“That is what I thought.”
The two made a circuit amongst the guests, saying goodbye, and ending with Richard, Georgiana, Jane, and Mr Bingley, who accompanied them out to the carriages. Fitzwilliam, not one to be lackadaisical about safety, checked both carriages himself. The wheels, the straps that bound the trunks to the top, the safety gear. Satisfied, he commended his drivers with the words, “Everything is perfect, as always. Thank you, men.”
Then he handed Elizabeth in, climbed in himself, and tapped the roof to indicate their readiness.
As the carriages made their way to Meryton and headed towards the main road, Elizabeth still heard the wedding bells ringing, and she felt quite overcome with emotions.
Fitzwilliam immediately drew the curtains over the windows and moved to sit next to her. “Happy tears?” he asked. It was the refrain of the day.
“Very happy. But I am also feeling a bit wistful, knowing I will miss my sisters—some more than others—and I feel a surprising amount of relief.”
“Dear God, yes, I feel so much relief. It felt as if I was going mad whenever we had to say good night and go to separate houses.”
“Can I ask a rude question—or at least a bold one?”
“Please do!”
Fitzwilliam looked so hopeful, Elizabeth had a good idea of the category of rude or bold questions he was expecting. She chuckled and asked, “Does your cousin Thomas suffer from poor eyesight?”
Fitzwilliam was overcome with mirth, shoulders shaking as he laughed. “You picked up on that, did you?” he asked.
“Well, when Mr Bingley called out his name, the viscount bowed to the myrtle tree instead of the man.”
“My lord,thatis hilarious. I must relate that one to Richard. It will slay him, of course, but needs must.”
Elizabeth chuckled and said, “I do not believe that having poor eyesight is the least bit humorous, and I would never wish to laugh at someone for their…well, their infirmity. But it is the way the viscount acts so very haughty, and he peers at one and all with that quizzing glass, as if it was a weapon of snobbery, a calculation of others’ worth, a method of intimidation. But then, it turns out, he needs it to see! If he were wearing spectacles, and they fell off or were broken, I would not think it at all funny if he bowed to a potted palm, then a statue of Athena, and then atorchère. No, it is not his inability to see well that deserves a laugh; it is his hiding his need behind a facade of superciliousness.”
Fitzwilliam sighed and said, “And this past minute sums up so much of why I love you. You sympathise with others, you are kind, and yet you stand up against intimidation and hauteur. And then there is your wit. I am so glad you agreed to bring lightness and warmth to my life.”
“And I am so glad you agreed to bring the scorching darkness to mine,” Elizabeth said.
She looked sideways to his face, to see how he took those words, and discovered him shaking his head. “Oh, Elizabeth,” he muttered, “I truly do not wish to have our wedding night inside a swaying, jostling carriage. But you make my blood boil and drive me to distraction. Perhaps we should discuss Thomas some more, or perhaps…turnips?”
“Oh, dear, I am afraid that turnips may be much too ribald a topic for my delicate sensibilities. After all, in the past, farmersleft their fields fallow, cold and barren, virtually untouched, for months, else those fields would lose their strength. But the magic of turnips is that planting these exemplary vegetables ensures that the ground is never empty. Instead, strength is garnered, energy redounded, with the seeds sown into the furrowed earth and then kept moist by?—”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Fitzwilliam’s eyes had grown huge and dark. “Do you know enough about the marriage bed to bring that much doubleentendreto a discussion of turnips?”
Elizabeth sat up straight and pulled away from him in her discomfort. “What?” she practically squeaked. “What double meaning? I mean, yes, I thought I would tease about the cold, barren, untouched fields. Is that…what you mean?”
Fitzwilliam said, “Yes, and that was very clever. In my efforts to speak of anything that will cool my ardor, I suppose that turnips was not the best idea. But…when you expounded on seeds and furrows and moistness….”
Feeling her cheeks heat, she said, “Ohh…yes, I had not really thought about those words…I do sound like a wanton, do I not? My apologies, sincerely.”
He said, “It is no matter. Come here, relax.” He gathered her back to being near him again and said, “Your mother must have given you a talk. That is something that is done, is it not?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Can you tell me what she said?”
“Well, I assure you, she did not use the wordsseeds,furrows, ormoist! I really…I had no idea…. It is quite sad that I sound so wanton by accident, just talking about farming, is it not?”
“I am positive I will love having a wanton wife—as long as she is only so with me, that is.” He laughed as she tried to pull away again, and he said, “I am teasing, love; I trust you not to speak of moist furrows with other men.”
“Fitzwilliam!!” she said. “It sounds much, much worse when you say it, I assure you!”
“Pray, let us find our way back to the topic, madam.”
“Turnips or what my mother told me?”
