it still was grim to be separated from him. His letters, arriving once—sometimes twice—each day, comforted her. In clear language he poured into each sentence his own grief at their sundering and his enduring love.
His return had been expected yesterday. A sudden and violent storm had erupted, however. She had sat by the window all day and long into the evening, wishing urgently to see him yet also panic stricken at the thought of him venturing into the fury of the lightning and unrelentingly lashing rain. Finally, very late, she had tumbled into bed exhausted. Her sleep, when it did overtake her, had been troubled. Then came the nightmare.
Each night the same… She was in a bedchamber unknown to her. There were no furnishings except for a ridiculously huge bed that filled the room and reduced her to the size of the dwarves she had seen once when the circus came to Meryton. At first she was alone and wearing a diaphanous dressing gown from her trousseau with her hair free about her shoulders. Then Darcy was there exactly as she had seen him when he proposed: hair windblown, loose shirt open at the neck, and no concealing waistcoat or tight jacket. Altogether fetching.
Initially it was the perfect dream. He held her, kissed her, and caressed her body as she had hitherto only imagined. The subtle sensations she experienced in her waking life when he touched her were, in her dream, magnified tenfold and felt in areas of her body she did not even know existed. It was heaven!
Then abruptly it would change. She would panic; fear would rise in her throat, threatening to choke her. She would struggle and beg him to let her go, but he would refuse. Gone was the William she knew and loved, his beautiful face altered into the proud, arrogant mien that he had displayed at the Meryton Assembly. Then he would look at her with disgust and anger and hurt, as he had when she rejected him at Rosings. At the last, he would turn from her and vanish. It was then that she would startle awake, gasping for air, his name on her lips.
Lizzy knew why she was having this nightmare. She was afraid. As simple as that. Her wedding was just three days away and she wanted to marry Mr. Darcy with all her soul, but she was dreadfully terrified of disappointing him and unsure of his expectations.
The tender liberties partaken during these past weeks of their engagement had revealed a side of her fiance that Lizzy would not have initially suspected. Reserved, disciplined, shy Mr. Darcy hid a deeply passionate nature. He was always the gentleman, always strictly conscious of propriety, and severely respectful of Lizzy’s reputation.
Yet, on more than a few occasions his resolve and constraint had been dangerously close to being lost. On a handful of those occasions they had crossed minor lines that would be considered improper by most, but he had harshly and agonizingly controlled himself. She could clearly sense when he teetered on the edge in his ardor for her. If ever the term “violently in love” applied to a person, it aptly described her William.
She would not be truthful if she denied that his zeal for her was flattering and more than a little bit welcome. As evidenced by the first part of her dream, sensations and desires were coursing through her with every touch and kiss. Merely thinking about him, hearing his lush voice, or seeing his smile would send rivers of electricity up her spine. Innocent little Lizzy Bennet was more than a tiny bit affected by the presence, touch, and kiss of her betrothed!
She, too, had experienced her moments of urgently wanting more and wishing desperately that he was not always so controlled. Yet, as they had come to know each other better, spending hours in conversation, the comprehension of his maturity and worldliness had struck her forcibly. The scope of how her life was to change as Mrs. Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley and wife to this complex man with intense bridled passions and taut emotions, was overwhelming.
Thankfully, she had shared her concerns and emotions with her Aunt Gardiner. The wiser woman had spoken with both girls at length, allaying many of their fears and answering the pointed questions Lizzy had. Her aunt was an earthy woman, forthright and blunt. The clinical details of the art of lovemaking were candidly illuminated. Jane had scurried from the room halfway through the conversation, never to return. Lizzy brazenly remained and cataloged each piece of information. She had been tremendously relieved afterwards and looked upon Darcy with new eyes, causing her to blush profusely more than once, to his puzzlement.
Unfortunately, her mother broached the subject several times, much to her and Jane’s dismay. Her parent’s opinion was the diametrical opposite of Aunt Gardiner’s. There was absolutely no doubt how her mother viewed the marriage bed. Her mother and father had an easy familiarity, and Lizzy supposed they cared for each other, but it assuredly was not a marriage of passion.
Mrs. Bennet clearly spoke of the sexual act as a trial to be endured with no evidence of pleasure to be gleaned. She confidentially and with pride imparted such pearls of wisdom as how to use their monthly woman’s cycle to stave off unwanted advances, the vital necessity of separate bedchambers with stout locking mechanisms, and the crowning gem: the headache.
“It works every time,” she confidently declared. “Of course, what proper lady would not suffer with a headache at the very idea of a man’s advances?”
As embarrassing as her mother’s well-meaning tirades were, she and Jane usually could find the humor in them. Lizzy knew her mother’s faults well and could shrug off her assertions in this regard. She was confident that her aunt’s advice was superior to her mother’s.
No, the disquiet did not come from this but from the personal assaults on Mr. Darcy that her mother had made. It had happened a week ago, on the very afternoon that Mr. Darcy left for Town. They were in the parlor and Mrs. Bennet had launched into a conversation about wifely expectations, again. Jane rolled her eyes at Lizzy, and Lizzy had to bite her inner lip to keep from laughing. Mary and Kitty surreptitiously slipped from the room. Initially it was innocuous enough but then her tone altered. Lizzy could still recall every single word.
“The important thing to remember, girls,” Mrs. Bennet said, fan fluttering, “is to be firm with your husbands. Naturally, you must submit when necessary; however, there are ways to avoid this, as I have revealed to you both. Jane should have no problems in this regard as her Mr. Bingley is so amiable and gentlemanly. He would never force himself on you, dear Jane. It is you, my Lizzy, who I fear for.”
Lizzy’s attention was caught by her mother’s last words, but she was puzzled. “Whatever do you mean, Mother?” she asked.
“Oh, Lizzy!” her mother responded with a catch in her voice, as if what she was to say grieved her. “Mr. Darcy is so proud and arrogant! He is a gentleman to be sure, but also a man of substance, accustomed to having others abide by his orders and being in control. You will learn, I dread, that his demands on your person may be tremendous!” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
Lizzy was stunned. She knew in her heart that her mother’s accusations were unfounded and she wanted to defend her betrothed, but she was shocked speechless.
Mrs. Bennet mistook Lizzy’s expression and continued in what she thought was reassurance. “Do not fret overly, Lizzy. I am confident you shall not have to worry once you have provided him with an heir. That is what is most important to men of his station. Pray, child, that you birth a boy first; then all will be well. Men with social requirements such as Mr. Darcy cannot afford to allow their wives to be indisposed by frequent confinement. These great men always have mistresses to take care of their baser needs, leaving the wife free to fulfill her duties. Quite probably he has already established an arrangement of this nature so…”
“Mama!” It was Jane who surprisingly first found her voice and stayed Mrs. Bennet’s words. Lizzy was frozen with shock and horror. Her head was spinning, and it was as if a dark curtain was being pulled over her eyes.
Jane found her shortly thereafter and comforted her as best she could. Jane’s common sense and placid nature soothed Lizzy, and in time she reached a semblance of calm. Over and over she told herself that she knew Mr. Darcy was not that kind of man, that his love and respect for her was genuine and deeply felt. Even so, her mother had raised questions and new terrors in her mind. With this added to the maidenly forebodings that persisted despite her knowledge of the intimacies between the sexes, the nightmares had began.
As Lizzy sat in her chair watching the sun rise in the now cloud-free late November sky, her troubled musings clarified in her mind and she acknowledged the proper course to tread. She must discuss these issues with William. They had promised each other that they would never repeat the mistakes of the past, and the only way to ensure that vow was to be totally and completely forthright in every way. She needed to know the truth. More than anything, she needed the comfort that she instinctively knew he would give her.
A burden was lifted with a decision made, and Lizzy reckoned it was a good idea to clear her head further
