Elizabeth followed her maid, denying her husband a proper tour of the home. Gwyn had been in the employ of the Darcy family for many years, ever since she was a young housemaid. At their first meeting, Elizabeth worried the woman would hold loyalty to someone other than herself. But weeks of giggles, easy companionship, and the shared challenge of inventing Mrs. Darcy had settled the matter in Elizabeth's mind. Gwyn was hers.
“This way, Ma'am. Unfortunately, your apartments are not yet finished and so I've been instructed to take you into the Master's room,” Gwyn explained as she led Elizabeth to the end of the hall where two doors stood side-by-side.
Confidence in her plans she had possessed down in the foyer swiftly left her as Elizabeth stepped into Fitzwilliam's suite. The room made her feel exposed as her eyes inspected the furnishings. She tried to guess which pieces had belonged to generations before her husband, and distinguish those he had selected. She hoped later that night she’d have the opportunity to learn if her wagers were correct. Gwyn began to undress her while Elizabeth stood in quiet reflection.
Behind them, Fitzwilliam had snuck in and placed his finger to his lips when the maid turned her head sensing the presence. He silently dismissed Gwyn while Elizabeth stood in her chemise.
Fitzwilliam traced the elegant line of his wife's spine, making her shiver. His voice low and husky, he established himself as her humble servant.
"My lady, please allow me." And his hands reached up to her shoulders to brush the thin linen garment off her delicate skin.
Elizabeth did not turn around, allowing her husband to undress her and satisfied her curiosity in this seduction. While she had not expected his aunt and uncle to be present when they arrived, and she genuinely wished to cooperate with Lady Matlock’s plans, the prospect of an afternoon apart disagreed with her sensibilities. They had not parted since their wedding, and the suddenness of it all caused much regret.
"Mrs. Darcy, has anyone expressed to you how positively alluring your naked form is, Madam?" His fingertips stroked the outside of her thighs and Elizabeth leaned back into his form pressed against hers.
"Mmm, only my most devoted husband, and I should not have it any other way." She reached up to wrap her hand around his neck, as his lips pressed kisses along her collarbone. Her stretch lifted her bosom as her back arched, and his hands slid up her midsection to cup their fullness. Elizabeth wiggled uncomfortably as his fingers rolled her rosebud tips, increasing her arousal tenfold. He groaned as her movement caused friction between them, and pushed him to nearly the edge of his restraint.
"Mrs. Darcy," he managed, just as Elizabeth spun around in his arms. She locked eyes with her husband and deployed her new skills in cravat untying as a rapid stomp of footsteps came rushing down the hall. Instinctively, Fitzwilliam blocked his naked wife from the door as the knocking began.
"Brother! Brother!" Georgiana's bright voice called out as both of the Darcys tensed. Fitzwilliam scowled, and Elizabeth, despite her own frustrations, began to laugh at their predicament. No matter how much they wished for time alone, it would appear that every Darcy relation in the area was keen on interrupting their ardor!
"Wait there, I shall be out in a moment!" he called sternly, and Elizabeth looped her arms around his neck properly. "My love," he whispered, "I had no idea how much my family hates me."
"It's not so bad as all of that, and tonight, we shall find a time to be together that will not be rushed," she promised, glancing over his shoulder to the four-post bed behind him that looked large enough for a king.
"If Georgiana is here—"
"What a joy! That must be why your cousin left so hastily!" Elizabeth interrupted, locking her eyes on his to keep her husband's focus. Her conclusion reminded Mr. Darcy of how odd they had both found it that Colonel Fitzwilliam declined the invitation to stay at Netherfield Park more than a single evening. "He must have traveled straight to Pemberley and collected your sister!"
Darcy cleared his throat. He struggled to calm his interest with his wife standing so fetchingly before him. Reluctantly, he lifted the chemise from the ground and slipped it over her head. Elizabeth accepted his assistance and the two shared another embrace. Giggles on the other side of the main door could be heard, as well as a male voice that sounded an awful lot like Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. A soft knock from the door between the master and mistress suite drew the couple's attention in the other direction.
"We are cursed, it seems," Mr. Darcy pronounced.
"No, my husband, you are loved by many. But by me, the most," Elizabeth said, pecking him on the nose and then dashing to the adjoining door she assumed was her maid seeking to continue the task of preparing her for a day of shopping with Lady Matlock.
"Ma'am, I took the liberty of pressing this lovely olive frock for your afternoon errand," Gwyn said, holding the garment out for her mistress' approval. Elizabeth gave one last forlorn glance at her husband before closing the door behind her. She followed her maid to where Gwyn laid it out upon the bed. Both women inspected the gown for any signs of damage or wayward threads.
"Yes, I believe this one shall work and I'll wear the black velvet Spencer over it," Elizabeth said and her maid nodded vigorously, as it always pleased them both when they were in agreement as to the Mistress' attire. As she gazed around in the room meant to be hers, she failed to see why it did not pass muster. The furnishings were older, reminding her more of a few pieces her mother had inherited from Mr. Bennet's mother after she passed. But they were undoubtedly of a higher quality than most of the furniture Elizabeth had grown up with.
The bed had seen better days, and the fabric making up the canopy was practically shredded along the edges. An errant thought came to Elizabeth's mind as she had never asked if Mr. Darcy's mother had died in London or at Pemberley. Gauging by the dust, the extra basins and empty apothecary jars over on the bedside table, a grim understanding hit Elizabeth. This had been Lady Anne Darcy’s sickroom.
"Has anyone stayed in this room since Mr. Darcy's mother?" she asked Gwyn, as the maid smartly used the traveling case of beauty tools to help her mistress get ready, instead of the antiques along the vanity.
"No, Ma'am. But, it is planned for you to choose your fabrics and papers for the room to be redone in your tastes."
"And those items?" Elizabeth pointed to the vanity, suddenly saddened by the last reminders of the great lady who had come before her.
"Oh, those are rightfully yours, Ma'am. No worries there, but the Master married in such a haste, I'm afraid the staff forgot to clean them and freshen the room." Elizabeth caught Gwyn's expression as the woman secured her buttons to include a slight frown of disapproval.
But Elizabeth was smarter than to feel a slight from inefficiency by the staff. She had a much better understanding of what might have occurred. Her conclusion was that Mr. Darcy likely did not remember to order his staff to change the room, and no one wished to ask the master of his thoughts.
As her black Spencer was adjusted, Elizabeth suddenly had a better idea.
"Gwyn, I will discuss this with my husband, but I should like the personal items of the former Mrs. Darcy cleaned, repaired if need be, and then placed in the nicest box that can be found."
"Ma'am?" Gwyn looked alarmed at her mistress, as she had not known her lady to be the mercenary sort.
"Do not worry, I am not displeased with the earlier plan. But I believe there is someone else who is the rightful owner of her mother's things. And I would like to see them properly preserved for her," Elizabeth said brightly, then motioned at her traveling case of combs and brushes that had been a wedding present from her parents, her father especially. "Besides, we can make do with what we already have."
Gwyn nodded, and held back a smile as she followed her mistress to the door so she could open it and curtsy. When Mrs. Darcy left, she set about collecting the things from the vanity that had been used by the previous woman to hold the same name. The combs were tortoise of the highest quality, and with a small sigh, Gwyn resolved herself to see them properly presented to Miss Darcy. She slightly lamented not using the elegant items in her daily work. But as she hurried in her task, she held little doubt that despite the new Mrs. Darcy believing she could get along with a simple travel case of tools for beauty, such an economy would not sustain her station.
With a small mischievous smile, Gwyn rushed out of the room to the back stairs, down to the kitchens to find exactly who she was looking for: her cousin Jack who worked as a footman, waiting anxiously for the call to attend Lady Matlock and Mrs. Darcy to the modiste.
"Jack, there is something important I need you to pass along to Her Ladyship," Gwyn began. And she whispered her plan to her cousin's ear, making him smile all the more.
All of the Darcy staff felt nervous about who would be the next Mrs. Darcy, a woman whose character would impact the lives of over a hundred employees. But a truly kind and sweet lady, such as the former Elizabeth Bennet, inspired service mere money could not purchase, service that belied the beginnings of loyalty.