by Ola Wegner
“I do not care.”
She smiled and snuggled closer, watching the busy streets of London through the window.
***
They were both in their night attire already, out of the restricting travelling clothes, refreshed with their separate baths they had taken after arrival at the Darcy townhouse. Dinner was served in the small sitting room next to the Mistress’ bedroom. Darcy was hungry, both for food and his wife. He decided it was wise to first satisfy his empty stomach, before dealing with more carnal desires. He always had a good appetite, even as a child, not to mention a young lad when he had seemed to grow foot a year. Today was no different; he was famished, as he had eaten very little at the wedding breakfast. He had prepared himself mentally for the possibility of spending his wedding night with Elizabeth in his arms, but not being able to love her completely. Thankfully there seemed not to be such need. His mother-in-law had turned out to be quite useful for a change. While munching on his roast beef, he stared at his wife’s breasts, mostly uncovered by the deep V of her robe.
“Is the food not to your satisfaction?” Darcy asked, noticing that Elizabeth was only moving the bits of meat and vegetable from one place to the other with her fork.
“No, no, it is all delicious,” she assured him and put the tiniest piece of potato into her mouth, chewing slowly.
Soon she dabbed her lips with a napkin, gaining a new glare from Darcy.
“Do not tell me that you are finished? You barely touched it. Have you eaten anything today?”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Mama tried to force some bread and white cheese into me early in the morning, but I vomited everything when she left the room.”
“Why have you not told me that you are ill?” he demanded angrily.
She smiled gently. “I am not ill. Only with child, it seems. It is rather normal in my condition, I understand, to have little appetite at the beginning of confinement.”
He looked at her with concern. “Still, you need to sustain yourself and the baby. You must eat.”
“But not today, please. I am not hungry. Please do not force me.”
Darcy gave her a stern look, but he did not insist. He would have to see from tomorrow morning that she ate properly.
She did not touch more food, but she kept him company through the meal, sitting opposite him, with a smile on her face. However, every time he looked at her, she seemed more and more absent, almost dozing off. He hurried to consume the rest of his food, which was not his custom, afraid that she would fall asleep right on the chair before he managed to get her into bed. Finally, as he saw her eyelids drop several times, he pushed his plate away, leaving a good chunk of meat untouched.
“I will be back with you in a minute,” he assured as he cupped her face and kissed her high forehead. “Do not move from here.”
He dashed to his dressing room to clean his teeth and relieve his bladder. When he finished refreshing, he nearly ran through his darkened bedroom back to the sitting room, afraid she had already managed to drift away into the embrace of Morpheus.
His fears doubled when he saw the sitting room empty, the rest of the food neatly covered with lids, ready to be taken away by the servant, the candles put down.
“I am here,” he heard her sweet, uplifted voice from the direction of his bedroom. He stepped back blindly.
She sat in the middle of his bed, naked obviously, clenching the sheets to her bosom, her dark locks tumbling down her delicate arms.
“You have overlooked me,” she complained, pouting.
“No... it is just...,” he stuttered, overwhelmed with the vision of her in his bed. “I did not quite expect you here...”
She laid back and lifted the covers, inviting him in.
Darcy nearly tore at his robe and shirt, throwing them on the ground. As he sat on the edge of the bed, he felt her arms wrapping around him from behind, her warm, soft breasts mashing against his back.
His fingers were suddenly like wood, refusing to cooperate in the simple task of opening the flap on his breeches.
“Should I help you?” she murmured sleepily, her hands stroking their way down from his shoulders to his waist.
“I will manage,” he grunted, finally pushing his breeches successfully down his legs.
“Now, Mrs. Darcy,” he said as he joined her under the covers, pulling her close.
He simply held her in his embrace for a long moment, thinking how he had missed her constantly since the night she had come to him. Now that they were married, there would be no more separations, no lonely nights.
“I have missed you,” he murmured, kissing the path from her neck down her bosom.
He touched his cheek to her breast and closed his eyes for a moment. She felt her fingers combing through his hair.
“You are so sweet, so perfect,” he cupped her breast, playing with the puffy nipple. “You have the most beautiful breasts in England, and they are all mine.” He kneaded one mound.
“You are surprisingly talkative at night time, it seems,” she noted teasingly.
He shifted on his arm above her to look into her smiling eyes. “I talk when there is something to discuss.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like my bosom?”
“Not only that; there is also your hair.” He kissed a curl over her forehead and moved lower. “Your eyes... your neck... your ...” he shifted lower, “...your belly.”
She giggled as he placed wet kisses on her waist.
He pushed her on her side, with her back to him. “Your delightful behind,” he blew a noisy raspberry on the mentioned part of her body. But before she could react to that, he brought her back into the cradle of his arms, his eyes staring into hers.
“And of course...” his hand went down between her legs, which parted obediently, “Your sweet, tight, little...” the rest he whispered in her ear.
Darcy observed with satisfaction as the intense blush spread from her already rosy face down her body.
“My, my, Mr. Darcy. I did not quite expect such a language coming from your lips,” she said sternly, trying to somehow cover her discomposure. She hooked her thigh over his lean hips, her hand stroked down his chest, and she gazed at him from behind her eyelashes. “I must say that I am becoming rather impatient with your current lenient attitude towards your husbandly duty.”
“You impertinent minx!” he cried, pinning her to the bed. “Here I am, trying to relax you, make you comfortable, and not throw myself at you like some brute, and you call my attitude lenient.”
She grinned and cocked one eyebrow up. “I only tried to induce you into some more serious action.”
He captured her small wrists on both sides of her head. “You will pay for this.” He frowned his most imposing scowl. “You will beg for mercy.” He informed her menacingly.
To his great satisfaction, after kissing and stroking every inch of her skin, and spending a good half hour between her legs, he heard, “No more, please, no more.”
She tugged at his hair with both hands, trying to dislodge him from between her open thighs, now glistening with her own juices. “Please, no more, William. I beg you. I will not survive this anymore.”
He put his ear to her heart; it was beating wildly. He locked her in his embrace, and waited till she calmed down.
“Lizzy.” He cupped her face when he felt that her heartbeat had returned to normal. “You must tell me whether it will pain you now.”
“Do not worry. I shall be fine,” she murmured, her half open eyes shining with something intensive; tenderness if he read her expression properly.
He sighed, pulled her to his chest, his hand reaching directly between her legs. He pushed in one finger easily. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
He slowly pushed another finger. “And this?”
“No.”
So far so good. He began slipping the third finger, but she flinched, so he retreated. How was he supposed to continue, if more than two fingers were
too much for her? He was undoubtedly thicker, not to mention longer, than that, especially when aroused.
He pulled out his hand, his fingers glistened with her moisture, but thankfully there was no blood.
He kissed her lips. “We must stretch you a bit, love.”
He slipped back two fingers and started pushing them apart inside her, at the same time rubbing interchangeably with circling the tiny nub above her opening with his thumb. He did that until she had her pleasure again, her inner muscles tightening rhythmically around his fingers, soft cries coming from her parted lips.
When she quietened down, he rolled over her, careful not to give her too much of his weight. He raised himself, supported on his arm, so he could watch her face in the light coming from the fire. He bent her knee, to see better, and pushed himself slowly inside.
Her eyes opened and she smiled at him, a most beautiful smile. “Come here.” She locked his hips between her legs, pushing him much deeper. Her mesmerizing eyes stared into his. “Let go,” she breathed. “I am not made of glass.”
With a growl of surrender, he lowered down on her, crushing her into the bed. He felt her hands, stroking down his back, and her bottom moving up to meet him.
“So good...,” he murmured as he began moving slowly. He had no intention of losing control like the last time. He must have hurt her, though she had never complained. He measured his thrusts, not allowing himself to give in completely. He noticed that she flinched again when he pushed deeper, so he kept the penetration shallow.
She attempted to move with him, but it only made everything worse, multiplied his pleasure, made it harder to control himself and be gentle. When he felt his release close, his control broke and with a few last thrusts, he drove to the very end, before spilling into her.
He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him, their bodies still connected.
She was completely silent as he recuperated.
“Elizabeth?” he asked, glancing down at her, taking her hair out of the way to see her face. She was sleeping, her breathing even.
Carefully, he pushed her limp body off him, regretfully slipping out of her. He would have loved to have another coupling with her, but she was clearly too tired for anything more that night. He drew the sheet over her, so she would not feel cold. He padded to his dressing room with the intention of wetting the towel to clean her. When he returned, she lay curled on her side, most of the covers taken with her, tumbling above her small body so only the peak of head was visible.
He threw the towel over the chair dismissively. He did not want to interrupt her sleep. If she was comfortable enough to fall asleep, he would not bother her with cleaning up. As he climbed back into bed, he scooted behind her, pulling at the sheet to cover himself. She was warm and soft, and he soon registered the rising of his manhood against the cleft of her plump bottom.
He was not really tired. Their lovemaking had only invigorated him. It was still only eight o’clock in the evening, too early for bed. He wanted her again very much, but willing, and, more importantly, participating.
When the clock struck nine, he closed his eyes, determined to fall asleep. He thought to be almost successful, when she murmured something in her sleep, and the next moment a small, very cold foot kicked him squarely on the front of his shin.
He cursed involuntarily at the piercing pain that reminded him of the last time his cousin Richard kicked him when they fought over something as boys. She had a strong kick, probably from all the walking she performed daily, not unlike Richard’s, he had to admit.
Massaging his leg, he separated from her cautiously. She had not been in a kicking mood the last time they had slept together. Then he realized how late at night it had been then, and that she must have escaped to her room soon after he had fallen asleep, leaving the letter for him on the pillow. With the pain in his leg diminished, he lay on his back, a good two feet away from her. Surely, she could not reach him from such a distance.
He was on the verge of sleep again, when he heard her murmuring something again. She flipped on her back, and then rolled to him across the bed, scooting nearby. With a sigh, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her, her head tucked on his chest.
He woke twice during that night, being kicked twice more. Fortunately she spared the most vulnerable areas.
Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy had been a married man for full three days. He remembered this period as constant bliss, and he dearly hoped it did not show on his face. The acquaintances and servants would not have recognized him, grinning like a fool. Since his wedding, he had not even once checked on his correspondence or business matters. All he concentrated on was spending time with his wife, which mostly meant making love to his wife. As Elizabeth insisted they needed to practice a lot to improve on the mechanics due to the differences in their height and sizes, he joyfully supported her on that notion with his whole heart. He only worried about her because she seemed uncommonly tired. She slept late in the morning, which he knew that was not her custom before, and took long naps during the day. The baby had to be the cause of such an effect on her, and he dearly hoped it was something natural and expected in her condition.
After three days spent entirely at home, the newlywed couple decided to take an open carriage to the park, and take a walk to admire the autumn colours in full bloom. Next, Darcy wanted to stop in a familiar bookshop to collect some previously ordered book on sheep husbandry.
On their way to the bookshop, they stopped in front of an elegant store with all sorts of ladies’ accessories.
“We must think about buying something for Georgiana,” Elizabeth said as she stared with enchanted eyes at the window display.
Darcy smirked as he glanced at her beaming face, her eyes devouring the articles in front of them. He had once thought that Elizabeth was above all the temptations of shops full of the most fashionable attire, but seeing her present expression, he knew he had been wrong. She had simply been a bit more subtle about it; she did not pull at his arm like Georgiana, bouncing up and down, pointing with her little finger, „Oh, Brother can we go there, can we see that, it is so pretty...”
“I do not know what else we could possibly get her. She has everything, I dare say,” he noted severely. Georgiana had returned to Derbyshire together with the Matlocks, the day after the wedding.
“William, she will feel neglected if we do not remember her,” Elizabeth said with feeling.
“Then what do you suggest we could buy for her?” he asked, resigned.
“A new bonnet or a reticule always improved a girl’s spirits.”
Darcy glared at her without much comprehension.
“Does your mood not improve when you buy yourself a new top hat?” she asked.
He gave her an offended look. “No, it does not. It is just a head covering. I buy a new one when the previous one is worn down,” he grunted.
She burst into a short laugh, followed by another and another.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You are such a tease, making sport of me all the time.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are still far too serious. I am going to teach you out of it.”
He opened his mouth to respond when he heard his name cried from not far.
“Darcy!”
He looked up to see an old university acquaintance with his younger brother, if he was correct, marching towards them. He was not delighted with them; he had no desire to introduce Elizabeth to strangers at the moment, sharing her attention with them.
“What are doing in London, Darcy?” Marcus Livingstone cried. “We see you in town so rarely, and, I dare say, never this time of the year.”
“You are quite right, Livingstone,” Darcy responded sternly. “We are just passing through and permanently relocating to Pemberley next week.”
The man seemed not to listen him, only stare down at Elizabeth.
“Will you not introduce us? I guess this is Mrs. Darcy. We read about your wedding in the news
paper. You have no idea how many young, and quite mature ladies too, cried themselves to sleep after hearing such news. Fitzwilliam Darcy swept out of the marriage market. What a tragedy!”
Darcy gave him a hard look before moving his eyes to Elizabeth, his expression softening.
“Elizabeth, this is Sir Marcus Livingstone, and this, his younger brother, Percival.”
Elizabeth performed a perfect curtsey.
Livingstone bowed deeply. “We are enchanted, madam.”
“Enchante,” the younger Mr. Livingstone murmured.
“I know Sir Marcus from university.” Darcy explained, not at all liking the rude way that both men stared at his wife.
Elizabeth smiled her most lovely smile, her eyes sparkling, and instantly, both men smiled back. “Indeed, from Oxford? Then you must know Mr. Charles Bingley.”
Livingstone nodded. “Of course we know Bingley. Are you well acquainted with him, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Bingley is currently courting one of Mrs. Darcy’s sisters.” Darcy answered for her.
Livingstone glanced back at Elizabeth. “I cannot blame him,” he murmured.
“How many sisters do you have, Mrs. Darcy?” Percival wanted to know.
“Four, but one is married, the other almost engaged, and the two left are still very young,” Darcy barked.
Livingstone laughed. “Does your husband always answer for you, Mrs. Darcy?”
Elizabeth smiled, looking up at Darcy warmly. “Only when he feels protective about me.”
Livingstone did not quite know what to answer to that, so he changed the subject. “By the end of next week, my wife is planning a small private ball in our townhouse. You must come. She will be delighted to host the new Mrs. Darcy.”
“We thank you for the invitation, Livingstone, but we will be on our way north by the end of the next week.” Darcy said quickly, but then felt Elizabeth pulling at his arm. He looked down at her.
She stared at him, her big eyes pleading.
“Do you want to go?” he asked gently.
She bit her lower lip and smiled at him.
