Elizabeth Bennet sat at the dressing table. She picked up a French perfume bottle and delicately placed a few drops onto her wrists and neck. The floral scent pleased her, complementing the smells outside rose gardens. Breaking out from behind a cloud, a shaft of golden sunlight, the last of the evening, entered the bedroom and fell across the green and red Turkish rug and onto the bed.

The sunlight drew her gaze, and she looked out through the window. Mr Darcy’s bedroom commanded one of the best views at Pemberley. Below lay the formal, ornamental gardens gently leading the eye to broad acres of parkland beyond. Elms, beeches, and oaks were dotted about in a manner designed to create a pleasing vista. Mr. Darcy told her that the gardens were laid out by Capability Brown himself some forty years earlier. Still further, fields and woods stretched up to heather-covered moorland. In a hollow, tucked behind a large wood used for deer hunting, was the village of Pemberley itself. All this land belonged to her husband.

Turning away from the view, Elizabeth congratulated herself. Her husband was one of the wealthiest men in England but that was not what had attracted her. After that ridiculous quarrel over his pride and prejudices against her family, they realized each other’s worth and fell deeply in love. She sighed with contentment. Tonight, she was the happiest woman in England.

Smiling, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her dark chestnut hair was down around her shoulders. Her maid had not finished brushing it and preparing her for her new husband’s arrival. The girl had kissed the bride before leaving.

Elizabeth hoped her husband wouldn’t be long. Through the open window, she heard laughter and singing from the wedding guests in the great dining room below. It sounded like the party was still in full swing, and she hoped their guests enjoyed themselves.

However, she had left early. Tiptoeing upstairs, she had bathed, and then her maid had worked her art to make her look so beautiful. Elizabeth knew she was pretty but tonight she looked like a Grecian goddess. Now, she wore only a sheer peignoir that clung to every curve on her body, revealing far more than it hid. Like the perfume, it had been imported at great expense from France and was worth every penny.

She crossed over to the four-poster bed. It was a massive thing, at least two hundred years old, and heavily carved in the Jacobean style. Curtains hung from beams between the posts. She wondered how many generations of Darcys had been conceived here.

Worry filled her mind. Earlier, in hushed whispers, she had spoken with her older sister, Jane, about what a man expected of a woman on their wedding night. Jane was married to Darcy’s friend, Charles Bingley. Jane told her it could hurt the first time, but it wasn’t so bad if a man was gentle and tender. And after the first time, it got better. Elizabeth was sure Darcy would be a considerate lover. Even her younger sister, Lydia, who had scandalously eloped with Lieutenant Wickham, through her giggles, told her that she felt so fulfilled when Wickham’s — fullness — was within her.

Reassured that she would be fine, she felt an unaccustomed butterfly flutter deep in her stomach. She shifted position. She was nervous but looking forward to when her love would join her. Hearing footsteps along the corridor, approaching the door, she hurriedly recrossed to the dressing table and sat back down. Swiftly, she adjusted the peignoir so it fell away from her breast in a seemingly modest yet irresistible manner.

There was a knock on the door, and then, without waiting for an answer, Mr. Darcy stepped into the bedroom. Quietly, he shut the door behind him. Immediately, the flutters in her stomach became so much stronger. He was so tall and handsome. He had just washed his face, and water droplets clung to his hair. With one hand, he swept back his hair and smiled, his dark eyes lighting up with pleasure at the sight of her. In the evening’s twilight, his white linen shirt was as white as his teeth. He crossed the room with three strides and swept her into his strong arms. Her peignoir fell away, and Darcy growled with pleasure.

Their lips met, and they kissed deeply and passionately, their need for each other filling their minds. His arms held her tightly, as close as if they were joined as one, which they would truly be short. They kissed again, Elizabeth gazing up with adoration into his brown, expressive eyes. Her hands sought his shirt, and she tugged it out from his breeches. Understanding her intention, Darcy broke away momentarily and dragged the shirt off, carelessly tossing it away. Then his hands took her peignoir and dropped it from her shoulders, where it fell around her ankles in little wavelets of silk. She stood there naked before him like Venus rising from the waves.

Darcy grinned at the beauty before him. “Oh, Elizabeth, you have no idea how I’ve longed for this moment. My whole body is on fire for you.” She allowed him to lead her over to the bed. Only now did she notice rose petals strewn over the crisp, white sheets. Sitting down, she admired her husband’s physique.

His body was hard and toned from a lifetime of riding, outdoor pursuits, and training with the local militia. Well-defined muscles stood out on his torso, and his arms were lean yet sinewy. Underneath his breeches, his long legs looked strong from hours spent daily in the saddle.

“Oh, Mr. Darcy, you are so handsome,” she murmured, her lips kissing his powerful body.

“Please, no more, Mr. Darcy,” he said, kissing her again. “Call me Fitzwilliam from now on.”

Looking into his eyes, she whispered, “Be gentle with me, Fitzwilliam. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Your happiness means everything to me,” Darcy told her. “I hope I never hurt you — I want to take care of you and love you forever.”

The fluttering was getting stronger, and she couldn’t longer resist her feelings. Her heart racing, her breath quickening, eagerly, her trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons, she loosened his breeches. Then, taking his waistband in her hands, she tugged them down over his hips.

Her eyes dropped from his torso down towards his manhood. She sat back.

“Oh. Is that it? I mean, it’s not very…” she broke off, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

No, he wasn’t going to hurt her on this or any other night. Elizabeth resigned herself to a lifetime of bitter disappointment because she married a man with a tiny dick.

 

THE END.

 

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