The day had finally arrived. A cool, early morning autumn sun shone in dusty bright lines through the centre of the church, lighting up the walkway between pews which were strewn with delicate white flowers and ribbon twirling between bouquets. Guests jostled along the wooden benches to find their seats, all eager for what was widely being anticipated as the most important and grandest wedding that Meryton had ever seen, possibly the county. Quiet whispers and giggles filled the hushed church, and had Darcy been of a mind to pay any attention to the chatter and excitement going on behind him, he would have become extremely self-conscious. Being the focus of attention had never sat well with him, particularly when a large portion of the guests were still new to his acquaintance.
However, Darcy was not of a mind to pay attention. He was barely able to even stand straight on his own two feet, such were his nerves. And anticipation. Oh, Lord, how he had waited for this day! The last year had been torment for him. The unexpected, all-consuming, overwhelming, fierce love he felt for Miss Elizabeth Bennet had taken him so much by surprise, and had sucked him in so deeply, he had known he would never recover. When she refused his first proposal, he felt his world should surely end. Nobody, nobody, could suffer such heartbreak and live - could they? And yet, he had survived. Just. Survived enough to see the truth in her agonising rebuff, and begin the process of altering his prideful and standoffish ways, both as a means of improving himself for his family and friends, and also in the hopes she may one day consider him worth her notice once again.
And then, she had agreed. After months of turmoil, of cursing the day Wickham had ever been born, of hunting him down to ensure nothing he did to the Bennets could ever hurt his Elizabeth again - she had agreed to be his. His wife. Since the day she accepted, Darcy had not known happiness like it. In all his seven and twenty years, he had never known such deep, soul-soaring joy, and now, today, was the day she would finally be permanently and irrevocably his.
Bingley bounced subtly on the balls of his feet next to him, he too nervous for his bride to begin walking down the aisle. Darcy noticed this briefly out of the corner of his eye, his heart light for his friend, who deserved just as much happiness. But suddenly the world dissolved around him as the organ player commenced the wedding march from the side of the church, and the doors opened. Mr Bennet entered, holding a daughter's hand each side, Jane and Elizabeth walking along beside him keeping perfect time to the music. The second Elizabeth entered the church, Darcy thought he might faint with desire. Elizabeth looked absolutely stunning in her plain white wedding gown, ivory lace sleeves enveloping her arms down to her wrists showing the delicate white skin beneath. Her hair was curled and piled atop her head in an artfully messy fashion, a few tendrils escaping the confines of her pins and stroking the elegant slope of her neck, as a small wreath of white flowers and leaves adorned the crown, keeping her veil in place down her back. Her gown flowed beautifully over her generous curves, and her breasts peeked out over the low-cut edge of the gown, making Darcy groan internally, wondering how he was supposed to maintain composure with her standing so close, dressed like this. Her hands were bare, holding a bunch of flowers the twin of those twined around the pews, and on her face was plastered a smile so blinding that Darcy did not see anything nor anyone else until Mr Bennet pressed Elizabeth's hand to his, chuckling to himself at his soon-to-be-son's obvious infatuation.
"Be careful, my love, or the guests might start to suspect real affection on your part," Elizabeth whispered conspiratorially to Darcy, her eyes glittering with a mixture of humour and love, relying on her infamous impertinence to get her through the ceremony without crumbling with need under the gaze of her unbearably handsome betrothed. He took her breath away. Darcy shot her an intense, warning look, tinged with an emotion that Elizabeth could not name, not yet, but that made her go weak at the knees. Darcy brought her hand up to his lips to kiss her bare skin, and the ceremony began.
The wedding breakfast passed without incident, surprising both Mr and the new Mrs Darcy entirely, for Mrs Bennet's temperament and hysteria had got no better following the betrothals of her two eldest daughters - in fact, in Mr Bennet's opinion, they had become decidedly worse. However, the morning passed in a blissful blur, and by midday the two newlywed couples were ready to depart for the respective homes. The Bingleys were to stay in Netherfield Park before commencing on their honeymoon tour, whilst the Darcys were planning to stay at Darcy House in London for the week before travelling back to Pemberley for a secluded and private wedding tour of their own. Once in the Darcy encrested carriage, and after departing promises of good health to all of their friends and family, Darcy and his new wife were finally alone.
For the first few minutes, sat opposite his new wife in the comfortable and plush confines, Darcy could do nothing but stare at this incredible woman he somehow, miraculously, got to now spend the rest of his life with. Elizabeth, unaware of her husband's rapt study of her person, was removing her wreath and veil from her hair, too warm in the carriage for such an accessory, and removing the gloves she had put on following the breakfast. When she finished her grooming to smile at her husband, her heart stopped in her chest. His eyes were sweeping up and down her body and face in such a hungry, devouring fashion that she wondered how she continued breathing. Maintaining a dark, intense eye contact, Darcy leaned forward and gently grasped Elizabeth's hands, pulling her away from her seat and settling her next to him.
"Elizabeth. My Elizabeth," was all he said before gently grasping her face between his hands and leaning forward, touching her lips with his gently, before emotion and sensation took over, and both lovers began grasping at each other in desperation to be closer. Darcy's left hand cradled her face, gently stroking her jawline with his thumb, while his right hand dove hungrily into her dark curling mass of hair, tugging her face closer, drunk on her scent and taste. Elizabeth, meanwhile, had been silently frantic for the touch of his lips all through the breakfast, and as soon as his mouth closed over hers, she was lost. Her hands were everywhere, all at once; clutching at his chest, his shoulders, his shirt, his face, his hair, stroking and caressing everything she could reach, everything she was brave enough to. Her gentle moans of pleasure shot through Darcy like a cannon, and he knew if he didn't control himself now, he would make her his, properly, in a moving carriage, and she deserved nothing short of silks and satins. Both panting heavily, Darcy eased them apart, not taking his hands off her body, and rested his forehead against hers.
"My God. I might never breath regularly for the rest of my life. Not if I'm around you, my love," Darcy said, chuckling lightly. Elizabeth giggled, unable to wipe the smile off her swollen lips.
"Sir, I can safely assure you I will make it so for as long as I can", quirking up her eyebrow and gently brushing her lips across his.
They had stolen kisses and moments alone during their courtship, making the most of quiet moments alone during walks and breakfast calls, and would be lying if they said they hadn't been increasing in ardour and duration as the wedding got closer and closer. But to finally have the freedom to kiss, to touch, to be with each other whenever they wanted, without fear of discovery or censure, was almost too much for both of them. Elizabeth ached to have Darcy hold her as he had just moments ago, but was aware of the need for restraint… At least while they travelled to Darcy House.
She was not happy about it though.
And if she could read Darcy's thoughts at this moment, she would appreciate the few hours they had to control themselves before their first night together. Elizabeth had some understanding of what would occur on her wedding night, having had a somewhat horrifying lecture from her mother on the subject, which had been later rectified by her Aunt Gardiner with sensible advice and assurances of mutual pleasure and love. However, Elizabeth was very vague on the details, unsure exactly of what would please her new husband, and was desperate to make this the most wonderful night for him. She was nervous. Nervous, and yet, so wonderfully excited about the prospect of becoming even closer to her love, to know every part of him, to see him the way no other has or ever would. This train of thought occupied her mind for most of the remainder of the journey, her feelings flicking between anxiety, desire and anticipation. Darcy's, on the other hand, was having an entirely different struggle.
Darcy was focusing on his breathing, on the road flying past the carriage window, on the clouds moving above them; anything, anything to try and take his mind of Elizabeth. Her touch, her scent, her throaty laughter, her teasing voice, her dark, sensuous curls, her expressive eyes, her curves, that dress… The remaining few hours of the coach journey were going to be a severe and cruel test of his gentlemanly behaviour.
'If I don't reign myself in,' Darcy thought to himself, trying not to drag Elizabeth back onto his lap as she righted herself on the seat next to him, 'I will take her like a caveman, a starving, uncivilised wild animal.' He desperately did not want to frighten her; he wanted this night to be perfect, to focus on her, to ensure she fully understood by the end of the night exactly how much power she held over him. Over the course of their courtship, Elizabeth had shown herself to be the passionate, expressive woman her knew her to be, and to be on the receiving end of her affection was like no happiness he had ever known. Whilst careful with physical touches, she had been generous; a stroke of the arm here, a gentle hand on his back there, leaning in a little too close to whisper in his ear… Innocent enough to an observer, but in Darcy's opinion, very, very deliberate. He couldn't get enough of her, particularly after their first kiss, which had very nearly brought both of them to their knees, and every one since had been better than the one before. Darcy had been able to control himself, if only due to years of self-discipline and a desire to save his true passions until they were married. However, now that they were… He was finding his discipline had abandoned him at the church doors. He could think about nothing but how violently he loved Elizabeth, how intensely he needed her, how heartbreakingly beautiful she looked, how much he wanted her.
'And my God, do I want her,' Darcy agonised, trying not to growl out loud as he silently watched her adjust her dress at the bust, feeling as though he might burst into flames any second with the intensity of his desire for his new wife.