Longbourn to London

by Beutler Linda

  She parted her lips, turned up her face, and closed her eyes. He leaned in to kiss her. As she wriggled more upright to deepen the kiss, he pulled back, ending it. Elizabeth sat motionless, ready for him to continue. Let him see me after we kiss.

  “Elizabeth…” he whispered with a note of warning.

  She could feel the hiss of her name near her lips, and parted them further, just managing a slight pouting noise. His mouth was on hers instantly. She made a low moan of approbation and traced his lips with the tip of her tongue. When he made a choked sound in his throat, she pulled away, opened her eyes, and beamed at him.

  He narrowed his eyes as if aware of her scheming, and deepened his dimples. “Oh, is that the way of it?” He chuckled.

  Satisfied with herself, she nestled against him again.

  They had reached a state of cosy and amiable good cheer.

  After a few more miles, Darcy needed to stretch his arms, and just as he stirred, so did Elizabeth.

  “Now I fear I am too warm,” she said.

  She unhooked the blue pelisse given her by Georgiana. As she leaned forward to shrug out of its sleeves, the back of her head revealed, exactly as he requested, those three loose ringlets that captivated him at the Netherfield ball almost exactly a year before and again at their wedding breakfast—a little mussed to be sure, but bobbing against her smooth nape all the same. There are my tormentors. He grinned to himself.

  Without allowing any reconsideration, Darcy murmured, “Do not move.” He quickly drew down the shades on the coach windows, plunging them into near darkness. He bent to kiss the saucy curls into submission against her skin. He inhaled the warm scent of lavender and slowly nuzzled his face against her hair, at last indulging in the impulse that had haunted him for much of their acquaintance.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes as she felt his breath on her neck. His nearness produced a warm tremble down her spine. A frisson? she wondered. “You know, Fitzwilliam, I suspected this of you when I first read your note that accompanied the hairpins.”

  “How is it that she knows me so well, and I know her so little?” Darcy was surprised to hear his voice murmuring his private thoughts into her ringlets.

  She smiled but withheld speaking her own musings. Yes, this is how I thought happiness would feel.

  He closed his eyes and slowly kissed the curls again, then sat upright against the back of the seat. “Dearest Elizabeth, I thank you. Perhaps our granddaughters do not to need to know about your impertinent curls and how they have tortured me.”

  Shaking her head with a laugh, Elizabeth settled back with Darcy’s arm about her shoulders. “Did you not see them as part of my arsenal of ‘arts and allurements,’ Fitzwilliam?” Who could resist such a sentimental man?

  He grinned and nodded against her head, then looked down and took an intimate notice of her wedding ensemble. Little shafts of light crept into the carriage from the edges of the shades. If I unbutton those seven buttons on her bodice, what shall I find? He did not resist looking at the top of her bosom, still inhaling her scent. It appeared as if the sun did occasionally reach her upper chest as the skin there was rosy and a little tanned. At the neckline of her gown, however, the skin was creamy, and the full curves hinted at further ampleness upheld by… Hmm, short stays? he wondered. He could see no evidence of a divorce keeping her breasts apart. Arts and allurements she says…

  While he and Bingley tried not to lower their jovial debate of the relative merits of the two eldest Bennet sisters to an intimate level, Darcy did believe that his Elizabeth had the more generous bosom. Some men at his club held that, as regards a woman’s endowments, anything more than a handful was a waste, and even though Darcy’s experience was from long ago, he tended to agree. Of course, it was easy to concur when he knew himself to have larger than average hands, the palms of which were now vaguely itching with the stifled impulse to cup her breast.

  Darcy had managed to kiss her ringlets and brush his lips over the back of her neck without unduly arousing himself—those actions were an expression of veneration— but now the view of her rising and falling chest in the flickering sunlight was arresting all thought. Elizabeth appeared to be sleepy. Her steady breathing held him spellbound. And so they rode, with Darcy’s universe of awareness reduced to his virgin bride’s bosom.

  She was lulled to drowsiness from the swaying of the carriage and the contentment of their easiness together. She knew where his eyes were roving. The path on her chest, where Darcy’s fingers had lingered briefly a fortnight ago, seemed to animate under his scrutiny. The nearness of his hand currently warming her shoulder heightened her memory of that first stroke. Since then, it took very little for Elizabeth to become distracted by acute remembrance. The thought of that touch, at once teasing and sincere, now created the necessity for more. There was an ague inside her ribs at the notion of further attention being paid to that portion of her person. If he could be lured to finish what was begun that night, if he would caress her bosom, she felt certain her desire would be alleviated. Why he would resist her in this, she could not imagine.

  After a time, she felt her courage rise and shifted her position, turning slightly to face the windows. Her back was now against his chest, and she lowered and shrugged her shoulder, which caused the coverlet to slip, and his hand to drop from her shoulder onto her breast. She tried not to alter her breathing.

  Darcy’s, however, stopped—can she read my mind?

  Elizabeth feared she had overstepped what might be expected or allowed of a new wife. He was obviously attempting by every means at his disposal to ignore the temptation she presented without giving further offense. Perhaps if she could somehow convince him that her movements were guided by sleep, he would not say anything or attempt to remove his hand. Almost instantly, his warmth was pleasantly transmitted through the satin. He does not know how little separates him from my skin. Oh, what have I done? Reckless girl! He will be nettled again.

  The joined sensations of pleasure and alarm coursed through Darcy with a speed that made his head swim. Is she asleep? Should I remove my hand? This is astonishing. If I do remove my hand, will she awaken and know where it has been? I do not want to move my hand. She is my wife; we are alone in a carriage, why should I remove my hand? She certainly implied she would have allowed this before, had I but tried. Darcy was desperate not to startle and reveal his surprise.

  Although Elizabeth could manage her breathing, she could not control the blush that ignited in her cheeks and became a spreading heat flowing, as lava must, down her neck and across her chest, betraying her. When Darcy gasped, she knew the feigned innocence of her ploy was revealed for what it was: she desired this expression of his affection. This is not how a bride behaves. What will he think of me?

  Fixed motionless in what seemed an endless moment, Darcy’s eyes stared at his hand as if it were not his own. My hand is on Elizabeth Bennet’s breast! As he blinked at the wonder of it, he watched the skin curving under the narrow lace edge at her neckline as it flushed to florid pink. He studied her chest as the jostled light altered with the pitch and roll of the carriage.

  Darcy could hardly breathe, and felt his colour rising. He dared not move his hand, or even a finger. She is awake! She must be awake. Or do women blush in their sleep? He whispered, “Lizzy?” His mouth was at her ear. Do I want to awaken her, if she is truly napping in my arms?

  Her heart skipped, and all things considered, she was certain he felt it, too. He called me Lizzy! She was nearly rendered insensible by the endearment. Dearest Fitzwilliam, what should I say to you? Her logic—such as it was— dictated that all she could do was continue the charade of sleepiness. “Mmm?” She turned her head towards his mouth and kept her eyes closed. She could feel each shallow breath he took. His hand grew hot, as did her breast beneath it, yet she felt if he moved his hand away, she would be inconsolable.

  The turn of her head brought her temple to his lips. Elizabeth’s drowsy response convinced him to move hi
s hand. Certainly, as a husband he had the right to touch her, but not accidentally, not this first time, and certainly not without an explicit invitation. May it please God, don’t let her notice.

  Elizabeth felt his intention at its origin in his shoulder behind her neck. As his muscles tightened, she knew she must somehow confess that she had, with full awareness, initiated this moment of sublime but unsettling contact. Just as he started to lift his hand and inhale to speak an apology, she covered it with hers and held it in place, murmuring, “Please, Fitzwilliam, do not remove your hand. It comforts me.” Is comfort the word I want?

  Darcy smiled into her hair. Ah…is comfort the word she wants? “My dear wife, I am here for nothing if not to provide comfort where I know it is welcomed. It is a husband’s duty.”

  Elizabeth grinned with relief—he is not offended— and her smaller hand pressed his larger one, encouraging him to truly grasp her. “Then see you do it, sir, but pray, try not to be too smug.” She felt as much as heard him chuckle. But now that his hand had taken possession of one breast, the other rapidly developed an unanswered ache. This she had not expected. The word hung in front of her eyes and filled the air again: desire. Where will this lead? The yearning does not stop. Dare I ask?

  Before she could form a coherent question, Darcy moved his hand. With his palm, he skimmed the satin at its fullest point, and quickly felt her nipple firm and pucker. He was led to suspect there was little or nothing between the fabric under his hand and her flesh underneath it. Her hand had fallen away from his; it was now fisted and strangling a gather of blanket in her lap.

  Does she want this as much as I have assumed? Emboldened, Darcy slid his hand under the gown’s satin layer. There was only a thin lining of lace or mesh, and he met no impediments to cupping her pliant breast and teasing the hardened nipple with his fingers. Elizabeth gasped, and he spoke low into her ear. “If you will trust me, Lizzy, we shall learn the things that bring you joy, and I shall repeat them for the rest of your life.”

  Aunt Gardiner said to trust him, and he has now asked to be trusted, so I shall. She cuddled her head against him, and found her wits enough to explain softly, “Fitzwilliam, I thought…if I could tempt you to touch me, the needful…relentless wanting you to would go away.”

  “It does not?” he murmured. He slowly blinked his eyes to ensure he was not dreaming. He was amused that she should be so much like him—if given more, she wanted more. Being a visual man, the sight of his hand disappearing inside her wedding gown caused a heightened tension in his trousers that he sought to ignore.

  She paused, unsure of what words to use, or how much to reveal. “I ache. The…” Take another breath for courage. “My other…the breast you are not touching aches.”

  In an artful manner, Elizabeth had initiated their present situation, and Darcy sensed his gentle ministrations might be leading to an unfolding. She was revealing the tempestuous nature that drew him in even though she was, until now, largely unaware of its existence.

  Darcy thought he might swoon at her candour and kissed her temple. All of the blood formerly reaching his head now settled in his crotch. He slipped his hand to her other breast and felt it tightening as he circled and brushed the peak with his thumb. “Better?”

  Elizabeth felt she might catch fire. Her face hid in his shoulder. The blush had not subsided. “Yes…and no…” She quit her torturing of the blanket and turned, twisting and rising to face him. She again clasped one hand over his in her bodice, and with the other turned his jaw. Their eyes met. He had never looked at her in such a way before. If this is truly love, what lesser expressions were all of those others?

  They kissed as he continued to entice her with both tender and robust applications of his fingers and palm. The heat of her soft skin, the weight of her breast in his hand, the pounding of her heart, and the taut buds between his fingertips were combining to crumble his reserve. He was intoxicated when she admitted longing for his touch. It was one thing to read it in a letter, but quite another, finer thing to hear it in her low, breathy voice. Her innocence was endearing, even as her body disclosed her secrets. When they paused for breath, he murmured, “Lizzy,” just to watch her eyes widen before half closing as if drugged. He smiled at her, which elicited an expression he had not seen before. She looked full of wonder, and his chest swelled with a sense of accomplishment. If he did not know better, he would have called her besotted.

  Darcy kissed her again, but removed his hand from inside her gown and held her waist.

  “Oh…” she murmured, disappointed. There was a veritable fire in her belly, a deeper need. She watched his mouth as she murmured, “I do not understand myself. My aunt said this would all be very pleasant.”

  “You did not find it pleasant?” Darcy nearly smirked.

  “I was… I am…overwhelmed.” Breath in, breath out, do not tell him you are most anxious to repeat it; he will think Elizabeth Bennet ruined and wanton. “I had not expected this. You control yourself; I thought surely I could.” She looked completely undone. “But I cannot.”

  His bright eyes nodded into hers. “Although not being a woman myself, Lizzy, I can only tell you so much.”

  “But you have been with women. You said—”

  “Those were purchased women. I was young. There was no love. Those events were for my education as to the”—How do I say this?— “mechanics of…things, and to learn what constitutes my own pleasure. And it was long ago, years and years.”

  She considered again. “It would be of some consolation to me, sir, to know when—or if—you and I have done something, or may in future do something, you did not do before. I…” Elizabeth looked beseechingly into his eyes. “I would like to be special.”

  Darcy felt a tightening in his chest. For a moment he was speechless and found himself nodding at her. Her vulnerability revealed his. He leaned her body against his and pulled the lap robe over her shoulders. “Yes, Lizzy, I shall do that for you. I promise I shall tell you. You may be quite surprised at how often we are pioneers together.” They were silent for some moments. “Warm enough?”

  She nodded.

  “With purchased women, it is difficult to know what they may be expressing just to earn their fees. My understanding is that they do not allow themselves the most profound feelings.” He fell quiet. But you will, dearest Lizzy. I know you will.

  Elizabeth waited, absorbing what he said with some gladness. She longed to be unique. She did not realise that he had thought her so ever since she laughed at him after his insult the night of their first meeting.

  Women did not laugh at Fitzwilliam Darcy. It alerted him to the presence of a lady unlike any he would ever meet. He could not like being mocked, but he must own that he had not behaved well and had opened himself to derision.

  Finally, he started again, “I have never felt such love for anyone in my life as I now feel for you. You are beyond special. You have made me feel like a king, Lizzy, a king. That I shall love you even more after what we share tonight seems impossible, but I know it to be true.”

  The thought of the evening to come caused her to blush furiously. Darcy noticed immediately, and hugged her tighter. “Please do not be fearful. I have never lain with a virgin. Like you, I have attempted research—in books—and it has mainly come to nothing. There is no man or woman in my life I would dare to trust or regard enough to ask. Not my cousin, and certainly not Bingley, who is less experienced than I. I might have asked Mr. Gardiner, but he is your uncle! It would not do!”

  Elizabeth smiled. “The books in my father’s desk disappeared after I told you of their existence.” She paused, and briefly moved to fix him with a knowing eye before continuing, “They were not helpful, as it happens.”

  They both laughed.

  She assumed a saucy manner. “And I am relieved no end to learn you have not been careering around the countryside ruining maidens in the interest of gaining practice, just to make the wedding night easier for me.”

&n
bsp; “Elizabeth!” he cried in mock horror. They laughed again. He continued calmly, “It did occur to me, you know, that I only have to ‘ruin,’ as you so indelicately put it, one virgin in my life. It is not worth becoming a proficient at something that will only be done once.” His eyes burned into hers, humour fleeing before his consuming passion. “I promise to take great care and offer every comfort. After I have made you truly mine, then you will see the work of a true proficient.”

  Darcy took a deep breath. The carriage was slowing, but he had to ask, “You will give yourself to me, Elizabeth?” He smiled nervously. He was relieved when her besotted expression returned.

  “Yes, Fitzwilliam. I shall.” She had never felt more in love.

  The carriage rolled to a stop to rest the horses.

  Chapter 18

  A Picnic on the Road

  “For I am he born to tame you, Kate, and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates.”

  William Shakespeare

  The Taming of the Shrew

  Darcy alit from the carriage and stretched then turned to look back inside as Elizabeth nudged her wedding slippers out of the lap robe and tucked her feet into them. He had not noticed her wriggle out of her shoes during their journey, but the glimpse of her pink-stockinged feet arrested him. What adorable little feet… Some protective instinct brought him back to the door of the carriage. It would not do for the groomsmen and driver to see the mistress of Pemberley’s unshod toes. Darcy wanted the spectacle all for himself.

  He watched as Elizabeth straightened her back, placed an open hand firmly at her bosom, and shifted her shoulders. He sucked his lips over his teeth to suppress a chuckle, but felt his brows climb his forehead. He had never seen such a thing before. What I have done requires some adjustment to correct? He did not hide his amusement quickly enough. Elizabeth pouted at him. He leaned into the carriage and spoke in a low voice.