Chapters 11-12 Happy Was The Day

Two mornings after the disastrous dinner at Netherfield Park, the eldest Bennet daughters lacked resolution. Despite a day and evening together since their falling out, a common ground failed them. Inching her way off the bed while Jane slept serenely, Elizabeth glared at her sister’s form. Practically angelic in her form, Elizabeth had never held such unbridled anger towards her closest confidant before in her life. Her muscles itched for occupation, exercise, and her early plans to privately meet Mr. Darcy up on Oakham Mount, depended on her quietly preparing for the venture. Any other morning she had taken her early walk, Jane might feign sleep or not wake at all, but now that they stood opposed in aims, Elizabeth took great care.

Breathing deeply from rising anxiety as she collected her boots from the wardrobe, Elizabeth eased the squeaky door closed with the speed of a snail. She tied her boots hoping Mr. Darcy held a better understanding of Mr. Bingley’s plans. Jane had incensed her sensibilities beyond forgiveness at the moment. 

All goodwill between the two sisters disappeared after Jane had returned yesterday from Netherfield Park. Without a word about her morning with Miss Bingley and their mother, Jane’s sour mood manifested in the least conspicuous way. She had entered her shared room with Elizabeth, who restored her own access, walked directly to their bed, sat down, and sighed.

Elizabeth inspected a dictionary of Latin terms and frowned at the multitude of words available to express desire. When her sister did not greet her, she suspected Jane remained upset over the unpleasantness with Mr. Bingley, when in Elizabeth’s mind she was the one aggrieved as their dispute had forced her to sleep elsewhere. Still, Elizabeth wished for reconciliation with her favorite sister and to invite her to London as she felt confident Aunt Gardiner’s response would arrive soon. So she set down the dictionary as Jane sighed again, and turned to face her adversary.

“Did your interview with Miss Bingley go well?” Elizabeth asked Jane, practically daring her sister to ignore her outright. Never had Jane held a grudge longer than one slumber.

“She is perfectly amiable if you would just give her a chance. I do believe she has changed, Lizzy. You know she wished to marry Mr. Darcy, and it’s very generous of her to help with our plans.”

Elizabeth shrugged and returned to her letter to Mr. Darcy. Her speech had been kind and still, Jane jumped to her quarrel with Caroline Bingley. Refocusing her thoughts, Elizabeth wrote that she hoped the gentlemen’s quest for a horse had been fruitful and then slipped in an innuendo their foreign letters offered about how the joining of a husband and wife might mimic a horse and rider. She clarified that she spoke from fantasy, of course, not experience. She begged his indulgence of any intelligence he may impart on such matters in his next letter. Then she froze as she perceived Jane moving behind her, closing the distance and finally standing just over her shoulder.

“Why do you write Mr. Darcy in  . . .” Jane squinted at the paper, but having never studied any of the modern or classical languages, could not make out the tongue.

Elizabeth protectively covered her letter since many words in Latin did not well obscure their meaning. That was the chief reason why she used the dictionary to select a less obvious word for her most salacious thoughts. She considered following his lead and writing in French, but her Latin was stronger.

“Do you and Mr. Bingley not keep private matters you do not wish to share with others?” Elizabeth asked.

Jane furrowed her brows. “He does not care to write. But when he speaks to me, his words are all that is loving and dear.”

Elizabeth coughed, and Jane scowled, as, without a word, both sisters recalled that of late, Mr. Bingley had been prone to outbursts that were neither loving nor dear. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth prayed that her sister was not the recipient of his temporary melancholy. However, she had witnessed Jane desperately trying to placate and quiet him in larger meetings too often to believe otherwise.

“He does read all of the same languages, though, as Mr. Darcy,” Jane said, defiantly.

“I doubt Mr. Darcy shares my letters,” Elizabeth said, dryly, managing to scribble she was interrupted and could they meet in the morning at first light at Oakham Mount? She signed the letter, then sealed it. Not trusting Jane’s curiosity, she tucked the letter into her apron pocket.

“It has been decided the ball will be on the eve before my wedding with Mr. Bingley and we will hold the ceremony in the parlor in the morning. This way those traveling from afar can drive home in the afternoon. We are to begin sending invitations today if you will help.”

“Certainly I will aid, though I do not know the number of invitations Mr. Darcy would like sent out. I shall have to ask him,” Elizabeth said, thoughtfully, ignoring Jane’s stress on the wedding was hers and hers alone. Then Jane disabused Elizabeth of the hope her words were merely misspoken.

“Papa has not agreed to a date for your wedding,” Jane reasoned. “The invitation list is complete.”

“Jane!” Elizabeth pleaded, standing up to argue her case of a few days’ delay. She felt unnerved to be sitting below Jane’s tall frame, even if she was not so tall as her sister.

Jane did not even offer the courtesy of appearing to consider her sister’s plea. “I’m sorry, but in this, I must make preparations for my wedding to Mr. Bingley,” she said, her tone and phrasing sound so similar to her future sister-in-law.

Elizabeth’s heart ached from the continued marked difference in her sister’s language. It was no longer ‘their wedding plans’ but ‘her wedding plans to Mr. Bingley.’

“Do you wish to no longer hold a double wedding?” Elizabeth asked, her voice cracking in the pain of the schism between her and her sister.

Jane relented a small bit at her sister’s distress and placed a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

“I have learned most painfully that life can easily drift from the planned course. Mr. Bingley and I are eager to share our happy day with the best sister and best friend.”

“Then why do this Jane? Why must the invitations go out today and tomorrow?”

June swallowed and walked away from Elizabeth to collect a writing box of extra quills and ink to take downstairs.

“When Mr. Darcy is your chief concern, you’ll understand,” was the only explanation offered.

Enraged, Elizabeth did not aid in the writing and addressing that night. She had made sure to retire before Jane, after sending her letter to Mr. Darcy, so that she was certain to sleep in her own bed and not the lumpy mattress once belonging to Lydia. The good night’s rest prepared her for her planned physical excursion the following morning. As she left her sister sleeping behind her, Elizabeth dashed out of Longbourn with nothing but haste.

Each foot stomp failed to soften the pains of exclusion and indifference the Bennet family held towards Lizzy’s engagement. Her mind fogged as she took the inventory: her parents, uncooperative, Jane, unsupportive, Mary, in favor, Kitty, indifferent. Trying to recollect a single positive moment with each of her family members over her upcoming nuptials stalled, and instead, the sea of criticisms and obstructions repeated in a loop. 

She hastened her pace up Oakham Mount, huffing and puffing from the effort. Stopped short near the top of the trail, the sunrise brightened the entire sky. Squinting, she inhaled deeply the pure fresh air mixed with musks of forest trees and damp leaves. Tension in her neck and shoulders released as her skin warmed in the sun, and she finally felt the stress of her disagreement melt away. Then the sound of a horse behind her interrupted her connection to nature.

She turned around to find two horses coming up the trail, with gentlemen upon both.

“Whoa!” Mr. Bingley called, as his new mount, energetically neared Elizabeth. To protect herself, she dashed from the path to clamber up a small crag of rocks that jutted out into the open space below.

“Careful!” Mr. Darcy called out as Elizabeth seemed much too close to the edge for his comfort. Elizabeth laughed and stepped a few inches closer to the path than she had been.

“Where is Jane?” Mr. Bingley asked, as he turned his head all around and his horse spun around in frustration at the end of their brisk walk.

Elizabeth mulled her choices. She could send Mr. Bingley back to Longbourn, where she knew Jane would not be yet awake, nor ready for visitors, just to throw the household in disarray. The action would also reveal her disappearance from the household, but the consequences of such information mattered not: she was already engaged to Mr. Darcy.

“My sister is at home, you should ride there if you wish to see her.”

Mr. Bingley frowned. He twisted in his seat to address his friend. “I thought you said the sisters would be here?”

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “That is what Elizabeth’s letter intimated,” he said, dismounting from his horse and caring not that his friend was there. As Elizabeth approached him, he lifted an arm and then pulled her close to him bestowing a kiss her upon her cheek in greeting. “You wrote ‘meet us’ at Oakham Mount. Did you mean another sister?”

“Oh! Forgive me, Mr. Bingley, I wrote in such a panic. I used the wrong tense!” Elizabeth blanched as Mr. Bingley’s face turned red, and she felt safer next to her Fitzwilliam by the minute.

“Your carelessness has raised expectations! I never would have ridden such a distance under the circumstances. You must think this some keen joke to play upon me and your sister out of your jealousy. What do you have to say for yourself?” Mr. Bingley raged.

Elizabeth felt her anger rise in her chest at such rudeness from Mr. Bingley! “Mr. Bingley-” she began as Mr. Darcy simultaneously yelled at his friend.

“Charles!”

“Do not Charles me, Fitzwilliam. You do not know the lack of support she has shown Jane.”

“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth countered.

“Admit it, you have not assisted with any of the plans for the wedding, the ball, and even abandoned her in selecting a trousseau,” Mr. Bingley charged, knocking the substance out of Elizabeth’s defense.

“Charles,” Fitzwilliam again warned, but Elizabeth patted his chest with the back of her hand as a motion to communicate she could speak for herself.

“I do not deny the merits of your words, but challenge your context. Has your blushing bride confessed to you her silence when our mother has assaulted my character, or your friend’s? Has she crowed about locking me out of our bedroom one night in a fit of temper? Or that she conspires with your sister to exclude me for her convenience and Miss Bingley’s comfort? Ride to Longbourn, Mr. Bingley. Take your frustrations to Jane, for I am not obliged to humor you,” Elizabeth shook with rage that such gossip and tales were shared between Jane and Mr. Bingley.

In disgust, Mr. Bingley steered his steed down the trail and Elizabeth leaned her head against Mr. Darcy’s shoulder.

“My apologies, mon beau, forgive my outburst. He is your closest friend and I allowed my anger to rule me,” she said, softly.

Mr. Darcy turned so that his Elizabeth faced him, a few inches taller courtesy of the rocky ledge. “I had no idea matters had been so difficult for you. I am certain if Mr. Bingley were more in his wits, he would have the compassion we all know him for.”

“It does not excuse my behavior,” she reminded him.

He nipped at her nose with his lips, making her giggle, and then he glanced to see his mount remained behaved. Blowing out a breath, Mr. Darcy again faced his Lizzy and pressed a kiss to her forehead, feeling her body relax in tension under his affections. 

“Perhaps he does not truly forgive me in separating them. What I wouldn’t do be done with all of this and away with you, my dearest, to our future together.”

For a few moments, they returned to their favorite pastime of kissing, first gently, then deeper as their passions ignited. Elizabeth’s warmth stirred low in her body, and after all of the letters between them, found herself both curious and aching to feel his touch in a most private place. For his part, Mr. Darcy seemed just as aroused, as his body pressed closer to Elizabeth’s in a manner he had rarely risked, and she could feel a stark hardness just above where she felt an urgency for relief. 

“Follow me,” she said, breaking away quickly and leading him by the arm. The trees and a large boulder provided a small cove out of view of the main trail, and Elizabeth cared not for the slippery moss growing on the shaded side.

“Elizabeth,” he said her name with so much meaning. His voice was hoarse and he desired her above all, but she also could hear a small plea in his voice of warning. 

Gulping, she lifted his hand and began to pull his gloves off of his hands, one finger at a time. Fitzwilliam closed his eyes to relish her ministrations. When at last his hands were bare, he tucked the gloves into his pocket and their hands clasped, skin to skin. They renewed their kisses, a heat rising between them as Fitzwilliam pressed Elizabeth to the rock, and she bucked her hips in return. Horrified at her reaction, she was unprepared to hear him moan.

“Yes, my darling,” he began, and his hands left hers to reach up to her neck, gently stroking the bare skin there, before traveling down to her bosom. His thumbs rubbed circles precisely where her nipples poked strenuously against the stays and fabric of her gown, his kisses swallowing her moans. She looped her arms around his neck, allowing his hands to perfectly hold her ribcage as he tormented her breasts. She broke away from the kiss, focused on remaining quiet as he hushed her, still showing her the lengths of passion his mere touch could bring. A stronger ache for relief grew between her legs, and she began to pant as she had never experienced anything so consuming. 

His hands paused and she nearly cried from the sudden halt.

“Would you like me to stop?”

Involuntarily, her response flew from her mouth with a tenor to her voice she didn’t recognize.

“No,”

He kissed her again, keeping his hands still, and Elizabeth squirmed in his arms from the discomfort. Mr. Darcy chuckled softly, again saying her name, though he did not leave her frustrated for long.

His hands did not resume their previous work and instead began to gather her skirts up one handful bunch at a time. The rush of cold air to her calves and thighs suddenly brought a burst of sense to her mind and she tensed, worried that he might mean for them to copulate for the first time right there. Asking herself if she would stop him and realizing she would not, her shame exhibited as a dark blush spreading across her skin, even as she shivered from the chill.

“I shall not ruin our wedding night,” he explained, and she immediately sighed with relief, grasping tighter to his neck. Before she could continue her thoughts about why he did not desire her as much as she did him at that moment, as her body betrayed her good sense in that question, his hand began to stroke her bare thigh and she moaned into his shoulder. As his fingers pressed against her folds, there was no hiding the amount of wetness her body had already produced, in preparation for accepting an entirely different part of him.

To her surprise, as his fingers hesitated on the precipice of disturbing her womanhood, she heard him groan and shudder against her. Fearing something was wrong, she again was unable to complete a coherent thought as his finger expertly slid down her sex, giving her the strongest feeling of desire yet with no comparison to what she felt earlier in her breasts.

His mouth found hers, as he could not trust she’d hold her silence at this part. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth struggled to process all that she was experiencing. Fitzwilliam’s fingers slid up and down between her legs, making her twitch with delight, but still yearning for more of a feeling. His kisses kept her moaning minimal, but his own moans matched hers as his hips rubbed the hard part of him squarely into her right thigh. The force of his thrusting slightly hurt as her body was not accustomed to being squeezed between a rock and Mr. Darcy stiff member, but none of that mattered the moment his fingers slid further down and breached her opening.

His hand stroked just a few times before she felt a rush of ecstasy release in her body, and for half a moment she froze, mortified, and believing perhaps she had lost control of her bladder. But she had not, Mr. Darcy had brought forth a new reaction from her body, stronger than any result of her own previous efforts in satisfaction. Her legs trembled, but his touching continued, his own thrusts against her hips becoming firmer and longer in each press.

At last, his kissing slowed, they both caught their breath, and his hand slowed but he stopped with the two of them still joined. They stared into each other eyes, and Mr. Darcy smiled. Laughing, from the overwhelming joy and exhaustion she felt, she was afraid to move and disturb their position. But the laughter jostled her body slightly, and her body seemed keen on an immediate repeat performance. Sensing he would raise her arousal again, Mr. Darcy reluctantly removed his hand and released her skirts with the other.

“That was,” she began, and he looked at her earnestly. She sighed and closed her eyes, not witnessing how he took care of his person. Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she grew alarmed. “I should like to give you the same pleasures you granted me. Is it possible?” she asked.

Mr. Darcy crumpled the handkerchief in his hands and stared down at the fall of his breeches. “If I had worn silk, I would need to ride to Netherfield Park and change my attire.”

Elizabeth’s curiosity overcame her and she stepped forward with her hand brazenly outstretched. He had just explored much of her private area and she was certain she had felt his manhood exceptionally stiffened just before. But when her sudden movement to cup the area she had felt the poking member before was not anticipated by Fitzwilliam, he did not sway his hips away in time, and instead, she received proof that his body had indeed relaxed. She looked up at him in disbelief.

“I had read that men needed touch and friction just as ladies,” she said, attempting a most civil discourse on a subject so wholly uncivil.

Mr. Darcy folded the soiled linen in half and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. He gently moved Elizabeth’s hand away as his manhood grew equally intrigued in the possibility of another round of ardor between them. “Usually, yes. But I believe our passions for one another make short work of finding our releases.”

“So that was a mutual release?” she asked, making him laugh.

“Yes,” he answered, walking towards her so that she was pinned once more against the rock. He kissed her and then scooped her up to turn her out of the cove. To his surprise, Elizabeth did not retreat and instead pressed him against the very same natural edifice.

“I find myself affixed to you, sir, my body does not wish to leave the proximity of yours,” she explained.

Mr. Darcy closed his eyes as intrigue turned to genuine interest where he was concerned for another romp down Cupid’s path with his lovely Elizabeth. She could feel the difference growing between them, and looked up at him.

“What we have shared is far better than anything I have ever hoped for, and still not nearly as good I believe, once we are man and wife,” he said. His eyes searched hers as tears began to glisten on her lashes. “Elizabeth?”

“I love you.”

He held his breath.

“I love you,” she repeated, turning her face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. “I cannot bear that we are to part,” she confessed.

He leaned his head back against the rock, gazing up at the bright blue sky above him as the sun had not slowed its rise while they were otherwise engaged. By now, Bingley had reached Longbourn, and the longer they waited, the more awkward it would be when Elizabeth finally returned, that is if Mr. Bennet didn’t send a troop of sisters to look for her.

“I love you, my dearest. If the wedding plans do not work out with Bingley and Jane, what if?” he left the question open, unsure how she would react.

“But a special license is such an expense,” she said, her mind following precisely down his same thought trail as his.

He chuckled, squeezed her form, and then gently nudged her away so that he might get them walking back towards his horse. “I can assure you, madam, we can afford it.”