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Though Elizabeth relished walking in any season—for out of doors was where she had long found serenity amongst the hubbub of her hectic home at Longbourn—she would readily confess that she found her autumn wanderings to be particularly appealing. Perhaps it was the gentle crunch under her feet each time she took a step; the leaves which had already departed the branches and fluttered down to the ground produced both a pleasing sensation underfoot, which was accompanied by a satisfying sound. Each time the sole of her boot made contact with these fragments of the magnificent woods that lined the Pemberley estate, her heart soared a little higher—an impressive feat, considering how contented she was by her new life in Derbyshire.
A walk around Pemberley in autumn was truly a feast for one’s senses. The various melodies of birds tweeting from branches high above, but the trees that they perched in contributed their own distinct auditory accompaniment; those that retained their leaves and rustled in the breeze, while the trees that had already shed them proved a satisfying auditory accompaniment to every step that was taken. Not only were the noises that would grace one’s ears of the most agreeable order, but the sights were so stunning to behold that they would not be quickly forgotten by anyone privileged enough to lay witness. Though winter loomed and the inevitable barrenness of that particular season lurked just around the corner, the estate presented one last parting gift before the gloom set in. And it was utterly mesmerising, thanks to the rich gold and copper tones which were produced when the leaves shed their lush, verdant tones of the spring and summer months, and transformed into an entirely new palette of fiery hues.
Elizabeth was not immune to the charms of an autumnal stroll through the woods of Pemberley, and could not prevent—nor indeed did she wish to—the grin which overspread her features. Though the estate was thoroughly charming, Elizabeth suspected that her present good cheer was not only thanks due to the utter satisfaction of her senses, she also supposed that it had something to do with the man who was accompanying her on this pleasant stroll about Pemberley’s park, and the mutual realisation of the import that this time of year held for them both.
For autumn was a significant season in the personal history of Elizabeth and her husband. It had been the season when she had first laid eyes upon him, and subsequently—but a twelvemonth ago, as they had walked out with the newly-betrothed Bingley and Jane—made it clear to him that her heart belonged to him entirely, as she had informed him that he was the man who would best suit someone of her disposition, and later, when their initial understanding had emboldened her, that she believed her presence in his life would be of an equally beneficial influence, too.
That Elizabeth had not always loved Mr Darcy as ardently as she now did only made the happiness they had found together all the sweeter, in her eyes. Though it was a topic that she was not keen to raise with him, at least not any more than was natural in a marriage between two hearts who were so open to each other, Elizabeth wondered whether he viewed their past in such a charitable manner. She suspected so, given his generous and forgiving nature. Even so, Elizabeth understood—as they approached the summit of the hill they had resolved to climb together in the breakfast parlour earlier that morning—that it would not do to dwell on the past and sully such a blissful moment. So, she enjoyed these last few moments of exercise, and basked in the excitement she felt for that moment when she would finally behold the view, which her husband had so enthusiastically insisted she witness for herself.
Although the incline had been relatively gentle, especially for two people of the Darcys’ general fitness, any lingering aches and pains produced by the effort of journeying to such a spot were soon forgotten by the prospect. As she beheld it, Elizabeth was stunned into silence. She well knew that Pemberley was a beautiful estate. Indeed, she had stood at this very precipice some months prior, when Darcy had expressed a wish that she become acquainted with his favourite view of the estate. And though it had been breathtaking on that bright day in May when she had first been shown such a spot, the alteration in seasons had transformed the view into something more magical than she was presently able to put into words. Fortunately, her husband was so well acquainted with her, that he could perfectly perceive that his wife remained silent not out of disappointment nor moroseness, but because she was utterly mesmerised by the sight before her.
The view from atop the hill was magnificent, and its relatively exposed nature—the woods did not extend to the summit—meant that there was an excellent view of the rest of the park. Pemberley was an estate so unspoiled by human interference, and a true monument to taste, that a smattering of cupreous and amber treetops adorned every inch of the park (they were even dotted along the banks of the meandering river) and stretched as far as the eye could see; all the way to where the horizon was obscured by that infamous feature of the county—the towering Peaks.
As Elizabeth continued to delight in the view, she smiled as she felt the pleasing, familiar sensation that she had been used to on her walks near Longbourn, of the wind whipping against her cheeks; she could not help but remember that day when they had walked out together for the first time with a true understanding of the mutual affection which existed between them thanks to the momentous conversation which had earlier occurred, with both of them owing a great debt of gratitude to Mr Darcy’s aunt thanks to her role in hastening their reaching such an understanding. On that occasion, when Elizabeth had stepped out for the first time with the man she now knew she would spend the rest of her days with, the county had been Hertfordshire, rather than Derbyshire, and their destination had been Oakham Mount, rather than this particular hill on the Pemberley estate. Much had changed; but their love for each other remained unaltered, even though on that day in Hertfordshire their adoration was in its infancy, and had been tempered by the nervousness of the recency of their confessions.
Elizabeth stood there transfixed; her hand unmoved from her husband’s arm which she had held onto since he had offered it to her as they had commenced their walk. She needed not the support, since she was herself such a skilled walker, but she would never give up an opportunity to touch him. She was so insensible to the present, with her mind so firmly rooted in the past that, with her parted lips and unmoving expression, Elizabeth resembled one of the portraits of Darcys past which lined the long gallery!
As he beheld his wife’s wonder, Mr Darcy smiled at Elizabeth fondly. As her dark eyes sparkled in appreciation at the sight before her, and her cheeks flushed by the exertion of the walk she was—to him—perfectly beautiful, and worthy of being put to canvas—though he felt that not even the most skilled of Italian masters could do her justice. But his appreciation for her was more than merely superficial. The contentment he felt whenever she was by his side was something he struggled to put into words, which was rather remarkable for a man of his education and intellect.
Mr Darcy, too, was reflecting upon the past; chiefly upon how strange it was that the woman who had once so forcefully rejected him was in fact the woman that he had searched for all his life.
Mr Darcy assumed that he might have grown more used to her presence in his life and at Pemberley, yet he still found every day to be a thrilling surprise. Even now, the simple weight of her hand upon the crook of his elbow soothed him. Of course, there were many ways in which Mr Darcy relished touching his wife—not all so chaste, those were reserved for the privacy of their bedchambers—but it was these simple, reassuring touches that could, if they came from a less remarkable woman, have felt mundane. But the brush of Elizabeth’s fingers against his inner arm, as she shifted her hand and reached to entwine his fingers with her own, could never be described thus. Her movement was intoxicating, electrifying and sent all of his senses into a flutter. Perhaps after almost a twelvemonth of marriage such excitement should have abated somewhat. But that could never be so. Not given the depth of his adoration. With this woman by his side and such a magnificent view, Mr Darcy was certain that he surely must be the most fortunate creature on earth!
Autumn in Derbyshire was a wonder that he had been privileged to experience for most of his life. Though Mr Darcy was still mesmerised by the view, he could not have hoped to have felt surprised by it to the extent that Elizabeth clearly was. Any novelty had long since worn off. The days when he was but a boy returning from school, and had finally been reunited with his wondrous home, seemed so long ago; the memories of the emotions such a homecoming had elicited had been weakened in the intervening years, to the extent that it was difficult to connect with the emotion that had long since passed. Till Elizabeth had entered his life and forced him to see Pemberley from a new perspective, he had unknowingly been in danger of taking his home for granted; but to observe the wonder in her eyes granted him a fresh outlook. Since Elizabeth had returned to Pemberley as its mistress, she had added something to the estate that he had never quite realised had been missing since the death of his parents. Darcy knew that his bond with his home had been irrevocably altered—much to his satisfaction.
Where would he be without Elizabeth? He certainly would not be the man he was at present. Darcy could scarcely bear to recall the man he had been before he had entered Hertfordshire society and become acquainted with her. He did not like to imagine the dismal state that the estate would be in, in that distressing parallel reality where he had declined Bingley’s request to accompany him to finalise the arrangements for taking possession of Netherfield Park. He could not contemplate such a reality.
The pensive silence of mutual contemplation was eventually broken:
‘A penny for your thoughts, Fitzwilliam?’
Darcy looked down at his wife and smiled at her fondly, ‘a penny would not be sufficient payment for all that swirls through my mind at present.’
Elizabeth smirked and shook her head at the glimpse of his former pride in his own superiority of his mind that was evident in such a remark. Though with the benefit of knowing him better came the understanding that he was really superior to most men.
And Elizabeth could not tease him too freely. Not when her mind was similarly busy, reflecting upon all of those miniscule moments which had led them to this point. The notion that she would ever have enjoyed such a serene moment and such a magnificent view with Mr Darcy, of all men, had been unfathomable, and deeply undesirable, when they had first met. But now picturing her life without him was far too distressing to bear; it pained her to imagine that dismal existence, where the violence of her prejudice against him had robbed her of ever knowing such happiness.
Struck by her good fortune, Elizabeth was moved to convey her affection with more than merely words. She felt an urgent need for a touch greater than that of merely stroking her thumb across his knuckles. Elizabeth turned to her husband and seized his other hand.
Darcy regarded her quizzically, but when she tugged his hands and decreased the gap between them, her husband’s quick mind son comprehended her objective. Not least because of the memory such a course of action brought to mind, for it had been much the same method of encouragement that Elizabeth had used to solicit that first timid brush of their lips which had occurred atop Oakham Mount a twelvemonth ago. The kiss had been over before it had truly begun in earnest, with both Elizabeth and Mr Darcy recognising that the precious moments of privacy were dwindling, as Jane and Bingley would soon catch them up and join them at the summit. But what it had lacked in length and depth it had made up for in its meaningfulness. Both would never forget that first encounter with the softness and warmth of the other’s lips, and the reaction such a brief caress had elicited in each of them.
Elizabeth was pleased that he comprehended her objective, and hoped that her husband was similarly determined to recreate that moment. When his lips were mere inches from hers, Elizabeth thrummed in anticipation of that moment when their mouths would meet. The sensation of Darcy's warm breath washing across her flushed flesh, and contrasting with the cool wind whipping against her cheeks, thrilled her. It was reminiscent of that tentative first kiss they had shared at the top of Oakham Mount. As the suspense of awaiting the warm softness of his lips sent her pulse racing, a particularly ferocious (and abysmally timed!) gust knocked Elizabeth's bonnet—despite the ribbon that she had earlier carefully tied in a double-knot—clean off her head!
Darcy’s eyes flew open in confusion, as he had felt the bonnet brush against his cheek as it was carried away by the wind. Its rough texture had alarmed him, for it was so different from the soft skin of his wife. At once, he drew back to his full height, though he did not remove his hands from hers.
Elizabeth’s initial surprise soon turned to frustration at the ill-timing of the gale! The wind, which had whipped around them and flowed against their cheeks throughout the duration of their time at the summit and had previously been such a pleasing sensation that had brought back numerous fond memories, had thwarted a loving moment between a besotted husband and wife. But the very same advantage of this hill above all else, which made it such a desirable vantage point and had brought back such pleasant memories of that fateful walk up the Hertfordshire hill a year ago, now appeared to have conspired against the Darcys!
Mr Darcy—always so collected in times of crisis—quickly leapt into action and raced down the hill towards the errant item of clothing. As he did so, Elizabeth raged against the traitorous Derbyshire weather! She was incredulous at such a betrayal; their lips had been so close to touching, only for the thrilling sensation of a loving kiss—in addition to Elizabeth’s headwear—to be so cruelly ripped away.
After lamenting the situation for a few moments more, Elizabeth's concern quickly shifted to her husband and the progress he was making in his pursuit. Though the bonnet had been blessed with a considerable head start, so too had Mr Darcy been endowed with long legs, which shortly allowed him to make up the distance and easily retrieve his wife’s bonnet.
Of course, Elizabeth should not have doubted Darcy. The fact that he was an athletic young man aside, when it came to pleasing Elizabeth, there was no length that he would not go to in order to ensure her happiness. So, when he bent down to pick up the bonnet, taking care not to ruin the bright blue ribbons, Elizabeth could do nothing but beam at him, and engage in a spontaneous round of applause to underscore her appreciation for his gallantry, and her delight at him having retrieved one of her very favourite bonnets.
When Darcy drew near, she smiled up at him adoringly and said, ‘I thank you for saving my poor bonnet from a truly terrible fate, my love.’
‘You are most welcome, Mrs Darcy.’
Elizabeth reached out for the hand that was not engaged in holding her bonnet, and tugged him towards her. She was gratified to find her husband receptive to her touch. It appeared that Mr Darcy was intent on picking up where he left off before the rude interruption, as he swiftly took his place before his wife, and affixed his gaze to hers. As he leant down towards her, Elizabeth smiled to herself. That familiar thrill that the knowledge that his lips were now only mere moments from being upon hers was a delightful sensation, and she reflected that, though it had been frustrating at the time, the earlier anguish produced by her wayward bonnet would only serve to make this moment all the sweetener. In order to fully savour the moment, Elizabeth closed her eyes in anticipation, and eagerly awaited that moment when she would feel his breath against her mouth, and would know that Mr Darcy was mere moments away from claiming the lips of his grateful wife as reward for the trouble he had gone to of retrieving her bonnet.
But Mr Darcy's lips never took such a liberty.
After several tantalising moments (wherein she found her excitement only increased by the suspense) Elizabeth's eyes flew open at the familiar, yet not expected, touch. She felt not the brush of his lips upon hers, but instead, the familiar weight of her bonnet gently being placed atop her head.
At first she stared in indignation, as furious as she was bereft that Darcy had not granted her the much-wished for kiss that she had hitherto been denied. Yet, after a few moments, her sentiments underwent a significant shift. For she could not in good conscience continue to be dismayed; not when her husband was engaged thus.
For, not only had Mr Darcy retrieved her bonnet after it had taken a tumble down the hill, but he was now performing a duty that she would never have expected of her husband.
He was tying her bonnet.
While Elizabeth regarded him in awe, Darcy bit his lip in concentration as he engaged in the task of restoring his wife’s attire to its full splendour; his brow furrowed adorably as he carefully arranged the ribbons in precisely the manner that he knew she preferred to wear them.
Although the tantalising rouge, which the walk to the top of the hill had produced in her cheeks had long since lessened, to the delight of her husband, Elizabeth’s cheeks soon regained a reddish hue, as the attentions of her husband caused a distinct blush to overspread her cheeks.
When he asked her, with an endearing timidity, whether she was pleased with his handiwork, Elizabeth (despite the enjoyment she derived from teasing her husband at any given opportunity) could do nothing but assure him that he had done well.
‘You are a man of many talents, Fitzwilliam,’ beamed Elizabeth, 'I was not aware that you were such a dab hand at tying ladies’ bonnets. If I did not know you so well, perhaps I would find myself a little jealous.’
Darcy could only chuckle heartily in response. It was his turn to colour, and he felt a blush creep up his neck at being not only thus praised, but so implicitly trusted.
‘I have received that I did not disgrace you, my darling. It appears that all of the hours I spent indulging my sister when she wished to experiment with the myriad ways that a lady may wear a bonnet were not wasted, though perhaps I may have felt so at the time. I confess, until Georgiana reached that age where young ladies suddenly take an interest in their attire, that I was entirely ignorant of such matters.’
Elizabeth could only regard her husband in silent awe as she reached out to take his hands in hers. She was once more astonished at the depth of the love that she felt towards the man who stood before her. That the man she had once dismissed as arrogant and unkind, but who in fact possessed the biggest heart, and the most generous nature of anyone that she had ever known, was a fact that humbled her once more, and she knew would never cease to amaze her.
The warmth and mutual adoration contained respectively within their eyes as Elizabeth and Mr Darcy regarded each other soon heated into a far more intense gaze. Now that her bonnet had been safely returned to her head—complete with a brand new, carefully-tied bow—there was no longer any reason to prevent the master and mistress of Pemberley from sharing a kiss (or two, or several) as they overlooked their magnificent home.
And when his lips brushed against hers, Elizabeth smiled into the kiss. Not only from the enjoyment of finally embracing her husband in such a pleasing manner, but additionally due to the sheer joy that was produced by the knowledge that she had married such a wonderful man, who contained within him so many delightful multitudes that she was certain would never be exhausted, even over the numerous decades that she hoped stretched out before them.
As Darcy once more took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm as they prepared to descend the hill and back towards their magnificent home, where they could bask in their mutual reverence in a far more private setting, Elizabeth reflected that of all the ways her husband had astonished her throughout the first year of their marriage, that perhaps his proficiency with ladies’ bonnets was the most surprising of all!
She grinned in delight, at the prospect of all the autumns that were to follow.