His trunk had been emptied, its contents carefully tidied and hung as was appropriate, and then left to one side with straps hanging loose. With only one night planned here Darcy had thought ahead and instructed his man to assemble just the essentials, not that he'd needed telling but it was pleasant on occasion to behave as if his opinions weren't entirely redundant. It would surprise many to learn quite how many decisions were out of his hands. Having prided himself for selecting individuals to be in his employ who demonstrated the very best of talents, it had been somewhat of a revelation that they proved themselves perfectly able to act on his behalf without guidance of any kind. As he pulled at the ends of his cravat and set about unwinding it from his neck, he could think of only one matter on which the experiences and viewpoints of others had become superfluous and that was on the subject of his wife.
Lizzy. Elizabeth. Mrs Darcy. How well that sounded. They'd been married not yet ten hours and already he could barely remember a time before she was his, or in fact he was hers, such was his utter contentment and happiness. Except, he pondered as he deftly dealt with the fastenings of his breeches and eased them from his hips, that wasn't quite right. She'd been nervous, which was a sentiment he shared, and he'd striven to ease her mind, concluding not to speak of the burdens which would be placed upon her as a result of their union. That she'd articulated a good number of them at varying times over the last few weeks was reassuring. He would not have her trapped into a situation to which she was entirely ignorant. But the truth of it remained, that whilst there was surely great joy between them, it was destined not always to be so.
His stockings were now added to the growing pile on the ornate high backed chair that has been thoughtfully positioned by the wash stand and hardwood towel rack. Pouring tepid water from the jug into the shallow bowl and divesting himself of the billowing fabric of his shirt, he grabbed a cloth. The worries and strains that he appreciated now had peppered the day, along with hours of travel on dirt roads, had taken their toll, his body suddenly aching and in need of freshening. He worked quickly, not wishing to allow more time on which to ruminate on matters which would likely cause him to disappear into a sullen state. Instead he resolved to make himself presentable and hurry back to the sweet embrace of his love and hope beyond hope that their time apart had not given her cause to dwell similarly to himself.
Tightening the tie of his banyan, a new purchase of green and gold brocade, he checked himself once more in the mirror. He could not admit to trepidation as to what may occur when they were reunited, but he nonetheless directed himself to employ what charm he could muster to ensure his bride was put at ease. He'd been earnest in his expression that he would not force her but he sincerely hoped it would not come to that. His ache for her was so strong he barely knew himself at times. He took a deep intake of breath, calmed his mind and turned, stepping back into the bedroom where he very much hoped to find her waiting.
Her mother had insisted on lace. It was a point on which they had argued although in the end Lizzy had seen no choice other than to acquiesce. She was used to sleeping in her chemise but it seemed important that she change and one had been specifically ordered for the purpose. Laid out across the chair of her dressing room it seemed shameful that she would be seen in a garment quite so revealing as this. Knee-length and made of a fine cotton, it was hemmed in three inches of intricate French lace. The sleeves were capped and embroidered with a design she deemed too grandiose for her style. But it was the sheerness that concerned her most, and she was putting a good deal of faith in the fact that it was to be paired with a nightgown which tied at the waist, albeit made of the same material. She sighed with resignation as she moved to slip it over her head and wondered if Jane was currently experiencing similar sentiments to her own. Of course the new Mr and Mrs Bingley may have passed this uncomfortable stage long ago given the relative nearness of their marital bed to Longbourn, a thought on which she paused for some moments as she attempted in vain to lengthen the gown, to perform a miracle by the act of smoothing of it with her hands.
Retreating to the dressing table stool to consider what to do about her hair, she suddenly longed to be home. Sarah, the younger of the housemaids, had shown herself to be particularly adept at dealing with her, at times, unruly mane. Between her and Kitty that very morning they'd managed to pull off the seemingly impossible with braids and curls that would rival that of any distinguished mistress. Lizzy found herself reluctant to undo their good works but she'd not be able to sleep with the vast amount of pins that such a feat had taken and so she began to consider the options. She could pull them all out, brush and simply rebraid it, a ribbon would do the job of securing that. Or she could attempt something akin to allurement, the notion of which caused her to giggle. Who was this girl staring back at her in the mirror that was so concerned as to her looks? Had marriage transformed so rapidly as all that, into a woman for whom appearance was all?
A sound from the next door room had her panic as to the time she was taking and with rapidity she removed all pins and adornments, her dark trestles tumbling down around her shoulders. Her resolution that this would have to do, that he'd have to accept her as she was, faltered and she swept half the curls up into a loose configuration, secured by two amber combs on each side. Her fingers worked quickly as she discerned yet further noises through the closed door until she finally had something with which she could be content.
Standing and taking in the figure in the glass, Lizzy shuddered at the informality at which she was about to present herself. But, slipping her arms into her dressing, she saw that she had little choice other than to finally see that this was exactly what was expected of her. Queen Louise she was not but, reaching for sentiment that would quell the butterflies, was not beauty in the eye of the beholder? Allowing herself a final grimace of dissatisfaction, she forced an expression of serenity, reminded herself that she was loved, and commenced her final maiden steps towards her husband.