Page 12 of The Gossip War
She looked like she was still sceptical, and more than a little hurt.
“I know it hurts to discuss the obstacles to our union that may have influenced me, but I feel I must give you fair warning. If you grant me the honour of your hand, you will become intimately aware of just how uneven much of society will consider the match. I will of course, not care in the least what they think, but I hate to think of you, or our children, being slighted and censured by the preening peacocks of society. There are far worse snakes out there than the Bingleys, and many will sharpen their knives when we come to London. Your lack of fortune and connexions mean nothing to me, but they will mean a great deal to the ton.”
She looked as if she had not truly considered those aspects, so I let her stew on it for a few minutes while I slowed the horse, so we did not appear at Longbourn before we finished the discussion.
Miss Bennet noticed the delay and slowed to match.
Elizabeth asked, surprisingly timidly, “What would have happened if you just danced with me at that assembly?”
I just looked at her for a moment, trying to work out how to answer without giving offence.
She startled and answered her own question. “Of course! The matchmakers would have had you engaged to whichever lady you danced with, and the rumours would be flying by the next day. My mother would have made your life a misery.”
I shrugged. “Bingley has raised expectations more than once. It is fortunate that most of the women shows his special attention to are indistinguishable from Miss Bingley, so I did not feel too bad about it when he lost interest or found them to be mercenary. However, I cannot afford to act like that. I have half a dozen compromise attempts every year as it is.”
Her mouth showed a perfect ‘o’ of shock, and it was so adorable, I had to smirk. “Fortunately, I will be safe from that soon.”
She shrugged. We both knew she had not accepted, but I did not think the eventual outcome in much doubt. She might not love me yet, but I thought she would accept me.
“I suppose that in addition to all you said about shock and changes makes sense. Add to that the fact that I will be going to your house, attending your season, among your friends and acquaintances. I will be entering your life. It is our lot in life as women, but if I accept you, I will face considerably more changes than you.”
Feeling quite bold, I reached up to tweak her nose with my own knuckles in what I hoped was a whimsical manner.
“Changeyourtoourin that statement and you will be correct. When we say our vows, all that is mine becomes yours. I take that very seriously. Wedding vows are sacred to me, not just words. It is undeniably true that you will have the most changes in your life, but you will be my partner in life, not my subordinate. It is what my mother was, and what I sought all this time without even realising it.”
She smiled wistfully. “I thought you were looking for a love match?”
“I am lucky. I get both,” I said with the most intense smile I ever gave anyone.
Much to my surprise, she reached her hand that she still had in the vicinity of my head behind my neck, pulled my head down, and KISSED me.
I would like to describe the sensation, but I cannot… not really. I was struck by equal parts shock and passion, agony and ecstasy, a newfound respect for her boldness, and a great desire to never-ever stop. I gave up all pretence of letting her sit primly in front of my saddle and pulled her towards me until our bodies melded together but otherwise kept my hands to myself (mostly).
The kiss went on for some time, and I found myself just responding. She started the kiss, and she could both direct and finish it. I assumed she had her reasons—not that I was overly fastidious about what they were if I got a kiss like that. It was all the poets promised, and at the same time, both more and less. I find myself with the same problem they have, as I cannot really describe all that kiss entailed.
At some length, she finally released me, and I found the release to be just at the right time. The kiss had been life-transforming, but I thought there was something else happening I did not quite understand.
Elizabeth finally released her hand from the back of my neck, only to take hold of one of the lapels of my greatcoat, put her head on my chest, then say, “I have a question, and I will ask for complete honesty.”
I nodded, my chin resting on the top of her head to communicate my acceptance of the terms.
She asked, surprisingly timidly for a lady who had boldly declared us engaged to prevent a compromise then kissed me within an inch of my life. “What did you think of my actions just now? Did you find them impertinent, or… improper, or… wanton?”
I suspected I was getting to the bottom of her real fears—the ones she hid from everyone, with the possible exception of her elder sister (maybe). I thought that how I answered that question might determine the entire course of our lives. She asked for honesty, so I gave it.
“It made me feelloved, Elizabeth, well and truly loved, for the first time since my mother died. There is no such thing as wanton behaviour between a husband and a wife. Anything that is not harmful or painful is acceptable between a couple, and any man with an ounce of sense would kill to have a wife who knows her own mind, is willing to ask for what she wants, and demand it if necessary. I know the feeling solidified very abruptly and recently, but it is real. I love you, and I always will. This kiss helped solidify that love in my heart.”
Then I chuckled. “Oh, and I would be most pleased to repeat the experience, at your earliest convenience.”
She laughed, a full laugh like I had heard occasionally with her friends, but never with me (or any other man, for that matter). I realised I had paid an awful lot of attention to her for the little time I had known her, and this was the first time she laughed freely with me.
She finally calmed and spoke wistfully. “Youhurtme that first night, Fitzwilliam. I laughed it off, but it stung. I have been trying all this time to work out why, though? I have heard far worse, by men I knew far better, or men I had never even met; but none of them ever left a mark. I think I finally, worked out why.”
Feeling a knot in my stomach, my first instinct was to apologise again. I almost did, until I tried to look at it from her perspective. Think about how she felt. Think about how she had felt. It was a new way of thinking, but one that I thought might be a useful habit to develop post haste.
I finally decided I had to either try to guess what she meant or ask her directly. While asking would normally be the best strategy, it seemed important to try to work it out for myself.
I finally made a wild guess. “You were disappointed.”
