I will offer you all the same deal as before. Sufficient reviews will yield the next chapter in about a day.

Chapter 60: The Beginning of the Night

The rest of the day passed away slowly. Seemingly by agreement, the rest of the people staying in the house kept their distance, were occupied by their own tasks. At first, I wished that they were not giving us this time to ourselves, for the easiness of before had not returned. But gradually as time went on, I think we both relaxed. Of course, I was not with her the whole time as Elizabeth had to supervise the placement of her things in the mistress's chambers.

Later in the day, while we did not run together, we went on a walk (both of us changed into more casual dress befitting a day at home). At the usual time, we ate dinner with the whole party and it was pleasant enough.

Afterwards, as we rose, Edwin said "Judge Darcy and I have been talking, we are both tired and need no further entertainment for the evening."

Georgiana then gave an obviously fake yawn. "Yes, I am tired as well. I plan to take myself directly to bed." Lady Catherine and the rest made excuses about their exhaustion, all but Anne.

"I am not tired, yet. I want to play the piano forte and the harp-lute."

"Anne," Lady Catherine responded, "do you not remember how we talked about this?"

"Yes, but I want to play music."

"It shall not bother us," Elizabeth noted.

"Very well, Anne. As I shall stay with her," Lady Catherine replied, "the rest of you all need not remain with us. It has been a long day."

"If you do not mind, I think listening to a bit of music would be relaxing," Uncle Judge noted.

"If you wish it," Lady Catherine replied.

I was reminded that Georgiana had told me she thought that Uncle Judge might be enamored of Lady Catherine. Was this not possibly some very evidence of that? If so, her reply was not especially promising.

The three of them proceeded in the direction of the music room, Uncle Judge asking "Miss de Bourgh, do you have a particular song you wish to play?" while the others left by the other door which was closer to the staircase leading to the guest rooms. As for Elizabeth and me, we simply stood in the dining room.

"We need not go to our respective chambers yet," I offered. "We could read for a time in the library."

"I think I should like that," said she. We proceeded to the library, interrupting Edwin who was just sitting quietly in a chair with no book in his hands.

He arose, "I should go, goodnight."

When he was gone, she said "While I do not own many books myself, for most I have read belong to my father, and my sisters and I use the circulating library, I had the ones I do have brought here. Among them should be the book you loaned me, but I do not see them upon the shelf."

I prowled the small library and saw no sign of her books or any sort of crate. This then required summoning a servant and having Mrs. Nicholls asked, but perhaps a half an hour later a footman arrived with a parcel. In the interim, we just sat on the sofa and talked about the books that Mr. Bennet had lent me. It was a comfortable conversation, but there was no particular intimacy to it.

When the books did arrive, we spent some time reading aloud to one another from the volume of poetry, reading straight through the book. When we reached "The Presence of Love," my reading voice was not the best. For it took me back to the Netherfield Ball and how I applied each line to her.

We paused in our reading then and I told my darling what the poem had meant to me at the time, and then explained, "I had no right to hope then, and many times since then, I have thought myself a fool for being in love with you, first because you would not, could not return my affection (for despite my wealth and consequence, how could I please a woman well worth being pleased, flawed and broken as I am?), and then later because your father forbid me from having anything to do with me due to the interference of the Earl.

"This whole period of our engagement until our wedding day, I kept fearing that something horrible would go wrong again, but somehow it did not. While Edwin's timing in proposing to your sister was abysmal, I still think, 'How is it possible that we are married?'"

Elizabeth leaned into me then, "I wish I had understood you better from the outset. Think about the time wasted when we could have had this happiness. Please, Fitz, do not ever talk about yourself that way. True, you are different from perhaps the typical mold of men, have to make more effort than most, but that is not a bad thing.

"Do you not understand, even now, that I love you, flaws and all? For you need me, and I need you."

By this time, my arms were around her, and her head was close to my shoulder.

"Furthermore," she continued, "I think, perhaps, in dealing with such obstacles, it makes us value even more that we made it to this day. I am here, here with you, Fitz, and we are indeed married, and this is our wedding night." Elizabeth leaned her head upon my shoulder and placed a hand upon my chest. We stayed in the position for some time.

However, after a while, she straightened up and said, "My neck is beginning to hurt. Perhaps we should retire. Shall you walk me to my room?"

I escorted my bride, my Elizabeth, to the outer door of the mistress's chambers. We tarried outside her door for some moments, and I lifted her hand to my lips. I was happy that soon I would be able to kiss her again, for my lips had barely brushed hers in the church, I had only gotten to kiss her cheek in the carriage, and we had not kissed at all on our earlier walk (although I had enjoyed our walk, had shown her the exact bush upon which her ribbon had been caught, cut a single rose for her with my pocket knife).

While we had kissed the night before, I was eager to kiss her thoroughly as her husband. I rather think I would have already kissed her several times by now in this our first day as man and wife, had Mrs. Bennet not said what she did. But, rather than kiss my darling in the hallway, I resolved to let her go now, so we both might ready ourselves for bed.

I asked, as Edwin had mentioned was the customary form by which husbands arranged for their wives to be ready for their attentions, "May I visit you in half an hour?"

Elizabeth nodded and I watched her open the door, slip inside and linger in the opening of the door. "This whole day has been somewhat strange, having everything be different and new. I . . . you must not pay attention to what Mamma said. She means well. As for me, I must admit to being a bit relieved that there is no plan for . . . for everything at once . . . although . . . ." She left the end of her thought unfinished as she closed the door.

I remained in the hall for a few moments, recalling our conversation of the previous night, how I had explained I planned to take things slow, over a course of nights, which she had accepted before saying (and I could hear her voice then in my head) "We will see what happens." This had seemed to give me permission to change my mind. But now, after her conversation with the ladies about the wedding night, I wondered if she had become more nervous than she was before. Thinking about her nervousness did not calm my nerves.

I walked back to my own door and then through it. Jeffrey was waiting for me within, and I expected that the maid who was serving to help my wife until we engaged one of our own was similarly within her own chambers. I glanced at the clock to see when it would be exactly thirty minutes from when I had left her. It was 10:12 p.m. and I believed I might fairly put the time back one minute from the time spent standing outside her door after she withdrew; I would knock upon the connecting door at precisely 10:41.

As Jeffrey helped me out of my coat, I considered whether perhaps we should see if there was anyone that Lady Catherine would recommend being Elizabeth's new maid at Pemberley. But then I recalled that I had yet to tell my wife (such a wonderful word, wife) about the Movement or Lady Catherine's role in it.

How would Elizabeth (nevermore Miss Elizabeth) feel about having a reformed fallen woman in such an intimate role? Would she feel better (and would I as well, given Georgiana had enough potential scandal), employing a maid who had fled her father? I imagined there were rather fewer of them, and fewer still who were ready to serve as a lady's maid.

"Should I continue to assist you?" Jeffrey asked. He had pulled off my boots and untied my cravat, and usually this would be the time I would dismiss him to finish my toilet myself.

"No. That is all." I shook off my distraction.

Jeffrey remained a moment more. "Should I come later tomorrow, say at 10 in the morning, or wait until you summon me?"

"No. Come at the regular time."

Jeffrey's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose for a moment before his face smoothed out into his usual mien. He made no comment as he opened the servant's door and went away.

I felt puzzled for a moment, wondering why Jeffrey had asked and what was behind his reaction. I felt, perhaps, that I was missing something. I tried to reason it out but could come to no immediate conclusion as to why I should not want things to be as they always were, as they always should be.

But then when I considered further, I realized he was wondering if I wanted things to be different now that I had a bride. Still, I saw no reason why anything should change in my routine. I would visit her, kiss her, hold her, and then go back to my own bed and everything would be as it had always been, just the same. However, a little voice whispered, It shall never be the same again, for now you have a wife.

"Wife," I repeated the word softly, savoring the feeling of the "w" on my lips, how it drew them together in an almost kiss, how the "f" put my teeth against my bottom lip. "Wife. I have a wife."

I imagined meeting an old school mate, Balfour perhaps, who was among those who had conspired to trick me into asking for the Suckling Room when I was at University. I had met him a few times since then and had the impression he was no longer friends with George Wickham as he was kinder to me now. I would say to Balfour (and while I imagined it, I voiced the words aloud but quietly) "Let me introduce you to my wife, Elizabeth." We would exchange pleasantries and later he would tell others that I had lately married.

I finished undressing myself and performed basic ablutions with the water I poured in the bowl. Then I slid a clean nightshirt over my head and then for good measure put my banyan on over it. I glanced over at the clock then. Seventeen minutes remained still until the appointed time.

I grabbed a book, one of those loaned to me from Mr. Bennet's library, and proceeded to try to read, but it was a useless endeavor. The word "wife" kept floating about in my head. Then another word joined it.

I said it aloud, savored it also, as another might savor a joist of meat. "Husband . . . hus-band. Her husband. I am her husband."

"We" now meant Elizabeth and I, rather than Georgiana and I as it had of old. We were joined together as if by an invisible string as she had said, connected further now by our vows and our signatures upon the marriage certificate.

"Mr. and Mrs. Darcy," I tried those words out. "Lately married. Married, married, married." Past tense, done, but also a present condition. I was a bachelor no more and she was now a missus, my Mrs.

I retrieved Elizabeth's ribbon from my pocket and proceeded to wrap and unwrap it around my finger. Would my wife truly wish to entwine it with my string as I had done while we were in Kent? Which of us would keep it then? I dearly hoped it would be me.

Finally, the clock confirmed that it was time. I knocked upon her door, still holding her ribbon in my left hand.

I heard her say "Come in."

I pushed the door open and stood for a moment just past the threshold. Elizabeth herself stood in a loose white nightgown. To my disappointment, her hair was pulled back in a braid, but because it was behind her rather than down, the white of her nightgown was fully exposed to my eyes.

My wife had just that single layer, unconcealed by a wrapper. She was holding a lit candlestick out from her to the side. The glow from the candlelight illuminated the side of her face, much of the column of her neck, and the curve of her bosom. I could not be certain, but I fancied I could see a hint of the darker color upon her curves through the fabric of her nightgown and a different darker shadow where her legs met.

I felt desire stir in my body, with the typical physical effects. I was glad then that I had two layers to conceal the tenor of my thoughts.

"Will you not come in, husband?"

The word "husband" as said from her lips was much more pleasant than when said by my own. I entered and closed the door behind me.

Then I echoed the word. "Husband, husband, and you my wife, my Elizabeth, my Lizzy-Beth."

"Yes." Elizabeth set her candlestick down on her dresser and then walked toward me.

I smelled something a bit off and wondered for a moment if her candle, which was supposed to be of beeswax, could have been made with tallow instead. However, I quickly discounted that thought as I could smell the beeswax mixed with something else in the air, something that was neither tallow nor spermaceti. I resolved, though, to put the mystery out of my mind to focus my attention on my wife instead, breathing with my mouth instead of my nose.

The light from the candlestick she had set down, which was also reflected by the looking glass, cast odd shadows in my direction, but I hardly noticed them as my eyes were affixed on her and how certain attributes she had which swayed when not contained and constrained by the many layers and bindings that all women wore.

I forced my eyes upward, embarrassed by what I might be seeing, and focused instead on the details of her gown. I could see small flowers in a blue color embroidered in a line just below the rather squarish neckline, which was tied together with a matching ribbon, but I could not identify the flowers right away. I counted eight on each side, the line bisected by where her gown was tied closed.

"What are those flowers upon your gown?" I asked for something to say, even as the mystery smell continued to invade my person.

"Forget-me-nots," she answered. "Do you remember how you sent me a letter with a few inside? I did not share your letter with anyone, but Jane saw when a couple came tumbling out. I explained they were from you, and she remembered and embroidered them in blue for me. As if I would ever forget you, or you forget me."

"I could never forget you," I told her, my voice sounding both like and unlike myself. My mouth felt too wet inside and I swallowed it down, the flavor soured by the stench which seemed to be growing thicker the more I tried to ignore it.

My love had almost reached me by then, while I had remained in the same spot. Things could happen now if I wanted them to.

"Did you bring my ribbon?" I noticed then that she held my string in her hand, for she held it out in my direction.

"Yes."

"Did you want to tie them together? Today when I suggested it, I meant it both figuratively and literally. For the ribbons, they represent the two of us also."

I nodded, "Yes, let us tie them together." My hands were shaking a little by then. It might have been in fear, or perhaps anticipation. While I wanted to bind them and make them one, I was not sure I was capable of doing so now, or if I could do so, it would not be well done. I amended, "Perhaps, perhaps tomorrow?"

"Alright, should we set them down?"

I nodded again and held out the ribbon in my hand. She picked it up in her free hand and took them over to the dresser. I could see the movement of her shoulders and upper arms, as she set down first her ribbon and then my string. When she returned to me, and her form was no longer blocking the view, I could see that my string crossed her ribbon, forming a rough "X." Satisfied that they were together and secure, if not yet bound, I focused my attention back on her, although now the odor was making me want to cough.

Elizabeth was now close to me once more, only perhaps a foot separated us. I felt nervous and took a deep breath to calm myself. When I did, I smelled and tasted strongly the unpleasant stench in the air. I felt my nose wrinkle and my face scrunch. Fortunately my wife, my wife!, understood immediately that my expression was about the odor and not her.

"The papers upon the wall must be new," she commented. "Perhaps you can open the window sash. I tried, but it seems to be stuck, or perhaps simply to need someone stronger."

So, rather than enfolding my bride in my arms and kissing her as I had long planned to do, I found myself struggling with the window while my wife held the candle near. The window would not budge, but I soon sorted out what was the matter. "The sash has been painted shut. I shall need to fetch a knife."

I went back to my room and grabbed the first knife I could find, my pen knife. For several minutes I worked at the paint, the whole of the time trying not to breathe the foul odor which was rather worse with me so near the wall.

Finally, I got the window open and leaned forward, breathing the clean air in several deep breaths before I recollected my wife and that she might wish to do the same. I backed away to the side and motioned her forward. She set down her candlestick and together we breathed in the fresh air, her near shoulder pressed against my arm. However, even as I breathed, I could still taste the wallpaper glue on the back of my tongue, still smell its diluted odor.

"What now?" my wife asked.

I was uncertain and so said nothing.

"I . . . it is not too bad to me," Elizabeth commented. "The fresh air will soon dilute it, I should think."

"No," I replied. "This is not how it was supposed to be." I felt my fists clench; I had wanted so much for things to be right, but it was not.

I tried to explain, feeling all my inadequacies as a husband in that moment, for I had failed in my first task to see to it that her chambers were put right in sufficient time. "No one thought to sort out your room until yesterday, and then Mrs. Nichols decided it should be papered afresh. But you cannot stay here, or if you can I cannot, and I shall not go back to my chambers and leave you here."

Only one other option made itself known to me, but I hesitated to say it. However, finally sense rather than fear won out. "You must stay in my chambers, with me."