Elizabeth sat by one of the many windows overlooking the massive gardens at Pemberley estate. She held a cup of tea on one hand and a book on the other.
This place was gorgeous, stunning and so vast she didn't believe anyone could ever fill it, no matter how many children they could have. And more surprisingly still... it was hers.
Ever since marrying Mr. Darcy, she had become none other than Elizabeth Darcy, wife to a wealthy and handsome landowner.
Which meant she now, by right of marriage, owned these lands and these pieces of art as well. It was overwhelming, but Fitzwilliam never forced her to be or act as anything she wasn't.
That was why she loved him so. He accepted her for who she was, faults and all, and she did the same in return.
Her husband was sitting in a sofa inches away from her own, resting a gentle hand on her arm while he sipped at his own coffee and stared out the window.
They were, as they had since their wedding day, enjoying a morning together before he had to leave to attend his businesses.
She didn't mind: Spending her days reading or speaking with her sister in law was delightful, as was receiving the visits of her family from time to time.
Yet these moments in the morning and those in the night that they got to share as husband and wife were the ones she enjoyed the most.
She was happy to be Mrs. Darcy, and she wouldn't change it for the world.