The names, characters, places and events in this story are products of Jane Austen's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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ELIZABETH BENNET'S WEDDING NIGHT
Elizabeth Bennet sat at the dressing table. Picking up a bottle of French perfume, she delicately placed a few drops onto her wrists and neck. The floral scent pleased her, complementing as it did the smells coming from the rose gardens outside. Breaking out from behind a cloud, a shaft of golden sunlight, the last of the evening, entered the bedroom and fell slantwards across the green and red Turkish rug and onto the bed.
The sunlight drawing her gaze, she looked out through the window. Mr Darcy's bedroom commanded one of the best views at Pemberley. Below lay the formal, ornamental gardens gently leading the eye to broad acres of parkland beyond. Elms, beeches and oaks were dotted about in a manner designed to create a pleasing vista. Mr. Darcy told her that the gardens were laid out by Capability Brown himself some forty years earlier. Still further, fields and woods stretched up to heather covered moor land. In a hollow, tucked behind a large wood which was used for deer hunting, was the village of Pemberley itself. All this land belonged to her husband.
Turning away from the view, Elizabeth congratulated herself. Her husband was one of the wealthiest men in England but that was not what had attracted her. After that ridiculous quarrel over his pride and his prejudices against her family, they had realized each other's true worth and fallen deeply in love. She sighed with contentment. Tonight, she was the happiest woman in England.
Smiling, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her dark chestnut hair was down around her shoulders. Her maid had not long finished brushing it and getting her ready for her new husband's arrival. The girl had given the bride a kiss before leaving.
Elizabeth hoped her husband wouldn't be long. Through the open window she heard laughter and singing from the wedding guests in the great dining room below. It sounded as if the party was still in full swing and she hoped their guests were enjoying themselves.
However, she had left early. Tiptoeing upstairs she had taken a bath and then her maid had worked her arts to make her look so beautiful. Elizabeth knew she was pretty but tonight she looked like a Grecian goddess. Now she wore only a sheer peignoir that clung to every curve on her body, revealing far more than it hid. Like the perfume, it had been imported at great expense from France and was worth every penny.
She crossed over to the four-poster bed. It was a massive thing, at least two hundred years old and heavily carved in the Jacobean style. Curtains hung from beams between the posts. She wondered how many generations of Darcys had been conceived here.
Worry filled her mind. Earlier, in hushed whispers, she had spoken with her older sister, Jane, about what a man expected of a woman on their wedding night. Jane was married to Darcy's friend, Charles Bingley. Jane told her that it could hurt the first time but if a man was gentle and tender it wasn't so bad. And after the first time, it got better. Elizabeth was sure Darcy would be a considerate lover. Even her younger sister, Lydia, who had scandalously eloped with Lieutenant Wickham, through her giggles, told her that she felt so fulfilled when Wickham's -- fullness -- was within her.
Reassured that she would be fine, she felt an unaccustomed butterfly-flutter deep in her stomach. She shifted position. She was nervous, but so looking forward to when her love would join her. Hearing footsteps along the corridor, now approaching the door, she hurriedly recrossed to the dressing table and sat back down. Swiftly, she adjusted the peignoir so it fell away from her breast in a seemingly modest, yet irresistible manner.
There was a knock on the door and then, without waiting for an answer, Mr. Darcy stepped into the bedroom. Quietly, he shut the door behind him. Immediately, the flutters in her stomach became so much stronger. He was so tall and handsome. He had just washed his face and droplets of water clung to his hair. With one hand he swept back his hair and smiled, his dark eyes lighting up with pleasure at sight of her. In the evening's twilight his white linen shirt stood out as white as his teeth. With three strides, he crossed the room and swept her up into his strong arms. Her peignoir fell away, and Darcy growled with pleasure.
Their lips met and they kissed, deeply and passionately, their need for each other filling their minds. His arms held her tightly, as close as if they were joined as one, which they would truly be shortly. They kissed again, Elizabeth gazing up with adoration into his brown, expressive eyes. Her hands sought his shirt and she tugged it out from his breeches. Understanding her intention, Darcy broke away for a moment and dragged the shirt off, carelessly tossing it away. Then his hands took her peignoir and dropped it from her shoulders where it fell down around her ankles in little wavelets of silk. She stood there naked before him like Venus rising from the waves.
