"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

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