Remembrance of the Past

by Lory Lilian

  She nestled to his chest and they remained in silence for a time.

  “You do not trust me enough to tell me what is upsetting you? I know you are not being ‘silly’.”

  “I am jealous,” she burst out nervously. He felt her stiffen and stop breathing, awaiting his reaction.

  “Pardon me?” inquired a shocked Darcy, wondering what on earth she could mean. “How can you be jealous?”

  “Oh, I told you I am only being silly; you should not have forced me to speak of it!”

  He turned her on her back and laid her against the pillows; his inquisitive stare—mere inches away—together with a severe expression and hands holding her possessively told Elizabeth clearly enough she ought not to trifle with him or attempt to escape without a full confession. She was not certain whether she should laugh or be angry at her own folly in raising such a preposterous subject in the middle of their wedding night.

  “It is obvious that you are not…umm…inexperienced in this matter, and I cannot help wondering how many times you have done this before.” Her voice was trembling slightly, her cheeks suddenly pale as she forced herself to keep her eyes on his.

  He was speechless; his countenance changed visibly as his eyes averted from hers for a moment. His tried to say something, but he hesitated; his body moved from hers, and she felt suddenly cold. “William, please forgive me. I know I had no right to start such a conversation…”

  Darcy’s distress was obvious, so she easily understood she was right, and her aching heart sank.

  “Elizabeth, it is true that this is a very improper conversation for a man to have with his wife, and I am at a loss as to what I should tell you. But I want to assure you that you have every right to ask me anything you want, though sometimes I might not be able to offer you the answers you expect.”

  “I understand.” Elizabeth’s voice was trembling, and her long lashes could not hide a tear in the corner of an eye. She tried to smile dejectedly.

  “Do you truly want me to speak of this subject?”

  “Yes. . . No. . . I do not know. We should perhaps sleep now.” She turned her back to him again, facing the fire; a moment later, his arms embraced her with tender care. She remained motionless but did not reject his attention. More confidently, he pulled her to his chest, and his lips moved closer to her ear.

  “I shall be as honest as possible, though I dread the thought of having this discussion.” She did not reply; her breath became shallower.

  “I will confess I am not…inexperienced as you said. I have had my share of knowledge as any man of my age I imagine—certainly less than some of them.”

  “I see. Thank you for your honest answer. I am aware I have no right to be interested in something that happened before you even knew me. But the mere thought of your holding another woman as you hold me was —”

  “Elizabeth, I have never held any other woman as I hold you,” he interrupted her.

  He pulled her to him so fiercely that she felt suffocated in his embrace. One of his arms tightened its grip around her waist and the other was stroking her shoulder and neck; his warm lips caressed her ear while speaking, and his hoarse voice sent shivers along her body.

  “I have never imagined I could touch or kiss a woman as I have you. What we shared this night was equally as new for me as it was for you, though I did know more of what was to come. You said that what we shared tonight was unexpected for you. I can say that for me it was more exquisite than anything I expected, than anything I dreamed during my lonely nights thinking of you.”

  He paused a moment, holding her tightly and searching for her hands; their fingers entwined, and now she was truly captive in his arms, her back crushed against his chest.

  His voice was as tender as a caress. “Elizabeth, I have known other women before you, but I have never loved anyone except you—either with my heart or my body.”

  He felt her breath quicken and her heart beat wildly. She moved slightly in his embrace and turned her head so he could see her face. “Thank you.”

  “I love you, Elizabeth,” he said, and again there was silence for a while. Darcy was certain she had fallen asleep, but he was proved wrong a few minutes later.

  “It was painful but in a pleasant way,” she confessed unexpectedly, and he startled.

  “I am sorry,” he said, somehow distressed, but she chuckled.

  “Do not be sorry. Becoming your wife has mirrored our relationship from the moment we met until now.”

  “What do you mean?” he inquired, puzzled.

  “I mean—quite painful at times, occasionally distressing, but in essentials exceptionally enjoyable. I confess I have no cause to repine.”

  She laughed, hiding her head against the pillows, and he breathed in relief. Finally, she was her usual self again. He could not see her, but he could feel her smile through every fibre of his body.

  “I am very glad to hear that, Mrs. Darcy.” There was another moment of silence before he continued.

  “May I dare hope your distress is now gone and you will finally turn to look at me?” His voice was husky, and his lips were placing soft kisses along her ear; she shivered but remained still.

  “My distress is gone indeed, but I would rather not turn.”

  “You would not? Are you still upset with me?” he asked, quite worried.

  “No indeed, sir, quite the contrary. I would rather remain as we are only because I find it very pleasant being held like this,” she admitted.

  “Oh, now I see.” He finally understood. His fingers removed the locks of her hair from her ear, baring her cheek and neck, and then continued to caress her soft skin tenderly.

  “Then please do not turn around, Mrs. Darcy. I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.”

  Elizabeth laughed nervously, suppressing a moan as her skin quivered beneath his kisses. His hands started to move daringly along her body—so fully exposed to his passionate exploration. One hand encircled her waist, stroked her belly and then slid down to her thighs, while the other possessively cupped her breasts; his fingers traced tingling circles around each of them, teasing her nipples, which hardened with desire. Her body writhed and pushed against his, imprisoned by his possessive touches; his arms tightened their grip, pulling her closer to him and gently commanding her to obey his wishes. She felt his chest against her back, his strong legs entwined with hers and his thighs pressing against her bottom. She could feel his desire arousing again, and a sense of fear and passionate desire shattered her body.

  “Allow me to make you a promise, Mrs. Darcy.” She was not certain if he truly spoke or only the touch of his tongue made her dream it.

  “Please do so, sir,” she answered breathlessly. Her head turned a little so her dry lips could finally meet his.

  “You said that becoming my wife had been sometimes painful and distressing…”

  “And exceptionally enjoyable…”

  “I promise that being my wife will never be painful—as long as it is in my power to prevent it.”

  “I do trust you in that, sir,” she replied, and that shared promise seemed awkwardly serious considering the circumstances.

  “And it will also be much more enjoyable than it has been so far—as long as it is in my power to accomplish it,” he added more lightly, smiling mischievously against her lips, which he eventually captured with passion.

  “I do not believe it can get much more enjoyable than what has already transpired between us.”

  “You must trust me in this too, my dearest wife,” he said, barely able to speak as his lips were more agreeably engaged. “As I already said, this is quite a new experience for me as well. I can truthfully say that the more I practice, the more proficient I become. Would you not agree?”

  She would laugh at his shameless promise, but she found herself crying her pleasure as his fingers daringly touched the warmth between her thighs. The strokes—long, gentle, and tantalisingly slow at first—turned into a wild tortu
re. She finally turned in his arms to face him, but their eyes met only for a moment as his lips journeyed along her jaw line, briefly tasting her chin before moving to her throat until his hungry mouth reached the softness of her round breasts. His lips closed around her nipple and she cried again while passion conquered her once more. Moment by moment, the urge, the longing to feel him inside her again grew unbearable, defeating any remnants of fear or pain—and she pleaded with him, begged him until her longing was finally satisfied.

  A brief, sharp pain and he entered her again with renewed, unleashed desire. As she was thrown into a storm of feelings, wondering how he could be so strong and large—yet fit so perfectly within her—possessive and almost wild in his thrusts, yet so tender and caring, a single thought crossed her mind: he was right again.

  Now that she was his wife, everything was less painful and more blissfully enjoyable than ever before.

  Chapter 24

  The entire Town was covered with snow, and Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with delight as she walked the gleaming white paths on her husband’s arm. Since the first morning of their married life five days earlier, they had taken long strolls in the same park where they had met in June. Apart from this meaningful digression, they preferred to stay home and enjoy their newly discovered marital bliss.

  Though they received many invitations, they accepted none. Neither was disposed to entertain either strangers or friends; they had yet to see Cassandra and Georgiana or the colonel. A day earlier, the Gardiners had returned from Hertfordshire, and the newlyweds did call—briefly—in Gracechurch Street. However, they declined to remain for dinner, and wisely, Mrs. Gardiner did not insist.

  Their time was spent mostly in the library or the music room, and with every passing day, their bond became stronger as they came to know each other more intimately—in every sense.

  She was as lively as ever, whereas he was less restrained and less serious than before—a change quickly noticed by everyone around them, and with her naturally easy ways, Elizabeth became the favourite of the staff almost as soon as she entered the house.

  Darcy was somewhat annoyed one morning when he overheard two maids gossiping about how fortunate they were that he had chosen a wife so different from him in disposition and manners. For a moment, he had considered dismissing them but then thought better of it. After all, they were right; he knew he was a fair master, and the servants were content with their lives in his home, but he had never been a joyful presence. Elizabeth, however, brought liveliness to his home—and to his life.

  “We should return home,” Darcy said, covering her gloved hand with his. “Your bonnet is covered with snow, and your cheeks are crimson. I am sure your feet and hands are frozen.”

  “I am not cold at all, quite the contrary. I have always enjoyed walking through snow. I feel very well, exceedingly well, I might say!” she laughed at him, and he felt an urge to kiss her red cheeks.

  “Very well, we shall stay fifteen more minutes. Is that acceptable?”

  “Am I allowed to negotiate, sir?”

  “Not really, as you promised to obey me,” he replied with mocking severity.

  Thus began one of their little games during the last few days. They teased each other until their play turned into a minor skirmish. He loved to see her blush and then narrow her eyes in search of a sharp reply. Her lips twisted and her eyebrow raised in challenge reminded him of the beginning of their acquaintance and their lively conversations at Netherfield. The only difference was that now he could do what he was not allowed back then: whenever he felt she was about to win their arguments, he simply made use of his strength and silenced her with a kiss. She always accused him of improper behaviour, and of course, she was right.

  “Be as you like, sir, I shall obey; besides, we have to prepare for dining at Cassandra’s tonight.”

  “I am glad; I would not want you to catch a cold and be ill all the way to Pemberley.”

  “Will there be snow at Pemberley, do you think?”

  “I hope so…for your sake.”

  He removed snow from her hair and briefly touched her face, but it was warm.

  “I told you I am not cold,” she whispered.

  “So you did,” he agreed. “I should have known that you are always as warm as a sunny day.” With a short glance around, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

  They returned home through snow that was now ankle-deep. Elizabeth’s petticoat seemed frozen, yet she did not mind at all. She continued to chat with Darcy, and every time she looked at him, the snow falling from the sky tickled her face, and she laughed as she lost herself in her husband’s loving gaze.

  “Thank God you are home!” the housekeeper cried as soon as they entered, in a tone more proper for a mother. “You must be frozen—you should go upstairs immediately; your baths will be ready within minutes. A cup of hot tea will do wonders for your state,” she added as she removed Elizabeth’s bonnet.

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Abbot. You are a mind reader.” Elizabeth smiled warmly. “Hot tea and a warm bath will be truly wonderful.”

  The efficiency of Darcy’s staff was proven—again—less than a quarter hour later when the mistress and master of the house were each enjoying a cup of delicious tea inside their warm tubs.

  As soon as the hot water enveloped her, Elizabeth felt drowsy and closed her eyes, sighing with contentment. Her body was heavy with fatigue, and her eyelids seemed unwilling to open. In fact, it was not quite fatigue, but more a lack of sleep. She had not slept an entire night in more than a month, first from apprehension before the wedding, and then…She felt her cheeks burning at the thought of their previous nights.

  Her husband had shared her bed every night as he promised, and it was bliss to sleep in his arms. Well, actually, it was not quite sleeping as most of the night was spent in…certain activities. And afterward, it was difficult to fall asleep; his scent, his warmth, his arms confining her—every sensation was entirely new for her. Consequently, she usually slept only a few hours before the sun was up and she had to awaken.

  Of course, she could have slept longer during the day, but that was unacceptable. How could she spend the first days of her marriage sleeping and abandoning her husband? That would not do—especially when she had the fortune to marry the most generous, kind and loving husband!

  Indeed, Darcy was everything she had hoped for and so much more. Every day she spent with him was a chance to discover fresh, intimate details that only made her love him more.

  Many of his former habits remained, of course—including the mask of severity that marred his countenance when he was displeased or preoccupied with something; but it was no wonder that he was frequently serious.

  She understood only a smattering of his duties from the papers that constantly covered his desk.

  There was a variety of people dependent upon him and numerous responsibilities to burden him; she invited him to share his worries, and he was as surprised—and pleased—with her interest as she was gratified by his confidence in her. He did not hesitate to answer any of her questions or to explain anything she wanted to know about his business. She felt treated not just with deep affection, but also with great consideration; he declared that he felt spoiled by her love and by her genuine interest in everything connected with him. What more could she want?

  Then, when the evening came, they would retire to their apartments. There, he set aside all restraint, self-control, rules, and duties. There he was simply her husband.

  One evening—the third day of their marriage—she pointed this out, and he replied while taking her in his arms, “I am your husband all the time, my dearest; here I am your lover.” And so he was.

  Though Elizabeth had known something of a wife’s duties before her marriage, her knowledge was contradictory.

  She had heard—from many whispers spread around—that those activities were unpleasant for a lady, and that most women tried to keep their husband’s nightly visits as infrequent as poss
ible. In fact, those un-pleasantries were the main reason many ladies accepted that their husbands kept mistresses. Elizabeth started to question the accuracy of this theory when she was about sixteen and had heard that some ladies of society kept lovers themselves. Why would a lady indulge in such activities, risking the ruin of her reputation, if those activities were abhorrent? She even dared to address that delicate question with her Aunt Gardiner, and the lady laughed for a time before she regained her composure enough to offer Elizabeth an answer—one that was honest, albeit ‘dressed’ in suitable language.

  Elizabeth never doubted her aunt, so she trusted implicitly the revelation that, where there was affection and understanding between man and wife, and where the husband was concerned not only for his well being but for his wife’s as well, the intimacy of marriage was nothing to be anxious about—quite the contrary.

  Moreover, since the first moments she had admitted her feelings for Darcy, every time he touched her hand, danced with her, or merely smiled at her, the shivers that spread over her body were excellent indications that her aunt had been right in this—as always.

  Of course, their engagement—as trying as it was—offered Elizabeth more reasons to feel confident and desirous of what would come in her marriage. However, everything she thought she knew proved to be pale in comparison to the reality of her wedding night.

  That was not a duty to perform; it was the most intimate way of receiving her husband’s love through his unleashed passion.

  Of course, Elizabeth understood very well how fortunate she was among so many women who were less happy in their marriages. She knew that the exquisite pleasure her husband so generously offered her every night was something most precious. His soft, breathtaking kisses and tender caresses were proof of that care and consideration her aunt had spoken of so many years ago. In truth, she felt that Darcy was more concerned with her wishes than his and preoccupied with giving her pleasure long before he sought his own.