In Want of a Wife
By S. Faith, © 2011
Words: 82,705 (in 14 chapters + Epilogue) / This part: 5,460
Rating: T / PG-13 (some chapters a stronger T than others—this would be one of them)
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Style Note, etc.: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 12: In which anticipation abounds.
Sunday, 7 August
Darcy had never danced so much in his life, and the manner of his walking the next day bore the truth of it, not helped by the duel nor the kick to his shin. He dressed the following morning, his head still filled with thoughts of the night before, half-convincing himself he had dreamt the whole thing. Upon seeing his brother's grin as he headed down to partake of the morning meal, he knew he had not.
"I have just had some interesting—what is the matter?" Peter asked, interrupting himself as he saw Darcy favouring his leg.
"My legs are a little sore, one more than the other."
"Because of the duel?"
Darcy grinned. "In a manner of speaking. Not during the duel but after." Peter brought his brows together. "Miss—I mean, Bridget kicked me."
"She… kicked you?" asked Peter. "Why did she kick you?"
"She was angry because I had worried her," explained Darcy, "duelling senselessly for, and I quote, her 'stupid honour'."
Peter laughed. "Oh, marriage with her shall never be dull," he said.
"I dearly hope you are right."
"And I dearly hope I am so lucky." They walked together; Darcy asked about what Peter had been about to say on their meeting just then. "It would seem that Mrs Glenville and her daughter suddenly have urgent business back in town and are preparing to leave within the day."
Darcy was not at all surprised, and said so. "I can guess as to the nature of that 'urgent business'," he said.
"Well, no point in trying to pursue a man who has chosen another."
Darcy said confidentially, "I suppose there is always you, Peter."
Peter looked horrified. "Perish the thought."
"My dear sons," said Lady Darcy, drinking a cup of tea. "What are your plans for the day?" Darcy smiled, answering his mother's query without speaking. "All right, Peter, what will you be doing?"
Darcy did not hear Peter's answer. He thought again only the previous night, of Bridget's acceptance, and of the day's planned visit; he thought of his certainty that Mrs Jones would get the banns announced for the first time that very day; he thought too of how long three more weeks would seem, and simultaneously how short, with preparations to arrange, invitations to send—
"—a dress half as beautiful as the one she wore last night…" said Lady Darcy, interrupting Darcy's thoughts just in time to trail off. Darcy smiled. He knew precisely of what his mother spoke.
"She could wear that same dress and I would be well pleased."
The two of them laughed aloud. "It is as if you have special gift for knowing exactly when we are talking about your Bridget," said Peter.
My Bridget, he thought.
As they spoke the Glenville ladies took a meal in their rooms, then announced they were ready to leave just afterwards without much fanfare. The Darcys saw them off as good hosts do. Upon their departure, Miss Glenville even had a pleasant expression and words of congratulations for Darcy's engagement. He took her gloved hand in his and thanked her with all sincerity, even if her own words had not been sincere themselves.
"I suppose we cannot always help with whom we fall in love," she said, her tone and intention hovering somewhere between wistful and disparaging.
"I wish you the same sort of happiness I have found," he said, opting to interpret her words in the more pleasant light.
Once gone, Darcy turned his thoughts to more enjoyable things: his visit with Bridget. He was to ride over to The Gables and spend time with her there, which would also allow her parents to see him and talk to him as well.
Radiant in a pale yellow dress, she met him at the door with a smile and outstretched hands, which he took in his own. He reached forward and placed a kiss on her lips; if they lingered a little too long she did not complain.
"Good afternoon, Lord Darcy," she said with a smirk.
"Miss Jones," he said, then grinned.
"I thought we might take a stroll," she said. "It is a rather pleasant day and Jamie has already agreed to accompany us."
It was a terrific idea; in a few moments, after she donned a straw bonnet and gloves, they were off, Bridget with her arm linked through Darcy's, Jamie just a few paces behind them. They walked along the drive and into the park surrounding their home; once they were alone amongst the towering trees, though not so far that the house was not still in sight, Jamie said to them, "I would not mind stopping for a little rest." He went to sit beneath a tree that appeared to be a favourite resting spot of his. "Do not stray too far," he said with mock-seriousness as he laid back in the grass, raising his arms above his head to rest his head upon his hands.
"Fret not; we shall stay close," she said. Darcy was aware of his second meaning even if she was not.
Within moments Jamie closed his eyes. Darcy, uncertain as to what to do, turned to Bridget. "Shall we… rest as well?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "I would like that very much."
She was much more familiar with her father's property than Darcy was, and thus led him to a tree not far from where Jamie reposed. It had a broad trunk and a soft grassy patch just beside it. "This is a good place, I think," she said.
He agreed. He lowered himself to sit upon the grass, doffing his hat; she sat beside him, looked to him with a sweet smile.
"Would it offend you, sir, if I removed my own hat and gloves? I feel a bit like a horse with blinkers on." She turned her head to demonstrate that she could not see him unless she was facing him, then made a little whinnying sound.
He chuckled. "The only thing that might offend me is if you persist on calling your fiancé 'sir'," he teased.
She smiled, then tugged on the ribbon bound under her chin in order to loosen it. As she went to pull it up, the woven straw became caught on one of her hairpins, and despite her efforts she could not get it disentangled. "If you would be so kind as to help me," she said, then added, "Mark."
He leaned and worked the errant hairpin out of the hat, which had the effect of loosening a long lock of hair from her coiffure. "Oh dear," she said, hastily twisting it back then holding her hand out for the pin to put it back in place.
"Allow me."
He had no experience whatsoever pinning up a lady's hair, but he reached forward and put the pin into the place it seemed likeliest to need to go.
"Thank you. I think it is now secure."
His fingers lingered still on her hair, and he drew them away. "My apologies."
"Oh, I do not think an apology is warranted."
When he reached forward again, it was to bring his fingers to her face; tenderly he stroked her cheek, eliciting a smile from her as she closed her eyes. He cupped her face in his hand, running his thumb along her skin until she opened her eyes again.
"May I kiss you?" he asked, his voice rough to his own ears.
"I do not have any objection," she said quietly, then lifted her chin to receive the offered kiss.
Even as he leaned forward and prepared to place his lips upon hers, he knew he was in grave danger; the silence save for the sound of the wind in the trees, and no one around except for her permissive, slumbering brother, meant that his control would be harder than ever to maintain, although he knew he would. As he touched his lips to hers, his hand slid around to cradle her head in his hand. One kiss became two, which became four, then eight, then more.
He broke away, his breath coming with great difficulty. He looked away from her.
"What is it?" she asked, bringing her own hand up to his face to caress it gently. "Is there something wrong?"
He placed his hand over hers. "There is nothing wrong," he said, "save for skirting the boundaries of propriety."
"You have kissed your fiancée," she said gently. "There is nothing improper in that."
He met her eyes at last, and in a sense it was his undoing. Mesmerised by her, he leaned in to kiss her again and again. In a moment she was even closer to him than before, her arm up and around his shoulder.
They remained light little kisses, though still quite pleasurable and satisfactory for the level of intimacy they could allow themselves until they wed. As he placed his lips on the corner of her mouth, something changed in a small but significant way; she drew herself closer still, enough that she was pressed against him, turned to receive his kiss with greater comfort, threaded tentative fingers into his hair. The feel of them spurred him to kiss her on the corner of her mouth again, then her cheek, then her jaw—
In an instant he pulled back, quickly withdrawing his hand away from where it had travelled to her waist. Her kisses were having a devastating effect on his person, one that he could not allow her to notice under any circumstances.
"Now something is wrong," she said.
"I am sorry," he replied. "Surely you understand there are limits to what we can share right now."
She sat up and away from him, looked to where she folded her hands in her lap. "I have offended you with my forwardness."
"Offended is not the word I would use," he said, just as he heard a light cough from the direction of her brother.
She gave him a sidelong glance. "Really?"
"Really."
"You are not upset?"
"Very much not upset."
"I am quite relieved," she said. "Perhaps we could walk again?"
"In a few minutes," he said, thinking he might need that time to cool the fire that had stoked in his blood, thought with dark amusement of Peter's recommendation once of a cool dip in a lake.
She smiled sweetly. "All right." After a moment, she asked, "May I sit and lean against your arm?"
"Of course you may," he said, and with that, she settled herself next to him, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. After a few moments he raised his arm up in order to place it about her shoulders. She turned and gave him a smile, one so beautiful and pure he imagined yet again that he must be dreaming. She snuggled into him a little; his fingers rested on her upper arm, his thumb brushing an arc there. She sighed happily. After many moments of this bliss he realised he had calmed enough to rise from the ground, and also that she had apparently drifted into slumber, her breathing slow and steady. Her hand rested on his jacket lapel.
The sound of breaking twigs and rustling grass brought his attention to the side and to the approach of Jamie Jones. For a moment he wondered if Jamie might not call him out as he had himself done to Cleaver, but instead he only smiled.
"Perhaps we should head back," Jamie said. "Have a little refreshment."
The sound of her brother's voice woke Bridget from her repose with a loud, "Oh! Forgive me." She sat up and away from her fiancé.
"No need for forgiveness," said Darcy, thinking with some amusement on her own similar statement of earlier.
Darcy rose to his feet then helped her to her own. He bent for her bonnet and gloves, which she donned in turn, tying the ribbon under her chin again, then slipping on the gloves. "Shall we?"
"We shall," he said, extending an elbow towards her. "The local bear population is no match for me."
She giggled then placed her free hand on his arm as well, leaning into him as they walked back to The Gables.
…
Thursday, 18 August
It was quite difficult to tear himself away that day, and in the days to follow; he tried not to put himself in situations where they were alone, where he might be tempted to kiss her with as much fervency as he had, though it would be a lie to say that no further kisses were shared. Unsurprisingly, his brother alluded to the difficulty of being "so close yet still so far."
"You need not remind me," he said.
"Planning goes apace?"
Darcy nodded. It was a few days short of a fortnight until their nuptials; the venue had been secured, invitations were out and those from a longer distance away were already being returned by post enthusiastically. "We will be blessed with the presence of the Alconburys and Enderbys."
"Oh," he said.
"And the Russells," added Darcy.
Peter had been fond of Miss Russell and her brother, so he smiled. "That makes up for it somewhat."
When Bridget came to visit that day—she took greater pleasure than ever in playing the harp for her fiancé—she bore a smile that was pleased yet mischievous. "I have good news," she said to her future family. "I have gone for the final touches to be made on my dress at the dressmaker's."
Darcy smiled; somehow having a bridal dress nearly secured made their wedding seem all the more real. "That is good news," he said. "Will you describe it to me?"
"I cannot," she said, taking a seat beside him on the sofa and clasping his hand.
"Cannot?" he teased. "Does this mean you have not actually seen a dress for which you are being fitted?"
She pursed her lips. "I meant rather less like 'cannot' and more like 'will not', as I do not want you to be anything but pleased on the day itself."
"I can guarantee that I will be pleased no matter what you wear."
"All right, not 'pleased' and so much as 'surprised'."
"Say what you mean, then," he joked, though slightly irritably.
"Fine, then. I will tell you this much," she said. "It is… a long dress. With a hem. And sleeves." By the end of this description she was overcome with a fit of the giggles. It was both maddening and endearing to Darcy. His expression must have betrayed at least part of those feelings, because she desisted and apologised.
"It is quite all right," he said. "My only consolation is that I will see it soon enough."
Among others she played for them the song that Miss Glenville had so thoroughly butchered, Für Elise. Her technique, while not perfect, was angelic in comparison; she had improved greatly since she had taken to practising so frequently. When she concluded the three of them applauded quite vigorously. She stood and, with a fetching blush, did a curtsey.
The time came when she had to go; Jamie had not yet arrived and Lady Darcy and Peter did not see anything wrong with allowing them to wait in the foyer on their own.
She reached to hold his hand. "I cannot believe the wedding is nearly here, Mark," she said; she had become much more comfortable in using his given name since their engagement had begun.
He nodded. He very much looked forward to the day when she no longer needed to be brought to her parents' home by her brother. This would be her home as would the house in London; she would not have to leave his side.
"You are looking quite pensive," she remarked.
"It is little wonder," he said. "I have a lot on my mind." He took her other hand. "Most of which revolves around you."
Demurely she looked down, tinting pink again.
"I do not know why you blush to hear me say such things," he said, lifting one hand to touch her face with his fingertips, to lift her chin to meet her gaze again.
"I find it so difficult to believe that you have chosen me," she said. "That you love me. I am anything but perfect."
He thought about something he had said to her father many weeks ago, and it seemed appropriate to say it again now. "I do love you," he said, "just as you are."
She blinked a few times to stay the tears that had rushed suddenly to flood her eyes. "Mark," she said tremulously. "I love you too." She was so quick to rise on her toes, to encircle her arms around his neck and kiss him, that he was momentarily knocked off balance, as much by her actions as by her words; he could not recall her confessing her love for him before. In the act of correcting his equilibrium he brought his hands to her upper back, which had the effect of pulling her abruptly against him. He heard her gloves drop to the floor behind him.
She gasped as they met in this hasty embrace, and as she did her mouth parted slightly. Whether he intentionally took advantage of this or simply did so instinctively, he did not know, but he placed his mouth over hers, causing her to gasp again and rake her nails in his hair, the feel of which made him shiver.
He should have broken away, as gently as possible of course, but instead he continued the kiss, leading her by example; he was too titillated by the feel of her soft mouth on his, her hesitant tongue tracing along his lip after he did the same to her own.
It was she who broke away at the sound of a rapping on the door, not so much pushing him away as pushing herself back. "Oh, dear," she said, placing her hand to her cheek, then up to cover her mouth momentarily. She looked completely ravishing; her face was pink, her eyes wide and glossy, her lips slightly parted.
"Allow me to get the door," he said somewhat stiltedly, just as she spoke too.
"I am so sorry," she whispered.
He thought of the iciest bath he had ever had to try to quell his desire. "No apologies," he said. "It was not your fault."
"I kissed you," she reminded.
"I was also complicit," he said, "and I should have known better."
"Shall we agree to both be sorry, then?" she said, back in better humour.
He touched his hand to her cheek and smiled. "Agreed," he said, though the only thing he was sorry for was that they were not free to further explore. He thought briefly of what it might be like to divest her of her dress, but the knocking at the door sounded again. He cleared his throat. "That will be your brother."
It was indeed Jamie Jones, who smiled until he saw his sister bending to fetch her gloves then hastily tie her bonnet under her chin. "Everything all right?"
"Of course," she said, looking up to him with an expression worthy of an innocent babe. "Let us return home." As she passed him for the door, she reached to take his hand and squeeze it. "Until tomorrow," she said.
As they left, Darcy called for his valet. He needed that cold bath.
…
Sunday, 28 August
For what was supposed to be the most important day of his life, Darcy would, after the fact of the ceremony, have very little actual recollection of it. Certainly he called to mind the morning ablutions and the carriage ride to the church; he remembered standing before the vicar with a nervous feeling in his stomach and looking out to the sea of smiling faces.
Then he saw his bride. That was the last thing he could recall with any success.
She wore a dress of gauzy white fabric that went to the floor over a pearl pink underdress; an embroidered band at the waist and hem complemented a similar panel on the front. As she walked he could see the matching pink shoes peek out from beneath the hem; as she drew nearer he could discern the embroidery's motif was a floral one. What caught his attention, however, was the radiant smile on her face, the pink tinge to the apples of her cheeks, the pearled ribbon that encircled her head, and the tumble of curls that spilled down from the pins that held the bulk of her hair aloft. She was a vision, and not for the first time did he think he was the luckiest man in the world.
A gentle squeeze to his hand snapped from his reverie; they were already in the carriage, being whisked away from the wedding luncheon. He looked up and into Bridget's eyes. For the briefest of moments he panicked, thinking he could not possibly respectably be alone with her, until he remembered: she was now his wife.
"You are so quiet," she said.
He offered a smile. "I admit I am lost in thought," he said. "Everything was wonderful today." He chuckled. "I admit my memories of the day are a bit scattered and hazy except for when I think of you."
She smiled prettily. "You may take my word for it, then, that you had a very good time. You were very charming and gracious to dance with Becca, whom I find pleasant enough but can only tolerate in small doses."
He chuckled, thinking of the woman on whom Jamie Jones had his eye set and to whom he had escaped introduction the night of the ball, Miss Rebecca Smith, or Becca as she was called by her friends. "And you?"
She tightened her grasp again. "Equally good." She smiled. "I am very much looking forward to seeing London."
He reached to clasp both of her hands with his. "Is there any place you care to see more than any other? I will take you anywhere you want to go."
She blushed then looked down. "I shall have to defer to your superior intelligence on the places to go in town," she said, "since I have never been."
He knew she had not been presented officially nor had debuted, but he had thought surely a shopping excursion or travel had brought her there. "Never?" he asked with a bit more incredulity in his voice than he would have liked.
She turned red. "I must seem so unsophisticated," she said.
"I would not say that," he replied. "Perhaps poorly travelled. We can remedy that together, first within our own country, then to the continent when it is safe to do so."
At this she recovered her brightness. "I very much look forward to that."
They arrived in London in time for the evening meal; the new Lady Darcy was warmly received by the household staff when Darcy, along with the housekeeper, Mrs Fordyce, gave her a quick tour the house; Darcy had already expressed his desire to show her the rest himself the following day.
"In all honesty," she whispered to her husband, commenting on the staff's addressing her, "when I hear 'Lady Darcy', I keep expecting to see your mother."
Proudly Mrs Fordyce showed Bridget her bedroom. "I personally made this up for you with special care, Lady Darcy," she said. Bridget looked around; it was quite beautifully decorated, but Bridget did not seem the least pleased by it.
"Do you approve?" Darcy prompted.
"Oh, yes," she replied. "It is very nice."
"Then why have you such a sad expression?"
She realised what that sad expression might convey, and said quickly, "Oh, Mrs Fordyce, please do not mistake my meaning. It is beautiful and looks comfortable." She turned to Darcy, her expression downright mournful. "Will we not share a bedroom?"
Darcy could not help but smile. "If that is your wish," he said, "then of course we will." He then leaned close to whisper, "It is my wish, too, but I did not want to assume. Having separate rooms is a convention that is proper to maintain."
She thought about it. "Perhaps if I am unwell," she said, "and do not wish to disturb you with my restlessness, then you may sleep alone."
After the tour was concluded, they were brought to and seated at the smaller, less formal dining table and presented their simple meal of lamb cutlets, asparagus and peas. Their glasses were filled with champagne, which made Bridget's eyes go round. They were left to dine on their own.
"What do you think?"
"Oh, very good," she said, then lifted her glass and took a tentative sip. That first moment when the bubbles filled her nose was amusing to watch, for she wrinkled it in a most adorable way. She took a long draw from it, though—it was a sweeter vintage than some—then set down the glass. "Very good indeed."
She looked so very beautiful by evening lamplight, and unsurprisingly his thoughts briefly wandered to expectations of their wedding night. He scolded himself, spearing a stalk of asparagus. "I think you shall like dessert as well."
"Oh? What is it?"
"If I tell you," he said, "then it will not be a surprise."
"What if I do not wish to be surprised?" she asked, taking another sip of champagne.
"As I was with your wedding gown," he insisted, "you would be happier to be surprised."
She lifted her chin, rose from her chair, then walked to where he sat; it was a short but surprising foray, particularly as she turned, put her arms around his neck, pecking a kiss on his lips as she dropped onto his lap. "Please?"
It was not that the manoeuvre was unwelcome—indeed it was most certainly not—but the rapidity of it gave him no chance to respond, and given his thoughts of a few minutes prior, he would have wanted that chance. With the confused expression that appeared instantly on her face, it was clear to him that she had encountered something with which she was completely unfamiliar.
He felt his mortification creep over his skin.
"Oh," she said in a whisper, backing off and getting to her feet again. "I am not sure I…" She paused. "I am sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"I am fine," he said quietly. "Do not apologise."
It was clear she did not truly understand given the way that she knit her brows, but she nodded then sat went back to sit in her seat. She still looked troubled.
He reached out to take her hand over the table between them, squeezing it gently. "Please, my darling," he said with great tenderness. "You have not injured me bodily or otherwise. Pray, continue to partake of your meal."
She looked from her plate to him, then smiled a little. After clearing her plate of the remains of her dinner, she said, "I think had your housekeeper been present I would have shocked her just now, regardless that we are married."
This caused him to smile too. "I believe so," he said. "I am not known by those in my employ for sudden displays of affection." At her troubled look, he added, "That will certainly change now that you are here."
She smiled again, this time with such warmth he was moved to call for dessert to be brought. When her bowl was set before her, her eyes flashed to look to him; she was unable to hide her delight.
"Chocolate cream," he confirmed.
With a broad grin she picked up her spoon, loaded it with chocolate cream then put it into her mouth, making a sound of appreciation as she pulled it slowly out. There was no possibility she had done it with secondary meaning, but a secondary meaning there was all the same, laden with sensuality and stoking his want of her all the more. He turned his attention to his own dessert and began to eat as much of it as he could.
"You were right, after all," she said, setting her spoon into her empty bowl. "I am glad to have been surprised."
Their bowls were then swept away; dinner was concluded. He rose from the table. "Perhaps at this time you would wish to make your evening ablutions."
She looked up to him, then nodded slightly. "All right."
It was the first indication he had of trepidation in her voice. He knew that young ladies were not given anything in the way of preparation for the marital bed; he had no idea what she expected, but thought it likely that not knowing was daunting enough. He went to her and took her hand, helped her rise from her chair, then leaned and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"Mrs Fordyce will show you upstairs," he said.
She furrowed her brow.
He explained, "They will attend to you, ensure your dress is safely stored, help you with whatever you need, draw you a bath if you wish."
"A little more of the champagne?" she asked.
He chuckled. "There is only a little remaining." He took the bottle in his hand then poured the rest into their glasses. She picked up her glass as he did his, and they drank in tandem.
"What about you?" she asked.
"I will go to my own dressing closet."
"Oh," she said.
"Then I shall adjourn to your bedroom for the night," he said.
She nodded her understanding. "We have had a very long day," she remarked, and for the briefest of moments he thought she might wish to postpone consummation until the following day; however, she smiled, took his hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles, concluding with, "Until I see you next."
Darcy requested a bath prepared for himself. As he did he wondered how his bride was faring; particularly he wondered if she was feeling completely overwhelmed yet, with a change in marital status and in residence already behind her today and much more yet to come before the night was through. He was experiencing a nervousness of his own. Like most men of his status he had a certain familiarity with the female body; his had come courtesy of discreet encounters with one of the highest quality courtesans in all of London. Unlike most of those men, though, he had never taken a mistress, had not engaged in physical encounters borne out of love. Between the bride and groom, he was undoubtedly the more experienced. He hoped it would be enough.
Darcy dried then slipped into his dressing gown. By this point it was well dark outside. He bade Gillies extinguish the lamps after his departure then told the man he could then retire for the night. With a candlestick holder in one hand to light his way, he padded to her room and lightly rapped.
"Come in."
He pushed the door open. The room was lit by candle lamps, a lovely amber glow infusing every surface. The air was perfumed by the scent of roses, which were sitting in a vase on the bureau per his instruction. He saw her lying under the blankets as if she were convalescing from illness; only her head was visible and at that the coverlet went over her chin. He could not help but smile as he set his own source of illumination down.
"Good evening," he said, looking toward her.
"Good evening," she said in return. Unexpectedly she laughed lightly. "I cannot help but feel as if we are doing something illicit." Her smile faded. "I suppose I have to get used to the idea that you and I can be together. Alone."
He strode to the bed then sat upon it by her side, lifting a hand and easing the top edge of the linens down enough to reveal her throat. Her hair was unpinned and shining against the pillow, her eyes glossy as she looked up at him. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She closed her eyes, heaved in a great shaking breath.
"There is nothing to worry about," he said in a whisper, running his thumb along her lower lip. "I do not want you to be afraid of me. I will treat you with every tenderness, of that you can be sure."
She nodded, mouthed a soundless, "I know." She lifted her lids and looked to him again, then abruptly, in a moment of braveness on her part, she sat up and pushed back the covers to reveal herself.
