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“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice a growl, as he took her in his arms, pulling her even closer. “I should inform my uncle, Lord Matlock, and my aunt, Lady Catherine, before they read of the marriage in the papers, so I will notify them today, via express.” Looking into her eyes, he suddenly felt sheepish. “My apologies, dearest. I ought to have asked you your preferences—if you desire to solemnise our marriage in Hertfordshire, or Sheffield, or even London, it is entirely up to you. I am…enthusiastic, and yes, impatient, to make you Mrs Darcy. However, I can forbear. Your wishes are important to me.”

“I thank you,” she replied, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “But I find Pemberley to be the most beautiful place in the world, and you will have a difficult task ahead of you, encouraging me to leave it any time soon.”

He decided not to tell her of how cold the place could be in winter; he would keep every fireplace in the house stoked, if she wished it. It was such a pleasure, the freedom to express his affections—or at least the beginning of them. There was much, much more affection to still be given.

“Will your sister be displeased?” she asked.

“She already loves you, and encourages me to hurry and convince you to be her sister.”

“I hope she will make her home with us,” Elizabeth said. “It will be nice to have a new sister.”

He just had to kiss her, feeling so grateful for her generous, caring heart. But he had not forgotten her distraction after speaking with Mr Bennet. “After you left your father, it seemed there was something troubling you.”

“There is something else, a situation I wish to consult you upon.” All in a rush, she told him of Stretton and her son, the victims of Lord Rochford. “I cannot give up Stretton, and she should not have to surrender her son or else go back to taking in laundry,” she said, unable to prevent a note of defiance. “She performs her duties admirably, and Michael is a wonderful, hard-working little boy. He can run errands or help in the stables. Your housekeeper will likely disapprove, but⁠—”

“Elizabeth,” Darcy interrupted. “When I asked you to marry me, I asked you to become mistress of Pemberley. Mrs Reynolds will work for you, just as Stretton does. I trust that you will manage our household and all those in your employ with both justice and mercy, as your conscience dictates. I will support you in those decisions, whatever they are. I trust you.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and he thought, briefly, that he had said something wrong—but then she showered him with kisses, expressions of her needs and desires. It rocked him to his core—the feel of her, so willing and loving and now, wanting him, as he had wanted her from nearly the beginning; it lifted his heart. It was several minutes before he could make himself pull back from the brink of passion, and encourage her to talk…talk, when he wanted to lay her down and show her by every means in his power just how much he returned those feelings. But it was not the hour for such desires; she needed to be able to confide in him, to trust that he wished to listen to her as much as he wished to touch her.

“If you wish, I will speak to Mrs Reynolds before the wedding, and make clear that any decisions about Stretton and Michael are yours to make. I know she understands this already, but if it will help, I am happy to do it.”

“I do not think it will be necessary. I have referred to her already as ‘Mrs Stretton’ to Mrs Reynolds. I only wanted to ascertain if your feelings match mine. I feel it to be no one’s business but Stretton’s own if she chooses to explain the absence of a Mr Stretton,” Elizabeth declared.

“I am of the same mind,” Darcy agreed. “And as long as Stretton allows Michael to attend the village school with the other children on the estate, she shall hear no complaints from me.”

“I did not realise he would be able to attend school. How marvellous,” she said appreciatively, and he basked in her approval. “There are many who speak out against education, fearing that if their tenants grow better informed, they will depart farm life for other pursuits, leaving no one to work the fields or manage the livestock.”

“If my fortune depends upon the ignorance of my tenants, what kind of wealth do I possess? Most will only leave if they cannot support their children by staying. It is an inducement for me to treat them well.”

She peered up at him with what he hoped was approval. “I am possibly marrying the wisest man I have ever met.”

He grinned. “Tell me if you would have made that statement after my first proposal of marriage.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Speaking of homes⁠—”

“Were we speaking of homes? I thought we were speaking of my inherent wisdom.”

Again, she laughed, and it was amazing how much it cheered him to see her so happy.

“Very well, here is a trial for your learned, judicious nature. I had an idea—a wise idea—for the Sheffield house—that is, if I might still direct its use.”

“I told you, dearest, the house is yours. It will be included in your marriage settlement, so if anything should happen in terms of the bequest, it will still be yours, for whatever purpose you deem sensible.”

“You may not like this particular idea.”

“I can hardly imagine disapproval of any notion of yours.”

She proceeded to tell him of her desire to provide more succour to the friendless, to provide hope, shelter, and the opportunity to earn a living for a few girls at a time. She told him of her own experience with Mrs Hill’s history, and why it mattered to her. “Mrs Whitby, whom I hired to act as a housekeeper-companion, is eminently respectable and could, possibly, use the house just as Mrs Davies uses hers—as a place to take in a few at a time, ensure they have the skills to survive, and find places for them elsewhere when they are ready. Perhaps she would not be willing to support such an undertaking, but doubtless Mrs Davies could find someone who would be. She is getting older, and I know she would like to see her work continue on.”

Darcy considered. He knew of men like Lord Rochford; in his neighbourhood, his father had shown how putting such men to open shame often curbed the worst of their excesses. But his circle was a small one compared to the population of Sheffield—with hundreds, nay, thousands who held influence he could not touch. It was a much wilder society than what he was accustomed to.

“There will be many more who need help than that small house can accommodate.”

“Simply because we cannot help everyone, should we help no one?”

He framed her face with his hands, looking into those soft, dark, caring eyes. “You will probably cause me a great deal of extra trouble over the next fifty years, will you not?”

“Oh, yes, doubtlessly so,” she replied earnestly.