Page 33 of Mistress of Pemberley
They parted with difficulty, Elizabeth to her apartment and Darcy to the ground floor chamber that had been his bedroom for too many nights and days.
Elizabeth was smiling, thinking of donning the gown she had worn on their wedding day—when, though she had been addressed as Mrs Darcy , she had not truly been his wife. It was as if she could turn back time, erasing all the suffering, pain, and frustration that had once stood between them. And deep within her soul, she knew that Darcy, though they had spoken nothing of it, would do the same.
Unexpectedly, she found Anna waiting in her personal sitting room, barring her way into the bedroom.
Elizabeth looked at her, puzzled and amused. But then her gaze fell upon her magnificent wedding gown, carefully laid out beside a large mirror, and she understood—this was where she was meant to dress.
She turned towards Anna without a word, gratitude shining in her eyes. And when fully dressed, just as she cast one last glance at herself in the mirror, Anna left and reappeared again quickly, holding a bouquet of Lady Darcy roses—identical to the one she had carried on her wedding day.
“We have set out dinner in the master’s chamber next door. We shall move his bed and the rest of the furniture back tomorrow, but tonight it will be your dining-room.”
“Thank you, Anna,” Elizabeth replied softly. Then, with a knowing bright countenance, she added, “This conspiracy included Parker as well, did it not?”
Anna merely nodded with a smile.
She left the room only to return a few moments later. “Mr Darcy is expecting you, madam.”
Anna led her to the door, where Parker, ever the consummate butler, bowed formally and opened it for her, though neither servant stepped inside.
Elizabeth found Darcy standing by the window. When he turned to face her, she had to reach for support, so strikingly handsome he appeared, exuding romance and sophistication, befitting the solemnity and joy of that blessed evening.
Only then did she notice what her worries had not allowed her to see during the ceremony—his waistcoat, made of the finest silk, mirrored the colours and intricate embroidery of her gown.
“Oh,” she breathed, overwhelmed with emotion yet determined to maintain enough composure to savour the moment. “You have despoiled my gown.”
She cast a quick glance at her skirts, inspecting them for any sign of damage, while Darcy, genuinely amused, broke into laughter. He stepped forwards, took her hand, and pressed a kiss upon it before guiding her to the exquisite table set for two. Every dish had already been placed so that no servant would be needed.
Elizabeth laid her bouquet beside her plate, and Darcy chuckled once more. “You have despoiled my greenhouse.”
“Not I—Anna and Parker,” she countered playfully, happily passing the blame, delighted that the tension between them could be tempered with laughter.
But eating was impossible.
They clinked their wine glasses together, and soon after, he helped her to her feet.
“I have not eaten a thing,” she murmured.
“We shall grow hungry later—I am certain of it,” he said in a voice laced with meaning, filled with the promise of all that was to come between them from that moment onwards.
They were unexpectedly calm, yet when Darcy opened the door between their chambers, both found themselves breathless.
The elegant room was bathed in a profusion of flowers—bouquets arranged in delicate vases, rose petals scattered across the bed, which was itself dressed in exquisite silk and white lace.
Elizabeth turned to Darcy, only to find him smiling yet visibly overwhelmed.
“I wish you happiness, my beloved wife,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms.
“Do not dare to lift me,” she whispered back, her voice far less steady than her words.
Darcy laughed softly against her ear. “You are impossible , Elizabeth Darcy. But it is all I have. I married you! So I shall simply have to love this demanding yet wonderful woman.”
She wanted to close her eyes, but he would not let her. He begged her to watch every move he made to undress her. At each step, he caressed her more and more intimately until there was nowhere he had not touched. Her body, tense and almost paralysed, began to vibrate in a rhythm she could no longer control.
Only then did he undress himself, but by then, Elizabeth did not wish to shut her eyes, eager to discover her husband.
They lay down among the rose petals, his voice whispering in her ear and his hands moving again around her body to all the places she considered secret. At first, she responded shyly, but from then, a single touch would make her shiver, and the sensation was so intense that she could not resist. The staggering promise, hidden in his caresses and kisses, made her want to go further. His hands on her body suddenly were not enough as she finally understood what he meant when he whispered, “I want you!”
Her whole body was on fire, ready for him, no longer afraid or shy, no longer hesitant, and for the first time she could say, “Yes, come, my husband.” The girl she still was did not know what would follow, but she had confidence in him. She let his body take her, and brief pain became pleasure, happiness, and bliss.
Unsure at first, her movements were timid and unskilled, but he was there, introducing her to his own rhythms. When she did not know what to do, she understood from his caresses and the movement of his body.
Later that night, when it became her mission to caress him, Darcy had to admit that he had found not only a wife but a woman who would give him pleasure as he had never imagined possible. Astonished by this discovery, he could not sleep, and his eyes dwelt on his sleeping beauty, the mistress of Pemberley and of his life, wondering at his luck in being her choice.
End