"Come in, Lizzy," said Jane even before her sister knocked on her door.
Elizabeth entered the bedchamber, giggling. "I won’t even ask how you knew it was me."
"I shall reply nonetheless that since I know the sound of all the floorboards from your room to mine, it was quite an easy guess!"
Lizzy smiled, a trace of regret lingering in her eyes. "I know the sound of all the boards from yours to mine, as well. This will be of no use from now on…"
Jane beckoned Elizabeth to come and sit with her, on her bed. She took her sister’s hand, a veil of sadness clouding her otherwise luminous features. "’Tis the only regret I have in marrying Charles tomorrow; you and I will no longer be able to have our nightly chats." She blushed distinctly at the thought of what sort of activities she would from then engage in, after retiring for the night.
Surmising the reason of her sister’s sudden silence, Elizabeth blushed as well but couldn’t repress a smile. She dearly wished to know what Jane’s feelings about her wedding night were. She hadn’t been blind to her sister’s mien after some private interludes she had had with her betrothed; she had noticed that her hair was always less tidy, her cheeks pinker and her eyes hazier. Yet to ask Jane what they had been doing, she had not dared. She suspected that they had done some kissing, since Jane had confessed, as early as in London, that Charles and she had experienced this sort of private intercourse; but she had never asked for a confirmation. The cold weather being an impediment in the pursuit of any outdoors activity, she also wondered where they had fled, each time they had gone and ‘checked on his potato seedlings’. Her smile widened at the thought; Louisa, as she now called her, and she had had the best of times laughing at their alacrity for this activity. She dearly hoped she’d soon be able to tease her sister on this topic; but until she had a better idea of what ‘checking on potato seedlings’ consisted of, she dared not. She came back to their present conversation – or lack of, for that matter – and her smile faded.
"I shall miss you, Jane," she said, her hand’s grasp tightening around her sister’s.
"I shall miss you too, Lizzy." Smiling yet shaking her head at her sister’s raised eyebrow, she insisted, "I shall, Lizzy. Charles, as dearly as I love him, will never replace you in my heart. I’ll never be able to confide in him as utterly as in you."
Elizabeth’s grin grew tender, "I hope he will not! Yet I’m sure you’ll have many new duties as Mr. Bingley’s wife and I doubt you’ll have idle time enough to miss me…"
Jane’s blush came back forcefully at the comment. Of all the ‘duties’ she was soon to discover, not many would be attended to at this time of night. She wondered if her sister knew their mother had come for the ‘little chat’. She didn’t wonder for long.
"I heard Mamma on her way from your bedchamber to hers; she was happily humming the hymn the choir will be singing tomorrow," Elizabeth said, her tone faking disinterest. "You wouldn’t agree to share what she told you, would you?" she ended with an impish smile.
Jane giggled but evaded the question, "Oh, you know how she is; she came to rejoice in my good fortune, to lament on my leaving home and to advise me on how to behave as Mr. Bingley’s wife."
A stern look tried to interrupt her sister’s interested "Ha ha," but Jane’s sort of stern proved to be not impressive enough. "And you wouldn’t agree to share the advice she gave you, would you? You know, on how to behave as Mr. Bingley’s wife?"
"And why would you want to know? Tell me, Charles hasn’t proposed to you, has he?" Jane asked, in a mock horrified tone.
Elizabeth did her best not to roar out with laughter. If their mother was to hear them, Lizzy knew she was in for a long and tedious scolding on her preventing Jane from sleeping, and all the horrifying consequences of this unforgivable and cruel action. But hushing her giggles was not that easy and she remained wth her head in her hands for a while, Jane as unable to resume the conversation as she was.
As soon as she could voice once again her thoughts, Elizabeth started anew to cajole her sister in divulging the extent of their mother’s confidence. Patience was one of Jane’s main qualities, yet Lizzy’s power of persuasion could sometime overcome it; and soon enough, the bride-of-the-morrow enlightened – partially – her eager sister.
"Lizzy, I shall just tell you that what Mother revealed about the marital duty shows that it doesn’t have to be a chore. I’d rather not give you more details; it would spoil some of your surprise when you are to hear it, and it would be immodest of me to speak about matters I know not."
Jane realised at her sister’s doubtful look that Charles and her little escapades hadn’t been as unnoticed as the lack of comments had led them to believe. While a rosy tone invaded her cheeks, a shy yet impish smile spread on her lips. Casting her eyes downward, she acknowledged, "I have reasons to believe she’s told nothing but the truth, and I look forward to being sure she has."
Elizabeth’s wonder at Jane’s words rendered her speechless; what was she confessing? Once and for all, what consisted of ’checking on the potato seedlings’? Where had her sister and her betrothed been able to have some experiments akin to marital duty? Was it only kissing – the light-headed sort of kiss, the one Jane had been so articulate about all those weeks ago in London – that made her sister appear almost… wicked?
These questions, although unasked, were obvious on her face; and, as attuned as Jane was to her sister’s thoughts, miss them she could not. The sheer memory of the moments she had shared with Charles in the cellar exhilarated her enough to want to share how not-surprisingly the physical urges she had discovered in London had grown, and how amazingly they had been satisfied. A fear of disappointing her sister made her hesitate, nonetheless. "Lizzy, I hope I didn’t shock you…"
Elizabeth shook her head, "I believe we already talked about it, didn’t we? Who am I to condemn what Mother obviously encouraged?"
Jane giggled, "Mother! Charles and I agreed that she makes a very bad chaperone, yet we are deeply grateful she is. I will try my best to be as bad as she is when I have this duty to accomplish. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it!"
Elizabeth blushed slightly, the occasions being potentially so close, yet so… potential still. Her sister’s speech was nonetheless far too interesting to start and daydream about the tall and dark gentleman of her thoughts. "But what is there to enjoy? And where did you manage to enjoy anything?" she asked briskly; then her cheeks took a purple tone on realising what she had said.
When her shocked fit of giggles had receded, and after a mock scolding, Jane tried to answer her sister’s questions. In as few words as she could, she told her that she had discovered and barely entered a wholly unexpected world to be shared between man and wife; she told her that Charles had been able to increase tenfold the knot she had felt in her insides in London; she told her that she had experienced a bliss she had never imagined before, satisfying both heart and body. "And that is why Mother’s speech didn’t take me by surprise. Her saying that the marital bed can be a place where duty matches pleasure makes me look forward to it even more than before."
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide opened and showed her amazement. "How you made all these discoveries with your surroundings is beyond me… Or I misunderstand the ways these delights are shared… Surely you could not… do this outside, could you?"
"Why! In the potato cellar! Weren’t we supposed to check on the potato seedlings?"
"In the potato cellar?" Elizabeth shook her head doubtfully. "I do not comprehend what it is you’re talking about."
"You probably do not, and how could you when you’re not engaged? But I assure you, Dear Lizzy, that the Netherfield potato cellar is highly suitable for delightful activities!"
The conversation paused for a moment, both sisters being engrossed in their own thoughts. Elizabeth was trying to fathom what her elder had been hinting at. The slim knowledge she had of the physical relationships between a man and a woman didn’t allow her to really grasp the extent of Jane’s revelations. The setting itself furthered her confusion. For once, she was almost regretting her sister’s reserve that made her speak so little.
Jane was back in the potato cellar. She blushed at the memory of what had happened this very afternoon; she blushed further at her impatience at discovering what still was ahead of her and Charles’ intimacy. What Mrs. Bennet had told her, even if scarcely described, had given her full confidence that the best was yet to come. Elizabeth’s frustrated smile made her realise that she had to check her thoughts and resume their – last – nightly chat. To brush off this unhappy thought, she chose to come back, once again, on what she knew was a sure way to tease her sister.
"Anyway! Mother, before leaving me for a restful sleep, did remind me of one last thing." Jane waited to have her sister’s full attention before continuing, "I happen to have now a heavy responsibility on your future happiness!" she ended, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh, I see, Jane! You now have to throw me in the way of other rich men!" she smirked, her mother’s words at the Netherfield ball and the ensuing humiliation forever engraved in her mind.
Jane’s eyes turned mischievous. "The one in whose way I threw you suits you not?"
Lizzy’s complexion took the same scarlet hue her sister’s had harboured some moments before. "Oh yes, he suits me perfectly," she replied, a dreamy smile nonetheless on her lips. She remained silent, then, realising the expectation in her sister’s look, she went on, "I shall see him tomorrow!"
Expectation became tender understanding, "Indeed you shall, Dearest! You shall, at last!"
"Jane," Lizzy said almost hesitantly, "I dread as much as I look forward to our meeting."
"You do?" Jane’s tone was genuinely surprised. "But why, Lizzy? You cannot fear to have misread him, can you?"
"No, no. Even if I thoroughly misunderstood his character for most of our acquaintance, I’d be a simpleton to read anything more than a cheerful banter between two friends in his letters," Lizzy said laughingly
"My dearest sister, now be serious. Why would you be afraid of meeting him? I know how much you’ve missed him; you should be anxious by a potential delay of his, not by his arrival!"
"Indeed you’re right, Jane," she replied wistfully, "yet you must understand how awkward it will be to speak to him when so much has been implied, or how difficult it will be to speak to him when so many people are around. Had our relationship been smoother, I would not fear this meeting so much; but considering our past dealings, there are reasons enough to dread it."
Jane pondered her sister’s words. She understood this need for privacy; in London; she had gone as far as asking her aunt and sister for such a moment. On the morrow, most of the attention would be on Charles and her; yet she knew people would also pay attention to Lizzy – for she was a favourite amongst the community – and to Mr. Darcy – since he was thoroughly disliked by most of the same community. Well, if it was privacy Lizzy wished for, she knew where it could be found in Netherfield!
With a laughing tone, she asked, "Have you ever wished to visit Netherfield’s potato cellar?"
"Jane?" asked Elizabeth cautiously.
"I’m not ready for Bedlam yet, Lizzy," Jane reassured her, a smile in her voice. "Of course you need to talk to Mr. Darcy, and of course those words have to be spoken in privacy. Since meeting him before the ceremony is not to be thought about, there will be no opportunity before the wedding breakfast. It being served at Netherfield, the safer place to go to, as long as privacy is concerned, is the potato cellar."
"As you’ve given us frequent proof in the past few weeks!" Lizzie couldn’t but tease her sister. "But Jane, do be serious. How could I lure Mr. Darcy into a cellar at Netherfield during your wedding breakfast?" She paused for a while at the thought, slightly out of breath. "I know not even where it is situated!"
"This can be easily remedied. And ‘tis the only possible means for you to find the intimacy you will both crave."
Elizabeth went on objecting – less and less efficiently – and Jane went on convincing – with more and more results, until the former begged for mercy and the latter complained laughingly about the minutes of sleep she would be missing on the morrow because of her sister’s strong-mindedness.
"You’ll see Lizzy, this cellar is magic. It seems quite ordinary, but some astounding things have happened there, and I’m sure some even more amazing are still to come. Now go to bed, my very dearest sister; you shall need as much strength as I, tomorrow."
After a tender embrace, Elizabeth left her sister’s room. Her eyes shone more than usual and no word managed to come from her constricted throat. Thus ended a period of her sister’s life, even if the official date would be the next day; and in some sense, thus ended a period of her life as well. Yet, if Jane had something thrilling to look forward to, she had not; becoming the eldest remaining amongst the Bennet sisters had never been a dream of hers, and Jane’s wedding day would also be the day when she was to learn how, precisely, her future lay in front her.
Like every night for a month, once her candle was blown out, she tried to imagine her reunion with Mr. Darcy. The last days had been tortured for her; everything, from the incessant twirling around the wedding to the arrival of his sister had kept reminding her of him. In spite of knowing better, she had expected him to arrive every time she had heard a horse or a carriage. Yet, here she was, in her bed, images of their meeting after so long a parting still a figment of her imagination. Almost asleep, some new images interfered in her ordinary routine; and, setting the scene in a dark and humid basement, she dreamed of Jane’s plan. Despite her sister’s certainty, her barely conscious mind was still doubtful that Mr. Darcy would be willing to ‘check on the potato seedlings’; now, if he was, the most daring part of her could not but hope that this activity would prove as agreeable to her as it had been to Jane…
When Jane saw her bedchamber door closing, she felt a tear going down her cheek. There was always a price to happiness she realised. She had suffered enough before finding bliss with Charles to value it to its true extent; yet, as she had told Lizzy, she would regret losing the intimacy she had shared with her sister. She blew out her candle and tried to lure herse
lf to sleep. But how was a lass supposed to find Morpheus’ arms on the night before her wedding? So many images kept popping up behind her closed eyes; images of what she would leave at Longbourn, her bedchamber, her sisters, the flowers drying in the stillroom; images of Charles, as he entered the assembly rooms, as he fussed over her when she was ill at Netherfield, as they were dancing at his ball, as she saw him in her uncle’s warehouse, as he proposed, as he kept himself in check to prevent them from going farther than he deemed acceptable – despite her own mute suggestions; images of her childhood, images of Netherfield; images of her past, images of her future. She suddenly realised what was the most important; her past had been happy, mainly because her circumstances in life – though not the brightest – had not been bleak either. The only real sorrow she had experienced had vanished in the best possible outcome, and her circumstances in life had brightened further. Her future happiness now lay in her hands, and she was confident she would make the most of it. Before yielding to slumber, she addressed God with her last prayer as a maid. Instead of asking Him to give her strength or to make of her marital life a smooth path, she thanked Him, heartfully and without further request, for the events to happen on the morrow.
The night before his wedding happened to be nothing like Charles Bingley had expected. On the one hand, his best friend and best man arrived as dusk was darkening the skies, tired from a long journey he had done mainly on horseback to alleviate his raging thoughts and more nervous than Bingley had ever seen him. And on the other hand, he felt no anxiety at all… Impatience and enthusiasm were his usual companions but he had always thought that these qualities of his – as he liked to see them – would yield before the cold feet every groom was supposed to experience. Even Hurst’s proverbial sedateness had been overpowered by a deep fretfulness, which had only been quietened by brandy – a decanter of brandy, not a glass. Yet here he was, in his library, with Darcy, late enough so that the ladies – and Hurst – would have retired, trying this ancient trick on his tense friend, and frankly not quite succeeding.
"I tell you, Darcy, that Miss Elizabeth was the one who said all those words; I merely put them down. What will it take to convince you her opinion of you has drastically changed?" Bingley asked, his tone softer than his words.
"I just cannot believe it… We parted with no tender words – not quite the opposite either, to be true – but certainly nothing that could induce me to believe she meant what I read."
Pointing to the decanter and sighing at his friend’s refusal, Bingley tried, once again, to convince Darcy that indeed, Miss Elizabeth had meant exactly what he had understood, indeed, she had changed her mind – and he would have to ask her why – and indeed, he had never been as close to utter bliss as he was now. It cannot be said that he met with total success, but, after a while, Darcy acknowledged that, being the writer of the letters and Miss Elizabeth’s sister’s betrothed, Bingley was a more than valid witness; his testimony was therefore legitimated.
Silence settled upon the room, the crackling from the fireplace the only sound to break it. Bingley was comparing Darcy’s situation with his own, during the past months. He had never been in this position, having all the hints that his suit would be accepted without having heard the confirmation from the lady herself, he understood his friend’s disbelief, though; despite all the ongoing preparations, despite Jane’s frequent tenders words for him, despite their encounters in the potato cellar, he had had moments of doubt during the last weeks. Surely this was silly, yet it was true! He sighed softly and looked up at his friend. He wondered whether he should suggest a private meeting with Miss Elizabeth on the morrow; then he resolved against it. Darcy had been remarkably open in regard of the ‘help’ his younger friend had provided him with, but this younger friend thought he had finished playing his part – and quite successfully if he could say so himself.
Darcy was weighing his uncertainties with Bingley’s guarantees; the whispers of his doubts were more and more drowned out by the loud and cheerful voice of his friend’s assurances. Yet, he had been so painfully disappointed by the outcome of his last conversation with Elizabeth that he wouldn’t believe it until he had spoken with her, frankly and openly. With a sigh, he realised that it would not be possible the next day; Bingley had warned him that Miss Bennet’s and his wedding would be the event of the year in Hertfordshire, and that a large attendance was expected. So tomorrow would not be the day, and then he would be out of the shire – staying at Netherfield when the Master of the manor was on his wedding trip being unthinkable. But dash it all! Whatever may be the number of trips from London to Longbourn it would take to acquire Elizabeth’s consent, he would do them. At least he had managed to settle the matters around the thievery before leaving for Netherfield two days before; the guilty tenant’s family had been relocated to a smaller cottage and he had found employment for the matron and her eldest son. ‘Twas painful for him to make a young lad the head of one family – he had suffered too much of it to do this to someone else without second thoughts, but there had been no other way, and he had done it nonetheless. He absentmindedly sipped his glass and tried to keep his thoughts away from their usual – since many months now – object.
"It was so nice of you to welcome Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley here…" he said.
"It was no trouble at all. It seemed to soften somewhat Caroline and Miss Darcy has been very kind to her. I hope she enjoyed the time she spent with the Miss Bennets, as well. At first she seemed uneasy around Miss Mary, Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia and she favoured Jane and Miss Elizabeth; but then she had several conversations with Miss Kitty and I think they go along pretty well, now. Truthfully, she still favours Miss Elizabeth every time she can, and I suspect that Miss Elizabeth is more than pleased in your sister’s favourite topic of conversation."
"Yes, you Darcy!" explained his friend, a sly smile on his lips.
The taller gentleman hid his unease behind his glass. Bingley’s grin widened when he saw the dark hue around Darcy’s cheekbones.
"I wish I’d been here earlier," he eventually replied. "I wish I could have spoken more with her before she retired. She made me speak about Pemberley for so long; she hardly told me how she had enjoyed staying with you."
It was Bingley’s turn to hide his emotion behind his glass. Methinks ‘twas not the only matter you wanted to discuss with her. A young lady with bright eyes could also have been one topic of interest to you. I wonder if you’d have more faith after speaking with your sister than after hearing my opinion on the subject. Ah, Darcy! How I do condole with your present situation. Wait till you see her tomorrow and your suffering will be relieved… Now, Bing, this might require more than a look, he needs to speak to her privately… We shall contrive to give you the privacy your circumstances require, Darcy; we shall…
Silence had once again settled upon the room. Bingley observed his friend rubbing his eyes. "You should retire now, Darcy. You’ve had a long day behind you and tomorrow will hardly be restful."
A startled look was shot back. "But surely you need me tonight; you’ve not spoken a word about your fears of not doing the right thing, of not being good enough for Miss Bennet, of how you’ll have to behave… as a husband… Indeed, I would be a poor best man if I were to leave you alone on the night before your wedding!"
Bingley laughed outright at this reply. "Indeed you would be!" he managed to utter. "Oh, Darcy, I suggest you retire because I feel you’re now comforted enough to envision tomorrow peacefully. I have been comforting you tonight, not the contrary!"
"Have I been that useless?" Darcy asked.
"You needn’t worry, Darcy. I have no fear, no hesitation. Jane and I will be the happiest couple; that is settled." And I have proofs that behaving as a husband will be delightful, indeed! "Go to bed, Darcy. And look forward to tomorrow as much as I do!"
On these wise words, the gentlemen left the library together and, after they had reached the upper floor, darkness settled upon the lower level of the house.
When he entered his bedchamber, Darcy’s valet was finishing the preparation of his clothes for the wedding. He quickly prepared for the night then dismissed him. Before going to bed, he went to the window and, parting the heavy draperies, he gazed into the darkness, trying to find a light far away in the night. But three miles were too large a distance, even if his window faced East, the direction in which Longbourn lay.
Is Bingley right, Elizabeth? Have you really forgiven me? Have you really missed me? Indeed you must have… How difficult it will be to behave as common acquaintances, tomorrow! How shall I bear being at the altar without you being the bride and I the groom? I really wished I had arrived earlier; you were there, Georgiana told me. She didn’t speak much tonight, but she did say you were even more beautiful than in London. He smiled, she is a sly thing, my sister! Why would she tell me this? I’m so happy she’s so taken by you, Dearest Elizabeth; you will be the best elder sister to her…
Exhaustion becoming too high to bear, he went to his bed and lay down under the warm counterpane. As soon as he had blown out the candle, he fell asleep, his night a peaceful heaven of dreams of a loving Miss Elizabeth.
At the same time, lying on his bed, Charles found that, at least, one part of the night before his wedding was as he had expected it; he couldn’t sleep. He had told nothing but the truth to Darcy; there was no apprehension in his heart, he felt very confident about the next day and the years to follow, yet sleep eluded him. Thoughts of Jane were twirling in his head. She was very probably in her bed, a piece of furniture he had never laid his eyes on, in her bedchamber, a room he couldn’t even locate at Longbourn, wearing one of her nightgowns – a piece of cloth he had never set eyes upon. It was exactly as it had been every night since they had come back to Hertfordshire; but it was the last night it would be so. Tomorrow Jane would be there, in his room, in his bed, with him; and at last he would know what sort of nightclothes she favoured. Or maybe she would have something less… something more… wifely… than her habit. He shifted on his bed, physically uncomfortable by the reactions these thoughts were provoking in his body, emotionally uncomfortable by the impurity of them. Yet after their last encounter in the potato cellar, this very day, dwelling on his undying love for Jane and their future happiness without any "impure" thought was not an easy fate. Indeed, they had again had proof that their joining would not be of the soul only.
"What is it, my Love?"
She leaned on him; they were still going down the dark staircase to the cellar. "How silly of me! I missed a stair and I almost sprained my ankle in an attempt not to fall. But ‘tis nothing, the pain fades already."
"I’ll carry you, we’ll check on your ankle in the cellar."
She laughed, "’Tis nothing, really!"
"You wouldn’t want to be limping on your wedding day, would you?" he replied teasingly, lifting her easily.
"You’ll hurt yourself! You wouldn’t want to be unable to stand on your wedding day, would you?" she answered in kind.
"Do you have so little faith in your future husband’s strength?" he said while she took the opportunity to kiss his jaw and start untying his neckcloth. They had arrived in the cellar, and he set her on the old mossy table – which had been cleaned by young Ben since their last visit.
She didn’t release him and her lips continued their path to his mouth, pecking his cheek until she grazed the soft skin of his lips. Her hands were blindly carrying on their daring task. She had so much enjoyed their last private meeting, and his cravat being discarded had been essential in their intercourse.
The ongoing loss of restraint she showed each time there were only the two of them was overpowering his self-control. Her soft moans were enchanting music that made him lose his mind. His mouth ravished hers; his hands first cradled her head then began their descent towards the small of her back. They couldn’t cup her bottom, settled on the table; therefore they went back on her shoulders where they rid her of her coat and tried to push down her dress. But it was an impossible task; her arms were up to allow her hands access to his cravat. His frustration made him think; his mind getting clearer, he realised how far and fast they had been carried away. Breathing loudly, he ended their kiss and gently stopped her hands from unbuttoning his shirt.
"Dearest," he panted, "We were supposed to check on your ankle." He chuckled, "And check on the potato seedlings as well."
She giggled back, as breathless as he was. "Why, Mr. Bingley, you’re right! But I assure you my ankle is fine."
"I shall begin with it nonetheless, if you mind not." He kneeled in front of her; the hem of her petticoat covered the upper part of her boots. He looked up in her playful eyes. "Which one is it?" he asked, as he realised the position he was in, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.
"The left one."
Charles untied the left boot and softly released her foot. Her stockings were white. Her ankle looked perfectly normal. He asked her to move her foot; she did it without even wincing. She was right; she was fine. He had to go back on his feet. His hand reached for her ankle; he touched it tentatively; she shivered. He looked up at her again. She was flushed; her lips were parted; her eyes were intent upon his. He saw no hesitation in her eyes. His fingers grazed the silky fabric, tasting the hills and valleys that were the junction between her foot and her leg. Her leg. He saw her breathing accentuate. He saw a repressed longing in her eyes. His hand wandered upward, along her calf, under the fine linen of her chemise. He reached the back of her knee. He saw her soft "Oh!" escaping from her lips. The rise and fall of her chest were heightened. His fingers were on her garter, then on its verge, hesitating. She moved, reclining against the wall. Her petticoat went slightly higher, revealing only more of her white stocking; nothing more.
Charles’ eyes snapped open. These were not the sort of thoughts he wished to entertain the eve before his union with the angel God had sent to him; even though this angel had the smoothest thighs, the tender… He sat up abruptly in his bed. This would not do; how could he sleep in his current state? He rang and an almost asleep footman appeared on his doorstep. He apologised for waking him up – to which the astounded servant mumbled an "yes Sir," thinking that him being the Master and this being the night before his wedding, he was entitled to some whim - and asked for a cup of chocolate.
Once he had drunk his hot and sweet beverage, he reclined upon his pillows and, at last, fatigue overcame him. His mind wandered once again towards the potato cellar.
"As much as I am fond of this cellar, I must say I’m glad we won’t have to seek privacy here any longer," he said, when they were exiting the small room.
"I shall always be grateful to those potatoes anyway. I’ve resolved on having some potatoes at every meal. What do you say?"
He chuckled, "It is brilliant, my Love," and kissed her tenderly.
He had fallen into a dreamlike state and a smile appeared on his lips. Sleep took him away for his last night as an unmarried man on this summary of his relationship with Jane: laughter, admiration and more corporal activities.
Sow Potatoes, See What you Shall Reap, Chapter 29
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