@janeuary-month. Pride and Prejudice, 467 words.
Elizabeth Darcy liked to wind and unwind her husband's cravat between her fingers, when he was away.
At night she crushed it beneath her pillow, until all the starch was gone from the cloth, and the silk rumpled. Then she pinned back her curls with it, sometimes wove it into her sleeping braids, to press the ends against her nose.
The cotton pieces caught the smell of cologne the longest, but the silk was easier to tame, and easier to conceal, if she should decide to coil it into her reticule as a fanciful keepsake, a hidden companion for her long walks.
With linen, a faint smell lingered for the first week, which tended to be long enough; for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were uncommonly fond of one another, and they rarely parted for long.
When they did reunite in the quiet of Pemberley’s hallways, Elizabeth tugged her fingers into the knot against the apple of his throat. Tugged near, and freed him with quick cleverness, until her palm pressed against the true heat of his skin, and he came yielding into her eager kiss.
In the morning he was gentlemanly enough to search for it amidst the discarded clothes, behind the dressing screen. In the clasp of her fist, where she gripped it tight to hide away, and pretended not to know what he meant.
Nay, she would not relinquish it; no, sir, not for any prize. For indeed some were embroidered and some lined with lace, and many of them altered by her hand.
Did that not give her a right to hold them, and have them as she liked? Perhaps strewn about in small mountains about her bed - perhaps to sleep clad in nothing but a barrel knot on a square of worn silk around her neck.
They bargained for claim of many a cravat. If one were to guess by the brimming of Mrs. Darcy smaller drawer, all the suppleness and secret colours it hoarded, one might imagine her husband a very indulgent man, or perhaps particularly vulnerable to the merits of his wife’s debates.
But no one ever saw it, except perhaps her maid. Mrs. Darcy was a discreet sensible woman, and she kept her husband well-stocked in neck cloths all the days of her life.
If ever he complained of it, teasing at the lines of his knot over tea and wondering whether an old cravat had gone, Mrs. Darcy would be the first to remind her husband, with an arch look and sweet smile, how Lambton's haberdasher benefited greatly since the start of their marriage, and how his valet was pleased with having the chance to try new styles and new cloths so often.
All were therefore pleased, and no harm was done; though Mr. Darcy did nonetheless avoid long journeys if he could, lest his wife be cold in bed, with only those wayward scraps to keep her company.
