She took up a beautifully embroidered handkerchief. Sitting at the dressing table, she poured lavender water onto fine cloth. She heard the telltale floorboard creak; it was a sound that made her heart race. In the mirror she met her husband’s ardent gaze. Darcy was wearing a robe, and she could see he had been shaved. Blessings on Murray! She smiled.
Darcy saw the barely perceptible shake of her head as their reflected eyes met. She mouthed the word, “stay.” She wants me to watch her. How delightful. That I shall remove a nightgown instead of a ball gown is of little matter. My beautiful wife…
Elizabeth swivelled on the padded bench to face him, the moist hanky in her hand. Her eyes did not leave his face. She extended her legs, pulling her gown to the top of her thighs. Darcy’s eyes flickered to the movement of the gown, inching up her elegant legs. He could not look away and believed she did not want him to.
Elizabeth began pressing the handkerchief against the creamy skin of her thighs. Darcy appeared spellbound. Elizabeth was pleased. Her eyes never left Darcy’s face; his eyes never left the motion of her hand.
She is touching herself for the thrill of me watching. What has possessed her? It is as if she is preparing herself. Will she let me taste her? Is this her sign of permission?
She dropped the hanky. “Mr. Darcy…” His eyes returned to hers, two sets of brown eyes alight with passion. “Mr. Darcy, will you not come to me?”
Darcy began to breathe again, and in an instant, he was kneeling before her parted legs. “Miss Bennet! You are full of surprises!”
“Kiss me!”
He embraced her as she sat. Their kiss ended in his sucking her plump, bruised lower lip. His breath was ragged. One of her legs was around his waist, under his robe.
When he pulled back, she was half smiling. “My mouth was not where I meant you to kiss me. You misunderstand me, Mr. Darcy.” She pushed his robe off his shoulders.
He picked up her hanky, inhaling. Her fingers tousled his curls, then slowly pushed his head down until he resisted. She opened her eyes. He was looking up at her, trying to comprehend her wishes.
“You will not?” she asked.
“You truly wish me to?”
“My only explanation”—she toyed with his ears—“is that I have been foolish. I have been senselessly missish. Make of it what you will. How was I to know there are so many ways to express love? Do you require a candle, sir?”
Darcy smiled and shook his head, saying nothing. No madam; you will see for yourself that I know my way around quite well. At this, you will find me a true proficient.
Elizabeth watched his actions as he kissed her belly, stopping just at the top of the triangle of dark hair where her legs joined.
“Are you certain?” Given how reluctant she had been, he could scarcely believe she was willingly allowing him this last intimacy.
Her breathing came in gasps. She trembled as her body released the liquid heat announcing her readiness. “I am. I am sure of you.”
Darcy allowed himself a smile. He saw his lovely Elizabeth become his wanton Lizzy. He kissed her thighs, moaning at their softness.
Elizabeth’s hands were still in his hair. “Fitzwilliam, why have I been so foolish?”
“This is yet another dream come to life, but yours this time. It scared you. I have no wish to do so.”
“Please? I am not afraid of you.”
Darcy lowered his head, placing his face at the heart of her desires. Using fingers and mouth, he applied himself where her sensations would be strongest. He kissed these other lips and folds reverently as his tongue entered her.
The result was a shattering explosion of bliss. When she could reason clearly, the dream was forgotten, and she wondered why she had denied herself such pleasure.
Darcy wiped his face on her breast. The fabric over it absorbed the moisture and adhered to her skin. The tossing of her head at the moment of deepest provocation had scattered her pearl hairpins to the dressing table and floor, and one was captured in the sweat on her chest. With his mouth, he plucked it from her and spat it on the floor, laughing.
“I love a very silly man,” she murmured. “I cannot pretend otherwise.”
Darcy fingered the edge of the nightgown. “How do we get you out of this?”
“It laces at the back.”
“I do not have time for such finery,” he growled, and with both hands at the deep neckline, he slowly ripped the fragile silk, exposing her breasts, capturing one of her tight points in his mouth.
“Poor nightgown,” Elizabeth sighed. “I shall not bother again.”
Darcy lifted his head, “No. Buy another. Buy a dozen just like this one—as a gift to me. I like it.”
“Barbarian…” she scolded. “No wonder they do not let you into polite society.” With a deft motion, Elizabeth wriggled completely off the bench, impaling herself upon his proud flesh with a throaty moan of completion.
Her precipitous action sat Darcy abruptly back onto his heels. “You, madam, are not polite society.”
Elizabeth chuckled and bit his sweaty neck. She did not let go.
Darcy whispered, “I am going to attempt a rather delicate manoeuvre, Lizzy…hold on, while I try to stand and remain joined with you. I want to get to our bed.”
“Mmm-hmm,” was her eloquent reply.
Darcy lifted them carefully, steadying their rise with one hand braced on the padded bench. When he was standing, Elizabeth released his neck, admiring the love bruise she had raised. “It would appear sir, that we think each other quite delectable.” She kissed the bruise then kissed his mouth as he began a slow progress through the mistress’s bedchamber.
It was not his intention to stop there since they both preferred his room, but Darcy had not reckoned with the torn remains of her nightgown. It was bunched around her waist and draping hither and yon. He trod on it, changing their direction in a precipitous manner. Feeling a fall imminent, Darcy careened to the bed. They landed, unjoined, in a heap, laughing.
Darcy stood and pulled the nightgown down Elizabeth’s legs while she mocked him. “It has had its revenge upon you, sir.”
“Ha! Do I want a wife who sides with her clothing against her husband?” He tossed the garment back to her.
Elizabeth looked at him admiringly. He loomed over her: tall, lean-muscled, admirably well hung, and ready. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Will it help my case if I tell you that I find your naked form beautiful, and the sight of you fills me with desire?” She rolled over and knelt on her haunches.
“You might have to remind me of it several times before I forgive you.” He moved closer and her hands pressed his potency against her belly.
“How shall I know when you have forgiven me, and that I may stop saying it?”
“When I do this…” Darcy pushed Elizabeth back down on the bed, and carefully arranged her hair on the pillows and draped the nightgown as if posing her for a painting. He took an unused pillow and lifted her hips, sliding it into place. As she watched, he settled between her legs with renewed kisses between her thighs. Elizabeth groaned and parted her legs further. He nuzzled the source of her sensations.
Her hands sought his hair. “Fitzwilliam!”
He rose up and met her gaze with a look of such love and adoration that she gasped, nearly giddy.
“What do you think, Elizabeth? Should I continue?”
She returned his smile, sighing. “I pray you, sir, never stop. If I am dreaming, never let me wake.”
Epilogue
1813
“Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, and, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy.”
William Shakespeare
The Taming of the Shrew
After spending their first winter together at Pemberley, Elizabeth and Darcy travelled to London in March and stayed six weeks. Darcy’s uncle and aunt, the Earl and Countess of Matlock, held a ball in Elizabeth’s honour, at which Elizabeth comported herself most impressively.
They were found out, in fact, by Caroline Bingley, who made an assignation to be in that very room with the third son of a duke, whom she was hoping to ensnare into matrimony. Old habits do indeed die hard, and Caroline’s reputation as a mercenary flirt was becoming legendary.
Elizabeth and Darcy emerged from the room a full ten minutes later, dishevelled, mirthful, sated, and unrepentant, each teasing the other for not locking the door. The responses of the guests were varied—most somewhat envious one way or another—but only Miss Bingley was truly scandalised, in her heart now relieved to not have married a man who would demand such performances from a wife. Indeed, she said so, and thus proved herself the butt of amusement for everyone else. Darcy insisted that all Elizabeth’s remaining unspoken-for dances be his. If any man were to have so intimate a view of his wife’s beautiful bosom, it would be him.
Given the timing of future events, Elizabeth believed they owed the conception of their first child to Caroline Bingley, the inviting fire in the Matlock House sitting room, and a revealing ball gown.
***
On July 21, 1813, Fitzwilliam Darcy awoke happily agitated. It was the first year anniversary of what he now termed “the Pemberley Miracle,” the day he and Elizabeth had surprised each other—he by returning to Pemberley a day earlier than stated, and she by being there at all.
In the earliest months of their marriage, Elizabeth nearly always awoke before her husband and nearly always sought to be comforted by him—using her own definition of that charming word— as he roused. Now, Elizabeth consistently awoke later to find Darcy observing her, and if the bedclothes were disarranged, ogling her. So it was on this morning.
Darcy smiled gently upon his sleeping wife, lit by the morning sun streaming through the sheer summer curtains. It was proving to be an uncommonly hot summer for Derbyshire, and Darcy opened the glass doors onto their private terrace, surprised by how warm the air was already. This makes it more likely that she will join me in the pond after we replicate meeting as we did last year. He stepped back inside to await the opening of his wife’s expressive eyes.
He was determined to be deliriously happy all day.
Elizabeth, lying on her side, opened her eyes and smiled. “You are a smug and silly man.” She often remarked thusly to him upon waking. The role of a teasing wife was one she took very seriously.
Darcy had never lived with an expectant wife, and he was learning the signs, such as Elizabeth sleeping late. She quite inexplicably developed an aversion to her beloved strawberry jam, which the denizens of the Pemberley kitchens did manage to faithfully reproduce in the Longbourn manner. She suddenly preferred instead the tart bitter-orange marmalade made from citrus grown in the Pemberley orangery. Elizabeth’s nausea had been mild. She now entered that period of time when some expectant ladies feel quite fit and become exceptionally randy.
Darcy knelt at the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. “You see me more than a little silly just now. Happy Anniversary, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He kissed her hands.
“Will you come back to bed, Fitzwilliam?” She lifted aside the bedclothes to reveal both her body with its fecund belly, and the tattered remains of yet another thin white silk nightgown. She pulled it to her, covering only the patch of dark hair between her legs, and gave Darcy a ripe look.
“Miss Bennet!” Darcy leaned away. “Have you no sense of occasion? Would you have behaved so a year ago?”
“You may assume you are affecting a shocked expression, sir, but in fact you look more than usually desirable.” She held his gaze as she parted her legs. Her eyes grew more serious. “Let us join together, on today of all days.”
“Miss Bennet! You are too wanton. Later. Later, I promise.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Fitzwilliam, this is too silly, given the evidence before you, sir.”
“Miss Bennet…” Darcy smiled, took a deep breath, and stepped further away.
“You have become a teasing sort of man, Fitzwilliam Darcy.” She threw the nightgown at him with a laugh.
“I am keeping this one. ‘The nightgown she lobbed at me on our first anniversary.’ I have a little chest of such unusual treasures.”
Elizabeth pulled a sheet over herself. He must have plans for later that require we wait…dear man. I shall play along. “May we at least take our breakfast together?”
“Certainly. I shall ring that we are ready, and I shall dress.”
“You have plans?”
“Indeed I do. I mean to go riding, and at eleven o’clock, I shall make a cooling dive into the little spring-fed pond, and at half past eleven, if you would meet me on the west sloping lawn?”
“Am I to wear sprigged muslin and my brown spencer and bonnet?”
“How did you know?”
“You are not the only one with a sentimental attachment to the day.”
Darcy beamed. “I am pleased. I was beginning to worry for your memory, Elizabeth.”
She smiled fondly. “Dear man…you know those clothes will no longer serve me, at least until next summer unless you prove so potent that the remainder of my summers will see me in this same condition.”
Darcy bent and nuzzled her temple. “Wear what you will, Lizzy, but meet me on time. We shall go for a swim.”
When the breakfast tray arrived, there was a green velvet box at the centre, on its own little plate. Darcy peeked at Elizabeth through the crack of the door hinge between their bedchamber and the mistress’s room, where they often ate when wanting to be truly left alone. He saw her pleased blush, and she picked up the box and looked around for him.
“Fitzwilliam? Darling?” she called lightly.
He stepped into the room, dressed for riding on a warm day. Elizabeth had put on the Grecian dressing gown. It was the coolest garment she owned. She felt the hot summer during her pregnancy was a punishment for some sin she had committed; she knew not which one.
“Miss Bennet?”
“Is this for me?”
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth, open it.”
Inside the box was the diamond ring surrounded by emeralds that Darcy had altered to his specifications in London He intended for her to wear it on the hand opposite her emerald and leaf ring.
She looked into his eyes. “How lovely this will be with my betrothal ring. But it comes with no proposal?”
Darcy attempted exasperation. “How many times must I propose?”
“I have yet to decide, so you must keep at it.”
Darcy leaned into her ear, his hands untying her dressing gown, and he pulled her against him with hands hot against her skin. “How is this proposal? Miss Bennet, I adore you passionately. I spend my days thinking of ways to touch you and taste you that will give you pleasure. I seek your happiness so that when I wish to join with you, you will always accept me. Tell me, Miss Bennet, are you willing to become my wife? I promise to maintain you in grand style.” He kissed her neck.
“I am sorry to tell you, sir, I have taken a lover. He is tall with soft dark hair and devastating brown eyes, and very well hung.” She chuckled and touched him where she could best emphasise her meaning.
“Nonsense. You have loved me since the moment you saw me.”
Elizabeth laughed with delight. “Your arrogance is astonishing. You seek to lure me from him with this ring?”
“With the ring and whatever else may be needed.” He paused, smiling sheepishly. “’Devastating brown eyes’?
You think so?”
She huffed. “Vanity is still a sin, as I must so often remind you.” She felt Darcy’s erection through his breeches and started to unbutton them. “No,” he panted. “We must wait, Lizzy.” He stepped back.
“You have no one to blame but yourself that I have come to be such a demanding wife.”
He nodded with a self-contented smile. “You have yet to become insufferable.”
“Go ride your horse then, and stop pestering me.” She shrugged vigorously, and her dressing gown fell to the floor.
Darcy slowly reached out to her with one hand. His fingers caressed her breast, and slid to her belly. He patted her there. “What a good wife I have,” he dimpled.
He turned and exited the room like a man fleeing demons. He heard her laughter and her slipper hitting the door just as he closed it. Her aim was deadly, but fortunately, she threw only shoes or other items of clothing at him—nothing breakable—and only when he was teasing her.
Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy were happy.
***
A year earlier, Mrs. Reynolds, about some task at the time, had chanced to look out a window to see her master’s unexpected approach. She watched as the young woman who had been touring the house wandered into view and saw the shocked posture of both as they greeted each other. When Mr. Darcy walked away from the guest, he grinned in such a way that she had never seen on his adult face. Mrs. Reynolds knew instantly he was in love with this self-possessed and unassuming young woman.
Mrs. Reynolds positioned herself in a chair near the same window, watching. What a difference a year made. Mr. Darcy, again wet to the skin in a linen shirt and riding britches, appeared from the shrubbery. Elizabeth, in a capacious new gown meant to see her through her confinement, approached, but lost her footing on the slopping lawn. Mrs. Reynolds stood, instantly fearful her mistress would fall while with child, but she underestimated Elizabeth’s balance and agility. With a controlled fling of her arms, Elizabeth righted herself and remained on her feet, although moving forward at rather a higher velocity than she intended, sliding into Mr. Darcy’s embrace. He seemed delighted. Mrs. Reynolds smiled and returned to her work.
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