Something New
Elizabeth shook her head in confusion, and then she noticed her hands still on his shoulders.
There were no footmen in the corridor; she had banned them from the area until things settled, and nobody was to bring her notes for anything except extreme emergencies while she was above stairs. They would have a few more minutes of privacy.
Somewhat timidly, she whispered, ‘Do I still have a decision to make? Is your offer even still open?’
He replied, “It is open, but I would prefer it if you would let me make a not truly dreadfully awful proposal.”
“You shall do no such thing!”
The strength and vehemence of the reply stunned them both, and Elizabeth found she really had to stop and think about what caused that particular outburst.
“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam… I—”
“Do not apologise. I was the one who—”
She shook her head to silence him and was relieved to see it was enough to keep him from rattling on in that manner.
“You see, Fitzwilliam… I… well… you understand that I am confused, correct?”
“Yes, quite understandable. But if you are not implacably opposed to my suit, I would hope to prevail, but only after I have proven myself.”
Elizabeth thought a moment, eyes crossed. “Therein lies the difficulty, and the reason for my outburst. You see, Fitzwilliam… you see… well—”
For a moment, she ran out of words, then gathered her courage to continue.
“You see, I disagree with the idea of a man ‘proving himself,’ or the contrary for a woman.
I… well… I cannot believe I am saying this, but I disapprove of courting.
It smacks of deceit and cunning. A woman should marry a man, and vice versa based on who they are, not who they pretend to be while on their very best behaviour, and I know courting behaviour never lasts. “
“I can understand that.”
“I believe… well… I will accept or reject your original proposal. It was not entirely awful.”
Fitzwilliam snorted. “Only mostly.”
“That much must be acknowledged,” she said sympathetically, “and one day, if I accept it, you may apologise… but… but—”
Elizabeth paused for words, then looked at him intently.
“What you call your ‘evil twin’ is you. It is a part of you, whether you now think you despise him or not. He is still there, perhaps temporarily chastened, perhaps better educated and informed, perhaps tamed, but still present. Your pride is part of you, and it is not entirely, or even mostly, bad. Your family has held and improved this land for centuries! You are entitled to some pride—some being the key word. It just needs to be… how did you put it at Netherfield? Under good regulation.”
She smiled to remove the sting.
“Everybody learns and changes over time and experience, but they are still in essentials very much the same. Some amalgam of that arrogant, prideful man and your current best-behaved self is the real you. That real you has a chance to grow and change and become a good father, a worthy husband, and all the other things you strive for, but the shadow of the boy always exists in the man, just as the shadow of the girl exists in the woman. This amalgam… this evolving man… that is the man I will either marry or not.”
In some relief, Fitzwilliam asked, “Does that mean you do not reject me outright?”
“Yes, of course. I am still here, when I could have avoided you easily by leaving when Lady Matlock appeared. Nobody will convince me she could not manage Pemberley. I wish to make the best decision… for both of us. We have… well, we have much to discuss, but—”
“Yes.”
“But circumstances have removed any chance to discuss it at length over a long time. My reputation ebbs away minute by minute. Expectations are being created hour by hour. Too many people know I am here, and what I am doing. Your reputation might suffer significantly after what happened if we do not have a good explanation before local gossip invents one. We do not have the luxury of weeks or months to court. I fear we must decide fairly quickly.”
Fitzwilliam hated the sound of that but acknowledged the logic and nodded.
“Fitzwilliam… I… well… I mean… Would you do something for me? Something extreme?”
“Name it!”
Elizabeth sighed, looked straight into his eyes, and screwed up her courage once more.
“All these weeks and months, we have both been chewing over the remains of the six weeks you spent in Hertfordshire last autumn like a dog with a bone… all the words, actions, impressions, looks, thoughts, miscommunications, inferences, interferences… all of it. I want something entirely new to think about. Something entirely new for both of us. It will certainly be new for me, and according to your aunt, for you as well.”
“I am at your disposal.”
“Might you do something with me that will take five or ten minutes, but then put the experience in a box, and not attach any more significance to it than it deserves? Not imply anything beyond the experience itself, and whatever we learn from it?”
Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Fitzwilliam said, “I am at your disposal.”
Gently nodding her head, and with some trepidation, Elizabeth began.
It was the easiest thing in the world for her to move her hands from the outside of his shoulders, where they had remained after her near-fall a dozen minutes earlier, to his neck.
It was the easiest thing in the world to squeeze the back of his neck and twine her fingers into his hair.
It was the easiest thing in the world to move her face slowly closer to his, and watch his eyes widen as she reduced the gap inch by inch.
It was the easiest thing in the world to finally reach across and gently touch his lips to hers.
She felt like her insides lit on fire and thought it entirely possible she was glowing, or likely to swoon.
She felt his hands squeeze her waist tighter, and found herself not at all opposed to the feeling.
It was the easiest thing in the world for her to increase the pressure on his lips, and move them around a bit awkwardly, but very pleasurably.
She felt his hands pull her towards him and felt that he must be in conflict between his instinctive desires and his gentlemanly training, yet she had no doubt which would win.
It was the easiest thing in the world to pull him even tighter and move one of her hands up further on his head to show she was serious and encourage him to lean just the tiniest bit away from deeply ingrained gentlemanly behaviour.
She felt him respond by wrapping his hands back around her waist to her back to pull her even closer.
It was the easiest thing in the world to acquiesce to his pull and mould her body tightly against his waistcoat while continuing the intense pleasure and feeling of belonging she derived from the contact between their lips.
It was the easiest thing in the world to open her mouth and extend her tongue to feel his lips, then withdraw it to feel his respond in kind, hoping he savoured the sensation as she did.
It was the easiest thing in the world to mould her body even tighter against his chest, and wrap her elbows around his shoulder ever tighter, causing him to wrap his arms entirely around her waist.
It was the easiest thing in the world to move her tongue into his waiting mouth, and thereafter brush first against his teeth, and then in a bit of a duel with his tongue.
It was the easiest thing in the world to allow him to do the same and allow him his own free exploration, all the while feeling as if she were about to catch fire.
It was the easiest thing in the world to do all this, and she felt that there was something entirely new happening. She felt like the glow must be so bright that anybody would be able to see it in her countenance for at least the next fortnight.
For the first time in ages, she felt perfectly content in the moment.
For just a twinkling, all the doubts, fears, thoughts, confusion, and anxiety of the previous months faded away as if they had never existed.
For the first time she could remember, she was well and truly happy, and that was the most frightening thought of all.
It was the hardest thing in the world to give his tongue and his teeth one last caress, and then slowly, ever so slowly, withdraw her tongue to her own mouth.
It was the hardest thing in the world to close her mouth just enough to deny his tongue, even though she knew that in this matter, he was the slave, and she the master.
It was the hardest thing in the world to slow down the wondrous feelings of contact, and gradually reduce the pressure of their mouths, until it was as light as a butterfly’s wing.
It was the hardest thing in the world to gradually reduce the pressure with which she pulled his head to hers, and to allow a small space to form.
It was the hardest thing in the world to endure his adherence to her implied instructions by gradually reducing the pressure on her back and allowing her chest to retreat from the closeness between them.
It was the hardest thing in the world to finally, after what seemed like hours, pull her lips away from his and return her hands to the base of his neck.
It was the hardest thing in the world to gently push his shoulders to gain some separation, until they returned to their original positions.
It was the most natural thing in the world to move her hands down from his shoulders and lightly grasp his lapels.
It was the most natural thing in the world to curl her arms down between their bodies, and pull herself closer to him, with nothing but her folded arms preventing them from descending back into the fire.
It was the most natural thing in the world for Fitzwilliam to move his arms up to surround her shoulders, and pull her close, tucking her head under his chin.
It was the most natural thing in the world for her to rest her ear against his chest, where she could occasionally hear his heartbeat, yet still speak and listen.
“Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes, Elizabeth.”
“That… that… that… that is something entirely new, just as I hoped. It satisfies one of my curiosities.”
“Which is?”
Elizabeth chuckled, and Fitzwilliam felt like he could feel her smile physically against his waistcoat.
“I wondered if we might have… passion.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled with her. “I believe that question has been answered definitively. It is a first for me, and hopefully the last, though in fairness—”
“Yes.”
“For me, it is just confirmation.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Would I seem loose or wanton if I sheepishly admitted that, while my feelings are of much shorter duration than yours, and perhaps temporarily of less intensity… well, I also think of it as confirmation.”
He squeezed her tighter and whispered, ‘My beautiful Elizabeth… My—’
“Shhhhh… Shhhhh… Shhhhh—”
He wondered what was coming next.
“Fitzwilliam, we still have much to discuss… privately. I imagine I should turn management of your household back to you as well.”
“What on earth makes you think I wish to mend that what is not broken?”
Elizabeth laughed, wondering if stubbornness in such matters was passed down from aunt to nephew.
“I need to limit your access to your aunt?”
“Do you plan to limit my access to Breton, Georgiana, or the villagers?” Fitzwilliam replied with a chuckle.
“All right, you win! Well then, I need to go spend a thousand pounds of your money. Might we go for a walk in, say, half an hour?”
“Hopefully, it will be a thousand pounds of our money. May I accompany you on your rounds?”
Elizabeth smiled. “For part of them, but on the matter of the thousand pounds—well, to be honest, I think it will become two if you negotiate it.”
Fitzwilliam laughed. “Breton was right. I will have a mutiny if I do not manage to keep you here as mistress.”
The discussion made Elizabeth most uncomfortable, but she managed to separate herself and stand alone, ready to proceed. She even managed it with only one more quick kiss on the cheek and a Lydia-like giggle.
Fitzwilliam offered his arm, and she took it.
“When we get to the ballroom, you may observe but stay out of sight.”
“As you command, my lady.”
She barely refrained from correcting him.