Page 38 of Lizzie’s Spirit

On the day before the wedding, there was such a succession of rain that Elizabeth feared the streets would become muddy and impassable. But, by late afternoon, the rain ceased, the clouds cleared, and a warm sun dried the roads, which had become firm and free of dust.

The next morning, the orphanage was buzzing with activity.

Some girls had gone off, under the supervision of an assistant matron, to decorate St. Phillip’s Church.

Theirs was all excitement and chatter. Others, who were competent in cooking, remained to prepare the feast—long planned and now come to pass.

Many of the dishes had been made over the preceding days, the coolness of the weather aiding their safe storage on the shelves of the pantry.

Several girls hung green boughs and native flowers about the Great Hall; never before had it looked so grand—red grevillea, bottlebrush, and yellow banksia adorned the walls.

Bouquets of ferns, daisies, and marigolds were placed on the long dining benches and on the polished tables that stood on the raised platform where Matron, soon to be Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy, the governor, and Mrs. Macquarie, together with other guests, would be seated.

A select few, Phoebe Norton among them, entered Elizabeth’s bedroom, where she sat brushing out her long chestnut tresses.

“Oh, Miss Bennet, your hair is so beautiful. Please, let me brush it—so soft and silky!” Elizabeth relinquished her brush to Phoebe.

A memory of Jane sitting and brushing her hair in their room at Longbourn came to her mind.

Nostalgia threatened to disarm her, but the cheerful talk of the girls banished any such thoughts.

Excitedly, they opened her wardrobe and retrieved a cotton chemise.

She had no choice but to let them dress her.

The chemise, she saw, was embroidered with small forget-me-not and sweet William flowers around the neckline and hem.

“These are so beautiful.” Elizabeth blushed at the daring of the girls to embroider such on her garment.

‘Twas likely they would next be seen by Mr. Darcy as she undressed that evening—her cheeks and the tips of her ears flushed. Next, they unrolled some fine silk stockings which were wrapped in linen cloth. How did they come by those? They’re so expensive.

But their giggling and a whispered Mr. Darcy alerted Elizabeth to their origin. Oh dear, he had bought them.

Expertly they tied her stays and then slipped a cotton petticoat over it, held up with straps keeping it in place under her bust. Finally, they proudly carried into the room her wedding gown.

A dress of delicate blue cambric muslin, gathered low in the neck and trimmed round the bosom with scalloped lace, broad at the bosom and narrow at her shoulders.

The demi-train and long sleeves, both deeply embroidered, completed the finest dress that Elizabeth had ever seen.

“My darlings,” tears glistened in her eyes. “You’re wonderful. This is the most glorious gown—how your fingers must be worn from the embroidery; and the stitching is so fine, so delicate! I love you all!”

The gown was set off by a hat of azure blue satin, turned up in front, and low on each side of her face.

The girls dressed her hair very full at the sides, allowing her chestnut curls to frame her face, complementing the sprinkling of freckles that touched her high cheeks and dainty nose.

White kid gloves and slippers completed the ensemble—Elizabeth could only infer that Mr. Darcy had also bought these.

What a caring, thoughtful man. She giggled.

Would he continue to present her with such extravagant gifts once they were man and wife?

Oh, she did hope so! Lizzie Bennet , you have become spoilt and vain.

A shawl, made of the same azure blue satin as the hat, she would throw over her shoulders on the journey to and from the church. Mama, would that you could see me! And, sweet Lydia, I come direct out of a fashion plate from La Belle Assemblée. ‘Tis now my favourite magazine.

The governor’s carriage rumbled past the orphanage.

Time to go to the church! The girls had already left, marching in rows of four, supervised by the assistant matrons and two of their guards.

One soldier, Corporal Boyce, remained with several senior girls who kept guard on the kitchen ovens and the Great Hall.

The corporal stationed himself at the door, his bayonet affixed to his musket.

It was a common thing for thieves to enter when buildings were left empty or unguarded.

Elizabeth stepped onto the porch of the orphanage. In the street stood Buttercup and Lavender yoked to the cart decorated with sprays of fern and native flowers. Sgt. Monogan assisted her onto the bench; Harshita perched on the back. Elizabeth laughed.

“You do me proud, Sergeant. The governor’s carriage was drawn by only one horse; with two animals, we outrank him—but let us away.”

Her heart beat so loudly that the sound of it echoed off the buildings lining the Market Square. No place for regret or second thoughts. Breathing with short, deep breaths, she calmed herself.

The journey was particularly short, but the girls begged her to arrive with her gown unsullied by dust from the road.

She stepped down, and Harshita arranged her demi train which would lie behind rather than being held up by her hand.

The time had come—she, Lizzie Bennet , in a few short minutes, Lizzie Darcy !

She entered the church; her eyes widened.

She felt disoriented, giddy. The congregation filled the nave: the hundred girls from the orphanage, perhaps twice that number of soldiers and wives of the 73rd, together with merchants and settlers seated in the front pews.

All therein turned their eyes to her as she passed through the doors.

Elizabeth walked hesitantly down the aisle, holding tightly onto Sgt.

Monogan’s arm, Harshita walking behind her.

Standing at the far end of the nave, she saw William—oh, his waistcoat is azure blue!

—next to him stood Governor Macquarie, and to the side stood Mrs. Macquarie.

She panicked: do I curtsey ? No! This is my day.

I shall hold up my head, merely nod out of respect, and then…

then William will come to stand by my side, and I’ll be safe.

Elizabeth recognised many of the wives: Mrs. Pitcairn—birthed a lively boy; Mrs. Jordon—a girl…

She smiled, and the women of the regiment returned her smile manyfold.

Relieved were Elizabeth’s feelings when the ceremony ended, with William’s gold band upon her finger and the registry signed, witnessed by the Macquaries. She could scarcely recall any of it. Taking William’s arm, she returned to the entrance to the church, stepped outside, and…

A mighty cheer rose up from the crowd that had gathered in the square. They were showered with daisy petals of all colours and the husbands of the regimental wives raised their muskets in salute.

“Oh, William, is this all for us? But why?”

“My sweet Lizzie, how can you not know—they admire you, my dear, they hold you in the highest esteem.”

The Great Hall of the orphanage was filled with merriment and gleeful children.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy sat at the High Table, attended by the Governor and Mrs. Macquarie, until the latter returned to Government House just before sunset.

The food eaten, the celebration was over: the orphanage could not afford the cost of candles to light the Hall when night fell.

All was cleared away—tomorrow the girls would clean, scrub floors, wash dishes in the scullery.

That evening they returned to their dormitories.

Under the covers, whispering amongst themselves, they agreed that Matron was the loveliest bride, that her gown was beautiful, and that the feast was their most favourite part of the day.

***

Elizabeth stood before the long mirror in the bedchamber.

All was strange to her—the room, the large double bed, the furniture.

The house belonged to Mr. Thompson; and, following Mr. and Mrs. Bent’s departure, she and William were to live here until their villa was completed.

She examined her figure: was her derriere too small, her bosom overly large?

—she knew nothing of what men desired. Dear Mama, where are you? How I wish for your counsel!

There is that me who speaks with women of their coupling with men—but this me is innocent of such carnal experience.

I know not how. Her mouth was dry; anxiety threatened to overwhelm her.

Enough! She lay down on the bed and pulled up the covers.

Looking to one side, sufficient light filtered through the window glass to enable her to observe, reflected in the mirror, the panelled door to the chamber.

She half expected Manfred from The Castle of Otranto to enter the room: of dark complexion, of powerful physique, in possession of piercing eyes, intent on violating her. The door opened. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut.

“My dearest Lizzie, it’s your husband, William. Don’t be afraid.”

“Oh, William, my imagination runs wild in this unfamiliar room—I’ve read too many gothic novels with dark villains and too few with handsome heroes.”

Through the mirror she saw he wore a silk banyan, tied loosely at the waist. Letting it fall, he stood for a moment, then joined her in the bed.

The shadows were dark but light enough to illuminate his manhood, surrounded by the black hair of his crotch.

Oh my, can that possibly join with me? But she felt an arousal, a libidinal excitement that caused an ache deep within her.

She quivered as he lay behind her; the scent of sandalwood and amber lingered in the air. “Your chemise, we’ve no need of it.” She sat, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, struggling to lift the garment over her head.

“You’ve a beautiful back.” Elizabeth trembled as William traced his hand gently across her shoulders.

He kissed her neck, moving his lips to her ear.

Never before had she felt such diversion.

His hands clasped her waist. Without understanding, she moved her head backwards to secure more of his lips against her skin.

His hands moved upwards, cupping her swelling breasts, his fingers seeking her taut nipples.

She was already lost; a sensation of profound delight rippled through her. Nothing—nothing—could diminish the exultation that engulfed her. One hand, removed from her breast, sought her thigh, travelled down her leg.

“Oh, dear Lizzie, you’ve forgot to remove your stockings.”

As William rolled the stockings down her calves, slipping them deftly off her ankles, she knew of no greater intimacy. She lay back on the bed, uncovered.

“My dearest, sweetest Lizzie.” William covered her lips with his, his body straddling her. His hand sought her breast, then moved lower—paused to stroke the downy softness of her abdomen; descending further, his fingers came to rest on her velvet, bushy hair.

Elizabeth had explored her own body. The women she counselled spoke of pleasuring their men and also themselves.

Clearly, William had known women. He gently massaged her; her back arched, a groan of pleasure escaping her lips.

Her mouth sought his, his tongue found hers—this is but heaven; it could go on forever.

As though this bliss was not enough, William moved to completely cover her; she guided his manhood to join her body with his.

She felt a momentary discomfort—eclipsed by the ecstasy, the immediacy of his entering her, his invading her welcoming body—followed by a wondrous fullness as he penetrated deep within her.

They lay thus, their bodies united, moving together—a dance of such overpowering rapture she wished it would never end.

Then an urgency. “William!" She pulled him closer, if that were possible.

The release was overwhelming; stunned, she lay back upon the sheets. A moment later, William climaxed within her. He kissed her—gentle, loving. He lay within her, his lips tenderly kissing her face.

My Lizzie! You are so beautiful. Are you mine, or am I yours? I care not. She smiled, her eyes looking to him in wonder. As he watched, this darling woman fell asleep beneath him. Darcy rolled to the side, and Elizabeth snuggled close to his warm body, safe in his embrace.

Elizabeth awoke to the early sun shining through the window. Her mind was counting the number of words for ecstasy in each of the languages she knew: exstasis, êxtase, extasi, ekstase. Oh, there are too few!

Her eyes opened. Mr. Darcy—William—lay next to her. Quelle joie!

He stirred, rolled over to gaze upon her. “My Lizzie, you’re awake. How did you sleep?”

“I slept very well indeed.” A smile creased her lips. “I find I’m not fatigued in the slightest; though ‘tis a state I would enjoy, were it to overcome me.”

“Then let us about some overcoming .” Darcy kissed her lips; her arms pulled him to her. “Am I wanton, sir?” she whispered, opening her mouth to his.

Elizabeth awoke in the late morning; she seldom slept so long. Once again her mind was occupied elsewhere. Dear Mama, if I were to write you now, William’s and my evenings would be spent neither reading Greek nor singing Italian duets—but more pleasantly engaged…