Chapter 15
Fifteen
Elizabeth woke up feeling warm, cared for, and confused. She realised swiftly that she was in the carriage, being held by her husband. She also saw that he was awake.
“Are we almost there?” she asked, but then she felt the carriage make a wide, smooth turn and then stop.
“No,” Fitzwilliam teased. “Not almost.”
She broke free of his arms and straightened and smoothed her clothing, groped at her hair and decided it needed no repair, and found her gloves and bonnet.
Naturally, Fitzwilliam looked impeccable still. He pulled on his gloves, placed his hat on his head, and shrugged on his greatcoat.
“You will need another layer,” he said. “Do you wish to put your cloak on now, or perhaps after I get out and you have more room to manoeuvre?”
“The latter, thank you,” she replied as she took the folded cloak.
Fitzwilliam opened the curtains to show that they were ready for the door to be opened and the step to be set.
Only moments later, Elizabeth found herself in the nicest inn she had ever entered. She did not have many travel experiences, but when travelling to Ramsgate and Brighton with the Gardiners, she had stayed at two roadside inns. They had not been this large nor this well attended.
On Fitzwilliam’s arm, the innkeeper and his wife hurried to help them, showed them to their large, comfortable rooms, and assured them that their dinner was ready whenever they were. “Or, perhaps, you would like a bath, Mrs Darcy?”
Elizabeth was inclined to turn her head to see who could be addressed by such a name, but she controlled the impulse, telling herself not to be foolish.
She glanced at Fitzwilliam and shrugged her eyebrows. He shrugged back. It was her choice, obviously—but the rich smells from the kitchen had reached them, and her stomach growled.
Mortified, she ordered dinner first.
“We will wish for a bath in about two hours. Do you think that can be accommodated?” Fitzwilliam asked.
“Yes, sir. Whenever you like.” The innkeeper’s wife continued with assurances that their dinner would be brought up and that they should ring for anything else, including the bath water, and she finished with congratulations and a wink.
As soon as she left, Elizabeth rounded on Fitzwilliam. “She knows it is our wedding night, does she not?”
“Of course,” he said. “I wished for the room with the thickest walls.”
Elizabeth felt herself blushing. She felt betrayed, almost—the innkeeper and his wife, at least, and possibly the inn’s servants, would know what they were going to do when they were in privacy.
She hurried to refresh herself and was back in the sitting room when a maid knocked, and at the command to enter, she brought in a heavy tray. A footman arrived with another tray. Soon their meal was laid out beautifully and the servants had bowed themselves out of the room.
Fitzwilliam followed them to the door and locked it. He turned to her, and somehow reading her unspoken thoughts, he said, “Dearest, everyone knows what we will be doing, but then again, they know the same information about every married couple, and not a few unmarried ones, who take rooms here.”
What he said was reasonable, and yet she still felt embarrassed. She supposed, however, that feeling betrayed was nonsensical, and she was happy to see that feeling dissipate.
Her stomach growled again, and Elizabeth laughed through her embarrassment. “I suppose that I am hungry,” she murmured, and she took her seat and began to eat.
“This food is quite extraordinary,” she said after a while. “I did not know that an inn could provide such excellent fare.”
“This is one of the best inns on the northward road,” her husband explained. “We pay more for comfort and good food, and it makes living so far from Town, and having to travel back and forth, much more reasonable.”
Elizabeth accepted a second glass of wine, but she only took a sip, wishing to be as alert as possible for her wedding night.
Her wedding night!
After they had eaten, Fitzwilliam said, “Should I ring for your abigail, or should I do the honours, for this particular disrobing?”
Elizabeth thought swiftly. A mere half hour had passed since he had indicated they would wish for a bath in two hours. The beautiful nightgown which was the top garment in her trunk should wait until after the bath, which meant that now….
She felt as if a blush was darkening her already red cheeks, and she supposed that she might spend the rest of her life blushing—but not, she told herself, a blushing maiden. She stood up and said, “Let me be your valet and you be my abigail.”
He led the way to their bedchambers, locked that door, and began to unbutton the back of her dress and unlace her stays.
She was startled as he began to kiss each part of her back as he gained access to it.
She felt the familiar sensations in her own body—sensations she had treasured when he kissed her—even though the kisses down her back were very different.
Soon he was rolling her stockings down her legs, and she stood before him in her chemise.
His eyes seemed very appreciative. She remembered a line from his vows: With my body I thee worship. It was apparently not going to be a problem for him to fulfil that vow in spirit or word.
She got to work on his cravat as he unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat. He had toed off his shoes, and he sat on the bed to remove his stockings. She felt almost faint as he stood again, dressed only in his partially-unbuttoned shirt and trousers.
During their courtship, Fitzwilliam had talked quite frequently about her beauty, but he was the one who was beautiful.
“Can we do it with the candles lit?” she asked.
“Yes. We can do things—and there is no ‘it,’ but rather many different activities—in strong daylight or in the darkest, most overcast night. We can do these things indoors or out, on the floor or in bed, in a chair or against a wall.”
“You…you cannot be serious?”
“I am very serious, my love.” He gathered her into his arms and slowly stroked her back, then cupped her bottom with one hand and pulled her tighter against him—against his male part which she only vaguely knew about from occasionally seeing farm animals mate.
It was mysteriously large and rigid and pushing at his trousers, and she knew that he could not always walk around with it being so… prominent.
She filed that away in her mind for later contemplation. For now she said, “By all means, then, let there be light.”
“If we are to be Biblical, I will mention that it is high time I not only hold fast to my wife, but that we become one flesh.”
“Yesss….” Elizabeth murmured the moment before his lips took control of her mouth. It was, it seemed, time to show her husband how very much she trusted him.
After their explorations in the bed and on the hearthside rug, the newlyweds donned dressing gowns and asked for the bath water.
Elizabeth was surprised that the activities of the so-called martial “bed” were easily adapted to the watery and soapy tub, and then Fitzwilliam gave a very capable demonstration of the use of a wall.
Back in her dressing gown and sitting in his lap, trying to regulate her breathing again, Elizabeth said, “Fitzwilliam, I absolutely reject the possibility of exploring such pursuits outdoors, at least tonight.”
He chuckled and tightened his hold on her as servants entered, responding to his request to remove the bathwater.
That finally accomplished, Fitzwilliam rang for refreshments and another bottle of wine, and then he rang for his valet, Jameson, and her abigail, Baker.
When the food had been delivered, he stayed in the sitting room where his valet would give him a shave, and she retired to the bed chamber to finally don the beautiful nightgown and to have her hair combed out and pinned in a simple style.
They regrouped in the sitting room, and she praised his silk banyan—but not nearly so eloquently as he complimented her gown. They refuelled on the collation of tongue, double Gloucester cheese, candied fruits, pastry, and claret.
“I spot no calf’s-feet jelly, Husband.”
“It may be that it was not clear enough to serve. I believe that some guests may have been shaking the entire inn.”
“Oh, dear, that is quite rude of those guests, whoever they are.”
“I am not positive that anyone will truly feel the loss of the jelly, my dear. But, as to the actions of those guests, I believe it is possible that the lady did not follow the established wisdom of lying perfectly still and silently enduring.”
“That advice seems to me to be impossible. Even if I was threatened with death if we were heard, it remains inconceivable that I could possibly stay still and silent!”
“Perhaps some husbands have not had the training I did. It is remarkable how marvellous my memory is of that one night, almost a decade ago, and how useful such a memory has been. My father explained that it took a lot of floundering for him to discover—”
He broke off, and Elizabeth was certain he did not particularly wish to picture his parents doing any of the things they had done—certainly, she had caught herself wondering what her own father did that her mother had given such terrible advice, but she had shut those thoughts out immediately.
She did not want to consider such for even a moment.
“I believe we should relegate my mother’s advice to the rubbish pile, along with all mentions of our parents or perhaps all other husbands and wives, when it comes to this particular topic.
Granted, calf’s-feet jelly is an alluring phrase, and when one of us is inclined to partake in these activities, we could use the phrase, murmured so that others will not hear it… .”
“Trust me, Wife, you could say anything and be alluring.”
“Shall we try?” she asked with a mischievous smile.
“If you please,” he said.
He looked eager and began to reach out for her even as she leant towards him and murmured, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”