Elizabeth pondered on the possible solutions to her predicament. Either she waited until Mr Darcy knocked at her door, and dismissed him quietly, or… call on him in his bedchamber herself.
Her heart leaped in excitement at the thought of a new adventure through the corridors. This time she would not use the servant's door to the dressing rooms, lest she would surprise Mr Darcy out of his robes or in some other predicament. Albeit the possibilities of an encounter with a late owl servant were veritably good, she chose the main corridor, and not before casting a last glance to the sleeping form of her sister, she tiptoed, heart pounding, through the dark passage with no other compass than her good memory.
The master's bedchamber is the first door thitherto.
Ever so slowly, she felt her way, lightly resting her left hand on the cold wall as she advanced in search of the room. As she approached the door, an exhilarating emotion ran through her veins.
~•~
Fitzwilliam Darcy had reached his bedchamber, a good two hours before midnight, and had been readying himself for his visit to the beautiful maiden of his dreams with every possible care. He had had a hot bath, rubbed the skin of his most intimate regions, applied cologne on his neck and once he was finished, sat in front of the fire, staring at the mantel clock, as if urging it into striking the twelfth hour.
His imagination running wild, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley and Rosings could barely contain himself in his excitement. Truth be told, he had always dreamt of taking his bride to the Master's bedchamber at Pemberley. Hence, his intentions were not to take his encounter with Elizabeth any further than the previous night. To be able to hold her enticing anatomy was invitation enough. But if he knew something about Elizabeth, that was the passionate nature of her character. That, combined with his overwhelming desire was too powerful a recipe to resist.
How lucky he was for her passion! After a life devoid of any, the portion that he was about to help himself with was fair enough. Indeed it was. He had been tied to a loveless marriage of convenience and had kept his wedding vows pristinely white all through it. Frustration had been his companion and bitterness his soul mate. No more of them. Not any more. Notwithstanding his masculinity had suffered the worst degradation ever conceived, he was determined to postpone the proper realise that would have been available for him after midnight. For if he had waited for so long, he could wait a bit more. If he had adhered to his convictions during the charade of his marriage to Anne, he would not do any less for the woman he loved. Truly loved. Much as he wished he could make her his tonight, he endeavoured for concealment of emotions, and vowed to honour his fiancée's maidenhood, so to speak.
He was in the middle of his reverie when the lightest of knocks were given at his door. Thereupon, he saw the door open, and the alluring figure of Miss Bennet emerged from the darkness of the corridor into the failing light afforded by the candle in his bedchamber. He felt dizzy with the vision.
So much for chaste resolutions.
He knew not what she was doing there, or how she had reached his bedchamber in the inky darkness of the passage outside. He merely saw her and was instantly devoid of his arduous well-meant intentions. How could he keep such nonsensical oath? Why, she was there, in his bedchamber, wearing nothing but a thin robe, a shawl around her shoulders and a crimson complexion whose carmine, he was sure, reached the most tempting parts of her bosom? He could not.
In no time at all, he was by her side. With the effortless movement, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and took her directly to his bed.
Twenty-Four
—
Shall We Talk?
George Wickham arrived home after the terrible experience in Waterloo, to find that, during his absence, he had miraculously fathered a son, a healthy boy who looked suspiciously very much like the young groom in his stables. Under English law, any child born in a family was considered the husband's seed, regardless of the age, health and other circumstances of said father. But the fact that Major Wickham had been three years on the Continent was reason enough to surmise that the child had been the result of inconsistent devotion from the part of the wife.
Lydia Bennet Wickham could not care for her husband's opinion any less. She had not married him to keep a celibate life. Scarcely had her husband set foot upon Spanish land, than she had set her whole body on the grooms' bed.
Her inexperience in adulterous amorous practices, however, led her to end up with an unwanted child in her belly by the second round of sinful behaviour. Mercifully, she was so isolated in Newcastle, that no one, except the groom, the maid and her husband would know of her infidelity.
George was not pained by his wife's shameful actions, nor did he feel in need of calling the poor stupid fellow out. He merely dismissed him and had a frank talk with his wife. Thus, he summoned her into his favourite corner in his small house where he had improvised a study.
"Pray, Mrs Wickham. May I have a word with you?" he said, offering her a seat in front of him.
"I am not feeling very well, Wickham," she answered, refusing to sit.
"I am afraid this conversation is most urgently necessary. Will you not sit down?"
She most reluctantly obliged him, not before puffing and huffing with evident discomfort.
"You must understand I am not at all happy with your behaviour during my absence. The child you have conceived should not bear my name. However, I believe it would be wiser to avoid a scandal, which my refusing to father your child would inevitable cause, hence, harming other's good reputations which our family had endeavoured to avoid ever since the beginning of our matrimony. I believe I owe that to your father, though I had been most injuriously mistreated by the rest."
"Aye, Wickham. Do as it pleases you."
"I will. But you must stop this charade, Mrs Wickham, and behave like the lady you ought to be. Think of your sisters. Your scandalous comportment may harm them for good. Especially Miss Elizabeth, who is still unmarried. Her chances for a good match might fall irremediably should word of your shameful behaviour reach the ears of the gossips in Meryton."
"Lizzy will never get married."
"That is not for you to say. Anyway. You must behave for my sake. I may not be your loving husband but I am your husband, indeed. As such, I demand your respect."
"Pahh!"
"Mrs Wickham!"
"Mrs Wickham, my bonnet! I am Mrs I-am-not-at-home, that is what I am. You cannot blame me for looking for comfort while you were fighting your little war!"
"I… I forbid you to speak thus!"
"Who do you think you are? Mr Darcy? You cannot command me. I am not your daughter. I am your wife, and I am not afraid of you!"
"I certainly know you are not. Otherwise you would have not had the audacity to confront me with your bastard."
"He is your child!"
"Mrs Wickham. You may fool your mother, you may fool our groom. You eventually may fool yourself. But you cannot fool me. Now, go to bed. I shall make certain that next time it will be mine. Go now. I shall follow you directly."
After that, he proceeded to indulge himself in a good amount of liquor. He meant to follow his wife to her bedchamber and impregnate her with his own seed,(to her delight he endeavoured to do so twice that night). He had another go in the morning and later the following afternoon. Mrs Wickham had no cause to repine. Yet, Wickham's meaning was not to satisfy his wife's lust, but get her with child, so that she would keep herself busy at home, and stop flirting with the officers in town.
But Mrs Wickham was a hopeless case. There was no stopping her. With or without child, she would keep embarrassing her husband with her shameless flirtatious demeanour.
At least, Wickham would be certain she would not end up with another bastard in her belly.
~•~
The moment he reached the bed, Darcy immediately regretted his wild impulse, for Elizabeth's face spoke volumes. She bore a strange look upon it. It could not be that she was scared, for she had neve
r felt so in his presence, not even in the most compromising stages of their relationship. Scared she was not, but astonished she was. Her round eyes fixed on his, silently pleading for mercy. He quickly let go of her, abandoned his position and with much determination put a good distance between them. Sitting next to the fire, he fixed his eyes on her face. With a heavy heart, he watched her shifting her position. Ever so slowly she rose and sat on the mattress, her feet dangling from the bed. He felt utterly ashamed and asked her forbearance.
"Elizabeth. I am exceedingly sorry. I am a brute. I do not know what came over me. What must you think of me, throwing myself on you in such a manner! Will you pardon me?"
She sweetly smiled and nodded silently.
"Sir, I… I wished to alert you. Pray, do not feel so concerned. At any rate, we are both to blame."
"I did not expect to see you in my bedchamber. You took me by surprise. When I saw you standing there, I compleatly forgot myself. I am so sorry."
"Don't be, sir."
Elizabeth immediately recollected her sister's admonishing words. She had been absolutely right. Hence, she confessed her part in the blame.
"'Twas my mistake. 'Tis I who should be making amends. After all, I came to you in the middle of the night." She blushed deeply and lowered her eyes. Then she quickly tried to explain her predicament. "Sir, I came to warn you that you could not come to me in my bedchamber. Jane is sleeping with me tonight."
"I see."
He could say no more, and rising hastily walked for a few minutes about the room. Elizabeth, visibly affected by his reaction, and still more by his distress, could not speak. He saw her concern, and coming to her, took her hand, pressed it and kissed it with great respect. A few minutes more of silent exertion enabled him to proceed with fair composure.
"Shall we talk?"
"Of course."
He stopped a moment for recollection, and then, with a sigh, went on.
"You have probably entirely forgotten a conversation between us the night we… met in your… bedchamber in London."
"Indeed," answered Elizabeth, "I have not forgotten it."
He looked pleased at her remembrance, and added: "You must know, surely you must have noticed my feelings have not changed. I am still helplessly drawn to you… But what I said then, that I will not take you until we are wedded, although my actions may speak louder than my words… you must know I have all the intention of carrying out my vows… 'twas not my intention to… Much as I wish to make you mine, I shall not dare… lay a finger on you to harm you in any way until we are properly married. I am determined to take you to the altar in honour. Elizabeth, you must understand you are an enticing temptation to my body. I have a fierce battle within myself each time I am in your company."
Elizabeth could not help smile with pleasure. "Then sir, it is only fair that you should know my predicament is not any different. I find your presence absolutely enticing, too." A gleam of love sparkled in his dark eyes. Still, he stopped to recover himself; and Elizabeth spoke her feelings in an exclamation of tender concern at their fate for the following months. "Sir, what shall we do? By the resemblance of our feelings it seems we are bound to disgrace our names if we continue in this manner. To what will all this lead?"
He came up to her and tenderly caressed her cheek. Then he planted a feathered kiss upon her forehead. "Elizabeth. To be able to hold you and caress you as I did last night is all I wish. I shall not harm you, dearest. Merely kiss you and show you my affection. And you might show me yours. There is nothing wrong with that." He looked intently into her eyes and sighed heavily. "You know not what I endure in so beholding you. You must know, and mark my words, no matter how tempted I am, I shall never impose myself on you."
Elizabeth heard enough. That was the third time in a row he had promised to behave. She should believe him by now, no matter how much Jane had admonished her not to. In one moment, her heart, full of tenderness and contrition, rushed her eagerly to his arms, overwhelmed by all the assurances of his speech.
He held her tightly in his arms, his eyes fiercely closed. When he heard her softly crying, his heart sank.
"Pray. Do not cry."
"I am not crying because I am sad, sir. Quite the opposite," she explained between sobs.
"You cry when you are happy?" he asked, mystified.
"Not always," she said, half laughing, half crying. "Sometimes, women behave quite differently from men."
"I see."
"I was overwhelmed by your words, sir. It has suddenly dawned on me, how much you have endured. At first I thought it was only I who was suffering. But now I see that you have suffered as much as I have, Fitzwilliam."
He was smiling at her. "Suddenly, I am Fitzwilliam again."
"I am sorry. 'Tis only I am not used to this intimacy."
"There is so much we do not know of each other. So much to learn. I do not wish to waste a moment. We have had enough, do you not agree?"
He folded her in his arms and rested his chin upon her head, while she sank hers in his chest. Ever so slowly, he lowered his head, whilst tenderly caressing her hair. When their faces met, their lips naturally found their way to each other and they shared their love in a most gentle manner. Howbeit passionate their nature, they endeavoured to refrain from unleashing it. The kissing continued, his breathing becoming ragged and his voice, hoarse and rasping in her ear, betraying his true desires.
Perchance in her naïveté, or maybe in an act of unrestrained ardour, Elizabeth innocently introduced her hand through the opening of his shirt and gently stroked the bare skin of his abdomen. Truth be told, temptation had been gaining more and more ground and while his kissing was beginning to get more daring than he had meant to, his hands had involuntarily trespassed the limits of her cleavage, lightly brushing her pert breasts. In a way, he was tasting his own medicine.
His response was immediate.
He growled, then not very delicately pushed her until she rested back on the pristine linen. He clasped her hands above her head, pinning her to the bed, thus exposing her ample bosom to his hungry lips. Before he dove into the sweetness of it, he looked gravely into her eyes.
Elizabeth knew her situation was delicate to say the least.
But still, she feared not. Howbeit he was not her husband yet, she compleatly trusted him. Furthermore, she had begun to feel sweet ripples of pleasure from his awkward ministrations, her back arching as endowed with life of its own at the mere contact with his body, which was now lying atop her, gently moving to a rhythm that promised to become the source of further pleasure.
Scarcely had they begun to get rid of their clothes when they were startled by a rap at the door.
It was Bingley.
Mr Darcy's body stiffened (indeed all his body did). He looked at her and signalled her to hush. Then, he quietly reached the door, and opened it ajar.
"What is it, Bingley? You'd better have a good excuse to call me at this late hour."
" 'Tis Jane. She was sleeping with Elizabeth but she woke up and did not find her."
"Do you think I have her here?" His voice betrayed his annoyance at the impertinence of his friend. Will he ever grow up?
"No, of course not," said an apologetic Bingley.
"Well, then?" he said, visibly irritated
"She is concerned. Where can she be at this hour?"
"Bingley. What makes you suppose I should be apprised of Miss Bennet's nocturnal customs? She cannot be anywhere far, can she? Have you checked the library?"
"Of course!" said Bingley, and rushed to the suggested room.
Darcy, then turned to Elizabeth. "I am sorry, dearest. You must go now."
"What shall I say?"
"Say nothing. Go back to your bedchamber and directly to bed. You can always say you were sleepless and did not want to bother your sister. Here, take my candle."
He hastily brushed his lips on hers and, peering outside, proclaimed her way clear. Elizabeth returned to her bedchamber to fi
nd it empty. Not bothering to ponder her sister's whereabouts, she hastily proceeded to extinguish the candlelight and go to bed.
~•~
The morning after found Miss Bennet at odds with what to say to her sister. After she returned to bed the night before, Jane endeavoured to talk to Elizabeth. But the latter, slyly, faked sleeping soundly, lest she should be confronted with Jane's questions. When the first rays of dawn shone on her face, Elizabeth rose and hastily readied for breakfast, exiting the bedchamber before her sister woke up, thus evading her.
When she entered the breakfast-room, Mr Darcy was already sitting at the table, helping himself to some tea. He politely rose to his feet and bowed her good morning. She smiled sweetly and occupied a place in front of him.
Oblivious to the presence of the footman at the door, Mr Darcy extended his hand over the table in blunt request of hers. She answered promptly by placing her small hand on his. Their eyes locked, and for the longest moment they remained in that manner.
"I hope you have had a pleasant sleep."
"Most pleasant, I thank you."
"Have you talked to your sister yet?"
"No, I have not. Is anything the matter?"
Mr Darcy's eyes were concerned. She noticed the alarm in his gaze.
"I am afraid the servants have been apprised of your little adventure last night. My dear friend and your protective brother have made a terrible fuss and awakened them when he failed to find you in the library. Many a servant was sent in your quest. It seems a young chambermaid saw you when… So, now the whole household has pronounced you the future mistress of Rosings and Pemberley."
"Oh."
"Which you are," he said reassuringly.
"Indeed."
"A muffin?" he offered her.
She shook her head in refusal and, visibly concerned, urged him, "What shall we do now?"
"As regards…?" he teased her.
"Pray, Mr Darcy. I must insist your being serious in matters such as these."
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