This story is a complement to the short piece from the Elizabeth POV - A Dawn and a Morning After. It was first posted at AHA.

I didn't really want to do his POV to her night so this doesn't quite flow like that short story. But it's the same night nonetheless. (As in their marriage consummation night) The sexy bits come at the end so y'all have to bear with it if you wish to get there with him...(insert evil laughter) lol.

As usual, thanks to all the male poets and writers and songsters for giving me an idea into the male mind. It remains ever a puzzle to me without those insights.

His Wedding Night

Part I

"Do you not agree Mr Darcy?" Belatedly nodding, Darcy broke free of his thoughts and immediately took control of the situation.

"Yes Miss Bingley, I truly believe it will be for the best. We must leave here and it must be immediately. To delay will only encourage conflict and confusion. It is best that we leave this week, tomorrow, if it can be managed." The more he spoke, the firmer it spoke of his conviction. Caroline Bingley did her best to stifle the look of satisfaction that crept over her face. The sense of accord that she wanted with this man seemed so entirely within her grasp.

Immediately, as if instinctively he knew what she was about, Darcy quickly made his excuses and departed Netherfield's front parlour willing himself to come to terms with his mind's decision even if his heart was saturated with stubborn rebellion. It would be for the best he thought, time and distance was ever the healer. He felt it would be so, he hoped it would be so.

Sometimes however, nothing happens and one is lulled into complacency that everything is well. Then, like the broken neck of a sportsman coming to ground on a spirited hunter on a normal everyday hunt, life can be transported into chaos. Rosings had created chaos. And like the destruction of war, where he should have been happy that his previously held reservations were justified. In the end, he felt he had lost nothing and and yet, at the same time had lost everything. Slowly in the aftermath, he had reconstructed his life, pulling back the glimpses of the future he thought was his for the asking. He had done it, feeling himself all the stronger for what had occurred at the Hunsford parsonage that fateful day.

He remembered the sadness he felt quitting Netherfield thinking he would never see her again. He remembered the utter desolation after Rosings. But today, everything made up for it. His heart was happy and as he looked at her, a look of such significance as she signed her maiden name for the last time in the register, he could not help reflecting on his own face the joy and happiness that so radiated from her own. Her smiles and laughter were contagious as she took the congratulations from both his family and hers. He allowed her her triumph, because triumph she did, over everything and everyone, even himself. As he observed her becoming surrounded by all the young ladies, he smiled to himself, the wedding, the wedding was always for the ladies. The wedding night, well, that was for the men.

Society has long acknowledged three life events that imprinted themselves upon the mind of a man; the death of his mother, the birth of his first child and his wedding night.

Society does not care about the individual. The mother who has lived to be the recipient of her son's scorn and neglect made worse through the dictates of an ill-natured and devious wife. Nor would society rattle away on the injustices done to a child whose entrance into the world was marked by an unknown father without whom its station in life amounted to verily nothing. Nor does society care overmuch about the couple whose marriage of convenience ensured that their wedding night was marked with awkward indifference or loathing and distress.

For Fitzwilliam Darcy however, though he occasionally shook off society's shackles to suit his purposes, the life events that marked the mind of a man developed exactly as how society had allowed. He had already endured the loss of his mother. At a time when such a loss sealed his fate to forever recall it at odd, unconnected moments with all the weariness of what could have been. He looked forward to the birth of his first child in the not too distant future but, only from a woman that he would call wife. As to the third, having outmanoevred many of society's other dictates, he now looked forward to a wedding night that held the promise of greatness.

If a man could be said to have ran through the details of such a night a thousand times over - it would be he. He had thought about it, dreamt about it. Had imagined exactly how it would be, long before, much much longer before the woman in question had any notion at all that she was the object of such intense desire and longing by such a man.

Over the course of their one month courtship, much had occurred to show her the true meaning of affection from a loving man and to show him the true worth of a woman whose heart was worth the capture. He had been, by the time of his wedding, thoroughly well acquainted with all of the finer details of love and his ardour and affection had only grown.

That his lady was intelligent he had no doubt, but to have that wit turned to him as to one deserving of her confidence. To be the object of her playful and decidedly affectionate banter was something new and utterly joyful to him. Now that he knew how to look, he could easily tell the difference between an Elizabeth in dislike, an Elizabeth in like and an Elizabeth in love, and he sometimes wondered at how he could have been so stupid before as to have confused the former with the two latter.

Throughout their courting, his sense of delicacy had not proved lacking. He had been clearly able to discern her moments of trepidation and to know when her confidence relied on his. And to know when his knowledge and information was a necessary guide to her. He had led her down the path to her first kiss, an act surprising in itself for the sheer shock and joy of it.

"Would you like to go for a walk Mr. Darcy?" She had asked it with a hint of teasing but it was of a kind he had not experienced before. It was accompanied by an expression which suggested that she would very much like to go for a walk with him. How simple it had been- to go for a walk - and yet it seemed the whole world was changed during it. This walk had been very different. To be alone with her, yes there were others around, but to feel her walk close to him and walk closer still so that their bodies brushed each other, was exquisite. It had seemed that for both of them, there was a heightened awareness, a thrill of some unknown force bidding them to get closer and closer and closer.

She had taken him off the path, to look at the view she said. And while she pointed it out asking if it were not beautiful, he could only agree, because at that moment, only she filled his vision. The intense need for more closeness had brought him into her space. His eyes begged a question that only her lips could answer. He watched, mesmerised by her and by that unknown force, slowly dipping his head giving in to the desire that pounded his heart. Warm air coloured his thoughts as his pulse increased and his breath lay suspended, waiting for something inevitable to happen. Then, sweetly, he felt her lips touch his, searching, soft and vulnerable. He closed his eyes and opened his heart to the sensation. The feel of Elizabeth's lips on his, tentative and shy inflamed him. It created an overwhelming need to touch, to taste, to feel her. His arms wrapped themselves around her, relishing in her warmth. Her mouth became like a potent, heady wine that took control of his senses, leaving him intoxicated and exhilarated. Ignited to a degree he had never thought possible, he followed her with his lips, never ceasing contact as her form sank back on the powerful beech behind her. Her hands, of their own accord had reached under his coat pulling him towards her, sacrificing propriety for his body. He became aware of things he normally would not have noticed so quickly, the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin, the feel of cooler air as nature kicked up a breeze around them. His mind reeled and his body was quickly following, becoming aroused to a degree too painful to bear. Then, grasping her face in his palms, he slowed himself and deepened the kiss...deepened and slowed, deepened and slowed, conveying in that one kiss what she meant to him. Slowly he breathed in her warm breath and sighed to feel her singular presence entering his body.

Softly, the flow of his blood had subsided, receding like the tide. This, the fleeting thought crossed his mind, is what it means to be alive. This moment, this woman. They broke apart, flushed and conscious and awkward and then, without warning, she grabbed his coat and pulled him in for another, and then another and then they were laughing, kissing and laughing, and then growing serious and fervent until they both sighed as he held her to him, tight. They had crossed another juncture and now in the space of mere minutes, it seemed only natural that his lips would reach for hers and that hers would smile against his before parting to accept him.

When out in the wider society together, he observed in pure unstinting admiration, her protective nature of him as she sought to shield him from the excesses of vulgarity during his stay in her neighbourhood, despite the fact that his mind was now predisposed to overlook that which he could not ignore.

He found he could never love her as well as she deserved, especially when he had considered how slight her duty would have been compared to when he would have to likewise rise as her shield and protector as they entered society as husband and wife, a single unit, together. He knew that any marked vulgarity in Meryton proceeded not from malice but from familiarity. Something that did not altogether define the part of society where he resided. But he was prepared to be her champion. He had always been ready to do what he must for those who had his love and consideration, but for her above all others, there was no limit.

As he stood on the extensive circular Longbourn sweep in front the house, on this windy November afternoon, the sudden chill from the wind under his greatcoat distracted his meditative thoughts, and finally sunk within him the idea that it was indeed very cold. My wife and I should really be leaving he thought. He had been a husband of maybe three hours at most, but thinking it brought a smile to his face of such warm fevour, that many who knew him would have been astonished. My wife and I, he smiled again, absurdly repeating it aloud. Were it not for this reaffirming physical awareness and the slight drizzle that accompanied it, he might not have even observed the cold. so hot and fluid were his thoughts. They had been fixated on that one room, that one spot where that one woman was located. He had been waiting very patiently out in the open air as she was making her goodbyes. He had gone outside to allow her some privacy with her family.

To describe his current state of mind he felt was impossible. It were as if he had always loved her. The strength of his attachment shocked him and still had him in a state of unsettled turmoil. He struggled to keep his mind, his responses to her, his self-respecting manly behaviour, under good regulation. He struggled to appear to the world as if for anything, this woman that he married did not command his every sliding thought. That she did not arouse his body with her proximity, nor his heartbeat with her smiles. Always a serious man, he found his world lightening considerably in her presence. It felt to him as if he had gotten a great privilege, a great boon in the gift of her love. A love he fervently hoped would increase exponentially as they grew old together. He had dusted off that glimpse of his future cast aside at Rosings and now it appeared before him like a newly minted coin, fresh, sharp and in his hands.

He once recalled, after being witness to a masterful battle between his aunt and uncle, the earl and countess, and of asking his cousin, the Colonel, half in jest, whether they would possibly be able to live together after sharing such harsh words. He should not have been surprised two days later to see them as affectionate as he knew them to be.

In reflecting on the many married couples who claimed his acquaintance, there were few he wished to emulate. But one in particular struck him as ideal and, the irony of it all was that, he could not so much claim them as his acquaintance as his new wife's since they were her very own aunt and uncle Gardiner. Their affection and mutual regard along with their being affectionate parents, had shown him what he could aspire to. And that aspiration was beginning to supersede everything else. His view of the future was now...different.

With Elizabeth, he knew how well he had chosen. He did not think that the barriers would magically lift and that marriage would bring a resolution to all conflicts. They were two people after all. Elizabeth herself made that abundantly clear. She was a woman who refused to be bullied, cowed or cajoled into doing what she did not wish to. He knew there would not always agreement between them. They were both passionate in their own way and often independent in their thinking. But it was a complementary independence- never had he wanted a woman to consistently agree with him. He enjoyed the way her mind worked, matching his stride for stride. It created in him a different kind of passion, one that he looked forward to redirecting in new and different ways.

Having been the recipient of the fullest extent of her anger, he felt it would be difficult to provoke it, but still, he intended to try, because he secretly thought the surest way to arouse her was to provoke her. Using his influence to stop her ire with a kiss was a long held desire. In idle moments, when his mind was filled with her, he imagined and sometimes amused himself with all of these different scenes. But at the same time, he knew life would be drastically altered, forever changed. Now he would know what it was like to have a wife. Now he would know the joys and passions of having a woman constantly by his side, a lover and a friend, whom he loved and adored.

Not for the first time he sent silent prays for Georgiana. Through her, he experienced how to temper his behaviour and learnt something about taking care of a woman. Granted, being a brother who had almost been as a father could not compare to being a husband. But it gave him no little comfort to know that he already had that turn of mind, that want of delicacy, which, based on all that had been expected of him, all that he had learnt and seen, was to him so very necessary to love and provide for a woman, his wife.

It was not just about wealth and status he thought, with a gut-churning irony. Nothing prepared a man for a partner. Nothing tangible. A wife to him had always been an abstract thought, a future goal, an inevitability. It was neither pride nor vanity that marked him as an eligible catch. That was his reality.

The conversations had raged about him since he was fifteen years old and sometimes he was amazed to look back and think on how it was.

"Stewart. Who is that young man you have been asked to share your room with?" As a reticent fifteen year old, Fitzwilliam Darcy had settled himself into the fourth year dormitory at Eton but then was not quite able to make his escape before his roommate and his roommate's parents had arrived. Hastily he made a perfunctory bow, but, not leaving fast enough, he was privy to yet another conversation about himself.

"Oh mama" the young Viscount replied. "That is Darcy. The late Lord Matlock's grandson. His father is Mr Darcy of Pemberley."

"Mr Darcy of Pemberley?" Lord Dalvern the Earl of - asked, just as his wife interjected.

"Does he have an older brother?"

'No mama, no brothers, an only son." The youth rolled his eyes at his mother.

"Of Pemberley you say?" Lord Dalvern asked again.

"Yes papa" grimacing as his mother fixed his hair and brushed his coat.

"Well you must remember to bring him home." His mother continued. "Invite him home when you come down at the Lent half, your father will be organising a cricket match. I am sure he would like to come and I am sure Julia and Henrietta would enjoy meeting him. It will do him well to associate with those our rank you know, even if his father is just a gentleman. He is a handsome young man of fine figure and an only son! Yes, I am sure Julia and Henrietta will greatly enjoy meeting him."

Then...

"Darcy, may I present to you my sister, Lady Sarah."

A bow, a curtsey. A hand presented to be kissed, a lukewarm response.

Then another...

A scene of warm applause, he was twenty then.

"Oh Mr Darcy, you have such a fine seat on that horse! The finest seat sir!" The young lady was actually ogling his seat.

A shared smirk between Wickham and the lady's cousin, men who were on the hunt with him and who happened to have been close enough to overhear, resulted in an angry look in their direction before he responded somewhat coolly.

"I thank you, Miss Crichlow."

At his uncle's withdrawing room at the age of twenty five.

"Darcy, Lord Melville asked me to speak with you. It seems he has a niece coming out this season and he asks if you would do him the honour of visiting her at his home and perhaps being part of her escort to a ball..." at the facial expression in front of him the earl hesitated "...or two..."

That last he would never agree to without his two cousins, Lord Matlock's own sons. One of whom actually did go on to successfully court Lord Melville's niece who turned out to be a naturally engaging young woman. But he never regretted his own prideful turn to disapprove of those who courted his favour. Highborn or low, stinking rich or wallowing in debt, unless they proved in some way to rouse his own interest, he spurned them all.

It became so that he was immune to all manner of strategems and artifice and learned to recognise affectation in a look, a tone, a body movement.

It was not as if he could not have married before. He met women extremely capable of drawing him in- if he were so inclined. Handsome women, accomplished women, women of grace and pedigree. Women who tempted him and who had him sometimes wanting to yield to temptation. But always there had been some impediment. It was difficult to find a woman wholly unencumbered. When they came of rank, they came impoverished with little much else to recommend them. When they came with beauty, they came debt ridden and, more often than not, insipid. When they came with wealth, they were not just sometimes tainted, that was too mild. they were more often dipped, soaked, wrung out in the waters of the vulgar, the uninformed and the uncouth. When they came perfect, they came with a husband. But it was never something he lost any sleep over. Gaining a wife was an inevitability.

He had been a highly sensitive boy and as a man he was scarcely less so. Education gave him discrimination, wealth gave him the ability to be generous from high, status gave him pride. All three combined, created a fashionable, formidable, highly discerning man. That was how he was considered and that was how he considered himself, until he encountered Elizabeth Bennet.

Through the example provided by his parents, he had learnt what it took be an admired and respected leader in their part of the world. One did not buy respect, fawning deference yes, but respect, true respect and admiration, one earned.

Elizabeth Bennet, now Elizabeth Darcy he knew, earned his respect, his gratitude, his esteem and his love.

As he walked away from the house, with these very proper and sometimes not so proper thoughts floating through his mind, he was unaware of the sight he presented and what his new wife saw. His handsome features greatly softened by a small smile and his upright tall figure never losing its ability to impress even in his 'almost' pacing. His impatience was tempered. He would wait for her for as long as it took. This he knew.

Suddenly he became aware of his useless activity by the sound of the gravel crunching under his boots. To give himself something to do, he walked around to check on the carriage to make sure everything was ready for departure. Stopping at the head of the lead horse, a fine black thoroughbred and one he used for hunting occasionally, he frowned as he fingered the rein.

"Martins" He called to his coachman, who was waiting under a one of the many tall beech trees at the side of the Longbourn drive, a natural separation between the road from the small park adjacent to the house. "Martins, I thought I had mentioned no overcheck reins on my horses."

"Aye, Master." Martins said, his northern accent thick with his annoyance as he scrambled to attention "Tis that lad again, Joe. The one who came from my Lord Matlock's Lon'on stables. Him as one that would put on them there bearing reins without thinking! I reckon I would have seen it again sir since I was to check it. 'Tis the first I've seen of it. He must have been thinking that you'd like to return to London fashionable-like sir. But no harm done I think."

Slightly irritated, Darcy, brushed aside the excuses.

"Nevermind whose fault it is. Take those reins off and gave the horses their head. I'll not be ruining any of Pemberley's horses for something as foolish as a fashion rein." Stroking the horses' muzzles again, Darcy spared a thought wondering at his carriage and four of Pemberley's finest horses. It had taken almost a week to ride them down to London to allow them to cover the distance well rested. But it meant the trip back north, when they eventually left London, with those horses would be just as long. By rights he should go post, but for once, for some unfathomable reason, in bringing his wife home, he wanted everything around him to be his- Pemberley's horses, Pemberley's head coachman, an understudy as well as two outriders, regulars on Pemberley's retainers. They were all collected, in various states of repose, laughing and heckling, familiar and friendly, all congregated at the Longbourn Drive. Had someone mentioned even a year ago, this particular outcome, no doubt he would have laughed.

His air was one of excitement but it was of a reserved sort. He felt somewhat cloaked in a sort of nervous energy, It was not a feeling easily described nor was it exactly comfortable. He recognised certain aspects, the signs of his lust for example. Yes, he desired his wife. He desired the woman that she was and he wanted nothing more than to give in to his desires. To bed her. To sink himself inside her. To feel that kind of closeness that he had yet to experience. Where he would give of himself without reserve and without fear and uncertainty, but most of all with complete and unyielding love.

But yet it was still so much more. He wanted so much from the night ahead and was afraid that his anticipation might be anticlimactic. Physically he was ready, mentally, he was uncertain. What if he embarrassed himself before he could even get the marriage consummated? What if it were too painful for her? What if he lost so much control over himself, he became insensible to her feelings? His anticipation was building and it was a bit disconcerting. It was the kind of feeling one got in observing the sky molding itself into a storm, apprehensive because of all the unknowns but excited because one knew that something magnificent and beyond one's ability to totally understand or control was happening. That was Elizabeth. She stirred up all of his passion and now all he wanted to do was to expend himself, totally and completely in her.

Such was the sight he presented as she stood inside the house observing him. Externally, his was a calm, controlled demeanour, but as she had watched him pace, it lay only as a shell of consciousness since she was only just beginning to read him, she felt certain that inside, inside his mind, he was a hyped-up mess of anticipation and energy.

At last she came out, followed by her family. He stood by quietly as she hugged her two remaining sisters, stopping to admonish them lightly with brief words.

He overheard her as she took one of her sister's hands. stopping to wipe the tears that fell from her eyes.

"Now, now Kitty do not cry so. I have not died. I am only married and you know it is resolved that I am to be the best and happiest of wives! I know that Lydia is gone and so are Jane and myself. But you are not alone. There is still Mary and mama. Just think, if you are a good girl papa might give you more pin money! You would like that I am sure. And then, if you are very good, I shall ask Mr Darcy for you to come and spend part of the season with us in Town."

He did not know what answer her sister Catherine made, but he observed the skittish glance in his direction. He could not help it if she was afraid of him. He knew, for Elizabeth's sake however, he would improve his manners to her family and had been doing so by degrees.

He observed her father as he was watching Elizabeth, his pride in her obvious. To Mr. Bennet, Darcy knew, she would forever remain his "little Lizzy."

The thought caused him to focus on his bride and he felt a surge of emotion flow through him- love, anxiety, nervousness, desire and admiration. He watched her as she moved with youthful confidence and exuberance. She was a young woman, filled with positive flowing energy, it was magnetic. He could hardly keep his eyes from her as his gaze minutely followed her features, becoming more enraptured the longer he looked. He felt his pulse speed up as she turned toward him, glancing at him, quickly catching his eyes and then averting her own. It was done ever so slightly, he almost missed it. She was at the same time shy and alluring, and for a man such as him, it was a maddening combination as he felt his senses cleave towards her.

When they had first met, this behaviour from her, he never knew. This shy, enticing, alluring woman. She could still cut him to the quick with her wit but now it was tempered by the warm glow of love. He knew now what it was to feel her touch, hesitant and yet bold on his face. His eyes closed as she traced gentle fingers over his temple, his eyebrows, his jaw then his lips, startling her into a soft moan of surprise as he captured her fingers between them, tasting her, feeling her reach inside of him, sealing his heart to her.

It scared him, the depth of his feelings for her. He knew she loved him and her love for him served as the foundational reinforcing aspect of his love for her. But still, it was new and it scared him. It was the one aspect of his life he could never fully control. His feelings for her sometimes swooped down on him like a kite dipping frantically in a surge of wind, struggling to right itself until it was given the freedom of thread to lift off and yet still be controlled. He did not like the swooping, it felt strange, exhilarating, yet disquieting. There was nothing in this world so reckless, so wildly abandoning, so uselessly pulsating and yet so perfectly sublime as his love for Elizabeth. As he mused his fate while observing her, he knew he could never tire of watching her. Hers was ever a beguiling, bewitching countenance. The light of her fine dark eyes displaying expressions on her face he had long since come to adore.

He was soon pulled into the fray however, as his mother-in-law expostulated against him for taking Elizabeth to Derbyshire. "Who knows when I shall see my dear girl again?" She lamented.

He caught Elizabeth's eyes which clearly showed her amusement as he, very seriously and solemnly- he knew her also to be a bit afraid of him- took both Mrs Bennet's hands in his and assured her in the kindest manner possible, that she would always find a welcome at Pemberley. The mere mention of the estate proved the desired outcome, as all focus at the loss of her newly favoured daughter, re-centred on the son she had gained and of his great wealth, leaving her once again struck dumb by the thought.

Soon however, he reasserted himself, and with new activity, bustled his wife toward the carriage. She laughed at him causing him to relax. Unobtrusively he slipped his hand into hers as they walked away side by side. He glanced down at their entwined fingers and then into her eyes, meeting her startled look of pleasure with a hint of a smile as he squeezed her fingers and felt the slight answering return of her own. Silently he handed her into the waiting carriage, decorated with all manner of fripperies, and streamers, the horses' manes neatly plaited with garlands threaded through them announcing to the world that they were a couple newly and happily married.

"Thank you Fitzwilliam." Elizabeth said to him in a low voice, holding his gaze as she moved to sit and he knew her words were for more than just the simple gesture of performing the duties of a gentleman helping a lady into a carriage.

'It is my pleasure Elizabeth" he said inclining his head slightly, love and a smile in his looks.

One last time he turned to survey his new family as he walked forward to clasp his father-in-law's hand in parting goodbye. He felt the hand squeeze his in a firm grasp and he looked again at the man before him, searching him with his gaze. If it were he who was giving over the role of protector he would have wanted reassurance himself.

"You will take good care of my girl Mr Darcy?"

"With my life sir."

"Ahh, not with that, never with that" was the quick rejoinder. "Lizzy would never forgive me if I were to extract that promise."

There was an awkward small moment, the expression of sadness on the older gentleman's face could not be brushed aside.

"I apologise Mr Bennet, but we must leave now- if we are to make London before nightfall."

"Yes, yes so you must. You must leave now. It is well that you leave now."

"Mr Bennet, I will take every possible care of her." He briefly held his shoulder as he said it, such displays of feelings usually beyond him. But he wanted to let her father know that he understood.

"I know that you will Mr Darcy. Well then, off with you. I hope to see you both soon...but perhaps not too soon." Mr Bennet noted as he stepped away to go to his wife. "A newlywed couple is never to be too soon visited. But, you must be on your way, I can keep you no longer. Get ye both to London town Mr Darcy!"

Darcy smiled at those words and hurried to fulfill the wish as his feet went faster than his mind could think, leading him swiftly into the carriage, vaulting one step up, toward the rest of his life.