by Beth Massey
FD
Elizabeth made her way to the dressing table and stared at her reflection. His apologetic words reverberated in her mind, and she wished he would wake soon so they could speak of his confession. She resolved to improve her dishevelled appearance while she waited. Unfortunately, there were only two pins remaining in her hair. Once removed, her hair fell about her shoulders in a cascade of unruly curls. She attempted to tame her locks with the monogrammed brush without success, and unknowingly she managed to create a look that was far from fashionable, but just as he had pictured her in his dreams.
With Mr Pope’s treatise in tow, she sat in the chair opposite him, poured herself a glass of wine and tried to read while she waited. Her mind refused to focus. All she could think of was that Mr Darcy still loved her. Refusing to acknowledge the niggling concern s for her reputation and family’s honour, she smiled with pleasure. The book was set aside so she could watch him doze while waiting to learn the meaning of all around her.
As she sipped her wine, warmth spread through her body. Despite only moments before having been cold, she now felt the need to remove the robe and replace it on the bedpost. Her boldness amazed her; and she realized at this moment she cared little for modesty, propriety or decorum. She wanted answers, and she hoped for a fresh start where both would acknowledge their mutual desires. The time for an end to their lack of candour and mistrust was now. A curl fell across his brow and without thinking she pushed it back. Her touch awakened him. She watched him blink several times as he attempted to gain his bearings.
Elizabeth could not repress her impudence, and she fixed her face in a glower of disapproval as he struggled to clear the cobwebs from his sleepy brain. When she was sure he was fully aware, she spoke. “Mr Darcy, just how compromised am I?”
His heart sank as his greatest fear seemed to have become reality; and then what to his surprise did appear but a barely perceptible smile at the corners of her mouth and a glint of humour in her eyes. Without losing a beat he said with an overly grave expression, “Totally—I fear we must find a nunnery for you.”
His response was met with a giggle from her and the reply, “So that is your intention?”
The moment had come for truth. He looked at her with all the seriousness in his being. “You know my intention. I can tell by the book in your hand, and the ones at your feet that you have read some of my dedications. Do not trifle with me. I do not want us to wed just because I have compromised you. If you are unable to love me, I will find a way to keep any from knowing what happened here this afternoon.”
Lizzy seemed to still be clinging to her anger, but he was unsure. He held his breath as he waited for her reply. “So tell me Mr Darcy, is what you wrote in Mr Pope’s book, this confession you have been insisting you needed to make?” Those fine eyes with the oft impertinent twinkle allowed him to breathe again. “And by the way, do you call your last words a proper proposal?”
In an equally grave manner as his earlier declaration about her compromised status, he said, “You could try the patience of a saint.” Rising from his chair, the books at her feet moved aside, he dropped to one knee and took her hand. “Please, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, marry me.” He rolled his eyes, just before he grinned. “Oh, and just in case you did not hear me the first time, I ardently love you. And yes, you now have written proof of my guilt; and I will never be able to deny my culpability with regard my interference between Bingley and your sister as long as you possess that copy of Mr Pope’s aptly named, Essay on Criticism.”
She returned his grin with that come-hither smile, she had given him when first they met and his doubt was quashed—at least for the moment. “Yes, Mr Darcy, I will marry you. I too ardently love you.” Now she turned to the book in question and with mischief in her voice, she added, “You need not roll your eyes at me, as I was just trying to please you by displaying some fiery spirit.”
He laughed, as he let go her hand. He stood up, and the great tall man picked up the light and pleasing woman, and sat down with her in his lap. He ended any more of the teasing banter, at which both were so adept, by taking her face in his hands and kissing her soundly.
Elizabeth was prepared to return his kiss in a way she believed would please him. She had been practicing alone in her room since April, when he had almost kissed her in the aftermath of his proposal. Despite being consumed with anger at the time, she saw the desire in his eyes and while she cursed his insulting words; she had been secretly praying he would act. The irrationality of her feelings had astounded her at the time. For months, she had wondered what would have happened had he carried out his threat to kiss her. Would it have melted her resolve, and allowed passion to overrule her righteous indignation—not to mention proper behaviour?
Her arms snaked around his waist as she pulled herself as close to him as physically possible. She returned the pressure of his lips with fervour, and when his tongue applied to be allowed into her mouth, she did not hesitate. The sensation unleashed a hunger within her for something more; as she felt the, by now, all too familiar spasm deep within her. Amidst the mutual exploration of their mouths, she suddenly felt a renewal of the pushing… perhaps ‘poking’ as she had felt while riding with him. The insistence grew each time she moved. Needing to breathe and receive answers to some questions, she pulled away from him.
“Is what I was feeling… were you… have I been ‘poked’ Mr. Darcy?” He grinned at her, and she stiffened believing his mirth was in response to a silly query. Her enjoyment of their closeness kept her anger in control.
“No, Miss Elizabeth, you have only been 'pre-poked.' Where did you learn that expression?”
“A maid on the stairs at Pemberley said it. She said you were poking someone you loved, but who allowed you to do so without marriage. I did not understand, but it made me miserable to hear that,” Elizabeth admitted. There were no traces of derision in his face any more. His look was decidedly lascivious—or so she believed.
“Is that why you were crying… because you wanted to be the one I poked?”
“The word sounds a bit frightening. I liked the idea of ‘rubbing against’ you better. That is what the older maid said.” With that Elizabeth snuggled even deeper into his arms and rubbed his back. Her busy hands travelled to the top of his buttocks and she slipped them inside the waist of his trousers.
Darcy moaned and with a raspy voice said, “Miss Elizabeth, we must stop this. I am losing control. Propriety demands we put off what we are doing until we are wed.” He straightened and put on the serious face she had often seen him don since meeting him. “I am going to have to fire those maids. I will not tolerate disrespect from my servants.”
“Oh, please do not do that. If they had not said what they did, I would still be hopelessly mired in fear of speaking my true feelings. That is what has been truly disastrous about our interactions. We both, at different times, refused to acknowledge our… dare I say it… desires. I promise I will stop squirming, and rubbing, but I would like to sit here with you for just a little while longer. I have been dreaming of being with you like this since I met you, though your power over my body made me furious.”
He said very quietly and with awe, “I have power over your body?”
“Yes, from the first moment. There was a look in your eyes that spurred my interest.” Her cheek rested against his chest as she listened to the beat of his heart. After a few minutes, she asked the question that filled her with curiosity, “Tell me about this enchanted place.”
“This was an abandoned gamekeeper’s cottage my father had refurbished and made into a retreat for my mother soon after they married. She enjoyed painting and used it as a studio. On many days, my father would join her.” Elizabeth watched as he struggled with discomfort. It was not long before he laughed and forged ahead. “I am quite sure they made love here. I do not think she would have needed such a large bed for any other purpose.” Darcy cupped Lizzy’s face in his hands and forced her to look into his passion inf
lamed eyes. “Making love is the refined way of expressing what the maids were talking about. I did not know of such activities when I was a child, but over the years I have pieced together some memories that suggest that is what happened here.”
Darcy replaced Lizzy’s cheek against his chest and nuzzled her hair before continuing his story. “I found the cottage during my explorations when I was about nine. My query, as to what it was, brought the reply from my father that the cottage was my mother’s retreat. My mother told me it was her special place, and only my father was allowed to visit her here. They both asked me to respect her privacy. I was a dutiful son and obeyed them willingly.” With a grin he added, “Also, my father distracted me by having a tree house built in the woods on the left of the green as my own sanctuary. It was far from this place.”
Darcy broke into a chuckle and she shivered with delight both for the topic and her closeness which allowed for feeling the rumbling in his chest. “I also observed, numerous times, an exchange between them that took place at breakfast. My mother would say she felt she would enjoy riding that day, or my father would ask her if she was considering a ride that day. They always seemed to have sly smiles on their faces when they talked about ‘riding.’ His chuckle became laughter. “As an adult I finally realized the significance of both their request for privacy, and their frequent conversations about my mother’s equestrian plans for the day.”
His mirth seemed to dissipate in some sad aspect of this memory. Darcy said, “I believe my father often visited the cottage alone after she died.” He pulled Lizzy tighter as he began to relate the significance of the cottage to their troubled odyssey. “I returned from Hertfordshire so conflicted. You are correct; the connection was indeed there from the moment our eyes first met.”
It was Lizzy’s turn to chuckle. “You looked at me with frank admiration; but an instant later, your admiration was replaced by apprehension. My observation of both expressions caused me to give you a smile that I hoped would encourage you.” Her chuckle became a giggle. “It came from a place never explored by me before; I smugly thought I had disabused you of your fear. Imagine my disappointment with being labelled ‘tolerable’ and ‘unable to tempt’ you.” Her humour evaporated. “The emotions I felt were so raw. Though my wounded vanity ruled how I related to you, every night I dreamed of being with you like this… and more that is still unfathomable.”
Her words prompted another kiss. “You will never know how nearly successful you were in persuading me to overlook my distaste for your circumstances—particularly when you mocked me with the observation that dancing encouraged affection. Still my arrogance persisted, and I left Netherfield with the intention of forgetting you. Once back here, at Pemberley, my attempts to rid myself of your memory proved impossible. I spent hours riding in solitude but my mind was never far from imagining you riding me. With that image as inspiration, one day I ended up here. The last pieces of the puzzle tumbled into place when I realized the purpose of my mother’s secret cottage. Though they were mostly equal in rank, what made their marriage special were not their connections, their wealth, their property, or those material things they could leave their children… children that were so difficult for my mother to conceive and hold…” Sadness momentarily took him back to the past, but within a few seconds he returned to her. “Suddenly, I realized one of the most important legacies they left me was their affection, admiration and yes, even their lust for one another. I know so few marriages that have that bond. That was my epiphany; and with one of those rare moments of clarity, I understood why I wanted you. Most importantly, I knew that I must win you and share this place with you for the rest of our lives—unfortunately, I knew not how.”
His words prompted her to demand another kiss and begin another round of rubbing. His response was passionate, but more controlled than the first one. “News of you came from the most unlikely source. Lady Catherine de Bourgh wrote to tell me the parson of the rectory on her estate had married a woman who knew me from my stay in Hertfordshire. My relief was great, when I read it was Charlotte Lucas and not you. Lady Catherine continued to relate how Mr Collins had first proposed to his cousin, Elizabeth Bennet, whose acquaintance I had also made. When I read the news of your rejection, I laughed and pictured you turning down that odious man with your eyes flashing. Of course, I had no clue you would favour me with the same response.”
Lizzy could not help herself, she began to cry and he responded. “Miss Elizabeth what is wrong? Is my story distressing you?”
“No, but I am saddened by how much time we have lost due to how implacable I was. If I had accepted you, we could be doing something that I believe would be far more enjoyable right now.” Her words brought a renewal of a pre-poke from his lap.
“I was not without fault that day. My words were arrogant and demeaning. You were right to reject me. I was not that different in my assessment from my aunt’s evaluation of your rejection of Mr Collins. She thought it preposterous a young woman of your circumstances would be so particular. Her revelation made me admire you even more, because I now knew love and not security was of the utmost importance to you. The fact you would have no reason to love me never crossed my mind. Lady Catherine’s letter told of your impending visit at Easter time. I had my excuse to see you again, and I resolved to make you mine.”
“From the dedications in the books, your aunt’s letter must have spurred your refurbishing this cottage. I never knew you had been so observant of my likes. When you stared at me at Netherfield, I determined you were finding fault.”
“Far from it… you had bewitched both my mind and my body. Every night, I would dream of making love to you. Believe me, finding fault played no part—I was most likely wondering what you looked like without clothes or fantasizing about caressing you.” He rewarded her with another kiss. “After I returned to Pemberley, I would walk through the gallery and stare at a statue there of a reclining nude. I would speculate about the similarity of your bottom to hers.”
Lizzy let out a moan and blushed at his words. She remembered her own reaction to the sculpture gallery just hours before.
“Are you angry with me for being so forward?”
“No, I am, once again, overwhelmed by similar cravings, which you say must wait to be satisfied until we are married.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “It is my fault we are not already wed. We should be enjoying ourselves here as your parents did.” She pulled her cheek from his chest and looked deeply into his eyes. “My fantasies have suffered from inexperience. I demand to know if you look like the statue of Achilles.” As she feared, he, once again, laughed at her naiveté. She said forcefully, “This is not humorous. You have me at such a disadvantage. Please, make love to me now!”
“Miss Elizabeth, oh, this is so frustrating, may I please call you Elizabeth.”
Lizzy giggled hysterically at his request. “Now that is funny. Mr Darcy, we are betrothed—I believe you were serious a moment ago and not duplicitous like the squire in The Vicar of Wakefield.” She waited for him to nod before she continued. “Just seconds ago, I asked you to make love to me. Here I am, on your lap clad only in a nightgown and either you or the cat is responsible for my state of undress.” She assumed a mock accusatory look as she finished her thoughts. “Do you think I care about the propriety of what name you call me? Call me Elizabeth or Lizzy, but do not call me Eliza. I think it a perfectly fine name that has been ruined for me by Caroline Bingley.” As he was digesting her arguments, she added, “By the way, what does the ‘F’ stand for in ‘FD’?”
“Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth screwed up her face in contemplation. “Would you object if I called you Will in private? Fitzwilliam seems too pretentious.”
“No, of course I would not object. That is what Georgiana calls me.” He traced his finger across the tracks of the tears she had shed a moment before. “I wish I could as easily agree to your other request… but I fear you will come to regret your decision.”
“Because once you are no longer caught up in curiosity and passion, you will wish you acted according to proper behaviour… and you will blame me for forcing you.”
Lizzy’s anger flared as she spit out, “Forcing me! Humph—how cowardly you are. Maybe, I already blame you. You removed my clothes without my permission. Who knows what things you did to me while I was unconscious?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. “You are as insufferable as ever.”
She hopped off his lap and picked up one of the books from the floor and shoved it in his face. “You write all these pretty words of love, but you refuse to show me. She pulled the nightgown over her head and threw it at him. As she bent to retrieve her clothes, she was praying the view of her bare backside was enticing. She picked up her chemise, and made a show of her intention to get dressed.
She heard his heavy breathing behind her. Stifling a laugh, she realized her ploy was probably going to be successful. He grabbed her, twirled her around, and pulled her to him. Clasping her bottom, he lifted her off the ground. This time his kiss was like neither the first the second or the third. There was an insistence to this one that was a little frightening, but oh, so exciting. It had a punishing quality to it. This was the, ‘I will show you what you gave up kiss’ he had threatened to bestow in Kent. She gave back in kind… their tongues battling for dominance.
The kiss calmed, and he pulled away from her mouth and began nipping her ear. His arousal was pushing hard and insistent against her. His decision was made. As suddenly as he picked her up, he put her down on the bed. In a rough voice he said, “I will return soon. Be ready!”
She watched as he grabbed a robe, a bar of soap and a towel. As he left the cottage, she wondered why he felt the need to bathe. Perhaps he thought she was repelled by the smell of sweat and horse mixed with… she believed sandalwood. She had quite liked the scent of him when she was resting her cheek against his chest. However, a clean Mr Darcy, eh Will, was enticing as well. She arranged herself on the bed as close as she could to the statue of the reclining nude.