The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Victoria Kincaid

  Returning to the edge of the couch once more, he took her hand gently. “Please do not believe that I mistrust your affection….It is simply so…sudden. Two weeks ago I despaired of even establishing a friendship with you. It is hard to believe my good fortune.”

  “Good fortune? Being hunted by the French government and trapped in a country house with a sick woman?” she asked wryly.

  “I do call it very good fortune,” he said simply. Then, overcome with love for her, he leaned forward to kiss her gently, more carefully than before. His heart was full of months of pent-up passion for Elizabeth, but knew that he needed to go slowly. He feared demanding more than she was prepared to give – especially in her weakened state. Nor did he want to render her uncomfortable with his ardor. At Hunsford, he had made the mistake of believing he understood her degree of affection for him. If she required time to accustom herself to the physical side of marriage, he would give it to her. He broke it off slowly and regretfully, but her eyes were smoldering with a passion that threatened to shred his self-control.

  It took every ounce of self-mastery to stand and prepare to leave the room, but Elizabeth captured his hand. “Please do not leave yet.” He closed his eyes; how could he resist such an entreaty – one that was so much in accord with his own instincts? Yielding to the pull of her hand, he sank down next to her once more.

  “Elizabeth,” the word came out like a groan, “I wish to stay – very much. But you are recovering…”

  “Yes, however I am not made of spun glass! Besides, I am certain the doctor would consider this beneficial activity,” she gave him a coy smile.

  “You do not know how irresistible you are,” he moaned as he leaned over for another kiss. This time she placed her hands around his neck and pulled him closer. He surrendered to the impulse to bury his hands in her hair, which felt softer and more luxurious than he had even imagined. His hands dislodged most of her hairpins and he could feel some of her hair tumble down her back as he pressed her up against the side of the couch, enjoying the sensation of his firm body bearing down on her yielding softness. All he could smell was the intoxicating combination of lilac and Elizabeth. His hands, denied for so long, stroked all the available skin on her arms and shoulders and neck, noticing that it was even softer and smoother than he had imagined. Her responses to his kisses were growing even more passionate and he wondered how he could ever call a halt to this bliss.

  He pulled back slightly, but Elizabeth raised her head urgently so their lips met once more. This time he lingered, deepening the kiss. It is good the wedding is tomorrow. If she continues to kiss me like this, I might not be able to prevent myself from anticipating our marriage vows.

  Then they both heard the sound of the parlor’s door knob turning and instantly sprang apart. Darcy tried to straighten his clothes, but it was a hopeless endeavor, his cravat was completely askew and his coat was half off. With a creased dress and hair spilling across the back of the couch, Elizabeth seemed exactly like a woman caught in a compromising position. Oblivious, Whitmore’s housekeeper entered with a tea tray. “Miss,” she was saying. “Madame Whitmore thought you would like some tea—”

  She stopped short and gazed from Darcy to Elizabeth, her face perplexed. Darcy was sure they were both blushing, although he carefully directed his eyes away from Elizabeth. Comprehension dawned on the woman’s face and, without a word, she turned and departed the room, still bearing the tray.

  Darcy cursed himself silently. Why could I not keep my hands to myself for one day? Elizabeth must be appalled at my forwardness! Or worse, chastising herself for bringing about such mortification! He turned toward her, an apology on his lips.

  The door clicked closed and Elizabeth burst into giggles. After a moment Darcy joined her, relief welling up in him. “Do you think she will report us to the master of the house?” Her laughter continued as she carefully twisted up her hair into a simple knot.

  “Perhaps. Fortunately he already knows my intentions are honorable. Hopefully that will spare me a lecture.” Darcy was pleased to hear the playful tone in her voice; however, he remained anxious. Perhaps she was appalled – or worse, intimidated – by his behavior, but was putting on a brave face.

  “At least tomorrow he will have no need for lecturing.”

  “Yes,” Darcy said fervently. “I am even more grateful we need wait no longer.”

  She gave a wry smile. “I suppose we just demonstrated the advisability of not waiting.”

  Capturing her hand, he brought it tenderly to his lips. “Please forgive my dishonorable behavior. I did not—”

  She put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “There is nothing to forgive. You may have shocked the housekeeper, but you did not shock me. I believe I was an equal participant, so I share at least half the blame.”

  “No, the fault was mine. I—”

  “I am quite capable of protesting if I dislike your behavior.”

  He paused to consider that statement and then he allowed himself to believe her words, relief washing through him. She did not blame him! She enjoyed kissing him! His heart sang with love for the woman. He kissed her hand formally. “You are a remarkable woman.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But, you need to rest and I do not believe that will be possible while I am here. So I will take my leave.”

  As he strode away from the parlor he realized that he needed a ride. Yes, a long ride in the countryside, that was just what he needed.

  So it was that Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy were united in holy matrimony in the chapel at Whitmore’s manor home. Marie, beaming with happiness, served as the witness, having cheerfully donated her wedding gown to Elizabeth after a maid had altered it. Elizabeth carried a bouquet of flowers she had collected herself from the garden earlier in the day. Her face was framed by a delicate white bonnet, dark curls caressing her cheeks. Darcy thought she had never been more beautiful. As he watched her float down the short aisle toward him, he had a sudden sense of unreality. He still found it hard to credit his good fortune that she had consented to be his!

  As Whitmore said the words of the traditional ceremony, Darcy gazed steadily into Elizabeth’s eyes. He had feared to find doubt or hesitation in her face, but she was shining with happiness and he could detect no traces of regret. As they prepared to say their vows, Elizabeth set her bouquet aside, so they could hold hands and recite the time-hallowed words. Nothing could be more joyous or more perfect.

  The ceremony over, they walked up the aisle, now husband and wife. Darcy reflected that when he had arrived in France he had not expected ever to see Elizabeth again and had not dared to hope he could ever win her friendship. How far he had traveled in a few short weeks!

  After the ceremony, Whitmore and Marie treated them to a small wedding breakfast; Elizabeth then rested for most of the afternoon. When she awoke, the newlyweds took a leisurely stroll in the garden, afterward retiring to their rooms to dress for dinner. Dinner was an especially jolly occasion, with Whitmore proposing multiple toasts to the happy couple. The wine was excellent, but Elizabeth found it necessary to limit her consumption for the sake of her health.

  Elizabeth thought Darcy seemed happier and more relaxed than he had appeared in a long time. It warmed her heart that she had brought him such joy. He had taken such scrupulous care of her during her illness and had suffered so much anxiety – at least she could bring him some measure of happiness.

  Rather than remaining downstairs for a traditional gathering in the drawing room, Darcy and Elizabeth retired early, knowing that their hosts would understand. Whitmore’s housekeeper had provided Elizabeth with a different guest room that night – one with a larger bed and attached sitting room. Darcy retained his room down the hall following the custom of separate bedrooms for married couples.

  Elizabeth had changed out of her wedding gown into a simple, but elegant white nightgown she had brought from England. Darcy had already seen more of her nightclothes than most
grooms did before a wedding, she reflected, but tonight the atmosphere was entirely different.

  Now she really was Mrs. Darcy. As she brushed her hair, she searched her heart – as she had been doing for the past week – for any trace of misgiving about Mr. Darcy or the wedding; however, as before, she found none. She had come to understand what an exemplary man he truly was and how fortunate she was that he loved her. His anguish over her illness had demonstrated how deep his love was – and how loyal he was to those he let into his heart. She could not have articulated when she began to love him, but it had settled into her heart by time her recovery had started.

  Her only reservation – she could not call it a misgiving – was that her family was not present to share her joy on this day. She felt Jane’s absence most acutely, but she knew Jane would forgive her when she understood the circumstances. Her father would not be so understanding; however, Elizabeth hoped his wrath would be short-lived. Of course her mother would be overjoyed that her second daughter had secured such a wealthy husband, but Elizabeth was happy she had spared Darcy the type of marital preparations her mother would have deemed appropriate – not to mention her effusions about Darcy’s fortune. No, although she loved her mother, Elizabeth could not bring herself to regret her absence. She did miss the Gardiners; they had always provided her with good support and guidance, but, like Jane, they would understand.

  Elizabeth also regretted not having an opportunity to get her aunt’s advice on being a married woman. Although she understood the essentials of the marriage bed, much still remained a mystery to her. Marie had sought her out the day before to talk with her and her words had been very reassuring. Still, it would have been good to hear from someone with whom she had a longer acquaintance.

  Her stomach fluttered nervously at the thought of the wedding night, a great unknown to her. But then she thought of the previous day in the parlor…how she had felt with his lips on hers and his fingers in her hair. She had felt no apprehension then, only desire. Surely tonight would be no different. She loved William and trusted that love – thinking of that she began to relax.

  She heard a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” the squeak in her voice betraying her anxiety. Darcy entered, gazing on her with a frankly desirous look that warmed her inside. He was wearing his shirt and breeches, but had discarded his coat and cravat. Drinking in the sight of him, she admired his naked neck and the firm chest outlined by the shirt.

  When she raised her eyes to his face, she noticed that he appeared apprehensive. Elizabeth could not fathom any reason for his anxiety and experienced sudden uncertainty.

  “Elizabeth,” he breathed. “You are beautiful – a vision.”

  “Thank you.” She was certain she had blushed a bright red.

  He strode to her and positioned himself between her legs where she sat on the edge of the bed. Pulling her toward him, he kissed her very thoroughly. She responded with equal passion, swept up in the sensation of his hands exploring her curves through the thin fabric of her nightgown. But, then he pulled back. “I do not think we should…tonight…we cannot take the risk that any activity could set back your recovery.” She knew her face betrayed disappointment. “We can still kiss and enjoy each other’s company,” Darcy hastened to assure her.

  “Am I to be consulted about the activities on my wedding night?” She asked tartly. “The doctor believes I will be fit to travel in two days. I feel well. I think I am strong enough for amorous activities!”

  Taking her hand, he pressed it ardently to his lips. “I thought you might require some time to accustom yourself to the idea of -- after all, we did not have a long engagement.”

  She gave a little laugh. “That is true. But William, I - I want to consummate our marriage. I want to be your wife in all ways—”

  “You should not experience an obligation. There is plenty of time for—”

  “What I experience is not obligation. What I experience is…desire….” As she exhaled the last word she saw Darcy’s eyebrows shoot up, but she persisted. “The kisses on the fainting couch were just a taste….I am greedy. I want more.” She blushed and looked down as she said it, feeling very wanton, but it was true. Perhaps it was not wanton to express such desires to her husband.

  He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to more easily view her face. “Truly?” He gazed into her eyes with concern, but also hope.

  “Yes.” Boldly she leaned forward and initiated a kiss which began innocently enough, but soon turned passionate.

  When they finally separated, they were both panting. Darcy gave a huge sigh. “Very well, Mrs. Darcy, against my better judgment you have convinced me that I must seduce you on our wedding night.”

  She laughed, but abruptly William stood and picked her up. He settled her gently in the center of the immense mahogany four poster bed and then stretched himself alongside her. His bold, admiring look alone was enough to make her blush, but she met his gaze.

  Darcy’s hand idly touched one silken curl where it rested on a pillow. “I do not want you to be scared or nervous.” His voice was low and husky.

  “If you keep kissing me like that I will not be at all nervous,” she said with a little laugh.

  “I cannot tell you how often I have imagined this, but never thought it would come to pass.” He confessed.

  Their eyes locked. “I have imagined this as well,” she said softly.

  The information seemed to startle him. “Truly?” Such a response was far more than he could hope for. Then he gave her a warm smile. “I hope tonight will not fall short of your imagination.”

  She glanced down to see his hands undoing the ties on her nightgown. He leaned over and kissed her with undeniable passion, pressing her against the soft mattress. Then he sat up and divested himself of his shirt. Elizabeth gazed at his chest with frank admiration. “Mr. Darcy, I have every confidence you will exceed my expectations.”

  He laughed and kissed her again. Then they had no more time for talking.

  The next morning, Darcy awoke from a confused dream and for a moment had trouble recalling where he was. But when he opened his eyes, he saw a sleeping Elizabeth curled up next to him. As the events of the previous day flooded back to him, he felt a great rush of love for the sleeping woman. It is not a dream! We are indeed married. He was the most fortunate man alive!

  Elizabeth stirred and opened her eyes, smiling when she saw him. He pulled her close to his chest, and – before she could say anything – his lips were pressed against hers hungrily. No conversation had passed their lips, but he knew they were going to be late for breakfast.

  Darcy and Elizabeth lingered one more day with the Whitmores, but then they reluctantly agreed it was time to leave. Mr. Flouret had examined Elizabeth and pronounced her well enough to travel with the caveat that she should not exert herself excessively or allow herself to be chilled. The doctor was still concerned about her cough, but was heartened that it had not worsened. Nor has it improved markedly, Darcy thought to himself.

  He would be happy to delay until Elizabeth was stronger, but she was stubborn in her desire to depart. She worried that every day it would become more difficult to leave the country. Hostilities with England would only escalate, and Darcy was in more danger than she. The thought of leaving for England without him was intolerable to her.

  Elizabeth had also expressed concern about her family. Darcy had sent brief notes to the Gardiners and to Georgiana explaining the reason for their delay – although he had not revealed how ill Elizabeth had truly been. But he had cautioned them against writing back; he did not want anything to draw attention to their presence in France. The Gardiners would have passed the news along to Longbourn. Nevertheless she was certain that all the assembled Gardiners and Bennets would be anxious until she was safely home.

  The night of their final dinner at the manor, Darcy and Whitmore discussed the safest method for arriving in England. Whitmore insisted on sending them in his coach with two footme
n despite Darcy’s dismay. “I appreciate the offer, Whitmore, but I cannot possibly put you to so much trouble.”

  Whitmore demurred. “It is no trouble at all. We have another carriage we can use until our footmen bring the other back after your departure. We can easily spare the men.” He casually helped himself to some the beef.

  “Whitmore—” Darcy began.

  Whitmore interrupted him. “I insist! I only wish I could send more men to accompany you. Who knows what kind of dangers you might encounter on your journey? Marie and I will not rest easy until we have done everything we in our power to see you safely on your way.” Sitting next to him at the table, Marie nodded emphatically in agreement.

  Darcy sighed. “Very well. Where should we depart from?” He stared at the fine linen tablecloth, but was visualizing a map of France.

  “I have given it some thought. Calais is out of the question; that is where they will expect to find Englishmen. Instead you should consider Dunkirk. It will be a longer trip from here and it will take you more time to reach England, but the Dunkirk port has fewer passenger ships and more cargo ships. You can probably find a cargo ship or fishing boat that would take you to England for the right price. If that proves too dangerous, you could consider Boulogne-sur-Mer.”

  “Which town is less likely to be full of soldiers seeking wayward Englishmen?” Darcy asked, taking a sip of his wine.

  “Truly, I believe Dunkirk. Boulogne has some naval vessels, although it is not a major port.”

  Darcy considered for a moment. “Very well.” He turned suddenly to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, how is your Italian?”