I am sorry about not responding to reviews yet. Honestly, the sheer number is half overwhelming for all that it is gratifying. I guessed that you would rather have me write more and post more quickly, though, right?


19. The Mysteries of the Marital Bed

I did not mind Mr. Darcy's kisses and was reassured by how the wanting flooded right back to me. But there was just one problem. I pulled back and gasped, "Wait, please."

Mr. Darcy stopped kissing me immediately. "Too much? Too soon?" I was still enfolded in his arms and without the distraction of his lips could feel his interest against me, although he seemed to notice it then as well, and canted his hips away.

I managed to pant out, "I drank a lot of wine. I need some privacy to . . ." I did not want to say it, but he seemed to get the hint.

Mr. Darcy released me and then murmured "I . . . I will go prepare for bed myself, then, return in a quarter of an hour, yes?" Mr. Darcy asked, truly asked, looking at me steadily, waiting for a response from me, even as he rubbed his hands on his breeches. It came to me then that he was nervous for all that he had been acting confident before. Somehow this made him less intimidating; he was just a man then after all.

"Very well," I agreed. He left quickly and I soon relieved myself. Next, I closed the curtains although it was still half-light. Then I did not know what to do.

I had a nightgown but to put it on, I would have to unbutton my own dress and for all my confidence in refusing Mrs. Johnson's help to spare her hands, was not sure I could manage moving all the little buttons through their loops from behind my back, and then loosen my stays, too, which my mother had drawn tighter than usual, in the minutes remaining. I was also uncertain as to in what condition of undress my husband might return to me.

But it seemed to me that I ought to try. It ended up that given how diminished my figure had become, once I had untied the ribbon around my waist, it was easy enough to draw my arms out and pull the dress's back around to the front. In such a manner I was able to unbutton it enough to pull it off.

However, the stays were another matter entirely. The knot was tight and without being able to see what I was doing and with my fingernails short, I was still trying to work the knot loose from behind my back when my husband came in, dressed in only a dark silk banyan and feet in slippers.

A slight squeak of the door alerted me when he entered, and turning around I observed it when Mr. Darcy sucked in his breath as he looked at me. He remained in the doorway and stared.

I blushed and ran over to the bed to cover my shame with a blanket. No man had ever seen me in such a state of undress before!

"Do you need some help?" Mr. Darcy began in his deep, rumbly voice, but the effect was ruined when his voice broke on the last word. I almost laughed, but I was too nervous for much mirth.

In answer, as I had no other real option, I turned my exposed back toward Mr. Darcy (keeping my front covered by the blanket) and soon he was untying the knot and sliding the ribbon out (back and forth) until he removed the ribbon entirely. When he pulled my stays off, I was just beginning to move aside when he whispered "Wait."

So I remained standing there in just my thin shift, with my husband standing behind me. I felt Mr. Darcy pull the pins out of my hair. He then swept my hair over one shoulder and I felt his lips against the nap of my neck, kissing me gently before he shifted my hair back over my back.

"You cannot know how long I have wished to undo your hair, to see it down," he murmured. "Lovely, lovely," he stroked one hand down my head and along my hair, his fingers twisting in the ends where they fell past my waist. But his hand did not stop at the ends of my hair; instead, his hand swept down and gently squeezed my bottom before moving away.

I felt myself tremble, from the cold, from fear, from shame, from anticipation, I hardly knew which. I began to pull the blanket around the rest of me when Mr. Darcy suggested, "You are cold, should you not get under the counterpane?" He pulled it back and I slid in, with him following after. I was glad to be covered, but also scared to be in the place where I imagined it would occur. So it was that we both ended up in my bed.

I was stiff, scared, staying well away from him, for it all seemed to real now. "Come here," Me. Darcy half commanded, half suggested, added "I shall warm you up." I moved a few inches closer to him and he spanned the rest of the distance. I found myself tucked against him, my head under his chin, smelling his manly scent, which smelled of soap, horses, leather and a sort of musky, wild smell. I was so close to him that his exposed chest hair brushed against my face and I felt the silk of his banyan, the muscles of his arms and chest, although he had tipped the lower half of himself away from me so I did not feel any of it.

Mr. Darcy commenced to rub my arms, my back. His hands were large, warm, and seeing that he was not going to simply spring upon me as he had in the carriage, I was able to relax a little.

Mr. Darcy then began kissing me again while I let him. It felt good, but other than accepting it, I was not sure what I should do. As he kissed me, his hands began to roam again, sweeping my bottom, my breasts, and I felt anticipation fill my belly, my want deepen.

I was both curious and nervous about learning for myself the mysteries of the marital bed, and how he would seek to give me pleasure, other than what he was already doing, but my mind began to fall away, as if I were half asleep, although my body tingled as if it were more than wide awake. I was not sure if it was the affect of the wine, or of his ministrations, but decided not to question it, to try to accept it instead.

After kissing and touching me for what felt like a long time, in which he paused the kissing several times so we could catch our breaths, he propped himself up on one elbow and asked, looking down on me in the dimming light (it had not yet gone full dark, but it would be soon as no candles or fire was lit). "Elizabeth, do you like how I am kissing, touching you? It is hard to know how to please you when you remain so still and silent. Am I pleasing you at all or is there something else you would like me to do?"

I knew that in fact Mr. Darcy was pleasing me very well. It had been difficult indeed to restrain myself at times from crying out, from drawing him closer, from pressing my breast eagerly into his hand. My thighs were again slick with want, for all that I had tried to keep it in by pressing my legs together. Indeed, I found myself longing for him to touch me there, with his fingers or even himself.

But concerning all of that, I was certainly not going to tell him. I did not want him to think me a cunning piece of baggage for all that I was his wife; I did not want him to think I had anything in common with Lydia.

Mr. Darcy waited, examining me with his dark eyes. "Please, Elizabeth, help me to please you. Or if you prefer, I suppose I can return to my own room and we might try again once we return to Pemberley." He looked away from me during the final sentence, and I could see disappointment writ large upon his face, like a child denied a sweet. It was most evident that his offer to desist was certainly not his preference.

I found myself astonished and wondering who the man I had married was. I recalled with clarity that during Mr. Darcy's proposal that he insisted in his right to have me as often as he wished, that I was not allowed to ever turn him away, of his stating with certainty of his right to even take me in the carriage once we were married. Although Uncle Philips had tried to reassure me that it would not necessarily be like that, I had scarcely been able to credit his words when it was clear that my uncle wished to see me married, have the responsibilities of my family lifted from him.

It was hard to believe that Mr. Darcy was now willing to forgo his rights, not for one single evening but for some three or four days. I almost felt that I had married two different men. I wondered if it was some kind of game, a ploy to make me think the better of him. I was tempted to call him on his bluff, to send him away, but I did not want him to stop, to leave me with this longing.

I justified to myself Sooner or later, I will have to submit. Perhaps it is better to get it over with now. I tried to ignore the animal part of me who thrilled at his touch, that insisted that there was more that I wanted and that Mr. Darcy was the one to give it to me.

As I reasoned all of this out, Mr. Darcy seemed to come to some kind of decision. He dropped a kiss to my forehead and then declared in an uneven voice. "Your silence says it all. You never wanted to marry me and while I will not forgo my rights forever, perhaps it is best of we try to get some sleep before our journey. I shall leave you be." Without waiting for any further response from me, he began to slide over and out of the bed.

I am not sure what possessed me, I certainly did not think it through, but I grabbed at the neckline where his banyan crossed and pulled. "No."

Mr. Darcy stopped his exodus, but did not return, either. "No?"

"You need not go. I did like it." I confessed, then dropped my hand and turned away, embarrassed and confused. I mumbled "I should not like it, for I do not like you."

I felt the mattress dip as Mr. Darcy slid toward me again, pulling my backside against his chest with one arm, his hand cupping my abdomen. It was an intimate touch, though he did naught but hold me to him. Into my ear he whispered "What did you like? Will you not tell me? I shall give you anything you want."

I remained silent, embarrassed.

His hand began touching both of my nipples at once through my shift and I felt them harden. His hand moved faster and they tightened further. "I think you like this," he murmured, his breath hot in my ear.

I shivered and he began to kiss my ear and neck even as his hand continued to move.

He murmured, "I think you shall like it even better if this not be in the way." He plucked at the fabric of my shift.

My mother and Lydia both had mentioned how men preferred to uncover their women, although as my mother had noted this was not strictly necessary for the marital act as the skirts and gowns women always wore could give a husband access at any time had he need of her.

"Very well," I replied.

Mr. Darcy began drawing my gown up from where he now gripped it and I was obliged to lift my derriere and then my back to assist him. When it was off, I made sure I remained well covered by the bedding, although by now it was full dark so and everything was vague outlines with no color to them. I lay back (upon my back now) and waited to see what would happen.

Mr. Darcy kissed me again and his hands moved upon me. Then he lowered his head to my dairy and took suck even as his hand descended past my belly button, down, down. I reveled in the sensations his mouth caused, how a line inside me joined disparate parts of me in the wanting, and though I was horribly embarrassed when he felt the slickness that had formed between my legs, he must have been pleased as he declared "You have liked it! I shall make you like it more!"

He redoubled his efforts, sucking harder, twisting his fingers in a delightful manner, brushing a place which pleasantly burned. I heard a moan, and then realized that I was the one who had made that sound. Then I felt something enter me, just an inch or two, and I stiffened and drew my legs (which had laid an inch or two apart) together, suddenly scared.

Mr. Darcy lifted his lips from me. "Relax, my love, it is just a finger. I wish to ready you for later, should it be tonight or not until we are at Pemberley." I understood then, that his hand, which was still touching me in a most delightful way, was indeed also invading me, and forced my legs to part, just a little, once again.

What he did felt both good and strange. There was a sort of inner fire in me then, which seemed on the verge of bursting into an inferno, but I did not know how to stoke it. What he was doing was not enough, even when he pushed another finger into me. That was not really what I wanted for it was a place on the outside of me that gave me the most pleasure, but I had not the knowledge or words to explain what I did want, and I am not sure if I would have had the courage to explain it, even if I could have.

Mr. Darcy began kissing his way down my body even as his fingers continued to move and I felt horribly embarrassed as his mouth descended there. But I could not contain my moans as he gently, languidly, kissed, suckled and licked for a minute or two, even as his fingers pressed farther, harder.

I felt a lovely intensification of everything I had been feeling this far, felt that something amazing was about to happen, although I did not know just what it might be, when Mr. Darcy lifted his mouth from me and even as his two fingers pressed deeper asked, "Please, my darling, you tempt me very much. I burn for you. Should I return to my room, or may I now make you my wife?"

My mind was muzzy, confused. I did not want him to leave, I wanted him to continue with what he had been doing with his lips, his tongue, but somehow more-so. I felt so close to something, but what exactly it might be, I was uncertain of. I was not sure I wanted him to push his maleness within me, but I supposed I hoped that by doing so I might find what I sought.

I found myself saying "Very well."

Mr. Darcy pulled his fingers from me and pushed my legs (which had half fallen open), further apart. I felt a sudden fear as he climbed between them and pulled his banyan off. Then he was parting my flesh with one hand and nudging something far larger than his fingers into me.

I felt a burn, a stretch as he invaded my delicate flesh, and the pushing deeper seemed to last a long time. It did not exactly hurt, but it was clear to me that whatever I had been hoping for, this was not it. When he was seated so deep that I could feel his cods, his hairs against me, he pulled back and pushed in again, faster and faster, losing himself in some delight that I was not privy to. If I had cared for him, I think I would have reveled in the power of my body to give this to him, enjoyed his delight, but as it was I simply felt disappointed, confused. With a deep grunt, I felt a sudden wetness within and he pulled himself out.

Mr. Darcy kissed my forehead and declared "That was wonderful, my wife. I shall let you rest now." Then he exited my bed, stooped to retrieve his banyan and without a backwards glance went through the door and closed it behind him.

I felt a deep ache and a deep embarrassment that I had let Mr. Darcy do all that he had, but also a certain relief that it was not unpleasant. I knew that now I was Mrs. Darcy in both word and deed, had always known that it would have to be so, but being married in truth was far removed from my girlish fantasies about marrying for the deepest love.

Although my imaginings of such a man were vague, I had the sense that someone who loved me would not have left me so abruptly, would have wished to hold me tightly after all we had shared, at least for a time. I felt certain for all that Mr. Darcy professed to love me, that he certainly must not have such feelings in truth, or else he would not have left so quickly.

Yes, all he truly wanted from me was to satiate his body and I had no doubt that all he had done for me was in furtherance of such a goal and not anything more. It was what I had expected, yet I was still disappointed somehow.

I rose and relieved myself again, used the flannel and the rest of the water to cleanse myself, found my nightgown from feel in my trunk, slipped it on and then lay back again in the large bed.

Being alone in this strange bed, in a strange house, I felt very much alone. I lay awake for some time, but eventually I slept.