A Disaster of Apparel
He comes upon her after the maid has completed the rudimentary elements of her nightly toilette. Her hair sits unbound upon her back, freshly brushed, its auburn undertones almost snapping in the firelight.
Seeing him in the door frame, Jenkins is quickly excused from her mistress's side. The maid blushes slightly but, with a bob in his direction, makes her way to the servants wing.
Still at the dressing table, Elizabeth watches the entire, short exchange with silent amusement. She raises a teasing brow while a smirk threatens to upturn her lips. Having a growing intimate knowledge of his wife's countenance, he prides himself on being aware of the thoughts she now entertains.
She is diverted.
Jenkins, only recently in their employ, still regards the Master of Pemberley with a sense of awe and no small degree of fear. Continued service will assure her the latter is unfounded. She will lose the discomfort in time.
As soon as the steps of shoes no longer echo in the hallway, Elizabeth waives all restraint. Her slippers are as wings, gliding quickly to his side.
"Dear Fitzwilliam."
With a huff of laughter, he happily embraces his rather spirited wife. He presses a kiss to her flushed cheek.
"Loveliest Elizabeth. What exquisite torture the last few hrs have been apart from your company."
"Odious business." The disclosure and her staged frown warrant another lone chuckle from him.
"Indeed. Most odious."
His put-on severity, uncommonly like their earliest interactions, has the affect he wished: Elizabeth gives into great gales of laughter.
Between breaths she asks, "And what, sir, can I offer to relieve such keen affliction? For surely as Mrs. Darcy I should be in the position to provide wifely comfort. You are much too severe at present."
It is her turn to be astonished when, instead of answering her query, his hand traces the neckline of her pull pale green dressing gown. In a most endearing "O", her mouth parts. Her breath stutters as his lips move to the collar of the chemise underneath before returning once again to her temple.
"This really will not do," he begins. With fingers to his chin in contemplation, he assesses the form before him. "No, not at all." He completes a turn about his wife while she attempts to garner his gaze.
Elizabeth is not one to easily fall sway to vanity or flattering attentions (although she gladly welcomed his in all circumstances) but his purposes are more thoroughly disguised at present. He detects a whisper of uncertainty when she questions, "Does the color not please you?"
Only then does he allow the full meaning of his actions to be displayed in his eyes.
"No doubt exists that any color chosen would flatter your figure, Elizabeth. I merely take issue with..."
He gently tugs at the ties keeping the garment secure. They loosen and he is awarded with the full view of his wife in her shift. Like an unblemished pearl in white.
"The amount of fabric."
She shivers slightly. His ministrations continue at her collar. Still in anticipation, she permits him to drag it downward, barring her shoulders and slipping free her arms.
The dressing gown ends up in a pool about her legs. A soft, lengthy kiss follows.
He watches as Elizabeth, breathless with pleasure, feverishly tries to collect her wits. He has only to wait a moment for her rebuttal to his chosen method of delicate torture. Her quick intelligence does her credit- even in moments such as these.
Her voice is hushed but drool. "I should be thoroughly embarrassed at having you see me in such disarray, sir, but I find myself exceedingly amused."
She looks down at the discarded dressing gown. His eyes move to join hers.
"It seems I've had a disaster of apparel."
Her eyes sparkle as they again meet. Bestowing a brilliant smile, she whispers.
"How very fortunate."