Chapter 25 #2
She stepped out onto the balcony off her bedchamber and looked at the sun glowing orange as it set and breathed in the clean air gratefully. She made herself comfortable in a lounge chair and leaned back with her eyes closed.
She fell asleep quickly and finally awoke when she heard muffled voices in a nearby room. She sat up and looked around, suddenly wishing Fitzwilliam was with her. What a changeable creature I am!
“Good, you are awake,” said Fitzwilliam as he stepped onto the dark balcony.
She looked around groggily. He was arranging dishes of food on a table to her right. A few candles were lit, but most of the light was provided by the moon.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Supper. I took the liberty of having it sent to my room.” He nodded in the direction of a door on the other side of the balcony. “After I saw you were asleep, I thought this would be better.”
She looked down and saw a small, soft blanket was draped around her. “Thank you,” she said, pointing to the cover.
“You’re welcome.”
He continued to fill the plates in silence before eventually handing her one and sitting down across from her with the other plate. She nibbled slowly, still waking up.
“It’s very peaceful here, isn’t it?” she said after some time.
“Yes, very. That is one of the reasons I thought it would be a perfect location for a wedding trip, besides you having wished it, of course.”
“Have you been here many times before?”
“Only twice. Once while at Cambridge and then with my father six years ago. He was a close friend of Mr. Lansdowne, Sr.”
“It was very kind of him to share it with you.”
“He is a kind man. I hope to introduce you before we return to town. The family has an estate in Staffordshire, not fifty miles from Pemberley.”
“And what is fifty miles of good road?” she asked with a smile.
“When there is money enough to make traveling easy, it is as nothing,” he rejoined.
They both chuckled lightly and continued with their meal.
Elizabeth stole glances at Darcy between bites.
She was having the oddest sensation. She felt the most peculiar desire for her husband’s presence.
She wouldn’t call it missing him, exactly.
Indeed, that would be absurd. But she did feel it had been a horribly long time since he had held her.
They hadn’t even kissed properly since beginning the journey.
Once she told him she was on her courses, he had touched nothing but her hand and that only slightly.
She didn’t know what to make of it. Did he think she was somehow more fragile at this time?
Or perhaps he found it all revolting. She certainly didn’t enjoy it.
But surely he knew she wasn’t going to slap him if he kissed her, didn’t he?
She studied him, and while she was staring at his freshly washed hair and the way it fell over his forehead just so, he looked up at her. His face was friendly, but his eyes were filled with such trepidation, such longing, that she felt her heart reach out for his.
Wordlessly, she set her plate and glass of wine aside and scooted in next to him on the chaise lounge. He was surprised, but made room for her by opening his arms. She placed her head on his chest and snuggled close to him, one hand over his heart.
“Can we see any more stars here than we can in Hertfordshire?” she asked.
“A few, but not many,” he said in a soft voice.
“Show me?”
“Of course.”
They lay back and looked at the stars, Darcy pointing out the constellations he knew and the dimmer stars that could not be seen further south. They spent an hour lying together and talking, watching the night sky.
“What would it be like to go there?” she said suddenly.
“Where? To the stars?”
“Yes. I should like to see a star up close, I think. Or perhaps the moon. Do you think we shall ever go there?”
“No, of course not!”
“Not ‘we’ you and I, ‘we’ mankind. Do you think we will ever make the journey?”
“It must be quite far. I should think it would take a very long time. And of course there is the small problem of not being able to fly.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Mr. Darcy. That’s my job,” she said as she jabbed him in the ribs.
He laughed and hugged her closer.
“Maybe someone will find a way to fly one day,” she wondered aloud.
“Like a bird? Perhaps someone could design wings, I suppose. Though I imagine our arms would get very tired,” he said.
“Maybe the wings wouldn’t have to move, but only glide. Like a kite.”
“I have seen a hot air balloon that can take a man into the sky, but it is hard to direct and quite dangerous.”
“Really? I should like to see that,” she said, her voice filled with interest.
“If I hear of one nearby, we shall go see it,” he said with a kiss to the top of her head.
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam,” she said feelingly.
“You’re welcome.” He suspected she meant more than just the balloon, but he didn’t want to fish for information.
“What is your favorite constellation?” she asked.
“My favorite? I don’t know that I have one.”
“How can you not have one? That is like not having a favorite color.”
“I do not have a favorite color.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “How is that possible?”
“It’s quite easy, really. I simply do not have one,” he replied.
“You are a queer creature, Mr. Darcy,” she said fondly.
“What is your favorite constellation?”
“I think Cassiopeia.”
“Why?”
“The story is so tragic. And who would like to sit upside down half the year? Plus it is easy to find in the sky.”
He chuckled and pulled her closer, kissing her hair again. She rubbed her hand along his chest, snuggling closer.
“Would you like to know something strange?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I feel like I miss you. Is that not absurd?”
“Not so absurd,” he said quietly.
“But we have been together nearly every moment for a fortnight!”
“Not every moment.”
“Most moments.”
“Well, it is possible to miss certain aspects of someone or something. Like I have missed holding you this week,” he said softly. His voice was gentle and a touch unsure.
“Then we are in accord because I have missed being held by you.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. It is a very enjoyable sensation,” she said with a teasing smile. She leaned up and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “You are very warm and there is something about your arms that I quite like.”
“Is there now?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Mhhm,” she nodded. “Something about them makes me feel safe and loved.”
“You are safe and loved,” he replied, pulling her closer. She sighed contentedly and returned his squeeze, so close she was half on top of him now. “Elizabeth?”
“Yes?”
“Are you still in your time?”
“No. I have just finished,” she replied softly, her voice full of promise.
“Will you come to bed with me?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“No,” he said forcefully. She looked at him in surprise.
He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to find the right words to say.
“Elizabeth, I know you believe certain things to be your duty and that lying with me is one of them. But I do not want to be a duty to you. I would like our coupling to be joyful and desired by both of us. If you do not want to be with me in this way, please do not pretend for my sake. I would ask you to promise me, for the rest of our lives, that you will never allow me to take you when you do not truly wish it. I could not bear to be resented for such a thing. Please, promise me.”
“Very well. I promise,” she said gently.
He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his forehead on hers.
“Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes?”
“Will you come to bed with me?”
He looked up and saw her eyes sparkling at him and her teasing smile about to break through. “Gladly.”
Elizabeth noted something different about their lovemaking that night. He was as tender and gentle as he had been every other time, but there was something else there. A closeness, a sense of togetherness that had not been there before.
It would be some time before she realized that the change was not with them, but within herself. Did Fitzwilliam even recognize it?
Darcy felt that he was going slightly mad.
He had run the gamut of every possible emotion in the last week and he was looking forward to a month of relaxation now that they had finally arrived.
His marriage was in many ways more than he had ever hoped for.
Elizabeth was delightful. Her arch manner, the way her eyes twinkled just before she teased him, the way her lips parted just so when she was surprised.
He could not get enough of looking at her, touching her, having her.
He almost felt intoxicated, so enamored of her was he.
But there was something in the way of his complete happiness.
He did not like to dwell on it, and he wasn’t completely sure, but he felt that Elizabeth herself was not as enamored as he.
He especially noticed it in their most intimate moments.
At first, this did not bother him. Indeed, he was so overwhelmed by his own feelings he barely registered hers.
Everything was so new—especially to her—he knew there would be a period of adjustment, that she would take time to become accustomed to his physical presence.
When he thought about her position, how she was the physically weaker of the two, younger than he, and completely inexperienced, he could understand how a woman might feel vulnerable in such an intimate situation—that she would need to trust her partner deeply.
To that end, he had been kind and loving with her.
He had been affectionate for the fortnight they had been married, at least to the extent he could be once her wretched courses had come, and when he lay with her he had been tender and gentle, assuring her of his devotion in every touch to her soft skin and every kiss to her sweet lips.
But despite his trustworthiness and utter devotion, she had not responded as he thought she would. He was mature enough to realize people did not always behave the way he wished them to, but he had such hopes with Elizabeth that he thought, just this once, his faith might not be mislaid.
She wasn’t cold to him, quite the contrary.
She often touched him throughout the day, leaving a tingling sensation on his arm or shoulder or wherever she had placed her hand.
She laughed and teased and sparkled for him without reservation.
She never turned him away and accepted each of his kisses if not always enthusiastically, at least happily.
He truly had nothing to complain of. He had heard stories from other men of wives who locked their doors at night and turned their faces when their husbands leaned in for a kiss.
His Elizabeth would never do such a thing, he was nearly sure of it.
What was truly bothering Darcy, as much as he hated to admit it, was that her personality was not coming through in their lovemaking.
If he was honest with himself, and Darcy always was, he had dreamt of her teasing him and raising that impertinent brow as she slowly slid her nightgown off her shoulders.
Or sitting in the center of the bed, surrounded by white downy blankets and pillows, wearing nothing but a smile as she waited for him to come to her.
Or playfully tormenting him with innuendo and suggestions throughout the day, culminating in fervent coupling that night.
But none of that had happened. She had consented to him coming to her every night she was not indisposed, even Sundays.
She had consented to him sleeping in her bed afterward.
She had consented to being completely bare with him, something she had been embarrassed to do but had agreed to after gentle encouragement and assurance of his affection and the dimness of the light.
As he sat being shaved the morning of the second day at The Lakes, Darcy berated himself.
She simply needed time to become accustomed to the marriage bed.
As her confidence grew, so would her comfort.
Or perhaps it would be the other way round.
Anyway, he was sure he was worrying over nothing.
So Elizabeth had not met his mind’s imaginings within a fortnight of being married.
Was that really something to complain about?
They had plenty of time—they had a lifetime together. He smiled at the thought.
Perhaps he could lead. If he was more playful with her, then mayhap she would reciprocate. Only, the problem was Darcy had never excelled in being playful. Fortune favors the brave, old man.
He would try. If it meant making Elizabeth more comfortable and making their marriage more enjoyable, he would do anything—even if he was likely to make a fool of himself in the process.