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On the evening of her wedding, Elizabeth stared into the glass, chastising herself for so thoroughly losing her composure over Mr. Howard’s words. It had upset her husband terribly. He had hidden it well until the final guests had departed, but she had noted it. His Fitzwilliam cousins must have as well, for they had pulled him into the library shortly after. He had emerged from their meeting more himself, for which she could only be grateful.
Mr. Howard had only spoken a few poisonous words to Elizabeth. He had not even touched her, not really. If only she could have raised her voice, she would have had assistance in an instant. She was unhappy she had allowed herself to be frightened into uselessness.
Elizabeth dismissed her maid and drew her brush through her long hair. Jane, considerate as ever, had brought to London the few items she knew were of sentimental significance to Elizabeth. The brush and comb set matched the one Jane had received from their parents on her own come-out. It had been the only thing that had marked the event, for Meryton’s society was not particularly grand. But being gifted something valuable, something beautiful that was just like Jane’s—the distinction had been deeply felt. As she awaited William, this physical reminder of her family and her life at Longbourn grounded her. Calmed her.
She was determined to be the wife William required, and although her name had changed today, she must be the brave Elizabeth Bennet her family knew. That was the woman with whom her husband had fallen in love. Her courage would rise with every attempt to intimidate her. In the past fortnight she had been used, accosted, even abused in the most wretched manner. But she was not broken. In fact, the end result of it all was that she was married to a man she loved. A man who ardently admired and loved her.
The door to her chamber opened, and she spied her husband’s figure in the reflection of the glass.
“Elizabeth?”
Her smile was genuine. “Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she said.
“Good evening, Mrs. Darcy,” he replied softly.
William entered, approaching her and placing his hands on her shoulders. She exalted in the contact and tipped her face upwards to view his. “I have been waiting for you.”
His expression clouded over. “Are you quite sure, love? After everything that happened today, I would not blame you if you wished to wait.”
She stood and turned to face him. His hands fell to his sides as he awaited her answer.
Elizabeth took his hands in her own and placed them on her hips. Be bold, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy. You must begin as you intend to go on.
William’s hands curled around her, and his thumbs stroked her skin through her nightgown. He pulled her closer.
Elizabeth’s legs weakened. “I do not desire to wait,” she said softly, placing the palms of her hands on his chest. Her fingertips grazed bare skin beneath his banyan, and curious, she slid her hands inside.
Her husband’s breath was ragged. “What is it that you do desire, Mrs. Darcy?” he inquired. Without breaking the gaze they shared, he reached to snuff out the candle.
Elizabeth stayed his hand. “I wish to see you.”
William’s hands wound themselves into her hair. He bent forward and kissed her hard on the mouth. Elizabeth groaned with pleasure and attempted to mimic his actions. Her arms snaked up to his shoulders and around his neck.
“What do you desire, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked again, his lips so close to her own they might share the same breath. He lingered there, waiting for her answer. “Tell me,” he whispered.
Her aunt was right. This was no time to tease. In truth, she could barely form a coherent thought.
“You, Mr. Darcy,” she murmured, as she lost herself to his touch. “Only and forever, you.”
Darcy awoke to the singular pleasure of Elizabeth in his bed. In all those nights at Netherfield, he had dreamed of her. When she had come to Darcy House, he had dreamed of her. Now he was almost afraid to wake her for fear that this was a dream, too.
She was curled up on one side, her long, thick hair tossed out behind her.
For a time, he simply watched her sleep, tracing the curve of her cheeks and her neck with his gaze. She shifted, and the blanket fell from one bare shoulder. Darcy leaned over to kiss her there and pull the covering back over her.
He had nearly denied himself this happiness, and to what end? His uncle, though disappointed, had not been unduly bothered by his announcement, and his aunt was simply relieved that one of them had finally decided to wed. Georgiana was well on her way to loving Elizabeth as a sister. Fitz admired her. Even Henry liked her, though for that Darcy thought he might need to apologize to Elizabeth.
Lady Catherine had been angry, but that was to be expected. With the marriage supported by the rest of the family, she had given way. Reluctantly and not without vociferous complaint, but she had followed the Matlocks to their London home without additional commotion. The only thing more important to her than gaining him as a son was the family credit. Though she would never admit it, she had been embarrassed by her outburst at St. George’s. He felt more for Georgiana, who would be required to share the house with Lady Catherine, than he did for the older women’s well-earned mortification.
Darcy brushed a few stray strands of hair from Elizabeth’s forehead. She stirred but did not wake. At last he gave way to temptation, dipping to capture her plump red lips with his own. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she offered him a sleepy smile so content he pulled her into his arms as he had the night before.
“Are you well this morning, Elizabeth?” he asked, propping himself up against the headboard and easily settling her between his legs, her back against his chest. She sighed, and he kissed the top of her head while adjusting the blankets around them both.
He would be able to wake up every morning of his life in this way if he chose. When Elizabeth turned her head and rested her cheek against his chest, the luxury of it nearly overwhelmed him.
“I am well. A little sore but very happy,” she replied, her breath cooling his skin and making it tingle. “And you?”
He chuckled. “A little sore but very happy, too.”
