Chapter Seven #2
The Darcys' carriage followed the High King and Queen’s, trailed by the noble wedding guests from the church plus the mob of local villagers and farmers through the gates of Pemberley to the adjacent Great Hall where Darcy held court.
The Great Hall, a large stone building with glass windows and a slate roof, had stood for centuries, and Darcys had ruled from within its walls for generations.
It had been the site of celebration for Darcy's parents' marriage as well as his Presentation after his christening.
The throng of people gathered outside the balcony of the Hall despite the cold to await the royal couple, who always announced the start of the festivities. As the High King, with his Queen by his side, gave a speech, the Darcys stood to the side, silent and somewhat apart from each other.
“We are expected to kiss, Elizabeth.”
“I am aware of that, my lord.” She showed no emotion.
“Fine,” he snapped. Her manner had started to aggravate him.
King Richard announced them, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
“Come, my lord, we have a performance.”
She took his hand and smiled at him radiantly as they slipped onto the balcony. They waved and threw coins into the gathering below.
The crowd bellowed, “Kiss!”
Darcy, pushing aside his anger and disgust, pulled Elizabeth into his arms, circling her body firmly. It did not matter that she was playacting for the crowd. He was going to kiss her and leave her in no doubt that their marriage was going to be as physical a joining as he could make it.
He went slowly, driving the crowd below mad with want. An instant before he reached her lips, he paused, forgetting they were being watched.
“I am not pretending. This is the first time I am kissing my wife. I intend to make it memorable.”
She opened her mouth to reply, and he pressed his lips to hers, and at that moment, they were the only two people in existence.
Her soft mouth beneath his was nothing short of ambrosia, and he tasted her like a man who had been deprived of sustenance for weeks.
He pulled her closer, aware of faint cheers from somewhere far away as he pressed his mouth harder against hers.
Elizabeth's arms slipped around his neck, and her feet left the ground when he lifted her. She had begun to shiver, so he held fast and led her as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue along hers.
Finally, his mouth left hers, and they stared at each other for a long, heavy moment before he stole another quick kiss and set her back on the stone floor.
She licked her lips, perhaps to catch his taste there.
He imagined her thoughts after being so thoroughly kissed: how could she hate him so much and still want him to do that to her again?
The crowd below them was mad with excitement and happiness.
He was unwilling to let his people down and somehow believed she had to have felt the same since she seemed eager to join in when they kissed once more when it was demanded of them.
Finally, Darcy raised his arms in the air.
“If you keep requesting kisses, I am afraid there will be no celebration! So, ladies and gentlemen, let us begin!”
Once inside, they were alone. He stared at her for a moment, his hands behind his back.
“I meant what I said earlier. You are beautiful. I wanted you to know that.”
“I thank ye. I must change.”
“Of course. Let me accompany you.”
They went down the passage to the temporary dressing room where Heather waited to assist Elizabeth. Several minutes later, she emerged in a new mulberry silk reception gown. She took his breath away. Darcy offered his arm, and she laid her hand upon it.
“Shall we go?” she asked, staring ahead.
“Aye.”
When they entered, the room fell silent, and people bowed and curtseyed as they made their way to the dais where the High King and Queen were already stationed.
The Darcys paid their respects to the ranking couple and took their places on a different platform to receive their guests.
A long time later, they were able to dance their first dance, drink their first wine, and partake of their first meal.
Finally, with children falling asleep in corners and drunkards tripping over the cracks in the stone floor, they excused themselves to retire for the evening.
Because of the cold, they had a closed carriage rather than the traditional open carriage to take them the half mile to the Great House, and they rode in silence, exhaustion permeating the air.
Elizabeth's confusion and melancholy, made worse by her fatigue, was palpable to him by the time they reached Pemberley proper.
Darcy handed her down from the carriage, impatient with her lack of understanding and forgiveness.
His irritation bubbled up in retaliation.
“Our new apartment has been already set up. It is in the west wing. Your possessions have been moved in.”
“Of course. I expected nothing less,” she said. Her voice was quiet.
At first, Darcy remained to watch her form ascend the stairs from behind, his heart racing in anticipation at the thought of finally possessing his longed-for prize.
Her steps were agonizingly slow and heavy, though, and the stench of sorrow emanated from her.
More than a little annoyed by her stalling, he skipped the few steps separating them to draw alongside her, their arms pressing together as he crowded her on the staircase. He glared.
“You could at least feign happiness, my lady. This is, after all, your wedding night.”
“And ye are not the husband of my heart. He is in mourning, as is my Papa. Ye are a cruel man to covet that which does not belong to ye.”
“If I did not covet you, then you would not be a princess.”
“I was quite content with my future as a shepherd's wife, my lord, lest ye forget.”
“Then you are a fool.”
“No more than ye.”
He grabbed her hand, hauled her up the remaining stairs and along the candle-lit passage.
With a snap of his wrist, she was inside the refurbished apartment.
As he took his place before the closed door, he considered whether she would run if given the chance.
Unfortunately, the answer that came easily to him was “probably.”
She sighed. “Ye may move away from the door, my lord. I shall make no attempt to flee.” She gave the room a quick perusal then began to walk towards the bed chamber.
He followed.
His shoulders eased once that door was also closed, and he began to loosen his belt, pausing long enough to look at her expectantly. At first, she stood dumb as she watched him begin to disrobe.
“Forgive me,” she said softly. Silently, she assisted him in the removal of the sword that hung at his side and carefully placed the sheathed weapon on the round table near the fire. It was heavy and long; the kind of sword that took great strength to wield. “Have ye seen many battles?”
“Enough, and likely more still,” he replied, his voice suddenly tired as he joined her to gaze down at the weapon while he unbuttoned and removed his shirt.
His fingers brushed the hilt, as he lost himself in thought of battles long passed.
Unexpectedly, the cool stroke of her fingers traced the long, white scar that puckered the flesh of his stomach, then the other which teased his mortality on the skin over his heart.
Her touch was soft and curious, and her eyes held a hint of concern.
“Do they hurt?”
He shook his head. He hated to be reminded of the moments he had let his guard down even briefly. The scars had not been painful for a long time, but he still flinched when Elizabeth tentatively reached out and ran her fingers along the imperfection on his abdomen again. She immediately withdrew.
“Forgive me. I should not have presumed to be so bold. I have never seen such a thing before.”
“My body is yours, my lady. Your boldness, while unexpected, is certainly most welcome.”
Regaining herself, she took a step back. “Why me, my lord?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why choose me as thy wife? I do not, nay, cannot love ye and yet here I am, preparing to bed with ye.”
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” he replied, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He could imagine how it would light his dark face. What would she think of him now?
“Aye, but I fear, my lord, that it is another part of thy anatomy that is wanting.”
He surprised her by laughing outright. “And you ask why I chose you. It is for that very candour, my lady. Your constant irritation with me draws me in.”
“'Tis an unorthodox way to choose a spouse.”
He could not help himself. In a trice, he drew her into his arms and his mouth was over hers.
At the shock of his latest attack, she opened her mouth in a gasp, and his tongue slid in to explore and taste.
Her body, stiff and wary at first, eased as his hands roamed her back.
Uneasiness melted away, and her arms wound around his neck, clinging to him.
Her body trembled beneath his touch, and he pulled back to stare down at her.
Darcy was surprised to find her mouth already swollen and her eyes heavy.
It was best to not make mention of those facts, though.
Who knew how she would respond to knowing about her own passion?
He ran his hands gently up and down her arms but was unable to gauge her temperature through the hazy mulberry silk of her reception gown.
“Elizabeth, are you cold?”
She seemed not to hear him. She appeared confused and unsteady, almost as if she was trying to solve a puzzle. He desperately had to find out what she was thinking.
“Elizabeth?”
She blinked. “My lord?”
“Are you cold? You are shivering.”
“I do not think so.”