I Met Mr Darcy Via Luton

by Fredrica Edward

  "A bath sounds lovely. I've always wanted to use the one at Netherfield."

  "You know I have one?" he asked.

  "Do you? In your chambers? Could I use it?"

  "Of course, Mrs Darcy," he purred, "it will be my pleasure to show it to you." He bent down to give her a chaste kiss.

  They continued to talk about domestic arrangements until finally Darcy hugged her. "I think I'm all right now," he said.

  "Oh!" she said with a smile, finally comprehending and glancing down at his breeches, which were looking less overstuffed. "That is why we started talking about living arrangements!"

  They passed the rest of the trip discussing the wedding, both relieved it had gone off without a hitch. Darcy confessed his involvement in the viscount's failure to appear.

  "You are very managing, you know," she said.

  "One has to be with people like him around," he replied. "I couldn't believe it when he walked in during our dinner at Pemberley. I'm sure it was fate punishing me for hubris."

  "Ah!" she said, "I'm gratified that thought occurred to you. We all have some embarrassing relatives. I might have thought better of you then if I'd known that."

  Darcy squeezed her again. "Forgive me, Elizabeth," he murmured.

  She stroked his hand in reply.

  They moved to arrange themselves as soon as the carriage encountered the cobbles of London: her stockings and garters were found; he drew his coat back on and ruffled his hair to a reasonable approximation of 'the Windswept' style; then pulled the Belcher neckcloth from his pocket and tied it around his neck.

  "Good lord! What is that?" Elizabeth asked.

  "A Belcher neckcloth," Darcy replied.

  "Oh! Is that what they look like? Named after the boxer?"

  "Indeed, I gather you do not like it."

  "It is rather… colourful," she ventured.

  "Don't worry. I wear them only in emergencies."

  "What kind of emergencies?"

  "Non-valet emergencies."

  Fixing Elizabeth's hair proved more of a problem. She managed to twist it up with the help of the peineta but it was far from presentable. Happily Elizabeth remembered she had stuffed her wedding veil into her carpetbag. Darcy helped to arrange it over her head once more and deemed it would suffice to get them off the street under the light of the torchères. He raised one of the blinds as the light began to fail.

  "Don't worry," he said as they turned into the square. "The servants have been instructed to play least-in-sight."

  Indeed, once they arrived at the townhouse, the door opened magically to admit them, but no one was present in the hall.

  After giving some instructions to the men unloading the coach, Darcy picked up a branched candelabrum and ushered Elizabeth up the darkened stairs.

  "Come. We'll have some supper in my chambers while they unload your luggage."

  His room smelt distinctively of him and was warm–the fire had been built up in preparation for their occupation of it. Darcy showed her his dressing room so that she might use the commode and see to her appearance.

  Pulling the veil from her head, Elizabeth was able to admire the copper tub while she was doing this. What luxury! A towel had been laid out near the basin, and Elizabeth was using one corner of this to wash her hands and sponge her face when she heard a knock at the outer door and the clatter of china. Pulling the peineta out of her curls, she ran her fingers through her locks, leaving them arrayed on her shoulders.

  Elizabeth returned to the bedchamber to find a tray of meat, bread and cheese, and two tankards of porter had been set out near the fire. She was grateful for the porter and sat down on the chaise longue to drink it while Darcy availed himself of the dressing room.

  She surveyed his bedchamber over the brim of her tankard. It was furnished with handsome dark pieces of a similar vintage to those in the green room. She supposed they had been originally purchased by his parents when they occupied the townhouse.

  In the dressing room, Darcy has stripped down to his shirtsleeves and performed his ablutions. Staring absently in the mirror, he ran over his plans for the evening. He was sanguine with his efforts in the carriage, more than sanguine–he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. It had merely been his intention to touch her intimately, to make this next step easier for her. That he had managed to bring her to quaking ecstasy by fondling her was truly satisfying and boded well for the night. He gave a careless flick to tame a curl that had set itself apart from the others on his head and returned to the bedchamber.

  "Your room is as handsome as its owner, sir," Elizabeth remarked as he picked up his jug of porter and paced up and down to drink it.

  "It is much as it was in my father's day. I had the walls painted yellow. It is a colour favoured by Sir John Soane. I thought the original colour too dark. The hangings are new," he said fingering the calico. "Mrs Flowers had it done recently, to give us some privacy. I had the old brocade ones taken down years ago–they made Georgiana sneeze."

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at this.

  "She used to sleep in here sometimes," Darcy explained. "When she was a little girl, she had nightmares."

  He sat down in a tub chair opposite her. "Help me with my boots, will you? My valet won't let me buy a jack."

  His dress top-boots were exceedingly well-fitting, and never having removed such a tight boot before, it took Lizzy several tries to divest her husband of his footwear.

  Getting up, he padded over to a tray upon a chest of drawers and poured a glass of brandy, handing it to her as sat down beside her in his stockings.

  "Aren't you going to have some brandy, too?" Lizzy asked.

  "I already had some before you came in," he lied. So much for abhorring disguise. He wanted to appreciate this to the fullest level, but was aware the spirits might help her sensibilities.

  He looked at the back of the dress, failing to discern any buttons. "How does one undo this?"

  "There are hooks and eyes. Push the two sides of the material together."

  After some fumbling, Darcy managed to achieve an opening and began to kiss and lick her neck as he worked his way down. Sliding the dress down her arms, he began to pluck at the laces of her stays.

  Lizzy wisely put down what remained of the brandy and turned round in his arms to help him. Kissing his chin, which was just beginning to show evidence of stubble, she said, "The stays are from Madame Bouchet. They also have hooks and eyes, but down the front."

  "Well, thank you, Madame Bouchet," he smiled.

  Darcy had only got the top two fastenings undone before the smile froze on his face and was replaced by a more lascivious look.

  "You're not wearing a chemise," he whispered as he continued unfastening with trembling hands.

  "I was advised it is the new fashion for wedding dresses," Elizabeth replied coolly.

  Darcy could hardly manage the bottom fastenings when she spilled out of the top of the stays, but steady to his purpose, he succeeded in discarding the garment completely before surveying his handiwork.

  "Lord," he groaned, as he clamped one hand about her naked breast and claimed her lips fiercely.

  Not much in the way of coherent conversation was had for several minutes afterwards. At some point, they fell onto the rug in front of the fire and the wedding dress was discarded completely. His shirt soon followed and some buttons on his breeches had to be loosed to ease his discomfort. Shortly after, he judged the rug to be in danger and sat back on his haunches to view his beautiful wife au naturel.

  Helping her to her feet, Darcy drew her towards the bed and grabbing her waist, hoisted her up onto it. Sitting on the edge beside her, he pulled his stockings off. His breeches and smalls soon followed.

  After staring at her husband's well-muscled butt and thighs as he disrobed, Lizzy got a brief glimpse of an instrument of torture before falling back on the pillows and staring at the canopy. Her mother had warned her to close her eyes.

  Leaning over to kiss Eliza
beth, Darcy became aware that his wife had suddenly stiffened, and he began suckling and kneading her breasts to encourage her to unbend. When he noticed her dusky pink nipples were a similar colour to her lips, the conundrum that had preoccupied him at the Royal Society was finally solved. After he felt her relax a little, his hand slipped between her thighs and he recommenced the stroking and fondling he had employed in the carriage.

  Lizzy felt an immediate tightening in her belly as her body responded to his touch. She sighed as she brought her arms up to his chest, touching his soft skin and feeling the tight flesh underneath it.

  Darcy planted his knee between Elizabeth's and brought his hip up to rock against her.

  "Fitzwilliam…" she protested, feeling very inelegant with her legs splayed.

  "I love you, Lizzy. Trust me," he urged.

  She stopped fighting him and lay still as he guided himself into her. It hurt a little, but she could see he was trying to be gentle. He kept nudging her gently until finally the tension inside her seemed to abate and she felt that sense of euphoria welling up inside her again. Now she felt he wasn't close enough, and her arms snaked behind his shoulders to bring him nearer. She wrapped her legs around his and arched her back as they merged together.

  Elizabeth's moans and sighs were almost more than Darcy could bear, and he drew on new levels of discipline. Lord she was so tight, he could barely maintain control… He thought of ice water, rolling in the snow… then he heard her cry out and let himself go, collapsing on top of her and rolling to the side, hugging her to him in sweet rapture.

  Chapter 66: The honeymoon

  Darcy was sitting in the hayloft contemplating his loneliness when a woman appeared by his side and took his hand. Looking up, he was surprised to find it was Elizabeth Bennet wearing a shirt and a pair of breeches. Without speaking, she pushed him back in the hay and straddled him. As she loomed over him with her breasts spilling from her shirt, she wriggled her hips, making her intentions clear. When her pouting lips descended to kiss him, he yielded willingly.

  He woke in the darkness to find his new wife asleep beside him. His dream had him ready for action, but the feeling that overwhelmed him as he looked at Elizabeth was one of tenderness. Her lips were curled into an angelic smile as she dreamed her own innocent dreams. No doubt she was off saving a soldier or a kitten. He contented himself with watching her sleep by the moonlight. His heart swelled. She was truly his.

  Darcy awoke again to the cock's crow and felt completely in sympathy with him. His arousal was massive. "Elizabeth?" he whispered.

  Her eyelids fluttered open.

  "Good morning, my love," he said stroking her arm.

  "Good morning, Fitzwilliam."

  "I hope you are not feeling too sore?"

  "No, I…" She checked the sheets, which were stained with a large pink patch. "Oh…"

  "Don't worry about it."

  "But the maids…"

  "Finn changes my sheets."

  "Oh." She was not sure this made her feel better at all.

  "My valet is very discreet. There won't be any gossip below stairs."

  He ran his hand over her bare shoulder and traced down her arm. "Could we?"

  "Again?" she asked. "In broad daylight?"

  Darcy leaned forward to kiss her. His need was great. "Yes?" he purred.

  Elizabeth nodded in acquiescence as his hand strayed to her hip. In response, she ran her hands over his chest. He felt like a brick wrapped in flesh–so different from her own firm but pliant body. Touching his nakedness, she felt an overwhelming surge of lust.

  Lying back on the pillows, Elizabeth gave him a shy but welcoming smile, shifting her legs apart to give him access.

  "Will you permit me… Can we do something different this time?" he asked.

  She nodded, puzzled.

  Darcy slid his hand to her waist. "Roll over."

  Unsure what he was about, Elizabeth hesitated.

  "Trust me," Darcy said, turning her round and kissing the nape of her neck. He positioned her on all fours, before encouraging her to sink her head down on her crossed arms.

  Her bottom was a perfect peach. Darcy grabbed one cheek in his palm and squeezed it gently but firmly while he bent down to nip the other with his teeth. His hand slid between her thighs to caress.

  "This is very indecorous, sir," came a muffled voice from the pillow.

  "I can assure you the view is delightful, my love," he replied as he continued to fondle her.

  Feeling she was ready, Darcy pulled a pillow under her thighs. Straightening, he placed his hands on her hips to align himself; then pushed gently into her. She fit like a glove; so slick and tight, he could barely maintain control… Focus! Breathe! Yes! He was master of himself… buried to the hilt. He licked the back of her neck–so sweet. He felt engulfed in honey. He began the cycle; each stroke feeling a little smoother, deeper, as he slowly lowered her thighs onto the pillow. As they neared the mattress, she began mewling in ecstasy. He increased the pace as they reached the apogee–perfect contact, as he lay stretched, sliding atop her, slick with his sweat. She shuddered beneath him, and he let himself go with a groan. Bliss.

  As Darcy lay afterwards, collapsed on top of her, curling his toes in ecstasy, he thought briefly of his encounters with Genette, which had brought physical relief and mild titillation but were pale shadows of the rapture he felt now. Perhaps the heart has to be engaged after all…

  After briefly hoping that Ruth, as he knew her now, had found happiness with Colonel Brandon, whom she had married several months ago, he rolled off his wife, and banishing these unfaithful thoughts, fell blissfully back to sleep spooned against her.

  Darcy awoke to find a smooth hand fingering his bristly chin and the amber brown eyes of his wife staring at him from under long lashes.

  "Good morning, my love," she said in her bell-like voice.

  "My wife," he smiled contentedly.

  The placidity drained from her face, replaced by a more hardened expression. She turned away.

  "Elizabeth, what have I said to upset you?"

  "I am not just your chattel, sir."

  "Indeed, forgive me, my sweet. It was a poor response to your words."

  He desperately sought a distraction and found one staring him in the face.

  "Your eyes…" he replied sonorously. "I've just discovered the secret of your fine eyes…"

  "My eyes…?"

  "They have a dark ring around the edge, like someone has drawn them."

  "Fitzwilliam, you are pulling my leg."

  "No," he said, jumping up from the bed and disappearing into his dressing room.

  She appreciated his tight muscular butt as he walked across the bedchamber and was slightly regretful that he'd gone to put on clothes when he reappeared as bare as the day he was born, carrying a hand mirror.

  Elizabeth had to stifle a laugh–it would not do. As attractive as his body was, as much as she wished to study it, the thought that overwhelmed her was how completely unselfconscious Darcy was about walking around stark naked.

  "Here, look for yourself!" he said, holding out the mirror.

  Elizabeth took it from him, still unsure if he was jesting.

  "See, there is a dark outline!" he said, "like someone has drawn your eye. It makes your eyes look so alive!"

  Lifting the hand mirror, she stared dutifully at herself.

  So there was. "But doesn't everybody have such a line?" she asked, staring at his eyes in turn. They were deep pools of chocolate from edge to edge.

  "Your eyes are so dark, I can hardly see the pupil. It makes me feel like I am falling into them somehow."

  Gratified that his wife found him so alluring, Darcy smiled in satisfaction.

  "Your eyes," he said in turn, "are like portals to your soul. They burn with élan and intelligence. We must get Lawrence to paint you for the gallery."

  Having retrieved his position admirably, Elizabeth gave him a peck on the cheek.

 
; After the newlyweds had spent several days doing little more than eating, sleeping, taking Argos for his morning walk, and having conjugal relations, Darcy's man of business requested an urgent audience with him at the townhouse that subsequently resulted in both men departing to the city.

  Determined to make herself useful in her husband's absence, Elizabeth confronted the large number of unopened wedding presents, which had been transported to London by Finn in a hired carriage. These had been piled in the parlour and sorted into those from family and friends. Elizabeth sat down to begin opening them and writing thank you notes.

  The first present she opened turned out to be the brisé fan Georgiana had purchased at Harding Howell. Elizabeth smiled as she recollected the elaborate tale Georgiana had spun in order to purchase the fan under her nose. The rest of the presents were mostly more impersonal gifts–vases, figurines, and a nice clock. An exception was a rather unusual and atmospheric painting of a landscape by an artist named Turner. This, Elizabeth was astonished to discover, was a present from the earl.

  As she worked, Elizabeth reflected that she now understood why her husband had been so eager to bed her. Having been initiated into the secrets of the marital bed, it was difficult to stop delicious thoughts of him sliding into her mind at any vacant moment. She certainly hoped she could conquer her newly discovered physical infatuation with her husband before her mind turned to mush. Indeed, the consequences were likely to be more far-ranging–if they kept up their current state they would be breeding like rabbits.

  Despite these distractions, she had opened over half of the presents and written thank you notes for them before Mrs Flowers served her a nuncheon.

  When Fitzwilliam still hadn't returned to the townhouse by the early afternoon, she decided to use his bath. Finn supervised the filling of the tub before leaving instructions with Elizabeth's new maid, Judy, on how to top it up as the water cooled.