Page 53 of Obligation and Redemption
He stood and walked to the mantle from where he turned to look at her.
If she is not an innocent, then she could make her life in theatre should the need arise.
“Elizabeth, when a woman loses her, um, virginity, she has some pain due to the breaking of her maidenhead.” In his discomfort, he could not help but find diversion in the irony of his explaining to his new wife about her own body, but that was the way of things.
A woman was left in ignorance up until her marriage, thus making her more fearful of her husband than was necessary or wise.
“There will be some blood,” her eyes widened, “but that is only the first time. The blood will serve as evidence of your chastity before marriage.”
“You need this, this… evidence?” she asked in incredulity.
“My honour demands that I am proven innocent in my affairs with you that promoted this scandal. I am sorry if you do not see the necessity of such proof to be known of yourself, but I do.”
“But I know that I am a maiden. Who else matters? And how would blood from my body make any difference to anybody else? Would you hang the sheets up outside the front door for all to see?” Elizabeth could not believe she was having this conversation, as she had gotten past her embarrassment and moved on to anger.
“Of course not, but you may be surprised to learn that that is exactly what was historically done in some parts of the world. Confirmation of virtue has always been of value; servants talk.” As she turned away, he continued, “Elizabeth, you may not care about who knows or does not know the truth of what happened in that cabin, but I do. My honour and family name demand that I be vindicated concerning this outrageous scandal. You owe me this much!” His voice had been steadily increasing as the seeming justice of his argument overtook his sagacity.
Elizabeth felt sick. She knew he had the right and the inclination, even if his argument did not have justice to her own sensibilities. She also felt that her request was juvenile and selfish, but she could not stop the trepidation in her heart.
Darcy saw her nod in understanding. “You are tired, I know. I think it time that we prepare for bed. I will take you to your room and give you an hour to prepare. Will that be adequate time?” She nodded again and began walking towards the door.
“Elizabeth, one more thing; leave a candle lit on your bedside table.” She stopped walking for a brief moment.
He means to humiliate me.
WHEN SHE ENTERED HER ROOM, Laura was waiting for her and had hot water ready in her copper tub.
This was a luxury for Elizabeth who was used to bathing after her sister Jane and not more than three times per week.
The fireplace in the dressing room provided some measure of heat as she immersed herself into the welcoming water.
Laura suggested she pick one of three scents to add to the bath, and she chose lavender for its calming effect.
While she was washing, Laura came in with a glass of wine and handing it to her said, “Ma’am, Mr. Darcy requested that I give you some wine to soothe your nerves.
” Elizabeth was surprised at Mr. Darcy’s solicitude to her needs; he was certainly an enigma, an advantage for she truly enjoyed the study of an intricate character.
“I thank you,” Elizabeth said as she blushed at the implications of having a servant know what was to take place.
The bath and wine had a soothing effect upon her and she was grateful for the consideration.
She could not feel at all sanguine about what was to come, but she remembered her aunt’s words, trusting that he would be kind.
She had a brief thought of how she might be feeling if she had been forced to marry Mr. Collins instead.
Fortunately for Elizabeth, this thought was just what she needed to appreciate the man to whom she would give herself this night.
Once Laura had finished assisting Elizabeth to dry off, she showed her two nightgowns to choose between.
They were both white linen gowns with no embellishments, hardly the provocative trousseau most would have considered, but Elizabeth had not thought to purchase anything different and was glad for this provision.
With the high neckline and long sleeves, she would be covered more than she had been in her wedding dress.
“Ma’am, how would you like your hair? Shall we leave it down? I could brush it for you?”
“No, a simple plait will do well, and you will thank me in the morning; I can assure you.” Elizabeth amicably responded.
This woman had known her less than six hours, but to Elizabeth, they would always share the bond that comes when two people go through a trauma together – at least to Elizabeth’s sensibilities if not the maid’s.
After completing her task, the maid assured her that she would return promptly if needed later, showing Elizabeth the location of the bell pull.
After Laura left, Elizabeth blew out all of the candles excepting the one next to the bed.
The light from the fireplace gave off plenty of light so that she could not see the advantage of the candlelight that Mr. Darcy had requested.
The only sound was the crackling of the small blaze in the fireplace, and although the room was plenty warm, she was shivering underneath the bed coverings.
Elizabeth was physically and emotionally exhausted.
She was simultaneously hoping that the night would end soon but fearing for the next step to begin.
She knew this feeling well, as it reminded her of waiting to receive her just punishment for getting into some scrape or another when she was a little girl.
Her father never meted out the punishments; it was always her mother or Mrs. Hill, and usually when she was getting her new dresses muddy.
Her mother would have her get a switch from the willow, and then she would use it to whip her bare legs.
Elizabeth remembered that it was never as bad as she feared and was quickly over.
She would hope for the same in this circumstance.
It was not as though Elizabeth did not admire her new husband.
He was a handsome man, strong, sure, but her appreciation of his person could not overcome her trepidation.
If only he had expressed some level of regard for her, as a woman, as a partner, she felt she could be more welcoming, but as it was, Elizabeth understood that he merely considered her to be an acquired possession to be made available at his whim.
DARCY HAD ENTERED HIS CHAMBER after taking his new wife to her own and sat down on the chair next to the fireplace.
He stared at the flame, reflecting upon Elizabeth’s response to his insistence.
She seemed genuinely discomfited. He had no desire to take a woman who did not want him, but concurrently, he had no remorse for what was to take place.
She brought nothing of value to the marriage except what she could offer in her bed.
Is it unsound to require she oblige me? He poured himself a brandy and quickly swallowed the drink, letting it burn on the way down.
The next glass, he consumed more slowly.
His man had his bath ready and as he was helping him with his coat, Darcy said, “Nelson, please get a message to Laura Carpenter, Mrs. Darcy’s temporary maid, to make certain to offer my wife some wine.
There should be a bottle in the sitting room that would be suitable.
While you are gone, I will see to myself.
” Darcy quickly undressed and gingerly got into the hot water.
As he waited for Nelson’s return, he continued to nurse his brandy.
Soon, he would be able to take his pleasure.
This brought a smile to his face. It has been long enough.
AFTER ABOUT TEN MINUTES of quiet reflection, there was a knock upon the door from the sitting room.
Elizabeth’s eyes flew open as she stared at the barrier separating her from her new husband.
She managed to squeak out an “Enter.” He was wearing a robe and underneath that a nightshirt.
His legs were bare. Elizabeth looked away.
She was certain that she was crimson from head to toe.
Her husband said not a word. Elizabeth continued to shiver underneath the covers, willing herself to remain calm, but with little success.
He stood next to the bed staring at her, for how long Elizabeth knew not, for time had become relative; she only suspected his eyes rested upon her, for she saw from the corner of her eye that he was not three feet away and facing the bed.
He took off his robe and placed it at the foot of the counterpane.
He lifted the covering that Elizabeth had been holding to her shoulders and climbed in.
She closed her eyes, determined not to weep.
She began reciting poetry in her head, the ones that she had difficulty remembering, to use for distraction.
Unfortunately, the only ones that came to mind were of a romantic nature, which only succeeded in reminding her of the unfortunate circumstances of her marriage.
Darcy continued to stare at her face and wondered what must be going on in her head for she seemed to be concentrating most diligently. A tear escaped her eyes. He had not done anything yet. Maybe she is prone to crying. I hope she will not turn out like her mother.
Elizabeth felt him grab the bottom of her nightdress and slowly pull the hem up to her waist. How dreadful that this man whom she could not abide was touching her in this way, and yet the slight graze of his hand felt like a searing brand, marking her as his own.
She may have even found some pleasure in Darcy’s unfamiliar touch had he thought to grant the possibility, but he had not.
Then she felt his heavy weight descend upon her as he separated her legs—just as her mother had warned!
She could not tell what Darcy was doing, but she felt pressure betwixt her legs.
He was breathing deeply in her ear. She noticed that he smelt of liquor and wondered if he needed drink as much as she had.
Then there was a sharp pain that almost made her scream out, but she remembered her mother’s warning and she strove to hold in her lamentation, grabbing the sheet under her hands and squeezing the fabric.
She knew that she was no longer Elizabeth Claire Bennet, maiden.
As much as she attempted to divert her attention, she could not leave the moment.
The pain was burning and felt like she had been sliced open, but that was nothing to the mortification that consumed her.
As much as she tried not to cry, the tears would come.
She whimpered as she took in shallow breaths.
His breathing also changed as his exertions began to build.
Through Elizabeth’s pain, she could still tell what he was doing.
She was reminded of what her mother had said about living on a farm.
She remembered the dogs and how they would make the same movement.
How similar men must be to the hound. This idea would give her amusement much later, but for now it simply gave her a disgusted view of man.
The pain was relentless until finally Darcy stiffened and cried out, his breath held.
After a few moments, he rolled off of her and sat up.
She felt the bed lighten as he stood. Elizabeth’s eyes stayed clamped shut as she tried to forget what had just happened.
Then she heard the door open and close, and he was gone.
Darcy had anticipated this night for a long time, having the pleasure of his own wife to take as he desired and needed, but he did not anticipate feeling that something was wanting.
Of course he had heard men speak of the simplicity of going to a brothel compared to their wives.
A courtesan asked for nothing but payment, but a wife would expect favours in return for her own.
What he did not expect was to feel the emptiness that he now experienced.
As soon as he had closed the door he heard her weeping.
Elizabeth had held her crying in while he was in the room, but he could tell that this was traumatic for her and that he had hurt her most decidedly.
Her cries increased, and he almost went back in to check on her, but stopped himself as he placed his hand on the door handle; she would not want him.
It was best for her maid to take care of her.
He stood there a few moments longer listening to see that she recovered.
Elizabeth continued her sobbing for several more minutes, then he heard another woman’s voice, so he left for his room to give her privacy.
Sitting by the fire, he considered the strange dichotomy of lovemaking that left him confused.
Elizabeth’s body felt incredible; she was most definitely a maiden, unblemished, and her body’s grip stimulated me beyond imagining.
How can a man’s intense pleasure, to the point of distraction, cause so much hurt and despair for the woman?
Darcy had tried to be gentle, only touching when necessary, but soon got carried away, unable to hold back.
He had heard of females enjoying the attentions of men, mistresses who fall in love with the men who hire them for pleasure, but could it all be an act, all part of the titillation she offers?
And could it be true that gently born ladies should not experience passion as a man does?
And if this were the case, was her response normal and to be expected from now on, or would she become more accustomed to his visits with time?
Unless she had been exaggerating, the satisfaction of his libidinous desires came at the high price of her unaffected pain and agony on this night.
But even knowing this, if he were aroused again, he would return and do it all over again, just for his own satisfaction.
However, somewhere in his breast, he felt this would be unsuitable.
Yes, she belonged to him as his wife, and yes, he deserved her offerings, but surely he could wait a little longer until she came around.
He was no beast who responded without thought to physical cravings, and he took pride in his self-control.
Darcy would give her time to recover physically and become better acquainted with him as she had requested.
But after that, she must make herself available.