Darcy raised his head, and Elizabeth gazed into his eyes, so full of his love for her, and could not help but smile. “So you have discovered,” she whispered. He kissed her again, tenderly, and they spent the rest of their wedding night engaged in numerous activities meant to reassure each other of their fervent devotion.
Chapter 21
Needless to say, the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy did not rise at their usual early hour the following morning. Having been intimately engaged in passionate occupations throughout the course of the night, sleep had no claim on them until the very first rays of dawn began to show themselves through the windows. Nestled together in an intimate embrace, with Darcy’s chest pressed firmly against Elizabeth’s back, they finally allowed themselves to succumb to exhaustion.
Some time after nine o’clock, Darcy awoke, still cradling Elizabeth in his arms. He inhaled deeply of her scent, which permeated his pillow, his counterpane, his entire body. He found the sight of her, with her tousled mane of curls and her creamy skin, intoxicating, and, no longer able to resist the feel of her body snuggled against his, Darcy feathered gentle kisses upon the woman sleeping so soundly in his arms. After kissing, caressing, and stroking Elizabeth into a state of desire, he made her his own once more, spilling his seed into her as he gasped her name against the curve of her neck. Then they slept again. Every few hours they would awaken, teasing, tasting, making love to one another, sometimes with exquisite care, sometimes with wild abandon. Afterward, both would collapse, breathless, their limbs entangled and their bodies slick and heaving from taking their pleasure.
When they finally abandoned the comfort of their bed, it was well past the noon hour, and having eaten very little the night before, Darcy rang for a tray to be brought to them in their sitting room. This experience was a new one for Elizabeth, who, having never before spent a full night, an entire morning, and part of an afternoon, cloistered in a bedchamber with Darcy, could not but feel somewhat awkward when she heard two servants enter the outer room.
There, they found a tray ladened with an assortment of delicacies. They partook of the bounty before them at a leisurely pace, Darcy hand-feeding her pieces of succulent fruit and Elizabeth teasing him with kisses upon his neck while he enjoyed a particularly heavenly chocolate torte. The dessert was soon abandoned in favor of far more satisfying fare, namely his wife, and they spent another hour or so unaware of anything beyond each other.
* * *
They lay spent, Elizabeth stroking her husband’s chest while he toyed with one of her long curls. Then he tilted his head closer to her and placed a kiss upon the top of her head. “What should you like to do this evening, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked in a lazy, contented voice.
She was thoughtful for a moment before responding with a laugh. “I believe, Mr. Darcy, that I should very much like to take a hot bath.”
“Mmm. An excellent idea,” he said. He kissed her again and then reluctantly rose. “Shall we use mine, then, or would you prefer we use the one in your rooms?” he asked as he slipped into his robe.
Elizabeth stared at him. “We? Do you mean to say that you intend to join me, sir?”
Darcy nodded.
“In my bath?” she asked, her tone incredulous and her brow raised nearly to her hairline.
“Yes,” he said, but then noticed her frown. “Surely this does not bother you?”
“I am surprised, that is all,” Elizabeth stammered. “I have never before shared my bath, Fitzwilliam.”
He returned to her and placed a kiss upon her lips as his hand caressed the softness of her cheek. “I am very relieved to hear it,” he said with a low growl and a roguish gleam in his eye. He kissed her again, this time more deeply, drawing forth a long sigh of satisfaction from Elizabeth after he released her. “Come, my wife,” he said, “and I shall attend you.”
* * *
The days immediately following the wedding were amongst the happiest Darcy and Elizabeth had ever known. The couple found great enjoyment being in one another’s society, spending an inordinate amount of time abovestairs in the master’s chambers, enraptured with one another. Quite unused to seeing the very proper and otherwise conventional master of Pemberley flouting even the most minuscule customs of propriety, the staff of Darcy House soon found themselves unprepared for the unguarded and rather amorous behavior they caught him engaging in with his pretty new wife in public locations throughout the house, including, but not limited to, stolen kisses and intimate embraces in the hallway abovestairs, in the conservatory, in the master’s study, in the breakfast parlor, in the music room, and in the library.
Not at all eager to embrace the prospect of receiving callers at Darcy House so soon after having installed his lovely bride to her rightful place within, the master gave strict instructions to Mrs. Hildebrandt and the rest of his staff that he and Mrs. Darcy were not at home to visitors, and therefore, under no circumstances, save for the gravest of family emergencies, were they to be disturbed by company until well into the new year. If left solely to Darcy, the couple would easily have remained sequestered for many weeks, nay, many months on end, however impractical that may have proven to have been.
While content to remain exclusively in her husband’s society, Elizabeth could not, in all good conscience, forego celebrating the Christmas holidays with her family so long as they chose to remain in London. Therefore, on the twenty-fourth of December, it was with no small degree of difficulty she finally managed to persuade her uncooperative and surprisingly petulant husband to dress for dinner and order their carriage to deliver them to Gracechurch Street. There, they would pass the evening in the most agreeable company of her aunt and uncle, father and eldest sister, and, for Darcy, at least, the almost unbearably trying company of her mother and three younger sisters.
As could be expected, dining once again with the Bennets was a lively affair, made even more so by the addition of Bingley, Georgiana, and the Gardiners’ four young children, all under the age of eight, whose excellent manners, incidentally, Darcy was not the least bit surprised to see far surpassed those of their elder cousin Lydia. Even after several days under the solicitous instruction and care of Lady Matlock, Lydia still appeared to be the same wild, flirtatious young woman she had been before; perhaps made even more so since Colonel Fitzwilliam was installed under the same roof, leading her to fancy herself enamored with him at all hours of the day and well into the night. Upon hearing her regale her mother with accounts of her outlandish escapades and machinations, all designed and executed at the expense of ensnaring the colonel, Darcy winced and fervently prayed that his cousin would not hold his outright denial for asylum in Darcy House against him. Indeed, his conscience was so guilt ridden that, should Colonel Fitzwilliam happen to show up on the doorstep later that very night begging his assistance, Darcy swore to himself he would permit his poor cousin occupancy for the duration of the Bennets’ stay in Town, even if it should be another month complete; though nothing, he suspected, would make up for the very great imposition of being the object of Lydia Bennet’s attentions.
Though they were a large party, Mrs. Gardiner chose to keep the dinner informal by leaving her guests to select their own seating arrangements, thus ensuring all in attendance were happily situated and at ease with their dinner partners. While Elizabeth was more than pleased to sit with her new sister to her right, Darcy was not so happy to have to relinquish the chair to her left to Mr. Bennet, who made a show of claiming the honor of his daughter’s company on the occasion. Fearing he would be left conversing with Mrs. Bennet, Mary Bennet, or, worse still, with an exuberant Kitty or Lydia, Darcy seized the opportunity of sitting beside Mr. Gardiner, with Jane to his left. With Bingley seated on her left, Darcy could hardly expect his sister-in-law to be an attentive dinner companion, but it hardly mattered, as he had found Elizabeth’s uncle far from wanting in that respect whenever he had been in company with him. Throughout the meal, they had intelligent discourse on all manner of subje
cts, oftentimes including Mrs. Gardiner in their discussions, who, to Darcy’s immense pleasure, seemed to be particularly knowledgeable and well informed on all aspects of her husband’s business affairs and political interests.
The entire party attended church services together at the cathedral located in the same area of town in which the Gardiners lived. Darcy was thankful for this arrangement, as it afforded Elizabeth and him some much-desired privacy—far more, he knew, than they would have received had they chosen to attend his own church near their neighborhood in Grosvenor Square, where many people knew him by sight, rather than by name and reputation alone. The service was very beautiful, and, not for the first time, Darcy found himself watching his wife, whose warm smile and glistening eyes were an indication of how moved she was by the miraculous spirit of the season. Darcy squeezed her hand and held fast to her until it was time to quit the church. Even then, he found himself willing to release her only until they had reached the privacy of their carriage, where he promptly took her in his arms and held her as the coach swayed and rocked over the cobbled streets on its way back to their Mayfair neighborhood.
By the time they arrived home, it was very late, and Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to retire to the warmth and comfort of Darcy’s arms. She quickly dressed for bed and joined him in his room, slipping beneath the counterpane to be enveloped by her husband’s embrace. She sighed in contentment as his lips caressed her curls. “How I have longed to have you to myself all evening,” he murmured against her hair. “You looked beautiful tonight in your crimson gown. I daresay you must have done it on purpose to torture me.”
Elizabeth let out a soft laugh as she snuggled against his chest. “Yes, I see you have finally figured it out, Fitzwilliam! No, my vanity will never again be satisfied with my being considered only tolerable. Heaven forbid you should once again find me ‘not handsome enough to tempt you’! As the wife of the formidable Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, it would be most unpardonable on my part. And you are now well aware that I loathe to be a cause of disappointment to you, my dearest husband.”
“You delight in teasing me, do you? Shall those wretched words never cease to haunt me, Elizabeth?” he asked with a rueful smile. Then, in a more serious tone, he said, “It was extremely ill-mannered of me to ever utter such an untruth. Though it is hardly an excuse, I fear I was far from being in a good humor that evening. I am afraid I was prepared to say anything to have Bingley leave me in peace, even at the risk of wounding the most beautiful young lady at the assembly.” His fingers skimmed over her shoulder, sending shivers of desire through Elizabeth. “I do not believe I have ever regretted saying anything more in my life than I have those words. Will you never forgive me?”
“My love”—she laughed lightly—“I hardly think I would have married you one week ago had I not already done so.” She tilted her head up to him in order to look upon his face. “Truly, Fitzwilliam, it has long been forgot; however, as your wife, I must reserve the right to tease you about it on occasion.”
“Apparently, it has not been long forgot, but very well, my lovely wife, if you insist, I must then reserve the right to do this on occasion.” He then leaned in to kiss her. “Do you object, Mrs. Darcy?” he whispered.
She swallowed and, with heavily lidded eyes, shook her head. “Who am I to object to something that brings us both such pleasure?”
“Elizabeth,” he said in a ragged voice, his eyes filled with desire, “you cannot possibly know the true extent of what loving you has done to me. You have become everything to me, Elizabeth—everything.”
He kissed her again, teasing her lips apart with his tongue so he could taste all the delights of her mouth as he clasped her body firmly against his. “Everything,” he breathed, over and over again. “Everything,” as he slowly eased her back onto the pillows and covered her body with his. “Everything,” as he tasted and tantalized her in all the ways he knew would bring her pleasure, and finally, a softly gasped, “Lizzy,” as he skillfully brought them both over the edge of their passion, the familiar, dizzying waves of ecstasy washing over them in a release so poignant, so powerful, it would cost them every remaining ounce of energy they possessed between them.
* * *
Elizabeth awoke the following morning to find Darcy observing her with an expression of contentment. She stretched and laid her hand upon his cheek, which, having not yet been shaven, felt delightfully abrasive. “Merry Christmas, Fitzwilliam,” she purred.
Darcy caressed her lips with his own. “Merry Christmas, my sweetest Elizabeth,” he murmured happily. Before he could return his lips to hers for another kiss, however, she gently pushed him away and sat up.
“I almost forgot! Wait right here, and do not leave before I return.” And with that, she threw back the counterpane, wrapped herself in her discarded dressing gown, and hurried to the door that joined her husband’s rooms with hers. She returned in a moment with a small, neatly wrapped box and handed it to Darcy with a look of delight as she climbed back under the covers.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It is a present, my dearest,” she replied, barely managing to contain her pleasure.
“Elizabeth, there is no need for you to give me any gifts.”
“Yes, I know, but I wanted to give you this gift. You have been so wonderful to me, and I merely wished to do something special for you in return. Now open it, Fitzwilliam, before Christmas is over and the New Year is upon us!”
Darcy smiled and began to remove the thick paper surrounding the box. He lifted the lid to find several gentlemen’s handkerchiefs, all embroidered with his monogram. He removed them and was about to compliment her on the fine quality of her workmanship, when he beheld a beautifully painted miniature of his beloved wife staring up at him, a glint of mischief in her eyes, which the artist had captured to perfection. “Elizabeth! This is absolutely exquisite. It is exactly what I have most desired, after having been so fortunate as to acquire the original, of course,” he said with a grin. “Thank you. I shall carry it with me and treasure it always.”
Elizabeth beamed. “You are very welcome. I was hoping you would.”
Darcy ran his finger over the glass covering the miniature, caressing with tenderness the tiny version of his wife. “It is truly an excellent likeness of you. Did you sit for it while you have been in London?”
Elizabeth smiled. “No, I had it framed in London. I sat for it when I was still in Hertfordshire.”
“Hertfordshire? May I ask the name of the artist?”
“Bennet,” she replied.
It was not what Darcy had expected to hear. “Bennet?”
“My sister Kitty has many talents aside from that of chasing after poor, unsuspecting officers with Lydia. She was very pleased to do it and took great pleasure in the knowledge that it would be my gift to you. I believe she has never before concentrated so much of her effort on one tiny painting!”
“It is a small masterpiece. I had no idea Katherine was so gifted. She would benefit greatly from having a London master, do not you think?”
“That she would, indeed; however, my parents hardly have the means to support such an endeavor.”
Darcy looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “And are you not the mistress of Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy? Surely, we can well afford to have your sister stay with us in Town and forward her education.”
Elizabeth kissed him soundly. “You are truly a generous man, Fitzwilliam.”
He laughed. “Yes, I certainly am!” He removed himself from her embrace and left the bed to procure a small, elegantly wrapped parcel from his own dressing room. When he returned, he presented it to Elizabeth with a flourish and resumed his place beside her under the counterpane.
Without ceremony, she eagerly tore off the wrapping, exclaiming with pleasure at the delicately painted porcelain box she cradled in her hands.
Darcy lifted the hinged lid, and a beautiful melody began to fill the room. Elizabeth smiled as he explained, “I
t is a waltz. It is still considered quite scandalous in England, but I assure you it is very popular in Austria. A gentleman and a lady twirl and glide across the dance floor, holding one another quite close. It is very beautiful to watch but, I daresay, highly inappropriate.” He smiled as he gave her a penetrating look of longing. “I am determined to dance with you someday while I hold you in my arms, Elizabeth. No doubt, it will bring me immense pleasure.”
She placed the music box upon the nightstand and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, until then, sir, perhaps you will allow me to bring you immense pleasure in some other way?”
“I would by no means wish to suspend any pleasure of yours, Mrs. Darcy.”
* * *
Christmas day at the Fitzwilliams’ home in Berkeley Square was, most unfortunately, a far cry from the pleasurable evening Darcy and Elizabeth had spent with her family in Gracechurch Street the night before. Though Elizabeth did experience many enjoyable moments conversing with Georgiana, Lord and Lady Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and his brothers, she found very little pleasure in the society of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who also happened to be in attendance with her daughter, Anne.
Contrary to Elizabeth’s expectations, Darcy’s cousin proved to be quite the opposite of her mother—slight and frail, extremely pale, and almost sickly in appearance. She spoke very little to anyone, or rather, Lady Catherine did not permit her to voice more than a few syllables before interrupting. Elizabeth noticed Miss de Bourgh’s sickly pallor took on a crimson hue, not only whenever her mother treated her in such an unfeeling and controlling manner, but also whenever she happened to attempt to malign Elizabeth and even Darcy, for what she deemed his inappropriate choice of wife. Though she was a young woman of very large fortune and the sole heiress to Rosings Park, which Elizabeth had understood from Mr. Collins’s accounts to be a very grand estate, Elizabeth could not help but feel pity for Miss de Bourgh. In spite of her obvious wealth, her life seemed to hold little in the way of pleasure.
Truth about Mr. Darcy Page 23