In this way they received confirmation of attendance from the Bingleys before the day was over. That same afternoon Madame du Loire delivered Lizzy's gown for the final fitting, and word reached Darcy that the jeweler had finished the ring. All was set in motion for the renewal of their vows.

October twelfth dawned crisp and cool, but cloudless and brightly sunny. Darcy woke with tingles of excitement racing through his body nearly as intense as on the morning of their official wedding day. Naturally there were a vast number of differences. On November twenty-eighth of 1816 he had barely slept a wink, dreams plagued with alternating enchanting visions of his glorious fiancée gliding toward him at the altar with dreadful images of the same glorious fiancée fading away in some horrible manner. His nervousness all throughout the morning had been extreme; he was at times virtually ill from the tension.

However, the greatest difference was that on this wedding day he woke with the luscious softness of his wife's body curled in his arms, knowing with blissful conviction that he would not be waiting until late in the evening to make love with her. With this delicious thought premier, he lightly kissed Lizzy's shoulder and commenced gossamer caresses over downy flesh.

“I believe we have erred, Mr. Darcy,” she whispered sleepily.

“In what respect?” Kisses deepening along her neck.

“It is bad luck to espy the bride prior to the wedding, so I am told.”

“I shall keep my eyes closed.”

Lizzy giggled, turning abruptly and forcefully flipping him onto his back. With a grace truly astonishing for a woman eight months pregnant, she was astride his thighs and had his arms pinned to the sides before he took a breath. Despite his surprise both eyes were tightly shut, laughter escaping as her lips descended onto his.

She bestowed nibbling kisses and teasing suckles along his neck for several rapturous minutes before murmuring, “It is getting quite difficult to bend over, my lover. Your son insists on occupying all available space including a portion of my lung cavity, I believe. Typical Darcy, determined and insatiable.”

“I have no idea to what you refer, Mrs. Darcy.”

Lizzy lifted slightly, both to inhale deeply and to gaze upon her handsome spouse's face. She smiled at his pretend haughtiness and sealed eyes, thick lashes lying beautifully on stubbly cheeks. With elbows resting on his solid upper chest, she tenderly stroked her fingertips over his unshaven jaws.

“Open your eyes, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered.

He obeyed, love radiating forth as hands initiated their adoring journey over her velvet knees and thighs. Passion rose naturally, neither consciously encouraging the rampant excitement nor able to halt the surging tide had they wanted to.

“I love you.” The hush was broken simultaneously by low voices expressing an emotion tangible and critical to survival. Individual hearts no longer independent of the other; beats in synchrony and the impetus for each subsequent stroke. Skin as familiar to probing fingertips as the flesh covering their own body, yet never unscathed by the merest brushing glance.

Lizzy leaned to capture parted and waiting lips, the kiss serious with intent. Oh, the sweetness! How blissful a kiss with the one you love. Lips tingling, blood rushing, heat escalating, moisture shared, air of life mingling, and senses reeling from the intimacy.

Lizzy's lengthy tresses fell as a veil over Darcy's arm where he caressed one silky arm and neck. “God, how I love you,” she exclaimed, trailing additional declarations between hard kisses all about his flushed face.

Lost in the sensations, Darcy's eyes slid closed in ecstasy. Their bodies surging together, buried deep physically and spiritually. Hoarse moans and guttural groans were unleashed as the excitement coalesced and burst forth through every nerve and cell, spines stiffening simultaneously with hands clenching hands. Eternal joy expressed in the most elemental manner.

“I love you, William!”

“I love you, Elizabeth!”

Lizzy lifted slightly, inhaling deeply and gazing upon her husband. Never was he more attractive than after they made love. His fair skin flushed, noble brow moist, lush lips ruddy, firm chest heaving, and pulse pounding in his throat. Yet it was not the readily visible signs of his pleasure that moved her the most. Rather it was the glow of utter elation and peace that suffused his countenance, eyes shining with total satiation, and mouth smiling with transcendent happiness and devotion. She did not require a mirror to know that her mien reflected the same as she could feel the gushing emotions through and on her skin.

Eventually he untangled his fingers from hers, tenderly grasping arms, and pulled her onto the bed beside him, instantly enveloping and burying his face between her breasts. “I would die without you, Elizabeth,” he mumbled. “I fear my heart would cease to beat. Words do not exist in the English language to convey how deeply I love you. You are my life and breath, my very soul. Thank you for today.”

Lizzy smiled, stroking through his thick hair. She had no need to reply, his articulations precisely stating her heart. The heart that belonged wholly to him and survived in him. All too soon they would need to rise and part for the day's scheduled event. For now they reveled in their sweet communion, allowing senses to be restored to normalcy at a gradual rate. Softly they caressed, speaking of love and marriage and children and Pemberley until the clock insisted they leave their bed and begin preparations for their second wedding.

Approximately a mile west from Pemberley Manor, along the avenue that connected to the main road leading to Lambton, nestled a small cluster of buildings amid a shallow valley in the midst of which stood Pemberley Chapel. The accompanying structures primarily consisted of resident dwellings for Pemberley workers in addition to a handful of simple business establishments. The tiny hamlet did not have a proper name, traditionally referred to as Pemberley Village or just the Village. It existed for the sole purpose of providing the most basic necessities for the tenants of Pemberley so as to avoid traveling the additional miles to Lambton during a busy day, and as a central meeting place for socializing. A modest assembly hall was located across from the church, and the orphanage was situated on the northern edge of the settlement.

For most Sundays during the warm months the Darcys walked to the chapel for services. Today, however, they would not only travel by carriage but would travel separately. Once parted for their dressing rooms, they adhered to the time-honored custom of remaining secreted apart until reconnecting inside the sanctuary.

The Bingleys had arrived the afternoon before. Charles was clearly harried and displeased to vacate Hasberry so soon after moving in, but the general air of frivolity that inevitably surrounded Col. Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy bolstered his spirit. They, naturally, were having tremendous fun with poor Darcy, regurgitating every pre-matrimony jest known to man up to and including giving intimate relationship advice about the wedding night; the latter especially ridiculous as neither were married. Before an hour passed Bingley's native gaiety was revived and he readily joined into the amusement. The evening's “bachelor party” was lively, Darcy unobtrusively slipping away sober and long before the other three.

Darcy owned several outfits of a highly formal cut and weave, allowing Samuel to pick one at random. The end result was nearly identical to what he wore for his official wedding day, or at least he thought so. The truth was he had taken no particular note as to his attire on that day either, trusting Samuel to provide the best. Darcy may have owned an obscene amount of clothing, but he honestly paid little attention to what he wore on a daily basis. Samuel chose a jacket and matching breeches of deepest blue wool, almost black, with a waistcoat of the same color, but accented with an edging of burnished auburn.

Darcy fingered the vest with a faint frown. “I do not recall this waistcoat,” he mumbled, glancing at Samuel's inscrutable visage. “Have I always possessed it?”

“As you say, sir,” Samuel replied flatly, avoiding his Master's eyes.

Darcy smiled inwardly, suddenly suspecting the color of his wife's gown, but making no further comment. The proffered white silk cravat also sported a faint glistening of interwoven auburn threads.

Richard wore his best dress uniform, Bingley in a fine suit of beige wool, and Dr. Darcy for once in full English gentleman's attire. His lanky frame was encased in a tailored suit of bluish-grey with long trousers to match, the reserved effect counteracted somewhat by the florid Kashmir scarf of innumerable colors utilized as a neckcloth.

“Dashing, Uncle,” Darcy proclaimed sardonically upon entering the parlor where the men gathered. George grinned, lifting his teacup in salute.

“How is the groom this morning?” Richard asked. “Feeling well? No last-minute jitters? I am sure we could find a way for you to bow out gracefully.”

“Hysterical. Have you been rehearsing these witticisms all week?”

“Only for a day or two.”

“I daresay, Darcy, I am yet astounded that you of all people are purposely placing yourself on ceremony a second time,” Bingley declared with a shake of his head. “I could never force myself to go through with it again.”

Darcy smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “It is not quite the same, Bingley. It would require a far stronger man than me putting a pistol to my head to induce me to stand before all of Meryton society a second time. This is vastly different. Although enduring these two jokers and their clever barbs for the past week has been torturous.”

“It is becoming ugly in here, Colonel. We better get him to the church where the aura of God will halt his tongue. Besides, I am starving so we need to hurry along. Knowing Mrs. Langton, she has a special breakfast planned for after the festivities.”

Lizzy, in contrast, was inundated with female approbation. Jane, Georgiana, Lady Matlock, and even Marguerite were effusive with praise for the dress, hair, jewels, and the entire concept. Lizzy's dressing room was a veritable hotbed of feminine giggles, perfume, and romanticism with the ladies exchanging sentimental musings of husbands and amour. Emotions were high and the air thick with excitement. Mrs. Reynolds played the part of commander, assuring the men were well away before Mrs. Darcy departed for the church.