The Darcys remained quietly at home until the following Saturday, when Elizabeth’s family was to leave London. They met for an elegant breakfast at the home of Lord and Lady Matlock—the Bennets, the Gardiners, the Darcys, and Bingley. As a special treat for their two eldest nieces, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner invited Jane to extend her stay in Town and to reside with them in Gracechurch Street, ensuring she would meet often with her beloved Bingley without the well-intentioned interference they had been receiving daily from Mrs. Bennet. This was met with great pleasure by everyone, especially Bingley, who felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Gardiners, both for their invitation and their guarantee of constant admittance to their home.
The following Monday saw Lady Matlock, Mrs. Gardiner, Jane, and Georgiana calling on Elizabeth. Unfortunately, Darcy happened to be in the middle of attempting to persuade his wife to return with him to their room for an amorous interlude when the ladies were announced. To his further annoyance, Elizabeth invited them all to stay for luncheon, and afterward, she and Georgiana took great delight in entertaining everyone with lively duets. Their entire visit, which spanned from late morning until nearly tea time, drove Darcy practically mad.
By the time the ladies finally left, Elizabeth could hardly hold her laughter in check.
Darcy was far from sharing her amusement. “Madam, if I did not know better, I would believe you to have arranged the events of this day solely to vex me.”
“Really, Fitzwilliam”—she smiled—“you do have a remarkable imagination!”
Darcy sat upon the couch and sulked.
“You should have seen the expression on your face when I invited your aunt to stay to luncheon,” she said with a giggle. “You looked positively wretched, my dear.”
“Elizabeth, it is hardly a laughing matter. A man could come to great harm by repressing his ardent desire for his wife.”
“Oh! Is that so?” she asked with a slightly raised brow, failing miserably at assuming a more serious countenance.
“Well,” Darcy mumbled with no small degree of ill humor, “it certainly felt that way today.”
Elizabeth smiled seductively and positioned herself on his lap, her fingers exploring his shoulders, snaking their way around his neck and toying with his impeccably tied cravat. “My poor, poor husband. How selfish and unfeeling a wife I have been to you. While I have passed a delightful afternoon in the company of our most excellent relations, you have sacrificed your physical well-being for my pleasure. How shall I ever make it up to you, Mr. Darcy?”
Her impertinence could not but please him. Indeed, he had always reveled in her teasing. “I hardly know, Mrs. Darcy,” he pouted, “but I daresay it will require a very significant amount of time to accomplish.”
“Well, then, my dear,” she said, “I do believe we should begin immediately, if we are to be on time for supper.”
To Darcy, who had been more than willing to oblige her at any given moment throughout the duration of the afternoon, this was all the invitation he required, and he entwined his fingers somewhat roughly in Elizabeth’s hair, disturbing the many jeweled hairpins that held it securely in place, scattering them upon the couch and on the carpet. His mouth met hers in a desperate kiss that revealed every ounce of his pent-up desire. Elizabeth felt his hands upon her body—touching, stroking, kneading, demanding—claiming every inch of her as his own. It seemed as if he could not get enough of her, and it thrilled her to see the potent hunger in his eyes when he finally released her lips to draw a deep, staggering breath.
In one smooth motion, Darcy was on his feet and striding toward the door, which he promptly closed and locked before returning to gather her in his arms. They were in the music room, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, instead of reclining with her upon the couch or the carpet, he carried her to the pianoforte, where he seated her, not upon the bench, but upon the instrument itself. He raised her skirts and pulled her forward to sit upon the edge, spreading wide her thighs. His breathing was rapid. Without ceremony, he wrapped one arm about her hips as he pushed two fingers into her depths and then withdrew them, brushing over her folds as he did so. Elizabeth shuddered as he raised the fingers to his lips and inserted them into his mouth, his eyes holding hers with a quiet ferocity she had not yet seen. When he spoke, his voice was rough, hoarse with emotion, raw with his need. “Lie back now, Elizabeth. I wish to taste more of you.” She gasped at his boldness but readily complied when she felt pleasure wash over her as he bathed her most sensitive flesh repeatedly with his tongue. She was soon crying out for him as the tension coiled tighter and tighter until, finally, she arched her back, and her release was upon her.
Though satisfied by his wife’s powerful reaction to such attention, Darcy was hardly sated, and without further warning, he released his straining arousal from his breeches and was upon her, sliding her farther back upon the instrument as he covered her body completely with his. He entered her with one deep, powerful thrust that tore a cry of pleasure from each of them.
His movements were frenzied, passionate, and it did not take long before he was driving Elizabeth, once more, to the brink of ultimate release. She wrapped her legs about his hips and met him stroke for stroke, raising her hips to meet him with a determination that matched his.
It was more than he could bear. “Lizzy, oh God,” he moaned with urgency before he filled her with a fiery explosion of such intensity it wracked his body for many long moments.
Elizabeth reached her pleasure just seconds later, gasping his name.
Later that night, as she lay in her husband’s arms in the privacy of their rooms, Elizabeth could not but think upon their passionate escapade in the music room late that afternoon. She could not say what had shocked her more—having her husband make love to her in such a public room of the house, and in broad daylight no less, or her having allowed it in the first place. She found it thrilling, however, beyond a doubt, and as she drifted off to sleep, she found herself wondering whether the heavy desk in the library or perhaps the sturdy sideboard in the breakfast parlor might not prove to be equally enjoyable as the pianoforte.
The following day saw Darcy escorting his wife back to Mrs. Duval’s shoppe on Bond Street. If asked, it was an experience she would have been happy to forego. However, her husband had been adamant, pointing out that the acquisition of a mere eight new gowns would hardly carry the mistress of Pemberley through the Season. Elizabeth was forced to concede, albeit reluctantly, that he was correct.
When the tiny bell on the shoppe door tinkled, announcing the Darcys’ arrival to all within, the bustling atmosphere altered dramatically. Dozens of eyes fixed themselves upon the handsome couple, several sets of which were accompanied by pale complexions and rounded mouths that suddenly felt as dry as a desert.
Elizabeth, who was not feeling quite as comfortable as she would have wished under the circumstances, forced herself to swallow down any misgivings when she saw an elegant older woman rush forth to greet them. “Mr. Darcy,” she said in a warm voice, “what a pleasure to see you. Please allow me to offer you my sincerest congratulations on your marriage.” She turned kind eyes upon Elizabeth and smiled with sincerity.
“Thank you, Mrs. Duval. I believe you have not yet had the pleasure of making my wife’s acquaintance.” Then, bestowing an affectionate smile upon Elizabeth, which he made very certain would not go unnoticed by any of those in attendance, Darcy performed the proper introductions. “Mrs. Darcy will be purchasing a significant number of gowns for her Season in Town. I trust that the utmost attention and courtesy will be extended to her by your staff. Whatever my wife wants, Mrs. Duval, I am determined she shall have. No expense shall be spared.”
Mrs. Duval understood him perfectly. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I have every intention of seeing to Mrs. Darcy personally.” Then, to Elizabeth, she said, “Indeed, ma’am, you shall want for nothing while you are a guest in my shoppe. This way, if you please.”
Darcy nodded curtly as Mrs. Duval shot several disapproving looks in the direction of her eavesdropping assistants. He felt no small degree of satisfaction as he watched the meddling women avert their eyes and lower their heads, properly chagrined. With the barest hint of a smile, he escorted his wife toward a private salon, where she would soon be shown nothing but the most fashionable styles and the most elegant fabrics and adornments. Darcy took great pleasure in observing the startled faces of the modiste and her assistants as they realized the master of Pemberley, against all previously established expectations regarding husbandly duty, meant to attend his wife on her shopping excursion, and with no intention of going away.
After four tedious hours sitting in idle repose, reading the paper, drinking tea, and eating biscuits while Elizabeth selected patterns and silk, Darcy had grown weary. If left to her own devices, he had no doubt Elizabeth would have ordered only the barest number of gowns allowable, and not the thirty or so he had insisted upon. In his opinion, thirty was a minimal number of gowns for the new mistress of Pemberley. Darcy’s own mother had needed at least twice that number for her social obligations in Town each Season, but he did not wish to push his luck. They could always return another day when Elizabeth had a more thorough grasp of her new position in society and what would be required of her as his wife.
When they rose to leave not an hour later, Darcy was more than ready to return to the comfort and privacy of their Grosvenor Square home. Again, many eyes turned toward them, and he made a pointed show of raising Elizabeth’s hand to his lips as they made their way to the entrance to the shoppe, his gaze caressing her with a look of complete adoration, which Elizabeth returned with equal feeling. Though he had always taken great care to avoid drawing attention to himself in the past, Darcy had to admit he felt a significant amount of satisfaction in making it clear to the busybodies and gossips in attendance that afternoon that he not only valued and esteemed his bride, but that he loved her. Let them talk about that, he thought, with no small degree of vindication.
Out of the corner of his eye, Darcy happened to glimpse none other than Caroline Bingley as she stood with her friend Cecelia Hayward, both staring with wide eyes and raised brows at his display of devotion. In a sudden fit of irritation, he cast a cold, haughty glare in Miss Bingley’s direction as he escorted Elizabeth from the shoppe. Miss Bingley’s face, which had only moments before been envious, turned pale as she realized, with horror written on her face, that Darcy had just publicly cut her.
Darcy slid his arms around Elizabeth’s waist and placed a kiss upon the curve of her neck. “You are utterly intoxicating, Mrs. Darcy. I daresay I shall be the envy of every man in Haymarket Square this evening.”
His warm breath felt delightful against her skin. “Mmm… and I the envy of every lady, sir.”
Darcy raised his brow and, with the barest hint of a smile, said, “You flatter me, Elizabeth. No one shall even notice me with you at my side, ladies included. They will be far too busy speculating about the identity of the enchanting temptress on my arm and wondering why it is she would ever be with me in the first place.”
She gave him an impertinent look. “Well, I would imagine that would be quite clear. After all, I am only after your money, Mr. Darcy.”
He laughed heartily. “Yes, undoubtedly, my dear. Come, or we will be late.”
It seemed Darcy had been correct, for no sooner had they entered the opera house in Haymarket Square than Elizabeth witnessed an endless sea of fashionably attired necks straining to better observe them. There appeared to be an infinite number of private conversations whispered behind lace fans and gloved hands, as well as an abundance of less discreet commentary, all with regard to the mystery of her identity, the attractiveness of her person, and the simple, yet elegant, style of her dress. Elizabeth steeled herself against the intense scrutiny of the London ton and held her head a little higher. She felt her husband’s free hand cover hers in a gesture of reassurance, his fingers linking with hers. She turned to look at him, flashing him a smile of gratitude, which he returned. To her very great relief, Darcy ignored all the curious glances and pointed looks they received and continued to lead her up the staircase to their private box, where they met the Gardiners, Lord and Lady Matlock, and Jane and Bingley.
“Well, well, my dear Mrs. Darcy,” said Lord Matlock with a wink, “I believe you have succeeded in drawing the interest of quite a crowd tonight.”
Elizabeth observed him archly as she replied, “How naïve of me, your lordship, for I have been under the impression these people were here to see a performance of The Magic Flute.”
“No, no”—he laughed—“that is just an added attraction, my dear lady. Is it not, gentlemen?” Mr. Gardiner and Bingley concurred with warm smiles.
Darcy observed his wife openly and with admiration. “Indeed, Uncle. Though I cannot profess myself capable of speaking for the rest of the parties in attendance, I can heartily assure you I will find it very difficult to focus my attention elsewhere this evening.” He gave Elizabeth a slow, seductive smile that made her blush becomingly.
Bingley could not but laugh at his once-taciturn friend. “We are already well aware of that, Darcy! I declare, until I leased Netherfield and we made the fortuitous acquaintance of the Bennets, I had never known you to possess such an agreeable humor! Of course, one would be a simpleton, indeed, not to find the society of such beautiful ladies anything but completely engaging.” Here, he looked with love upon his dear Jane, who gave him a smile full of appreciation and affection.
“Here, here!” exclaimed Mr. Gardiner and Lord Matlock, both with indulgent smiles upon their faces.
True to his word, Darcy did almost nothing but stare at his wife for most of the evening. Indeed, Elizabeth was stunning in her elegant dove-gray silk, which seemed to shimmer with every movement of her body. He admired the way Sonia had arranged her hair, with what appeared to be one long, delicate, curling branch of sterling silver leaves entwined throughout her gorgeous mass of curls. The contrast between the color of her hair and the highlights of the silver was eye-catching. If his life had depended upon it, Darcy could not have imagined tearing himself away from the picture of enticing elegance before him.
At one point in the performance, Elizabeth turned her gaze upon him, and their eyes held for several long moments. She reached for his hand, and as the music soared, Darcy found himself leaning in, his gaze now upon her lips, and before either of them knew what they were about, Darcy surrendered every claim to rational thought and kissed her. He heard a loud gasp of shock, though whether it had come from Elizabeth or from some other source, he could not determine, for Elizabeth had immediately turned away, and as he glanced around him in the dim interior of the opera house, he noticed many curious pairs of eyes turned upon him in wonder, amusement, and censure.
“Whoever is that beautiful creature who has so enchanted your nephew, Catherine, that he would abandon all sense of propriety in full company?” asked the all-powerful Lady Malcolm, who happened to be sharing a box with several other notable dowagers across the way.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh sniffed. “She is of no consequence.”
Lady Malcolm raised her brow. “Really?” she inquired dryly. “Well, I never would have guessed, as she seems to be most comfortably installed with your brother and sister-in-law, not to mention that Darcy has not taken his eyes from her all night. Humph. Nobody of consequence, indeed.”
“Yes,” chimed the agreeable Lady Sowersby, “I have noticed that myself. Come, Catherine! Indulge us and tell us her name.”
Lady Catherine huffed and, in her most disagreeable tone of voice, said, “She was known as Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire.”
Lady Sowersby and Lady Malcolm exchanged knowing looks and smiled to themselves.
“So are we to understand that the highly coveted and ever-elusive master of Pemberley has found someone who has enticed him to the altar at last?” asked Lady Sowersby, barely able to conceal her enthusiasm.
Lady Catherine snorted. “You do not know the half of it, Eleanor!”
Lady Malcolm appraised her shrewdly. “If my eyes have not deceived me, Catherine, your nephew has fallen in love with this pretty, young woman, leaving you with no prospective bridegroom for Anne and a bitter taste in your mouth.”
“Fallen in love with her!” she spat. “What has love to do with anything? She has drawn him in and has ruined any chance Anne has of finding happiness. Just look what she has done to him! She is penniless and unconnected, yet he can hardly attend to anything but her!” She gestured furiously at Darcy, who was, at that very moment, speaking in Elizabeth’s ear, an intimate smile playing across his lips. His wife turned to him with a smile that echoed his and laughed at whatever he had said; then she rested her hand upon his upper arm and laid her head against his shoulder for a few moments. Darcy pressed a kiss to her temple and closed his eyes. In a gesture of obvious devotion, Elizabeth lifted his hand to her lips, bestowing a kiss upon his knuckles. Lady Sowersby sighed at their touching, yet highly improper display.
“Yes,” countered Lady Malcolm, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “God forbid the poor man ever finds himself happy in life.” She turned toward Lady Catherine. “I daresay your favorite nephew is far better off as he is now, Catherine—married to an agreeable young woman who obviously cares a great deal for his society, rather than being constantly pursued by the countless others who care only for his prominent position in it.”
“And a love match at that,” sighed Lady Sowersby. “Just like that of his dear parents. It is precisely like a fairy tale, is it not?”
Lady Catherine only scowled, choosing not to respond, and they soon turned their attention back to the performance on stage.