That Marriage Business

By S. Faith, 2009

Words: 20,743 (Part 3: 5,573)
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes: See Part 1.

They readied for bed and after climbing beneath the sheets, she held him again, stroking his hair, kissing his temple, until each stroke got a little slower and it became evident without his looking to her that she had drifted to sleep.

Mark had no such luck, however.

He laid there for what felt like hours not wanting to move, not wanting to wake up his peacefully sleeping wife, but unable to settle his thoughts in order to fall to sleep. Rather than toss and turn, he gingerly slipped out from beneath the sheets, then, in search of maybe a cup of tea to help him feel drowsy, he wandered down towards the kitchen.

He was surprised to find all of the lights were still on, that most of the clutter from the dinner party was still to be found on every surface. For a moment he wondered (in an admittedly Bridget-like manner) if Hugh and Anna, in the course of cleaning, had been overcome with unlikely lust and, despite their vow to abstain, had dashed up the stairs to Hugh's room. Upon reaching the kitchen, though, he found he was wrong. Hugh was sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

"Mark. Old man. Can't sleep?"

Mark nodded.

"Yeah," Hugh said. "Same here."

Mark went to the hob and set the kettle to boiling again.

"Tea's up above," said Hugh, picking his cup up and drinking from it again.

As Mark waited for the water to boil, he glanced to Hugh, and he knew instantly that the only way Mark would get any sleep that night was to come out with it and get his concerns off of his chest.

"Hugh," said Mark as he poured water over the bag. "I—" He stopped, suddenly unsure of his approach. "There's—I wanted to talk to you about something."

Hugh looked as concerned as he ever had in Mark's presence. "Everything all right? Is Bridget okay? The baby?"

Mark smiled. "It's not about me. Us. Rather… it's about you."

"Me?"

Mark took his tea and sat at the table. He then breathed deeply to help centre himself. This was it.

"Hugh, I'm concerned," he said at last. "Anna seems like a very nice woman, but I wonder—" He cleared his throat; this was harder than he could ever imagine. "I'm reminded so much of—"

Against his shin he felt a slight pressure. He looked down to see Wicksy looking up at him, who offered Mark a soundless meow. He smiled. The cat leapt up into his lap and curled into a ball, purring.

"Mark," said Hugh. "Spit it out, old man."

With his hand on the cat's back, he raised his eyes to meet Hugh's. "We have been friends for a very long time, and this is not easy for me to say, because I know first hand what it's like to hear these words."

"This sounds serious," said Hugh.

"It is," said Mark. "You are all too aware, Hugh, that I once married a woman I thought I loved and whom I thought loved me, even though those around me saw the truth of it and tried to warn me." He stopped to collect his thoughts. "I would just hate to see you go through anything remotely as painful as what I went through, or hell, even half what you went through with Louisa. If you're going to get married again, I just want you go be sure it's for the absolute right reason."

Hugh glanced down, and Mark was afraid that his friend was too angry to speak. From his lap, Wicksy let out a very quiet meow.

"Mark," said Hugh quietly.

"I'm sorry," Mark said pre-emptively. "I didn't want to say anything, Hugh, but I couldn't sit by, couldn't at least give you the chance to get as angry with me as I got with my brother… who turned out to be right."

"Mark," Hugh said again. The fingers clutching the handle of his teacup slowly released, and something fell from his grip, hitting the table with a clattering sound.

It took Mark a moment to realise it was a ring. A woman's diamond solitaire. Next to the cup, Mark noticed what must have been Anna's house key. Mark drew his brows together.

"I don't understand," said Mark quietly.

"It wasn't right," he said. "And I knew it." He offered a smile but Mark knew he was hurting. "Funny thing is I was so anxious to be in love, to have what my happy married friends have, to what you and Bridget have…. I know now I rushed into things too quickly. So I broke it off tonight."

Mark felt his stomach drop, feeling immediately somehow guilty.

"Don't look like that," said Hugh. "It isn't your fault that your happiness breeds envy in others." Hugh was smiling; Mark knew he was kidding. "But it was also you and Bridget, this weekend, that reminded me the reality of things. I'm fond of Anna, I like her a lot, but it wasn't love… that much is obvious. We didn't have what you two have. And frankly, I don't think we ever would have had what you two have."

Mark looked down to his own hand, to the gleaming band there, then back to Hugh. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," said Hugh. "I'd rather realise sooner than later."

Mark's thoughts flashed to Peter, to his ex-wife. "Yeah."

"You're like a brother to me, Mark, a true friend, and I appreciate your trying to talk to me about it. It means a lot to me that you came down here to do so, knowing what the possible consequences could have been," said Hugh. "I want you to always speak your mind to me, especially when it comes to this, to love, which we all know makes us blind."

Mark smiled, looking up to his friend. "I would hope you'd do the same."

"Nah," said Hugh, surprising him. "That's what she's for."

He turned to see the approaching form of his wife, blinking sleepily, running her fingers through her hair. "Mark? Hugh?" she asked sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Everything's all right," said Mark, staying her fears. "Don't worry."

"Worry?" she said. "I just wanted some milk."

Hugh began to chuckle, then laugh, causing Mark to laugh too; Mark knew Hugh would, after a little time, bounce back just fine.

"What?" asked Bridget, confused.

Mark got to his feet and took her in his arms. "Having a little talk," he whispered.

"Oh!" she said. "Is everything all right?" She pulled back to look at Hugh, seeming to simultaneously spot the ring and the key, and quickly adding two plus two. "Oh, Hugh." She went over to him to give him a hug. "I'm sorry."

Hugh hugged her in return. "Thank you." Mark saw Hugh smile again. "There's something extra specially wonderful about a hug from a pregnant mama."

Bridget giggled, then pulled away. "Little Andrew hugs you too."

"Or at least kick you," said Mark.

"Haven't trained him to kick on demand just yet," said Bridget, patting her stomach.

"Andrew?"

Bridget and Mark both looked to Hugh, who looked extremely pleased, almost a little teary.

"Yes," said Mark. "We found out she was pregnant on St Andrew's Day."

"Little Andy." Hugh got to his feet again, and with a glance to Bridget and a nod in return, he put his hand on her stomach. "Hey, Andy, it's your Uncle Hugh—wanted you to let you know you can feel free to kick me any time you—"

Hugh stopped just as Bridget and Hugh met eyes, then they both grinned and laughed.

"He kicked," said Hugh, looking to Mark.

"He wants his milk, I think," said Mark. "Greedy little thing."

"Have any of that cake left?" asked Bridget.

Hugh served up three slices of leftover cake, and with their tea and milk they toasted to friendship… and to love.

"Some day, some woman will be worthy of that ring," declared Bridget, drinking the last of her milk. Hugh smiled, raising his glass to her.

"And I am certain Mark will let me know when she shows up in my life."

"If not Mark," said Bridget, "then at least Wicksy."

………

After ascertaining that Hugh was in reasonably good spirits considering what had happened immediately after what was supposed to have been his engagement party, Mark led his wife upstairs and back to their bed for the evening. "He'll be okay," said Bridget confidently, as if reading Mark's own thoughts.

"Yes," he said, pulling the sheets up over them. "I think so. Hugh's the one who ended it."

"Still. It must be painful for him."

"I think it was more painful to come to the realisation that he was planning to marry for the wrong reasons, than it was to actually end the relationship," said Mark.

"Remind me to reassure him we're only a phone call away," she said as he spooned up to her back, his hand splayed out over her stomach. She snuggled back into him, sighing contentedly.

"Of course," he replied, kissing her temple, "though I'm sure he knows that."

"Doesn't hurt to double check."

Neither said anything more, and within a few minutes, judging by the rhythm of her breathing, she had fallen back to sleep. He did not so easily drift off, even though by all rights he should have, at the very least in his utter relief that his friend had dodged the proverbial bullet. He must have at least partly dozed, though, because it was a gentle fluttering against his fingertips that roused him. The baby was kicking again, apparently not enough to wake her, but it did wake him, and he was glad for it.

He was the luckiest and happiest man in the world, and though he smiled to himself to consider the old Mark thinking in such emotional terms, he had to admit he truly was.

………

Upon awaking the following morning, Mark was greeted with an unusual sight: a swath of silky black fur. Gingerly he raised his head; he realised that during the night Wicksy, apparently willing to overlook his difference of opinion with Mark, had curled himself up against Bridget and gone to sleep. Wicksy had, unfortunately, chosen to curl up to her head, leaving Mark facing the cat's back end.

He began to chuckle despite everything, which woke Bridget and caused the cat to stir.

"Awwww," she cooed, feeling the pressure of the cat against her head, reaching up to pet him. "How adorable!"

"Come on, cat," said Mark, "Get off the pillow." Gently he patted the cat's back; offended, Wicksy was off like a shot, stopping once to throw a hiss back at Mark before leaving the room.

She turned over to face him, lower lip protruding ever so slightly. "Mark, he was sleeping."

"His backside was in my face," Mark said. "And it's not hygienic for his filthy little cat paws to be all over your pillow and near your face."

"I suppose you're right," she said, pouting again. Seemingly remembering the events of the previous night, she said, "Were you able to sleep all right once everything got cleared up?"

"Yes, I—wait. How did you know—?"

She smiled. "I know you, Mark. You couldn't sleep, and you went down for tea."

He chuckled; how well she knew him, indeed. "I fell asleep just fine, especially after feeling the little one kicking again," he said. "Made me realise how wonderful I have it, and lulled me right off to sleep."

At this she looked almost ashen. "He did what?"

"He was kicking again," said Mark.

She appeared to be traumatised. "I didn't feel it! Not a thing!"

"You were asleep," he reminded.

"But what if I'm asleep and I don't hear the baby crying? Or I can't get him to stop crying?" she said, tears in her eyes. "What if I really do forget him somewhere, in a shop, or…"

He pulled her close and attempted to soothe her fears. "Bridget, it's barely a flutter at this stage. No stronger than digesting your dinner. I just happened to still be mostly awake. Don't worry about it."

She sighed, then admitted, "I'm so afraid I'm going to be a terrible mum."

"You," he assured, "are going to be a wonderful mum."

He half-expected some flippant remark about how his bias was showing again, but she did not offer one; instead, she nestled into his shoulder, tightened her embrace to pull herself as close to him as she could. With her in his arms like this, he fell back to a peaceful slumber, dreaming of days past—

He's standing at a party, his own engagement party, and he sees a young girl with reddish-brown hair running around showing her new doll to anyone who will listen. She's no more than five and very enthusiastic about her endeavour. He smiles as she approaches where he and his fiancée are standing.

"Do you want to see my new dolly?" asks the girl. She holds it up. It's one of those hand-crafted rag dolls of exceptionally high quality.

"Ohhh," says his companion, his fiancée, his wife come December, in an overly cloying tone of voice. "Aren't you the cutest thing? What's your name, honey?"

Her little blue eyes piercingly stare up at the taller, dark-haired woman. "Margaret."

"Oh, Margaret!" she coos. "What a lovely name! And what's your baby's name? When was she born? She has a lot of hair for a baby that small!"

The girl looks to her as if she's gone mad. "I'm not a real mummy—I'm only four. She's just my dolly." Margaret then looks at Mark; if he didn't know any better, he would have suspected she was mentally accusing him of harbouring a lunatic in his midst.

As she skips off, his fiancée's arms cross defensively. "What a cheeky little brat."

"Tamiko," he says, "she's a child."

"She's a brat," Tamiko repeats. "Like I don't know that's a doll."

He smiles in a placating manner, though honestly thinks she's overreacting. "She just wanted to show you her doll."

Tam looks at him like he's joined the opposition. "I suppose you're on her side?"

At this he laughs. "She's four," he reiterates, intimating that she's a little young to have motives ascribed to her actions. "Come on, we can have some more wine."

In his mind the years fast forward, and suddenly he's in the doorway of the sitting room in Jeremy's house. He sees Bridget sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, skirt draping over her knees. Beside her sits a distraught-looking six-year-old Constance. He is sure his wife doesn't know he's standing there.

"What did you have to talk to me about?" asks Bridget in a confidential tone.

"Auntie Bridget," she says very seriously. "I don't know how to tell you this, but you have a very big rip in your skirt."

He sees Bridget fight back a laugh. It's a wrap-around skirt that has a loose, flapping edge; the 'rip' is part of the design. "Do I?" she says, feigning horror. "I'm so glad you told me, Constance. Where is it?"

Constance's small hand reaches out and takes hold of the loose edge.

"Oh, dear," says Bridget. "Whatever shall I do?"

"Well," says Constance, very serious indeed. "I found this in the baby's room." She holds out her hand, and in it is a large safety pin with a bright yellow cap.

"Do you think that will work?" Bridget asks.

Constance nods earnestly. "Oh, yes. It keeps the nappies on the baby. It'll keep your skirt together."

"Excellent plan," replies Bridget. "You'll help, won't you?"

Constance nods again.

The child's small fingers work the pin open with surprising dexterity, and within moments she has pinned the corner of the skirt down to the layer beneath. Bridget stands, turns in a circle, seeing Mark at last, winking as she faces him.

"Well, Constance," she says with an air of extreme gratitude. "I'm not sure what I would have done without you keeping my skirt together."

Constance smiles proudly, then dives forward to throw her arms around Bridget's legs. "Love you, Auntie B."

Bridget crouches down and takes the girl into her arms, holding her tight. "I love you too, Constance."

Bridget spends the rest of the party with her lovely designer skirt held sloppily closed by a nappy pin, and every time she and Constance lock eyes, Bridget winks at her, holds a finger up to her lips as if to say the skirt repair is their little secret. Soon Constance begins to wink back, has the air of someone entrusted with something very important, like nuclear launch codes or who really killed JFK.

Bridget still has the pin. It has a place of honour inside her jewellery box.

—until the first rays of morning brightened the room. Mark slowly roused from sleep to find Bridget looking at him as she was wont to do. "What were you thinking of?" she asked, smiling at him lovingly.

"Why you'll make such a wonderful mum," he said sleepily.

She furrowed her brow.

"Constance and your ripped skirt."

She blushed, looking somewhat shy. "Oh." She lifted her fingers, tracing the lines of his face. "But I didn't do anything more than any other person would have done."

He regarded her, blinking thoughtfully. "Not any person," said Mark. He then regaled her with the anecdote about Margaret and the dolly, and by the end of the story, even as her mouth opened in a slight O, she looked pleased.

"It takes a special kind of person to know when to indulge children in their fantasies," he concluded, "and how to do it properly." He propped himself up on an elbow, then took her cheek in his hand. "Darling, you will make a wonderful mum."

She smiled, then leaned in to kiss him.

As she curled up beside him in the double bed, pressed up against him, he heard her sigh, and while it was a happy sigh, he sensed an undercurrent of discontent.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Hugh," she said, her confidence of the night before seemingly having slipped by the wayside.

"Hugh's a tough old bird," said Mark. "I think he'll be fine. You said so yourself."

"We should spend the day here," she said. "Take him out for lunch. Cheer him up."

"Darling, I don't think he's depressed."

"Of course he's depressed," she said. "He just broke up with his girlfriend. His fiancée."

"Bridget," said Mark, "he admitted to me last night that he didn't really love her—only thought he did."

"But that might make him even more depressed!"

At that moment, Mark heard footsteps in the hall, and so he called loudly, "Hugh!"

"What are you doing?" Bridget asked in a whisper, pulling the sheet up to cover herself, even though she was wearing a nightgown.

He didn't get a chance to answer because Hugh swung the door open. "Yes, Captain Old Man, Mrs Old Man?" he asked, looking to both of them in turn.

"Are you depressed?"

Hugh blinked. "Me? Depressed?" He smiled, then chuckled, and Mark could tell that there wasn't a modicum of artifice about it. "Why should I be depressed?"

"Anna?" prompted Bridget incredulously.

"Oh, aside from a little reflection on my part about the whole thing and some embarrassment with our mutual acquaintances," he said, "that'll all be fine. She and I didn't agree that it was best to end it, but she'll get over it."

"So you're not depressed?" Bridget asked.

"No," he said. "Quite happy, actually, because for once I didn't wake up with a cat arse in my face."

That sparked instant and spontaneous laughter in both of them. "I guess I'll have to take your word for it," said Bridget once she regained her breath, "but don't forget you can always ask if you need anything."

Hugh smiled tenderly. "I know." In a flash his demeanour changed back to his usual joviality, and he stretched his arms out in front of him, cracking his knuckles. "Right. I am going for a bit of a jog. You two can lounge a bit as it's still early, but when I come back, who's up for the sights and sounds of magnificent Stratford?"

They agreed wholeheartedly, then were left alone again.

"Sometimes being around Hugh is like being around a whirling top that's gone out of control," said Bridget contentedly. "And you're right. He does seem surprisingly bounced-back."

"I told you he was," Mark said, holding her close again. "Are you happy?"

He meant about Hugh's state of mind, but she seemed to interpret it differently:

"Happier than I've ever been."

………

They dressed for the day and wandered downstairs for something to eat, finding that Hugh had left some coffee for Mark, and the kettle simmering for Bridget should she want some tea. They were just fixing their beverages when Hugh returned, smiling broadly, hot and sweaty from his jog.

"I'll whip up breakfast if you give me a few to shower," he said.

"By all means," said Mark. "Shower."

After Hugh left the kitchen, Mark watched Bridget sip at her caffeine-free tea, her eyes skimming over the front page of the Sunday paper, and he thought once again about the long road they'd both taken to get to where they were now. It hadn't been the easiest journey, at least not at first, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything else in the world.

He smiled, remembering he had something with which to show his sudden burst of appreciation of her.

"You," he said, then waited for her eyes to flash up to meet his, "deserve an extra special treat for being lovely."

She smiled. "Do I?"

He nodded. He then rose to his feet and went over to the drawer where he'd stashed the chocolate bars the day before. "You do. The loveliest of them all." He strode back to the table, holding the bar behind his back. "Hold out your hand, close your eyes."

She raised a brow, but did as told.

When he placed the bar in her hand she opened her eyes. She beamed a smile up at him. "My favourite."

"Yes," he said. "I know."

She unwrapped one and took a big bite. "Mmm."

"Bridget," he said. "Breakfast."

"Yes," she said. "Makes a very fine one."

"No," he said with a chuckle. "I mean Hugh's."

"Oh, Mark." She patted her belly. "Plenty of room in here still."

He chuckled, sitting beside her at the table, taking a sip of his coffee.

She ended up finishing one entire bar, then sat back to drink from her tea. She looked very thoughtful. "So if I deserve this for being lovely," she said in a low tone, "what do I deserve for being a good shag?"

At that he outright laughed. He turned to her, saw chocolate on the corner of her mouth, and dove forward to kiss her, his fingers firm around the back of her head. He pulled back, releasing her and meeting her playful, challenging gaze, and was just about to invite back her upstairs for an additional reward when Hugh reappeared, freshly dressed and with damp hair. "So. What'll it be?" He spotted the candy wrapper on the table. "For a second course, I mean."

"Whatever you're having is fine."

Hugh ended up frying up some eggs and bacon, and putting on some toast. As he cooked, Hugh discussed the possibility of spending some time in town. "It's an even nicer day than yesterday and we can walk around a little, do some shopping, have some lunch later…"

"I think it's a grand idea," said Bridget.

Mark agreed, meeting her eyes again. "Plus I owe my wife a little treat for being… well, not just for being good, but for being the best."

Her lips twisted in an amused smile as Hugh plated their food and brought it to the table. They tucked in and not much was said for many moments; if there was one thing Hugh could cook and cook well, it was breakfast.

"You know," she said, her voice turning melancholy, "not that I am disparaging the idea of spending time with you in town, but we have to go back today, and at this rate we will never watch the BBC Pride & Prejudice mini together."

Hugh chuckled. "That reminds me… you would have never gotten Anna to watch. She hates that book. Calls it childish, overly complicated, and unrealistic."

Bridget looked shocked and horrified. "Hates Pride & Prejudice?" She turned to look at Mark as if for support.

"Is she mad?" he offered half-heartedly.

Bridget pursed her lips. "So which is her favourite?"

"Hm," he said. "Something to do in the title with a park, I think."

Bridget's jaw dropped open. "Mansfield Park?"

Hugh snapped his fingers. "Yes. That's it."

Mark watched as her face turned into an expression of unfettered disgust.

"What's wrong with that?" asked Hugh, glancing to Mark, who shrugged.

"Fanny!" she said, as if that alone were explanation enough. Mark and Hugh were silent, waiting for more. "Fanny's an idiot… plus she got married for all the wrong reasons!"

As the words came out of her mouth she looked instantly regretful, and she very obviously held her breath as she waited for Hugh's response, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

"Wow," Hugh said at last. "Wish I'd known that sooner." He grinned, and Bridget laughed too, the fear of having stepped in it instantly dissipated.

They set out shortly afterwards, Hugh driving them into the heart of the city. They found a centrally located place to park the car, and immediately he led them to a sweet little children's store that looked like something out of time altogether. Bridget literally looked like a kid in a candy shop.

"One thing," said Mark sternly. Otherwise their house would be overrun with baby paraphernalia months in advance of his birth. As if it weren't already.

He heard Hugh laugh, then explain, "'One thing.' Right."

He walked with Bridget around the entire store at what felt like a snail's pace, and before too long she had chosen something to purchase. When she made that telltale sound of excitement indicating she'd found something else too precious to leave behind, he knew that when she turned to him to beg him for the second, third, fifth or twentieth thing, he would have little will to refuse. He knew he wasn't there just to write the cheque; she always asked his opinion and always respected it, and more than one object was returned to its place on the shelf. For those things they agreed on though, it made him happy to acquiesce, and to make her so happy.

He didn't much care that Hugh was right, though he couldn't resist teasing his friend as he perused a stack of miniature football uniforms: "You brought us here to break the bank, didn't you?"

Hugh smiled, a picture of innocence. "Thought I best cut to the chase. And one of these toys, outfits, et cetera is going to be my treat."

"Only one?" Mark asked, grinning, which faded to an affectionate smile as he watched her looking through the racks of baby clothes. As if sensing their gazes upon her, she glanced up and gave them a winning smile before returning her attention to the rack.

"She's really in her element," said Hugh with fondness. "She's gonna be a bloody great mum."

"Yes," concurred Mark, finding something he intended on purchasing without her input. "I think so, too."

………

After lunch, they returned to Hugh's to gather their things and say goodbye to Wicksy, in order to get on the road back to London. He didn't want to leave too late and run the risk of shops and other places being closed along the way, as it would almost certainly be a given that Bridget would need to use the ladies' at least once during the trip.

"Sorry it kind of turned out to be a bust of a weekend," Hugh said, walking them out to their car.

"Nonsense," said Bridget, giving him a big, lingering hug. "I had a marvellous time with you."

"Always nice to see you," said Mark.

"Remember, call if you need anything," said Bridget. "I mean it."

"I know," Hugh said with a chuckle. "Though I told you, I'm fine."

"Well if you find yourself overcome with the need to talk about anything," she insisted, "you only need ring us."

"Yes ma'am," he said. "Or is that 'mum'?"

She laughed, tightening her embrace before stepping away. Mark held out a hand as if to shake, but as expected, Hugh pulled him into a quick hug instead. "You two are the very best," he said, as he stepped back to look at each of them in turn. "That is one lucky sprog," he added, nodding in the direction of Bridget's stomach.

She giggled. "You can say goodbye to the baby, too," she said.

Hugh crouched down, put his hand on her stomach. "Hey, little guy; Uncle Hugh here. Behave, don't give your mother heartburn—"

"Too late," interrupted Bridget.

"—and keep the kicking to a minimum." Hugh's smile broadened as he and Bridget locked eyes again. "Thought you said you hadn't trained him to kick on demand."

"Well, you know, he's got those Darcy genes," she said nonchalantly. "He's destined to be a quick learner."

………

The drive from Stratford was uneventful and quicker than the drive to Stratford, in part because Bridget slept nearly the whole the way; he did not need to stop to find a loo once. He woke her when they got home, at which point she made a beeline for the toilet. He brought in their overnight bags and the seemingly multitudes of carrier bags from the excursion into Stratford's most dangerous baby store.

"Much better," she said, hand on her stomach as she joined him in the bedroom; he was putting their clothing and the clothing they'd bought for the baby into the laundry bin. He paused long enough to take her into his arms.

"Mark," she asked, peering down into one of the bags. "What's that?"

He glanced down; it was his own special purchase, which she bent down to get, holding it up, beaming a smile as she did so. It was the tiny little Newcastle United uniform he'd bought.

"This is adorable," she said. "He'll match his dad."

"I couldn't help but think about future times," he said, "of he and I playing in the yard, though I don't intend on doing so in my boxers."

Her eyes went instantly misty even as her smile remained, until she got up on her toes and kissed him, throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him closer into her.

Breathless, he broke away at last, his own hands at her waist, moving across her back. "What was that for?"

"For you," she said quietly. "You're going to make an amazing dad."

He had not really considered his own future role as father much, only in the context that he would be there to love and support his son in every way imaginable, just as he did Bridget; to provide a good role model for his son, teach him and guide him as he helped to raise him; however, all of it yet seemed very abstract in the sense that Mark hadn't really begun his role as father yet, not in the same sense as Bridget had. The only thing he knew for certain at this point was that he intended to do the best he could in the most important job he would ever have, and it would not be a lie to say the task was daunting to consider… so to hear her say such a thing meant the world to him, to the point that he was rendered speechless; instead of fumbling for words he drew her close to him again, holding her tightly, almost protectively, burying his face in her hair.

"I love you," he whispered at last.

He really expected her to make a silly joke about how she hoped he loved her seeing she was toting around several extra pounds on his behalf with more to come, but instead she only turned her head and brought her lips to his for another tender kiss. "I love you too," she said to him. "And you will. I mean, you already are amazing as a dad."

Looking into her eyes, that unguarded, vulnerable gaze that bespoke of her love for him more honestly and deeply than any words could have, he thought back on those days when he'd considered marriage-as-merger and he felt ashamed. On the other hand, he was all too pleased he'd seen the light, and was thankful that in their own happiness, he'd helped keep a dear friend from making a huge mistake again.

"What?" she asked at his silence, her mouth turning up in a smile.

"Nothing," he said, "and everything."

She laughed lightly. "Mark Darcy," she said, "sometimes you're a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma… and I hope that never changes."

As he held her close again, he hoped it never changed, either.

The end.

End Notes:

"A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma": originated with Churchill.

I have to admit that my mental image for Anna was Anna Chancellor (except with short hair), with whom Hugh Laurie starred in Fortysomething. Who also happened to play Caroline Bingley opposite Firth's Darcy. Heh.

I really could not have written The Cruel Ex-Wife's bit with little Margaret if not for the inspiration of book-Rebecca with Constance, from EOR.