Not even when purchasing the filmy nightgowns and robes for after her marriage—at the insistence of her aunt—had she dwelt upon his reaction to seeing them on her. “Such garments are not designed to be worn for long,” her aunt had quipped, causing both Lizzy and Jane to blush furiously. All five of the hastily selected, delicate and lacy sets were packed away, out of sight. Lizzy hadn’t braved looking at them again.
Suddenly, Lizzy heard her aunt’s words from just a few hours ago, but with another application.
“… the pressing issue at hand is creating an environment of ease … If the remotest reference to intimacy brings on blushes and stammering, how will you ever communicate openly with your husbands?”
The concept did not apply only to verbal communication, she now saw. She must learn to overcome her modesty, to be open, at ease, and unafraid when exposing her body to her husband. If she blushed at the very idea of wearing a semi-revealing gown, would paralysis ensue when he asked to see her naked? Or worse, would she do something utterly stupid, like run from the room?
Vexed at herself for being such a ninny, Lizzy released her arm and peeled the robe off her shoulders. Seconds later, the nightgown lay on the floor, and there she was, naked as the day she was born. Forcefully tamping the hesitancy and lingering twinges of embarrassment, she assessed the familiar figure reflected in the glass from the perspective of the man who loved her.
An episode from some two years ago came to mind.
One afternoon she and her sisters were sitting in the Longbourn parlor, each attending to a task of some kind, while their mother hummed a soft tune as she sewed. Mary was reading the Bible, and at one point asked, “Mama, what does Solomon mean by saying her ‘two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.’?”
Mrs. Bennet nearly suffered apoplexy on the spot! Not attempting to answer, she snatched the book from Mary’s hands and forbade her from reading the Song of Solomon. This reaction only confused poor Mary, made Jane blush, and Lizzy stifle giggles, but Lydia instantly perked up. For probably the first time in ages, she’d grabbed another Bible off the shelf and scoured the poetic book of romance for anything remotely sexual, which she then recited for the whole room. Kitty was swiftly caught up in the frenzy, although she probably didn’t understand most of the language and meaning. Their poor mother retreated to her bedroom, not seen for the rest of the day.
Mrs. Bennet’s overreaction to a simple fact of life made the situation far worse, not that this was unusual when uncomfortable topics came up. Lydia and Kitty soon grew tired of the game, but Lizzy had been left intrigued. Rereading the Song of Solomon—done privately later that night—with more mature eyes was enlightening. Without a doubt, God intended for men and women to delight in each other, in every way, with the visual certainly being an important aspect. For a young woman nearing nineteen, this wasn’t a major epiphany, of course. No matter how innocent one is, recognizing a handsome man and presenting oneself in an attractive light are as natural as breathing, even if not taken all that seriously most of the time.
As the memory and subsequent ruminating filtered through her mind, Lizzy continued to study her reflection. Then she lifted her arms over her head, twirled around a time or two, bent at the waist to touch her toes, and performed a few dance steps and other such freeing movements. Primarily, her goal was to grow comfortable being unclothed. If she could watch herself, knowing she was far more critical of her flaws than William would be, then perhaps the transition to exposing her body to him would be easier.
It was amazingly liberating! Laughing aloud, she continued the experiment while imagining William in the room. Her husband, sitting on the chair and laughing at her antics, lying on the bed watching with his intensely passionate gaze, and then standing near her. His handsome face, his gentle hands, his soft lips—even his velvety tongue—were distinctly imagined.
With every illusionary touch, caress, and kiss, her excitement increased. The visions escalated, enhanced by the vividly remembered incidents of being held tightly in his embrace, firm chest muscles pressing against her breasts, and him cupping her buttocks to draw her against the steely length of his arousal. The picture remained somewhat hazy, as her knowledge was not complete enough to fabricate an unclothed version of him. What her ingenuity could create, however, was sufficient to ignite her passion.
Lizzy never knew how long she stood still with eyes closed and arms crossed over sensitized breasts. The sizzling of the candle flame as it hit the melted wax, seconds before extinguishing, broke the spell. The room was cold, goose pimples had risen on her arms, and she shivered.
Yet her tremors were not from the cold. Inside, she was on fire, alive with sensations evoked by the fantasy dance with her lover. She was lightheaded from panting breaths and rapid heartbeats, and her loins ached excruciatingly in a way she’d never experienced. She felt exhilarated and empty at the same time.
In a daze, she donned her gown and crawled between the cold sheets. She fell asleep almost immediately, slipping into a dream of William. Interestingly, her subconscious miraculously filled in the blanks her conscious mind could not. This dream—the first of many more to come—was incredibly detailed, realistic, and most decidedly erotic. It was, by far, the best dream of Elizabeth Bennet’s entire life, and she woke the next morning astoundingly refreshed.
5
Aristocratic Reception
Lord Matlock agreed to meet with his nephew at noon. The earl’s response to Darcy’s request had given no hint as to his frame of mind. Despite the lack of positivity, Darcy wasn’t worried about the eventual outcome.
All that he and Colonel Fitzwilliam had discussed regarding Lord Matlock’s character—the fondness for his nephew, abiding affection for the late James Darcy, and keen awareness of Lady Catherine’s acerbity—was accurate. Lord Matlock was quite formal and not overtly affectionate, as was Lady Matlock, so Darcy could not claim to possess a deeply personal relationship with his uncle. Nevertheless, he trusted the older man’s wisdom and decency would overrule his adherence to social status and protocol. More importantly, he believed in Elizabeth Bennet’s ability to charm and impress.
While sure of these facts and confident that they, as a family, would arrive at a place of accord, he was firm on other truths as well.
Darcy had asked for this audience with his uncle, yes, but not out of fear or weakness. In reality, if not for the earl’s divisive sibling, Darcy would not have been having a discussion with his uncle about Elizabeth. Lord Matlock was the one who somehow deemed it within his purview to evaluate Darcy’s choice of wife, pass judgment, and bestow his approval. It was an authority Darcy unequivocally did not grant him. Frankly, the presumption made his blood boil.
Lord Matlock’s invitation, or “subpoena” as Richard had half-jokingly called it, forced Darcy to enter a conversation he found abhorrent. He will defend Elizabeth to the death if need be, of that there was no question. The problem with this defensive situation was that the woman he loved—a virtuous, honorable woman of strength and intelligence—was under a vicious, unwarranted attack. It was grossly unfair, yet rather than enjoy familial support, Darcy had to counter poisonous lies, explain his heart, reaffirm his mental acuity and independence, and who knew what else.
Being on the defense, as opposed to the offense, was not an acceptable position for Darcy of Pemberley. Not ever.
With all of this at the forefront of his mind, Darcy followed the butler into the library where Lord Matlock sat in a leather chair close to the fire. A low table was already laden with a tray, upon which sat a glass decanter and one glass. The other glass was in the earl’s hand, half-filled with liquor, and used to indicate the identical chair across from the table as he said by way of greeting, “Have a seat, William. Help yourself to the brandy, or, if you wish, Mr. Willis can fetch something else.”
“Brandy is fine, thank you, my lord.” He sat in the chair, pouring a glass and taking a sip before meeting his uncle’s unreadable eyes.
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For a full minute neither spoke, assessing the other in silence instead. Finally, Lord Matlock smiled, albeit somewhat grimly. “I see how it is to be then. I expected as much. You may not realize how similar you are to your father. I rarely won an argument with James, especially if his dander was up.” He paused, but when Darcy merely took another sip, he continued, “Lower your guard and smooth the hackles, Nephew. I’ve known Lady Catherine far longer than you have. Trust me when I tell you I could share stories that would curl even your hair.”
“My father shared a few,” Darcy offered when his uncle once again paused. “Yet here I am, the one on trial, so it seems.”
“Dramatic like James too. Or worse, like your Uncle George.” Lord Matlock grunted. “You aren’t on trial, for heaven’s sake!”
“Is Miss Bennet?”
Lord Matlock returned Darcy’s harsh glare. “William, I cannot fault your loyalty to Miss Bennet. This is admirable and as it should be if you marry her.”
“If? There is no if about it, my lord.”
“I know you are a mature, capable man. Never have I doubted your sense or worried over your choices in life. These facts, along with Richard’s assurances, go far in easing my mind regarding Miss Bennet.”
“I suspect a caveat is coming,” Darcy interjected, aware of his rising irritation and gruff tone. “And I reiterate my objection, strenuously, over the use of a subjunctive word. Miss Bennet and I will marry within a month.”
Sighing, Lord Matlock relaxed his face and softened his tone. “You are a man of honor, Darcy, and I applaud this. You are also a man of rational sense. Logically, you must know you would not be the first man to fall prey to a pretty face. Men, since the dawn of time, have lost their heads when love, or more typically lust, clouds their judgment. And I know you will fume to hear it, but women down through the ages have used their charms to manipulate rich men. Huff at me all you want. It’s still the truth.”
To his surprise as much as Lord Matlock’s, Darcy began to chuckle. Ah, the ridiculousness of Elizabeth’s marrying him for his wealth!
“Allow me to set the record straight on any rumors or assumptions regarding both of those statements.” He leaned forward to emphasize the seriousness of what he was about to demand. “May I first have your promise, as a peer of the realm, that the words spoken today stay between us?”
As anticipated, the earl bristled at having his honor questioned, his face hardening and spine stiffening. Since Darcy’s honor being questioned was what led to this absurd circumstance and conversation, his stare was intense and unrelenting.
“You have my promise, of course,” Lord Matlock agreed tersely.
Darcy acknowledged this with a quick bob of his head and then sat back in his chair. “Miss Bennet and I met last fall, and to be blunt, she despised me. My first opinion of her physical appearance, as told to Mr. Bingley, was less than savory. I’d rather leave it at that.”
Revisiting his harsh, ungentlemanly words was painful, even in an obscure reference. Swallowing a gulp of brandy, he went on, “My opinion changed over time, after my comprehension of Miss Bennet’s intelligence, personality, and character. I fully understand now that I had fallen in love with her, but I denied the sentiments and left Hertfordshire. Forward to this spring and unable to forget her, I traveled to Rosings for the express purpose of proposing marriage.”
Lost to terrible memories, Darcy stared into the glass, absently swirling the rich caramel-colored liquid. Inhaling, he mentally shook off his preoccupation with the past.
“She refused me. Quite vehemently, I must add. I was, and I quote, the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry. Hardly the actions of a female using charms to manipulate a rich man. To this day, and I mean that literally, Elizabeth refuses to accept a single pence from me. Not one present either, other than her engagement rings. Trust me, your worries over Miss Bennet’s motives, and my judgment, are unfounded.”
Lord Matlock was gazing at him in wonder as if a light shone within his mind. “Is this why you were acting bizarre all summer?”
Wincing, Darcy nodded.
“Lady Matlock was deeply concerned. In fact, I now recall she speculated if a woman was involved. I disregarded the notion. It seemed incredible to me that any woman would refuse you, or that you had entertained a lady since we heard nothing of it. I see now how wrong I was. Frankly, knowing how James felt for my sister, I should have suspected it possible for you.”
Speculative silence fell for a time. Darcy waited, not sure what else to say. If those were his uncle’s two main concerns, then he had clarified the issue, and they had nothing more to discuss. It would suit Darcy just fine not to talk about Lady Catherine or the swirling rumors. The private matters he had just divulged crossed a line he was already uncomfortable with. The thought of delving further made his skin crawl. Alas, dashed were his fervent hopes of a closed topic seconds later.
“While my curiosity remains as to how Miss Bennet went from hating you to accepting the second proposal, I know you well enough to conclude it shall stay a mystery.”
When Darcy ignored his uncle’s pleading expression, the earl laughed resignedly.
“As I thought. Very well then. I am appeased that your relationship with Miss Bennet is genuine. Perhaps this will surprise you, William, but this troubled me more than the rest. I want you to know”—the earl shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, eyes sliding away from Darcy’s face to focus on the fire—“that my affection for you is also genuine. In large part due to James, who was a brother to me, but equally because of who you are…as a person. When James…died, I keenly felt it was my duty to…I guess watch over you is the best way to put it. Be a mentor or guide or perhaps simply a respected friend—whatever else you needed from me. You see, your happiness and well-being, and Georgiana’s, are of paramount importance to me…to us. Your aunt’s sentiments are as intense. As she delights in pointing out to me, she is far better at expressing them.”
Of that there can be no argument, Darcy thought as he felt his lips twitch in a fight not to smile or laugh. His uncle’s commentary, mumbled at points and laced with contemplative lulls, was as amusing as it was informative.
As a startling aside, amid this supremely bizarre and awkward discourse, was Darcy’s epiphany that he was like his uncle in many personality traits. He always presumed his aloof, introverted attributes—alien to both his parents—were inherited from his grandfather. Now he gleaned that the genesis likely filtered down from both sides of his family. A double punch!
“I said all of that drivel, badly as it was delivered,” Lord Matlock continued in a firmer tone, “was an effort to convey that while I freely admit my choice for you would be a lady of elevated station, wealth, education, and so on, I do not discount the importance of affection. Love, that sentiment lacking in most marriages, is the best formula for success.”
Lifting his glass in a casual toast, which Darcy returned, the earl tossed back the last swallow. Looking at the glass and then the decanter, he hesitated. Then, mumbling “What the hell,” he poured a generous amount into the empty glass, topping off Darcy’s right after.
“For that reason, I never gave my full approval to Catherine concerning you and Anne. In fact, you may not know this, but I agreed with James when, long ago, she first brought up the idea of a union. God, I think you two were still in diapers!” He laughed wistfully. “I remember James laughing, almost hysterically. Then he realized she was deadly serious, even wanting documents drawn up. I’d rarely seen James so angry. Your poor mother was trying to play peacemaker between sister and husband, with no luck, so I stepped in. Forcefully. It was months, maybe a year and a bit, since inheriting my title, so I didn’t carry much clout in her eyes. She did let the matter drop though, for years.” He shrugged, then his eyes widened. “Come to think of it, Sir Lewis was there! He always could handle Catherine in ways we never comprehended. Ha! Yes, that must have been it.”
“Than
ks for whatever persuasion you, Sir Lewis, and my father managed at that time. Unfortunately, she did not let the topic drop forever.”
“Indeed. Which is why we are sitting here, isn’t it?” Lord Matlock directed his authoritative gaze toward Darcy, once again all business. When Darcy did not answer, the earl resumed. “I am pleased you have found a woman who loves you, William. I do not have tremendous issue with her modest means, informal education, and whatever social skills and status she lacks. I trust you, and Richard as well. Additionally, I know very well what my sister is trying to do. The truth is, her verbiage in describing Miss Bennet was too outrageous. No one as awful as she depicted could have ensnared someone like you, not even with the aid of a gypsy or druid witch. Keep the lie simple is a principle Catherine never understood.”
Darcy smiled at his uncle’s dry humor, although his words were a reminder of the gossip disseminating around town, all thanks to his aunt. Speaking from the heart, he said, “You will see the truth tonight, my lord, and readily give your blessing. Of that, I have no doubt whatsoever. My only serious concerns are the damage Lady Catherine has caused. As we sit here, these lies are bandied about, taking hold and enhanced as gossip inevitably is. Because of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my future wife, the woman who will soon be Mrs. Darcy, the Mistress of Pemberley, is having her name sullied. The darkening of the name Darcy is occurring in the process. But honestly of the deepest distress to me, is that Miss Bennet is right now in the shops of London where she could easily be subjected to ridicule or overhear these heinous whispers.”
Lord Matlock was frowning, his countenance troubled. “What are you talking about?”
Surprised, Darcy answered with a question of his own, “Did not Richard tell you of the gossip?”
“He made a vague reference or two, yes, mixed in with his usual jesting. I recall a mention of my sister. Perhaps I should have paid closer heed to my son’s news, but I admit to being focused on Catherine’s alarmist letters. Tell me what he failed to report.”