Darcy & Elizabeth

by Linda Berdoll

  The more that she thought of it, the more she considered their interrupted encore a blessing. If things had proceeded in the same fashion as they had begun, it was likely nothing of her newly disfigured form would have been left to his imagination. The recollection sent Elizabeth into heart palpitations of a sort that she had not felt since her wedding night—but now of an entirely different nature. Her current anxiety stemmed not from anticipating the mysteries of connubial pleasures, but from the enlightenment. She knew what immeasurable rapture they beheld.

  So vivid was the recollection of his hand as it stroked the inside of her thigh, she was incited to reach for her fan. She did so reflexively, her hand absently searching the chair cushion until she found it by its tassel. She unfurled it, and began to flutter it demurely. The recollection of his touch soon gave way to one that she had not seen for far too long—Darcy in all his naked glory. Hence, she began to flap her fan with greater and greater abandon—but to little avail. Once she began to visit her most intimate memories, they quite overran her thoughts.

  ***

  Although of late he had taken to wearing a night-shirt and she her night-dress, there was a time when they both were given to sleeping naked as the day they were born. That penchant had been established upon the first morning of their marriage. As it happened, the servants had slipped into the Darcys’ bedchamber early to light the fires and open the drapes. She had been mortified for it to be exposed to the household that their new mistress had taken her night so immodestly. Thenceforward, Darcy had gallantly undertaken the chore of opening the drapes each morning. That served the dual purpose not only of sparing her embarrassment, but also assuring the continuation of their eschewing night-wear. (Evidently, he had transgressed generations of morning ritual in telling the servants never to intrude into their bedchamber unless the bell-cord was pulled.) Although they had not spoken a word of it between them, she had come to consider his assuming this duty as nothing less than a personal gift. Had he known of her feelings, he might have believed her gratitude was simply for his protecting her modesty before the servants. But it was not.

  As it happened, when she would feel him leave their bed and walk to the windows each morning, she had not been above feigning sleep to peek at his naked figure. The sight of his broad back, sinewy limbs, and firm buttocks had been a voluptuous thrill that she never tired of viewing. Initially she had suffered a mild attack of panic when he turned about and sauntered back to the bed—torn whether to shut her eyes and continue the subterfuge of sleep or enjoy the pleasure of observing the more fascinating vision he presented as he walked towards her. (The first occasion upon which she had done so had been a small mortification in that it was probable that her gaze was not once cast upon his countenance.) Observing his various appendages swaying gracefully as he strode in her direction caused her heart to palpitate wildly. Initially, she had told herself that spying was merely investigative. Having only sisters and no brothers, she had absolutely no familiarity with the male of the species. As to why she continued to gaze upon him long after she was acquainted with every inch of his body was a matter that she saw no reason to question.

  When the weather was warm, he returned to their bed and drew the bed-clothes from her and awakened her from her pretended sleep by kissing her shoulders. Chilly days began much the same, but rather than remove the bed-clothes, he leapt beneath them to warm his cold feet against hers. With the same regularity that gifted her with his icy feet, she would protest—and he would pretend innocence. Playfulness often led to amatory embraces, but either way their mornings began, they commenced with some constancy.

  At nightfall, a far different course was taken.

  In the night, their pleasure was a sensual indulgence—lit by candles. Indeed, one candle was not enough. From their very first nights together, he insisted upon a twelve-pronged candelabrum—one that emitted more light than a blazing fireplace. But most unnerving to her, he had taken a single candle from its pricket, and with his soft palm guiding the path, drew it thither, illuminating the length of her reclining figure. It was an audaciously sensual act—an eroticism that did not diminish in repetition.

  Not surprisingly, her modesty initially had forbid compleat surrender to his inspection. She smiled to herself when recalling that first intimate perusal; for initially she was not altogether obliging—modesty bid her draw the counterpane across her bosom and up to her chin. But he was mindful of her misgivings and encouraged her with gentle insistence, beguiling her from beneath her cover whilst whispering words of adulation—words which encouraged her to believe herself to be nothing less than his heart’s perfection. So often had he gazed upon her and extolled every inch of her form, her inhibitions had ceased to trouble her. Indeed, it was remarkable with what abandon a woman could indulge when convinced of her own desirability.

  Perhaps her husband understood that (it would be her guess that he did). What she did know was that when the candle was returned to its stand, pleasures of remarkable passion ensued—and hers very nearly eclipsed his. In due time, she was not merely the recipient, but a collaborator. When he drew himself to her, both were in such a state of quivering desire that she wrapped her limbs about him with a ferocity that matched his own. Their initial heat would find an urgent rhythm—purposeful and fierce. It was such sweet delirium that it was difficult to want to surrender to release.

  The scent of his manliness, the sensation of him within her, were enrapturing. But for her, the apex was not her own ultimate pleasure. Rather, it was the Elysian moment of his. To feel the rush of his seed as it washed through her was the ultimate bliss.

  Contemplating their mingled effluences bid her fan flutter even more briskly, but only for a brief time. For her thoughts soon quit those past raptures and returned to her present apprehension. At times her innate mettle suppressed such dread as to be absurd. But then she would catch sight of herself in one of the many mirrors that she seemed unable to avoid, and be reminded of the one that lay beneath their bed. The very mirror that they had once employed for their own titillation had never been removed. It occurred to her that an amatory device such as that might not ever again be a temptation—her figure’s alteration had been far too severe.

  If she could only escape to take to the outdoors, she was certain the air and a brisk walk would lift her spirits—but she had not the opportunity or, truth be told, the strength. Her only comfort was knowing that this was her second pregnancy. Her body had weathered a stillbirth and Darcy had certainly not turned away from her then. Still, a double gestation was twice the ruin. That long-past ordeal was horrific to endure, but her figure had not noticeably suffered. At the time, she had thought it cruel to have absolutely no visible reminder that she had even carried a baby save for its tiny grave. Hence she could not entirely despise swollen breasts and sagging belly when gifted with two such adorable reparations.

  She remained conflicted as time allowed the gradual return to fitness of her insides but not the same kindness to her figure. Indeed, the belief that she might never regain any part of physical allure began to prick her pride. She felt ungainly and unattractive. Under such circumstances, most ladies would have diverted attention from an uninviting form through the adornment of lovely gowns. Alas, that avenue was lost to her. There were but two gowns with buttoned bodices in which she could squeeze her swollen bosom and still-shrinking belly—regrettably both unflattering in cut. One was quite a pretty shade of lemon, the other forget-me-not blue, but mourning a father’s death demanded that they both be dyed black.

  Her night costumes fared no better. Both the size and employment of her bosom did not allow her to fit into her most fetching silk night-dresses. Hence, she was compelled to wear placket-fronted muslin gowns. Jane had offered to send for the seamstress, but Elizabeth threw a shawl about her shoulders and refused. With more conviction than she felt, she told Jane that she would not remain in her present state long enough to merit new frock
s. Her heart, however, told her that if she had new gowns fashioned to fit her newly bloated figure, it was a capitulation to the possibility she might not regain her old one. Had she not suffered enough humiliation, her husband made his displeasure abundantly clear in that for the first time in her recollection he intimated that her wardrobe was deficient, by echoing Jane’s suggestion for new gowns. Undoubtedly she had reacted with excessive indignation at his possibly well-meaning interference. She did not truly take offence, she simply was unhappy to have tangible indication of his notice of her physical deficiencies.

  Hence she stole longing looks in her husband’s direction, but loathed what visage he might observe in return. She pined not only for his touch, but yearned to stroke his manhood to arousal as well. (The single instance of intimacy had betided with such dispatch that they both had reached fulfillment before a caress was enjoyed.) Such ambitions were thwarted, however, by her own uncharacteristic reserve. Had the accusation of reticence been put to her, she would have categorically denied it. For her husband’s virile figure inhabited all her dreams and most of her thoughts. She recalled the pleasures of marital rites past with imprudent constancy for a wife who meant not to engage in them. Indeed, so libidinously was she inclined, she could not sit two minutes in one place without leaping up on some pretext or another—not realizing what a state she was in even when the insides of her knees began to ache from pressing them together.

  The belief she once held that having enjoyed relations once, further pleasures would be anticipated, did not come to pass. But she was far too tenacious and had far too much to lose not to ponder every possibility. There was but one ultimate goal—she wanted to make love to her husband and have his in return. Her secondary concern was to keep the extent of her figure’s ravagement unexposed. If there was nothing she had learnt during marriage to a husband like Darcy, it was that there was more than one way to skin a cat. She knew that it was quite conceivable to have amorous connection and hide her figure. The more she thought of the notion, the more sensible it became. The possibilities were endless—be it in the dark, lifting her skirts in the parlour, or standing on her head.

  But of course to exact any of these measures, she would have to have some part of cooperation from her partner. Regrettably, he remained present enough so as not to incite reproof, but entirely aloof.

  The longer this deadlock persisted, the more earnestly she considered employing that blessed headstand.

  8

  Denial and Dedication

  In the county of Derbyshire, the fortunes of several townships rose and fell with those of its largest landowner. Hence, the tidings that were learnt to have occurred within the walls of Pemberley (or at least upon the road thereto) piqued furious interest—and not just in those who resided within its dominion. Not surprisingly, when it came to pass that an heir to Pemberley finally (if somewhat tardily) was produced, it was heralded not just throughout the surrounding countryside, but parts beyond. Indubitably, however, the keenest interest was held by those whose very livelihood was contingent upon those of the Pemberley estate.

  Owing to the very length of the wait, all and sundry within this fraternity were delighted to the brink of giddiness to have their anticipation rewarded by not one child, but twins. (By virtue that the first of the two born to Mr. Darcy was the all-important male-child, everyone had found pleasure in near-equal measure for the happy surprise of the new young master’s sister.) Therefore, it was of no particular astonishment that the celebration rejoicing this double blessing all but eclipsed that which was held to honour Mr. Darcy’s wedding some years past. To denote a milestone of such import, a repast of some extravagance had been furnished through the villages gratis by the family. As the repast was complemented with an abundance of ale, there was no prompting needed for more than a few glasses to be raised to the health of the newest members of the Darcy family circle.

  No one, however, felt more happiness upon their behalf than those in the Darcys’ immediate employ.

  Pemberley was an estate of illustrious repute and despite Mr. Darcy’s dour reputation, the couple was known to be very happily settled. More telling of their true nature than what country gossips prattled was that those retainers nearest to the Darcys were their most loyal defenders. The couple inspired a fond admiration in their personal servants—a highly uncommon sentiment for one who carries a chamber pot. But this partiality held true to all who were in their service. Therefore, when the Darcys’ marriage was at last blessed with children, joviality and elation competed for expression not only from housekeeper and steward, but from scullery maids to stable hands.

  Chief amongst those well-wishers was Mrs. Darcy’s lady-maid, Hannah Moorhouse.

  She was not the most senior servant at Pemberley—that distinction was held by the housekeeper. In her few short years with Mrs. Darcy, Hannah was certain that no one surpassed herself in devotion. Her office of lady-maid was held with the utmost diligence and utter dedication. Moreover, she had a further distinction—although she was far too modest to remind other maids of the fact. She, Hannah Moorhouse, had been the only member of the Pemberley staff chosen by Mrs. Darcy herself. Still kept safely hidden amongst her personal effects was the sheet of vellum affixed with the Darcy seal that had summoned her to come for that initial interview. It was folded thrice and secured at the bottom of the bijouterie that Mrs. Darcy had given her the first Christmas after her employment. Had there been any question before, that beautiful gift secured the maid’s undying esteem for her mistress. It was a regard that had only strengthened over time—seasons of joy and seasons filled with heartbreak. Had her lady not been so admirable, Hannah was of a sort who would still have been dedicated to do her bidding, she just would not have done so with such a full heart.

  Hannah was prouder of nothing more than how closely she guarded Mrs. Darcy’s privacy. Other maids could find no greater diversion than to titter amongst themselves whilst betraying their mistresses’ confidences. There were certainly confidences enough for a lady-maid to betray. For she was privy to her lady’s most intimate concerns, be it in what bed she slept or what she did or did not wear whilst there. Hannah’s office was simplified by her mistress’s singular love life, but what occasioned within the confines of her marriage would have been fodder enough to suit any busybody. As an unmarried woman, Hannah was not so unschooled as to be unaware of the passionate nature of the Darcys’ conjugal bed—or anywhere else they happened to engage in conjugal rites (and those places were legion).

  It was Hannah who stood at her lady’s door when Mr. Darcy made unexpected visits to her dressing-room. It was Hannah who saw to it that their soiled linens were not gossiped about either. She knew almost before Mrs. Darcy when she might be with child and despaired with her when the monthly evidence arrived, announcing that she was not. Hannah fancied she knew Mrs. Darcy well-nigh as well as Mr. Darcy did. Perhaps she did not love Mrs. Darcy as deeply as did he, but she cared for her just as truly. She did not suppose that Mrs. Darcy bestowed affection in the same fashion for her—that was not fitting. She was, after all, merely a maid. But she was certain that her lady harboured fondness for her. That was in Mrs. Darcy’s nature. And as was in Hannah’s nature, that small fondness was all she required.

  ***

  There were but two small matters that worried her. Both involved persons of the opposite gender—one disturbance came about because of his being a man and the other despite it.

  The first was not truly a romantic entanglement. As a lady-maid, it was not in her province either to marry or to entertain the notion of a lover. Yet she had harboured tender feelings towards Mr. Darcy’s man-servant for some time. Not initially—it was an attraction that had taken hold of her over several years. She was well aware that it was an altogether odd business for her to be attracted to such a man as Harold Goodwin. For although he was not physically repellent, neither was he particularly well-favoured by nature—he was fine-
boned as a maiden, and his countenance was troubled by narrow eyes and a thin mouth. His manners, however, were superb and his hair-tonic smelt like lavender—she could hardly be in his company without her heart skipping a beat. Moreover, the only thing that rivalled his devotion to his own toilette was his devotion to Mr. Darcy’s privacy. As often Mr. Darcy’s privacy and her mistresses’ privacy were one in the same, this was not an unimportant leaning.

  It was just as well that romance was denied them, for robust Hannah and the bird-breasted Goodwin would have made an unlikely pair—what with Goodwin’s mincing walk and Hannah’s earthy ways. That incongruity might have occurred to Hannah as well had she allowed herself to think of them as a couple. But she had not. For it was understood that even if she were willing to leave Mrs. Darcy’s service, a gentleman’s gentleman could never marry either. In the unlikelihood that he returned her affection, both could not lose their positions. In some houses even a hint of romance between servants was reason to be let go. Hannah wanted to believe that Mrs. Darcy would not be so unyielding, but it seemed unlikely that several hundred years of custom might be rent on her account. Hannah was far too happy in her situation to risk losing it over what was only a distant possibility.

  And a “distant possibility” was most probably an overstatement. For Goodwin had not given her any indication that he returned her esteem. In fact, his behaviour towards her was that of compleat indifference—at least when he was not carping over some offence against propriety that he perceived she had committed. It had always been a bone of contention between the two—Goodwin’s family had been in service of the Darcys for generations and he considered Hannah an upstart. Despite that, Hannah knew they were quite of the same mind. Both served the Darcys second only to God. It was most likely the prominence of loyalty in his character that Hannah found most endearing—that and his seeming dismissal of her. (Although it was a truism that few things piqued womanly interest in a man with greater regularity than inaccessibility, Hannah was not worldly enough to have learnt it.) Harold Goodwin most certainly was not in want of inaccessibility. Her unrequited yearning was quite all Hannah desired from him. He had been the perfect gentleman in his aloofness.