“What would you say to us taking a wedding trip?” Mr. Darcy caught his wife off guard as they enjoyed dinner alone in the dining room at Darcy House. Elizabeth found the topic of discussion intriguing enough to sit up straighter in her chair and ponder it while she lifted her wine glass. She tilted the crystal stem slightly to catch a gleam in the golden rim before answering.
“You mean we should delay our arrival at Pemberley further? I believed there was some haste due to the spring plantings?” She sipped her wine, and the ugly voice of doubt in the back of her mind reminded her of the palatial size of his Derbyshire estate that she was to be mistress of all. A small shiver ran over her spine, and she set her wine glass down to pick up her knife and fork. Gently scraping the filet of trout with herbs and bitter orange slices she took another delicious bite of her favorite fish dish thus far in London.
Her posture drooped though as exhaustion from her ordeal with Madame Walters refused to leave her. Standing upon a stool to be measured and draped all day had caused her to ache in places she had not felt since she had become lost in the woods near her father's house for half a day before finally finding her way home.
“I met with Harlow today. He is leaving in the morning to begin our plans. There is no longer a pressing need for us to return to Pemberley,” Mr. Darcy said offhandedly, while his wife viewed him suspiciously.
“Harlow?”
“Mr. Harlow. My steward at Pemberley. I had asked him to travel here to meet me weeks ago in coordination with his annual trip to London to meet with our shipping and market agents.”
Elizabeth nodded as she tentatively understood how Mr. Darcy's estates ran. She also felt knowledgeable about shipping thanks to her Uncle Gardiner's importing and exporting business.
Chewing her food, she tried to think of the right words to speak in order to explore his motives for a wedding trip now and satisfy her own. After the merest glimpse of life in London, a lifetime out at an estate such as Pemberley improved in desirability, even if she felt intimidated in equal measure. At least in the country she could find an escape with her rambles that were denied to her in the city.
They continued to eat in peace, and Mr. Darcy grew curious as to his wife's silence. Assuming her to be in agreement in principle, he resumed the conversation with another question.
“We never spoke of where you would like to visit? I'll grant we should likely not set sail for any destination with the nature of things at present. And the Continent is completely eliminated,” he frowned, realizing the limitations for his proposed excursion. “But perhaps there is somewhere you've wished to see?” Mr. Darcy stumbled slightly as his wife's expression became unreadable. Somehow, he was managing to displease her, and he could not fathom how.
Elizabeth finished her wine, and a footman dutifully arrived at her side to refill her glass. Startled slightly by the efficiency, as the staff never performed such at her parents' home, Elizabeth's feelings of inadequacy overcame her adventurous spirit.
“I am perplexed at your proposal, Mr. Darcy.” She used his formal name as they were in the dining room. “We had agreed not to take such a trip when the Bingleys proposed it, and we shall be married two months tomorrow,” she paused to offer him a smile as marriage to him genuinely made her happy. “And would we take Georgiana with us and interrupt her studies? It is custom for one to take a sister, and as we left mine behind...” Elizabeth trailed off as she confronted her husband with many of the logistics he never considered.
Mr. Darcy frowned. “No, I had intended for us to go alone,” he said quietly, and heard his wife take a small gasp.
Their eyes met over the hazy glow of candlelight. Elizabeth gulped, moistened her lips, and then broke their gaze to drink more of her wine.
“Will she not be offended if we were to leave her again after we have been reunited for such a short time?” Elizabeth asked, breaking the spell of sheer adoration that had overtaken her husband's senses. She guessed that a younger sister often deprived the company of her older brother, especially one that was orphaned, would find another separation unbearable.
Mr. Darcy began to grow irrationally jealous that Elizabeth would worry about everybody else's needs and desires before his own. He had asked her to take a wedding trip which should be indication enough as far as he was concerned that he was interested in such an endeavor.
“Are you criticizing my care for my sister?” he asked, and Elizabeth shook her head.
“No, I would never dream of it. But I have learned changes we make affect many around us,” she said softly. Then, trying to steer the conversation back to her husband's interest, she discussed the location once more. “I can confidently say I don't believe we should travel further south,” Elizabeth stated, struggling to find an appetite for the roasted potatoes on her plate. “Surely you can agree that would be an inefficiency?”
Mr. Darcy nodded and helped himself to his own wine. Thus far, the conversation had not gone as he planned. In his mind, the prospect of a wedding trip with his lovely Elizabeth was a matter of packing their trunks and leaving. He had not considered that his wife may not be so inclined to travel as he was.
When the subject of destination did not go well, Elizabeth tried another topic since her husband had not spoken.
“How did your meeting with your tailor go? I'm afraid I could not find an escape from Madame Walters until much later than I had planned. We draped two additional gowns from the original six we ordered yesterday.”
“So many?” Mr. Darcy asked without thinking.
Elizabeth stared at him incredulously. Then he attempted to recover.
“My sister requires far fewer garments,” he explained and his wife laughed at him. Feeling a touch of indigestion from the progression of their dinner, Mr. Darcy stared down at his plate while Elizabeth used her serviette to cover her mouth.
When at last she had finished giggling from a combination of nervous energy and fatigue she countered. “Yes, I agree with you that a maiden requires far fewer frocks than the lady who has traveled down the church aisle. According to your aunt, I must have a morning gown, an afternoon gown, another if I attend tea, and an evening gown while we are here in town!”
“That is ludicrous!” Mr. Darcy expressed.
“I do not disagree, that is precisely why I wish to curtail our time here in London and not remain past the Twelfth Night Ball. Did you know that she keeps a wardrobe in all of her houses?” Elizabeth exclaimed at such largesse. Mr. Darcy flicked his eyes to the footmen lining the wall. His scowl made Elizabeth realize she had gone too far in criticizing his family in front of the staff. Feeling a fresh wave of shame and frustration in navigating her new role, Elizabeth's appetite left her entirely. She folded her serviette and laid it across her plate.
Ever polite, Mr. Darcy agreed with his wife signaling that dinner had come to a conclusion, and he motioned for the footman to pull back her chair as well as his.
As he escorted her up the stairs, holding her hand gently in his, they both agreed to forgo an evening in the parlor. He began to explain about his tailor.
“My regular tailor was unable to come see me today, and so I have fired him and put it to Bollins to find a new one. And I would encourage you to reconsider your interactions with this Madame Walters,” Mr. Darcy explained in the same parental tone he would use when speaking to Georgiana.
“Oh?” Elizabeth asked, rather annoyed, but curious as to how far her husband would take this instruction of his.
They arrived at the top of the landing, and she looped her arm through his as he escorted her down the hall.
“Yes, you must remember that you are the customer, not the other way around. Madame Walters should come at your convenience and be grateful for the Darcy account.”
Elizabeth laughed, a trait her husband usually found so endearing, but lately most unpleasant when it was at his expense.
“If I am to understand you, you demanded for your tailor to come here today and he refused so now you have to find yourself a new tailor?” She asked and her husband nodded as though it was no significant matter. He opened the door to his suite. “Do you have any idea as to the amount of work it takes to create a gown as opposed to men's clothing which is all straight lines and coordinating pieces? You expand your wardrobe with many configurations of vests, coats, and pants whereas my gowns must impress each and every time.”
Mr. Darcy considered his wife's logic but shook his head. “Be that as it may, as Mrs. Darcy your status alone should make any dressmaker anxious for your call.” His chest puffed with pride as he kissed his wife below her earlobe.
As the two of them undressed without aid from their staff, Elizabeth yawned. She considered for a moment if this was an argument she needed to win, and deeming there was no prize for such a victory, she prioritized rest over war.
“You are right, Fitzwilliam. I am still learning my way in all of this. I will continue to do my best to bring you honor,” she said, leaning into him to kiss his lips good night. As his hands began to explore her back, and gently squeezed the globes of her buttocks, she sighed.
Lifting a hand to place her palm against his cheek, she looked into his eyes as she spoke. “Would I be a terrible wife to plead for sleep tonight?”
He made a small sound of indignation, but spying the droopiness of her eyelids, knew he could not tax her further. Inhaling a deep breath, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and whisked her off her feet to carry her to bed.
Laid down upon the mattress, she stretched and settled into her side before he could even make it to his side of the bed. As he nudged over to nestle their forms like spoons in a drawer, she wrapped her arm atop his as it lay across her midsection. As he listened to her breath slow into a consistent cadence, he staved off desires of his wife with mathematics.
He recalled the most recent bill for his sister's gowns, and supposed the silks and scope of a matron's attire likely added to the cost. Multiplying in his head, he began to understand now why his uncle had complained so often of traveling to London for Parliament's season and the enormous cost of the endeavor. Mrs. Darcy was correct, they ought to leave London as soon as they could, though he would deny her nothing, he knew she possessed no joy in the fripperies of fashion.
Hours later, Fitzwilliam woke with the room still dark, but Elizabeth's curls all around his face and the weight of her upon his chest. He smiled and reached down, running his fingertips along his wife's back, making her wiggle from the slight tickle, but overall arousing touch.
Her voice rasped, barely a whisper, as she pleaded, "I couldn't sleep."
She rolled to his side, leaving her legs slightly separated in an inviting pose. His hand traveled over her hip and thigh to find his wife teeming with desire for him. Such discovery was all his body needed to respond in kind. Despite his grogginess, Fitzwilliam turned in the same direction, his larger form easily covering hers. Instinctively, she tucked her knees up as his hands slipped beneath her bum. Her eyes closed, and her husband leaned forward to press himself against her entry, then slipped in with the slightest of hesitation. They found a pleasing rhythm of rocking their nestled forms as both wondered if their sensations were real or from a dream.
Elizabeth moaned and gripped her husband's hips with her thighs as the angle of his thrust filled her completely, sending a thrilling pulsing through her body. Each time he pulled away, her muscles clenched in her primal desire to feel the same pulse again and again. The heat of their passions doubled between them, and they both panted as more of his weight fell upon her as he tired from the activity. This produced the added effect of a deeper connection as she tilted her hips up to squarely line up underneath him.
"Elizabeth," he murmured as she cried out feeling the pulses overtake her senses. In his half slumbering state, he continued his pacing through his wife's peaking.
"I want," she managed before her husband's building desires found their release and the two clung to each other as he jerked erratically, trying to simultaneously feel more strokes along his shaft and remain enveloped in his wife's folds.
Finally, the full weight of him collapsed against her before he rolled off of her, and his strong arms pulled her close to his chest as though she weighed but the same as a feather.
No further words needed to pass, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy found restful sleep at last.