Hey there everyone! It's me, Grace! I'm back with another P&P variation!

This is the first chapter of a new series of shorts I'm currently writing. There will be four shorts in all, and I will be publishing them on Amazon if you're impatient and would like to read it all at once. I'll be posting all the chapters here eventually, just like I did with An Ardent Affection. The first part, 'Bewildered' is already available on Amazon, and will contain a slightly *more* sensual third chapter than what I will be posting here (to keep up with ffnet's allowed content). Thanks so much and please enjoy chapter 1 of Bewildered, (Part 1 of Beloved). 3


CHAPTER ONE


It was a truth universally acknowledged, that a woman most recently made a bride to a man so utterly perfect as was Fitzwilliam Darcy, must be a happy woman indeed.

Elizabeth herself certainly could not find a reason to complain about her newly-found station in life. She wanted for nothing: not for gowns, for pin money, for ribbons and lace, for food in her belly, for endless areas to explore, nor even for books to read. Upon that material front, the new Mrs. Darcy was as happy as any newlywed woman had the right to be.

Likewise, her husband was amiable—more than amicable. One might even extend themselves to call him doting. Fitzwilliam could scarcely be in the same room as she without gazing upon his young wife with something akin to rapture. Whenever they walked together, he curled her hand into the crook of his elbow, slowing his own gait to match hers. To look at the pair, one wouldn't find anything amiss in their picture of blissful happiness.

And so Elizabeth found herself pondering this many nights. In rapt confusion, she wondered at the odd feeling in her belly that told her there was, as yet, still something decidedly missing from her otherwise happy marriage.

She hesitated to say what she thought it was, because even to think such a thing was likely as sinful as it would be if she should breathe a word about the subject to anyone in her acquaintance. But her problem lay precisely where she did: in her bed.

Elizabeth had, over the course of her engagement to her Mr. Darcy, been led to believe that the marriage bed was something of a given when one was married.

Her own mother had indeed given her a rather long discussion about the topic, even though Lizzy would hesitate to truly call it a discussion. It could more accurately be termed a lecture, for she certainly hadn't been afforded a break in her dear mother's dialogue to muster a question about anything. Still, if she was to believe her mother's oration about the nature and frequency of those most secret of relations, her own could certainly be considered lacking.

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, her mother had explained that men were often insatiable in their carnal appetites. The proof, she'd asserted, being her own five daughters. At the time, that sort of talk had seemed scandalous. Elizabeth's eyes had widened and her mother had patted her hand and assured her that it usually wasn't a long drawn out affair. In fact, it rarely happened now that she was well past childbearing years.

None of this information had proved useful to her, however, when Mr. Darcy had prevailed upon her the first night of their honeymoon. After spending their wedding night at Longbourn, and traveling for most of the next day, she hadn't been expecting to hear his soft knock upon her bedchamber, but she wasn't cross for it either.

He'd slipped in as quietly as he ever did anything, moving into her bed and out of it again once he was finished. He'd kissed her forehead and cradled her close for a handful of minutes before rising and taking his leave.

Much to her surprise, the bedding itself wasn't wholly unpleasant. There had been pain of course, as well as blood. But it wasn't so terrible as to not be borne. Quite the contrary, Elizabeth felt it might have actually been quite pleasant if it hadn't been over so soon or perhaps if he'd remained with her afterward, even. Instead, that he'd left her with only the absence of his warmth and his embrace was very nearly the worst part of it all.

Perhaps it was the way of things. She wasn't fearful that Mr. Darcy had suddenly fallen out of love with her—quite the contrary in fact. Upon breaking her fast the next morning, her husband had been as doting as he ever was, sharing his sweet smiles with her and her alone, even as he shared his kind manner and lovely temper with everyone. And he was scarcely away from her, not leaving her side if he could at all help the matter.

It made for a rather lovely honeymoon if one ignored the mere handful of times he'd visited her bedchamber. Again, it wasn't the activities they got up to that caused her to feel disheartened, but rather the scarce frequency of those visits.

Unfortunately, their frequency had dwindled even more since the Darcys had arrived at Pemberley. This came as no surprise to the young Mrs. Darcy, for she was well aware of the duties to which her husband had to attend. Even so, she felt herself grow more disappointed with each night she passed alone in her bedchamber. For, should it not stand to reason that, the less time spent in each other's company during the daylight hours, the more they should spend together once the curtains had been drawn?

As Elizabeth lay there in her bed alone, she wondered if indeed her worrying was for naught. There wasn't any particular reason to concern herself. Her husband hadn't expressed any distaste in her behavior or the way she kept house. Perhaps the worry was simply the product of an anxious state of mind that every new wife had the misfortune of succumbing. A garden of woes that would surely die out once she became more accustomed to being Mistress of Pemberley. It wouldn't come to bear any hideous fruit, surely.

She had all but fallen asleep, having calmed herself with such thoughts, her eyelids falling closed just as she heard the faintest of knocks upon the bedroom door. Brow furrowing, Elizabeth blinked at the door, her eyesight bleary and sleep-fogged, before rising to a seated position. She reached for her dressing gown when she heard it once more.

"Just a moment," she called, tying the garment about her waist and tip-toeing to the door. She opened it to the anxious face of her husband, and the sight melted her heart of any ill will she may have borne him for waking her.

Why, hadn't she just been worried about this very thing? And here he had arrived to prove her wrong, to assuage her nerves.

"Did I wake you?" He asked, brow knit with worry as she shook her head.

"No, I had only just laid down. Please come in, dear husband."

She moved to the side to allow him entrance. He followed her to the bed, watching her remove her dressing gown and drape it over a chair near it. He did the same, climbing into bed in only his nightshirt.

This was another curiosity about her husband. He never fully undressed himself-nor her, for that matter-when he entered her bed. He merely pulled up his nightshirt around his waist and waited for her to do the same. Now, it might be Lizzy's romantic tendencies coming into play here, but she had hoped to feel his bare skin against her own. Perhaps this was not a thought befitting of a lady, particularly not a lady in her own position, but she could not help but think it all the same. It was difficult not to, what with their nightclothes bunched up around their middles and keeping them from being fully together.

It was no matter, however, because as he settled himself between her legs, she was afforded the luxury of his bare legs against hers. It was just as good, if not the same, as what she desired. Even with the bundle of cloth between them, they still were together somewhat, she supposed.

He delicately pressed her knees apart, his touch such that she could barely feel the pressure of his fingertips upon her skin.

Likewise, when he entered her, he did so with such gentle care that it never caused her pain. Aside from the queer feeling of being so full where she generally wasn't, it barely caused any upset at all. And there was never a hair out of place when he'd finished. The only real discomfort was the weight of him upon her body as he lay atop her.

He was never in need of her help to achieve his arousal either. She could always feel his stiffness against her body when he pressed close to her. He usually took some work to get inside her fully, because it took her a few minutes for her body to open up and accept him, to ease his passage.

His arms bracketed her head as his hips moved against her body, pulling back slightly to reach an angle that wasn't as apparently uncomfortable as the current one. His head was down, so Elizabeth couldn't see his face, but it seemed to be a more suitable position given he continued in it. In the process, Fitzwilliam changed the angle of his thrusting, making a different sensation flow through her body. It felt as if fire had flooded her veins. Her skin turned to gooseflesh, her toes curled inward upon themselves. It was something very different than how she usually felt, in that she was very much feeling something. It was almost pleasurable. It was in a word, lovely.

"Oh…" she exclaimed, her eyes going wide as he moved.

"What is it?" He whispered, stopping immediately, much to her chagrin. "Have I hurt you, my darling?"

"No, no…" she assured him. "No, I am yet unhurt. You have not… I feel quite well, Fitzwilliam."

"Oh… well… that is quite a good thing, is it not?" he whispered, resuming his previous activities. Unfortunately, his angle was fixed now, and Elizabeth felt the usual nothing as he found his end, huffing out her name softly in her ear as his hips moved erratically.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to hide her disappointment.

"I love you, darling…" he whispered.

"I love you," she replied, turning to capture his lips in a kiss, his member still inside her. She felt unabashed, unafraid, steadfast in her love for the man seated between her legs. Regardless of her dissatisfaction, she loved her husband very much.

If her mother's perspective on the topic was to be regarded with any sense of weight, Lizzy should count herself lucky to have a partner who could carry out such activities without causing her any discomfort or pain. She was quite a lucky woman indeed, by those accounts.

Fitzwilliam kissed her, lingering in their embrace even as he pulled himself from the warmth of her body.

He ventured over to her wash basin, bringing her a cloth with which to clean herself and his leavings from between her thighs and inside her body. When she looked up to say goodnight, he was already at the door, whispering his own goodnights as he left her room.

Elizabeth returned the cloth to the washbasin and went back to bed, pulling the blankets up and over her body as she curled herself into a ball, staring at the wall beside the bed. As she had told herself previously, there was nothing overtly wrong to worry herself over.

But she couldn't help but feel her old feelings come over her again. Perhaps a good night's sleep would help her decide what was to be done, if anything.