In a certain synchronicity, I also posted Chapter 21 in another one of my stories.

Chapter 21: Lady Catherine's POV: Married to my Love

My bridegroom Tom was waiting in the church, standing as tall as he could manage, when I glided forward on Darcy's arm. I saw every detail of my beloved husband to be: his carefully pressed dark clothes with my favorite waistcoat, an olive green which highlighted the slight green tint to his otherwise dark eyes, his freshly trimmed beard, the deep wrinkles upon his brow which softened upon seeing me, his gloved hand worrying a hanky which he quickly stowed behind him in the pocket of his coat. I fancied the handkerchief was the one I had sent to him via Mrs. Bingley.

Yet even as my eyes were filled with observing Tom, there was a cacophony of other sensations, as if all my senses were heightened. I felt the soft wool of Darcy's coat even through my kid gloves; smelled the scent of horse upon him along with that of his soap. I touched the bump cold stone floor of the church with my feet, even though it was separated from me by slippery sensation of my new slippers as I walked almost soundless, like the padding of a cat, but I could yet hear that, my steps so much quieter than Darcy's clomping. Had he always walked so loudly?

I both felt and heard the swish-rustle of my brocade pink dress against my legs, felt how it rubbed upon my chest through my shift, making me too aware of how the cold had stiffened my nipples. The distinct sound of my dress, like all the others, was very noticeable even above the gentle murmur of those present to witness our wedding. Too, there was a slight tickle from the ribbon that bound my bonnet to my head; the bonnet itself felt both stiff and weighty. I felt inward sensations as well, a sort of twisty excited stirring in my middle, the squeezing of my chest with every breath I took, accompanied by the too fast thumping of my heart.

Tastes also lingered in my mouth, recalling to me the oval silver tray with dainty handles on which Parker had brought me a small repast upon my first waking, flashing as the light from a candle hit it. I still tasted the overly browned dry toast. I could still see her Parker's dear face, as familiar to me as my own, both smiling and with tension tightening her brow, undoubtedly aware that with my marriage everything would shift between us, could hear her telling me, in a no-nonsense tone that was both happy and concerned, "Ma'am, it will be best if you have something upon your stomach." There also remained a slight tang of tea unflavored by sugar as I preferred in the morning, bitter on my tongue.

As I came closer to Tom, step by step with my noisy pounding escort, Tom's dear face turned toward me, eyes wide, a slight decorous smile upon his face (as if he was trying to keep himself from unseemly grinning). As soon as I was close enough to almost touch him, the smile won out and flashed widely enough for my to count his teeth before he tamed it by pulling his lips together, but the crinkle by his dark eyes remained.

A moment later I was before Tom, standing with him and facing Mr. Collins, hearing Darcy walk away and taking the horse and soap smell with him. Now I smelled pipe and old books from Tom and a slightly sweaty-earthy smell that must be coming from Mr. Collins. I watched every tick of Tom's face as he reacted to me and the words of the ceremony. The familiar words did not hold my attention compared with seeing Tom's every slight alteration in expression. Although he had told me that he loved me, I sought the confirmation in his face. We had agreed to as simple a ceremony as the Book of Common Order would allow and soon we were saying our vows. Almost all that was left was to receive his ring and hear a final prayer.

I recalled the difficulty I had just days earlier in removing Lewis's ring from my finger. Dawson had tried holding my finger above my head and then rubbing my finger with butter, but it was still stuck just below my knuckle. Despairing in her efforts, Dawson consulted with Mrs. Reynolds. The Darcy housekeeper soaked my hand in a bowl of cold water chilled with ice from the ice-house, dried it well, rubbed my finger from tip to base, wrapped a string around my finger, holding it tight as she again raised my hand aloft. After a few minutes wait, as I tried to ignore the burning pressure as my hand began to warm, this was what finally worked as she tortuously spun it free: ouch, relief, absent. I inspected my bare ring finger, gazing upon the thick white line and the indentation at that line. It seemed as if the rest of my finger had thickened around the ring, as a tree will sometimes grow around a tight rope, causing a stricture. But as the day wore on my finger began to adjust, to smooth, until the only evidence of my previous marriage was the wide white line.

I found in the days that followed that I kept rubbing at the baby-soft white strip of skin. I recalled when I first became Mr. de Bourgh's wife how heavy his sapphire ring felt and how I was constantly twisting it back and forth (although I never removed it, not even when my fingers swelled during pregnancy).

Once that ring was removed it felt strange to be free of the cage of being wife to a man that did not love me. But I did not wish for my finger to remain bare; I longed for Tom's ring. There would be weight, solid proof, but it would lighten me rather than burden me.

My wish was granted that day. Tom plucked my left hand up with his own left hand, but I was only half aware of it as I was caught up in seeing his eyes, so close to mine, twin dark islands with large black ponds at the center. Tom stared at me, hardly blinking. The moment stretched on, both too long and too short and I felt my legs tremble. But then he looked down as he touched my new ring to the tip of my finger and then slid it down, his fingers sliding along my finger with the ring.

I had a sudden sensuous thought. The ring was me and my finger was him. I was hollow, empty, waiting to be possessed, to be filled, and though he had not yet possessed my body he had claimed me.

Then Tom left the ring on my finger. However before I could spare the ring more than a glance (it looked like a gold braid with tiny gems), he enfolded my hand between both of his. He held my hand gently but firmly, telling me with that gesture and his steady eyes fixed upon me, I will never let you go. But this was not a prison sentence, rather it was freedom. In becoming his wife I was gaining love, devotion, belonging, purpose, ongoing hope and the end of loneliness.

I could not help but compare how it was with Mr. de Bourgh, who had shoved his ring down my finger with speed (scratching the slightly turned stone against my pinky finger, drawing a hiss of pain from me) and then let my hand drop. I had been shackled like a horse in harness; bound to serve my master.

The ring from Tom felt light, almost gossamer on my finger, like the strands of grass I had wrapped around it when still a young girl playing at being married. That young girl told me, You took long enough, but finally you got it right.

And then, somehow the ceremony was over and Tom was dropping a kiss upon my hand, whispering softly for only my ears, "Oh, Beloved, I love you so!" before placing my hand upon the crook of his arm and walking us out the church doors. I was married!

I received many wishes for my happiness and somehow ended up crammed in a carriage with the Darcys, including Georgiana, and across from Tom. How much I wanted a moment with him alone!

The wedding breakfast felt a crush and I struggled to be polite. Finally people began bidding me adieu. Dawson found me and told me, "Lady Catherine, you should refresh yourself; I have been told Mr. Bennet is anxious to depart."

"Depart?" I was horribly confused.

"Yes, for your wedding trip." She tolerantly clucked. "I supposed you were distracted when Mrs. Darcy was telling you about it this morning. You are off to the lakes for a fortnight so that they may ready your permanent chambers."

I then had a vague recollection of the conversation and went with Dawson towards my old room. "Oh, there is so much to do!"

"No, there is not." She gently corrected. "While you were getting married and celebrating, I have packed just what you would want. Your trunk is already stowed. The Darcys have fixed both your carriages and harnessed fine steeds. All that is missing is for you to be ready to go."

By this time we were in my room. I retreated to the necessary and then washed my hands in the basin Dawson had filled with water. When that was done I spent a few minutes examining my face in the looking glass. Although I felt there should be a monumental change in my visage, I looked much the same as I always did, though perhaps my forehead was a bit smoother, my lips holding a slight smile even with repose.

But then my eyes traveled up to survey my hair. Earlier I had removed my bonnet and it would need to be replaced ere I could go, but with it gone I was free to examine my hair. It still looked fine despite how quickly I had removed my bonnet. As I had been wearing my wig for many a year, with it being one of the first things I put on each morning, it almost felt as if it was my true hair, but I knew it was not.

When I had imagined our wedding night, mine and Tom's, I had not particularly thought about my hair. I wondered, Should I keep my hair on? I worried he would be disappointed if he saw my clipped hair and might wonder what other secrets I had kept from him.

When I emerged and met Tom in the salon, he smiled at me and I rushed toward him. Although my fears lingered, I could not wait to be alone with him in the carriage and I dare say he felt the same. Very quickly he helped me mount the carriage and once he joined me (the two of us sitting side by side in the front facing seat) I expected him to tap on the roof of the carriage to signal we were ready to be off.

"There is something I think I should raise with you, " he told me , holding my gloved hand with his own, "but I am selfishly hesitating."

"Whatever is it Tom?"

"Has it occurred to you that for us to be alone that, it means that your maid and my man will be alone together also?"

I thought about this a while, "But they are our servants and hardly younger than us. Surely no one would think there was anything untoward between them in them riding apart from us so we may have privacy as a newlywed couple."

"Just as no one worried about leaving us alone? " He asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

I responded, "If truth be told, I rather think Parker might fancy Roberts." I remembered seeing her eyes follow him on more than one occasion. "However, this is just speculation on my part; she has not confided in me. She has never been married, has been with me since I was a young woman in my father's house."

"Interesting," Tom nodded, "I rather think the same might be true of how Roberts regards her. He was married once, but his wife died in childbirth, along with their first child. That was before he began to attend me, more than twenty years ago."

"In that case," I responded, "would it be awful if we just signaled to go and left them alone to see if something might come of it? I suppose it comes from being freshly married," we exchanged quick grins and Tom held my hand tighter, "but I rather think more people ought to marry. As neither has voiced any objections, as long as you have no reason to think he would trifle with her. . . . I think it might suit us and them very well indeed if they had some uninterrupted time alone. Not, you understand, to engage in any sinful behavior, but just to talk and such."

"Very well, " Tom rapped on the carriage and with a jerk, we were off. I leaned against the glass and waved goodbye to the Darcys who were standing in the drive to see us off.

"That was rather my preference," Tom told me. "I hope, however, that you do not expect your new husband to be content with only conversation."

I said nothing for a moment. I was still turned away from Tom looking out the window and I felt my cheeks grow hot, as if I were a young maiden and not a woman of more than five decades. Not trusting myself to not embarrass myself if I spoke, I closed the carriage curtains on my side and heard Tom do likewise. I carefully untied my bonnet and laid it on the backward facing seat and he did likewise with his beaver. We also stripped off our coats (the both of us needing assistance from each other which we most politely requested) and placed them likewise on the other seat.

Then we turned toward each other in the relative darkness. I am not sure if one of us might have been a hair quicker than one another (likely me) or if it was simultaneous, but we sprung at each other like two jack-in-the-boxes. At first we simply kissed and held each other tight, but then we halted a moment as Tom and then I pulled off each other's gloves and cast them aside, careless of where they dropped. For that was nothing to worry about; surely they would later be found inside the carriage.

After that Tom and I lost almost all restraint. We kissed deeper and longer, and oh how our hands roamed, his sliding over my clothed body, lingering in my chest and rear, mine down his chest and lower until I found the raging monster waiting for me. Tom groaned with pleasure and that sound almost undid me. Then it was all a flurry of sensation and want. We kissed, caressed and stroked each other in the most wanton manner. While we kept our clothes on, that did not mean that as time went on we did not open, lift, and delve under those articles of clothing that separated us from bare skin.

It was all very delightful, but also somewhat frustrating. Although we did not engage in the act, I rather feared that anyone who saw our rumpled appearance would think we had. But still, that was not enough to restrain me or him (if Tom even thought of such things). Still, when we finally arrived at the inn, we quickly donned our outer clothing and I did not worry overly much. However awful I might look, it was well worth it to see his relaxed and happy face as revealed when we opened the carriage curtains once again. I proudly walked inside on Tom's arm, most eager to gain our rooms and do what could not be done in the carriage.