CHAPTER TEN
“You are hardly in the pink,” said Abby to Lizzy as the evening drew to a close.
The two women had spent the past hour in the drawing-room, the hostess reviewing her correspondence and Lizzy penning a letter that came nowhere near to portraying the disquiet swirling within her.
“But we could begin your first lesson tonight if you wished.”
The rain had not relented but for a few minutes, and Lizzy was obliged to spend another night at Trenwith House.
She comforted her guilt by reasoning that any other person, Maria or Charlotte or Mr. Collins himself, would be hard pressed to do otherwise if caught in a similar situation.
Of course they would never have conceded to what she was about to do, but she doubted that they were as afflicted as she with such feelings of craving and impatience.
“You’re not to do anything that you do not wish,” Abby said. “No one—not I, nor your partner—will be offended. You are to command your experience. If it is not to your liking, I urge—nay, I expect—you to voice your concerns. Do you understand?”
Lizzy nodded while trying to calm her pounding heart.
Abby took her hand and pressed it warmly. “Our time together has been short, but you have become like a daughter to me. Are you ready?”
Lizzy took a deep breath. “I am.”
“Sally will see to your toilette and take you to the Red Chamber.”
As Abby accompanied her back to her chamber, Lizzy noticed her hostess seemed more pensive than loquacious. Did Abby harbor reservations?
But before Lizzy could inquire, Abby turned to her with a bright smile, “I have complete faith and trust that your partner will provide you an exquisite entrée to the fleshly pleasures.”
“Am I to know this partner?”
“No!” Abby replied with surprising emphasis. “It is unnecessary and would only prove a distraction. Your focus is to be placed upon your body, its responses, and enjoyment. I promise you a safe and exhilarating experience.”
Too nervous to speak much, Lizzy only nodded once more and returned Abby’s smile.
Her cough had improved, though her throat was still rough, lending her speech a husky quality.
She had spent a quiet afternoon resting and reading, finding amusement in the poet’s oft times ludicrous counsel to men on how to seduce a woman or to women on how to attract a man, such as his advice to men that when accompanying a lady to the horse-races, “one should gallantly brush the dust from her gown, and if there is not dust there, brush it nonetheless.” This agreeable manner of passing the time was followed by a passive supper.
Abby had insisted Nicholas refrain from aggravating their guest with much discourse and dismissed him shortly after dessert.
As Lizzy sat at the vanity in her room, after having soaked in a warm bath of scented water, she vacillated between eagerness and misgiving.
Had she made a hasty decision? Was she rash to have placed such a high degree of trust in a woman she barely knew?
What if the worst were to occur and she were discovered?
The shame upon her friends and family would be too great to imagine.
But if she did not seize upon this opportunity, it would be gone forever.
The rains had proven a fortuitous circumstance, compelling her to stay at Trenwith House without fear of censure.
Moreover, the lust in her body might find relief in a forward address and cure her disquiet where long walks had failed.
Sally had dressed her in the garments of several decades ago, with a corset that laced in the back down to the tailbone.
The discomfort of the confining corset was partially but not wholly offset by the softness of the remaining undergarments.
The chemise and petticoats were short, stopping just below the knees to reveal her stockings and slippers.
Instead of a dress, Sally had covered her shoulders with a silk robe not unlike a banyan.
“This will help shield your identity,” Sally explained as she held a powdered wig with layers fluffed atop the head and half a dozen coils of hair that fell below the shoulders.
Sally then applied a rouge to the lips and a beauty patch near the bottom corner of her mouth. Looking in the mirror, Lizzy felt she wanted only a satin frock and she could have attended the court of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.
“We are ready, ma’am,” Sally said after affixing the final accessory, a crystal Venetian mask accented with blue sapphires.
Lizzy finished a glass of port for additional courage and followed Sally to the room Abby had dubbed the Red Chamber.
*****
As Darcy appraised his wardrobe in the mirror, he hoped that his evening at Trenwith House would provide the antidote to his longing for one Miss Elizabeth Bennett.
Pierre had laid out his costume of fresh linen, silk coat and breeches, an embroidered waistcoat, stockings, silver-buckled shoes and a peruke.
Darcy was glad that the fashion for men had changed considerably since the last century, but he donned the garments willingly.
In addition to its assistance in preventing recognition, the costuming added an element of playfulness and freed the participants to assume different identities.
After donning a simple black mask that covered the majority of his face, he walked himself to the Red Chamber.
The room was as he remembered, from what he could discern, for most of it was cast in shadow, its only light the glow of the fireplace.
The salubrious fire had been burning for some time, warming the intimate confines.
The walls were covered with inviting silk paper and adorned with golden candelabras and tall, narrow mirrors that reflected slivers of the four-post bed, draped in a mix of satin and sheer linen, in the middle of the room.
The only other furnishings consisted of a chaise lounge upholstered in red velvet, an end table, a sideboard, an armoire stocked with amorous accoutrements, and a pair of wing-chairs.
He remembered sitting in one of those chairs with a ‘student’ astride him.
She had called herself Justine and become quite the naughty wanton.
He should have paced the lessons to better evaluate the abilities of the young woman to handle her newly awakened ardor.
Though Abby’s judgments were, for the most part, sound, he knew enough of humankind not to underestimate the unpredictable.
The challenge was, of course, that one could not, by definition, prepare well for that which one could not foresee.
He almost did not see the woman of the evening for she sat in the shadow of a curtain upon the edge of the bed without movement or sound.
His pulse skipped and he felt all the nerves from his years of abstinence, as if he were being asked to play the pianoforte without having practiced for the same length of time.
He hoped he would prove an adequate partner.
“Good evening, mademoiselle,” he greeted in a whisper as he stepped onto the expansive Persian carpeting, wishing the heels of his shoes weren’t quite so high.
The young woman started to cough, and he detected the sounds of a cold.
“Pardon me,” she said in a throaty voice when her coughing had subsided.
He offered her a cordial and, when she nodded, was relieved to have the innocuous activity to start the evening.
Handing the beverage to her, he had an improved view of her.
She had a nice form—the shoulders, collarbone, and bust all decidedly feminine without appearing too meek.
He was not partial to small, willowy frames.
Though her hands trembled a little when she took the drink, her posture and air hinted at maturity and resolution. And something oddly familiar.
He continued in a low and gentle voice, “Would you care for another glass?”
She shook her head.
He took a deeper breath. “Shall we begin, then?”
“Yes.”
From the armoire he retrieved a red satin kerchief. “I will attempt to explain all that I am to do as we proceed. If at any time you wish to desist, you may apply a safety word, and I will cease instantly.”
“A safety word? Is a simple protest not sufficient?”
“What may seem as a rebuff can be arbitrary and subject to interpretation. It is necessary to have a specific mechanism that is unambiguous to both parties.”
“Very well. And what shall this safety word be?”
Failing to remember what he once used, he recalled the name of his last dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. “Montreal.”
“Montreal?”
“You will not hesitate to speak it?”
“I think not.”
“Repeat it for me.”
“I assure you I am capable of uttering a simple word.”
“If you cannot speak it in idleness, how am I to be assured you will speak it when we are occupied?”
“Montreal. Montreal. Satisfied?”
He frowned. This was no submissive and unquestioning pupil before him.
“Again.”
Taken aback by his directive, she raised her brows.
“Practice makes perfect,” he supplied with deliberate condescension, to make the point that he was the teacher and she the student.
She pressed her lips together, but replied with exaggerated enunciation. “Mon-tre-al.”
His tactic worked, for perturbation had quickly replaced her nervousness.
“I will now apply this blindfold. The removal of sight will eliminate the most easy distractions and enhance your other senses.”
She hesitated but made no objection. He secured the kerchief over the eyes of her mask before stepping back to survey her.
“Charmante.”
She almost laughed. “You need not seduce me with false compliments, sir! For in such dim lighting, surely you can discern little. Why, my complexion may be marked by the pox, my eyes set too narrowly apart, and the bridge of my nose adorned with warts!”
“Have you had the pox?”
“Luckily, no.”
“Have you warts?”
“No, but—”
“And do you deem your eyes unattractive?”
“That is not my point—”
“Then I stand by my evaluation.”
He was tempted but refrained from protesting his aversion of falsehoods or explaining that some element of loveliness could be found in almost any woman, even those most would find homely.
“Forgive me, I divert you from your program. Pray, continue, only know that such praise falls upon skeptical ears.”
“Are you often given to provoking your tutors?”
“My tutors were few and of short duration.”
Little wonder, he thought to himself. He was too much the gentleman to voice the rejoinder aloud but not so much that he would not think it.
“If you will not accept my flattery, perhaps, modesty notwithstanding, you would allow which bodily attributes you consider most attractive in yourself?”
He liked to identify where a woman was most confident and apply his attention there.
“Praise myself? What you ask is unbecoming in a modest lady, but…! You are in luck, sir! For I do not feign modesty where none is to be had and will give you my honest opinion. I like my eyes the best.”
Damn. He could not make love to her eyes, especially as they were blindfolded. He could have done much with the neck, the hand, or even the ankle.
“Any others?”
“My other qualities are not noteworthy.”
“You are overly critical.”
“Perhaps. But I am not so self-absorbed as to have dwelt on each of my features and given them an appraisal.”
Darcy held his sigh. He made for a poor Casanova. What had convinced Abby he could fulfill the role?
He knew her answer. She would point to all his successes and argue that the singular young woman before him now was an anomaly. A new supposition came to mind.
“Does your resistance bespeak your reservations in these, er, proceedings?”
She seemed mildly impressed. “A keen observation and perhaps not wholly unwarranted, but if it is the case, it is not done with conscious awareness. I have not forgotten that if I wish to cease and desist, I may avail myself of that safety word: Montreal.”
“It is natural to feel uneasy in these circumstances.”
“What techniques you employ! Praise, solicitude, empathy, and reassurance.”
“Do you make a habit of remarking upon every action before you?” he replied, wondering if he would be able to persevere the evening with her.
“I confess a curiosity and desire to understand how these ‘lessons’ take place.”
“There is no curriculum to speak of.”
“Rules?”
“These will be determined by the ‘pupil,’ as it were.”
“How fascinating and extremely vague.”
In some cases, he would attempt to put a woman at ease with conversation, but encouraging a tête-à-tête with this one might prove hazardous. He walked over to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of sherry.
Sensing his departure, she asked, “How long have you been an instructor for Mrs. Trenwith?”
“Is that relevant?”
“Of course. Your years speak to experience.”
“What information I provide will only prejudice you. Judge the results instead.”
“Do you employ the same methods with every woman?”
“You have a great many questions.”
“I am inquisitive, a quality that makes me an apt pupil.”
“An apt pupil also follows directions well.”
“Ah! Are we to commence the ‘lesson?’”
“If you are done stalling with your chatter.”