Chapter 23
When Elizabeth woke a little after dawn, she felt terribly awkward.
Fitzwilliam was in her bed, sleeping with one arm outstretched and taking up an inordinate amount of space.
She saw her robe lying on the floor and quickly put it on, wincing a little as she walked.
He had been gentle and kind and patient, just as everyone thought he would, but she had been right about it being a little painful, though thankfully not too bad. It was, nonetheless, so very strange.
She tiptoed to her dressing room and saw the tub being filled and sat gingerly at the dressing table to brush her hair while she waited for the remainder of the water to be brought up.
The two maids carrying the buckets were quick and efficient, nodding in her direction but not looking at her. She must remember to learn their names.
Her maid, Molly Sanders—chosen because of her motherly, Jane-like qualities, bustled in and poured a few drops from a small bottle into the steaming water.
“Are you ready, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Yes, thank you, Sanders. What was that you added to the water?” She was helped out of her robe and into the steaming water.
“Lavender, madam, to ease the muscles.”
Elizabeth sank into the water slowly. “Very thoughtful, Sanders. Please come back in a quarter hour to help me wash my hair.”
“Yes, madam.”
Elizabeth sank down and leaned her head back on the towel that rested on the tub’s edge. The copper bath was one of the refurbishments Darcy had seen to before her arrival. She must remember to thank him.
What an odd night it had been! Her skin flushed just thinking about it, but she told herself the hot water had something to do with it.
They had kissed for an incredibly long time, longer than she thought was even possible, and he had touched her in places she had never thought anyone would touch.
Her feelings about this new activity were rather mixed.
Many of the things her new husband had done with her—and to her—body had been pleasurable, but it had all been so new, and so very surprising, that she spent half the time overcoming her shock.
Just as she got over the newness of a sensation enough to enjoy it, he was shocking her with something even more intimate.
The feel of him on top of her had been indescribable and she felt both profoundly close to him and a little bit scandalized. She told herself this was nothing to be concerned with. After all, a lifetime of modesty was not done away with in a moment.
She wondered if she would have felt differently about it all if she loved him as she had always hoped to love her husband and, as she was realizing, he deserved to be loved.
Would she have leapt into his arms as soon as he entered her chambers?
Would her shock have been replaced with excitement?
Would she have relished every moment in his arms, without worry or confusion?
She could not know, of course, but for the first time since her engagement began six weeks ago, she wished she did love him.
Not in the general “I want to marry a man I love” way, but in an “I wish I loved this man” way. Perhaps I will grow to love him, she thought. It is possible, surely. I already like him significantly more than I used to.
Afterward, they had eaten some fruit and cold meat laid out in the sitting room.
He had then accompanied her to her bed. She was unsure if he was going to sleep with her or if he wished to lie together again.
In the end, he had climbed into the bed, cuddled her close and stroked her hair, and fallen asleep rather quickly.
Elizabeth had lain awake, wondering if she would even be able to sleep with this man in her bed, clinging to her so.
She eventually fell asleep with her head on his chest and his arm wrapped tightly around her.
She hadn’t heard any sounds from the bedchamber and thought Darcy was likely still asleep.
She scrubbed her skin, frowning at the small swirl of red drifting off her intimate places.
She was also surprised to see small red marks on her décolletage and looking in the mirror, she saw two on her neck as well.
She could not fathom what these marks were until a memory niggled its way to the front of her mind.
She was fourteen and sneaking a biscuit from the kitchen.
One scullery maid was assisting the other with tying a scarf around her neck so Cook wouldn’t see her “love bites.” She hadn’t known what they were talking about and dismissed it, but now she wondered. Love bites…
“Are you ready for me to wash your hair, Mrs. Darcy?” asked Sanders.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and leaned forward. “Yes, let’s.”
Sanders removed the braid and before she could say anything, Elizabeth sunk down into the water to soak her hair, blowing bubbles out of her nose.
Sanders had been bending to retrieve a bucket of water to tip over her head and the look of surprise on her face made Elizabeth burst into laughter.
“It’s quite all right, Sanders. I shan’t drown! Save the fresh water for the rinsing. It would take buckets of it to wet it to the scalp. This way is much more efficient.”
Her maid quickly removed the shocked expression from her face and began washing Elizabeth’s hair, scrubbing her head in the most delicious way.
After she was rinsed, Elizabeth leaned forward to allow Sanders to scrub her back and Elizabeth rubbed her fingers along her neck and rotated her sore shoulders.
She thought they were likely in such poor condition from the odd angle she slept at last night.
“Would you like me to rub your shoulders, madam?”
“Are you good at it?” Elizabeth asked. Mary had tried to rub her shoulders once and she winced through several minutes of torture before telling her sister she was better now and to please stop.
“My sister says no one’s better,” said Sanders proudly.
“Very well then.”
Elizabeth leaned forward and pulled her hair over one shoulder and Sanders proceeded to work out the knots and soreness from her neck and shoulders.
Elizabeth nearly sank into the water from the sheer pleasure of it and sighed contentedly more than once.
A maid of her own was a glorious thing indeed.
After she was dried and her hair combed out, Elizabeth wondered what she should do.
Normally, she would sit by the fire to dry her hair, or in summer, as it was now, she would sit by an open window and read for a bit.
Once or twice she’d even snuck outside to let it dry in the sun, a wonderful but improper way to dry thick hair such as hers.
She looked toward the window and saw that it had started to rain, making sitting in front of an open window impractical.
The fire hadn’t been lit when she’d left her room, but if the rain brought colder temperatures, it might be lit now.
She didn’t want to wake Fitzwilliam by ordering one done, however.
Who would have thought such a simple thing as drying one’s hair could be so complicated?
Marriage was already requiring adjustments and suddenly she wished he had slept in his own room to spare her this ridiculous decision making.
“Shall you sit in front of the fire to dry your hair, madam?” asked Sanders.
“Is there one lit?”
“The one is your chamber is bright as can be,” said the maid cheerfully.
“Then yes, I will. Do you know if my husband is awake yet?” It sounded strange to say the words. My husband.
“Yes, madam. The master is in his dressing room.”
“Thank you, Sanders. It usually takes about half an hour to dry, and then I shall need your help dressing. I believe I’ll wear the new pink gown today.”
“Yes, madam. I’ll have it pressed and ready.”
Sanders opened the wardrobe and removed the dress while Elizabeth tightened the belt on her soft blue dressing gown and went into the bedroom to dry her hair. She sat by the fire, absently running a comb through her hair, turning her head from side to side while her thoughts wandered.
Darcy awoke slowly and wondered where he was.
The crown above this bed did not match the one in his chamber and then he remembered yesterday had been his wedding and he was in his wife’s chamber.
My wife. Just thinking it gave him a deep feeling of satisfaction.
He reached out to his side, searching for her, but met only a cold sheet.
There was a brief moment of panic when he wondered if it had all been a dream.
He sat up and looked around the room, then heard Elizabeth’s laughter coming from behind the dressing room door.
A smile he wasn’t aware of slowly worked its way across his face.
He was married. To Elizabeth. To a woman he loved in a marriage of genuine affection, not a calculated union of convenience.
His relief was immeasurable, his joy boundless.
He rose and went to the dressing room door, his intention to see his wife, but he heard her maid’s voice and what sounded like water being poured into a tub and decided to follow his wife’s example and bathe.
He would give her privacy for now; he could suggest bathing together at a later time when she was more accustomed to his presence in her intimate life.
He was incredibly cheerful and his valet stifled more than one smile as he watched the master of the house grin like a fool while bathing, combing his hair, and getting dressed. He’d barely been able to stop long enough to be shaved.
Darcy reentered his wife’s room with a spring in his step. She was sitting before the fire with her hair around her like a curtain, much of it still damp, and a comb in her hand. Her expression was blank as she stared into the flames.
“Good morning, dear.” He placed a swift kiss on her cheek. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Hmm?” she asked, suddenly surprised at his presence.
“I asked if you were hungry. There is breakfast in the sitting room.”