Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (16 page)

It was not signed, but as he owned several works of the artist, Darcy was quite certain that it was done by Gainsborough himself. However, it was one quite unlike that painter’s usual aristocratic portraits and bucolic landscapes.

It was of a wood-nymph. A beautiful nymph, immodestly draped, sitting by a lake. It was not the brushwork that took his notice, but that the nymph bore such a startling resemblance to the form in which Miss Elizabeth Bennet visited his dreams each night. So striking was the resemblance to his unbridled vision, for a moment he could not breathe.

He did not favour the allegorical; indeed, he despised romanticism in art. Was his heart not quite so wounded, undoubtedly he would not have been taken with the desire to purchase it on the spot.

Better judgement prevailed.

However, if propriety did not allow him to hang a six-foot canvas of Elizabeth’s naked twin upon the wall of the Pemberley library, he would do the second-best thing. He strode over to the artist, who only then realized a personage of import had graced his studio and rose in obeisance. With fifty sovereigns, the portrait of the nymph before him, and explicit instructions from the gentleman, the artist achieved a cunning likeness, but one of abbreviated pose and tiny in size. The painter thought the gentleman quite pleased.

When Darcy returned to retrieve the compleated miniature, he purchased that
great canvas also bearing likeness to his beloved, for he could not bear another to look upon what he dreamed of each night. However, he took it not to Pemberley. He had it encased in a wooden crate and transported to the farthest reaches of his London home. There it sat, yet untouched this half-year later.

But as he now had enjoyed the quite singular pleasure of his wife’s true form revealed to him, he knew he would have that wood-nymph returned to Pall Mall. At one time he had thought it quite impossible, but he now understood how truly inadequate the vision cast by his mind’s eye had been.

As dinner hour approached, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy descended the stairs much in the same grand manner as they had taken them hours before. They conversed with their company before the meal was called, Darcy’s closest relatives’ opinion of his new wife obviously not polluted by his aunt, Lady Catherine. Colonel Fitzwilliam had once announced to Elizabeth he thought his aunt a bore, not in so many words, but he said it all the same. He paid respect to his aunt for she was his aunt, just as Darcy had done. Politic and kind, Fitzwilliam was thought of as a dashing-good fellow. Indeed, other than those of a gentleman, he appeared totally without airs.

Fitzwilliam’s older brother was not as convivial, perhaps stricken with the importance of his lately acquired title. Lady Eugenia was less merry than anyone at the table, but in very conscientious attention every time her mother-in-law coughed. One might suppose this dedication fell to her extreme affection. Closer study would reveal it less filial regard than eager anticipation. The sooner the old woman lay toes up, the sooner she would be not only the wife of an earl, but also the Lady of the manor.

It was obvious that Georgiana readily relinquished her position at the head of the Pemberley table to Elizabeth. At this moment, that it relieved Georgiana of her burden was the single inducement that Elizabeth saw in her own ascension to mistress. For Georgiana was timid. Counterpoint to her brother in every way but reserve, she was blonde and ethereal as Darcy was dark and intimidating.

At the dinner table, Miss Darcy was content to be a listener, but in the drawing room, Elizabeth took every opportunity to coax her into conversation. However, Fitzwilliam repeatedly compromised her success. That gentleman was hasty to reclaim the easy friendship they had begun to form when they first met at Rosings Park. He talked to Elizabeth to the point of monopoly. Darcy played his part in this re-enactment of the previous April’s circumstance as well by glowering at Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth the entire time they conversed. So conspicuous was his disapproval, Elizabeth was quite uneasy. She made more progress bidding Georgiana to talk than her brother, and the awkward evening played out with excruciating forbearance on the part of Mr. Darcy’s new wife.

When their guests left for Whitemore and Georgiana retired, the newlyweds took the staircase rather grandly again (perhaps the only way to take such an august set of steps). The Master of Pemberley held his lady’s fingers out and away at shoulder level (the majesty of their assent ever so slightly compromised by Troilus and Cressida scrambling in their wake). Elizabeth only took her husband’s arm when they reached the top of the stairs. His grip upon her was firm, steering her away from the corridor door toward her dressing room and to the one that led to their bed.

With the closing of the door, he put his arms about her. Then, for a long moment, he rested his cheek atop her head.

“It is good to have you home with me,” he said.

Still disquieted by his being so out of humour downstairs, she responded, “If this is so, why do you look so ill upon me in company? You stare as if I offend you in some manner. You have always done thus. ’Tis no wonder I once thought you disliked me.”

“I hold myself to the strongest reproof if my countenance persuaded you of other than my love. For if I gaze intently upon you, it is most certainly not from dislike. Quite the opposite.”

That said, he kissed her neck. Several times. This, whilst he began an undulating search for the pins in her hair. With quiet deliberation, he dropped them one by one to the floor.

“May I undress you?” he bid.

“I feel,” she said, “as though you just did.”

Quite unbeknownst to Elizabeth, a niggling annoyance was turning into a serious vexation for Darcy. Other than having her, he thought of little else.

As a man of considerable self-control, he had perfected
coitus reservatus
to his own particular art form, orchestrating each of his assignations with self-assured precision. With the single woman he cared most to please, his loins refused to await her pleasure. He was unable to muster more restraint than a pubescent schoolboy. And that thought was most abhorrent. It would not do.

By reason of extreme duress (lengthy abstention and obstacle of hymen), he could excuse himself for effusing uncontrollably into her the first time. But not the next, nor the next (nor the next several). The lush confines of her body usurped his wits compleatly. His will was totally lost to her. In retrospect, he reckoned that it had been thus for some time—just not with such graphic delineation.

If his evening’s silence disquieted Elizabeth, that was unfortunate, but it was not without merit. He had found little amusement whatsoever in Fitzwilliam sporting with his husbandly parsimony by monopolising Elizabeth’s conversation. Undoubtedly, his cousin knew he was one of the few men to whom he would allow such a liberty. Though he had stood in mute disapproval allowing Fitzwilliam his little joke, his taciturnity reflected intimate contemplation and a resultant steadfast resolve. For her first night in Pemberley, he would bring Mrs. Darcy to the same rapture she bestowed upon her husband. Anything less was indefensible.

His plan would not await her toilette. It must commence immediately. Undoubtedly, anticipation would seize all discretion.

Hence, the shedding of each layer of clothing betwixt their bodies was done expeditiously. Whilst this disrobing was performed with extraordinary mutual admiration by Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, it was not they alone who benefited. Though not for the same design, Troilus and Cressida did as well. After their garments dropped to the floor in a heap, Cressida scratched them into a compact pile and curled upon them, resting her nose upon her paws. Troilus, however, had no more than situated himself before the last piece of their wardrobe was cast aside, landing upon the dog’s head and disconcerting
him not one whit. He merely unearthed himself and added to their makeshift bed. There, lying in feigned repose, he and Cressida awaited the soft sounds of sleeping. It was only then that they would sneak upon the end of the bed to take their rest.

The dogs, however, were to be disappointed for some time. The master’s bed-mate kept him awake. Conversely, their master kept his bed-mate awake as well.

Undeniably, Darcy was quite fond of his dogs (else they would not have access to his bedchamber). But their interests were not his just then. He held to his simple ambition. Ultimately, patience and Herculean self-control obtained success. Substantial success.

Her arousal burgeoned and thereupon ruptured into an intense convulsion of pleasure that was accentuated by a deep moan that began at the back of her throat and then wafted across the room.

A misfortune, for at this unidentified sound, both Troilus and Cressida commenced to howl. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were so profoundly enthralled within their own pursuit, the dogs’ yowling did not become apparent with any haste. When the dogs’ accompaniment finally overrode their senses, Elizabeth released the grip she had upon her husband’s hair. And (not entirely certain what she just experienced), covered her face in mortification.

“Please,” she implored her husband, still breathing heavily. “Pray, tell me that noise did not all come from me.”

At this enquiry, the steady rise and fall of Darcy’s own shoulders evolved into the jiggling of laughter. After a few moments of collection, Elizabeth rolled over upon her stomach at the edge of the bed, and both gazed at the culprits. Each put out a hand and the dogs, aware they were the exactors of some untoward event, walked hesitantly over for a pat of reassurance. Thus obtained, Troilus thought it was an invitation to join his master and jumped upon the bed.

At this, Darcy said, “I believe some rules of conduct will have to be established.”

He rose and dragged both Troilus and Cressida by their collars across the room (both in claw-scraping reluctance), then unceremoniously shoved them out the door. Elizabeth was not so certain that was the proper remedy.

“Oh Darcy,” she fretted. “They will never forgive me for usurping their place.”

He only smiled in answer to her compassion, but she came to learn he was acting in the best interests of all concerned. For had the dogs not been put out, all of Pemberley would have been kept awake most of the night.

M
r. Darcy’s engagement and wedding had kept him away a full quarter-year from Pemberley. Although it was midwinter and fieldwork was at a minimum, he told
himself it was imperative to ride out and see to things. It was not, of course. The only true obligation of an owner of such a vast estate was not to lose the place gambling.

Darcy knew well that not only were there a hundred men to do his bidding, but his overseer, Mr. Rhymes, was exceedingly reliable. Still, if it was not obligatory for him to tend to things personally, it was essential for his own spiritual well-being. It was a restoration of his soul, if you will. He chose not to be idle and useless. Far too many people depended upon Pemberley for their livelihood, and if their fate rested upon him ultimately, it would be he who took on the responsibility.

Knowing the master would be out forthwith, for he was accustomed to the master’s conscientious habits, a groom had Blackjack saddled early. Yet it was mid-morning when Mr. Darcy bestrode his horse and trod out the gate of the manor house, Troilus and Cressida trailing Blackjack’s hooves.