Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (38 page)

“That may be a slight exaggeration,
Lizzy.”

“Yes, of course it is. But not by
too much, you have to admit, Jane. If not for the random whisper or offhand
comment or rare affectionate couple, like our uncle and aunt Gardiner, there
would be no evidence to point to human intimacy being particularly enjoyable.”

“Unless one is male,” Jane
whispered.

Lizzy nodded, knowing what she
meant. Females boldly discussing matters of sensuality and intimacy were expressly
forbidden. This mandate was ignored, of course, but circumspectly, with
hesitant whispers and the barest knowledge gleaned from questionable sources.
At the same time, it was an accepted fact, loudly proclaimed, that men were
highly sexual beings. Females were constantly warned against the male species
with their “uncontainable lusts” and similar cautionary phrases. So much so
that even if clueless what an “uncontainable lust” entailed, you were on the
lookout for it.

“In retrospect,” Lizzy said slowly,
the idea newly forming in her mind, “it is not that the knowledge is unspoken,
rather that it is mixed with innuendo and false facts.”

“And guilt or shame for daring to
let your thoughts drift in that direction.”

Lizzy nodded in agreement with her
sister’s assertion. “Quite so. Are you…afraid, Jane?”

The sharp rap at Jane’s bedroom
door, followed by it swinging open abruptly, jolted a squeak from each of them.

“Oh! Girls! I heard your voices and
decided it was time. Indeed, past time!”

Mrs. Bennet rushed inside, ruffled
nightdress and robe fluttering, her tone on the edge of berserk and movements
jittery. Even for her it was extreme. Jane and Lizzy exchanged a worried glance
and half expected a calamity to hit the house any second.

“Past time for what, Mama?”

“Why, to discuss your wedding
nights, of course! So much to say. Yes. Well, we cannot voice such matters
where your sisters may overhear. They will need to know in due course, but I am
sure my nerves are unable to withstand all four of you staring at me and asking
questions! Lydia found out on her own, I daresay, and appeared none the worse
for it, so I thought to do the same until Mr. Bennet told me to—”

“Papa told you to talk to us?”
Lizzy wanted to drop into a hole and shot a horrified look toward Jane.
Surprisingly, aside from high color to her cheeks, Jane calmly watched Mrs.
Bennet pace and wore an expression of curiosity, not the embarrassment Lizzy
expected and was feeling. Wondering why she was mortified, instead of relieved
at the prospect of finally getting answers from someone experienced on the
topic, occupied her mind long enough that Lizzy missed part of her mother’s
speech.

“…be prepared for your husband’s
demands and expectations. It is safe to presume that all men are not the same
in…their urges or how they…pursue relations, but be assured that for most, as I
understand it, the need to be with a woman is strong. Animalistic in that
respect. Now, what you two can expect on your wedding nights, and as often as
your husbands can manage it thereafter, is…”

Mrs. Bennet plopped down between
Jane and Lizzy where they sat on the bed, clasped on to each of their hands,
and launched into the topic with barely a breath taken. Amazingly, Mrs.
Bennet’s nerves calmed the more she delved in. Clearly it was an unprepared
discourse, with more advice on how to avoid intimate encounters than what those
encounters precisely entailed. Yet, amid the rambling, gems of information were
interspersed. Grabbing hold of those nuggets was the challenge.

Neither Lizzy nor Jane said much,
only breaking in a handful of times with pointed questions or clarification. By
the time Mrs. Bennet exhausted herself—an hour later—Lizzy’s head
was spinning. Then, as quickly as she had arrived, she was out the door with
her good-nights tossed over a shoulder.

For easily fifteen minutes, Jane
and Lizzy sat in silence staring at their hands, the carpet, the
wall—anything but each other. Finally Lizzy murmured, “I cannot decide
between ‘amorous congress’ or ‘convivial society’ as my favored euphemism.
Either is better than hearing Mama use a clinical word like ‘coitus’ or
‘copulation.’”

Jane stared at Lizzy for all of two
seconds. Then they fell back on the bed, giggling hysterically. Breathless and
wiping tears, Jane gasped, “This is all your fault, you know.”

“My fault?”

“You brought up the subject,
remember?”

“Oh my! I suppose I did! I had
actually quite forgotten.”

“You asked if I was afraid and I
was about to answer that I was, a little anyway. Now, thanks to Mama, it all
seems too amusing to be fearful of.”

“Yes, I suppose it is to a degree.”
Lizzy turned her head to look at her sister, but Jane was staring up at the
ceiling. “What were you afraid of?”

Still staring upward and smiling
with the recent attack of laughter visible on her countenance, Jane explained,
“Nothing for myself. Mainly my fears arose from the desire to please Mr.
Bingley as a wife aught while unsure how I could do that when knowing so
little. Yet even before Mama’s information, I was realizing I had no need to fret
over that either. It is God’s design, Lizzy, and every woman since Eve has been
exactly where we are now. Every man too, for that matter. Whether the first
time or the hundredth, sensual intercourse—another intriguing
euphemism—is a part of the marriage relationship as God intended.”

“So, logically it cannot be a
frightening, unwanted activity,” Lizzy added when Jane said no more.

“Exactly.”

“Even though Mama gravely declared
otherwise?” Jane turned her head and looked at Lizzy—just looked at her,
no words passing her lips and her expression bland, yet Lizzy knew the message
being conveyed. “Right. How silly of me.”

“I trust Mr. Bingley and how I feel
when with him. I cannot share specifically, Lizzy. It would be too
uncomfortable. I can say that I feel wonderful with him, enough so that I am
convinced the…rest will be equally as wonderful.”

“Of course you are right. Like you,
I want to ensure William’s happiness and…
satisfaction
, I suppose is the
most apt term.” Suddenly hit with embarrassment from she knew not where, Lizzy
sensed the heat washing across her cheeks and giggles tickling her throat.
“Speaking of William’s happiness, you must help me, Jane. I learned from Miss
Darcy that his birthday is in November. I would like to plan something
special.”

Jane was thrilled with the idea,
and soon the two were plotting various ways to surprise Mr. Darcy, the
diversion perfect to relinquish apprehensions surrounding
amorous congress
. 

Darcy strolled through his London
townhouse’s parlor, crossed the entrance foyer, and entered the dining room.
Standing behind his chair located at the head of the crisp, bleached-white
linen-draped table, he swept his scrutinizing gaze over the room. Of particular
study were the gold-edged china place settings and sparkling wineglasses,
gleaming silver candelabras and serving utensils, fragrant flowers, and
polished chairs with spotless cushions. As in the previous chambers of the
townhouse, nothing was deemed inconsequential for his examination.

Hosting formal dinner parties was
high on his list of least favorite duties. Nevertheless, when an occasion arose
requiring guests at his table, Darcy ensured perfection and protocol down to
the tiniest detail. The exacting demands given to the staff and his rigorous
character had been put to the test repeatedly since inheriting the title of
Master of Pemberley and Darcy House. Over time, he had hosted dozens of
gatherings with aristocracy and persons of eminence, managing capably despite
his discomfort. Invariably, his guests concluded their evenings satisfied.

History was in his favor, so Darcy
knew it was illogical to fret over menus and ambience for the small group of
intimate friends and family expected tonight. Yet never had a dinner at Darcy
House held greater significance for him personally than the one planned for
this evening.

Mr. Travers entered through the
servants’ doorway and approached his employer. As he traversed the large room,
the butler’s keen eyes surveyed the scene, undoubtedly detecting a multitude of
minor flaws that Darcy would never notice. 

“Is anything amiss, Mr. Darcy? Have
all your specifications been fulfilled to your satisfaction?”

“Excellent, Mr. Travers, as
always.” He read the label on the wine bottle the butler held for his
inspection. “Two bottles should suffice, but have two more within easy access.”

Per standard procedure, Mr. Travers
delineated the list of spirits for the evening. Darcy offered one or two
suggestions but trusted the butler’s superior expertise. As they were
finishing, Georgiana glided into the room. She waited until Mr. Travers left
before greeting her brother with a kiss upon his cheek.

Referring to the bottle Darcy had
been inspecting, Georgiana smiled winsomely and inquired, “How many glasses of
that chardonnay am I allowed to have?”

Darcy pursed his lips and frowned
sternly. “Perhaps I will allow half a glass.”

“A half! I drank a whole glass
while dining with Uncle and Aunt last week! I
am
seventeen,
William—”

“I am aware, Georgiana. I was
present at your birthday celebration if you recall. Why the fervency to imbibe?
Could it be nervousness, my dear?” He tweaked the tip of her nose.

Georgiana blushed but tilted her
head and arched a brow. “I might ask who has been pacing through the rooms
since seconds after arriving at noon? Is compulsively rearranging flowers and
straightening pillows a frequent habit, Brother dear? And”—she lifted his
hand and twisted until the candlelight shimmered off each shiny fingernail—“am
I correct that you buffed your nails?”

Darcy jerked his hand from her
grasp, growling, “You may have one glass of wine, perhaps two, little imp!”

“Thank you, William!” she trilled,
clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes. “You are the best brother!”
Laughing at his sardonic grunt, she then confessed, “It is true that I am
nervous about tonight, although wanting the wine is merely because I am
curious.”

“‘Curiosity is one of the permanent
and certain characteristics of a vigorous mind.’”

“Samuel Johnson,” Georgiana
promptly replied, earning a proud smile from her brother. “A ‘vigorous mind’ is
a compliment I accept. And as William Wirt said, ‘Seize the moment of excited
curiosity on any subject to solve your doubts; for if you let it pass, the
desire may never return, and you may remain in ignorance.’”

“A
tragedy
, indeed, to
remain in ignorance on the delights of wine,” he agreed with false incredulity.
Georgiana playfully slapped his arm. “Rather than pointlessly lecture, I will
caution with another quote, ‘Be not curious in unnecessary matters: for more
things are shown unto thee than men understand.’”

“Oh bother! Must you always counter
with scripture? I cannot very well argue with God, now can I?”

“You can argue all you wish,
Georgie, but I doubt the endeavor will meet with success.” Darcy chuckled at
her indignant huff, then tucked her to his side for an affectionate squeeze.
Shifting into a serious tone, Darcy observed, “Rationally, neither of us have
the slightest reason to be nervous. Elizabeth adores you—”

“And she loves you.” Georgiana
peered up at his happy face.

“So she has assured me.” Darcy hid
the blush warming his cheeks by bending to kiss her forehead. “Furthermore, Mr.
Bingley you are well acquainted with, and our other guests are honest, pleasant
people. You will like them, I am sure of it. Now,” he said in a brisk tone,
clutching her upper arms and stepping away, “let me look at you.”

Darcy’s intention to flatter with
vague comments about her dress or something of that nature, mixed with a tease about
her youth, was revised upon honest examination. “My word, Georgiana! When did
you mature into this young woman before me? You are a vision, especially in
this gown and with your hair arranged elaborately. You”—he swallowed,
finishing in a whisper, “you resemble our mother more with each passing day.”

“Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”

“It is the truth.”

The doorbell interrupted further
sibling conversation and forestalled either of them giving in to emotional
reminiscences. Swiftly they positioned themselves in the foyer to welcome their
guests. Darcy’s tug on his jacket and Georgiana’s pat to her hair were their
last fidgety gestures.

Mr. Travers opened the door, two
footmen at the ready to take coats and hats, while Darcy greeted with typical
pomp and introduced everyone to his sister. Georgiana maintained her calm, a
hint of rosiness to her pale cheeks and intermittent glances at her toes the
only signs of her bashfulness.