Darcy & Elizabeth (4 page)

Seduction of the Willing

It was pleasantly warm for so early in the day and the sun had by then worn away the morning dew. Therefore, lying in the grass beneath a small stand of trees, wearing no more than a knee-length linen smock, Mrs. Darcy had no complaint of the air or the damp. Indeed, well above a month after the rigours of childbirth, Elizabeth could not think of a single obstacle to mar the exquisiteness of the moment. She was quite happy to resituate the pair of breeches that she had rolled into makeshift pillow and bask in what was a supreme contentment. She looked lazily up through the swaying branches of a particularly handsome specimen of Spanish chestnut. After a moment, she became aware of an intermittent glare caused by sunlight playing peek-a-boo through the leaves. It bid her use the back of her hand as a shield. She closed one eye and covered the other with her right hand, first widening and then narrowing her fingers to create a sort of simplistic kaleidoscope. Only then did she realise that she had been humming.

“Darcy,” said she.

“Mmmm,” he replied.

There was nothing that she was actually in want of inquiring of him. She simply sought reassurance that he had not fallen asleep. His response suggested that had he not been actually dozing off, it had been a contemplation.

It had been within the first few months of her marriage that she had come to understand that amorous congress begged sleep of her husband. As well-intentioned and considerate a lover as he was, she chose to believe that need to be a masculine inevitability quite beyond his regulation rather than to claim it as an insult against her company. Moreover, as his drowsiness came upon the heels of his rendering her unto the throes of exhilarating rapture, she thought it only fitting that she conceded him a rest. Occasionally, however, either playfulness or caprice would provoke her to rouse him.

This day she did not feel particularly impish, but she had just been the grateful recipient of those extraordinary attentions that turn up the corners of a woman's mouth and she was still feeling its after-glow. Her spirits in high flutter, she could not quite allow herself to leave him in peace. Perchance that was because their voluptuous connection had been over almost before it began. She could not fault their ardour for being so inflamed, for their separation had been so lengthy that their anticipation was excited beyond all reason. Regardless, she could not quite surrender to that male proclivity for post-coital sleep with magnanimity when it countered her own predisposition so decidedly. Thus, she eyed him closely to determine if it might be necessary to call his name again.

They had come to this coppice by her design. She admitted freely that she had nothing less in mind than an outright seduction (if, indeed, a person quite willing to be taken advantage of could consider himself seduced). Although it was she who lured him, by the time they arrived, just who was the governor of whose libido was unclear.

The spot was idyllic for a tryst. It had been a favourite destination upon languid afternoons as she and Darcy rode stirrup to stirrup across the vast park that surrounded Pemberley. It was not unusual for them to dismount in this particularly secluded dale, for the surrounding trees with low-hanging limbs afforded ample privacy. Although the very act of turning in that direction made it a given that they would linger, the precise cue would be when she let go her reins and began to remove the pins that anchored her hat. He would throw one long leg over the pommel of his saddle and drop to the ground, then, with gentlemanly care, allow her to slide from her horse into his outstretched arms. She could not be certain (and knew it to be unlikely, even chimerical to think it), but she hoped it was upon one of these rendezvous that she had been brought with child.

She had not ridden a horse since giving birth, but she thought it only fitting that she and Darcy revisit this bucolic (perhaps historical) setting to sate those passionate longings that had been forced by nature and happenstance into frustration. He had been so adamant that she keep to her room if not her bed, to greet him on horseback was the most conspicuous announcement that she could devise to prove to him her nether-regions were quite willing and able for a turn of another kind as well.

It had been a long, arduous trek to regain some semblance of normalcy. The single obstacle in his return to her side being the most rhapsodic moment of her life was the unhappy mischance that it occurred at the very culmination of her lying-in. Of life's many travails, few left one's appearance more compromised than childbirth. It may have been an abominable conceit to be concerned for such a triviality, but she knew that her ordeal left her more than a mite dishevelled. She had dreamt and meditated on every possible aspect of their reunion, but no scenario included her looking a fright. It was, she supposed, to her great fortune she had the two most beautiful infants ever born to mankind to distract him from her lack of comeliness.

Although the very sight of him inflamed her passionate regard most decidedly, she had been so weak the notion of libidinous commingling was not entertained. In the next few weeks as her strength returned, her emotions flew about quite without regulation. One day it was all she could do not to leap upon her husband's virile figure and smother him with her wifely inclinations, the next she was full of nothing but motherly devotion. There was no greater indication of her changeability than her initial impetuous promise never to allow either child to leave her side. Ere long, sleep deprivation drove her to reconsider. The thought of time with her husband unattended by infant or nurse had not been the driving force behind this alteration, but it was an unintended windfall. Or at least should have been. For a shared bed, in cases such as these, did not promise connubial reward—particularly when one occupant not only slept intermittently but was so wretchedly sore that the very thought of physical congress was abhorrent.

Initially, so intense were her maternal inclinations that she feared they might compleatly usurp her womanly ones. In due time, as her body healed, so did her sensibilities. She began to take notice of her handsome husband lying beside her each night and watch with admiration as he arose from their bed each morn. He kissed her quite soundly, but made no other attempt at intimacy. To forgo more than affectionate nuzzling was becoming increasingly difficult. As was to be expected, time influenced maternal affection and marital ardour to find harmony within her increasingly lustful breast. Ever more frequently she had found herself gazing lovingly down at her infants only to have her thoughts invaded by recollection of those amorous acts from which they were created. She had begun to recall those deeds with unsettling regularity. But with the same unsettling regularity, her husband kissed her upon the forehead and bid her goodnight, seemingly unaware of the hand that she shamelessly allowed to linger upon his person. If he did not take a hint, she concluded that it was necessary that she make an overture that could not be misunderstood.

This was precisely the course that brought them to be lying side by side in the middle of a glen in the middle of the morning—in decided
déshabillé
.

For all her mooning and dreaming of how she might lure him, the specifics had all been done quite on impulse. Had she given it more thought, it was doubtful she would have kept her nerve long enough to come to him beneath the window wearing a riding habit that included a pair of
his
breeches that she had pilfered from his garderobe. They were a pair of knee-pants, hence the length suited her but she had fashioned a belt about the waist to keep them up. She had little defence for choosing such attire (she did not admit to the desire to astonish him) beyond that it enabled her to sit not side-saddle, but astride Boots. If one were to race, a better seat was imperative. And it was a race that she sought both to engage in and to win. But to lure him, she had to catch him unawares. Hence, not long after dawn one morning she came below the window of their bedchamber. He was used to her arising at odd hours to tend to the babies whilst he still lay fast asleep. She had attempted to awaken him by employing a little-used whistle, but it was so feeble she had to resort to calling out to actually awaken him.

Answering her call, he came onto the balcony (she thought he looked quite fetching with mussed hair and sleep still in his eyes) but when he saw her there on Boots and leading Blackjack, he did not hesitate. Dressing was the work of but a moment. He leapt upon Blackjack and was after her in a flash. She knew that she took unfair advantage by not waiting for him to mount, but she cared little, for it had been her design all along to lead him to the bucolic shelter of trees that had played host to past pleasures. It was an ideal location to renew those ministrations that had been the glory of their marriage.

Under no other circumstances would she have capitulated a race. Upon this occasion, however, she allowed him to overtake her. If she had any misgivings having employed such a ruse, they were then compleatly soothed. It had been an altogether divine—if far too abbreviated—union. They had shed their clothes and consummated their love with the same dispatch that he had dressed. Months of celibacy had been ended in a great hurry. She was only mildly disappointed. History suggested further loving rites were to be enjoyed.

He lay beside her, his bare back no more sensible of the damp grass than hers. He had not responded to her inquiry beyond his half-hearted murmur. Therefore she decided that to cajole him from what must be a satisfying rest she would have to offer more than conversation. Thereupon, she threw one arched leg over his and cupped her heel, closing the gap between their bodies with a small undulation of her hip. It was an infallible demarche for a woman who was in want of her husband's notice. Indeed, he opened one eye full and looked upon her, a notification that she indeed had his attention. Moreover, his hand found her bare thigh and began to stroke it. But he did so only for a moment.

He rose upon one elbow facing her and gazed into her eyes so deeply and with such intensity that she did not think that, were she so inclined, she had the fortitude to look away. He slid his hand beneath her leg and, without quitting her gaze, drew her knee purposely to his lips—a manoeuvre that suggested to her that her pleasure was of no less import to him than his own. It also pointed to the probability that he would have the strength for an encore. Only the thought of the bliss that was to follow allowed her at last to close her eyes. She lay back, transported to a place and time only known to infinity and could not keep a small sough from escaping the back of her throat. Her reverie, regrettably, was short-lived.

“Lizzy…”

Upon most occasions, it was with unadulterated joy that she heard him utter her name. This time however, differed. Although it was not in his nature to speak in an exclamatory fashion, it was implied. Such was her alarm that she thought someone might have happened upon them. She first shrank back and looked about. Seeing nothing, she endeavoured to sit up. To her further apprehension, he cautioned her otherwise.

“Pray, do not.”

Although the timbre of his voice was in compleat disagreement, she was altogether relieved that they need not flee. She saw having to dress with all due haste in an unfamiliar garment to be no small challenge. If someone had trespassed upon them, it was likely she would have had to take leave with the tail of her shirt the only thing between herself and compleat exposure. The thought almost made her smile, but he interjected.

“You are…in distress,” he said softly, but she detected a slight catch in his voice.

There was an intrusion upon them, but one of quite another nature than interlopers. She saw then that she had begun to bleed. She was truly horrified—but not from fear for her own well-being, but that
he
would fear for her well-being. She was also miffed. It had been a full ten days since she had last been vexed by such a bother and she had believed herself essentially returned to her former robustness. She had given herself a week before she began to scheme. It had taken three full days to conjure just the right combination of seduction and playfulness with which to lure him. Hence, to have their idyll come to such an unromantic end was an abomination. She refused to admit that her health might be compromised even to herself. Until this moment, she saw all to be going quite splendidly. Even the fickleness of her spirits had waned. This was an exceedingly unhappy set-back.

“It is nothing,” she assured him whilst abruptly drawing her knee from his grasp.

“Are you certain?” he asked, then thought better of it and altered his question. “How can you be certain?”

“I am quite sure it is nothing irregular.”

She would not have it any other way. Regardless, it looked as if any possibility of a second voluptuous union had waned. He simultaneously stood and began donning his shirt, then hastily began to tuck it in. She sat immobile, transfixed—watching his hasty reclamation of his ensemble and thus the disintegration of what had been an idyllic reunion. With resignation over this unlucky perverseness, she looked to the rumpled pile of purloined trousers and fretted about wearing them in her untidy condition. There seemed little choice; hence she picked them up and flicked them so as to get them into some sort of identifiable order. She had just begun to snake her foot down one leg opening and was silently bemoaning his over-reaction to her little recuperative set-back when a cramp overcame her. Before she could stifle a slight groan, she felt herself expel an unseemly gush of blood. She had weathered enough days of womanly indisposition not to be altogether alarmed by this turn of events (although even by her account it was a ghastly amount), but the cramp was severe enough to give her pause. The pain, however, was not her primary concern. For while not unaware, she knew her husband was largely unschooled on the prolific nature of such flow. She would have been happy to spend all her days with him unknowing of just how indecorous feminine complaints could be.