Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were united in matrimony, and it was all purely because they were in love with each other without realizing it. They previously misunderstood each other, and everyone was sure that Elizabeth loathed him, so anyone can imagine the surprise of seeing her come home from her walk, looking a little dishevled, with Fitzwilliam going to her father, wanting her hand in marriage, while the top button of his shirt was unbuttoned, slightly revealing his chest. And there was no chaperone. It was all in innocence, though.
Now, they reside in Pemberley, Fitwilliam's estate, the beautiful landscape surrounding them as they spend their days there. One night, they were sitting near the fountains, in their nightclothes. They admired the dark sky above, and Fitwilliam sat down.
"How are you this evening, my dear?" Fitzwilliam asks Elizabeth, admiring her beauty.
"Very well. Only I wish you would not call me "my dear."" She replies.
"Why?" Fitzwilliam asked.
"'Because it's what my father always calls my mother when he's cross about something." Elizabeth replies, holding her husband's hands.
"What endearments am I allowed?" Fitzwilliam asks playfully.
"Well let me think... "darling" for everyday. "My pearl" for Sundays. And.. "Goddess Divine," but only on very special occasions." She smiles cheekily
Fitzwilliam chuckles, his fingers now coming up to Elizabeth's cheek, "And what shall I call you when I'm cross? Mrs. Darcy?"
"No. No. You may only call me Mrs. Darcy when you are completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy." She playfully scolded him.
"And how are you this evening, Mrs. Darcy" Fitzwilliam asks, before he kisses her forehead, repeating, "Mrs. Darcy," her left cheek, "Mrs. Darcy," her nose, "Mrs. Darcy," her jaw, "Mrs. Darcy," and then finally her lips, "Mrs. Darcy."