by Ola Wegner
Darcy nodded. “It would seem so.”
Elizabeth reached for Jane’s letter, picking it from the floor. She tore at it impatiently. The inside was filled with her sister’s tight handwriting, but there was another letter enclosed inside.
“Can you believe that?” she asked, showing to Darcy a letter addressed to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
“They want you to help them correspond with one another,” Darcy stated the obvious. “Richard cannot send letters directly to Jane, as he is not her family and they are not engaged. You, as Richard’s relative and Jane’s sister, can send the letters to both of them.”
“This is most shocking!” Elizabeth remarked, shaking her head. “What about poor Mr. Bingley?”
Darcy shrugged. “Bingley seems to be out of the cards here.”
He did not say it, but he thought that it was his friend’s own fault that the matters had taken such a turn. Bingley was still undecided where Miss Bennet was concerned while Richard seemed to have a clear strategy and played accordingly with some apparent success.
“I cannot believe that Jane would do something like this. It is very unlike her. All this secrecy,” Elizabeth marvelled.
“Perhaps Jane wants to simply get to know my cousin better,” he suggested, hoping to ease her mind. “How can she achieve that when she is in London while he must remain at Kent for the time being?” he questioned reasonably. “This is a very safe solution and very wise. She does not risk her reputation, and it does not ruin her relationship with Bingley. They picked the right person to help them as well. They both know that they can trust you implicitly.”
Elizabeth folded Jane’s letter neatly, before setting her eyes at him. “You opened the letter from your cousin because you thought that I was writing to him behind your back,” she stated. “Why do you distrust me so much? Have I ever given you reason for that?” she asked, not being able to remove the hurt from her voice.
He leaned forward and buried his face in her neck. “I thought that it would be easier for me once we were married, once you were mine, but I cannot help feeling insecure,” he confessed.
She cupped his cheek, making sure their eyes met. “The only times I think about your cousin is when you bring his name into our conversation. It is my husband who occupies my thoughts and heart to such an extent that there is no place for another man,” she whispered the last words.
Remembering her aunt's advice, she wrapped one hand around his neck, and with all her strength, she pushed him backwards, looming over him.
“Touch me,” she whispered, before meeting his lips in a kiss.
He seemed surprised, but it lasted only a moment. His hands took firm possession of her waist, as he was responding to her kiss with enthusiasm.
Taking one of his hands, she moved it up her chest. His eyes opened for a moment, focusing on her face as he gave her breast a gentle squeeze.
“Touch me, touch me,” she chanted, straining against his searching over her bosom hand. “Love me if you will, Fitzwilliam.”
“Let us go upstairs,” he murmured into her neck, his hand running down her body, stopping on her backside.
“I thought that you had numerous correspondence to attend to,” she whispered breathlessly, perfectly aware that she was teasing him.
“To hell with correspondence,” he spoke before pulling both of them to their feet.
She giggled. “What will the servants say when we disappear upstairs in the middle of the day?”
“I do not care. Servants be damned!” He spoke hoarsely.
She sobered instantly. “I care.”
“It is my home, and I will not answer to anyone if I want to spend time alone with my wife in the middle of the day,” he announced arrogantly, taking her hand.
They exited the library, hurrying through the long corridor towards the staircase. She and Brutus were forced to run in order to keep his pace.
“Nephew, nephew, where are you going?” a high pitched, distinctively female voice called, rooting them in place.
Slowly they turned towards the fast approaching woman.
“I can see you, Fitzwilliam! What is the meaning of this, and why are you hiding from me?” the elegant lady, looking to be in her early fifties questioned. “We have been expecting you for weeks now, you and your new wife.” Her gaze rested on Elizabeth.
Darcy regained his composure for a moment. “Aunt, allow me,” he motioned with his hand. “This is my wife, Elizabeth. My dear, this is my aunt, Lady Eleanor, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mother.”
Elizabeth dropped a curtsey, looking into the older woman’s face. She saw blonde hair and laughing blue eyes, as if exactly copied from Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face.
“Well, my dear,” Lady Eleanor gave her an assessing look. “I’ve heard so much of you from my son that I expected someone bigger. You seem a nice girl though,” she acknowledged with a warm smile.
Darcy and Elizabeth stood, still holding hands, as if frozen in their astonishment at the unexpected guest.
“Well, will you not invite me in?” Lady Eleanor questioned, her voice turning impatient. “Am I to stand here all afternoon, not being offered even a cup of tea?”
Elizabeth blinked, recollecting herself at last. She started to speak, greeting her husband’s aunt in a most polite way.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I thought she would never decide to retire,” Darcy whined as they entered their bedroom late in the evening.
Elizabeth walked past him into her dressing room. “I believe that Lady Eleanor missed both you and Georgiana, having not seen you for so long, and she wished to hear all the news. Moreover, she must have been curious about me,” she responded to his comment as she moved to retrieve a pair of soft, well cushioned slippers she always used when in the privacy of their rooms.
Darcy’s dark head peeked inside while he supported his arm against the door frame and stared down at her with serious eyes, as she was removing her shoes and stockings.
“Your aunt was most kind to me,” Elizabeth said happily as she turned her back to him, indicating that she wished for him to open the row of tiny buttons at the back of her dress. “I had a feeling that she truly wanted to know me better for who I was,” she mused as his fingers glided along the length of her back, working patiently on the buttons. “There was neither judgment nor any previously held misconceptions concerning my person in her tone or expression as we conversed,” she continued.“I can see now from where Colonel Fitzwilliam derives his kindness and pleasant disposition.”
The dress began loosening around her shoulders, and she had to hold it at her bosom to keep it from falling down completely. Darcy wrapped his arm around her waist, and she felt his lips on her neck.
She sighed, biting her lip worriedly. “I hope that Lady Eleanor was not disappointed with me. I would wish at least one member of your family to approve of me, apart from Colonel Fitzwilliam, of course.”
She did not mention Lady Catherine’s name, but she was certain that they both knew to whom she referred. Their last meeting with Lady Catherine was deeply buried in her mind, and she doubted whether she would ever forget about it.
Her husband’s arm dropped from her waist and she heard his retreating steps on the hardwood floor.
“I will leave you to finish your toilette,” he spoke in an odd voice, and a moment later, she was alone in the dressing room.
She cleansed herself quickly, her mind still occupied with Lady Eleanor’s unexpected visit. Dressed in a nightdress and a dressing robe, she returned to the bedroom.
The room was empty, and she assumed that her husband had departed to prepare himself to sleep. She sat at her vanity, looking distractedly at her reflection in the large oval mirror. Her fingers were busy removing her elegant but simple earrings, which were a present from Darcy for her twenty-first birthday. They were beautiful, and even though she cringed at the thought of how expensive they must have been, she wore them every single day.
“She could have announced her visit.” Darcy’s words signaled his return.
Elizabeth’s searching eyes locked on her husband. He was already dressed in his nightclothes, his hair slightly wet and combed neatly away from his handsome face. His entire posture informed her of his ill temper.
“Why are you so irritated?” she enquired gently, placing the earrings neatly in the small case. “You barely spoke a word to our guest. Lady Eleanor cares a great deal about you and Georgiana; that much was obvious. Your aunt is very fond of you. She invited all of us to Matlock, and I think that it was very thoughtful of her. ”
Darcy dropped on the chair next to her. “Do we have to go there?” he fumed. “Why did you accept the invitation so readily in the first place? You could have refused, saying that we are expecting your relatives.”
She turned with her whole body to him, more and more astonished with his angry attitude. “We will be in Matlock for a few days only,” she spoke calmly. “We will return in time to welcome the Gardiners. Mrs. Reynolds can see to the preparations concerning their visit.”
“I would prefer to stay home,” he grunted, not looking at her. “You should have asked me before accepting the invitation,” he insisted.
There was a long silence after his last words. Elizabeth turned back to her vanity, pretending to be busy with her combs, jewelry cases and bottles of perfumes sitting on the smooth white surface. She refused to look at her reflection, afraid to detect tears in her eyes. She began to remove the pins from her hair, trying to stop her trembling fingers from shaking so violently while she worked.
Why was he speaking to her in such a harsh manner? She re-evaluated today’s afternoon and evening, finding no lapses in her behaviour towards Lady Eleanor. She thought that her husband would be pleased that his aunt was welcoming and accepting towards her, but she might have been wrong.
“Are you ashamed to show me in Matlock?” she asked quietly.
“Do not be ridiculous,” he murmured only.
She froze at his words; a part of her wanted to call him on his harsh words, on the fact that he had just called her ridiculous, but she found that she had no strength for that. She was exhausted after a long, emotional day, and she needed her rest. Perhaps tomorrow her husband would be in a better frame of mind, and she would find the true reason for his dark mood.
Avoiding eye contact with him, she finished her nightly routine. She was still not accustomed at having a personal maid at her beck and call, and preferred to do many things on her own.
Brushing her long hair, she walked towards the bed. It was high time to cut some of its length. It reached well past her waist, and it was getting difficult to pin the heavy mass up in an orderly fashion.
Darcy was already seated on his side of the bed, with his back supported against a large pillow. She put the brush on the bedside table as she sat on the edge of the bed. She divided her tresses into three sections, intending to plait them for the night.
“You know that I like your hair let free,” his disgruntled voice came to her.
She rolled her eyes, but did not turn to look at him. “You do not have to comb the tangles out of it in the morning though.”
“You do not need to do it either. You have a maid at your disposal to do that, I believe.”
She stopped her task and turned with her entire body to him. “What is the matter with you tonight?” she asked.
The only answer she received was a shrug of his broad arms. With a sigh, she flipped the half-made braid to her back and crawled across the bed to him.
“Talk to me,” she pleaded, kneeling beside him. “What put you in such a bad mood?”
“You cannot guess?” he asked, his voice gentler, his expression suddenly vulnerable.
Slowly, the realization began to dawn on her. “You wished to spend the afternoon with me?”
He refused to look at her, and he did not confirm her suspicion with words, but she could feel that she had guessed correctly.
“You seemed to forget about our plans completely,” he murmured, his voice thick with hurt.
She put a hand on his shoulder, stroking it. “Forgive me; it was not my intention to forget about you. However, what else could I do when she showed up on the doorstep? Should I have ignored her, or perhaps left it to Georgiana to entertain her? I wanted to make the best impression on your aunt. It was my first time to perform my role as Mistress of Pemberley in front of a stranger. Can you not see that?”
He turned away slightly before answering, “I am nothing more than a duty to you, coming at the far end after more important tasks…keeping my sister and relatives company, attending to household matters, and let us not forget your dog.” The words fell from his mouth quickly with open bitterness.
She stared at him in astonishment, blinking her eyes. She had no suspicion that he could feel that way.
“You are most unfair,” she protested.“I have tried very hard to find my place here, to prove myself. I want to be a good wife to you, so you will not regret your choice. I wish to be useful.”
As soon as she finished her small speech, she knew from his expression that it was not what he had hoped or expected to hear.
“You are right, I am in a foul mood tonight,” he agreed, his voice cold, his face blank. “Will you put the candles out?” he asked, as he laid down, showing her his back.
She sat on the bed next to him for a longer moment, undecided in what to do. Finally, she slipped from the bed and took a turn around the room, putting out the candles as he had asked. She wanted to weep.
As the room darkened, with only the faint light from the fireplace illuminating it, she returned to their bed and slipped under the covers.
She lay on her back, staring at the canopy of their large, four poster bed. She guessed from his breathing that he was only pretending to sleep—he was too quiet for real sleep. Usually when in deep slumber, he produced low wheezing sounds while taking every breath. She also realized that it had been the first time since their marriage that he was so physically distant from her, not touching her in any way.
Without farther consideration, she rolled closer to him, plastering her front to his back.
“I cannot fall asleep without your arms around me,” she confessed in a clear voice, despite her uneasiness at admitting her true feelings to him.
Slowly, he shifted onto his back and raised his arm over her head, allowing her to snuggle closer.
“Sleep,” he whispered roughly, without his usual tenderness. But he kissed the top of her head, which uplifted her spirits vastly, and she felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her heart. She moved yet closer, lifting her leg over his body.
They both stilled when her thigh brushed against his middle and felt his hardness.
The silence between them was complete. He did not remove his arm from around her and seemed to stop breathing. She realized that lately she had not felt him like that against her. He had always handled her very gently, and when embracing her, he had never pressed her with too much force. Her heart melted as the thought crossed her mind that in all probability, he had kept himself in check so she would not feel pressured into intimacy that she was not ready for.
She, Elizabeth Darcy, was a fool indeed, as she had not guessed the true reason for her husband’s foul mood.
“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, moving onto her back, pulling him firmly with her, her fingers twisted into the front of his nightshirt.
He laid down on her, not sparing her his full weight, his face buried in her neck.
She shifted under him with some effort, at last freeing her legs, so she could bend and wrap them around his lean body. Her hands slid down his back, till she grabbed his nightshirt, attempting to pull it up.
His weight lifted from her then, and his eyes bored into hers as he stared down at her, supported on his outstretched arms. She pulled up his nightshirt farther, uncovering the hairy planes of his chest till she succeeded in removing the garment completely.
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As she disposed of his nightshirt, she captured his lips with hers, her hands stroking their way down his chest, stomach and lower. Hesitating only for a short moment, she took a hold of his still erect manhood.
“You are certain?” he breathed above her, his voice resembling a tortured moan.
In response, she grabbed the hem of her own nightgown, removing it hastily, throwing it blindly aside.
“Oh, Lizzy!” She heard a throaty exclamation, before he dropped back on her, she felt the presence of his hands and lips suddenly all over her body.
She gasped in the first moment of his ferocious attack on her body, but then she reminded herself that he was the last person in the world whom she should fear physically. He had always been nothing but gentle with her. Even when they strolled together, and she, lost deep in her thoughts, walked off the beaten path, his fingers wrapped so very carefully around her shoulder as if a butterfly touch to steer her in the right direction. He had never left as much as a slight bruise on her skin. With his strength, it would be enough for him to press or squeeze a bit harder, and he would mark her easily, probably without even realizing it.
He had hurt her that first night, true, but she could see now that the disastrous outcome was as much her fault as his. She had stubbornly insisted that he continue, even though she was anything but ready to accept him at that time.
Remembering her aunt’s letter, she lifted her hands to his head, burying her fingers in his hair, as he suckled at the tip of her breast. With her eyes closed, she enjoyed his ministrations, trying not to think about anything but the pleasurable sensations that his touch brought to life in her body. She lifted her hips when his hand found its way between her thighs, silently encouraging him to continue.
Clasping him to her with all the might of her right arm, the fingers of her left hand gripped the sheet beneath her. She concentrated on the pleasure coming from his caresses inflicted on her sensitive folds. Every few moments, his thumb seemed to brush one special spot, bringing such a thrill every time he stroked her, her fingernails dug in the supple skin of his back, surely causing him pain.