Darcy & Elizabeth (6 page)

Connubial Contemplation

Elizabeth Darcy was quite unaware of the many unprecedented dilemmas her husband carried with him as he engaged in his duties within and without Pemberley, as she was weathering internal disharmonies of her own.

Having to nurse both hungry infants round the clock was no small bother either upon Elizabeth's time or vigour. But even so weary a difficulty as this had its merits, for it had relieved her of one potentially sticky dilemma.

Although Mrs. Bennet was still in deep mourning at Longbourn, she issued ultimatums to Elizabeth via the post. History should have suggested to Mrs. Bennet that issuing such demands to her second oldest daughter was altogether futile, but she had not heeded that lesson. Mrs. Bennet knew from Lizzy's previous pregnancy that she eschewed the notion of a wet-nurse. Mrs. Bennet, however, insisted (adamantly, even vociferously) that decorum demanded that her grandchildren have that service. It was no surprise that sweet, compliant Jane bowed to her mother's wishes, and Lydia needed no prodding to give up any duty which supplied her no diversion, but Mrs. Bennet was most unhappy not to have that success with Elizabeth. If ever was the time, now Elizabeth must yield to her motherly advice, hence she wrote, “The very success of your marriage is at stake.”

Medical advice, tales of abuse, or common sense could not sway Mrs. Bennet from her belief that a wet-nurse was mandatory. Were her grounds for this directive not well-founded? It was a proven fact that a woman could not possibly carry out her marital duty with a baby at her breast and if she could, excitement of a carnal nature spoilt a nursing mother's milk. Elizabeth may have birthed a son and therefore a Pemberley heir, but Mrs. Bennet knew having merely one was insufficient. Statistics were exceedingly unfavourable. It was far too likely that a baby would not live to see his first birthday. Some alarmists said only one in three would survive. (Although Mrs. Bennet had five who lived, they were all daughters and therefore unfit for numerical consideration.) An auxiliary son was imperative. Mr. Darcy had Mr. Bingley's money ten-fold. It was essential that the effervescence of Mr. Darcy's voluptuous fondness not be denied. Dear Lizzy must not waste a single fertile moment. No good came from nursing. It endangered the babe in her arms and denied further generation.

Indeed, Mrs. Bennet was unyielding on this point.

Elizabeth, unfortunately, was equally unyielding and as she was out from beneath her mother's eye, did what she pleased. She had initially refused on principle to turn either infant over to another woman to suckle. It was a proprietary issue. Little though she relished a contest of wills with her mother, Elizabeth's overabundance of mettle suggested that if it came to that, she would. However, after a rigorous birth, she was slow to regain her strength and as a result her milk supply was a bit paltry—enough perchance for one hungry mouth, but not two. Necessity regrettably demanded the employment of a wet-nurse. In the end, the birth of twins rendered the disagreement moot. Elizabeth did not give up her nursing duties—she shared them with squat, bounteous-breasted Mrs. Littlepage. (Mrs. Bennet would have been unhappy she suckled them at all.) As in most disputes where both were sides are left equally unhappy, this incident could be viewed as a draw.

Mrs. Darcy may have settled that discord without undue privation, but upon other fronts she was not so fortunate. Her mother was unconditionally oblivious to the passionate nature of the Darcys' marriage. Had she been witting, she would not have worried that Elizabeth would forsake her nuptial bed. Elizabeth Darcy was certainly not disinclined to disport amorously whether she was nursing or not. As determined a mother as Lizzy was and as complicated as the manoeuvrings of twins were, she was determined nothing would interfere with the physical love she shared with her husband. She believed it a cruel evil to have to sacrifice one joy on behalf of the other.

However dedicated were her intentions, upon this vow she had been badly thwarted by practicality. Although Mr. Darcy had afforded her great affection atop the covers, with babies and nurses about, there had been little opportunity to creep beneath them. Indeed, what encounters they had managed had been somewhat furtive and not altogether rewarding. After the absolute fiasco to which she had subjected her dear husband in the glen, she wondered if he would be permanently affrighted from attempting to scale those lofty summits their passion had reached in unions past. She prayed not.

Hence, it took all her concentration not to allow her mind to wander from those mothering arts, for if her thoughts drifted, their destination was not always to those many blessings she enjoyed, but to the single one she did not. In this instance, however, this preoccupation was not the usual penchant by the well-recompensed to long for that which they are denied. Intimate nuzzlings and erotic delights were most noteworthy omissions.

Mr. Darcy did continue to inquire after her health with cordial persistence, and with equal determination, Mrs. Darcy continued to deny that Mrs. Darcy's nether-regions had not been so anxious for marital rites as her libido. He, however, remained either unconvinced or uninterested. She had gone so far as to make certain that Mr. Darcy did not discover that the waddle she had not experienced since her honeymoon had once again afflicted her gait. (Upon that occasion she learned that time, and repetition, would heal all injury.) But he made no request (by word or action) to engage in those acts that had once been an integral portion of their love. She should have been miffed. As it was, her anticipation of renewing that very laudable part of their marriage was both barely containable and singly troubling.

The rapture with which he blessed her was not what gave her pause. It was, indeed, the perfervid road thither.

***

From the very beginning, Darcy had been the most tender of lovers. He not only took his pleasure, but was generous in granting hers. He was impassioned, seductive, sensual, and romantic. (Just thinking of it gave her a voltaic frisson down her back that entered her innermost recesses.) But although their romantic idylls were many and their methods varied, within the tenacious Mr. Darcy dwelled an unsparing meticulousness that demanded he do nothing in a cursory manner. That could be an unparalleled gift when it came to the art of sexual congress. However, much like his lovemaking, inspection of her would also be thorough. No demure lifting of the hem of her night-dress would suit his leanings.

Therein was her conundrum.

Although his adoration of her naked form knew no bounds in times past, he had yet to gaze upon her fully undraped shape now that she had carried and birthed twins. Indeed, her confinement had abused her figure so unmercifully that she had been loath to do more than take a quick peek at herself in the looking-glass. Not only was she more than a small part plump, there were horrid red claw marks striating upward on her belly. Those scars were quite evident because her stomach hung from her frame like an empty sack of salt. Elizabeth was far less vain than the average handsome woman, but she was appalled at the notion of her husband looking upon her figure in its present state. If she looked upon it with repugnance, she could not bear to imagine his reaction.

It was against her nature to admit to miscalculations, but hindsight suggested that it had been a misjudgement to have instigated marital relations so hastily
and
indulged the dual insult to her nether-regions by beguiling him to their tryst astride a horse. Ultimately, the only shrewdness involved had been that the method she had chosen for that seduction involved the open air and thus a minimum removal of garb. Indeed, although the outcome had distressed him to no end, her method did accomplish one important goal—physical congress was achieved without him catching sight of much skin.

The more that she thought of it, the more she considered their interrupted encore a blessing. If things had proceeded in the same fashion as they had begun, it was likely nothing of her newly disfigured form would have been left to his imagination. The recollection sent Elizabeth into heart palpitations of a sort that she had not felt since her wedding night—but now of an entirely different nature. Her current anxiety stemmed not from anticipating the mysteries of connubial pleasures, but from the enlightenment. She knew what immeasurable rapture they beheld.

So vivid was the recollection of his hand as it stroked the inside of her thigh, she was incited to reach for her fan. She did so reflexively, her hand absently searching the chair cushion until she found it by its tassel. She unfurled it, and began to flutter it demurely. The recollection of his touch soon gave way to one that she had not seen for far too long—Darcy in all his naked glory. Hence, she began to flap her fan with greater and greater abandon—but to little avail. Once she began to visit her most intimate memories, they quite overran her thoughts.

***

Although of late he had taken to wearing a night-shirt and she her night-dress, there was a time when they both were given to sleeping naked as the day they were born. That penchant had been established upon the first morning of their marriage. As it happened, the servants had slipped into the Darcys' bedchamber early to light the fires and open the drapes. She had been mortified for it to be exposed to the household that their new mistress had taken her night so immodestly. Thenceforward, Darcy had gallantly undertaken the chore of opening the drapes each morning. That served the dual purpose not only of sparing her embarrassment, but also assuring the continuation of their eschewing night-wear. (Evidently, he had transgressed generations of morning ritual in telling the servants never to intrude into their bedchamber unless the bell-cord was pulled.) Although they had not spoken a word of it between them, she had come to consider his assuming this duty as nothing less than a personal gift. Had he known of her feelings, he might have believed her gratitude was simply for his protecting her modesty before the servants. But it was not.

As it happened, when she would feel him leave their bed and walk to the windows each morning, she had not been above feigning sleep to peek at his naked figure. The sight of his broad back, sinewy limbs, and firm buttocks had been a voluptuous thrill that she never tired of viewing. Initially she had suffered a mild attack of panic when he turned about and sauntered back to the bed—torn whether to shut her eyes and continue the subterfuge of sleep or enjoy the pleasure of observing the more fascinating vision he presented as he walked towards her. (The first occasion upon which she had done so had been a small mortification in that it was probable that her gaze was not once cast upon his countenance.) Observing his various appendages swaying gracefully as he strode in her direction caused her heart to palpitate wildly. Initially, she had told herself that spying was merely investigative. Having only sisters and no brothers, she had absolutely no familiarity with the male of the species. As to why she continued to gaze upon him long after she was acquainted with every inch of his body was a matter that she saw no reason to question.

When the weather was warm, he returned to their bed and drew the bed-clothes from her and awakened her from her pretended sleep by kissing her shoulders. Chilly days began much the same, but rather than remove the bed-clothes, he leapt beneath them to warm his cold feet against hers. With the same regularity that gifted her with his icy feet, she would protest—and he would pretend innocence. Playfulness often led to amatory embraces, but either way their mornings began, they commenced with some constancy.

At nightfall, a far different course was taken.

In the night, their pleasure was a sensual indulgence—lit by candles. Indeed, one candle was not enough. From their very first nights together, he insisted upon a twelve-pronged candelabrum—one that emitted more light than a blazing fireplace. But most unnerving to her, he had taken a single candle from its pricket, and with his soft palm guiding the path, drew it thither, illuminating the length of her reclining figure. It was an audaciously sensual act—an eroticism that did not diminish in repetition.

Not surprisingly, her modesty initially had forbid compleat surrender to his inspection. She smiled to herself when recalling that first intimate perusal; for initially she was not altogether obliging—modesty bid her draw the counterpane across her bosom and up to her chin. But he was mindful of her misgivings and encouraged her with gentle insistence, beguiling her from beneath her cover whilst whispering words of adulation—words which encouraged her to believe herself to be nothing less than his heart's perfection. So often had he gazed upon her and extolled every inch of her form, her inhibitions had ceased to trouble her. Indeed, it was remarkable with what abandon a woman could indulge when convinced of her own desirability.

Perhaps her husband understood that (it would be her guess that he did). What she did know was that when the candle was returned to its stand, pleasures of remarkable passion ensued—and hers very nearly eclipsed his. In due time, she was not merely the recipient, but a collaborator. When he drew himself to her, both were in such a state of quivering desire that she wrapped her limbs about him with a ferocity that matched his own. Their initial heat would find an urgent rhythm—purposeful and fierce. It was such sweet delirium that it was difficult to want to surrender to release.

The scent of his manliness, the sensation of him within her, were enrapturing. But for her, the apex was not her own ultimate pleasure. Rather, it was the Elysian moment of his. To feel the rush of his seed as it washed through her was the ultimate bliss.

Contemplating their mingled effluences bid her fan flutter even more briskly, but only for a brief time. For her thoughts soon quit those past raptures and returned to her present apprehension. At times her innate mettle suppressed such dread as to be absurd. But then she would catch sight of herself in one of the many mirrors that she seemed unable to avoid, and be reminded of the one that lay beneath their bed. The very mirror that they had once employed for their own titillation had never been removed. It occurred to her that an amatory device such as that might not ever again be a temptation—her figure's alteration had been far too severe.