A/N: With the help of the amazing Lenniee, my chapters past and future will be much more polished, which I hope will lead to a better reading experience for you my dear readers. One small drawback is that I may take a little longer to update than I would like (at least until we finish bringing chapter 1 and chapter 2 up to scratch). I also have to credit LMFG for being such a great sounding board for plot lines, and again to Lenniee for helping me better understand where I am not clearly communicating said plot points.
If I have not said so already, then I'd to take this opportunity to state that although this work (Reluctantly Mrs. Darcy) is inspired by the timeless Jane Austen classic, the rights to this specific work are reserved to the author, and that any unauthorised reproduction or publishing of any part of content is prohibited.
Warning: This chapter does contain content of a sexual nature; the acts are consensual.
Well without further ado, here is Chapter 4:
Elizabeth lifted a lazy arm over her eyes in a dreamy attempt to block the nefarious beam of sunshine intent on bursting her delicious lassitude. She rolled over, nestling her head within the pillow. A half-forgotten scent tickled her pert nose; she leant into it, inhaling deeply, trying to place the warm, earthy smell. On the third pass of the fabric, she snatched the recollection from the recesses of her mind. Her eyes shot open, closely followed by a jerk in her body, that bought her to sit upright: all thoughts of sleep vanished with the dispatch of picnic goers fleeing an encroaching storm.
Her stare unerringly found the door, not the entrance to the hall or the mirrored portal to her dressing room. Her gaze was riveted to the aperture through which her naked husband had departed some hours earlier. She resisted the urge to throw a pillow, a book or even a few priceless artefacts at the detestable closed expanse of mahogany.
A click, clearly audible in the otherwise silent chamber, caused Elizabeth's head to whip around and she made a grab for the heavy silver candle holder beside her bed. The intruder was not her husband, but White. The sour faced woman bustled into the room, without so much as a by your leave, shooting Elizabeth a look of exasperation.
"This is no time for you to be lazing about in bed. Breakfast has been set out for over an hour and the Master is expecting you imminently. I thought you'd be up already."
The mention of her husband sent the blood pounding in Elizabeth's ears. "Did you not think it your duty to awaken me?" she said with a steely calm at odds with her inner distress. "If we are in such an abysmal rush, why is my bathwater not ready or my maid present to assist me with my morning toilette?"
"I was pressing those awful dresses of yours, right from the wee hours. And how was I to know you'd be wanting a bath this morning as well? Pouring a bath is a great deal of work, you know."
Elizabeth's lips thinned. Surely if there was a time to enjoy a second bath, post a woman's wedding night would be it. "I think that if the house is sufficiently staffed to put on that pageant at dinner last night, providing morning baths should prove no great strain on our resources. Moreover, on the topic of challenges let me make myself clear: I will not abide insubordination or insolence. Should you elect to continue in this vein, do not doubt that I will dismiss you without a reference."
This speech had the opposite effect to which Lizzy had intended. The woman did not cower, but rather smirked audaciously. "You'll find that I have been engaged by your husband, Ma'am, and I have been directed to work under the supervision of my sister, Mrs. Pearce. My role is to ensure your appearance is everything it should be for a lady of your rank, not facilitate your creature comforts and low whims." White's expression turned thoughtful.
Elizabeth glanced down at her clenched fists and flexed her jaw. "Arrange a bath to be drawn as soon as possible. I will take a breakfast tray here."
"But what about the Master?"
"The Master can go to Jericho for all I care!"
Upon White's departure, Elizabeth scrubbed her hands over her face. She had never raised her voice to a servant in anger before, but she had never met with such audacity before. Had Elizabeth not experienced the maid's cheek first hand, she would have never credited such an attitude to be authentic.
Elizabeth did her best to still her trembling before the indomitable maid returned, breakfast in hand. Her success was limited, as she spilled a few drops of tea on the counterpane, triggering a snort of derision from White, but she mentally defied anyone to do better, in the face of such extreme upheaval and without a sympathetic ally in sight.
Once the bath was drawn, Elizabeth sent Mrs. White to fetch a ribbon from the bedside table: it was a fool's errand. As soon as her maid's somewhat ample posterior had passed through the door Elizabeth slammed it shut, flipping the lock with relish. The maid made a rain of pounding fists, more against the frame than the actual door which sported costly and no doubt fragile mirrored panels.
Elizabeth smiled at White's muffled threats and began to undress. Despite their nocturnal activities the scandalous night gown had not been damaged; nevertheless she would rather die than wear it again. Elizabeth threw her aunt's gift into a corner of the room and eased herself into the steaming water, wincing slightly when she submerged her nether regions. The water was just a shade short of searing, but she luxuriated in the stinging feeling, and felt some of the anger and distress drain out of her taut frame. The rapping had thankfully stopped; she would enjoy the peace and solitude while it lasted.
With an indulgent smile she wondered how much of the message to her husband White had related. Probably the whole thing, nasty old bat. The unconscious phraseology brought a pang to Elizabeth's weary heart. She missed Cassandra with an ache that was so severe to be almost a physical sensation. She desperately needed her dearest friend who was closer to her than any of her sisters could ever be. There was no-one else she could tell about last night.
Ah last night. Elizabeth felt uncharacteristic tears welling in her eyes, but rather than suppressing them like she had on so many other occasions, she let them flow. Last night had been amazing and destroying. She looked down at her naked body through the water; it didn't seem any different to her eyes, but she felt like a different person, both worldly and uncertain at the same time.
When her husband had scooped her up, apprehension had been the overriding emotion in her heart, but if she was brutally honest with herself, there had also been a frisson of anticipation. She had wanted to discover for herself the mysteries of the secret rite, that transformative act which separated wives from maidens and endowed them with that knowing look she had seen so often.
Her husband had begun touching her through the gossamer thin fabric of her gown, seeming to measure the portions of her body for some unknowable purpose. He had splayed his large hands around the sides of her hips, slipping them upwards until his fingers and thumbs had almost come to meet, completely encasing the small of her waist. Continuing the ascending exploration, she'd looked away when he had cupped and squeezed her breasts, but gasped in shock at the acute sensation produced by his rubbing both of his thumbs over her sensitised nipples. He'd growled then, reading in her trembling body an involuntary assent. The transparent nightgown had been pulled up over her head in a frantic urgency and thrown aside, swiftly followed by his long dressing gown, the garments mingling in a heap on the floor just beyond the bed.
He had then pushed his whole form up against her own, rubbing against her with the sensual abandon of a cat, merging her soft curves against his hard planes. She had found herself revelling in the dizzying sensations and mewed in disappointment when he withdrew. He had not gone far, just putting sufficient distance between them to strategically lay siege to each part of her inflamed flesh.
He had proceeded to kiss, nip and tease her body into a fever pitch. Even in the boiling water, Elizabeth blushed to think of the many liberties he had taken with her form and her willing complaisance with all of his desires. She shook her head. It would not do, she could not lie to herself. Willing was hardly the term: she had been incontrovertibly ravenous for his touch, pushing herself into his large hands and against his firm body.
When he had finally made her his, the pain had lasted but a second before she was overwhelmed with the exquisite sensation of fullness.
He had stopped to enquire if she was well; cupping her cheek with one hand while balancing on the other. He'd hovered above her immobile, an earnest expression on his handsome face. Too shy to nod, let alone ask him to proceed, as she so desperately wanted, she had gently squeezed his hips with her own thighs.
It was all the signal he needed. With a shuddering groan he had begun to move within her. The indescribable friction was completely incompatible with the idea of lying still and thinking of England, the very puritan advice Mrs. Phillips had given her on the eve of her nuptials. The rousing pull of her husband's manhood had drawn involuntary moans from Elizabeth's throat and caused a pulsing pressure to build at the point of their meeting. He had emitted a few husky broken cries of his own, presumably reaching his completion not long thereafter.
She had experienced her own nirvana during their second coupling, as he had guided her on top of him. In the cold light of day she was mortified by her own behaviour, but at the time nothing had felt more right than moving in that primal rhythm with him. His fingers had pleasantly massaged her hips while she had ridden him, the grip becoming more firm as he had urged her to increase her pace, pushing his shaft up into her core furiously. Then he had touched some magic place within her womanhood that had engulfed her in a wave of pleasure so strong it was as pain.
The sensation of shattering into a thousand pieces had come again the third and final time he had made love to her.
She sat up in the high walled tub, tucking her knees up to her chest as her silent tears escalated into gulping sobs.
He had worshipped her body that last time, touching each part of her with a heart-warming reverence.
He had kissed her so very sweetly; she had thought for a moment that perhaps despite the circumstances she would be fortunate in her marriage. How could something so sublimely beautiful possibly be wrong?
After tracing her entire face with his lips, he had lovingly teased her mouth open, and massaged her tongue with his own. Although their mouths had been only place they were touching, the slow burn of yearning had spread, creating that ache deep within her that she now knew only he could quell.
When she had given a soft sigh he had startled her by flipping her onto her stomach and placed a plush pillow under her hips. Leaning into the soft bed, she had affected a relaxed pose while her virile husband had made a leisurely progress up her figure: caressing the soles of her feet, nuzzling the back of her knees, nipping the round globes of her bottom. The sharp pinches had shocked her at first, but with each bite he had paused to rub his face back and forth to soothe the little sting. When he had reached her neck, lavishing it with firm kisses and breathing hoarsely into her ear, he had also slipped his hot member back into her womanly passage from behind. She'd bucked against him, desperate to get closer, but he had put a hand upon her hip, holding her down so he could draw in and out with agonising sweetness.
Just as she had been on the cusp of falling over that beautiful precipice he had withdrawn, leaving her feeling utterly bereft and quietly voicing her disappointment. Barely pausing, he had used his wide, strong hands to turn her body over, only to commence the whole amorous process again, concentrating his seductive campaign consisting of firm hands and soft mouth on the front half of her body.
By the time he had finally entered her again they were both quaking with desire, he was perhaps more rough than before, his powerful thrusts jostling her whole body, but she found it to be the perfect foil to his earlier restraint. It had taken but a handful of deep, long strokes and they both tumbled into oblivion in concert: her hands buried in his hair and his face immersed in the halo of her ebony curls.
After the pinnacle, he had continued to touch her, tucking her body against his own and her head into a little nook in his shoulder, which seemed to have been designed perfectly by God to cradle it. She had not uttered a single coherent sentence. In fact, not a word had been spoken since that strained enquiry on their first union. There was no call to break the spell of their intimacy with words; there would be more than enough time for that later, a lifetime actually. He had tenderly twirled her loose curls around his finger, made lazy circles on her shoulder until she had fallen into a peaceful doze.
When she had awoken he was looking at her, admiring her. His languorous smile, ten times more beautiful than the quick grin she had seen earlier in the day, had been full and carefree.
His form, like her own, was sprawled over the counterpane in a relaxed and contented state of idleness. Standing out in vivid detail in the dim light of the fire she noticed some of the contrasts in their bodies: the dusting of hair across his chest, soft and curly under her fingers; her slim thigh, resting against his muscled flank; and that part that made him uniquely male, so alien to her, but strangely handsome. She had stretched then, feeling an answering echo in her husband's body, still pushed up against her own all along the one side.
Marital duties were certainly a physical pursuit: she wondered if it were possible to engage in them a fourth time. Whether they could or not was an unknown to her: but the one thing that was certain was that she wanted to, most fervently. Laying her head on his chest she coyly peeked up at his face through her curtain of tangled curls, trying to convey with her eyes that which she was too timid to request with words.
"I think we will be spending a great deal of tomorrow in bed, Mrs. Darcy," he had said with an ease she could not even have imagined the previous morning. It was inconceivable that it had been less than a day since they had stood at the altar, united in despising each other, and now they were laying together without a stitch of clothing between them. Feeling very bold, she had got up on her knees to loom over him, and planted a kiss on his jaw. When his hand had reached up to stroke her hip, she'd had no doubt that their sensuous thoughts were once again in accord.
Against his open mouth she had teased: "I thought our aim tomorrow was to begin the process of getting me more appropriately attired, Sir. You will have to allow me at least one visit to the modiste before you confine me to this room indefinitely." His body had instantly stiffened underneath her, and he had pushed her firmly away. Elizabeth had watched in bewilderment as he had sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had continued to sit there, his feet barely brushing the floor, spine curved, pressing the heels of his palms tightly into his eye sockets.
She had started to fear that maybe she had hurt him. In spite of those last few hours, the workings of the male body were still largely a mystery to her; mayhap she had inadvertently jostled some vital area of his anatomy? Elizabeth had warily laid a hand on his back but he had shrugged her off, his movements furious. Jumping to his feet, he had walked away from the bed. He had not even looked at her, but had snatched up his discarded banyan and continued in his storming trajectory towards the door, still naked as the day he was born.
Before exiting he had turned, unleashing a scathing look upon her uncovered form. It had hit her with all the force of a physical blow. Elizabeth had snatched up a pillow to cover her own nakedness as he had said: "We will meet immediately after breakfast to discuss the provisions for your wardrobe. Tardiness will not be tolerated. And for heaven's sake, get yourself some more modest nightgowns!"
Her body shook as she relived his swift and brutal dismissal. Reclining back into the bath she splashed the water, once, twice, three times in pique. For a brief shining interlude she had thought there could be more between them. She did not know what to make of his mercurial shift in mood, but it had wounded her greatly. Elizabeth owned that her Aunt had never steered her wrong before, but there was a first time for everything under heaven.
The shame swirled around her chest like an acid. She had actively participated in the act, thrown herself into it with wanton abandon, and he had taken everything from her. And once his desire was sated he had walked away from her in revulsion.
The powerlessness was crushing. Her married state left no other recourse open but to revert back to her previous reserve; she could not and would not deny him his rights: she would be a compliant wife but she could not be an affectionate one. She would be wary and observe her husband, maybe she would be able to determine a method to live alongside him peaceably. It was the wisest course of action, but not the easiest. That she would be unable to trust him in intimate moments she had no doubt; the sensual abandon she had foolishly indulged in was destined never to be repeated. But her troublesome temper she could not vouch for, the idea of letting a bully have their way was an anathema to her. Yet she must concede that there was no reprieve on the horizon: Mr. Darcy for better or worse now had legal dominion over her for the rest of her life, there must be a point where ideals were supplanted by good survival instinct.
A sound at the other side of the door alerted her to White's return - Elizabeth submerged her head fully to drown out the inevitable rapping that would follow. She felt an acute urge to cling to her privacy, to just a few moments more of introspection and peace.
She opened her eyes to look up at the ceiling through the veil of water, letting a bubble slip through her lips to mar the perfect surface in a rippling pattern. She was just about to release another when a face loomed above the tub, not her maid's, but the tight lipped visage of Mr. Darcy.
She saw him plunge his hands into the water, felt him grasp her upper harms tightly and commence to pull her out. In a fit of irrationality she resisted. It was an undeniably stupid response for she was quickly running out of breath. Despite her struggles, with his superior strength and long reach, he hauled her to the surface. She took great gulping breaths while he shook her: there was no anger or real force on the movement, and his face, mere inches from her own and liberally splashed with bath water, registered more distress than anything else. She stared at him in a numb trance, trying to make sense of his frantic utterings.
Stealing a glance back at the water, she was forcefully reminded of her own exposed vulnerability. She shook away his unwelcome touch pushing at his arms, and squawked at him to turn his back at once.
"Give me your word that you will keep your head above the water and I will oblige you in turning away."
She held his stare for a handful of seconds, the sparkle in her eyes as sharp as daggers, before nodding.
"Your word Madam, I will have it."
"Very well, I promise," she said seething.
He turned but did not depart, holding out a towel behind him. She crept very warily from the copper tub, balancing on the balls of her feet, poised for flight, and wrapped the large bath sheet around her body. "Feel at liberty to leave Sir, I have no further need of your assistance, in point of fact I did not require it in the first place."
She watched him start to turn his head again, his lips moving unsteadily. "Keep your back turned, Sir!"
"So shy? One would think modesty a scarce commodity..… after last night." Ignoring her firm direction, he continued his rotation until he was looking at her squarely, fully attired while she stood wrapped in nothing but a wet towel.
Elizabeth blushed right up to the roots of her hair; the heat of anger permeating her whole being. The effrontery: how dare he mock her? With time to think over their recent encounter, she had reached the conclusion that he was not a man without experience. The way he had manipulated her body, causing her to forget herself, had spoken of a long and familiar indulgence in the pleasures of the flesh. Who was he to judge her?
She wanted to throttle him and simultaneously burst into tears. Instead she drew herself up to her full height, giving him a look so loaded with disdain she thought her face might crack with it. "Am I not permitted even a modicum of privacy? Will this be the way of it? You making yourself free with my suite, even my dressing room, not to mention my own body, with no consideration for my feelings and wishes?" Her voice broke slightly on the last sentence.
Her husband wore a peculiar expression. His mouth hung open, but his eyes were narrowed in a shape that indicated deep suspicion. His chest swelled with a long breath, considering her words before he nodded in reluctant acknowledgement, but held up his hand. "You made a solemn vow to obey me in all things, Mrs. Darcy. I intend to hold you to that vow in the ordering of our life together. I will be the one in control, for your own benefit even more than mine." She bristled at his pointed use of her new name, but he was not finished. In a noticeably kinder tone he added, "You are correct, your own rooms should be your sanctuary. If you ever wish me to leave or likewise would prefer to refrain from marital relations, it will require but a word from you and I will subside. You have my solemn promise on that score."
A grand concession indeed, thought Elizabeth as Mr. Darcy shouted for White, who was presumably waiting in the outer hall. "I want her dressed and brought to my study within the hour, do you understand?" Mrs. White nodded grimly.
With a curt bow to his wife and an equally brief nod to her maid, he quit the room in a long confident stride, the undisputed master of his domain.
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