The Red Chrysanthemum

by Linda Beutler

  Darcy awakened as Elizabeth pulled herself from under his hand. He watched her walk away from the bed, wondering if she would disappear into the second bedchamber. She stopped behind the settee, and he could see she was untying the long sleeves. Is she removing her nightgown? His heart started to beat so loudly he feared she would hear it.

  Elizabeth stood with her hands in front of her, unbuttoning the remaining little buttons down the placket. She flapped the loosened fabric to fan herself before pulling her arms from the sleeves and letting Charlotte’s gift drop unceremoniously to the floor. She stepped from the puddle of flannel, catching it upon one foot and giving it a kick, which sent it aloft ten feet across the room. “Asinine, damned thing,” she muttered.

  Darcy had to turn his face into the pillows to keep from laughing out loud. She is her father’s daughter. He was afraid she might turn and see him shaking with mirth.

  Elizabeth looked down at her more exposed bosom. The chemise was of a finer quality than she usually wore next to her skin; it was made of the same fabric as the under-layers of her wedding gown and it clung to her curves. It had wide shoulder straps and one drawstring cinched the neckline, while another pulled the garment close under her breasts. The hem fluttered around the middle of her calves, revealing slender ankles.

  Darcy peeked from the pillows in time to see Elizabeth, now slightly facing him, untie the neckline ribbon and retie it more snugly. She thought this would pull the neckline higher, which was true, but it also drew the fabric more closely around her breasts, lifting them a little outwards. Oh dear. That was not entirely helpful, she fretted to herself. She felt more exposed than she was.

  Her husband detected yet another erection building. How can I be expected to resist her? Look at those little ankles, her perfect bosom. And I know she was dreaming of me. Darcy groaned and rolled away.

  She looked at him. It is a shame he must be cold tonight, our first night together. She turned and tiptoed into the second room, closed its door and made use of the receptacles there. Afterwards, she refreshed herself with lavender water. When she stepped back into their bedchamber, she studied him as he lay facing the wall. His shoulders were appealingly broad and his legs long and lean. His feet had tossed off the blanket he brought in to cover them.

  Darcy was wide-awake. He felt her wrapping the fallen blanket around his feet. He could not discern what she did next, but it felt as if she were smoothing the bedclothes on her side of the mattress. What is she about? He felt her lift the blanket and counterpane covering him, and crawl in. He could feel her bosom pressed against his back. She snaked one arm under his neck to pull into closer contact with him; her other arm wormed its way under his, and her hands opened on his shirt. Her right hand reached inside, touching the skin of his chest. The air was filled with the scent of lavender. He savoured a moment in her arms before warning her.

  “You are treading a dangerous path, Elizabeth.” He reached into his shirt and withdrew her hand, holding it in his, raising her palm to his lips.

  “I do not believe myself in danger, Fitzwilliam. You are an honourable man. But you are too cold to sleep well, and I am too warm. If lying in my arms is disturbing you, I can recommend, by way of substitute, a certain flannel nightgown that will keep you very warm indeed, I promise you.”

  Darcy closed his eyes, smiling. “You are an obliging wife.”

  “Or,” Elizabeth continued, “you should sleep under the bedclothes, and I should remain as I am now.”

  Darcy sighed. “How I long for my own bed, with you in it.” He released her hand, reached behind him, and felt the length of her thigh from hip to knee under a layer of smooth silk. His virile member was urgently alert. Do I ask too much of myself to wait? How I long to make her truly mine and have done with it.

  Her hand returned to the opening of his shirt. She kissed the nape of his neck. “If you do not wish to wait, Fitzwilliam, I will not fault you.”

  “I may be an honourable man, but I begin to question whether I have married an honourable woman. You would be willing?” He held his breath.

  “Indeed, sir, I hope you will always find your wife willing.” She leaned her cheek against him.

  “That is not quite the answer I was hoping for. Fitzwilliam Darcy wishes to know if Elizabeth Bennet is willing to give herself to him, to become his wife in every way. Do you want me?” His voice was a tense whisper.

  Elizabeth became alert and pulled her head away. How can he ask? Why does he ask? Why does he not simply take me if he is so filled with desire? “Fitzwilliam, I love you, but I fear I do not quite understand myself well enough to know whether I want you. I must learn what that means.”

  Darcy considered this. As delicious as she felt as she lay against his back, Elizabeth was still an innocent. If he was stirring feelings within her, she could not yet give them words, nor did she have knowledge enough to understand her body. Stick to your plan, Darcy, marshal your self-control, and wait for Pemberley. It is in every way preferable. “I think there are very few hours of sleep left to us, and tomorrow we will be in the carriage all day. As much as I long for you, Elizabeth, I want to be at Pemberley, where we have shared so much already, when we take this final step to bind ourselves together.”

  Elizabeth was relieved. “It is where I realized you were the only man I could ever be prevailed on to marry.” Darcy started to chuckle, and again pulled her hand from his shirt and held it. She asked, “Now are you more comfortable? Can you sleep?”

  Darcy closed his eyes, willing his manhood to quiet itself. “Yes, I am a little drowsy.” He was conscious of telling her what she wanted to hear, but not the truth. It calmed him that she was soon asleep.

  Elizabeth slept soundly for several uninterrupted hours but every move she made awakened Darcy from fitful catnaps. When she rolled onto her back, he raised himself up on his elbow to gaze at her as she slept. One arm was tossed over her head in a rather child-like pose, but her bosom, held somewhat in place by the tightened chemise, created a round and rosy exhibit of her womanly attributes. He felt himself under some enchantment, and gave in to the urge to stroke her there, above the neckline. His arm grew tired of supporting him and he nestled his cheek upon her breast, the steady beating of her heart soon bringing him an hour’s sleep.

  * * *

  Elizabeth stirred but did not awaken. Her arm was around him, her hand on his shoulder. Darcy was wide-awake and quite certain he was too wakeful to sleep again — and he had another erection. Damn it, man, he chastised himself. You have all the patience of a whistling teakettle. Once he determined Elizabeth was still asleep, he turned and kissed the flesh where his cheek had rested. It was warm and slightly moist from the perspiration of skin on skin. She does indeed sleep hot. Irresistibly hot. He kissed her bosom again, this time tasting her a little with his tongue. Stop, Darcy. He leaned to her and rubbed his manhood, still bound in his breeches, against her hip. God, man, you must stop. Finally, with a low groan, Darcy rolled out of her loose embrace. He lay back upon the pillows with a great sigh. I shall make up the fire, light a candle and read for a time. He sat up and looked back at his sleeping bride. Elizabeth’s face was angelic, the curls around her forehead slightly damp and the hand he abandoned settled in a graceful arc over her bosom, her fingers where his cheek had reposed for an hour. Watching the rise and fall of her chest claimed his attention, but the logs on the fire shifted, the flames grew lower and the room darkened.

  After lighting a candle, Darcy crept into the second bedchamber and brought his pocket watch into the candlelight. Four o’clock. The footman will awaken us at five. It is no use trying to sleep.

  Darcy read. Time passed, and he decided to dress. He was buttoning his frock coat when a strange, strangled whimpering sound could be heard coming from where Elizabeth lay dreaming.

  She awakened in a dark cold room, with no Darcy in the bed. Wearing only a chemise, Elizabeth wandered the halls of Pemberley, worried where he had gone. Like a disquieted ghost, she
called him, panic rising with each corridor crossed and stairway ascended. She arrived at the portrait gallery gasping, and felt a moan forming in her chest that she could not still. There, at the end of the grand hall, captured in cold moonlight, Darcy embraced a woman, locked in a mutually devouring kiss. As if she was the woman in his arms, Elizabeth could feel the intensity of his embrace and ferocity of his kiss, and experienced the sensations of returning his desire. Yet she was staring, not participating; she was not that woman. It was her worst fear: he had taken a mistress. Elizabeth screamed in anguish but could not force the sound from her throat. She backed away, desperate to shriek, yet barely able to breathe.

  Darcy rushed into the bedchamber. Elizabeth was sitting up in the bed, wild-eyed, still in the power of the dream. She was making sounds of stifled horror. “Elizabeth!” he called to her as he approached.

  She rose to her knees and, hearing her name, fully awoke. Seeing him, she wailed, “Fitzwilliam! Fitzwilliam, where were you?”

  “Elizabeth, darling!” He embraced her, burying his face in her neck. “You had a bad dream. There is nothing to fear.” He pulled back and beheld her eyes, still full of panic.

  She struck him, hard, on the upper arm with a closed fist. “Where were you?” she demanded. Darcy watched as tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “If you make me cry on the first morning of our married life, Fitzwilliam Darcy, I shall never forgive you.” She blinked rapidly, but a few tears escaped and ran down either side of her nose. “Damn you,” she murmured, and collapsed onto her haunches, her head hanging in defeat.

  Darcy sat next to her as she sank. “Elizabeth?”

  “Where were you?” The tears were flowing freely, but she did not sob.

  He stared at her. His throat tightened, and he could make no response.

  “What could possibly have compelled you to leave our bed on our first morning together? Why would you?” Her liquid eyes searched his face. She was exquisite in her dishevelment: one strap of her chemise had slipped down her shoulder, leaving a breast nearly revealed. Her braid was frazzled; her cheeks were moist from tears and glowing with heat. “Did you not say you wished to awaken in my arms?”

  It was as if she had kicked him in the chest. A wave of guilt consumed him. “And so I did…an hour ago,” he confessed. “You were so beautiful as you slept; I stared at you for some time. I read for a while then decided it might speed our departure if I dressed before you. It did not occur to me that you might wish to awaken with me in your arms. I am a selfish creature.” Then he whispered, “Elizabeth. Forgive me. I…I can offer no excuse. I have so much to learn.”

  What a horrible start to the day, she fretted silently. And now I am causing a scene he is not likely to forget. I must be calm. I must look a great mess. Elizabeth smiled crookedly at him. “Indeed you do. Let me warn you, sir, tomorrow morning when I awaken, you must still be in my bed. I absolutely insist.”

  There was a tapping at the door. “Damn,” muttered Darcy as he strode to it. “Yes there! We are awake,” he announced to the closed door.

  A man’s muffled voice replied, “Where will you and Mrs Darcy take your breakfast, sir?”

  “In the sitting room across the hall. We shall be ready in half an hour.” His voice was curt.

  “Very good, Mr Darcy, sir.”

  Darcy turned to see Elizabeth had risen to her knees again and pulled the corner of the counterpane to cover herself lest the servant enter, but not in a particularly efficient or thorough manner. Her wild loveliness drew him back to her side. He pulled the counterpane from her hands, tossing it aside, and embraced her ardently, kissing her in the way he had been kissing the unknown woman in the dream.

  At first, Elizabeth was too perturbed to respond, and then, against her conscious wishes, her body melted against him, one hand buried itself in his curls, the other pressed against his back. His tongue ravaged her and she moaned her approbation, hungry for more, when he moved to withdraw from her. “Yes, like that,” she murmured, then held his head between both of her hands and kissed him in return, feverishly. That is how he was kissing her. How I long for him always to kiss me as if he cannot resist.

  When she released his head, he smiled with wonder. “Do you have the least notion of how beautiful you are? If it were not for our breakfast being imminent, I would have all of you, immediately, Pemberley or not.” His voice was low and tense.

  “I look a fright, just as I warned you.”

  “No, madam, you most certainly do not. You look wild and tempting, and it is my lot to tame you.” His hand touched her naked shoulder, his fingers grazing her warmth lightly; he raised the strap of her chemise, touching all the skin of her upper arm and shoulder as he did so, and feeling the pleasing weight of her breast as the strap lifted it. If I cup her breast in my hand, would she stop me? Would I stop myself?

  Her eyes were soft and kind. She knew she had tried him. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.” She blushed and looked down. “I must dress. We have not much time.”

  He held out his hand, taking hers and assisting her to stand. “May I attend you? Lace up your corset? Brush your hair?”

  “Fitzwilliam…I have chosen an ensemble for the day that allows me to see to myself. I will not be long.” She stopped and looked back at him before disappearing to dress. “I am sorry for being so addled when I awoke. I would not have you think yourself burdened with a fretful wife.”

  “You were quite justified. It was my own fault. I will not make that mistake again. Is it true that had I stayed in bed holding you, you would have awakened in a happier dream?”

  “I am sure of it.” She smiled enigmatically and was gone.

  And I would have made you my wife utterly…

  Sweet Marjorum

  “Blushes”

  Chapter 16

  Coventry to Pemberley

  Darcy and Elizabeth boarded their carriage and were away before the pale sun was clear of the horizon. Although Darcy seemed lively and attentive enough at breakfast, he quickly became drowsy once the horses settled into a regular gait when the bustle of Coventry receded.

  “I am sorry, Elizabeth, to be such poor company as we travel. I slept very ill last night.”

  She looked out the window. “Oh. I am very sorry to hear it. This morning is not going at all well.”

  Darcy reached for her chin and gently turned her face back to his. “I have so looked forward to sleeping with you, but I am not yet used to sleeping with anyone. You were delightfully cosy and generate an appealing warmth when you sleep.”

  Her cheeks coloured, and although, for a moment, she thought of resisting her impulse to smile, she could not. “That was a very pretty speech, Fitzwilliam. It will certainly take some time, but I believe you may not be such a tedious husband as others have predicted.”

  His eyes sparkled at her. “You might practice acting the martyr, Elizabeth, or my reputation as a disagreeable man will be in ruins. It would be a great disappointment to your father to have me revealed as an amiable fellow who dotes upon his favourite daughter.”

  Darcy leaned his head against Elizabeth’s shoulder; it grew heavy. He awoke as Elizabeth slid to her left to give him more room on the seat.

  “Hmm?” He sat upright again.

  “If you weren’t such a great tall fellow, Fitzwilliam, we could devise a way to stretch you out for a proper nap. What can we contrive for your comfort?”

  “I am sure I would doze nicely with my head in your lap.”

  Elizabeth studied his countenance and was not surprised to find some mischief there. “Yes, I am sure you think you would, but we would have to fold you in half. Oh, let’s try this…” She leaned forward and pulled out the picnic hamper, now loaded with provender from the inn at Coventry, and put one of the unused lap robes upon it, which she left folded in several thick layers. She slid it into the empty space between the two seats, in front of Darcy. Then she pulled another lap robe from the wicker bin under the seat beneath her. “If you will put
your head in my lap and sleep on your side, you can stretch your legs to the opposite seat with your knees supported on the hamper. That might be comfortable for a time…”

  His sleepy eyes smiled at her. “Clever girl,” he said, assuming the prone position she suggested. He laid his head upon her thigh, on top of the lap robe she spread over herself when their day’s journey commenced.

  “Shall I pull the window shades?” she asked.

  “No, I am sure I shall sleep perfectly well, and you would like to watch our progress, I expect.”

  Elizabeth fussed at covering him with the blanket she had just retrieved. “Delightful…” Darcy said. He smiled and closed his eyes.

  Elizabeth looked down at his face with fondness. The odd ache that centred in her bosom when Darcy seemed at his most vulnerable returned. After making sure it was warm, she laid her hand upon his cheek, and before she knew what she was about, she began softly singing a lullaby. When the song ended, she whispered, “I love you.”

  Darcy remained quietly awake through her serenade, his throat tightening when she whispered to him after she finished. Never did I imagine anything as wonderful as this, he thought. He took her soft hand into his and settled their joined hands under his chin. The soothing smell of lavender seemed to rise from her. He was soon asleep.

  Elizabeth leaned into the corner of the carriage where she had wedged herself to give Darcy more room. They rolled through forests of trees now bared of their autumn colour, occasionally passing harvested fields. The sky was a dull grey, though it did not rain. She was pleased when Darcy slept through the first change of horses and put a finger to her lips for quiet when the footman looked in when they did not emerge. He saw the master’s head on the new Mrs Darcy’s lap and nodded with a fleeting smile.