“Is that what she told you?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth confessed. “She told me that far from being something she enjoyed, it was simply necessary…to have children.”
And for a few moments, they both lay in silence, for until that instant, neither of them had thought about children…and yet, they would have come, had things between them been typical for a married couple. In the quiet of the room, both mourned for a moment the unborn children who would have run across the lawns of Pemberley, who would have played with the wooden horse in the nursery.
“Mrs Collins spoke utter nonsense,” he said at last. “And not merely because she does not love her husband.”
Elizabeth propped herself up on one elbow, watching him intently, clearly captivated by the conversation. “I do not quite understand what you mean,” she whispered.
“My dear, love may exist between two people, and then all is simple, for their bodies will know what to do, and pleasure becomes natural to both. But—”
“But?” she prompted, fearful that he might not continue.
“But lust and passion may also exist. One may take pleasure in intimacies with a person for whom one does not harbour love yet who is pleasing to the senses. It may be a joy, a fulfilment for both, equally so when they appreciate the act itself.”
“Truly?” she exclaimed, astonished, slightly incredulous.
“You do not believe me?”
“I try,” she said with a smile.
“It is called lust, and it can exist outside the feeling you cherish so deeply…for both man and woman. It is a harmony of bodies, a mutual atonement, a shared vibration, that transforms the act that your friend considers so repugnant into pleasure. But indeed, Mr and Mrs Collins do not fall into this category…and thus, they are deprived of one of life’s most exquisite aspects.
“Come here, Elizabeth.”
“Where?” she asked in surprise.
“Beside me.”
“On the bed?” Her almost indignant voice made him laugh, dissolving the tension that might have otherwise followed.
“Yes, Mrs Darcy, on the bed beside your husband.”
For some time now, he had ceased sleeping upon a multitude of pillows; their number had diminished, and at night, he often turned onto his right side, as the physician had suggested there was less risk in doing so.
Hesitantly, Elizabeth rose and sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, watching him, but he was still not satisfied.
“Lie down beside me, I beg you.”
With great caution, she turned and lay down beside him, maintaining some distance between them, yet as she gazed at his relaxed smile, she grew calmer. She did not know precisely whenor how such transformations occurred within a man’s body. Still, she feared that any careless movement might pose a danger to him. Her eyelashes fluttered when he stroked her face lightly and whispered, “You have never told me that you love me.”
He felt her response in the way her body seemed to draw nearer to him, slipping beyond the control of her mind, but he stopped her.
“Wait, Elizabeth, please do not say it now…”
And she understood why at once. He imagined that her words would be those a devoted wife would speak to a husband on the verge of death. It would not have been insincerity but rather too much compassion, which he did not need. In the end, the only way for him to know the truth was to hear it from her father’s lips, and so she remained silent, waiting to hear what he wished to say next.
“Come closer,” he whispered, and she moved towards him until their bodies touched. In that instant, they both trembled, moved by the power of passion unfolding between them. Elizabeth sighed involuntarily and closed her eyes, almost ashamed.
“Open your eyes, my love. There is nothing more wonderful than what is happening between us.”
She opened them, and they gazed at each other for a long moment in the dim light of the room.
Then, he let his hand glide lightly over her body, and she turned her face into the pillow, instinctively drawing away from him.
“This is passion,” he murmured. “This desire that fills you without needing to love, simply wishing to take pleasure in your partner.”
He moved his hand away abruptly.
