Mr Darcy's Struggle

by Martine J Roberts

  Darcy’s breath caught in his throat as Elizabeth let her moist lips brush against his nipple. The trail of fire she had ignited drove his desire beyond any man’s endurance. Her naïve seduction had been more potent in arousing him than the most experienced courtesan. He pulled her to him roughly, ensuring their bodies moulded together, thus leaving Elizabeth in no doubt of his need for her. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he gently tugged her head back once more. This time, there would be no escape; his self-control had been worn away kiss by kiss, and now he would taste her sweet lips or be damned trying. Unable and unwilling to hold back any longer, Darcy took possession of her mouth with a savage urgency, invading and exploring every moist recess.

  Elizabeth accepted his all-consuming kiss with no regret and matched him with naive enthusiasm.

  Dear God, he thought, can this be true? Does Elizabeth yearn for me as I do her? Hesitantly he ran his hands over the soft curves of her hips, still unsure of her reaction to such an intimate touch. Hearing her soft moan of pleasure, he explored further. Brutally aware that only the flimsy gown separated him from becoming one with his beloved, Darcy knew he was almost beyond the point of recovery, yet still he hesitated to take the final step.

  Elizabeth relished the heat from his touch. It sent a pleasurable, yet unfulfilling ache to her most intimate area, creating a hunger for him she did not understand but longed for him to satisfy.

  Finally, Darcy knew he could resist no more, and in one fluid motion twisted them around until they sank to the floor. Looking down at her inviting smile and outstretched arms, every fibre of his being aching to fulfil both their desires. Seeking her verbal consent, he murmured with an undeniable longing in his husky voice,

  “Elizabeth, are you sure this is what you want?”

  Tangling her fingers in the soft curls at the nape of his neck, she pulled him closer until her warm breath caressed his cheek, and in a sultry voice said,

  “Make me yours William.”

  After a year of dream-filled nights, full of painful longing and subsequent denial, Darcy finally took Elizabeth as his wife.

  Content, they lay folded in each other’s arms before the library fire with Darcy nuzzling at his wife’s ear. Elizabeth had come to him willingly, and he had not been disappointed. Introducing Elizabeth to the pleasures of love-making had awakened a passion and enthusiasm in her that had surpassed all his expectations. He had never known such longing as he had with Elizabeth, but neither had he known such satisfaction. Darcy suspected he would never be able to completely satisfy his desire to join with Elizabeth, but for now, he was content. He tightened his grip around her slender waist, never wanting to release her again. His happiness overflowed, and he playfully nipped at her ear.

  “All my life, I have searched for an Aphrodite to call my own. Had I realised she lived in the shires, I would have journeyed there much earlier,” he teased.

  Elizabeth, glowing in the aftermath of their lovemaking, tried to nestle even closer to her husband. Making love with William had been a wondrous experience. The effect on both her body and mind had been a revelation of biblical proportions. How wrong her mother was in her notion of coupling, and how very insightful was her Aunt Gardiner. Her future outlook of visiting the marriage bed had been drastically reversed. Although this first time had been a little uncomfortable, it was greatly compensated for by its concluding event. Elizabeth giggled and gave a sigh of contentment. Her husband thought her a goddess. A compliment indeed, but she would be happy to just be his wife, now true in every meaning of the word.

  “That is a lofty pedestal to place me on my love, I would much rather just be your wife, especially if one of my duties will be to repeat our actions of tonight. Is it always so delicious?” she asked as she placed nibbling kisses along his jaw.

  “With us it will be; my desire for you will never wane, and you will never be left wanting in any respect. You are everything to me Elizabeth; I will always love you,” he said solemnly.

  Realising he had become still and silent, she pulled back a little to look into his face. Gone was the passion and warmth she had basked in for the last hours, now replaced with the familiar tight lips, and furrowed brow. Concerned that her careless jest had offended him in some way, she spoke words of reassurance.

  “My love, it was not a criticism, merely an observation. Tonight was more enjoyable and fulfilling than I ever expected, or indeed was led to believe it could be. I am happy to be both.”

  “You will be my wife until I draw my last breath Elizabeth, and that is twice you have called me that. Do not say it if you do not mean it, madam,” he said in a clipped tone before pulling her once more into his embrace. He buried his face in her curls, then pleaded,

  “Dearest Elizabeth, tell me you mean it, do not rip my heart out after only one night. I could not bear it.”

  Elizabeth was aghast as she realised he still doubted her love. After joining with him so completely, she knew she must, with all alacrity, dispel any notions he still held regarding his cousin. This new beginning must be built on mutual trust and respect if they were to build a life together. Unfortunately, this would mean she must break her promise to Colonel Fitzwilliam. As Darcy had witnessed their meeting with his own eyes and then jumped to the wrong conclusion, it could not be helped. Richard would understand.

  Untangling herself from his arms, she struggled to sit up while pulling at the blanket that covered her nakedness. Once comfortable and modestly covered, she looked down at her husband, lines of worry and doubt etched on his face.

  “William, do you remember how you declared your love for me at the Lucas Ball?” He nodded, and she continued. “Until that moment, I thought you saw me as a drug you must have, an itch you must scratch. I thought, wrongly, that once you had done so, you would turn into a typical husband of the Ton, seconding me at Pemberley while you found your amusement in town. I did not want to lose my heart to such a man. I was fighting falling in love with you, so I would not be hurt. For such an astute man, I am surprised you did not see it. After you had declared how ardently you loved me, I felt free to acknowledge my own feeling, to let my love grow. I only intend to give my heart once my love, and that I have done joyously.”

  Darcy’s face broke into a wondrous smile, and he began moving forward to recapture her in his arms, but Elizabeth held up her hand in denial.

  “William, although it pains me to break a confidence, I find I must do so in order to set something straight between us. This time, you must let me speak. If we are to embark on a life of what I hope is marital harmony, we have to discuss what transpired between the colonel and myself at Lucas Lodge.”

  Over the last few days, Elizabeth had rehearsed her declaration several times but had found no opportunity to deliver it. Now she must.

  Taking a deep breath, she slowly began.

  “I do not now, nor have I at any time in the past, held your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam in any regards other than that of a friend and now cousin.”

  She waited for his response.

  Darcy mulled over her words, then in a tone of resignation said,

  “Elizabeth if you tell me you have re-evaluated your feelings for Fitzwilliam, I will believe you, but I feel honour bound to inform you that I witnessed what transpired at Lucas Lodge. You cannot deny what my own eyes have perceived.”

  Elizabeth’s heart ached over his misconception, and now pain.

  She took his hand in her own and held his gaze.

  “Yes, I know William, but you did not hear the words that we exchanged. It is true that your cousin declared to hold me in a higher regard than a sister, but I professed my love and loyalty to you, most ardently. I rejected him with as much kindness and compassion as I could. I am determined that his so-called feelings for me, spring only from a longing to have what we now share.”

  “But when we were last in here together, and I took you in my arms, you called out his name?”

  “No William, I called out your name.” T
hen she added playfully, “You are Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, are you not?”

  Darcy let her words sink in for a moment. She had loved him even before they were married.

  Then propping himself up on one elbow he asked,

  “So you have never had romantic feelings for Richard, of any kind, ever?”

  “No, never. You alone have touched my heart.”

  “Then I have been an arrogant fool, Elizabeth. There is no denying it; I have thought ill of you these last days and let my pride get in the way of ending my agony sooner. Had I let you speak of it when first you tried, we might have resolved the matter days ago. I have wasted three whole days of being in your arms. Can you forgive me, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth?” he pleaded, the remorse evident in his face and voice.

  “I can, and I do. Now come, ’tis Christmas Day and I have not given you my gift yet,” she said moving to retrieve the cotton handkerchief she had painstakingly embroidered.

  “You have not?” he teased, “but I thought…”

  And at his implication, Elizabeth picked up a nearby cushion and threw it at him. With lightning reflexes, Darcy caught her wrist and then effortlessly executed a turn, pinning her under him.

  “Mrs Darcy, do you mean to inflict some kind of retribution on your husband’s person after being wed only a trio of days?” he inquired playfully.

  Elizabeth wriggled until her hands were free and then lifted her arms up to curl them around his neck.

  Looking deep into his eyes, she gently pulled his lips to meet hers and softly said,

  “Most assuredly Mr Darcy, most assuredly.”

  EPILOGUE

  Having just celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary, Darcy and Elizabeth stood in the main hallway admiring their handiwork. This year the tree was even more magnificent than usual.

  “And now the finishing touch,” Darcy said.

  He pulled a black velvet pouch from his pocket, gently removed its contents, and then handed them to Elizabeth.

  “Oh, William they are beautiful, an excellent match to the others too,” she gushed. “When did you have the boys sit for them?”

  She ran her finger along the silhouette likenesses of their two sons. Darcy, who now stood behind her, placed his arms around her waist and chuckled.

  “You know as well as I, they are not still long enough for anyone to capture their likeness. Do you remember when Byron and his friend came to dine last month? You were visiting Charles and Jane I believe?” She nodded.

  “Well, his friend was Auguste Edouart, a French silhouettist. Byron assured me he was the best there is, quite famous in his homeland apparently. Mrs Annesley brought the boys down for a couple of hours; and somehow, he managed to make several good sketches.”

  Turning Elizabeth around, Darcy captured her face in his palms, to earnestly ask,

  “Are you truly pleased, my love?

  “Oh, yes, William, very much so.”

  She reached up to enjoy the taste of his lips for a moment and then freed herself to go over to the tree. Thoughtfully, she placed each of them on a branch between her and Darcy’s likeness. Returning to link her arm through his, they stood quietly for a moment.

  “Perfect,” Darcy said.

  “Well almost, I feel it lacks something,” Elizabeth replied playfully.

  “How so my dear?” he asked, sounding just like her father.

  “Maybe, this time, it will be a girl, that way we may redress the balance a little, do you think?” Elizabeth quietly murmured.

  Darcy drew in a sharp breath; could Elizabeth be with child again?

  “My love, are we to be blessed again?”

  The smile on Elizabeth’s face told him it was indeed true. He took her in his arms and lifted her into the air, spinning her around and around.

  “William,” she squealed with laughter.

  “I am the happiest man alive,” he said as he gently lowered her into his embrace.

  “Truly Elizabeth, you give me more joy than any one man deserves. My dearest, lovely, Elizabeth.”

  Relaxing in the warm water of her bath, Elizabeth closed her eyes and thought how fortunate she was. Apart from a brief period of discord some four years ago, her life both before and after her marriage had been truly blessed. All her siblings were happy and settled, as were her parents. And she and William were blissfully happy.

  Mary had eventually married the easy-going Reverend Muir, and although wed three years now, they had no children of their own. It seemed they were not to be blessed in that way. Acknowledging their sorrow and thankful for his own two sons, Darcy had financed a small children’s refuge centre for them. Most of the children were fleeing the London workhouses, with a few others being orphans or foundlings. Often on the brink of starvation and beaten with little provocation, they were grateful to receive some much-needed love and security. For the very young ones, they looked for foster homes, and for the older children, suitable employment. It was rewarding work and lessened Mary’s pain. As for Reverend Muir, he proclaimed it would bring salvation to all their little souls.

  Kitty and Lydia had done extremely well during the two years they attended the Academy for Young Ladies in Bath. They became quite genteel, with only the occasional outbreak of hoyden-like behaviour.

  On their return to Meryton, Mr Bennet had insisted Lydia agree to a meeting with Mr Johnson! It turned out that they liked each other very well, and after only a six-month courtship, they were married. He enjoyed being a farmer, but being in his early twenties lacked practical knowledge. Darcy had recognised his need for assistance after just a few conversations. To make his land work efficiently, Darcy had advised him on crop rotation, field irrigation, cattle husbandry and the importance of being a good landlord. Consequently, he had increased his yield by almost two-fold. More money for Lydia to spend, Elizabeth mused.

  Kitty had been introduced to a nice young gentleman, David Benedict, at one of her Aunt Gardiner’s soirees. He owned a modest cotton plantation in the West Indies, and though not of the same standing as Darcy or Bingley, his yearly income was sufficient to afford him a comfortable living. Having courted Kitty and gained Mr Bennet’s consent to wed her, he purchased a small manor house near to Lydia. It had not been long before they too were married. He expressed an interest in expanding his plantation into sugar beet, so Darcy arranged a meeting with an agriculturalist from Jamaica. When he realised the expense would stretch his pockets, Darcy loaned him the capital. Already, it was showing enough profit for him to begin repayments to the Pemberley estate. With all of them prospering, children soon followed, with a son for Kitty and a daughter for Lydia. Her three younger sisters enjoyed frequent visits to Longbourn, where the cousins played happily with the children from the refuge. After a year of quiet solitude, Longbourn was again filled with laughter and the noise of happy children. Mrs Bennet was pleased to feel useful again, all the while declaring she was far too young to be called grandmamma.

  Jane and Charles gave up the lease on Netherfield Park shortly after returning from their honeymoon. They both found being only three miles from Longbourn too much of a temptation for Mrs Bennet and her daily visits. On Darcy’s recommendation, they inspected, and then purchased, a similar property only ten miles from the Pemberley border. Bingley was still the most congenial and happiest of men she had ever met, more in love with her sister every day. They also had been blessed with children, twin daughters that were the image of Jane, but unsurprisingly with a shock of strawberry blonde hair like their father. Elizabeth was sure there would be many more Bingley children to come.

  Her parents, now the only full-time inhabitants of Longbourn, found that they were still quite fond of each other, even Mrs Bennet’s nerves had improved. The danger of her having to live in the hedgerow, as she had so often bemoaned in the past, had been removed. Charlotte, having already produced a daughter, was about to deliver her second child when she was suddenly widowed. Mr Collins, unhappy that Charlotte had produced a girl, wa
s at the grave of his late patroness, Lady Catherine de Burgh when it happened. He was bemoaning about the incompetence of his wife and her inability to provide him with a son and heir when he enthused too much and suffered a fatal heart attack. After his funeral, Charlotte produced the much-wanted son, but now had no husband, no home and no income. Ever the gentleman, Darcy had stepped in and offered Charlotte a solution. He would purchase her a cottage in Meryton near her parents and provide her with a comfortable allowance. In return, she would sign over all rights to the entail on Longbourn, which she had gratefully accepted. Although both properties would remain in Mr Darcy’s name, her parents and Charlotte were secured of a home for their lifetime.

  Lady Catherine had died shortly after Darcy and Elizabeth’s wedding. She had suffered an apoplectic fit while venting her anger at Darcy’s desertion of his duty to Anne. Anne, on the other hand, had flourished since her mother’s demise, growing stronger every day. Having taken over the running of Rosings, she was now a wealthy woman in her own right. Then last year she had married her mother’s lawyer, who had secretly been in love with her for years. He had even asked Lady Catherine’s permission to court Anne once but was rebuffed with scorn. On bearing a healthy son last year, she had followed the family tradition and baptised him Fitzwilliam Darcy Richard Felix De Burgh. He would be called Felix after his father. They too were frequent visitors to Pemberley, and Elizabeth and Anne had become firm friends. Elizabeth chuckled, what would Lady Catherine say!

  And then there was Georgiana. Elizabeth did not think having another sister would add to her life, but she had been wrong. Once their misunderstanding over Richard had been resolved, Elizabeth found getting to know Darcy’s sister a great pleasure. Georgiana’s confidence continued to grow, and the distasteful events pertaining to George Wickham were all but a distant memory. Elizabeth and Lady Matlock had given her a dazzling coming out ball, and when presented at court, even the king had commented on her beauty. Then she spent a season in London with her Aunt Matlock, attending balls, the theatre and every other social event possible. Many titled and noble suitors wanted to court her, all of which she refused. She had already lost her heart, and with Darcy’s complete blessing, she had married a few months ago. They were now settled in a beautiful estate an easy fifty miles away. Her husband was the second son of Lord and Lady Matlock, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, retired. He had inherited an estate from a distant uncle and was now a respectable landowner. Both Elizabeth and Darcy had forgiven Richard years ago, knowing his declaration to Elizabeth was merely a hiccup on his road to true love. He had apologised profusely on their first meeting after their wedding, but now it was all forgotten, and harmony between them was restored.