It was with slight relief that Elizabeth found herself finally alone, and giving consideration to the last twelve hours reached the happy determination that their first evening, night, and indeed morning, together had gone remarkably well. This was likely an underestimation as, in truth, she wondered if the smile, nay grin, on her face would ever recede and it now seemed curious that married women appeared so often glum given the secrets to which they were the keepers, but regardless she could only feel how glorious it was to be Mrs Elizabeth Darcy on this bright and, oh so beautiful day!
At her husband's surprising insistence, they had helped one another to dress, his nimble fingers making light work of tying her stays, herself proving less adept with his cravat although she felt she'd made sufficient enough effort. As enthralling as the night had been, there was something compelling at covering up what had been so recently exposed, secure in the knowledge that they were free to rediscover it at any time. After a light breakfast, they'd taken to the road once more, barely a handful of sentiments exchanged between them such was the enchantment of the flirtatious looks exchanged between them. And Lizzy couldn't help but notice that where perhaps she'd been plagued with blushes and embarrassment the previous day, it was now he who suffered this affliction.
They'd broken their journey for luncheon, at which point Darcy had expressed a need to ride. He'd been quick to explain that it was fresh air and exercise he craved and not any distance from her, but she'd simply laughed him away, teasing that she was in need of sojourn after their exploits. He'd certainly coloured at that but it has secured her what she herself had hankered for, a chance to think. And so, with the fine seat of her husband upon his horse as entertainment through the carriage window, she did just that.
She found him at the window, looking out over the garden and fields beyond, the moonlight apparently sufficient for such a task. She waited but was soon forced to announce her arrival, a subtle cough enough to have him spinning on his heel.
"You are as quiet as a mouse," he declared as he stepped towards her, "I didn't hear you."
Elizabeth gave a quiet laugh, "Quiet is not a condition with which many would associate me, Sir. I fear quite the opposite, in fact."
"Is that so?" Darcy replied, his hand reaching out to brush against her cheek. "I'll have to remember that." She shivered at this touch, his eyes sparking as, sufficiently encouraged, he trailed a finger light across her lip.
"And how do others manage your tendency towards noise?" he enquired lightly.
"Oh, not so easily," she teased, "Jane indulges it, she'll make a kind but insufficient setter of rules to her own family, I fear."
"Indeed," his voice lowering as his eyes bored into her own. "And your father? How does he manage?"
"He listens for a time and then shuts himself away," she said, desperately trying to hold her nerve as she felt his breath now, such was his proximity.
"And what about your husband?" he said in a darkening tone, "How shall he keep this propensity in check?"
"Not so easily," she breathed, her body beginning to anticipate his kisses, but instead he seemed to hesitate, to be waiting for something and so she continued. "Ignore me, chastise me, banish me even."
"Never," he murmured, his lips a mere hair's breadth from her own. Elizabeth slipped her hands around his back, the fabric of his banyan rough against her palms as she unwittingly propelled him to press against her.
"Direct yourself to listen to me then," she whispered, "Learn to adore the sound of my voice. Kiss me into silence."
"He already has those actions in mind," he growled, "Of that I can assure you."
"Elizabeth," came a voice through the open window, shocking her from her reverie. "Shall we pause at the inn up ahead or continue on?"
Finding herself disorientated by her daydream, she delayed in her reply, opting instead to stare at her husband whilst she struggled as to the answer.
"Are you quite well?" he said, his brow creasing at her continued unresponsiveness and her face appearing to him suddenly pale. "Stop the carriage," he ordered.
Darcy hastily pulled up his horse and dismounted, half flinging the reins at the second man on the box as he waited for it to roll to a stop so he could come to her side.
"My dear," he urged, "What is it? What ails you?"
Elizabeth shook her head smilingly, the curls framing her forehead bouncing as her eyes flicking down to where his hand was laid on her arm. She reached for it, cradling with reverence before lifting it to her lips, the warmth of them in contrast to that of his knuckles.
"I am well, truly," she reassured, her eyes wide with a look that would have floored him had he not already been seated. "I was recalling our coupling," she voiced boldly, her face reddening, "And it had me in rather a daze."
"Oh," he replied, falling back against the seat in relief, "You seemed debilitated," he said, trying to explain what must now be viewed as quite irrational behaviour.
"Debilitated only by thoughts far too scandalous to share," she said in a quiet voice that turned into a delicate chuckle as he squirmed a little.
"Then we should carry on?" he asked, desiring to change the subject rather rapidly given they were not entirely alone, privacy not being afforded by the fabric and wood above them. She nodded her consent and so, after a lingering gaze from which he had to wrench himself free, he exited the carriage and swiftly gave the command to continue.
As the horses took up their gallop once more, Elizabeth struggled to keep her attention on anything but the jumbling mass of thoughts occupying her mind. She tried reading, taking up a thin novel that she considered the subject matter of which to be light-hearted enough for travel. Experience had taught her that whilst the long days spent imprisoned in a carriage should present the perfect opportunity for working through a weighty tome it led only to the exhaustion of her body colliding with that of her mind. This, she concluded, was a heady mix which would only result in her becoming the worst version of herself and, whilst that might be setting one could survive when with intimate acquaintances, it was hardly conducive to one's honeymoon. She attempted a few pages but found it easily returned to her lap, the heroine not proving to be sufficiently engaging or distracting. They had many days ahead of them of this and it worried her. At some point one or both of them were going to be forced to accept that they had not yet begun to embrace the realities of their union.
"Tell me, husband," she said as she rested her against his chest, the hair there tickling her ears a little, a sensation she'd discovered to be quite pleasant, "What of the mistresses' rooms at Pemberley? Are they richly decorated or stylistically plain? As large as a ballroom or the size of a broom cupboard?"
Darcy brought his arm down from where he'd bent it under his head to wrap it around her shoulders, it having the effect of her shifting so that her entire body was against his own.
"That is a hard topic on which to express an opinion," he mused, "I had not given much thought to them."
She tilted her head back to catch his eye. "I am surprised. It seems exactly the kind of subject on which some consideration would have been given, if only to instruct the housekeeper to clean and air them."
"You are not mistaken in making that assertion," he conceded, his thumb beginning to trail a circular path from her shoulder down to above her elbow and back again, smiling as she shivered at the attention, "But I thought it best for you to determine which rooms you wish to take. There are several options available, with various aspects to consider. You may wish to be located close to the nursery, for example, or with an outlook over the gardens. There is also one very fine room that enjoys both a glimpse of sunrise and sunset forgoing the need to decide on which you might prefer."
Elizabeth sat up, her face illuminated by the candles still burning by the bedside set in an expression of bewilderment. She hadn't imagined there would be any element of doubt, let alone a degree of choice as to where she'd be sleeping. She had expected to be directed to her rooms and there she would be until the end of her days.
"And you, Fitzwilliam?" she queried, "What would be your preference?"
"I have no opinion on the matter," he remarked nonchalantly, "It makes no difference to me. After all, they are to be yours alone."
Lizzy huffed as she recalled their exchange, one she'd near forgotten in the heat of what had followed. At the time she'd not spoken up, his apathy and disinterest as to her location within his household leaving her too astonished to formulate anything of coherence. His attitude seemed in such contrast to that of moments before as they'd clung to one another, allowing themselves to bask in the glory of their second coming together, the evenness of their breathing slowly returning. And even as he'd shared his indifference she'd been lured back into his arms by the sweet taste of his lips upon hers, his tugging and urging her downwards towards him for more precious touches and caresses so wondrous that she imagined she must have dreamt his words
But she hadn't and now she'd had the chance to properly think on it, it was still all so bemusing. Lydia would have been ecstatic at the notion of being able to choose her own room, Kitty too. She fancied Jane would have met the idea with equanimity, Mary likely with scorn. She could hear her elder sister's voice in her head asking 'But what about you, Lizzy? What do you want?' And therein lay the problem; the answer she should speak conflicting with the one she longed to voice; the one that was Elizabeth fighting against the one that was Lizzy. Then there was the biggest question of all, which Mrs Darcy did her husband want.
She rested her head back, twisting it to one side to watch as the row of trees that lined this section of road slowly disappeared, to be replaced by tiny thatched cottages as passed through yet another village. She was past remembering where they were, the marking of their progress disappeared into the tossing sea of worries and concerns that would not be calmed. When one was resolved another surfaced to take its place. It was all so very vexing but, just as when her mother used that phrase, acknowledging the fact did little to resolve it. It was a truth that merely led to her next conclusion, that she was going to have to speak of her unease, and soon.