“You know my opinion on that subject, Darcy. You will need to declare yourself before I am proved right. She cannot run at you, you know.”
“At this point, Bingley, I would not think any less of her if she did, and in point of fact, I would be greatly relieved.”
Elizabeth was, at last, embarrassed enough to successfully tiptoe away. That Darcy had not acknowledged the red chrysanthemum confused her.
Now, she was sitting in his embrace in his carriage, as Mrs Darcy. “Fitzwilliam, at the inn…tonight, will you have your own room? Since we plan to um…not, er…”
“Consummate our vows until tomorrow night?” He finished her sentence for her. “I do not plan to awaken upon my first morning as a married man in an empty bed, if that is what you are asking. We have taken two rooms but we shall use one as a dressing room and sleep in the other, whichever has the bigger bed. In most inns, the beds are too short. It is my design to sleep in rather more clothes than I am used to” — Elizabeth felt the colour rise in her face at this — “and I hope your nightgown is modest. We shall get you tucked into bed properly, and I shall sleep next to you, but only between the counterpane and bedclothes, so I may hold you, but with many layers of cloth between us.”
Still blushing, she turned to look up into his face. “My impression is you have given this evening a great deal of thought.”
“Not nearly so much thought as for tomorrow night, darling Elizabeth, I assure you.”
Remembering the overheard conversation and the look of desire she often saw in his eyes, she murmured, “I can well believe it,” without realizing she had spoken aloud.
It was indeed long after dark and another change of horses before they reached Coventry. Elizabeth and Darcy each travelled with one small case and no personal servants. Elizabeth’s clothing had all been sent on to Pemberley except for an exceptionally modest Welsh flannel nightgown and a warm travelling ensemble of fine claret-coloured wool for the next day. Darcy ordered a simple dinner be readied immediately and served in a small sitting room across the hall from their rooms. They both exhibited a hearty appetite. A fire was lit in the room in which they chose to sleep, and Darcy ordered a bottle of the inn’s best wine, hoping it would help them both be easier with each other.
A maid arrived at their door at nine o’clock to assist Elizabeth in her preparations. Darcy had, he thought, quite generously offered to undress his new wife, a suggestion that brought forth more of the giggles Elizabeth so loathed. They jovially gave up the idea as a bad bet.
Elizabeth emerged from the smaller bedchamber in a nightgown that was indeed completely without allure. The heavy pink flannel had long sleeves tied at the wrists and buttoned from the unstructured waist to the high band collar at the base of her neck, with many tiny shell buttons securing the placket. The bodice, from shoulder to waistline, was detailed with pin tucks so close together that the decoration formed a breastplate of flannel armour, and the fabric fell in vertical folds to the tips of Elizabeth’s slippers. The pout of her unsupported bosom could barely be detected. Elizabeth had not removed her silk wedding chemise, which had been the garment closest to her skin all day.
Darcy heard the door creak open and stood as Elizabeth entered. She stopped when he turned to her, and his eyes unabashedly searched from head to toe for any sign of her form being further revealed. He had hoped at least he might lose himself in her long dark hair, but it was woven in a heavy braid curving on one shoulder and down over her arm to nearly her elbow. “You are very modestly dressed, Mrs Darcy. I suppose I should appreciate that tonight you do not wish to excite me.”
“Indeed, Mr Darcy, this nightgown was selected to have just that effect, once we decided to wait to be at home.” Her smile widened. “I think you will be entertained to know this gown was a special wedding gift from Mrs Collins.” She raised her eyebrows at Darcy. Elizabeth watched with delight as he, at first, tried not to chuckle but finally guffawed with a deep natural laugh she had not heard before. He sounded unrestrained, relaxed and thoroughly amused.
When he regained his composure enough to speak — they had both laughed quite boisterously — he took her hand and turned to settle them on the settee in front of the fire. He handed her a glass of wine. “I recall a conversation we had about how fortunate Mr Collins was in his choice of wife. Do you remember it?”
“I do. We were in the parsonage at Hunsford.” She did not mention the conversation had been most awkward and disjointed.
“You said Mrs Collins had an excellent understanding but you had a devilish look in your eye as you said it.”
“Did I?”
“You did, and I longed to ask more, but to do so would have been unseemly. Does this style of nightgown coincide with your opinion of the Collinses’ marriage?”
“Am I to understand that Fitzwilliam Darcy, of all people, wishes to lure me into gossiping about another married couple?” She gave him a rather saucy sidelong glance.
“Yes, about that particular couple, I am all curiosity. How does such a thoughtful woman bear such a pompous nincompoop? Is this the sort of nightwear that drives him wild with desire?”
Elizabeth grinned and tried to suppress — not for the first time — the vision of her cousin wild with desire. After a deep breath, she said, “Charlotte has contrived to only have marital relations once a week — on Saturday night. The rest of the week, she has him gardening vigorously or walking to and from Rosings to the point of near exhaustion. And she is not to be disturbed when in her sitting room. I think she has managed her husband very well.”
“‘Managed her husband!’” Darcy repeated her words. “Is that what wives do? Manage their husbands? Is that what you intend to do with me, Mrs Darcy? Manage me?”
Elizabeth leaned forward and looked over her shoulder at her husband, her eyes bright with merriment. “You are tall and well-made; Mr Collins is short and squat. You are handsome; he is ill-favoured. You are well-educated and clever; his education was limited, and he is foolish. You have cared to improve your flaws; he admits to none, yet they are legion. There is simply no comparing you. I foresee no need of management such as Charlotte must employ. She must curb his ardour to maintain her sanity. I think I will want to encourage yours to serve my nature.”
“By this, do you mean I will not be consigned to exercising my rights as your husband merely once a week?” Darcy’s eyes darkened, and he gazed intently at her.
Elizabeth looked down with a maidenly blush and did not answer.
“Elizabeth?” He sensed she was suddenly contrite.
“I…I spoke words just now I thought you would want to hear, but you must know, I have not the knowledge or experience to speak so. I do not know what it means to encourage your ardour…what such encouragement entails. I do not know. I wish it were not so.” Her insides were all aflutter.
Darcy leaned forward to her. “You wish what, exactly, were not so?”
She compressed her lips. “Let me just say, Fitzwilliam…let it be known to you that the things in the world I fear most are the things of which I know too little. Maidens enter the married state with far too little information.”
Darcy’s look was serious. “You fear me?”
She took in a deep breath then looked into his eyes. “I fear appearing stupid, silly, artless. I fear embarrassing myself. I fear disappointing the man I love and wish most in the world to please.”
“Dearest Elizabeth…” She preferred to tease him rather than speak of loving him, thus whenever she did speak of her affection, Darcy felt overwhelmed with tenderness. He kissed her forehead and gathered her into his arms. He held her quietly for a moment before responding, “I cannot comprehend how you could possibly disappoint me.”
She seemed to relax into him, but he sensed a tension remaining that, until they were alone in their chambers in Pemberley, would be present within her. Then he would be able to show her, so she would believe it, how groundless were all her fears.
“I slept but litt
le last night,” Elizabeth finally said. “Perhaps it would be best for me to try to sleep since we are to make an early start. Finish your wine, sir.” She motioned for him to stay seated; he disregarded her.
“I slept very ill last night, myself. I kept dreaming that various inanities were making me late to our wedding. It was a poor night.”
They were now standing, and Elizabeth smiled gently into his eyes. “We are a pair, are we not?”
“We are.” Darcy swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He had already turned down the bedclothes and laid her upon the clean sheeting. She kicked off the little slippers she wore before burrowing her feet into the blankets. He covered her to her chest, and she raised her arms to lay them atop the counterpane. “Will you be cold?” Darcy asked.
“Not if I am holding you,” she said, smiling.
“I must go prepare myself. It shan’t take but a few moments.” Darcy disappeared into the second room. When he reappeared, his coat and cravat were gone. He wore only a fine lawn shirt, and instead of trousers, a pair of soft knee breeches with no stockings or shoes.
Elizabeth gazed at his bare neck as he approached. He was carrying a blanket from the bed in the second chamber. Darcy pulled back the counterpane and climbed under it, half-sitting to spread the blanket over himself. He lay back and turned to Elizabeth, who rolled on her side to face him.
“Will you be warm enough?” she asked.
“If I am not, there are more bedclothes to bring from the other room. And, as I said, I am wearing more clothes than usual…for me, at night.” He was trying to prepare her for the next night, and the nights to follow, when he intended to sleep naked beside her.
Elizabeth impulsively touched his neck with her fingertips. It was warm and slightly rough with a shadow of unshaven beard. She placed her whole palm on his throat. “You know what a curious creature you have married, sir…”
“Yes…” Her little, soft hand upon his neck thrilled him.
She snuggled towards him and placed several reverential kisses upon his throat before cuddling against him. “There,” she said. “Now I know what that feels like, I can sleep peacefully.”
Darcy chuckled. “But you see, Elizabeth, now I cannot.” He turned her face to his with a hand under her chin, noticing she had undone the top half dozen buttons of her nightgown. He claimed her mouth, kissing her deeply, and as he felt her tongue responding to his explorations, he ran the back of his hand down her throat, until the closed buttons stopped his progress at the middle of her chest.
He released her mouth and whispered, “You are lucky, madam. I am not yet dexterous with tiny buttons.”
Her eyes darkened with a desire fighting through her drowsiness. “Or perhaps unlucky…” She initiated a new kiss. When she released him, she whispered, “Tell me about tomorrow night. How shall it be different from this?”
Darcy met her eyes sheepishly. “I must warn you, I am becoming aroused.”
Elizabeth was not precisely sure what this meant, but did not care to admit it. “You needn’t,” she replied.
“Turn with your back against my chest. If I cannot see your eyes, I may be able to say somewhat of tomorrow night.”
She rolled away from him, looking toward the fire. He drew one arm under her neck and partially under her pillow, and with the other, covered her left arm and rested his hand upon the bed in front of her, but not touching.
“This is very pleasant. Very pleasant, indeed,” she murmured.
Darcy smiled. “So…when you come to me tomorrow night…”
“I will come to you?”
“Or when we meet in our bedchamber, I would like your hair to be unbound. And I would like your nightdress to be a good deal less confining.”
“This nightgown is quite ample, sir. You needn’t fear I am confined in any way.” She chuckled.
Darcy was comforted to feel her laughing in his arms. “Less modest, madam, I meant less modest.”
“I know.”
Darcy moved her braid and played at biting her neck. “Vexing woman,” he growled. “And I would request that you not wear the little cross from your father.”
“I have already removed it.”
“You have?” Darcy moved his hand from her braid to the throat of her nightgown, and felt gingerly around just inside the open placket at her collarbone. “So you have…” He encountered the chemise. “You are wearing yet another layer of armour?”
“At the risk of tempting you, I must confess I often become too warm in the night, and assume all this flannel will increase that tendency. I may need to shed a layer and this chemise is not too immodest.”
Darcy drew in a hissing breath, fighting the urge to shed her layers with all due haste. “Elizabeth, you had better hope such an action in the middle of the night does not awaken me. You may find yourself taken at an inn after all.” He murmured into her ear then proceeded to kiss her earlobe, the skin in front of it, and strained against her to reach a kiss onto her cheek, which felt fiery to the touch of his lips.
“Is my wife blushing?”
“No.” She giggled.
“Yes, you are.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Blushing and giggling in my arms in bed; you are pleasing me, Elizabeth.”
“I am shocked at this proclivity to giggling: three times in one day. You ought not encourage it, Fitzwilliam. I must give myself a stern talking-to.”
“Might I be making you unsettled?” he asked, before nibbling on her ear, drawing her earlobe into his mouth, and thinking about other parts of her person he hoped to draw into his mouth.
“You? Making me unsettled? You must know I would never admit to such drivel, even if it were true.” She laughed.
Darcy chuckled in her ear. His hand went to her waist and he pulled her against him more forcibly. “Suit yourself. I am not inclined to argue the point.” He was glad the layers of bedclothes kept her from any awareness of the potency of his desire. He longed to rub himself against the soft skin of her derrière, and the more he thought it, the more he feared he would act upon his cravings.
“Will you tell me more? You would have my hair loose and wearing a more revealing nightgown. I have already proved compliant with regard to my little cross. Anything else?”
Darcy could barely breathe. “That will have to do for now.”
“Oh.”
It took several minutes to quell his desires, and when he returned attention to Elizabeth, he found she had fallen asleep. He nuzzled his face into her hair and joined her in slumber.
About an hour later, Elizabeth awoke. As she feared, she was now much too warm. Darcy was draped partly over her, his rhythmical breathing indicating he was fast asleep. She reached to the neck of the nightgown, which she was rapidly coming to regard with a hearty dislike, and released a few more buttons. With careful slowness, she rolled slightly away from him onto her back, and inched away from the mass of bedclothes separating them; the blankets had absorbed and held the warmth. Darcy stirred but did not awaken. His leg lay over the tops of her thighs and his warmth was felt directly by that part of her where she knew he had an interest. This is not unpleasant, but these must be sensations I ought not to have. Is this what he means by becoming aroused? His elbow was behind her neck but her head was supported by the down pillows and she saw no need to move his arm. His other arm was on her waist and she felt no harm would come of it either. She opened the neck of the nightgown to expose more of her skin to the cool air. This should be safe enough. As sleep again overtook her, the focus of her mind on the parts of her person under his leg impelled her to dream.
Elizabeth awoke upon a strange bed in a very dark room. The last embers of a fire produced the only light except for the frantic sputtering of a waning candle. She was naked under heavy bedclothes, and her husband, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was asleep, mainly on top of her and between her legs. She was too warm, but it was the bedclothes covering their bodies that constituted the annoyance to her comfort
. She welcomed Darcy’s weight, and felt an odd, aching heat build in the hidden place between her thighs. She moved her hips, spreading her legs further and bending one knee. Darcy was not naked; she could feel his shirt in wrinkles against her skin. Her arms were not encumbered and she slid the blankets down his back. His cheek was upon her shoulder, but as she rolled her hips — the sensations between her legs seemed to necessitate this — his hand opened flat upon her chest. It did not touch her bosom but his arm settled between her breasts, and he whispered, “I love you, my dearest Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth felt full of the tender emotion his words of affection always inspired, but there was something more, rising from her soul, a sense of wanting, even needing, to give herself to him. She placed her hand over his upon her chest. “My handsome Mr Darcy, I love you.”
She drifted into a deeper, dreamless sleep.
Darcy awoke with cold feet. He became aware of his hand upon her warm chest, and when she placed her hand upon his, he heard her murmur “Mr Darcy” in her sleep. Under his leg, her hips seemed to be rocking. He was enraptured. She is dreaming…of me! Maybe of us, together. Darcy felt a sudden potent development between his legs. The delicate hand lying upon his clenched and Elizabeth sighed. The little hand then flung over her head onto her pillows. Is she giving herself to me in her sleep? Darcy watched as her movements stilled.
He longed to explore her bosom — all of her, in truth — and he knew he must move his hand; temptation was too strong even with a substantial layer of pink flannel covering most of her person. That she had moved so invitingly in her sleep was a revelation to him. He lifted his hand away. Elizabeth stirred and turned with a little moan onto her side, her back to him. He carefully pulled his arm from under her neck and lifted his leg off her. I shall build up the fire, fetch a blanket for my feet — and will my urges under better control.
Elizabeth awoke again, a crackling fire providing the focus for her eyes. Darcy was sleeping on his side behind her, and the only part of him touching her was a comforting hand upon her waist. Fitzwilliam must have built up the fire again. He may be cold, but I am roasting. There is nothing for it but to remove this ludicrous nightgown. She eased out of bed. The floor was chilly, but she decided against her slippers, fearing their little heels would announce her movements. She walked behind the settee, untying the ribbons at her wrists as she went.
The Red Chrysanthemum Page 29
