The Red Chrysanthemum

by Linda Beutler

  As the journey resumed, she mulled over the morning’s dream, still confounded by its implications. There was a vague sense of holding back when she was in Darcy’s arms, until his masterful kiss caused her to feel quite pleasantly overpowered. That night there would be no reluctance, no reason to wait. Elizabeth did not completely understand what caused her disquiet and the utter panic in her dream, but she knew it was past time to give herself to him in such a way that he would never desire another woman. Too tired to follow any proper logic, at last she slept.

  Darcy was enjoying his dream.

  He was standing at the end of the pianoforte in the Pemberley music saloon, wearing evening dress. Elizabeth was singing and playing for him, wearing a gown that reminded him very much of one she had worn at Netherfield. The last of their holiday guests departed that morning. Georgiana left the day before for London to partake of music lessons with a master harpist visiting from Vienna. Darcy and Elizabeth were alone as they had not been since the first three weeks of their marriage.

  The aria Elizabeth was performing was from a tragic opera, and her countenance matched the sadness of the words she was singing. She rearranged the music into simple chords to enhance the melody, and her mellow mezzo-soprano voice was well suited to the emotions. Darcy watched, spellbound. He hoped there would be many evenings like this — just the two of them, dressed beautifully for each other, Elizabeth playing, singing, and displaying her tempting attributes.

  On impulse, Darcy moved to sit by Elizabeth’s side on the floor and leaned his head upon her leg. The vibrato of her voice reverberated through her. Darcy believed he could hear her even better with one ear pressed against her thigh. Her right hand dropped to his head, her fingers playing idly through his hair as her left hand softly continued the bass chords of the song.

  The smell of lavender rising from her thighs and between her legs was intoxicating. After two months of marriage, the scent had an aphrodisiac effect, and Darcy reached under her gown to caress his wife’s leg. Her stockings were held by satin garters not far above her knees and he stroked the luscious bare skin above the tie.

  Without looking at her face, Darcy could surmise the effect of his actions upon Elizabeth. He knew she was fighting a smile, which changed the timbre of her voice. He smiled and closed his eyes, inhaling. So many pleasing options presented themselves: to venture his hand higher to tease her most private place, to turn her piano chair towards him and lift her skirts completely that he might explore her with his mouth, or to rise up on his knees and disarrange the low neckline of her gown, suckling her to begin their love-making. But the idea that pleased him most was that they were at home, alone, and he could take her hand and lead her to their bedchamber, to do all the things the scent of lavender bid him do.

  * * *

  When Elizabeth awoke, Darcy was still sleeping. It was colder and she hugged the cashmere shawl about her shoulders. Her hand was still under Darcy’s chin but his hand was no longer holding it. He rubbed his cheek against her thigh, settling the back of his head against her belly. She suddenly felt an alarming movement upon her leg. His hand had burrowed under the lap robe, and trespassing her pelisse, gown and petticoat, lay upon the bare skin of her thigh just above her stocking. She looked carefully at his face as he shifted his shoulders in sleep. Is he truly asleep, or is he playing? Her heart started to race. This was too much — his hand upon her clothed breast the day before and his cheek resting upon her chest in the night were nothing to this — and there was no possible method to extricate his hand. Even when he returned to wakefulness, there would be embarrassment. She sat in complete stillness, for how many miles she knew not. The nearness of his motionless warm hand to her secret place became the locus of her consciousness. When the carriage jostled, the hand slid to her stockinged knee and she breathed a sigh of some relief. Rocking in another direction stirred Darcy enough to replace the hand in its previous location but not enough to waken him.

  The carriage slowed through a small village and the ride became more jarring. Still very much asleep, Darcy slipped his hand higher still to settle under his cheek, which rested over the many layers of fabric. The rocking of their conveyance grew more pronounced.

  Elizabeth watched as his eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first. He started to smile, inhaled deeply from the layers of cloth separating his cheek from his hand. Finally, awareness intruded and his eyes flew open in abject mortification. “Good god!” he cried. He pulled his hand from under her skirts, rising to a half-sitting position and looked at it as if it were a foreign object. Darcy was glad the lap robe covering him from his waist to the top of his boots kept his arousal well hidden. He met her surprised gaze with a countenance illustrative of profound shock.

  Elizabeth suddenly felt herself very much her father’s daughter — she was highly diverted by Darcy’s display of discomfort, and as his expressions of apology poured forth, she started to chuckle.

  “Elizabeth!” Darcy huffed, “Why are you laughing? You should be furious with me.”

  “I was indeed alarmed when I awoke and found you were making free with my legs, sir, but it was clear you were sound asleep. I hope your dream was a pleasant one, at least.” Her eyes were lively.

  The dream recalled itself forcibly in full detail, and Elizabeth watched as he blushed from cravat to hairline. Her laughter grew nervous. “Oh, my, Mr Darcy! I hope you were not dreaming of tonight.” She wanted to sound light of heart and careless but was not at all sure she succeeded.

  He shook his head. “Worse, I am afraid. I dreamt of an evening, months from now.”

  She continued to smile, although she could not yet imagine with any veracity what filled his dreams — marital relations, obviously — but of the particulars she was ignorant. Was there an all-encompassing kiss as she had dreamt? The place where his hand rested upon her skin now felt cold, and she was chagrined at the fleeting wish that it was still there. She became bemused and quiet. If she could not understand her own body, how could she ever aspire to understand or inspire his?

  Darcy sat upright and stretched his legs as best he could as Elizabeth watched. The lower corner of her lip was caught by her upper teeth — the pondering aspect she assumed when perplexed — and Darcy noted an unusual look in her eyes. He did not understand that she was trying not to laugh at her own folly, but she did finally chuckle. Without pausing to consider, he pulled her into an ardent embrace and kissed her with rather more recklessness than finesse.

  Her response was instant and passionate. He was warm and his mouth demanding; he moaned a little as he plundered her willing lips. Her arms clasped his neck, and her hands ran through his hair.

  She tried to recover some of her composure when he at last released her. “What was that for?” she whispered, and her eyes issued a challenge. She wanted him to kiss her again, just like that, as soon as possible. How can I be so confused?

  “I found your laugh impertinent, Mrs Darcy, and I moved to silence you. However, since you give the appearance of enjoying your punishment, I will have to find a different way to censure you.”

  Her lips were lovely, full and bruised by his vehemence. She leaned towards him playfully. “Indeed so, sir, for if that is your idea of punishment, you shall make of me an excessively impertinent and even, may I say, insolent wife.”

  He growled, “Come here, insolent wife.” He captured her shoulders to kiss her again when the carriage jounced and she landed on top of him as he was thrown back into the corner.

  The lap robes tumbled away and Elizabeth found herself lying upon Darcy, his hands still holding her shoulders. They both laughed at the abrupt change in their posture until she became aware of a hard ridge against her hip. Oh! That is his…he is… Her eyes flared open in surprise. She pulled away and looked down at his lap involuntarily.

  Darcy’s eyes followed hers. When Elizabeth recoiled to her previous position at the opposite corner of the seat, Darcy, attempting to appear calm, lifted the corner of a fallen blanke
t to cover the obvious erection stretching his trousers. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

  After a deep breath, he said calmly, “I will not apologize for responding ardently to my own wife, Elizabeth. I am done apologizing for desiring you.”

  Her eyes widened. She instinctively reached a hand to his knee. “Oh, no, Fitzwilliam, no. No. Do not think I meant any rebuke. It is myself I chastise. I want you to desire me, believe me, I do. I am too ignorant of these things. I am aware of what is to happen between us tonight, at least the theory of it…but I am mortified to reveal such ignorance…for that is what it is.”

  “It is innocence, Elizabeth. That is all. I never think you ignorant.” He put his hand over hers on his knee.

  Her eyes were pleading. “You are too kind, Fitzwilliam. But look at the imbalance between us. Until last night, I had never seen an adult gentleman’s bare feet or lower legs. I had not seen your neck without the hindrance of your blasted cravat and those high collars.” Darcy smiled at this. “I still have not seen your arms. Yet think of what you can say of me. You have seen my arms, my neck, my feet, my hair braided, and what with the current evening fashions, and this morning’s aberration in my normally even temper, why, you have seen me nearly naked from the waist upwards!”

  Darcy was chuckling. Shaking his head ruefully, he pulled her close and said, “Not nearly naked enough to suit me, Elizabeth.”

  “Fitzwilliam…” Her exasperated sigh only amused him further.

  “I so rarely get the advantage of you, Elizabeth. You really must allow me to enjoy it while it lasts. After tonight, you will know only too well your power over me and how to wield it.”

  She cocked her head at him. “Will I?”

  “Yes, I thoroughly believe you will. That is the irresistible danger of loving an intelligent woman.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth opened to ask a question, her eyes full of disbelieving wonder. She closed her mouth, her upper teeth tucking up the corner of her lower lip. Whatever can he possibly mean?

  The rumble of the carriage changed tone as the wheels rolled onto the cobbled streets of Derby. “I must have had a long sleep. We are coming into Derby already. We will be stopping at an inn the family owns and change horses to make the best possible time. Perhaps we will arrive before dark.”

  “You own an inn?”

  “Yes, and since yesterday morning at ten o’clock, so do you, Mrs Darcy. We employ a fine family to manage it. They are former house servants from Pemberley. My father wanted a comfortable and trustworthy place for our guests and ourselves to stay when weather or time kept us from getting to Pemberley, so when he bought the Black Kite Inn, James and Sophie offered to manage it, to be nearer their grown children. The scheme works well for all concerned. On occasions such as this, we keep a spare team of carriage horses here. I can tell by the time we’re making, that this team must be spent.”

  Elizabeth straightened and shook off her nerves. To own an inn in a convenient town, to keep several spare teams of horses lying about — all this would take getting used to. “Are you not hungry, sir? We have not touched the hamper.”

  “Other than to sleep upon it,” Darcy said. “Let us stretch our legs and refresh ourselves. We can eat immediately once we’re on our way.”

  When they stood together at the entrance to the inn, Elizabeth was introduced to the innkeepers. She cast a brief glance at the front of Darcy’s trousers. The effect of whatever she had done to provoke him before was subsided. It seems at times his…ardency…can be controlled, and sometimes it is beyond him. What a remarkable thing.

  The innkeepers presented Mr and Mrs Darcy with ornate white ribbon rosettes with bountiful steamers to affix to the four corners of the carriage, announcing to those along the route that the bride had arrived in the county. Darcy smiled at them. “Thank you, James, and all your family, but must we? You know I had hoped to avoid this.”

  “Aye, sir, but ’tis the tradition, and everyone betwixt here an’ Pemberley knows yer comin’ home today with the new missus. Let folks pay their respects an’ best wishes, Mr Darcy. You do not want to bring bad luck upon yerself.”

  Darcy looked to Elizabeth, who raised her eyebrows. “It seems there is nothing for it, sir, but to follow tradition. I see no harm in it.”

  Darcy sighed and indicated with a defeated wave of his arm that the footmen should assist James and Sophie in decorating the coach.

  The innkeepers asked to introduce the new Mrs Darcy to the important members of their staff before Darcy and Elizabeth were left alone in a sitting room with a cheerful fire. They each had a glass of hard cider. “From Pemberley apples,” Darcy boasted.

  When they returned to the carriage, Elizabeth felt a numbness at her cheeks. “That was strong cider, sir,” she said.

  “Think of it as an aperitif. You won’t feel it so much if you eat enough.”

  They settled down to a meal of cheese and crusty bread with potted pheasant and some fruit. Darcy pulled more cider and two heavy cups from the bottom of the hamper. “This will be Coventry cider, I cannot vouch for it. Shall we try it?”

  Her cheeks were still flushed and she touched them with light taps of her fingers. “For my part, I will forego it. My cheeks are still numb. I cannot feel them.”

  “Are they?” Darcy leant over and kissed her cheek. It was warm. “I can feel your cheek perfectly well.”

  The cider coursing through her removed a layer of inhibition. “I am your wife. You should feel whatever part of me you wish… I must confess that my leg felt a little sad and cold earlier when you moved your hand away.” She paused, trying to cast out her trepidation. “Oh, Fitzwilliam…have we waited too long?”

  Darcy looked at her with concern. “Elizabeth? Is something wrong?”

  She pushed the hamper away. “How far is Bakewell?”

  He continued to regard her with confused curiosity. “Twenty miles, or about two hours, but we have fresh horses and good road, so our pace is brisk. Where do your thoughts tend?”

  “You have not asked about my terrible dream, which seems to show a lapse in your usual curiosity, sir.”

  “It was not my wish to bring such alarm back to your mind.”

  “I see. If you will not ask, I will tell you. I was running through Pemberley in the cold, looking everywhere for you, and I found you in the portrait gallery, in the arms of another woman. You were kissing her in a way you have never kissed me. The utter abandon of it…I cannot explain. It was as if I could feel you kissing me, but you were kissing her. There was a sense of having lost you, because I had not given you enough.”

  A phrase Darcy had heard once at his club was brought to mind: “sexual frustration.” A husband of a very fine lady spoke the words, saying when he was away with his family, his mistress complained of this. The senselessness of the man turned Darcy’s blood cold, and he no longer approved the fellow’s company. But in addition to feeling the effects of the Pemberley hard cider, was his bride, the lively Elizabeth Bennet, feeling the strain of having waited? Was too much now riding upon the coming evening? Did she think his expectations might not be fulfilled? He looked very particularly into her eyes: so wide and earnest they were.

  He placed his hands gently on either side of her face. “I do not doubt you.” She closed her eyes, and her lips parted as his mouth claimed hers. His tongue filled her mouth, and she welcomed it. His hand slipped to the back of her head, the other slowly travelled down her neck, and he did not avoid a long descent over her bosom, revelling in the firmness of her clothed breast.

  His hand lingered only a moment, but Elizabeth moaned into his mouth, pulling away long enough to murmur, “Yes. Want me.”

  Darcy’s hand came to rest on her hip and he pulled her body to his. “Do not doubt me,” he growled. “Never doubt me.” He kissed her repeatedly, whispering her name.

  Finally, he pulled away just far enough to see her eyes. The hand upon her hip began insistently to raise the skirt of her gown. This time, howeve
r, they were both awake. If she became embarrassed, he meant to know it, but he did not mean to stop. His hand reached the top of her stocking. “Raise your leg,” he murmured. She did so as his fingers circled her leg, first one way, then the other, gently exploring the soft skin of her thigh just above her garter.

  His hand was only inches above her knee, but Darcy could see the nervous anticipation in Elizabeth’s eyes lest he dare venture higher. Instead of enticing her deepest places with his fingers, he chose to do so with words. Making sure her eyes were locked to his, he explained what would happen to her, saying, “Tonight, my love, when you are naked in my arms, I will ask you to wrap this lovely leg around me, and I will explore every part of you with my fingers. When you have opened yourself to me, I will fill you up, and we will be one, you and I.”

  At first her expression was unreadable, as if she could not believe he would speak so explicitly, but then he saw a subtle change. She was pleased, and he could see her desire. Her cheeks coloured. He moved his hand higher, to her bare thigh. “Will that convince you I desire no woman but you?”

  He did not wait for an answer. She opened her mouth to respond but was silenced as the back of his hand brushed against the hair between her legs, the merest touch. Her eyes widened as he smiled seductively then removed his hand and smoothed her skirts into propriety.

  He raised his hand to his nose and inhaled briefly, still forcing her eyes to meet his. “Lavender,” he whispered. “You intoxicate me, dearest Elizabeth. How delightful to know all of you smells this way.”

  He saw the shock in her eyes, but it did not concern him. He waited.

  “Perhaps you are not as much a gentleman as I thought, Mr Darcy,” she finally said. There was the barest glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

  “That gives you leave to be less than perfectly ladylike, Mrs Darcy.”

  She smiled. “I am glad to hear it, sir.” She leaned forward and kissed him passionately. Her mouth plundered his and her arms moved around his neck, pressing her upper body against his so he could feel her heat through their clothes.