras were tucked away. Stretchy maternity pants were her new friend. Even her loosest, biggest summer dresses from her old wardrobe had stopped fitting after her fourth month.

Lately, she'd been borrowing a lot of Will's shirts, usually pairing one of his old button-down shirts with leggings during the day. She slept in his t-shirts at night. Today, though, was a check up with the obstetrician. Will would be going with her, and little Nicholas too. They'd be celebrating with lunch afterward.

Simply getting Nicholas out the door took work. The little boy was making leaps and bounds with every week that passed. He loved her. He loved Will. He loved being held by them.

With her pregnancy progressing, though, picking him up and carrying him for long periods was not only difficult on her back, the act of bending left her dizzy.

At seven months, Elizabeth wasn't just a little pregnant anymore, she was very pregnant. All Nicholas understood was that mummy couldn't hold him for long anymore. This morning it was leaving her sweet little boy in tears. That, combined with her pregnancy hormones, and her early morning fatigue, prompted Elizabeth to start crying.

She thanked heaven for her husband. Will eased Nicholas from her arms, and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Go back to bed, love. It's early yet.”

“But the baby---” she sniffled, “his breakfast is---and we still need to dress him---and his diaper bag needs repacked, and---”

“I'll handle it.”

“Will," she hiccupped, "his favorite blanket's still in the dryer.”

He leaned down, his lips brushed hers again, “I'll handle it. I'll take care of this baby. You can take care of that one. Rest.”

She went back to bed and slept a whole second hour. Then she took a shower. She dried her hair, did her makeup, and dressed in one of her new maternity dresses: a white cotton summer dress with a high empire waist. She found her cross necklace---an old favorite--- and a pair of silver earrings.

When she returned to the living room, Will and Nicholas were there. Nicholas was cuddled up to Will. Their little boy was pushing a small, red toy car across the couch pillow.

Will reached for her hand as she neared him, squeezing it. “You look beautiful, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you.” She eased herself next to him. “Thanks for letting me rest."

"Of course." His dark eyes studied her. "How's the baby?"

"Good. He was a bit restless while I slept, but that's normal. How's our little lad?”

Nicholas lifted the small car in his hands, tilting it. His soft blue eyes were bright with excitement. He wiggled, climbing onto Will's lap. “Dada, cat!”

"He's good." Will grinned. “Did you hear him say car?”

“Cat!” said Nicholas.

Their little boy was making leaps and bounds in motor skills. He was walking, and climbing, and picking things up. He babbled quite a lot, usually nonsense, but occasionally one or two words in something the Darcys assumed was his native language. English was coming more slowly. He'd picked up dada, and muma, and nothing else.

Her hand brushed up her husband's back. “It sounded like cat, mo chroi.”

Nicholas let out a small, happy squeak. “Dada, cat!”

Will grinned. His left arm circled around Elizabeth. His right arm held Nicholas closer. “It's definitely car.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Have you been reading him a book about cats?”

“No." He pressed a kiss to her head. "He's still nuts about the one with the truck. We read that three times while you showered.”

In the safety of his father's embrace, the boy started dropping the car, then picking it up again. “Muma, cat!”

“We've never had a cat,” Will murmured. “Our friends don't have cats. I wonder where he might have heard---”

“Cat!” said Nicholas.

“Maybe he just likes cats?” Elizabeth grinned. “Does it matter?”

“No. Maybe it's just the closest he can get to the letter 'r'. Otherwise, the only thing I can think of is--”

Cat---his aunt's most frequent nickname. Will winced. He'd spent a good portion of the previous evening talking to Richard on the phone, listening to the airman announce he was about to give Lady Catherine an earful over her 'suggestions' concerning Richard's children, Jason and Annie.

“It can't be,” said Will.

“No,” she agreed. She kissed Nicholas's soft cheek, then lifted her head to kiss her husband. “His third word in English...”

He bent his head, accommodating by touching his lips to hers. “Could be anything.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

His free hand caressed her very round abdomen. “My bet's on the word car.”

“Mine, too.”

Will leaned in, kissing her softly. Nicholas was wiggling in his father's arm, reaching for the ground. The baby inside her kicked. They had an appointment to keep.

“Are we ready, Mrs. Darcy?” Will whispered as he drew back.

She smiled. “All set.”



Part 5
F. Dinner


“You have a reservation?”

“Yeah," Tye exhaled. "I'm meeting a family here, actually. The Darcy family.”

They had said Friday, hadn't they? 8:00 PM? Ciao Claretta, that was the name of the restaurant Georgiana had texted him about. A promise to his dear friend was prompting him to return to London, even on a night when Paris was the only place he ought to be. The world premiere of his new symphony was tomorrow. He could barely believe he'd dragged himself out of the concert hall.

Will and Elizabeth had arrived early. Will was sporting a three-piece suit. Elizabeth had donned a white cocktail dress. They were squeezed together at a small square table, whispering to one another.

As he neared the table, it was Elizabeth who noticed him. She stood to give him a welcoming hug. Will greeted him with a handshake.

“How was your train trip?” Elizabeth asked.

“The Eurostar?” Tye slid into the chair opposite them. “Not bad.”

“I hope you brought your appetite,” Elizabeth said.

“She's right.” Will handed him a menu. “Dinner's on us.”

“You don't have to--”

“A congratulatory gesture,” Will said, "for your successful premiere tomorrow."

“Alright. I'm too hungry to argue with that.” Tye grinned at the pair, flipping the menu open. “This looks like a nice restaurant.”

“Yes, it's very special to us,” Elizabeth remarked, “Will took me here the night he proposed.”

“No kidding?” Tye said. “Do you come back here often?”

“From time to time,” said Will. “We're not in London much anymore. Nicholas is in primary school at Lambton. That keeps us at Pemberley for most of the year.”

“And Bennet's right behind him,” Elizabeth added with a small laugh. “The wee boy's so eager to do everything his brother does."

Tye reached for his water glass. “And the younger children?”

“Elise and William,” said Elizabeth. “Elise is four already. I can barely believe it. And William's four months old. He learns new things every day.”

“My youngest sister Lynnie's eight this year,” Tye said. “I can barely believe how tall she's getting. It won't be long before she's taller than her mother.”

“How is Lydia?” Elizabeth questioned carefully. “I haven't seen her in years.”

Tye hesitated. His other sisters had never warmed to Lydia. She tested even Edmund's famous patience. His mother and father had reconciled after a brief divorce. His mom couldn't stand the sight of her. Lydia was temperamental and impulsive. But it wasn't easy being part of the Bertram family. He couldn't help but feel sympathy for her.

“It's never easy being a single parent,” Tye said at last. “Lydia does her best with it. She moved into a cottage on the Mansfield Park property some years ago. It seems like a good fit for Lynnie.”

“I just hope she's happy,” said Elizabeth.

"Lynnie's sweet enough to make everyone happy," Tye confirmed. "Even her parents."

Tye smiled, hearing Georgiana's voice behind him. “Will!" she called out, "Lizzie, oh I'm sorry I'm late! Tye, you're here already, too. I wasn't sure if you'd arrive before me. Margaret kept me busy for longer than I'd thought. I had the worst time trying to get a cab here.”

“Georgiana,” Elizabeth's laugh was gentle, “don't rush, sweetheart, we won't start our meal without you, will we Tye?”

“Never.” Tye set his glass down, straightened his tie, and stood to greet her properly.

He nearly fell over when he saw her.

Twenty-three year old Georgiana Darcy looked like she'd walked off the cover of a magazine. She wore a gold dress, designed to show off her hour-glass figure, and her long, beautiful legs. Her curly hair was up, with a few strands falling from her chignon to brush her face. There were diamonds in her ears. Her eyes were smoky with eye shadow. She smelled of rose perfume.

She greeted Will and Lizzie with a hug, then moved toward him.

“Tye,” she said breathlessly. “Goodness, you're very smart in that black suit. And you're wearing a tie, too. You're looking so well.”

He was speechless.

“That's a beautiful dress, Georgiana,” Elizabeth said.

“What little there is of it,” Will remarked dryly.

“Well, it's Friday night. I wanted to dress up. And it's nearly Christmas. How often do we get to have dinner together, all four of us?”

“Not often enough,” Tye remarked.

“Yes, and this restaurant is an old favorite of our family's.” Georgiana said to Tye, offering a teasing smile. “A great place to celebrate, right?”

The longer he looked at her, the tighter his collar seemed. He'd seen her in the occasional daring outfit since she'd entered university, but never anything that made her look quite this---

Tempting . he decided. It's just Georgiana. Just your old friend. You've known her for years. You can't ogle her. Not now. Not in front of her brother.

“I--” Tye cleared his tight throat. Was it hot in here, or was it just him? “Your brother and sister-in-law were telling me how great the food is here. How about we take a look at the menus?”

They settled at the table again, Elizabeth and Will at one side, Georgiana and Tye opposite them. His stern reminder not to notice her dress, or her body, just to notice her---sweet Georgie---seemed impossible. It was easier when his focus was on her eyes. She had beautiful eyes, warm eyes. They made him think of her mind, and all her many gifts.

He chose to make her mind his focus. They talked about her coursework at Cambridge. One of her current professors was a former mentor of his.

“His sessions are so difficult,” she said, reaching for a bread stick.

“Leopold's always tough on his favorite students,” Tye remarked. “That said, if he's ever unfair to you---”

“No, no, Tye. The pressure's all mine.”

“Well, if that changes, call me. I would fly to Cambridge and give him hell on your behalf.”

A small smile appeared on her lips. “I know.”

“This—Leopold--was a teacher of yours, Tye?” asked Elizabeth.

“Many years ago,” Tye confirmed, “when he still taught at Bardwell.”

“Tye was, oh, I think—twelve years old?” Georgiana announced with a laugh.

“I was twelve-and-a-half,” Tye defended with a grin. “That half year counts for plenty.”

“If I say that I'm twenty-three-and-a-half,” said Georgiana, leaning closer to him, “would you consider me more grown-up than I was as a mere twenty-three year old?”

“Georgiana,” he said, brushing a stray brown curl from her eyes, “I'm smart enough not to argue with any woman about her age. Even you.”

At last, he glanced at Will and Elizabeth. Will was whispering something to his wife. Elizabeth was simply watching Georgiana and Darcy with a smile. Tye shifted in his chair, reaching for his water glass again.

He'd managed not to stare at Georgiana's dress. That smile of hers distracted him, though. And her hair--

He was twenty eight---due to celebrate his twenty ninth birthday next autumn. Georgiana was, as she'd reminded him, twenty-three. It was hitting him for the first time that yes, he and Georgiana were on equal footing now. If they'd met as strangers at a party, he never would have thought of her as anything other than a grown woman.

Their meals arrived. Tye had the filetto al balsamico. Elizabeth and Will both ordered the arista alla fiorentina. Georgiana tried the tagliatelle al tartufo, which she kindly offered to share with him. Over and over, until the end of the meal, she kept offering.

Finally, when she was down to her last bite, Tye relented with a grin. He set down his water glass. "Alright, Georgie. Convince me."

"I will," Georgiana said. She lifted her own fork to his mouth.

It tasted like everything he loved about Italy--rich parmisane, creamy butter, homemade pasta, earthy pepper.

More inviting was the warmth in her eyes, richly intelligent, playful, still just a little shy. Every thing about her looked soft tonight--her skin, her curls, her eyes.

"Not bad, is it?" she whispered, drawing the fork away.

"It's---" He could barely think around her tonight. What was the question? "Geeze, Georgie, it's incredible."

"Oh, it is my favorite fam-ily!" A woman with silver-gray hair and a rose pink dress was nearing the table."Elisabetta, Fitzwilliam! Eliabetta, I see you have had your baby. How many bambini is it, four?"

"Four," said Will, taking Elizabeth's hand. "This is our first trip to London since William's birth."

"When they are bigger, you bring them here to eat. And Georgiana, bella, you have dressed so beautifully for me. Or is it because of your fidanzato here?"

"Claretta," Georgiana set her fork down, rubbing at her neck. "Non è il mio fidanzato. Lui è un amico."

Claretta's gaze shifted to Tye. "Un amico?"

Across the table, Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, dear."

"Deja vu, right?" Will murmured, grinning at her. “Easy on the boy, Claretta.”

"But I cannot believe it.” Claretta repeated. “Solo un amico?"

"Madam." Tye looked chagrinned. "My Italian is very limited—I can't speak much—”

“He doesn't speak Italian, Claretta,” Georgiana said quickly.

“Questo vestito?” Claretta insisted, “per un amico? Is that what you tell me?”

This dress, for a friend? Tye offered a tired laugh. He couldn't really speak much of it, but he knew more Italian than he let on. It was past midnight, too late for things to get lost in translation. How was he supposed to answer that? Especially when he didn't know the answer himself. He'd been wondering it for most of the night. “Georgie, when did you learn Italian?"

Georgiana was still blushing. "Oh, Will rents a summer house there. We go there every year. Claretta, this is Tye Bertram. Tye, this is Claretta. She's the restaurant's owner, and an old friend of our family."

"Claretta," said Elizabeth, “Tye here is a wonderful musician. He teaches in Paris."

"A sua sorella piacciono i musicisti?" said Claretta to Will. Your sister likes musicians.

"Le piace questo musicista, sì,” Will confirmed calmly. She likes this musician, yes .

Georgiana's mouth dropped open. "Will!"

“Georgie,” Will said, “You're a grown woman. I accepted that years ago. You'll have to excuse us. It's getting late. Elizabeth and I should head out.” He stood, offering a kiss to Claretta's cheek. “Claretta, have Crespo charge the evening meal to my account.”

“But no dessert?” Claretta said with a frown.

“Perhaps for Tye and Georgie?” Elizabeth confirmed lightly. “Tye, the panna cotta here is wonderful.”

“Are you headed back to the apartment, Lizzie? Will?” Georgiana asked.

“Soon.” Will confirmed. “There's a place near here that Elizabeth and I want to visit first, though.”

"Goodnight, Georgie, sweetheart. And Tye, we were so happy to have you join us for dinner," Elizabeth added. "We do wish you loads of luck for your premiere tomorrow. If you two want to stay for dessert--"

Tye rubbed at his jaw. “Georgie, I'm happy to stick around if you want to.”

“Well,” Georgiana was blushing again, “sure. I'd like that.”

Will nodded. “We'll see you at home, then.”

“Tye, if you'd be nice enough to drop Georgie off before you head back to—” Elizabeth hesitated, “where are you staying tonight?”

“The Delshire Grand, though it won't be much of a stay. I'm taking the 8:00 AM train back to Paris.”

“When you do arrive home, Georgie,” Elizabeth added, “be careful not to make too much noise? William's a good sleeper, but the London apartment's still new to him. I wouldn't want him frightened.”

“Yes,” Georgiana nodded, “of course.”

They ended up staying at Ciao Claretta's until the restaurant closed. They split an apple tart and an espresso, and talked quietly. She was older now, and more at ease with expressing her opinions. In these last few years, he'd come to realize how similar their tastes were, how they loved the same books, the same films, the same places. They shared details about their lives, their families, their hopes for the future.

And, as often happened in these last few years around her, Tye felt the stress inside him fade away. The premiere in Paris mattered, but this time with her mattered more. He wouldn't have traveled all this way---when he could least afford it---if he hadn't already known that deep inside his heart.

He drove her home. It was stop-and-go traffic, typical of a late Friday in London. When he parked at her building, he glanced over at her.

She was dozing quietly.

“Georgie,” he whispered. Gently, he reached across, brushing the edge of her cheek. “Georgiana, sweetheart, we're here.”

“Already?” she whispered. Her eyes opened slowly.

He gave her a soft smile. “It's past 2:00.”

“Too quick,” she said quietly. “The whole night.”

“Yeah, for me too.” He gently touched a curl near her brow. “Let me walk you up.”

He escorted her through the sleek lobby, and up the lift. Once again, as they had a dozen times before, they stood at the door to the Darcy's apartment. For the first time in their long friendship, Tye Bertram was at a loss for how to offer his goodbye.

She was his dearest friend. His best friend. He'd come all this way for her---he'd go anywhere in the world for her. When had it happened? When had he fallen in love with her?

"I wish I could be in Paris with you," she whispered.

Than be in Paris with me,[/i] he thought. Tonight wasn't the night to say it. But soon, it would be. "When can I see you again," he said softly.

"The next semester will be busy. But my graduation--Lizzie and Will, they're giving me a party. My whole family will be there. Lizzie's brothers, her parents, all my friends...would you come?"

"Yes," he said quietly. He touched her cheek.

I'd go anywhere you asked me to, Georgiana. He didn't say it before he left her. But he would say it--and everything else inside him---when he saw her again.


G.

Date Night


It was a rare week back in London at the Montgomery Victoria. The Darcy children, in the midst of their summer holiday, were being rewarded of with a week of excitement. Parks, museum visits, special treats, and lots of time together.

Now the Darcy household was practicing what they called their 'nighttime voices'. The baby had finally fallen asleep in the adjoining nursery. Every other child in the household was now old enough to know what happened when someone was noisy enough to 'wake baby William.' The baby would start crying. And then either Mummy would disappear with the baby to calm him, or else Daddy would, or else they'd take shifts, depending on how long it took. The boys and four-year-old Lissie made a game of who could whisper softest.

Will put on a movie for the kids. Singing and small animals, that's what the film's main plot was. Bedtime was coming soon. It's amazing how many people we can fit on this couch, thought Elizabeth. Will and Elizabeth were in the middle, their children were placed around them.

By the film's halfway point, all three children were sleeping. Seven-year-old Bennet drifted off early, tucked between his parents. Eight year old Nicholas, safe under Will's left arm, was the next to drift off. Lissie, cradled against her mother, was the last to fall asleep.

“Guess movie night was a hit, huh?” Will whispered with a grin.

“Counts as one to me.” Elizabeth smiled. She stood slowly, lifting four-year-old Lissie in her arms. Will managed tuck-in time for Bennet and Nicholas.

By the time they returned to the living room, it was nearly 9:00. Georgiana was in the kitchen, slipping something into her purse. She'd dressed up for tonight's date: ruby red lipstick, an elegant touch of eye shadow on her eyes, a sleek blue dress.

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Will's midsection. “Georgie, you look gorgeous. Tye won't know what hit him."

“I hope he likes it." Georgiana checked her phone, then glanced up to her brother. "What do you think, Will?”

Will smiled. “Beautiful, Georgie.”

“Okay, good.” She let out an excited breath. “You know, the restaurant Tye's taking me to is so beautiful. It's that new French one, not far from the British Opera House?”

“Yes, Will took me there for our last anniversary. It's incredibly romantic.”

“Oh, that makes me even more--” Nervous, Georgiana thought, and excited. Since Tye's discussion with her at her graduation party, he'd come to London every weekend to take her on date-nights. “Well, anyway, I'd better go. I'm hoping to meet him before he gets here. I don't want him waking the kids.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Will said.

“Have fun,” Elizabeth added. “Take as much time as you want."

When the door closed quietly behind her, Will hand brushed her cheek. Elizabeth's eyes warmed.

"We have a quiet home," she said.

He grinned, bending down to kiss her. "Yes."

The kiss that followed left her flushed. "She's loved Tye for a very long time," whispered Elizabeth.

"She's part of our family." His mouth brushed her cheek. "Once we fall in love, we are persistent."

"Yes, we are." She laughed. "I love you, Will."

"I love you, Elizabeth Rose," he whispered in her ear.

She smiled. And then she kissed him again.