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Elizabeth reached for her husband’s hand as they climbed the staircase at Netherfield – Pemberley was too far to travel to on their wedding night, and Charles and Jane had been kind enough to offer them a suite for as long as they wanted. They would leave in the morning, knowing that the other newlywed couple was just as eager to enjoy the privacy of their own home as they were, but it was a kind offer nonetheless and exactly the kind of thing she expected from her sister.
Fitzwilliam’s hand felt so perfectly in hers, and Elizabeth still felt a thrill in her heart each time their fingers brushed, let alone curled around each other’s. Even though it was perfectly respectable now, it felt no less exhilarating than when he had helped her out of the carriage all those months ago. But now they were married, and Elizabeth knew that there was so much more ahead of them.
And yet… as excited as she was to explore the new liberties that marriage provided her, there was something uncomfortable about spending one’s wedding night in one’s sister’s house.
“Fitzwilliam…”
He looked over at her, eyes wide with curiosity as they reached the landing. “Yes, my darling?”
“I was thinking…” Elizabeth felt somewhat nervous, though she knew it was foolish. “Perhaps we might postpone any… marital relations until we arrive at Pemberley. I would feel strange… engaging in such behaviour for the first time in my sister’s house.”
“Of course, if that is what you wish,” he answered without hesitation, though a slight frown pulled at his lips. “Is that all?”
“What do you mean?” For a moment, Elizabeth’s heart sank and she worried that she had already disappointed her husband.
He was quiet as they walked the short remaining distance to their bedroom for the night, but once he had closed the door behind them, Darcy turned to face her with earnest eyes, taking her hands in his.
“Elizabeth, we need not rush into the… the physical aspect of marriage if you are feeling any anxiety about it or if you simply do not wish for it at all,” he said, staring into her eyes intently. From his expression, it seemed imperative to him that she understand his sincerity.
She smiled, relieved that he didn’t seem disappointed, and crept a little bit closer to him. “I assure you, I will be most excited for it once we reach Pemberley, and my reticence is only because we are here.”
He smiled, and Elizabeth could swear she saw his shoulders relax in relief.
“Of course,” he said, squeezing her hands, “of course. Would you prefer to sleep in separate rooms tonight then?”
“Not at all!” she answered, pulling her hands from his so that she could wrap her arms around her husband’s chest in a tight hug. “No, I would sleep right beside you tonight.”
“As you wish, my darling,” he agreed, peppering sweet kisses atop her head.
Elizabeth pulled away from him after a moment, crossing the room to where her nightgown had been laid out for her, and took the garment behind a screen that had been set out for privacy. It was a struggle to undo the hooks of her dress by herself, and her arms ached from the strain of twisting to reach behind her. But Elizabeth was nothing if not determined, and after a few minutes and with considerable manoeuvring, she managed to get both her dress and her corset undone. She tugged the nightgown over her head and smoothed it over her body. There was no mirror, but even without it, Elizabeth could see how different this nightgown had looked from her usual one. There was sheer lace about her legs and her bosom, a hint of creamy skin showing through it. She was fairly sure that Fitzwilliam had paid for both this nightgown and her wedding dress, both of which had cost a fair bit more than Elizabeth had expected to spend, but her mother had insisted that they could afford it. She could easily imagine her husband providing the funds in some unassuming way, allowing her mother the freedom to fuss over purchasing the finest things in order to please him. Mrs Bennet had offered no end of advice for things to do to please Elizabeth’s new husband. Shaking aside all thoughts of her mother, Elizabeth stepped out from beside the privacy screen.
Her eyes immediately found Darcy again, who was wearing nightclothes of his own. She tried to suppress the little burst of disappointment she felt – an odd part of her had been hoping that she might still catch a glimpse of his body, which was far more of a secret than hers was to him. Still, she smiled, reaching for him again. Fitzwilliam immediately folded her into his arms, and she was growing quite fond of being held so close. Her head rested against his chest and she could hear his heart beating against her ear.
“May I help you with your hair?” he murmured, pulling back from her a little bit.
“Hmm?” Elizabeth hummed in reply, confused by his question. But then she reached back and felt her hair, still in its elaborately formed knots for the wedding, pearl pins holding it in place. “Oh, I can manage.”
“I meant that I would very much like the honour of assisting you,” he clarified, a blush appearing on his cheeks as though he was embarrassed by the request. “If you are amenable to it, of course.”
“I would be glad for your assistance,” she answered, stretching up on her toes to press a kiss of reassurance to his cheek.
Sinking back on her heels, Elizabeth turned around so her back was to her husband. Barely a moment later, she felt his fingers in her hair, tugging gently on the pearl pins. One by one, brunette ringlets tumbled down her back. Each time one was released, she could feel Fitzwilliam curl it around his finger, and then he would massage the spot where the pin had been, relieving any soreness. Elizabeth let out several soft sighs, too blissful to be embarrassed by the sounds of pleasure. When he had finished letting down each one of her curls, Fitzwilliam bent down and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, his lips lingering over the skin there.
“It might need brushing tonight as well,” she whispered, her voice breathless.
She felt Fitzwilliam smile against her skin. A moment later he was gone, and she frowned at the loss of his warmth against her back. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he had gone over to the dressing table by the wall, finding a fine silver-backed brush there. But instead of walking back to her, Fitzwilliam moved over to the bed.
“Come here,” he beckoned.
Elizabeth heeded his request without hesitation, feeling a pleasant warmth collecting in her belly. He gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed, and she complied, moving backward until her calves rested against the side of the mattress. Fitzwilliam knelt behind her, his knees on either side of her hips, and with slow strokes, he ran the brush gently over strands of her hair. He was careful not to tug too hard, and Elizabeth found herself relaxing into his touch, slowly leaning farther back until her back was resting against his chest. She felt the rumble of his chest as he chuckled behind her.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, turning her head to the side so she could peer at him.
“Rather hard to brush like this,” he answered, fingers playing with a lock of her hair.
“Then don’t.” Elizabeth said, tilting her chin up.
Fitzwilliam obeyed immediately, his free hand coming up to cup the curve of her neck as he pressed his lips to hers. For a moment, his kiss was soft, but he didn’t pull away quickly as he had before, and the prolonged contact ignited something inside Elizabeth, making her long for more. She turned her whole body toward him, pulling her feet up beside her, and reached up to run her fingers through his hair. Fitzwilliam responded eagerly for a moment, but then seemed to collect himself. He pulled away from her, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together.
“Perhaps we should stop kissing if we are to stick to our earlier agreement,” he said, his voice a little unsteady as his chest rose and fell more quickly than normal. Elizabeth was pleased to see that she seemed to affect him as much as he did her.
“Perhaps,” she agreed, though the smile she gave him hinted at mischief and perhaps a desire to change her mind about their earlier agreement. Still, Elizabeth relented, backing away from him just a little.
“Shall we go to sleep?” Fitzwilliam asked, looking towards the pillows at the top of the bed. “We must leave for Pemberley early in the morning.”
“I suppose so.” She glanced toward the pillows as well. “Would you mind terribly if I sleep on this side? It’s only that I slept on the other side at Longbourne and I should hate to feel like I’m sleeping beside my sister…”
“That would not do at all,” he agreed with a most serious expression. “By all means, my love, sleep wherever you like.”
There was an air of mischief in his voice that Elizabeth could not quite account for, so she decided to ignore it for the present and see if her husband’s meaning became more clear in time. She shifted toward the top of the bed and pulled back the blankets, slipping underneath and smiling as Darcy did the same. Without hesitation, they both turned toward each other. Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder, her hand over his heart, and the length of her body pressed against his. Fitzwilliam covered her hand with one of his own, his other arm wrapping around her so that his hand lay at the small of her back, holding her close.
“You’re so warm,” she murmured, snuggling closer to him. She felt him chuckle against her, but it was deeper than before, somehow sleepier.
Fitzwilliam fell asleep first – she could hear his soft snores and feel his arm relax around her waist. Elizabeth adjusted the position of her head on his shoulder, trying to get perfectly comfortable so she could fall asleep as well. She found herself instead musing upon her new relationship and how something – some one – could so immediately feel like home.
She was surprised at how natural it felt to cuddle close to him. Elizabeth had expected that it would take some time to adjust to having a husband, but in truth it felt like a seamless transition. Now, lying in bed next to him, Elizabeth felt that she was always meant to be here, by his side. To be lying beside anyone else would be simply bizarre. She considered it a sign that she had chosen correctly when she decided to marry him, but perhaps it was a sign of something else as well. Perhaps it was a sign that fate had somehow intervened to decide her marriage, to put her in the path of the only man with whom she felt she could ever have fallen so deeply in love.