Chapter 1.30 #3
By the time they reached Darcy’s town house, Mrs Darcy’s hair was in great disorder, apparent even under her bonnet, and Mrs Hamilton did not fail to notice the mistress’s swollen lips.
It was fortunate that rain had started hours earlier and the short trip from the carriage to the house rendered them considerably wet, allowing them to go directly to their rooms to change clothes.
By the time they returned downstairs for dinner, their appearance was completely proper, and all the servants agreed that Mrs Darcy looked even more beautiful than she had when she was Miss Elizabeth.
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Around eight in the evening, Mr and Mrs Darcy finished a light, pleasant dinner and retired to their apartments.
Though neither the house nor even Darcy’s room was unknown to Elizabeth, she climbed the stairs on her husband’s arm with increasing anxiety, growing more uneasy with every passing moment, barely understanding her own state of mind and heart.
“Elizabeth…do you think an hour will be enough time for you?”
His voice startled her, and only then did she realise they were in front of her bedchamber.
“Yes…yes…I think it will be sufficient…” she managed to agree with a reasonably calm voice.
“Very well then. I shall see you again shortly…”
He walked her into her apartment, and after Molly took over her care, he departed through the door that separated their chambers. Elizabeth remained standing in the middle of the room, looking at the closed door without remembering when exactly he had said he would return.
She was brought to reality by Molly, who announced her bath was ready.
Elizabeth did not have the patience to enjoy the pleasure of settling into the tub of warm water as she was used to doing.
He had said he would come in an hour—she finally remembered—and suddenly she thought of so many things she needed to do in a short time.
She emerged from the tub and asked for her nightgown.
Molly had done everything that Mrs Hamilton instructed her to do so everything would be perfect for her mistress’s preparations on such an important night. And everything would be perfect, thought Molly, if not for the extreme anxiety and nervousness of my young mistress.
With the assistance of her young maid, Elizabeth prepared for the night and then took her place at the dressing table. Molly started to brush her hair, carefully arranging her heavy curls. She kept staring into the mirror as if she were seeing someone else’s reflection.
“Shall I bind your hair, Miss Elizabeth? Oh, I am sorry, I mean, Mrs Darcy. Please forgive me.”
“Do not worry, Molly. We shall become accustomed to this new title together. I still very much feel myself to be ‘Miss Elizabeth.’”
She stopped and blushed at the meaning of her own words though she did not mean it that way.
“I can easily understand that, Mrs Darcy.” Molly tried to smile, suddenly full of emotion herself.
“Thank you, Molly. I think my hair looks perfect now.”
“Indeed it does, Mrs Darcy; your hair is beautiful. You are sure you do not want it in a braid?”
“No no, let it be. Mr Darcy—” She stopped again, mortified at what she had started to say: Mr Darcy prefers it down and loose.
What possible explanation could there be for the fact that Mr Darcy had already seen her with her hair down and thus had an opportunity to form a preference at all?
“It is fine as it is, thank you. I think…I think you may go now, Molly.”
“As you wish… If you need me, I shall be downstairs waiting for your call.”
“No, Molly, you must not wait. I do not think I shall need your services this evening. I…I shall call you in the morning when I require your assistance.” Shall I still feel like Miss Elizabeth in the morning? Will he be with me in the morning?
She felt her cheeks warming and became furious with herself as every word and thought seemed improper. If she continued to blush this much in front of Molly, how would she react when he was before her and they were alone?
“Very well, madam. I shall wait for you to call me early in the morning.”
“Good night…um…Molly?”
The maid was just opening the door and turned to cast a last glance at her mistress. “Yes, Mrs Darcy?”
“Please be honest with me. Do I look well?” She was standing in the middle of the room, her hands at her sides, waiting for the maid’s answer as if it were an important verdict.
“You look wonderful, Mrs Darcy. I swear I never saw a more beautiful lady.”
“Indeed, you look wonderful, Mrs Darcy.”
Mr Darcy’s voice startled both women, and Molly almost knocked him over as he stood in the doorway. Ashamed, she tried to pass by him and exit as quickly as she could, barely whispering her excuse with a shy “good night.”
Mr Darcy started to laugh. “Good night, Molly.” He grinned and turned towards Elizabeth, expecting to see her amused countenance with laughter brightening her eyes and twisting her lips, but she only stared at him, her face slightly pale.
Moreover, she was biting her lower lip and wringing her hands in front of her, her eyes fixed upon his figure, her chest heaving with each deep breath she took as she inhaled and exhaled rapidly.
Mr Darcy’s entrance took Elizabeth by surprise. She had hoped she would have a few minutes alone after Molly left, but apparently, he had come earlier than he suggested. Perhaps he was as anxious as she was.
She tried to keep smiling as he was standing in front of the door.
It would not do for him to see her distressed.
He had not longed for this night only to face a fearful bride.
She swallowed, trying to remove the lump in her throat, and then, finally, she smiled at him as he was wearing only his trousers and a thin shirt.
Mr Darcy moved closer until they were touching each other; his strong palms found a spot at the junction of her neck and shoulders and rested there, stimulating her skin through the silky fabric.
His fingers glided slowly along the back of her neck, playing in her heavy curls, and his thumbs gently stroked her throat, moving up to the line of her jaw.
Needing support, her arms encircled his waist; she wanted to lean her head against his chest, yet his hands forced her face upwards, his eyes delving into hers until she could hardly bear the intensity of his stare and the novelty of the feelings she saw there.
She had been convinced she had witnessed all of his feelings, all of his moods—until that moment. Suddenly, she knew she had been wrong.
“You are so beautiful, Elizabeth. I cannot get enough of just looking at you. How is it possible for you to become more beautiful each day and for me to love you more? Do you know how much I love you—how much I desire you?”
“I am glad you are pleased, William. The nightgown was chosen by Lady Ellen and my aunt. We were told it was the latest fashion, but I was not certain—”
“Elizabeth…you are beautiful…! Did you really think I would give any importance to the gown?”
His deep voice interrupted her, while his thumb brushed her lips and his face lowered closer to hers.
His intentions were clear, and she held her breath, waiting for their lips to join, certain that his kiss would make all her fears vanish.
But the kiss did not come, and his face stopped inches from hers.
She opened her eyes, searching his face.
Darcy’s intention had indeed been to kiss her, but his worry was stronger than his desire.
He had left her less than an hour ago, joyful, pleased with his company, teasing him sweetly and flirting with him during dinner.
He had no doubt that she was as eager for his presence as he was for hers; in fact, she had told him as much.
He had been fantasising that she would throw herself into his arms the moment he entered her room, that she would lift her soft inviting lips to his without a moment’s delay.
Instead, he found her petrified in the middle of the room, looking as though his arrival was distressing for her.
Her reactions to him were more reserved than ever before.
He desperately, painfully wanted to embrace her so close to his heart that she would not be able to breathe, to capture her lips and not free them until the need for air forced them to break apart. Instead, he moved slowly towards her, a tentatively inquiring smile on his face.
Was she unwell or perhaps only overwhelmed by the idea of what was to come?
“My beautiful bride, what is troubling you?”
The tenderness in his voice and his obvious worry were her sweetest comfort. It was her turn to reassure him.
“It is nothing, William, I am only a little nervous…”
To prove her words, her hands rose from around his waist and joined his hands, entwining her fingers with his.
He startled. “My love, your fingers are cold! You are freezing. This nightgown may be the latest fashion, but it is too thin, and this room is chilled. Come, we must warm you. I would not want my wife to catch a cold on the first day of our marriage.”
His hands brushed up and down her arms, then over her back before he pulled her into a tight embrace while his hands continued to stroke her gently through the silky fabric. Against her will, his caress made her shiver even more.
“Mrs Darcy, are you cold, or are you afraid of me? Should I leave?”
His voice was half-worried and half-teasing, but she failed to notice the humour.
She only heard his words and startled. “No, please do not leave. I am sorry to be acting so foolishly. I am not cold or fearful; I am just…well…I… You said you wanted this night to be perfect, and I do not know what to do to make it perfect. Will you not tell me what you want me to do? Please?”
Her distress was obvious, her countenance more unsure than ever, and he did not know whether to be worried or simply amused by her uncertainty. What did she imagine he would demand from her?