Chapter 22 #7
With no little nervousness, Elizabeth glanced at the staff; she had not imagined so many. One by one, Mrs Reynolds introduced all thirty-five servants to Mrs Darcy. They were of many different ages, with different responsibilities but equally nervous and somehow worried at meeting the new mistress.
Elizabeth greeted each of them with a smile; after the first five, she suddenly stopped and confessed that she was nervous and wanted to make a good impression.
She also said she hoped they would help her to learn her responsibilities and thanked them for greeting her so warmly.
Immediately, everyone’s faces lit with relief, and whispers of approval could be heard.
The introductions then continued in a calmer and lighter manner.
At the end, Mrs Reynolds introduced to Elizabeth her new maid, Molly—a girl close to her age who seemed unable to breathe in front of her new mistress.
The staff finally returned to their duties, and the Darcys enjoyed a light, hasty meal, to Mrs Reynolds obvious disapproval; she insisted they should eat more to regain their strength after two days of exhausting travel.
Afterwards, they retired to their apartments; Molly came to help Elizabeth while Darcy entered his own rooms.
After the lengthy journey, tired from lack of sleep and heightened emotions, Elizabeth looked forward to a warm bath and abandoned herself to the huge tub, allowing the water to wrap her exhausted body while her mind wondered about what would come next.
However, she had no patience to lie in the hot water for long.
She called for Molly to help her prepare for the night.
Surprisingly, a few minutes later, Mrs Reynolds appeared, inquiring whether Mrs Darcy was pleased and needed anything else.
Elizabeth thanked them both warmly and assured them everything was perfect and they could retire for the time being.
“Very well, I trust that Molly prepared everything you need for the night. We shall not disturb you tomorrow unless you specifically ring for us. Good night, Mrs Darcy.”
Finally alone in her chamber, flustered and slightly uneasy, Elizabeth started to laugh, glancing in the mirror then to the closed door of his room. She took off her robe and moved onto the bed, enjoying the soft caress of the silk while she waited for her husband.
∞∞∞
Darcy had just finished his bath, and impatiently waited for Miles to shave him, but the man seemed to move slower than ever before.
When he was finally ready, he dismissed Miles, asking not to be disturbed again.
He then wrapped himself in his robe and knocked at Elizabeth’s door, but no answer came.
He knocked again then entered carefully and stopped in the doorway, a huge smile on his face.
Elizabeth had fallen asleep on the bed, her hair spread over the pillow in great disorder, her breathing steady and calm. He approached closer, leaned over the bed near her then removed a lock of hair from her face. She sighed at his touch, and a smile twisted her lips.
She slept so peacefully that his heart ached at the idea of disturbing her. For a moment he even considered allowing her to sleep a few hours, but the next moment, his body, painfully aroused by long restrained passion, commanded him otherwise.
He removed his robe and joined her, covering himself with the sheet and pulling her towards him.
She moaned sweetly and cuddled to him, unwilling to waken.
He briefly touched her lips with his then traced warm, soft, gentle kisses down her throat; his hand cupped her breast through the soft gown.
At first she only moaned, enjoying his touch, but did not awaken.
His caress grew more intense, and his mouth captured her other breast; she let out a moan and opened her eyes, then she rolled on her back, offering herself to his tender hands.
“I am sorry I woke you, my love… I hope you do not mind…” His hands travelled hastily along her body, caressing her with a tenderness that soon grew into desire.
“I would be upset if you allowed me to sleep,” she teased him, but he silenced her with an unexpected kiss that became almost violent in its intensity.
He rolled until he was completely upon her, his body crushing hers.
He supported himself on his elbows to allow her to breathe, her hands tightly clasped in his hair, her mouth trapped in his kiss; her breasts were still crushed against his chest while his hips pressed against her thighs.
She could feel him growing harder as he slowly brushed against her.
“God, I cannot bear this any longer,” he moaned against her lips. Her own moans were the only reply, and she reached down, trying to slide her hands between their thighs.
“William, I want to touch you, too,” she begged, barely able to speak through his kisses.
“Later, my love—later. It is my turn now. I want to touch, to feel, to taste every part of you,” he said, stealing a hasty kiss. Then he suddenly rose on his knees, and to her utter amazement, he grabbed the lower part of her nightgown and ripped it apart in an instant.
She stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief, but instead of being frightened by his violent gesture, she seemed equally embarrassed and amused, her eyes laughing.
She stretched her hands to him, and he leaned towards her; she thought she knew what he would do next—but she proved to be wrong.
He hastily parted her legs, lying atop her again.
His face reached only as high as her breasts, and this time the touch of his fingers, his lips, and his tongue were neither patient nor gentle; he seemed driven by a stronger, more demanding urge.
Certain that she could not possibly endure more pleasure, she called his name, and his lips stopped—but only for a moment as his hands and lips ventured lower, tantalising her ribs, her belly, her navel, then lower, brushing over her hips and her thighs.
She remembered his touches from two nights before, and her breath quickened in anticipation of the torturous pleasure he would soon give her again.
Her waiting was not in vain; his fingers gently slid between her thighs, caressing her.
She moaned and cried his name again, but his caresses ceased and his hands abandoned her warm core and gently pressed her legs apart even more.
She breathed deeply, waiting, hoping that somehow he would extinguish the fire inside her.
Her mind suddenly splintered into countless pieces when, a moment later, she felt the softness of his lips upon the warmth between her legs.
Her moans turned into cries, wondering whether it was real or only her imagination, but all her doubts vanished as his mouth began a maddening exploration.
If two nights ago the torturous movements of his fingers taught her what pleasure meant, his mouth now enlightened her to further delights.
“William, please…” she begged, grabbing the sheets with her fists as her hips began to move instinctively.
She bit her lips painfully when she felt his tongue exploring her core, tentatively at first then more daringly, tasting her with an intimacy that was difficult to accept, but she craved more.
He was gently conquering her inch by inch with an insatiable need until she knew nothing else.
A deep moan escaped her as she struggled for air, and she shattered violently under the countless chills that shivered throughout her burning skin.
Slowly, his caresses returned up along her body; his lips returned to taste her breasts then her arms, shoulders and throat; then he stopped to tantalise her ear.
“Are you well, my love?”
“You are a cruel man to tease me so,” she whispered, her mouth finally joining his. “You cannot possible imagine what I feel…”
“I do not tease you, my beloved; what you feel cannot be more powerful than my own feelings, and your pleasure is mine, too.” He lay atop her again between her parted legs then abandoned her mouth and kissed her closed lashes.
“Open your eyes, my love. I want to see you… I want to watch you become my wife,” he said, and she forced her eyes to meet his.
She felt his hand gently brushing between her thighs, then his hardness pressing against her core; she moaned, a strong sense of fear and happy anticipation making her heart race.
She thought she knew what to expect, and neither her body nor her mind could bear to wait longer—so she opened herself to him.
“You know it will be painful at first,” he said, and she nodded, her eyes never leaving his.
Slowly, gently, he entered her only a little.
She gasped but she held his gaze. He smiled, and his hands grabbed hers, entwining their fingers in a tight grip while a strong, eager, powerful stroke was enough for him to enter her completely.
Her body instantly arched and stiffened from the pain—stronger and sharper than she expected and a deep cry escaped her lips.
“Oh, God, my love,” he moaned, remaining still, trying to breathe steadily, his eyes caressing her face as their hands remained clasped. “You are completely mine now,” he moaned, his lips brushing over hers.
She felt there was not enough air to cool the fire enveloping her. He was completely inside her, filling her with his burning heat, with his powerful passion, and she could feel him pulsing in her. “I can feel you inside me,” she whispered.
“Is it very painful?” he asked, and she silently denied it, trying to smile at him. It was painful indeed, as she felt her body split apart, but the happiness of having him inside her, of finally becoming his wife in every sense, made it worthwhile.
He began to move slowly, watching her face intently. He knew it was painful for her, he could see it on her beautiful face, but he could also see that she was welcoming their first joining.
“I love you so much, my beautiful wife,” he said, fighting an urge that almost overcame his patience, struggling to control his movements and be gentle for her.
She moaned from the painful pleasure building inside her, and her fingers caressed his handsome face. “I love you, my husband,” she replied, her eyes sparkling.
Her body tried to learn the rhythm of their shared love, moving tentatively beneath him but his slow movements soon became thrusts—faster, deeper, stronger—his deep moans burning her skin.
He spoke to her but she could not understand his words.
Nothing mattered but his love overwhelming her as their rhythms grew wildly fervent; ecstasy, possessiveness, abandon, tenderness, and passion seemed to grow every moment in astonishing repetition.
After a seemingly endless time, his moans covering her soft cries, he finally reached his long desired completion; his body shattered in release while warm waves spread inside her trembling body and everything else vanished around them…
Breathless and exhausted in their happiness, tightly embraced, they lay next to each other. A silence surrounded them as peaceful as their complete happiness. He tenderly kissed her hair, and she cuddled in his arms, wrapped in her husband’s love.
“You were right,” she whispered after a few long minutes. He said nothing, so she continued, puzzled. “Will you not ask me what I mean?”
“Hmm…not really…” he said teasingly, fondling her ear and neck. “Please allow me to try to guess your meaning, Mrs Darcy. Could you possibly mean that I was right when I told you there is much more than we experienced two days ago at the inn?”
She was speechless for a few moments then looked at him in obvious surprise.
“Are you reading my thoughts now, Mr Darcy? You must be a ‘man without fault,’ after all,” she teased him, finding a better place to rest her head on his chest. He took her hand and tenderly kissed it then placed it upon his heart.
“As I said before, I am not perfect, my dearest wife. I just hope that I am good enough for you.”
“Of that, you may have no doubts, my love. We are to be the happiest couple in the world,” she sighed only a moment before fatigue finally overcame her.
Late in the night, tightly wrapped in their own happiness, Mr and Mrs Darcy finally fell asleep in the comfort of their own home—at Pemberley.