Page 15 of Lord Lonbourn’s Daughter

The Archbishop of Canterbury thought Mr Darcy’s plea for a special licence was moving and utterly believable.

Lord Longbourn was, however, not fooled that it had merely been a performance.

He was convinced that the sentiments expressed in the archbishop’s study had been nothing but the truth.

The only matter remaining was for the young people themselves to realise it.

He could not have parted with his favourite daughter, despite the dire circumstances, to a lesser man.

Elizabeth had a special place in his heart.

She had been in such a hurry to be born; the midwife had never made it.

Mrs Nichols had gone in search of clean towels, and he had had to muster all his courage and deliver his daughter single-handedly.

Well, not exactly alone; his wife had done her part in the ordeal.

It was the single most terrifying and exhilarating experience he had ever had the misfortune to be part of.

An experience he would not have forfeited for the world but had no wish to repeat.

#

A week later, Mr and Mrs Darcy had been wed, a celebratory breakfast had been held, and the guests had left.

The families were satisfied with the conclusion.

An argument had commenced when Darcy’s aunt had stormed the wedding to declare that the ceremony must be called off because the groom was promised to her daughter.

Unfortunately, the couple had already been pronounced husband and wife by the time Lady Catherine de Bourgh had arrived in her landau.

None of the lady’s threats could persuade anyone an annulment was possible or even necessary.

The colonel had implored his father to take action, and the earl had taken his sister in hand and sent her to his home with a few well-spoken words of wisdom. Her ladyship’s own town house was seldom in use, and he could not demand that the elderly lady return to Kent the same day she had arrived.

The bride and groom were content with the hope that their actions had been enough to secure the safety of the first of their sisters to be returned.

#

Soft! Soft should have been added to his list of requirements. It may even have deserved to be on top. Soft tresses, soft blushes, soft curves…

Standing before him in a cotton shift was his wife.

Her soft tresses had been let down by her maid, framing the countenance that was currently angled towards the floor.

She was wringing her hands in front of her, unaware of what it did to her bosom.

Dark buds peaked behind a translucent fabric.

The flames of the fire played with him, their light revealing the outline of her form.

He fought off the impulse to groan. She was uncomfortable, scared even, and it was his responsibility to comfort and care for her.

Had he been a gentleman, he would have left and allowed her to become better acquainted with him. Preferably waiting until she was utterly at ease in his presence before he brought his ardency to her attention. But he did not.

With resolute steps, he approached her trembling form. She startled like a skittish foal.

#

He was so handsome, standing in front of her in his breeches and open shirt. A quick glance showed his chest to be covered in hair—a detail no other lady would ever learn. She was certain of that from the conversation she had overheard at Darcy House.

And here she stood before him, in her tattered old shift. Why had she not agreed when Lady Matlock had insisted she must purchase a proper nightgown befitting a bride? There is no need , she had asserted in her ignorance.

Her aunt Gardiner had lent her a silk nightgown, but it was too long. Elizabeth feared she might trip on the hem and disgrace herself before her husband. That would not do.

He already thought her dowdy; what damage could an old shift do to his low opinion of her? Nothing of significance, she convinced herself. He had apologised for his remark, but that was to be expected. It did not mean the words were true.

“I am scared,” he admitted.

Her head snapped up to meet his honest gaze.

“Why?”

“I am scared to do wrong by you, to make this experience unpleasant, to hurt you, to scare you away from me forever,” he whispered.

His admittance bolstered her spirits, and she straightened her spine. He had laid his flaws at her feet; now she may slay him like a Valkyrie or return his charity.

“Have you no…education about how it is done?” she enquired, bewildered. If not, this might become very awkward indeed. Her mother had been dead this twelvemonth.

“I know the mechanics, so to speak,” her husband admitted, somewhat assuaging her mounting dread.

“Well, you know more than me,” she quipped.

“Has no one talked to you? Told you what to expect?” He looked incredulously at her.

“No.”

To her surprise, he groaned.

“Am I supposed to know? I thought maidens were kept deliberately ignorant of these matters.”

“They are, but it is customary for their mothers to enlighten them before their wedding night.”

“You see this is where your arguments fail. My mother died more than a year ago, and I have no married sisters who could have told me.”

“What about your aunt, my aunt, any married lady you are familiar with?”

“Mr Darcy, these are private matters. I doubt you would discuss this evening with your friends at White’s, and neither do ladies in my limited experience. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

“Yes, and you are wrong. Some men relate more than they ought at White’s, but you are right in that I am not one of them.”

“Because you have nothing to tell?”

“I would not go that far…”

#

Darcy boldly lifted his hand and let his fingers trail down her cheek.

It was as soft as he had imagined, but he had not anticipated the frissons down his spine created by a mere touch.

Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes widened; he did not know what it meant, though.

He let one finger trace her clavicle bone to her shoulder, pulling the shift with it.

“Are you not supposed to kiss me?”

“I can if you want me to.”

“How can I know if I have never tried it?” she huffed.

It was as good an invitation as he was likely to receive.

He moved slowly, eager yet allowing her time to retract if she changed her mind.

She did not. Their lips met tentatively, fumbling even, before perfection was achieved and he was lost. Feeling hot and bothered as the sensation of time ceased to exist, succumbing to a primitive desire as old as time…

#

“That was not at all what I expected it to be.”

“No?” His voice was weak and trembling.

“It was almost animalistic. I have seen something similar performed at Longbourn, but that was by our livestock.”

He moved his arm over his eyes and sighed.

“Oh, I did not mean it as a criticism, Mr Darcy. How long until we can do it again?”

He removed his arm from his face and looked at her; her eyes were bright and shiny, and she had a healthy glow to her cheeks.

“I am not certain…”

She let her hands travel the plains of his chest.

“You look like a statue.”

“I have heard myself described as such before.”

She looked sharply up at him.

“By whom?”

“I should have mentioned that I was fully clothed at the time. I am regarded as aloof, perhaps even deprived of feeling. It was not meant as a flattering remark. Quite the opposite.”

Elizabeth looked at him with such compassion that he had to kiss her to close the windows of her soul. He had noticed that when they kissed, her eyes closed—the opposite of his, which could not bear to deprive him of the luxury of watching her, clandestinely.

It proved that a repeat performance was quite within his reach. It did not take him long at all to rise to the occasion and forget the outside world for a blessed moment.