#firmiis

                        "My husband, don't you know that it                      doesn't do to leave such a fine novel out."

        Mirth layered strong voice as a serving platter was balanced on one hand while the other brushed against the fine, worn pages of a book left to bask in the warm sunlight. Yellowed pages were fine and all——but near unforgivable on such fine craftsmanship. Still, tea was set upon the desk as her hips swayed, the joint where leg met torso pressed against the unyielding wood as the Mistress of Pemberley poured that whom possessed her heart a cup.

i can show you !!! i mean i’m not very skilled but.

                                "My husband———————"

                words which desired to fall from her mouth full of warmth and affection,                 so as to match the gravity of the feelings resting in the very hollow of                 her chest, beside her heart, beating in time and threatening to seep into                 every last part of her very being. And so they were, and so they were.

                However, even with all the endearment that could possibly be                 infused with her voice, it was late, and the moon had awoken                 from its slumber long ago and was high in the cloudless sky.                 Even in her own private quarters his absence in bed was so                 palpable, an itch which she could not scratch, and of course                 she could only seek him out. That he was still awake was no                 surprise to her, in the end.