This morning, contemplating the vision before her feasting eyes, Lizzy could raise only the slightest remorse. Honestly, as logical as it was to conclude that they needed to reign in their passion when in public, she had no desire to do so. Let the world know how ardently they loved each other, and if it disapproved, so be it. Lizzy would never regret a single expression of her devotion to Darcy, and she knew he felt the same. Lightly, she trailed her fingertips down the line of hair leading from breastbone to groin, circling then dipping into his navel. He slept on but the unconscious response as her fingers feathered over thighs, groin, and lower abdomen was instinctive.

Steadily, she emboldened her attack, adding kisses to the agenda, finally noting a variance to his respirations and a definite physical consequence to her ministrations. With a mighty sigh of pleasure, he drew her to his lips and kissed enthusiastically before briefly encountering her shining eyes. With a sultry smile he sighed again, closing his eyes and sprawling fully on his back, bestowing unimpaired access.

My lord, he is gorgeous!

Never one to refuse an offered gift, Lizzy besieged his body with relish. Seriously kissing all over his muscular, downy-haired chest, Lizzy stimulated him in all the ways she knew he adored. She knew how sucking his nipples incited him, that lightly tickling down his rib cage and sides thrilled him, nibbling his ears drove him insane, and kissing his neck and the pulsing hollow of his throat made him groan. She did all this and more, delighting in rallying his urgency. Darcy was wholly aroused in minutes, fists clenched together to avoid taking control, breathing heavily, and rumbling deeply in his chest. Nonetheless, Lizzy took her time, glorying in the sight of clenching thighs, rippling abdominal muscles, and thick, wiry hairs… all of him virile and powerful and alluring.

She sat astride him, elbows locked and hands pressed onto his chest, fingertips embedded in hard muscle ridges as she moved, asking throatily, “Reminiscent of the dreams you had when first staying here, Fitzwilliam?”

He merely groaned, grabbing her arms and pulling her onto his body for a voracious kiss.

Down the hall, in the Master of Netherfield's bedchamber, Jane Bingley was being woken up in a similar fashion for the first time since her marriage. It was fortunate that the walls of Netherfield were very thick and that Georgiana, whose room was situated roughly midway between the twin dens of delight, was as deep a sleeper as her brother.

The couples entered the breakfast room much later, Mary and Georgiana already dining. Georgiana glanced up at the glowing countenances of her brother and sister-in-law, youthful innocence nonetheless fully aware of why they beamed and surreptitiously touched while filling their plates. Darcy piled his high, ravenous for good reason, and even Lizzy discovered her appetite tremendously improved. Georgiana never tired of witnessing her brother's uncontrollable happiness; her love for him was so heartfelt that observing the joy he and Elizabeth shared warmed her soul and overcame the occasional embarrassment at witnessed embraces.

Minutes later, the Bingleys breezed in. A rosy-cheeked Jane, arm in arm with her husband, met Lizzy's eyes for the briefest second. Lizzy nearly spit her tea at the supreme smugness visible on her sister's face. Mr. Bingley was frankly grinning like a fool, face ruddy. Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged a meaningful look, vainly struggling not to laugh.

Darcy greeted his sister with a kiss to the cheek then sat across from her and beside his wife. Looking to Mary, who sat next to Georgiana, Darcy inquired, “Miss Mary, I trust you slept well?”

Mary jolted at the sound of Mr. Darcy's voice. Despite the near constant presence of the man at Longbourn during the course of her sister's engagement, Mary had probably exchanged twenty words with him. She was not afraid of him, exactly, merely unsure. He intimidated her, although she conceded that he did nothing to specifically tender the emotion, having been unfailingly polite and almost pleasant. Mary simply had no idea how to converse with him, nor any other man for that matter. She flushed at his serious gaze, briefly encountered his eyes with an expression of perplexity, as if having suddenly been addressed by a frog, and stammered something along the lines of concurrence regarding her night's slumber, then commenced studying her plate as if the answers to the world's problems dwelt therein.

Darcy frowned slightly. Miss Kitty he understood; found her annoying to be sure, but he understood her. Miss Mary baffled him. That she was somewhat shy he acknowledged, yet her shyness was not nearly as profound as Georgiana's or even his own. He had observed her in many lengthy conversations. She avoided men like the plague, universally treating them all as if inferior creatures, or at least so alien as to preclude any possible communion. She seemed to have not the slightest tinge of humor. Of course, many had erringly assumed the same of him, so he was willing to extend latitude. However, try as he might, he could not break through her shell. Frankly, he could not fathom why Georgiana had befriended her or what the two talked about.

His reverie was interrupted by Jane and Bingley taking their seats. Bingley continued to grin. Jane was her usual poised, serene self, although her color was definitely pinker than normal. With a small smile, Darcy spoke purposefully, “Mrs. Bingley, you slept well also, I trust? Refreshed and prepared to meet the day's activities?”

His peripheral vision noted Elizabeth biting her lip, a gesture he well distinguished as one employed to prevent laughing. Bingley coughed, blushed scarlet, and hid behind his napkin. Jane, surprisingly, engaged Darcy's eyes with a calm, albeit mildly teasing smile, replying, “Why, yes indeed, Mr. Darcy. I believe I slept better than I have in months. Thank you for inquiring.”

Georgiana noted the strange semblances on all the adult faces at the table, perceived the undercurrent of jesting, but could not divine the cause. Mary decreed them all mad and categorically dismissed them. Breakfast proceeded from there in a predictable and customary fashion. The gentlemen ate heartily, discussing with enthusiasm the planned billiard tournament to commence at mid-morning. The women planned an excursion into Meryton for shopping and lunch at the Raven Inn, Mrs. Bennet and Kitty to accompany them.

They parted shortly thereafter, Darcy sequestering Elizabeth in the library for a private farewell. “Are you over your nausea, dearest?” Lizzy had eaten halfway through her breakfast and then been unexpectedly hit with a severe aversion to eggs, inducing her to hastily rise and exit the room for the nearest chamber pot. Fortunately, she had not been ill, but it had teetered on the edge for a spell. Now, she felt almost completely restored, as long as she did not envision eggs.

“Yes, love, I am fine. If my oddly wavering stomach contortions were not so incredibly bothersome I suppose I would find it comical!”

He laughed and kissed her. “Do not tax yourself, Elizabeth. I will not be here to paddle you if you overdo, so I trust you to care for yourself and our baby.”

“I promise to behave. Now,” she said, straightening his flawlessly arranged cravat, “you enjoy yourself. I want to hear all the details of how my handsome husband prevailed at billiards, leaving a collection of crushed egos in his wake.”

The gentlemen of Meryton and the surrounding areas, when not gathering for smaller private socializations in their homes, met informally at the two pubs or the lone coffeehouse for gaming and to discuss politics and business. A large, red brick building located on the main street and annexed to the Ox Horn pub was humorously and pretentiously called the Reading Room, due to the cozy parlor in the rear dedicated to gentlemen's intellectual concourse while smoking imported cigars and drinking fine liquors. However, it was the billiard room that drew the largest crowds most days.

The large space housed several billiards tables, along with a few chess and backgammon tables. Darcy and Bingley had visited a few times during Darcy's previous sojourns; however, Darcy, unsurprisingly, had preferred the quiet solitude of Netherfield. Bingley adored socializing and frequently passed afternoons and occasional evenings with the young men of the community.

Last evening, during the dinner party at Lucas Lodge, Darcy had been invited to partake in the billiard tournament scheduled for today. Apparently, his reputation as a skilled player had preceded him; several of the local citizens were familiar with the name Darcy being whispered with reverence through the billiard halls of Town. Mr. Darcy was by no means the preeminent player in all of London, but he ranked among the top twenty. As a guest in the area, it certainly was neither expected nor necessary to include him, so he was honored by the inclusion. If it were any other contest, Darcy may have felt obliged to decline the offer or to curb his mastery. Not with billiards, though. After horseback riding, and of course his private activities with his adorable wife, there was no pastime Darcy loved more than billiards.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were greeted primarily with enthusiasm. Sir Lucas, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Phillips were already present as the designated officials for the tournament, busily organizing the equipment and records required for the matches.

“Mr. Darcy! Mr. Bingley!” Sir Lucas exclaimed, beaming at them. “What a delight it is to have you both join us in our meager entertainment.”

Bingley bowed. “Thank you, Sir Lucas. However, my occupation shall be that of a spectator. My billiard skills are minimal. For cert not a match for Darcy here, so it would be futile for me to attempt besting him.”

Darcy bowed deprecatingly, nonetheless noting several perturbed expressions amongst the gathered men. Apparently, not all the competitors were delighted to have an expert challenger. Those gents who chose to participate in the contest signed the ledger and their names were placed into a hat. The simple expedience of having Sir Lucas, as the highest ranking man in the region, draw the individual names for the first round hailed the commencement of the tournament.

The hall was packed. Chairs and stools were placed along the walls and the game tables removed for extra space. A long side bar was erected with a steady supply of finger foods provided, while beverages of all varieties, alcoholic as well as tea, coffee, cocoa, and juices, were kept flowing in a steady supply from the pub. The atmosphere was jovial and casual, remarkably dissimilar to such events at the billiards rooms in London. Darcy might have been distressed by this, but as a frequent rival of his cousin Richard, who took nothing except his military career seriously, Darcy was immune to constant chatter and distractions.

Darcy was paired with a Mr. Denbigh, a man of some fifty years whom Darcy had met previously. Denbigh, an adequate player offering Darcy a few challenges, was affable and talkative, clearly enjoying himself immensely regardless of the outcome. In the end, Darcy attained the required points with a wide margin, effectively eliminating Denbigh from the match. After a brief respite, Darcy paired with a Mr. Heigt. Heigt was in his early twenties, ruddy faced with flaming red hair, and nearly as tall as Darcy. In appearance, he resembled Bingley, but in temperament was comparable to Darcy. He also left no doubt that he took the match seriously and was not at all pleased to have Darcy partake. With an icy smile, Darcy attacked. No quarter asked and none given, the two men played with careful regulation and intensity. Darcy won with ease, despite Heigt's pose of expertise, and the loser's anger was obvious. Thankfully, he retained his composure and did not make a scene, although he departed shortly thereafter.