Chapter 11 Significant Introspection #4
“My darling, do not play coy with me. We know each other well, do we not? I have felt that something was amiss all week. Your letters were not as merry as I thought they should have been, but I was willing to believe it my overwrought imagination. Now that we are together, I know that was not the case. You are not your usual lively self, Elizabeth. The fact that you missed a dozen chances to tease me is evidence enough. I can sense your distress.” Lifting one hand, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek, then gently used two fingers to turn her face toward him.
“Please enlighten me. Allow me to comfort you, beloved.”
She did not glance away but was obviously struggling. He waited, willing his muscles to relax and face to remain neutral even though his stomach churned. Finally, she inhaled and spoke, the words halting and her tone heavy.
“You are correct, William. I am troubled. I need to speak of…a delicate, uncomfortable matter. Please, will you promise not interrupt? I do not want to talk of this. It will be difficult for me, and I will lose my nerve or train of thought if you interject.”
Elizabeth wasn’t a woman who exaggerated or dramatized a mundane problem.
Her statement and the weighty emphasis revealed this wasn’t some minor wedding dilemma or premarriage jitters as he had presumed.
He was seriously alarmed for the first time, making it nigh impossible to promise restraint.
He had to trust her, however, so he bobbed his head once and said, “I promise.”
After another deep sigh, and with eyes focused on their clasped hands, she began.
“Some of it is nonsense, I admit—me, just being a silly girl, a maiden with what I suppose are the normal fears faced on one’s wedding night.
The unknown and the possibility of pain, which no one looks forward to.
” She released a soft chuckle and briefly met his eyes.
He smiled, but she had already resumed her scrutiny of their hands. “Additionally, for me, there is the worry of displeasing you, of not bringing you the pleas—joy you are expecting when we are…together for the first time, and perhaps first several times.”
Darcy instinctively opened his mouth to refute such baseless worries but remembered his promise and clamped his lips tight.
Not bring me pleasure? Ah, my sweet Elizabeth, if you knew the depth of pleasure you give me by a mere kiss or touch of your hand, there would be no way you could question the rapture I shall experience when being inside of you.
“My aunt Gardiner, you may be surprised to learn, spoke to Jane and me at length, and in explicit detail. Suffice it to say, we were educated to a degree not expected for most young, unmarried ladies.”
Her cheeks were flushed a delightful shade of pink, and he knew she would look at him while such intimate “explicit details” swirled in her head.
He wanted to laugh—envisioning Mrs. Gardiner having a frank talk about sexual relations with her two virginal nieces was highly amusing!
He sent a prayer heavenward for women of common sense like Mrs. Gardiner, and felt the tension in his muscles ebbing away.
He could relate to Elizabeth’s anxieties better than she realized.
“For the most part, none of these concerns greatly bothered me. I trust us, our love, and while it may take me a while to…be the wife you deserve in the…bedroom, I haven’t doubted our future. Or at least I didn’t think I did.”
A pause, another huge inhale and exhale. “I began having nightmares the night you left for London. And I know why, and this is the most difficult part for me to share.”
She released his hands and stood, walking a few feet away and turning toward the wall.
Averted eyes shining with unshed tears, fingers kneading the edges of the fichu draped over her shoulders, and chest rising jerkily with each labored pant, she proceeded to report Mrs. Bennet’s marriage “advice” and her expressed fears for Elizabeth’s safety as his wife.
Darcy’s dismay turned to vexation, then to anger before accelerating into rage.
He was so stunned that for a time he could not have spoken if begged to say something.
The emotions coursing through his body were too numerous to decipher.
Primarily, he was furious that Elizabeth had been forced to endure this torturous pain, while also mortified and profoundly offended that Mrs. Bennet would besmirch his character.
Topping it all and sending him over the edge into blind, murderous wrath, was Mrs. Bennet’s assurance of his future unfaithfulness and claim that he already kept a mistress, this one reason why he had gone to London.
“No!” he roared, shooting to his feet. “I will not hear another word! This is unconscionable! How could your mother say such things? Elizabeth, you must surely know this is entirely untrue. It’s absolutely false.”
She had violently started, swirling about and then taking a half-dozen steps backward when he jumped up. Her eyes were round as saucers, and mouth agape—and there was something in her eyes.
Frozen, incapable of inhaling deeply, he could only gasp faintly, “My God, you do!” Unable to bear it, he turned away and clutched onto a nearby bookcase for support.
This must be a nightmare. Wake up, Darcy! After all we have been through, surely our love will not die now, over this. It cannot be happening.
The silence stretched, seemingly for hours, although he knew it could not have been long or the pain would have killed him. A tentative touch on his arm brought him back to reality.
“William, please listen to me. I know you are not the man my mother spoke of. I never, not for a second, entertained the notion. I know you love only me, and would never hurt me. Our relationship is special, our love superior to that of my parents. In this I am absolutely confident.”
Her tender, truthful voice soothed him. The pain and rigidity eased. But he sensed a caveat coming, and was not strong enough to handle whatever doubts might be visible on her face.
“William, you must try to appreciate that there is much I do not understand about your world, or your past for that matter. I know you are not a rake, but I do read the Society pages, the scandals and gossip. You have spoken of it yourself. It is…confusing.” Her voice broke, catching in a sob.
“I don’t want to know about your…experiences, so I am not asking for that.
Perhaps I am an utter fool but I need your reassurances.
You must help me to understand, please?”
My experiences? All of this hinges upon my past experiences? Will hearing the truth ease your mind and reassure? Or will it cause you to question my maturity, manhood, and competence from a different angle?
Sighing, he turned around. Tears streaked her face, and Darcy wiped them gently away. “Forgive my outburst of anger. I should not lose my temper so.”
He kissed her lips, a feathery touch, then drew her to his chest. Holding her in silence, he desperately tried to sort his thoughts. How in God’s name could he explain himself to her clearly?
“You are correct in that I must make you understand if I can. It will not be easy for me, I warn you. This is an awkward topic and involves delving into areas that remain painful for me. It will be my turn to beg your indulgence and patience in listening to me with an open heart. Can you do this?”
Lifting onto her toes, she kissed with the same featherlight pressure. “Of course I can, my love.”
Sitting again on the sofa, Darcy leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Where to begin?
“My earliest memories of my parents are of love—love for me, and, later, for Georgiana. Love for family and friends. Love for Pemberley and the people who depend upon the estate for their livelihood. But above all of this, it was the love my mother and father had for each other. A child takes such emotions for granted, of course. I did not recognize the special emotion as the rare gift it was. All I knew was that my parents were happiest when together, and somehow sadder or less animated when apart. It was obvious how their faces shone brighter when they saw each other and how they were forever touching each other—nothing wildly inappropriate, of course, but different than other couples. I started to notice how doors normally open in the daytime would be inexplicably locked, and that my parents would disappear at odd times only to return an hour or two later with a particular glow upon their faces.”
He chuckled lowly. “Naturally, I had no idea what this meant until quite a bit older. Once, when I was perhaps nine or ten, I entered the parlor and caught my mother sitting on my father’s lap.
They were kissing, not unusual in and of itself, but in a manner I had never seen at that point in my life.
I left abruptly and went directly to Mrs. Reynolds.
I was not upset, just curious. I shall never forget how she laughed, playfully pinched my cheek, and said, ‘It is perfectly natural, so never you mind. Someday you shall understand. But, in the future, Master Fitzwilliam, you would be wise to knock before entering a room.’ Thereafter, I always did. ”