Longbourn to London

by Beutler Linda

  Darcy chuckled at her eagerness. There she stood before him, hair down, face flushed and smiling, bosom only thinly veiled. He looked down the length of her irreparably wrinkled wedding gown to her shoeless feet in their pink stockings. Those little adorable feet… She extended a hand to him. Once again, she is leading me.

  Chapter 20

  A Consummation Devoutly to Be Wished

  “Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.”

  William Shakespeare

  Much Ado about Nothing

  “Have you ever tasted champagne, Elizabeth?” Darcy stood next to the round table in the mistress’s bedchamber.

  “No, sir, though I have heard it is the most festive beverage and difficult to obtain from France at present.”

  “My cousin…our cousin Richard returned with a case from his last campaign. Not everyone likes it, but I enjoy it, and I hope you will, too.” Darcy turned his attention to unwrapping the cork and removing the muselet in such a way as to appreciate the deep pop of release without the cork becoming a projectile. He filled the tall, thin glasses and handed one to his wife. “The custom, madam, is to touch the glasses together so they ring.” They delicately tapped their flutes, and he declared, “To Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy on the occasion of their wedding night!”

  “To us!” She sipped her first taste of sparkling wine. The bubbles tickled her nose and tongue. Elizabeth found the sensation altogether to her liking, so much so that she laughed after swallowing. “Why, it is heavenly!” She took a larger swallow and involuntarily produced a burp. “Oh!”

  Darcy immediately consumed half of his glass and belched deeply, then looked at her like an ill-bred, ten-year-old boy.

  “Now we are both naughty children, and you think by your impressive display that you will absolve me of exhibiting crude manners?” She laughed. “You are a silly man, Fitzwilliam Darcy. That you could encourage a sensible woman such as I to indulge in similarly silly behaviour is quite remarkable.”

  He was growing used to the label “silly man,” and realised its utterance usually presaged the further granting of his Lizzy’s considerable favours. He took the opportunity of kissing her rather abruptly before saying, “I am wondering, Mrs. Darcy, whether you would kindly sit as you finish your champagne. I wish to remove your stockings this instant.”

  As long as they were jesting, she felt at ease, but each additional level of undress reawakened worries she wished to deny. She smiled pertly, or so she hoped, and followed as he led her to the settee, where he knelt in front of her.

  Darcy had carried the champagne bottle and refilled her half-empty glass. “This should do for now. I would not want to be accused of drugging my bride to gain her compliance.”

  She took another sip. “It would be a waste of medication, sir. I am a bit of a foregone conclusion, am I not?”

  He chuckled. “Lizzy, my love, it is my profoundest wish that you are truly as sanguine about all of this as you appear to be.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “You promised to tell me whenever we are doing something you have never done before. In return I promise to tell you if I become too overwrought to continue.” She sat back.

  “Then I have been remiss. I must tell you, I have never completely undressed a woman before now.”

  “Truly?” She was surprised.

  “Yes, truly. Harlots always keep some undergarments on; at least that was their mode of business eight years ago. Am I not a patient man?” He cast her a sidelong glance.

  “Yes, sir. You have amply proven your patience. I do hope you find me worth the bother.” She sipped her champagne and demurely looked away.

  Darcy carefully, in as unhurried a manner as he could accomplish, lifted her skirts by gliding the layers up her legs. When the skirts reached her garters, he stopped, not wishing to alarm her unduly. He untied ribbons on both legs and slid the stockings down and off, one side at a time. As her stockings were removed, he kept his hungry eyes on the skin revealed, but twice stole glances at her face. She appeared spellbound. I have seen such a look on rabbits before being struck by cobras. Please allow her to be as brave as she thinks she is.

  Darcy looked at her small feet and held one in each hand. “You have charming feet. Have I told you?”

  “No, sir, you have not. I am glad to hear it as my mother always told me they are excessively large and unfeminine.” She was smiling again.

  “It has never been clearer to me than at this moment that your mother and I have quite the opposite view of beauty.” He leaned over and kissed the top of one foot and then the other, as if kissing her hands formally. He looked with a smile into her watchful eyes and was surprised to see hints of distress.

  His face is between my feet; it could be up my legs next! Elizabeth’s mind projected a brief vision of her disturbing dream onto Darcy’s quizzical and concerned countenance.

  Thinking the memory of her mother’s derogatory comments produced her disquiet, he rose quickly and sat next to her. He held aloft a long, elegant, bare-to-the-lower-thigh male leg next to hers. “Hold up your foot, Lizzy!”

  She was startled by the nearness of him and his now more obvious nakedness under his robe, but the unexpectedness of the fastidious Mr. Darcy exposing a leg to compare with hers was so comical that she complied with an anxious giggle that surprised her. Elizabeth prided herself on not being a giggling sort of person.

  “I must say, sir, of all the apprehensions I had about this night, I certainly never imagined this—to be sitting next to you, both of us in various stages of undress, analysing our feet!”

  Darcy tried to look serious. “Since we do find ourselves so, let us proceed. Yours are small and a pretty shade of pink, toes in a somewhat pointed array, nails of even colour and pale shine— yes, in every way delightful. Just what a lady’s foot should be.

  “Now look at mine…quite hideous by comparison. Knuckles rather knobby, hairy on the top. Apelike, I should say. They look positively misshapen and ill used. Mrs. Darcy, feel free to jump in at any time to contradict me. You may tell me my large manly feet fill you with unquenchable desire…”

  Elizabeth’s giggle became laughter. “They are interesting objects, to be sure, but I am sorry to inform you, in and of themselves, they do not quite inspire the feelings you hope for.”

  “Lizzy,” his voice lowered, his eyes jesting, “You do know what is said about a man with large hands and large feet, do you not?”

  A slight frown creased Elizabeth’s brow, and she tugged at the corner of her lower lip with her upper teeth. Now to what is he referring?

  Idiot, Darcy! Thoughtless! Why would a virgin find virtue in a well-hung man? Maybe she has not heard the old wives’ tale… Darcy’s mind raced to redirect the conversation but not quickly enough.

  The words of her Aunt Phillips blared in her ears. “Big hands, big feet, big cock!” Elizabeth shook her head, blushed more vividly than ever, and turned away. “Oh, yes,” she sighed, speaking with a quavering voice. “I do recall that.” She cleared her throat.

  “Oh, Lizzy, what beasts men are… I am profoundly sorry. You have no idea how sorry. To be vulgar, now of all times…” He drew her head against him, her burning cheek resting on his bare chest directly over his heart. His action raised the exposure of his leg to the upper thigh, but they were both disposed to ignore it until the present uncomfortable moment passed. Darcy was only relieved that, for the time being, his erection had partially subsided.

  “No, I am not bothered…” Her cheek against his slightly hairy, warm skin, over his thumping heart, was soothing. “Evidently there is a wider scope for amusement in marital relations than I had imagined.”

  “Since we are on the topic, dearest and most forgiving Elizabeth, I shall simply say this: It is marginally acceptable for a woman to laugh about the male appendage in general terms, for it is an odd thing at times, but she must never laugh directly at it.”

 
Elizabeth opened her eyes, and viewed the magnificent length of his bare leg. Now this does incite desire. She looked up at him and smiled. “Ah… thank you, sir. I do comprehend the distinction.”

  Elizabeth reached up to tousle his irresistible hair, although she yearned to touch his thigh instead. In the carriage, he indicated much would be allowed her, yet he had been reluctant to demonstrate or describe what might please him.

  Her eyes closed, her lips parted, and Darcy understood her silent invitation. They kissed deeply before his fingers slid down her silky throat, over her pearls, and rested at the top of her lace bodice. While his tongue traced her lips, he found the thin ribbons holding it together and pulled.

  Elizabeth sighed against his mouth as she felt her bosom exposed to his touch. She pulled away enough to murmur, “Fitzwilliam…mmm.” She widened the opening of his robe and could not resist the urge to rub her breasts against him. He was warm, and his arms opened to her. She felt moisture between her legs as a frisson of deep desire shuddered through her.

  “Fitzwilliam?” She did not look up, watching instead the arresting sight of her bare breasts mingled with the sheen of the pearls moving on his skin.

  Darcy was barely breathing. “What, Lizzy?”

  “Can you explain…oh.” She sighed. Do not be squeamish. “What is this wetness that arises when you touch me?”

  Darcy felt the room execute half a turn. He did not blame the champagne, but rather the woman. The things she says…she knows so little of her own body. Her candour is unbearably sweet. He took several breaths before replying. “It signifies passion. It signifies readiness for…” Dare I say it? “…For me, for joining your body with mine.”

  “It is your leg, you know,” she confessed with a whisper in his ear. Somehow, such remarks were easier to express quietly.

  “My leg what, my love?”

  “It is quite…it is beautiful, handsome, like a statue come to life. It has undone me…”

  To Darcy’s surprise, Elizabeth turned to straddle his bare thigh so the seat of her desire was in contact, moist and lush, with his skin. Their lips met in a frenzied kiss until Elizabeth’s arousal grew so great that her head fell back and she moaned, “Oh, Fitzwilliam, oh please!”

  He knew what she wanted, and he lowered his head and lifted her to gain access to a breast to tease, nosing the pearls out of his way. She pressed against his leg, crying his name, begging in murmurs and holding his head against her. When the shattering pinnacle arrived, Darcy knew it. He released his mouth from her, laughing for sheer joy at the bliss he could bring her. He was thoroughly captivated.

  Slowly her movements ceased. Finally, she drew a breath to speak. “You may laugh at me, you may torment me, you may undress me, you may say or do anything, Fitzwilliam, anything, only please, please, let me feel that again.” She was panting against him, and his erection was now lying against her bare thigh under her bunched skirts. She realised what it was, but turned her attention to his face.

  Darcy had never seen such passion in any woman’s face, and certainly not in Elizabeth’s. That he had inspired such a look from those adored eyes exhilarated him, and his chest swelled to take in sufficient breath.

  “Will it hurt you if I touch it?”

  Darcy’s inhaled breath was interrupted as he blinked at her. “What?” He could not believe his ears.

  She did not wait for his reply. Her hand moved under her skirts to touch his engorged member. As soon as she felt its heat and size, she pulled her hand away in timid recoil. “Oh. Oh, my. Oh, dear…” Having rubbed herself giddy against his thigh, she instinctively felt the potential for pleasure in using this new instrument for the same purpose. But that it was meant to go inside her was unfathomable. Yet, she felt too full of desire to be afraid.

  “Lizzy…”

  “Yes?” Their eyes locked on each other.

  “We must proceed to the bed. We must. I cannot wait.”

  With his hands on her hips, he pushed her up; her knees slid from the cushions and she stood, the crushed layers of her skirt falling about her legs. As he stood, the robe covered his erection, tenting the heavy damask. He took her hand and led her the few feet to the bed. Earlier, as he passed through the room, he had paused to turn down the counterpane and arrange the pillows.

  They stopped at the edge of the bed. Darcy sat and positioned Elizabeth standing between his legs with her back to him. He untied the laces of her gown, and when he slid the shoulder straps of mesh and ribbon down her arms, the whole of it whispered to the floor. Next, he faced the laces of her short corset. These, too, proved easy. When it was sufficiently loosened, Elizabeth raised her arms, and he lifted it over her head to toss it away. That his enthusiasm to be rid of the garment caused it to land on the bed’s canopy was not noticed.

  She stood before him in nothing but a demi-petticoat tied at her waist. Even in the candlelight, he could see where the ribs of the corset had worn grooves into her skin even though a length of soft flannel had been sewn inside to protect her. He rubbed her back where the marks were. “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded, her hair bobbing in agreement. “Thank you.”

  Darcy could feel the grosgrain ribbon wrapped around her waist and tied at the front to secure the petticoat. He reached around to undo the bow, and the last covering of her body joined her gown on the floor. He parted her hair at her neck, and unhooked the pearls. “Place them on the night stand, Lizzy.” She leaned to her right to do so.

  He sat back to view her gently curved derriere. “Is there any part of you, Mrs. Darcy, that is not perfect?” Breathing deeply, Darcy rested his forehead on her back and closed his eyes, steeling himself to do what needed to be done, what he longed to do. His arms stole around her waist, encircling her and steadying his nerves.

  After a moment, he realised Elizabeth’s breath was heaving—she was in the midst of a wave of sensation. He could hear her softly moaning.

  With one bold hand, she guided his fingers between her legs. Being undressed by him had again provoked her passion. She no longer remembered anything her Aunt Gardiner had said. Her concern was not what Darcy might wish to do to her, but what she craved. Slowly she shook her head from side to side, swishing her hair over his face as his cheek pressed against her back.

  “Please, Fitzwilliam…please.” She paused.

  His fingers slid between her thighs, and into her, guided by her hand on the back of his. “There is more… Please give me more.” She tried to catch a breath at the edge of her moment of supreme bliss. “How can I bear this alone? Join me. Feel this with me.” He held her upright as she reached her zenith of desire.

  Afterward she calmed only slightly, and held his hand in place. “Fitzwilliam…never, never did I dream of such love. That I would feel it so and share it.”

  “Lizzy, dearest”—he smiled behind her—“you must release my hand.”

  My astonishing Lizzy. What a journey she has made today, and I still feel stupid, as if trapped in a dream.

  She relinquished his hand and turned around as he stood. She undid the button of his robe, and embraced him.

  He strained to savour all of her, naked against him.

  Elizabeth could feel his erection pressing her hip. She longed to encourage him, not understanding that she was already behaving in exactly the manner in which he had devoutly hoped.

  Now… I must take her now. He lifted her into his arms and turned to lay her on the bed. “I love you. I do love you, my Elizabeth Darcy.” He looked at her complete nakedness while shrugging the robe from his shoulders; it joined her garments on the floor. She was lovely, with her hair spread upon the pillows.

  Elizabeth’s eyes met his seriously. Her legs slightly parted. “Husband… Fitzwilliam…” There were tears at the corners of her eyes, yet she did not appear afraid. “Mr. Darcy… You have given me so much. I only have this to give you: I come into this marriage with my promise I have been chaste.”

  Darcy gazed into her eyes with
astonishment. He had no doubt of her.

  She reached an inviting hand to him, and he laid down facing her. She continued in a rough whisper, “It does not seem nearly enough, but you must accept it. I give myself. My love for you is all I have.” She kept her luminous eyes on his, not daring to look down at his fully aroused member.

  She is breaking my heart; she is so serious and must think these words necessary. Darcy breathed deeply. “It is all I need. Lizzy…remember I love you. As we do…this, please remember, I love you.”

  He leaned over her, fervently kissing a nipple until she moaned his name. Raising his head to kiss her eager lips, he slipped an arm under her shoulders, pulling her towards him, and covered her legs with one of his. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and out again repeatedly, as she responded by stroking his chest. He touched her breasts and flat belly. The power of speech left him as he lifted his hips to settle between her thighs.

  Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him. He is so warm…and he is not heavy at all. She did not realise most of his weight was borne by the arm under her shoulders. With his other hand, he gently lifted her leg to embrace his waist. Feeling her heel on his tailbone, Elizabeth tucked her head under his chin, readying for the consummation. She was overwhelmed by his scent, her wits at a loss to define it.

  Darcy closed his eyes and touched between her legs, finding the wet opening. With a deep breath, he took his erection in hand, addressing it to her rigid centre of pleasure. “Oh yes,” she murmured. He guided it to her entrance.

  Exhaling, he started forward, and immediately felt her maidenhead resisting. He pushed further and heard her gasp, her hot breath searing his chest.

  Elizabeth’s passion contorted into this new stinging sensation.

  Darcy felt her sharply inhale but he could not withdraw. Elizabeth’s fingernails scratched his back. He did not notice.

  The smarting in her deepest parts could not be ignored, but she resisted crying out.

  A small voice whispered within him. Be careful, you brute! But the warmth and wetness of her tight flesh was thrilling beyond anything he experienced eight years ago. This is much more than I remember, this is my Lizzy, I am in her…she is mine. She will always be mine. Yet, it is I who am possessed…