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As the coach proceeded through the bustling early evening streets, Elizabeth Darcy was relieved to finally be travelling to a familiar destination. She had already become acquainted with so many en vogue locales on her bridal tour that the pleasant prospect of viewing a play was welcome relief from the endless onslaught of expected engagements.

The Darcys’ interlude in town had already been a dizzying array of social outings which—despite his reassurances that she could never do so—her persistent fear of embarrassing her husband conspired to make their stay an ceaseless ordeal of obligation, rather than one of genuine enjoyment. Still, Elizabeth’s courage had risen to meet on every occasion. None more so than on their Wednesday night outing to Almack’s, an infamous location Elizabeth was already familiar with, albeit in name only. Her mother had long delighted in gossiping with her sister, Mrs Phillips, about the Lady Patronesses who oversaw it. The pair had frequently given their opinions on how the grandes dames ran the establishment, as though such women from an inconsequential part of Hertfordshire had any right to pour scorn upon their judgement. Indeed, Elizabeth knew that her mother would have become quite delirious had she learned of her intention to attend a dance at Almack’s, so she elected not to inform her of it when outlining details of her upcoming bridal tour prior to the wedding. 

It was fortunate on that Wednesday evening that Mrs Bennet was not in attendance, for she would undoubtedly have been distressed at the reception her daughter received from the ton. Even Elizabeth’s nerves could scarcely handle such close inspection; her mother would have been inconsolable. In those most exclusive of assembly rooms, the new Mrs Darcy was scrutinised and studied with a ferocity which bordered on farcical. The ladies’ remarks made Darcy’s assessment of her appearance at the Meryton assembly seem amiable! Fortunately, thanks to her habit of delighting in anything ridiculous, Elizabeth was saved from taking any of their barbs to heart.

Their interlude in town had not all been daunting social engagements and unpleasantness, however. Darcy had made sure to maintain a delicate balance between obligation and indulgence, so there had been various visits to London’s finest retail establishments. Firstly to Papworth’s, so that Elizabeth could finalise interior design for her quarters at their townhouse; Chappell’s to peruse their collection of the finest instruments, where—despite her protests at such a luxury—Darcy insisted on purchasing a pianoforte to be placed in Elizabeth’s quarters for her sole use; Rowland’s for the latest fashionable commodities to apply to her hair and skin and Rundell & Bridge, where Elizabeth had been treated to a new necklace, with an elegant gold cross charm. Elizabeth greatly appreciated his generosity and understood that her husband was attempting to ease any lingering pain she might have felt after her first encounters with the ton in his own darling way . But in truth, she merely required his presence at her side to restore her spirits.

Before marrying Mr Darcy, Elizabeth’s excursions to town typically centred around Cheapside. Their complicated courtship had made her aware—at times to a painful extent—of her family’s deficiencies, not least when it came to her upbringing, and Elizabeth was certainly under no illusions as to the great disparity in the respective life experiences of herself and her new husband. Indeed, the new Mrs Darcy was determined not to make a show of herself on their bridal tour, regardless of how out of her depth she may have felt. 

Of course, she was a gentlewoman, and consequently this was not her maiden outing to the theatre. She was relieved to finally participate in a familiar activity which brought her genuine enjoyment; for she had enjoyed plenty of plays and even the occasional opera during her visits with the Gardiners in town. But she had never before been afforded the luxury of sitting in a box, with all of its grandiosity. Although she was excited for their evening excursion, the thought of spending it in such luxurious surroundings—with all that added scrutiny—was an intimidating prospect, not least because she had only caught distant glimpses of them on prior outings. To think that her and Darcy’s acquaintance had begun somewhere as comparatively shabby as the assembly rooms of Meryton! Such a thought amused Elizabeth greatly, and quelled the churning in her stomach as the coach came to a halt outside the theatre on Drury Lane. 

Perhaps the new bride would have felt daunted by her surroundings were it not for the comforting presence of her husband beside her. As they approached the grand entrance, she felt reassured by him, her arm tucked into the crook of his arm as he led her through the Theatre Royal and towards their seats for the evening. The box was quite incredible, with its plush red seats and golden fixtures. It afforded both utmost privacy, with occupants obscured from every closeby seat, but still the most incredible perspective of the stage. Initially, Elizabeth was so astounded by her surroundings, that she had almost forgotten she was here to enjoy a play—it was indeed fortunate if she were to remain distracted, that she was so knowledgeable of this particular comedy! 

As the actors took to the stage, to rapturous applause—particularly from the cheapest seats—Elizabeth could barely contain her excitement. Darcy shifted next to her, and she could not resist the temptation but glance at him. Yet, as with any time her eyes flitted towards him, she was powerless to prevent that quick glance from becoming a lingering look. Her eyes affixed to him and commenced a close study of his appealing features. The opening scene was quite forgotten. 

She was busy admiring the striking profile of her husband and contemplating what an effortlessly handsome creature he was—with his strong nose, dark eyelashes and hair that was somehow barely tamed, yet simultaneously well-kept—until a line from the opening scene immediately caught her attention and halted her reverie:

‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ Lysander asserted, as part of his opening conversation with Hermia.

Elizabeth gasped, as a palpable emotion swelled within her chest, a sensation which nearly brought a tear to her eye. It was with an almost eerie pertinence that such an utterance resonated with Elizabeth. Indeed, the Bard of Avon could have written such lines about her and Darcy! While their love for each other now may be of such a passion to put even Lysander and Hermia’s to shame, it had not always been so. The scene at Hunsford Parsonage sprung most strongly to mind, as did the scandal of Lydia’s elopement, and Elizabeth’s eventual verbal spar with Lady Catherine. But overcome it all, they had, and were subsequently left with a renewed appreciation for each moment they were fortunate enough to spend with each other. So many times throughout their acquaintance—it could scarcely be called a courtship—had an obstacle been thrown in their path. The thought of their good fortune only strengthened Elizabeth’s gratitude for the very fact they sat there together as husband and wife; while there were plenty of raised eyebrows, there could never be said to be any scandal attached to their marriage. Elizabeth was eternally grateful for that simple fact.

Yet, the narrow window where she could give the play her full attention soon elapsed. Although she had finally grown accustomed to her opulent surroundings, as a consequence of the play commencing, the attendants quietly exited the box and Elizabeth encountered another distraction —her husband.

It was the ghost of a touch at first. Upon her exposed skin that was not covered by her evening wear, between her shoulder blades. The warmth of his hand caused a jolt of delight to course through her, which soon cooled into panic at the thought of discovery in such a compromising position. Elizabeth relaxed a little when she recalled she was not in the pit, but secluded in the utter privacy afforded by a box. Not content with settling on her upper back, Darcy’s touch traversed lower; his open palm and splayed fingers were able to caress so much of her skin at once, thanks to the sheer scale of them compared to her figure. His hands were such a delightful feature of his! She dearly loved to hold them within her own as she entwined her fingers with his thick, yet still somehow slender, digits. As much as Elizabeth would have delighted in merely holding his hand as they watched the play, Darcy had a far more scandalous intention. When his hand finally settled on its apparent final destination, Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised in astonishment.

Darcy kept his hand on the lowest part of her back, dangerously close to her derrière , that swell accentuated by her gown which she noticed his eyes had particularly lingered on when he first saw her after she was dressed for the evening. She felt her entire body temperature rise as her cheeks burned furiously, both scandalised and endeared by his obvious physical attraction to her. Indeed, the evenings following their wedding meant she had never doubted his feelings towards her in that regard.

If Elizabeth believed Darcy’s halted hand provided any indication that she would be able to enjoy the remainder of the play without distraction, she was to be sorely mistaken. There was to be no reprieve, no. Not when he retained another manus. Her pulse quickened as she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, his slight lean towards her. The next thing Elizabeth was aware of was the expanse of a warm hand placed squarely on her leg, just above her knee. 

Darcy, governed as he was by his strong moral code, never expected that he would lose himself to quite this extent, to be touching his wife like this in public! But a protracted courtship and engagement would produce such results in any man with a pulse, and he was powerless to contain the passionate desire which was impossible to keep under good regulation in the face of such beauty. Desire throbbed through his veins as he slowly trailed his hand up her lovely thigh.

Since their wedding a fortnight ago, Darcy had scarcely kept his hands off his new bride. He fell asleep with her nestled in his arms and, if he was fortunate, awakened the same way. Whenever he found the opportunity during their waking hours, he would sneak a quick caress of her back, or ensure an entanglement of his fingers with her dainty digits. Kisses were stolen in alcoves, or in carriage rides between engagements. Each time they were forced into public was torturous for him. At least during their engagement, he had never known the blessing of her bare flesh against his own. Now that he possessed such knowledge, maintaining propriety was a nigh on impossible task.

Indeed, the course his roaming hand plotted was rather scandalous, especially in public! Elizabeth could not help the blush which spread from her décolletage, up her neck and to her cheeks as his hand settled at the top of her leg, on that crease where her hip joined it. His long fingers gripped her inner thigh with an air of possessiveness, and her skin, already aflame everywhere he touched, was now an inferno which burned with impunity. As she glanced at him, she wondered how her husband could maintain his composure, amazed that his gaze never once left the stage, despite the utterly improper placement of his hands.

When she finally made peace with the fact that Darcy’s wandering hands and his lingering touch would remain for the duration, Elizabeth settled in to enjoy the play. They were positioned so charmingly as to grant them the greatest prospect of the stage. A Midsummer Night’s Dream was one of her favourite offerings from the Bard, and the absurd escapades encountered by the characters throughout the play made even her stoic husband bless her ears with his exquisite laugh. 

Both Mr and Mrs Darcy had thoroughly enjoyed their evening, and enthusiastically joined in with the rapturous ovation, but were too fatigued to remain for the further offerings—although Elizabeth suspected her husband’s stamina would miraculously recover when they were finally alone in her bedchamber. She detected a certain spring in his step as he practically galloped down the stairs to the foyer, clearly eager to have a moment alone with his wife, so he may allow his hands to wander to his heart's desire.

As they exited onto Drury Lane, Darcy placed a reassuring hand on Elizabeth’s back as he guided her through the throng of theatregoers towards their waiting coach; she was grateful for the steady touch. There were many raised voices and a great deal of bellowing. Although she could not make out the precise words, the venomous manner with which they were uttered was quite alarming, especially after emerging from a venue frequently filled with loud laughter. The convivial air of the theatre was replaced by something altogether more sinister on the streets.

Elizabeth longed to discuss the play she had just taken in with her husband, but understood she would scarcely be heard over the din of the exiting masses. He possessed such an inquisitive mind, and she delighted in knowing that she was the fortunate creature with whom he had decided to share his thoughts for the rest of his days. Indeed, Elizabeth relished the prospect of such a privilege more than she enjoyed any lavish gifts bestowed upon her thanks to his generous nature. She had been fully prepared to engage—over the course of their coach ride back to their townhouse—in a lively debate concerning whether the actors who played Hermia and Lysander had made a convincing romantic pair, and been a faithful representation of the couple’s love story, so abundant in its mischief and comedy. 

However, all thoughts of such a conversation expired at the precise moment she encountered the reason for such a commotion. As did Elizabeth’s resolve not to embarrass Darcy with her country manners. Her last reasoned thoughts, before the precious sight before her overcame her sense of propriety, asserted that Darcy fell in love with her precisely for those manners he had once sneered at. He loved her for her free-spirited, affectionate nature. Granted, she may not make a proper society wife, but that was why they were a perfect match—he would never have been content with any of the constrained, punctilious women who spilled out onto the streets alongside them. 

Which was just as well, because Elizabeth retained no desire to behave in a ladylike manner. Not with such an abundance of loveliness before her! For her eyes had been drawn to an adorable little spaniel that bounded down the street in their direction.  Elizabeth’s heart ached to see the manner in which the poor creature was harshly shooed away by a succession of carriage drivers who lined the street as they awaited their masters and mistresses to emerge from the theatre. The dog could not be more than a pup! He did not deserve such abominable treatment. His brown fur was covered in darker brown patches, and his ears—covered in curly fur—flapped as he scampered towards them, as his tongue lolled out of his mouth. As the pup got closer, she observed with a wince, how each bone stuck out. His ribs were as discernable as the spokes on carriage wheels, the poor little mite was frightfully malnourished! 

Darcy looked around in confused astonishment as Elizabeth’s small hand disappeared from the crook of his arm. His puzzlement only increased when he comprehended the object of her attention. He watched in amazement as she bent down to beckon the errant stray towards her. It approached her eagerly, evidently grateful for being shown some kindness.

The hound’s ears drooped sadly at the side of his face, and Elizabeth’s heart ached. She warmly greeted the dog, ‘hello there, little one,’ as she stroked the matted brown fur of his ears—which blessedly soon perked up under her touch—while the other patted his side. She was distressed to feel under her gloved hands, just how sharply his ribs protruded, ‘you are quite famished, indeed!’

The pup whined in response and looked at her with doleful amber eyes. Elizabeth was smitten. He was the most precious creature she had ever beheld! She knew she must convince her husband for permission to admit him to their household. His sentimental, affectionate side had been steadily increasing since their engagement, but had really begun in earnest after their marriage. She fancied her ability to persuade him. 

While Elizabeth was busy becoming besotted with the hound, Darcy glanced around at the throngs of people surrounding them. He was conscious of the fact that the sight of a woman dressed in such elegant finery hunched over to stroke a furry urchin was quite an arresting one indeed. He discovered, to no great surprise, that Elizabeth’s endeavour was met with looks that bordered somewhere between intrigue and disgust. To his surprise, he found he did not care a jot! The fact his wife possessed such an open, caring heart was one of the numerous reasons he had married her, not that any of these society women with their cold judgmental natures would understand that fact.

Resolute in his indifference, Darcy dropped down to Elizabeth’s level and joined her in her venture as he firmly patted the dog’s haunches with his own gloved hands. The look of delight on Elizabeth’s face when she perceived his similar level of interest in the dog was enough to convince Darcy that any disdainful looks were entirely worth it. From this vantage point, he could not fail to observe that the poor dog was skin and bone. Darcy was a great lover of animals, and knew that to leave him here would be unconscionable! He would certainly ensure the pup found a home, perhaps with his driver, or a servant at the townhouse.

The newlyweds spent some moments lavishing attention on the spaniel, before Elizabeth turned to her husband and begged him, ‘oh, Fitzwilliam! Cannot we keep him? Oh please, sir!' 

Darcy sighed, and contemplated the numerous reasons why he should decline her request. They hardly knew where he came from! If his filthy appearance was any indication, it was from less-than-desirable areas of town. What would his staff think? He had only just introduced a wife to them, was this not more upheaval for an already altered household? Surely his valet would think all sense had deserted him, even if he would never dare voice such an impertinence! This pup would be quite the outlier in his other pets, too. His beloved hounds were all thoroughbreds, and this urchin could only be described as a mongrel—endearing though he admittedly was. 

But Elizabeth was not deterred by any reluctance she may have detected in his countenance. As Darcy looked from her pleading eyes, to that of the spaniel, and then back again—he comprehended that he was doomed. His wife had him wrapped around her finger, and worse, the minx knew it!

Still, Darcy had some practical concerns to voice and made a futile attempt to be the voice of reason, ‘Elizabeth, he is quite filthy.’

‘Nothing that a bath will not solve!’ she immediately shot back.

Darcy could not prevent the way his lips curved upwards. A verbal spar with Elizabeth only led to one outcome.

‘Dearest, he is skin and bone, and what of disease?!’

‘Oh, nonsense. He appears perfectly healthy, aside from his slight frame. Once he is cleaned up and fed, he will be just as agreeable as any of your hounds.’

Darcy shook his head, and realised that he was cornered. He knew there was no way Elizabeth would leave this street without the pup in tow. 

‘I will allow you to name him whatever you desire,’ she offered in consolation. 

In truth, Darcy really required no such persuasion to assuage her demand. With only one look from Elizabeth—from those fine, dark eyes that were the first feature of hers that found their way into his heart—Darcy would have travelled to the ends of the earth for her, even if it improved her happiness by only the slenderest of margins. Still, he decided to convincingly—at least in his mind—play the part of a reluctant grump.

‘I finally get you to myself after a torturously extensive engagement, only to discover your affections now lie elsewhere?’ he questioned in a low, gravelly tone. 

Elizabeth smiled. Much as he tried, he could never convince her that he was any less willing to adopt this pup than she. She knew he shared her affection for animals. Indeed, Elizabeth greatly anticipated their return to Pemberley for a myriad of reasons, but the opportunity to finally make Darcy’s beloved hounds’ acquaintance was chief amongst them.

‘Please, Mr Darcy,’ she begged again.

It was never a fair fight. Elizabeth had employed the dark arts, and called upon her expressive eyes to supplicate him to capitulate. Two pairs of pleading brown eyes appealed to his most sentimental side, and he was powerless to resist their charms.

After some moments of suspense, Darcy finally made his reply, ‘I propose that we hereby name him Puck, after the delightful character in the play we have just enjoyed.' 

Darcy’s hat was almost knocked clean off his head by Elizabeth’s gleeful gesture, as she threw her arms around his neck. Fortunately the quick reactions which served him so well on the piste, meant that he did not end up on his back on the cobblestones. 

‘Thank you dearest,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘Puck suits him well. He is, after all, our very own merry wanderer of the night.’

Puck barked a hearty assent of his own, as though able to comprehend that he had gained a new master and mistress, and was a stray no longer. His little tail, which had only minutes prior drooped forlornly between his legs, now wagged with impunity as Darcy scooped him into his arms and stood up. He extended a hand to tug Elizabeth to her feet, then offered a supportive arm to his wife, and the trio made for their waiting vehicle.

As they approached the coach, Darcy shot the driver a look which sufficiently conveyed his desire that the man make no mention of their unexpected passenger. The man obliged, and Puck was admitted without comment. Once situated inside the coach, Puck’s tail wagged as he excitedly clambered across both the seats and the humans who occupied them with little regard for their finery. Darcy grumbled as he noted his pale breeches were now dirtied. His wife had not escaped unscathed, either. Elizabeth's ivory dress was stained with muddy paw prints, but she did not appear to mind as she beamed at Puck and stroked his fur. Her joyful expression did not falter, not even when the pup had the audacity to stand on his hind legs and place his front paws just below her breasts so that he could reach to lick her face! Instead, she only giggled.

Darcy adored how unfazed she was by those matters which would concern most of her sex. He recalled the morning when she had unexpectedly appeared at Netherfield sporting petticoats six inches deep in mud. That carefree nature had attracted her to him then, much as he denied it, and it was the same spirit which now only served to deepen the depths of his desire. Except, much like then, his frustration increased as he could not act upon his desires—not with this hound around! Darcy could scarcely wait for a moment alone with her, growing increasingly frustrated by the reaction each titter and chortle provoked in him. Not to mention the effect her flushed cheeks had on him, the result of such gaiety. He willed the coach to drive even faster!

Upon their return to the townhouse, it became abundantly apparent that Darcy needn’t have worried about his household’s response to yet another new arrival, for Puck was an instant hit with his staff. After a bowl of milk and plate of cold meat were eagerly wolfed down by the rapscallion, the nourishment subsequently gave him enough energy to enthusiastically greet each of the servants—much to their collective delight.

After Puck had been thoroughly scrubbed by the housekeeper in a hastily-drawn bath, while his new master and mistress were attended to by their valet and maid respectively, Elizabeth insisted that he join them in the sitting room which adjoined their quarters. When Puck joined them, they discovered, much to their astonishment, that his coat was in fact white with brown spots, rather than brown all over—as had been initially believed. The grime had clouded his true colouring from view! A heartbreaking testament to the squalor he had survived, which touched even Darcy’s heart.

Although Darcy outwardly grumbled about the hound’s admission to their sanctuary—as consequently, his plans for the evening were significantly altered—he was perfectly content to watch Elizabeth interact with the latest addition to their family, while he reclined on his armchair with a snifter of brandy.

As Darcy sipped the amber liquid, while Elizabeth entertained Puck on the rug by the fire, he contemplated how many nights he had spent in this very spot, his thoughts firmly fixed on her. At first, he had brought her—fine eyes and all—to mind in a fruitless endeavour to convince himself that he was not attracted to her. Then, it had been a hopeless mix of frustration and yearning, that her lowly connections would prevent him forming any serious design on her. After their encounter at Hunsford, disgust had taken hold, revulsion at his own actions and mainly at his abominable pride which had ruined the chances with the only woman he was convinced he could have been happy with. Until finally, he had sat here upon his return to town during their engagement to get his household in order. On that occasion, he had thrummed with anticipation for the wedding night he knew they were to spend here.

After their first night of matrimony, Darcy did not anticipate that he would spend another night in this seat quite so frustrated. But, much to his delight, his life with Elizabeth was unexpected in many ways. Indeed, he had hoped that the next addition to the Darcy lineage following their marriage would have possessed rather less fur, but there was time aplenty for that. They had the rest of their lives, after all.

When they could stifle their yawns no more and it was finally time to move bedwards, Puck insisted—via a pleading look in his soulful brown eyes—upon accompanying them. Much to Darcy’s anguish, Elizabeth did nothing to discourage the imp, who promptly jumped onto the centre of the bed! Darcy was grave and silent as they shed their robes and clambered abed. He cursed his wife’s enchanting eyes for his placement in this predicament.

As they finally settled between the sheets, however, the spaniel surprised them both. Puck elected to curl up squarely on Darcy’s chest, much to his bemusement, and to Elizabeth’s delight.

‘Perhaps, as it transpires, I shall be the jealous one!’ Elizabeth observed, her tone full of mirth and not at all darkened by envy.

Darcy chuckled, and wrapped Elizabeth in a loving embrace. He sighed in contentment at the familiar old feel of his wife curled into his side, and this new—but admittedly pleasurable—weight of the dog upon his chest. No, he was certain he possessed room enough in his heart to accommodate them both. 

It would have been quite the tender moment, but with impeccable timing and his coarse tongue, Puck decided to deliver a long, wet lick, squarely across his master’s face. Elizabeth could barely contain her laughter! Darcy felt as though he was now entirely outnumbered by the mischievous duo, and wondered what he had gotten himself into. Still, to hear her laughter was the most joyous sound in the world to him; it far surpassed any symphony offered by an orchestra. Elizabeth’s amusement was a sound he would never tire of hearing, one he hoped he would prove fortunate enough to enjoy many times over the course of their lives together. 

Darcy projected outward grouchiness and did not permit Elizabeth to glimpse the grin which eventually overspread his features. He continued to feign his displeasure until he was certain she was sound asleep. Then, he lay there, in the dying candlelight, and smiled at the sight of the pup on his chest; before affixing his regard to the woman with the capacious heart who had ensured Puck was curled up in the warmth and safety of their home, and rescued from a life of unimaginable suffering.

Several weeks later, Elizabeth’s prediction regarding her fate as a jilted, envious wife after Puck’s introduction into their lives—although said in jest—as it transpired, possessed considerable merit. Now returned to Pemberley, the hound she had been so determined to adopt had made no secret of the fact of where his true allegiance lay.

After dinner, Elizabeth had elected to take a stroll along the riverbank, while Darcy replied to some urgent matters of business in his study. Puck— the impertinent, traitorous lech! —had decided to remain indoors with his master. Following their arrival in Derbyshire, Elizabeth had soon discovered, much to her disappointment, that the stray she had rescued was not as fond of walks as she was—though it was rare for anyone to match her enthusiasm for such a pursuit. 

Instead, Puck had gained quite the penchant for having his increasingly rotund belly rubbed as he sprawled on the rug by the fire after he had gorged on plate after plate of the finest cuts of meat. There were plenty of sources to give him such attention, from the household staff to the shy young woman who had returned from town to make Pemberley her new permanent home. After some initial weariness, Georgiana had taken a shine to the stray, her affectionate nature burst forth in abundance once she had an outlet for her love. 

Despite his destitute start in life, Puck was unquestionably a Darcy after all. He had soon gained a taste for the finer things in life, and made no attempt to hide his disdain to the servants if his refined palate was not satisfied by their offerings. His true Darcy spirit manifested itself in other ways, too; he held his head up with such a proud manner—which bordered on haughty—as he trotted through the lofty rooms and hallways, that many servants soon questioned who was the real master of Pemberley. 

After she had finished enjoying the sunset from her favourite prospect on a slight, sloping hill; Elizabeth made her way back towards the magnificent building which still made her lightheaded with happiness whenever she laid eyes upon it. Oh! merely to observe it was one thing, but to know that she not only resided there, yet shared it with the most magnificent man she had ever met, was a wonder she still struggled to believe she had been blessed with. She broke into a gallop, and skipped excitedly towards the house in the emerging twilight.

Upon making her return to the house, neither her husband or beloved pet could be located in Darcy’s study—where she had expected to encounter them—but Elizabeth saw no cause for alarm. She set off determinedly down the airy halls, with a clear destination in mind. It was not uncommon, after all, for Darcy to unwind with a book at the end of a long day.

As she entered the library, she called to him, ‘Fitzwilliam?’ 

But he could give no reply. From this distance, Elizabeth could tell that her husband had been enveloped into Somnus’s embrace in the high-backed leather armchair by the fire. His head was slumped to the side, and she could just about make out—thanks to the dancing golden light of the fire—the way his chest rose and fell in a constant, even motion. 

She stifled a chuckle, determined not to wake him. As she moved around to the front of the armchair, Elizabeth was touched to observe that Darcy was not alone for his doze. Puck was curled up on his lap, soundly asleep. Elizabeth felt herself almost moved to tears at the sight of the pair together; Darcy’s large hand rested atop his back, near to his well-rounded haunches, a sign of both his protectiveness and his affection towards the little mongrel. Mercifully, Puck now cut a healthy figure, no longer the malnourished stray they had encountered on Drury Lane. Her heart sunk low in her chest on those occasions she considered what Puck’s life would have been without their chance encounter.  She would always be grateful for Darcy’s good heart, which had given her the opportunity to save him from that fate. 

Although she thoroughly enjoyed watching them sleep, she knew that Darcy’s neck and back would not thank him if he continued to slumber in this position for very much longer. She elected to awaken him in the most tactful way she knew, Elizabeth leaned in to kiss him gently on the forehead, and carefully brushed away an errant dark curl, before her lips made contact with his fire-warmed flesh. His eyelids fluttered open, to reveal disorientation in his eyes, before they softened upon his comprehension of her presence before him. 

‘Good morning, Mr Darcy,’ Elizabeth teased, even though it was past sunset. 

‘My apologies, dearest. I did not intend to nod off.’

Darcy moved the hand that rested upon Puck up to his eyes, to wipe the sleep from them with its back, which inevitably caused the pup to stir. Puck’s awakening was a comical imitation of Darcy’s own, and soon two pairs of sleepy brown eyes gazed up at her. 

‘You seem to have formed quite the alliance with our little stray. Perhaps I must content myself with being second best in your eyes now.’

‘Elizabeth,’ Darcy sighed, ‘how could you even say such a thing?’

‘To tease you, of course!’ Elizabeth smirked, and kissed his cheek. She stroked Puck under the chin, and continued her ridicule, ‘to think, you quite despised the little scamp when we first encountered him!’

‘First impressions can always prove misleading, my love.’ 

‘Oh I am all too aware of that, Mr Darcy. Need I remind you of the dreadful impression you made upon the poor, unsuspecting women of Hertfordshire at the Meryton assembly?’

‘No!’ Darcy cried in horror, and Elizabeth chuckled in amusement. His words had proved quite devastating to her ego at the time, though she contended that all pain was worth it for the ammunition it had provided her to tease him with. 

Fortunately, Darcy was quite reformed now. Loving Elizabeth had softened his heart sufficiently to turn him into quite the sentimental man, and Puck was the latest to be lucky enough to be blessed with this newfound tenderness. Even if he had initially objected to the proposal to adopt the helpless stray, he could not imagine his existence without the precious pup. No, he quite adored Puck, despite his initial reluctance.

After all, as Darcy’s increased affection for both his wife and pup proved,  the course of true love never did run smooth.