"Early Morning Reflections on the Felicitousness of
Matrimony, the Joy of Conjugal Exploration, the
Excitement of Discovery, the Occasional Inconvenience
of Female Biology, and the Care and Feeding of
Undomesticated Felines"

by Jean Haley-Young



Contented and sleepy, Fitzwilliam Darcy lay in bed,
stretched like a cat and gave serious consideration to
actually purring. His mouth curved in a slight smile
as he pondered what his wife's reaction would be if he
were to roll over and suddenly begin to rumble low in
his throat as he pushed his head against her hands,
begging to be petted. Followed closely on the heels of
this thought was another: he needed to spend less time
playing with the cats.

Elizabeth had rescued the mother and her five kittens
from the barn and insisted they be brought into the
main house in order to protect them from the winter
chill. Only a few days after arriving at Pemberley
following their wedding, Fitzwilliam had been showing
his bride her new home when a sudden snow flurry sent
them running for shelter from the cold and wind.
Taking refuge in the barn, he had led them both to the
hayloft and hoped to take advantage of the opportunity
to entice her into sharing an interlude with him.
Those hopes had been dashed, however, when the couple
literally stumbled across the feline family, clearly
underfed and unwell. Without a thought, Elizabeth had
gathered the kittens up in the folds of her heavy cape
as she instructed him to take the mother. A task which
would have been made a great deal easier if the animal
in question had not been spitting and howling,
attempting to swipe at the couple with her unsheathed
claws in an attempt to keep her young from being taken
from her. By the time he had been able to subdue the
hissing bundle of fur, he looked as if he had been
through the wars, his hands and arms liberally covered
in scratches.

Elizabeth had been hard pressed to contain her
laughter as he had battled the snarling creature, and
had declared him her hero when he was finally able to
wrap it in an old grain sack. Once they had returned
home, however, she had indulged him shamelessly,
lending him a sympathetic ear as he complained while
she tended his wounds. Once she had tenderly cleaned
and dressed his battle scars, she proceeded to undress
him with equally gentle hands, and told him that great
deeds such as those he had performed deserved a reward
of equal measure. As his eager hands had joined hers
to rid them both of their clothing and had they
stumbled to his bed, he offered to daily fight the
beast that had so grievously injured him if it meant
his beloved would favor him with such a prize.

Now, two weeks on, that self-same beast that he had
come close to abandoning to her fate considered him
her favorite human. Each time he visited the warm
corner of the pantry that had become her home, she
would leave her box to weave around his ankles,
purring and crying out for attention. As he would pet
her, she would continue to lick his hands as if in
apology for the hurts she had inflicted upon him at
their first meeting. Of course, his young wife would
watch this exchange of affection with great amusement,
clearly recalling the vehement refusal Fitzwilliam had
made to her request that the creatures be allowed to
live in the house. 

He had stated that cats were too wild, untamable and
destructive to be allowed inside any home, especially
one as grand as Pemberley. No, there had been a few
available paddocks in the stables that were clean and
warm and certainly good enough for the dirty,
flea-infested mongrels. Elizabeth would hear none of
it because the kittens had been very ill, the runt of
the litter having died not long after they had been
moved from the barn. She had promptly declared that if
they would not be allowed below stairs, she would
simply have them moved into her rooms. 

The opinionated stubbornness that had so captured his
heart initially had become impossible for him to
resist and he had relented with a speed and
completeness that left him in awe of her and curious
as to where his own hardheadedness had fled. This had
been the first argument of their conjugal life and he
had been of the belief that it boded very ill. As
precedents went, this was very bad one to set,
especially so early in their marriage. He had
considered that, at that rate, his ancestral home
would soon resemble the Vienna Zoo and tried to
calculate how quickly a black bear could decimate the
stocks in his trout stream. 

In an attempt to regain the high ground, or at the
very least bring them back on a level footing, he had
told her that the cats would only be allowed to remain
in the house until spring. The moment the weather
began to turn warm, the five of them would be moved
into the stables to begin earning their keep chasing
mice and doing whatever else it was that cats did
besides sleep, eat and produce more cats. She had
considered this suggestion briefly before she smiled
mischievously, extended her hand and said, "That is an
excellent suggestion, Mr. Darcy. I think we have
ourselves a bargain." Perplexed and amused, he had
shaken her hand as she had laughed and allowed herself
to be pulled into his embrace. With her words,
followed by a sweet and passionate kiss, the argument
was ended as if it had never begun.

As she had departed to instruct the staff on the care
and feeding of their four-legged lodgers, he had
realized she had just taught him a most valuable
lesson for their lives together: compromise. While he
had been accustomed to making concessions and
negotiating as a part of his business, he had also
grown to expect he could do as he pleased when it came
to his personal life. Despite the changes he had made
in the months following Elizabeth's refusal of his
first proposal, he had been chagrined to realize that
he still anticipated being able to continue in his
customary fashion, with the pleasurable addition of
having his wife's company in his home and his bed.

It had humbled him to think how cavalierly he had made
decisions of great import to both of them without even
informing his wife, much less consulting her. In a fit
of conscience, he had gathered the documents
pertaining to Pemberley and its new Mistress and taken
them to Elizabeth's chambers. He had then proceeded to
go over them with her, and acquainted her with every
aspect of her new life and the responsibilities
appertaining thereto. Her ire at discovering the
extent of the information that had been withheld from
her had been assuaged by his promise to henceforth
meet with her to discuss any issues that would arise
and together make the final decision as to how to deal
with them. Their first meeting had occurred
immediately, and centered chiefly around the issue of
her bed.

It had become their custom since their second night at
Pemberley for him to enter her chamber - after
knocking and being given leave to do so, of course -
literally sweep her off her feet, carry her through
their adjoining drawing rooms and into his bedroom,
from whence she would not leave until the following
morning. The reason her chamber nightly remained empty
was simple. It seemed that the ornate, antique
four-poster in his wife's room had been built in an
age when people did not normally grow to more than
five feet in height. Either that or it was custom-made
for someone of diminutive stature. However, his mother
had been so taken with the beautiful piece that she
could not bear to think of it being altered to fit a
bigger mattress and, being a woman not of great
height, it had not caused her any discomfort. He had
not known what his father's thoughts had been on the
matter and felt it was best for his own peace of mind
that he remained ignorant in this case.

Unfortunately, he had been unaware of this bit of
furniture trivia until he had joined Elizabeth on
their first night in Pemberley together. They had been
wed for less than a week and despite his bride's
eagerness to learn about the joys of the conjugal bed
and his equal desire to teach her, they found
themselves unable to keep from laughing as they rolled
about knocking their heads and stubbing their toes on
the sturdy head and footboards. Even as they had come
together lying diagonally across the mattress, her
head dangling over the edge and his hand supporting
her neck, their combined moans and sighs had still
been punctuated often by expressions of mirth. They
had remained awkwardly arranged on the bed until they
had enough energy to put on their dressing gowns and
move to Fitzwilliam's much larger accommodations. Her
bed had not been used since.

They had come to two very important realizations that
night: Laughter and passion were indeed boon
companions, and Elizabeth needed another bed. They had
avoided the subject for topic days, as they were not
able to confer about the subject of what to do with
the minuscule furnishing. Every attempt at discussion
had either resulted in them dissolving into fits of
laughter or locking the door and divesting one another
of their clothing. Often, both occurred at the same
time.

With their first 'official' meeting it had been
finally decided that, even if the bed were altered, it
was too much of a distraction for them to continue its
use. Besides, it did not seem right to change it since
it was where the new Master and Mistress first made
love on the estate. The bed was to be moved to a guest
room - one that would never be used, if they could
help it - and a new bed was due to arrive within the
week. 

In the meantime, they continued to share his bed until
he would carry her back to her chambers each morning.
While he could not say he disliked the arrangement in
the least, he looked forward to being able to lie in
bed and watch her as she prepared to go about her day.
In fact, he thought burrowing deeper under the
blankets, it must be nearing the time when his man
would knock discreetly on his door, signaling that his
wife must return to her own chamber for her morning
ablutions.

He knew not how much time had passed since Elizabeth
had left his bed, waking him in the process despite
her attempts not to disturb him. He anticipated her
return with great relish as it usually led to another
round of lovemaking before they had to abandon their
roles as newlyweds and once again become the Master
and Mistress of Pemberley. He was especially anxious
this morning, for even though it was not yet dawn, he
had great plans for what they would do with these
precious hours. 

He intended to make full use of every minute. 

While Elizabeth had from the start been a most
passionate and willing lover, she had become bold and,
at times, almost wanton in her intimate dealings with
him over the last few days. The culmination had come
the night before when he had been in his study trying
to finish his business correspondence. 

He smiled to himself as he recalled how she had snuck
up on him as he worked and surprised him by wrapping
her arms around his neck, leaning over and resting her
head on his shoulder. "I have dismissed the servants
for the night, my love. There will be no more work
done here this night, the Mistress of the house has
declared it."

With that, she had nuzzled her face into his dark
curls and begun tracing the edges of his ear with her
tongue while her fingers worked at the buttons of his
collar underneath his already loosened cravat. His
shock at her seduction had been quickly outpaced by
desire as he turned his head to claim her mouth in a
kiss that left them both reeling. He had then taken
her arms from his neck and pulled her around the chair
to face a sight that made him fear his heart had
stopped: she had worn nothing more than one of his
nightshirts and a smile that promised sensual delights
beyond his imaginings.

As he had slowly risen from the chair, his eyes had
roved over her scantily clad form, taking in the dark
circles of her nipples and the enticing shadow between
her thighs visible through the thin material of her -
his? - chemise. He had then smoothed his hands lightly
over her hips and sides, noting with satisfaction the
shiver that ran through her, and bent his head to kiss
her once more. As she had plunged her tongue into his
mouth, her hands had been busy exploring his form, one
tangling in his thick curls while the other ran over
the broad expanse of his back. Exciting him even
further, she had reached down and grabbed his
buttocks, pulling his hips against her stomach before
moving away slightly and bringing her hand to his
front to caress his hardness through his trousers.

He had pulled his mouth from hers with a gasp at her
bold seduction as well as to fill his lungs with
much-needed air. The expression on her face had made
him quake with desire, and even a little fear. She had
looked like a lioness who has caught her prey and was
eager to begin devouring it. But before she could
pounce for the killing blow, he had decided to do some
dining of his own.

He had thrust into her hand as she continued to stroke
him until he had to back away for fear of embarrassing
himself. Her self-satisfied grin had been quickly
erased as he had reached under her garment to take
hold of her waist, lifting her onto his desk, and then
stood between her spread legs. Before she could
question his actions, he had reclaimed her mouth and
begun to run his hands up her thighs and hips, raising
the nightshirt over her torso. Breaking their kiss
long enough to remove the garment altogether, he had
continued to kiss her breathless as he explored her
soft curves with possessive hands. For long minutes
they had stayed in this position as she had continued
to attempt to divest him of his clothing, getting as
far as removing his vest and fully opening his shirt.

As her mouth had suckled his hard, flat nipple, he had
realized that he would soon be beyond control and
there was something he wanted to do before he lost
himself entirely. It was an act he had heard mentioned
in only the quietest of whispers, something he had
seen in books he would never admit to knowing existed,
much less having read. It had aroused his curiosity
and his senses, but had never been something he had
desired. Until now. Despite their increasing intimacy
and boldness, he had known he could never bring
himself to speak of it to her. His hope had been that
her state of arousal was so acute she would not
resist, and she would love and trust him enough to
forgive him when it was over.

Pulling away slightly, he had looked long and deep
into those eyes that had first captured his heart so
many months before. Even through her haze of desire,
he was able to read the question in her dark,
passion-drunk gaze at his shift in attitude. Before
she could speak, he had begun to kiss her again with
less passion and more tenderness as he slowly leaned
over her, causing her to lie back on the desktop. She
had made a small murmur of complaint and he had frozen
until he realized her shoulder had come to rest on an
inkpot. Chuckling lightly, he had removed the
offending object and begun to rain kisses along her
cheeks and neck, paying particular attention to the
highly sensitive patch of skin from the back of her
ear to her shoulder. In those agonizing months before
their wedding, it had become his favorite place in the
world. One day he had told her that, if it were
possible, he would build a house and move in there so
that he would forever be surrounded by her warmth, her
scent and the silk of her skin. But now he had a new
favorite spot, and he was eager to explore it more
fully.

Working his way lower, he had caressed her neck and
collarbone with his lips and tongue as his hands moved
over her hips and up her ribs to gently squeeze her
breasts, teasing her nipples with his fingertips. Her
moan had been music to his ears as he replaced his
fingers with his mouth, licking and sucking until she
was writhing underneath him with an intensity he had
never experienced. He had spent long minutes bent over
her heaving chest, enjoying the way she undulated
beneath him, her hands running over the back of his
head and under the collar of his shirt as she had
alternately wrapped her legs around his hips and run
them up and down his sides.

Returning his hands to her breasts, he had ventured
yet lower as he ran his lips over her ribs and
stomach, lapping up the fine dew of sweat that had
appeared on her flushed skin. Her muscles twitched as
and she had made an odd sound, something between a
laugh and a moan, as he had traced the tip of his
tongue around her navel. Instead of beginning his
return trip as he had in the past, he had continued
even lower, down to the soft swell of her lower
abdomen. He had felt her tense slightly at this new
sensation but she had made no move to push him away.
It was not until he had reached the dark curls between
her thighs that he had risked a look at her face. She
had been watching him through heavy lids, her passion
evident, but the uneasiness and vulnerability in her
eyes had stopped him cold. He had tried to convey the
depth of his love and devotion to her with a long,
intense look, hoping she would understand. He had been
about to pull away when he had seen her acceptance in
those beloved fine eyes as she had lovingly run her
hand through his hair and let her head drop back
against the surface of the desk.

Closing his eyes, he had let his head rest against her
stomach and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for
this wondrous woman whom he was fortunate enough to
call his wife. Her belief in him, her understanding,
her willingness to trust him in something so intimate
and new, all had made him the most happy and lucky of
men.

He had been able to tell by her breathing and the
tension in her body that she was still wary and
uncomfortable with this new position. As her pleasure
had been foremost in his mind, he had then chosen to
detour from his intended path and attempt to bring her
once more to the state of arousal she had inhabited
mere moments prior. Not without regret, he had moved
away from the place where he most wished to be.
Sitting back on his heels, he had begun to explore
every inch of her flesh, starting with her feet. Her
giggles as he sucked on her toes had made him smile as
he worked his way upward, making note of the spots
that were especially sensitive. 

He had run his tongue up the back of her ankle;
nibbled lightly on her calves; teased the delicate
flesh of her upper thighs with his fingertips as his
tongue traced the faint veins underneath the
paper-thin skin at the backs of her knees. With each
move closer, her tension had eased while her moans and
sighs increased. Soon he had returned to the warm, wet
haven that he longed for and lifted her legs slightly,
opening her to his explorations. Her thighs had lain
heavy on his shoulders, tensing and relaxing as he
licked and kissed the insides of her thighs and run
the tip of his tongue over the juncture of leg and
torso. 

Despite his unbearable need to taste her, he had held
back as if waiting, though he could not have explained
what for. Then it had happened. As he had nuzzled the
fragrant curls that were damp with her desire for him,
he felt her hand in his hair, pulling lightly but most
decidedly towards her center as her legs fell open
even wider. Barely audible over the pounding of his
heart and the rasp of his breath, he had heard her
moan, "Fitzwilliam, please," and he was done for.

Using his fingers to open her fully to him, he had
paused a moment to gaze at this most secret part of
her before running the flat of his tongue along the
cleft and up to the tiny point of flesh that he had
learned brought her such pleasure. Her grip on his
hair had tightened as she placed her other hand over
her mouth in an attempt to stifle her groans. Despite
her painful hold on his scalp, he had paused for a
moment to savor this first sip of her. She had tasted
like everything he had expected and more: salt water
and sea air, flower and forest loam, wood smoke and
wine. She was ambrosia and he had known then that he
would never have enough.

Bending his head once more, he had begun as if to
devour her. His tongue had run over each fold, dipping
inside as far as it could reach, teasing the bundle of
nerves at the top of her opening. Licking, sucking,
biting, he had mapped this part of her body with the
precision of an expert cartographer, knowing he would
visit again and again. He had known not how much time
had passed, but her movements had grown more wild, her
cries louder and more desperate and he realized she
was near her release. Applying himself to his task, he
had slid one long finger inside her as his lips once
more found that delicate bit of flesh and begun to
suckle lightly. Within moments, her body had stiffened
and begun to shake as she cried out his name and he
felt her tighten around the finger buried inside her.
He had held on with his mouth and hand like a rider on
a new mare as she bucked and quaked with the force of
her climax.

As her fingers had finally slackened their hold on his
hair and her body gone limp, he had pulled away and
admired her flushed and sated beauty as he stood on
unstable legs, his knees protesting their previous
uncomfortable position. Elizabeth's eyes had fluttered
open, looking glazed and almost drunk, her mouth
curving as she gazed on him. He had known he must have
looked wild, gasping as if he had just run from
Marathon, his body shaking with need, the evidence of
her own passion still wet on his lips. His
concentration on her had been so intense that he had
been largely able to ignore his own body's desires,
but now that he had accomplished his goal, his need to
bury himself inside her had been greater than any he
had ever known. Unbuttoning his trousers with
trembling hands, he had done no more than push them
down far enough to free himself before he had placed
his arms under her knees and lifted her legs up and
open so that he could watch as his hardened flesh
disappeared inside her.

As he had leaned over her, he placed his hands on
either side of her head, pulling her knees up near her
shoulders. Trying to retain at least a modicum of
control, he had begun to thrust as gently as his
passion-hazed nerves would allow. However, his wife
was having none of it and he had almost lost all
restraint when he felt her hands grab his hips, her
nails digging into his backside. With a growl that was
almost feral, he had begun to move faster and harder
than ever before, crying out to her and to God with
each stroke. In his frenzy, he had not noticed that
she was near to falling off the desk until her grip on
him had disappeared and he felt the backs of her
fingers against the fronts of his thighs each time he
pushed back inside her. She had moved her hands to
hold the front of the desk so she would not be
unseated. This tacit admission of her enjoyment and
passion, combined with her continued entreaties to him
in both words and sighs, had been enough to finally
send him over the edge. Dropping his head to her
breasts, his thrusts had lost their steady pace as he
poured himself into her with a deep groan.

They had remained thus for several moments until
Elizabeth's gentle reminder of her rather awkward
position had him moving off and out of her, and
helping her to sit up. "Dearest, are you well?" he had
asked, concerned that he had gone too far, and
concentrated on massaging her legs in case they had
become cramped. He had stopped as she had taken his
face in her hands, pulling his attention away from his
hands on her legs. Her smile had been all he had
needed to assuage his fears and he had pulled her off
the desk and into his arms, knocking the few papers
remaining on the desk to the floor. None too
gracefully, he had sat back in his chair, his trousers
now hopelessly tangled around his ankles, as he
settled her on his lap.

They had laughed at the absurdity of their situation
as she had smoothed a damp curl from his brow. "My
love, if I were any more well I would be sitting on a
cloud with a halo and a harp. But do not take that to
mean that you should stop your attentions." She had
lifted up her leg slightly and he had quickly gathered
her meaning, kneading her muscles with his strong
hands.

They had remained in this position for many long
moments, at times talking, at others simply being
silent and holding one another. Eventually, she had
begun to become chilled, and both had been very aware
of the warm and comfortable bed that awaited them
upstairs. As Elizabeth had risen to once again put on
his nightshirt and her robe, he had noticed that there
was a dark smudge on one of her buttocks. Looking to
the shambles that was his desk, the papers lying
strewn about its surface and the floor around it, he
had noticed the letter he had just finished when
Elizabeth had so pleasantly interrupted him. It
appeared it had not gotten swept aside in their antics
and had probably lain under her, the ink still wet.
Stopping her before she could again put on his
nightshirt, he had turned her around and was able
plainly see the lines and loops of his handwriting.
His laughter had bubbled out of him uncontrollably as
his wife had simply stared at him, bemused. Try as he
might, he had not been able stop long enough to
explain and found himself simply pointing to her
backside as he continued to shake with mirth. His
amusement had been greatly heightened when she had
spun in circles, her neck craned over her shoulder,
trying in vain to see what had caused such a reaction
in her normally sedate husband. Finally, tears forming
at the corners of his eyes, he had been able to utter
the word "mirror" and gestured to one of the drawers
of his desk.

Following his instruction, Elizabeth had found a small
hand mirror and moved the lantern on the desk closer
to the edge to provide more light. After a few moments
of trying to position herself, the mirror and the lamp
properly, she had given a gasp and he had known she
had seen it. "Fitzwilliam Darcy!" she had laughed, as
he had dropped to his knees so as to look at the image
reflected in the mirror. There he had seen his name,
as clear as if it had been written directly onto her
pale, firm flesh.

"You know, my dearest," he had said, caressing the
lines with his fingertips, "my name does look rather
attractive here." He had gently placed an open-mouthed
kiss to the elaborate "D" at the beginning of his
signature, tracing its shape with the tip of his
tongue. She had gasped at the sensation and reached
back to run her hand through his hair. Pulling away,
he had glanced up at her once more, as her head had
turned to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes
already passion-dark. He had felt himself becoming
aroused anew as he continued, "Perhaps you should have
it permanently etched here, like those savages Captain
Cook discovered in the South Pacific," he had said,
delighting in the feel of her soft, pliant flesh under
his fingertips, "so, should you get lost, the
authorities will know where to return you."

She had turned to face him, running both hands over
his head and caressing his cheeks as he had looked up
at her over the landscape of her gloriously naked
body. Resting his chin just above her navel, he had
been able see the pattern of gooseflesh appear on her
stomach. Raising his eyes further, he had watched in
fascination as her nipples had hardened and the
delicate flesh around them crinkled. She had held his
jaw in her hands, tracing his lips with her thumbs as
she smiled and said, "There is no need, my love. I
will never be so lost that I can not find my way back
to you."

Knowing the truth of her words and marveling once
again at his great good fortune, he had returned her
smile before he captured one of her thumbs in his
mouth and suckled gently. Never breaking her gaze, he
had risen from the floor, holding her hand to his face
as he swirled his tongue over and around the digit
before taking each of her fingers in turn and
subjecting them to the same treatment. Her breathing
had become labored as her free hand ran over his neck
and chest, down the flat expanse of his stomach and
teased the curls at the base of his awakening sex.
"Perhaps now would be an opportune time to retire, Mr.
Darcy?" she had said, her voice already rough with
desire.

A curt nod was the most eloquent response he had been
able offer at the time. Releasing her hand with one
final long kiss to her palm, he had picked up his
nightshirt that she had worn earlier and handed it to
her before pulling up his breeches, fastening just
enough buttons to hold them in place while making them
easy to remove once they had reached his chambers.
Elizabeth had opened the study door slightly in order
to ensure they would be able to exit unobserved. He
had draped her robe over her shoulders as he peeked
into the hallway. "It seems all is clear, my love,"
she had said with a wicked gleam in her eye, "shall we
make a break for it?"

Before he could respond, she had grasped his hand and,
holding her robe closed with her other hand, run for
the stairway. He had stumbled in surprise, but never
lost his grip on her hand, rapidly catching up and
overtaking her on the stairs, easily spanning two
treads to each one she climbed. By the time they had
made his chambers, they were giggling madly, like
children trying to avoid being caught after playing a
prank. Even after the heavy door had closed behind
them, they could not contain their laughter, grinning
like fools as they quickly shed their clothes.
"Whoever gets in first wins," she had called as she
shed her single item of clothing with impressive speed
while he continued to fight with his boots. 

By the time he had looked up, she had already climbed
into bed, the covers pulled up to her chin as they had
been that very first night after they married. Except
this time she had not worn the look of mingled fear
and anticipation he had seen when he came to her bed
for the first time. The look that greeted and enticed
him on this occasion had been one of pure desire, and
he was becoming more frustrated by the second at the
difficulty his footwear was presenting him. "Now, that
is not fair of you, dearest," he had said with forced
calm, ready to take a knife to the thick leather that
still encasing his foot and ankle.

"All is fair in love and war, Fitzwilliam. Did you not
know that already?" Her voice had neared as she spoke,
and he had looked up in time to see her lean down and
grab his leg. Straightening the limb, she had then
straddled it, facing away from him, and taken hold of
the offending boot. "Point your toe, love, and do not
dare to put your other foot where you plan to or you
will be spending the rest of this night alone." He had
looked to his unshod foot, poised just inches from her
lovely posterior, and quickly placed it again on the
ground.

"I do not have the pleasure of understanding you," he
had said in his best haughty tone as his boot had
finally come free and caused Elizabeth to stumble
briefly now that there was nothing holding the boot in
place. Turning back to him, she had set the boot next
to its mate, as he had removed the rest of his
clothing.

"I have seen enough squires remove enough riding boots
to know exactly where you planned to put that other
foot, sirrah," she had said as she returned to the bed
moments before he finally joined her, his clothes
scattered messily over half the room. Gathering her
into his arms, he had kissed her long and deep,
rolling them over on top of the sheets. As he had
begun trailing kisses along her neck, she had gasped,
"Remember, my love, I won." He had stopped and looked
at her, a wicked gleam in her eye and a smile on her
beautiful face. Despite her increasing aggressiveness,
he had understood she was still unable to request the
superior position during their lovemaking, but he had
quickly learned that when Elizabeth 'won' while they
were in bed, it meant she wished to take the lead. It
was a loss he suffered with gladness.

"So you did, dearest," he had said, and promptly
rolled them over so she lay atop him. Thanking him
with a languorous kiss, she had then proceeded to
drive him mad with her hands and her mouth, taking
control of their lovemaking as she had never done
before. When she had at last sat astride his hips and
taken him inside herself, she rode him hard and fast,
finding her pleasure once, twice, thrice before he had
achieved his own release. Exhausted and blissful, she
had lain down beside him, her head pillowed on his
shoulder and her arm about his waist while his hand
had played with her luxuriant dark curls. Thus
entwined, they had slept peacefully, neither moving
until Elizabeth had crawled out quietly some time
before dawn.

Rousing himself from his most pleasant recollections,
Fitzwilliam removed the hand that was leisurely
stroking his hardness and pulled aside the bed
curtains sufficiently to detect the early morning
light beginning to illuminate the room. "Elizabeth?"
he called, thinking she may have chosen to sit in a
chair and read rather than disturb him by returning to
bed, though she had never done so before. Silence
greeted him and he tried to think why she would be
away for so long without telling him. 

Fueled by desire, impatience and the beginnings of
worry, he tossed the bedclothes aside and made to
arise when he noticed something that made his heart
stop. In the middle of the white sheets, in the
depression Elizabeth's hips had made while she slept,
was a bright red stain, very much like the one he had
seen the morning after their wedding night, only
larger. Passion fled immediately, replaced by guilt
and fear. He rose quickly and dressed in haste,
berating himself the entire time. "This is all my
fault. I was too rough with her. I hurt her. She did
not know enough to realize... Oh, God, what have I
done?"

He knew not what he would say, but he had to find her
and determine the extent of the injury he had caused
her. While he would certainly have been informed if a
doctor had been required, the situation was of such
delicacy that it was quite possible his wife would
simply retreat to her rooms in hopes she would heal
quickly rather than try to broach the subject with any
one else in the household. The thought of her alone
and suffering spurred him out of his suite before he
could do more than put on his breeches and robe.

Barefoot, he strode rapidly through their shared
sitting rooms and was in no time standing before her
door, desperate to see her yet afraid to face her
after what he had done. Gathering his courage, he
knocked and quietly called her name, trying to make
himself heard but not be so loud as to frighten her.
Agonizing moments passed with no response and he
raised his hand to the knob when the door opened to
reveal Mrs. Reynolds standing inside.

Fitzwilliam was at a loss as to what to do. He could
not bring himself to look in the face of this woman
who had practically raised him since it was obvious
she was now more than aware of his beastly behavior.
While he knew he richly deserved her wrath, his eyes
were drawn to the frighteningly small figure of his
beloved, laying on her side in her too-small bed,
curled tightly in on herself. Before he could speak,
he felt Mrs. Reynolds step close to him as she closed
the door behind her, cutting off his view of his wife.

"Is she...?" he began, unable to continue as his
throat tightened in worry and his gaze remained fixed
on the door. Coughing, he tried again to put voice to
his concern. "Is she well, Mrs. Reynolds? Has a doctor
been called?" He finally ventured to look in her face,
expecting to see the stern disciplinarian who had
stripped his hide more than once when he was a boy. If
only this offence could be as easily recompensed as
those of his childhood he would gladly head to the
orchard to cut a switch himself.

When his eyes finally fell on her face, she wore not
the expression of anger and disappointment he had
expected, but one that clearly spoke of confusion and
not a little amusement. "A doctor, Mr. Darcy? Whatever
for? While she is certainly uncomfortable, she assures
me it will pass in a day or so." It was obvious to him
that Elizabeth had not told his venerable housekeeper
of the real cause of her suffering, obviously to save
him the embarrassment and ire he so richly deserved.
Before he had a chance to confess, the older woman
continued, "Mrs. Darcy informed me that she has
apparently suffered thus since...well, for several
years now. Poor dear." 

Mrs. Reynolds sighed in sympathy and shook her head
while Fitzwilliam simply stared at her, confused. His
Elizabeth had never known a man until their honeymoon
only three weeks past, on this he would wager his
life. What could the woman be on about? "Several
years?" he asked, uncomprehending and unwilling to
venture into more detail.

The housekeeper was obviously surprised by his
outburst and fumbled for several moments attempting to
determine how to explain this to her employer without
discomfiting them both greatly. "Well, sir," she began
after clearing her throat and straightening her
shoulders. "I thought you were aware of the, ah,
regular, um, occurrences of...well, that women must
endure once they reach a, ah, certain age." Her face
flushed and hands fidgeted, but otherwise she remained
the picture of calm as she attempted to relate the
facts of life to a man who was already old enough to
be a father many times over.

As what she said finally began to register in his
worried brain, he realized her meaning and relief
flooded him as he realized that Elizabeth was
unharmed. However, this emotion was quickly matched by
awkwardness as he felt his color rise and was certain
his face was as red as hers. "Oh, yes, well, of course
I understand. I was just, just concerned that
Eliz...Mrs. Darcy had made no mention to me of feeling
unwell and I was, well, concerned," he finished
meekly. After she had accepted his proposal of
marriage, he had spent each day envisioning every
possible scenario of their lives together: from
completely innocent situations to those decidedly not
so. But he had somehow never considered this one.

Realizing that her master was not uninformed, merely
unprepared, Mrs. Reynolds' composure quickly returned.
This man who was her employer was also like a son to
her and, though certainly somewhat amusing, the
current circumstances had obviously worried him
greatly. Eager to ease his mind, she rested a hand on
his forearm and gave him a reassuring smile. "Do not
fear, Mr. Darcy, your wife is quite well indeed and
will be up and about in no time. It would be
preferable, however, that she rest today despite her
protests that it is not required. It would be much
better if she were to forego her duties for the next
day or so."

Once the words were uttered, a look of horror crossed
her face, matched only by the one on her employers'.
"I mean the accounts! And there are two new positions
below stairs that need to be filled. And visits to the
tenants. And Miss Georgiana's lessons. And..." Looking
away in mortification, she was quiet for many moments
until she finally uttered, "I was just going to see to
Mrs. Darcy's breakfast. Shall I have yours sent up as
well, sir? Good. I'll be off, then." Before he could
make a reply, she had given him a brief curtsey and
hastened past him to the door leading out of the
sitting room to the hallway beyond.

Staring after her, he rubbed his hands over his face,
feeling the heat that had risen during their
conversation, and wondering if he would ever be able
to face her again. He stood at the door to his wife's
chamber a few moments more in an attempt to calm
himself after the morning's emotional upheaval.
Knocking once more, he called her name, already
opening the door as she bade him enter. She was in
much the same position as she had occupied when he
first saw her: facing away from him, her hands over
her abdomen and her knees curled toward her chest. His
heart broke seeing her in distress and knowing that it
was something she had to endure regularly.

Coming around the bed, he saw her eyes were closed,
her brow furrowed in pain as she convulsed slightly,
her arms tightening where he now saw she held a hot
compress over her stomach. Kneeling next to the side
of the bed, he ran his fingers gently over her
forehead as if trying to remove the marks of
discomfort she carried there. With his touch, she
opened her eyes, smiling as she saw his serious
expression. "Do not worry, my love," she said, "the
first day is always the worst, and this first day has
been much better than most. I will be fine once I have
had something to eat."

He returned her smile and shook his head at her
insistence. "I do worry, dearest, and I will not hear
of you doing anything but resting today." She opened
her mouth as if to protest and he gently laid his
finger against her lips, stopping her. "I will hear no
argument, Elizabeth. You will spend this day sleeping
and being attended to as the mistress of a great house
deserves. Both for your own sake as well as mine." At
her curious expression, he gave her a sheepish grin
and said, "When I woke and saw... Well, I was afraid
I'd hurt you." Her eyes sparkled and she smiled in
anticipation, as if knowing there was a story to be
told. He smoothed his hand over her hair, twirling one
long, dark curl around his finger. Staring intently at
the silky strands, he admitted, "Mrs. Reynolds had to
set me to rights, and... and it was quite possibly the
most awkward moment of my life and let us leave it at
that."

Her laugh was full-throated but quickly turned to a
groan of pain as she clutched her stomach tightly.
Still smiling and trying to suppress her amusement,
she said, "My love, you are simply the best man I have
ever known. And to know you worry about me like that
is quite possibly the sweetest thing I have ever
heard." His blush had returned in full force as she
reached out to stroke his cheek, her hand cool against
his face despite the compress she had been holding.

Pressing her hand to his cheek with one hand, he
reached out with the other to touch the compress,
noting that it was barely warm. "Should it be this
cool?" 

Before she could respond, he began to stand, his
intent to call for one of the maids, when he felt
Elizabeth's grip on his hand tighten. "It is fine, my
love. Tess will be bringing me a fresh one soon. I
would much rather you keep me company." He moved to
once again kneel by the bed when she tugged on his
hand. "You may sit on the edge of the bed,
Fitzwilliam, I will not break." Her eyes danced with
humor and he appeared chagrined as he gingerly sat
down next to her. "Let me assure you, my love, that
you did no harm to me whatsoever." She entwined her
fingers with his and placed a kiss on the back of his
hand before releasing it. "In fact, it was really
quite the opposite."

Resting his other hand on her hip, he shrugged as he
watched his thumb trace circles on the silky fabric of
her dressing gown. "How was I to know? It is not as if
you and I have ever discussed such things." Looking at
her directly, he said, "You said that today is not as
bad as usual." She nodded in affirmation and he was
stricken to think of her in even greater pain than she
was so obviously experiencing now. "And is there
nothing you can take? Nothing I could do to bring you
some measure of relief?"

Ruefully, she shook her head. "Mama would occasionally
try wine, and even laudanum once, but the wine did not
help much and I cared not at all for the effects of
the drug." Considering him for a moment, she
continued, "One thing that did seem to help was when
Mama or Jane would rub my back." A small smile touched
her lips and her eyes gleamed. "If you are amenable,
perhaps we could discover if you are as talented a
masseur of the back as you are of the legs."

He smiled, recalling their intimacies of the night
before, as he moved his free hand to her lower back
and began to rub in gentle circles. "I only wish the
reasons for this massage were as pleasurable as those
for last evening's." Smiling in agreement, she removed
her hand from the compress and placed it over his hand
on her back. For the next few moments, she instructed
him on the positions and pressure that were most
likely to help relieve her aches. Fitzwilliam proved
to be a quick study and watched with satisfaction as
the lines across his wife's brow smoothed out and her
body relaxed.

Removing her hand from his, she reached up to caress
his cheek as he continued to knead the muscles of her
lower back. "Somehow I knew you would be very good at
this, indeed. Thank you, my love." With gentle
pressure she pulled him forward and touched her lips
to his. The kiss began softly, but they quickly became
more eager for the feel and taste of one another. With
her hand still on his cheek, she pushed him away
gently, her look one of pure regret. "I am sorry, my
love, I should not be starting something I am unable
to follow to its conclusion." 

Realizing her meaning, he pulled away from her, his
hand stilling on her back. "Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I
would not dream of imposing myself..." She laid her
thumb lightly upon his lips, stopping his apology.

"'Impose?' Do you truly think I see what happens in
your chambers as an imposition? A duty to be done?" 
While her tone was light, he understood the
seriousness of her question.

Shaking his head, he resumed rubbing her back with
firm strokes and pulled her hand to his lips, placing
a kiss on her palm. "By the Lord, no, dearest," he
replied vehemently, "I know I see it as a joy, a gift,
and believe you do as well." He bent down to kiss her
once more, a chaste brush of lips that already had him
ruing the next few days he would have to spend without
her. "Besides," he whispered as he pulled away
slightly, his lips still just a breath away from hers,
"it is not just what has happened in my chambers.
There was the study last night, the library, the
sitting room - on more than one occasion, I believe -
the blue room, the Chinese room, and let us not forget
the kitchen, we must really try that one again..."

The End