Author's Note

And HERE we ARE…

No more guests. No more relatives. And no more trout.

It has been a rather long journey to this point, hasn't it? Thank you one and all for making it with me. This story has generally been a slow burn and to be honest that rings true for my version of Anne and Gilbert's fabled wedding night as well. This chapter is a love letter to them and to all of you for whom their romance and their connection is key. I desperately wanted to give a strong indicator of their intimacy without tipping the balance into M-land, here, and so I hope for those who remain T readers, that this is just enough and not too much…

However, I have continued this interlude over in the M section for those who are not quite ready to call it a night. A new sister story to this is entitled O! Let me have thee whole – all, all – be mine! No nice, pithy story titles for me, thank you very much – give me the tongue-twisting quotation any time… The very first chapter is up now (the first of three or four) and these will cover the remainder of the wedding night and a little glimpse into their honeymoon. After this the action will return to this main story for a final one-two chapters with a possible epilogue. Please don't despair as I won't remain in M-land forever, and I am committed to completing this story! (and, obviously, those other two!)

Thank you to all readers and especially to reviewers, and to those who have done double duty here and over on AO3 where this story is still in its beginning stages. I first posted on this site in September 2017 (for a story that is STILL going!) and fanfic is in my blood now. That is very much due to you all… If you are out there and considering putting fingers to keyboard, determined that THIS will finally be the year, please don't hesitate, and don't doubt, just DO! I am delighted to hold your hand if you need any help or reassurance. I am only a PM away.

This chapter is dedicated to two unfailingly supportive people; oz diva, who will be relieved beyond measure that I am finally up to the interesting part; and to Alinyaalethia, who might well win the vote for the writer I want to be when I grow up x

With love

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Twenty

Cherishing

Gilbert

"Here, now, my darling…" he swooped on her suddenly, lifting her up and into his arms, nestled against his chest and taking two long strides over the threshold. "We didn't quite get to this part earlier."

If her giggle was ordinarily music then her surprised laughter now was a symphony, and the release of his own guffaw mingled with their new delight in finally seeing their home in their own time and on their own terms. He quick-stepped through to the kitchen, then swung back drunkenly to head in the other direction, reintroducing the dining room and the sweeping views out to the harbour, passing by a closed door that he would save for later on his way back to the living room with its welcoming fireplace – finally staggering to the nearest settee, hoping to deposit her upon it with due ceremony, but instead collapsing with Anne in a tangle of skirts and shrieks.

"Oh, Gil!" Anne laughed breathlessly, pinned underneath him, and their positions were such an audacious echo of every snatched and stolen moment of the last three years… and such an unconscious aperitif of what was to come, that her cheeks quickly flamed to the knowledge. Gilbert's chuckles had rumbled in his chest but soon died a death, his own faint color proving the thought was likewise neither lost on him.

"Sorry, my love…" he murmured, regretfully extracting himself and helping to pull her back up to sitting, and himself to some semblance of calm. The delicate hooks holding her emerald jacket in place had sacrificed themselves in the melee, revealing a whisper of chiffon beneath, and he helped to divest her of this most unnecessary layer with hands that moved with more surety than he felt. Gilbert was distracted beyond belief now by the rise and fall of her chest, and the tumble of hair that couldn't fight gravity for very much longer. Nor could his fingers help their passage, teasing tendril and curl, till he found a series of pins and with amazed, adoring movements, slowly removed each, till a thick, rich auburn braid fell in a glorious rush, as mesmerising as ever Browning could have written it, but no poet could quite account for the feeling of his heart in his mouth to see it, to run his fingers through it, to unravel it into soft waves that flowed across the pale sand of her blouse.

Nor could he prevent himself pressing his nose above the fluttering pulse at her ear, inhaling deeply, the familiar scent of lilies overlayed by the golden sun of their noontime vows, mixed with the salt of the sea of their romantic passage to the creamy clam-shell cottage that was now their home.

"Oh, Gil…" Anne shivered, releasing a swirling breath that teased his face.

Their kiss was unbearably slow and sensuous, fired by the warmth of the fireplace and the awareness of their new freedom. Gilbert had kissed Anne a thousand times and never failed to marvel, and hoped there would never come a day when he stopped doing so.

He gulped at her gaze, now, all greening eyes and soft, wondering smile. The tension in him began to coil, exquisite in its pleasure-pain. He knew the feeling well; it had been a constant companion these past years and he had become expert in manoeuvring around it, tying himself to a guide rope that he only ever allowed himself to follow so far… but what if the rope snapped, now? What if he strangled himself with it? If the dreaming-desire of years was quenched too quickly, for either of them, he would never forgive himself… and yet, to deny the pull of that tide… the fatal lure of those dark waters…

Anne reached out pale fingers, plucking his apple sprig from his buttonhole, twirling it thoughtfully before inhaling and placing it behind her on the low side table.

"I think, Gilbert Blythe, you are the most handsome man I have ever known in my life."

He gave a low, pleased chuckle, his hazel eyes lighting. "A good suit will do a man wonders."

She tilted her head to the side, giving a coy shake and sweeping her eyes over him adoringly. "A suit still needs the shoulders to fill it."

His grin grew by degrees. "Will we test their adequacy then, Anne-girl?"

Anne cocked a brow, but he had already scrambled backwards, risen, and leant over to sweep her back up anew. There was no laughter now, just his firm tread and their quick breaths and the intermittent squeak of the stairs. Outside their House of Dreams the wind picked up, billowing the gauzy curtains inside their bedroom, the bed adorned with an apple-leaf quilt that still smelt of Green Gables and made Anne's throat tighten.

She remained cradled against Gilbert's chest in the doorway as he surveyed the room, remembering belatedly that he had yet to see it dressed and ready for them, turning to follow his gaze as he set her down gently on the floor with a careful smile and a look she tried to fathom.

"I didn't realise quite how lovely it would all seem," he explained throatily, "until I saw you in it."

Anne bit her lip and took his hand to lead him over to the dormer window, with its view of the harbour; a vastness of rolling dark broken by the sand bar and the beam of Captain Boyd's beloved light. Gilbert's arms snaked around her and she leaned back into the comfort of his embrace, sighing with contentment and hearing his soft laugh in her ear.

"Something amuses you, Dr Blythe?" she half turned towards him.

"I just remembered I wished to tell you something," she could hear the smile in his tone. "The sight of our bed just reminded me. I regretfully awoke with cold feet this morning."

Gilbert anticipated her aghast expression, quick to share the joke with her, till her shell-pink lips quirked and she murmured about his general incorrigibility.

"Will you reform me, then, oh darling wife?" he challenged with a gleam in his eye and an arch to his brow.

Anne reached the pads of her fingers up to that brow, tracing wonderingly.

"I wouldn't succeed, and I wouldn't even want to make the attempt."

He kissed the fingers that had just caressed him, and felt the little shiver run through her, echoed in himself.

"Are you cold? Shall I shut the window?"

"No…" she gave him a look that was all eyes. "I love the faint sound of the sea. And I have a feeling you'll warm me, regardless."

If that was an invitation he was not about to refuse it, and smiled as he threaded his own fingers in her hair, using it to tug her gently, further into the circle of his arms. His kiss to her began at her temple and journeyed to her ear lobe, tickling her pulse and quickening her breath. His body sang in tune to hers, moulding and straining, grasping her about the waist and moving his lips to her mouth, finding hers soft and pliant and more than ready for his, and he sucked in her bottom lip and his own breath as he sought a grip on his fast-fading control.

"Darling…" his smooth baritone was little more than a rasp at that moment. "You must tell me, love, whether you are too tired. Whether you would like us to… wait. To rest, and to see how things feel in the morning. You won't offend or disappoint me. It has been a terribly long day and I…"

His great speech tapered off at her blushing look to him, all smoky eyes and curving lips, before she bent to press a tender kiss into his palm.

"I love and adore you beyond measure, Gilbert."

"And I love and… and adore you, Anne…" he echoed, dark brows knotted, stuttering on his uncertainty. He never tired of such sentiments, but here, now, he still needed an answer, an assurance one way or another. He was prepared, even so, to delay – to wait seemed always to be his wont – since the very first moment he had ever laid eyes on her.

Anne searched his face but found only incomprehension.

"Gil… let us be husband and wife to one another… or at least learn to be…" she reddened further as she made a vow of these words, too. "O! let me have thee whole, - all – all be mine!" *

Gilbert thought that some phrases would be found etched on his heart… the first time she forgave him; her first confession that she loved him; her acceptance of his proposal; her vows to him today. But these words – poetry to him in every possible sense – might supersede all. He wished he had the presence of mind to remember any answering lines for her, now, but instead had to settle for his kiss to her, pouring all his hope and exquisite happiness into the one moment to which all their others had led.

Anne

Gilbert's lips had found her throat and grazed a fevered path up and down, to the point where only his embrace held her upright. And possibly her corset, which was doing its best to prevent her from sinking into the anchor of his arms. She closed her eyes tightly against the dizzying breathlessness which she sorely wished was due to her new husband's attentions alone, but when she murmured his name it was in increasing discomfort and not amorous invitation.

"Darling?" his eyes sought hers.

"I… I… just a little out of… breath."

He released her reluctantly, surveying her with increasing understanding, leading her gently to the bed where she sat taking in uneven snatches of air.

"I was hoping to be able to make you swoon, Anne-girl, but this is not quite what I had in mind," came his smooth, joking reply, only betrayed by the heightened flush of color against his cheeks. He crouched down before her. "Corsets really are dratted devices."

"And here I was thinking you only had experience of frilly aprons, Gilbert Blythe."

He grinned widely at that, always buoyed by the easy affectionate banter of their shared history, before assisting her to stand.

"I seem to remember… I had started something earlier," he raised a questioning brow, broad hand at her spine, and received her blushing nod.

"Please," she gave embarrassed affirmation. "It's my own fault, really. I was laced quite tightly for my wedding dress, and I should have loosened my stays a little when I changed."

His look to her was of an aching fondness and he pressed his lips to her temple, before taking a breath himself.

"I'm sorry, Anne… I didn't realise… you should have said…"

"I'm rather relieved you don't quite know your way around a lady's undergarments at this point, Gilbert," she said with an arch smile, her teasing tone hearkening to innumerable times past, when her layers and his decency were the only things that had kept their runaway desires in check.

"Well, I'm a quick learner," he defended spiritedly.

Anne felt her cheeks flame fiercely at this, remembering Diana's words of wisdom regarding Avonlea boys, and Gilbert caught her change in composure, perhaps quelling his own attempts at jocularity.

"Cuffs, Mrs Blythe?" the query fought for steadiness.

Her shy nod had him directing long, nimble fingers to the delicate covered buttons at either wrist, travelling in a matter of moments up to the frill at her throat. His breath was quick and quiet against her skin, and he concentrated with a surgeon's precision as bow, buttons, collar, cuffs, all came under his touch … and then easing the fine material off her shoulders to reveal her in corset and chemise and pearls, her green skirt reflecting the large eyes that stared as he stared, both caught in the flare of their shared, heated gaze.

Gilbert's look to her was fathomless; he attempted to wrap his mouth around the sound of his awe, and first produced but a wordless sigh.

"I imagined you…" he breathed, reaching out to tentatively touch the creamy chemise by her clavicle, hardly different in hue from the sheen of her skin. "All the moments… all the months … when I wasn't with you. And I… obviously… my imagination was not equal to the task. I could never properly imagine your beauty, my darling."

The flush at his appraisal swept her from cheek to toe, and she battled to process the desire behind those darkening eyes, different and deeper than she had ever experienced. Her own uncertainty made her bolder than she felt, though she issued her challenge as a shaky quiver.

"I think those Blythe shoulders could do with a little more space themselves."

"I should lose my jacket, too? What a brilliant idea," he nodded, chuckling quietly.

Gilbert's dark jacket was divested with the same fluid motion with which he had moved around a football field or danced a waltz or, indeed, carried his wife upstairs. Anne had never ceased to marvel at the ease and confidence with which he comported himself, and watched avidly as he crossed the room to lay his jacket and her blouse neatly across the chair, by her hat, running his fingers over the brim thoughtfully.

He turned and gave her a lopsided smile.

"Now that I've begun…" he ventured, and slipped off polished shoes, socks and was about to set to work on his vest before her protest stopped him.

"Oh, Gil, wait…"

"Oh, sorry, love, I'm forgetting how we started this…" he frowned distractedly, walking back slowly towards her. "Your corset, and that little matter of not being able to breathe…"

"Oh, well, yes…" she stumbled. "But I… I just wanted to have my turn, too."

She reached out her hand, which he clasped, swallowing audibly as she let go to walk her fingers up his taut chest, which heaved silently under the pads of her fingers. Anne concentrated on his own buttons, but not before she ran her hands over his smart patterned waistcoat, knowing how he watched her as she stroked and caressed the material, reaching up to ease it off him and then dropping it with abandon on the floor to shift attention to his suspenders. He gave a little strangled sound as she slid her fingers up and down them, before they, too, were shrugged off said shoulders, and then inevitably came his tie, green in her honour as she always knew it would be, unknotted with a dexterity that made him blow out a long breath and mutter with chagrin.

"You're better at this than I am."

She gave a flustered little laugh, eyes shining as she looked coyly up to him, biting her lip as he took her left hand and kissed it in courtly fashion, before introducing his lips to each knuckle, pausing at her ring finger with its circlet of pearls and new gleaming gold band, before brushing those lips across the beating pulse at her wrist. His mouth travelled upwards as her fingers had done, along pale skin made paler still against his deeper color, to the crease inside her elbow where his stubble tickled her enticingly, upwards to her shoulder, where he kissed the stray freckles there, and then leant to bury his face in her collarbone, inhaling deeply as she was, clutching her with a firmness that bordered on desperation.

"Wake me if I'm dreaming, Anne," he murmured into her throat. "Or better still, don't. Because none of this feels quite real."

Her heart bled for the boy he had been, ignored and shamed by her, and the young man having to dance attendance on her, and the loyal, dutiful comrade who had subverted all his own desires regarding her till such time as they came flooding out, drowning the both of them in the wake of his first proposal. She had said to Diana that she felt the weight of Gilbert having loved her for so long; the responsibility of it; through her friend had argued that it wasn't her duty to make anything up to him. Certainly the intervening years of their engagement had righted many past wrongs. Even so… to love and to cherish. To honour and keep him. And to comfort him,too…

"Does this feel real, Gilbert Blythe?" she announced suddenly, fingers finding his tantalising dark curls, hugging him still closer to her.

"Yes…" he breathed.

"And does this feel real?" she tugged his head up, delivering a fierce greeting to his ever-kissable lips.

"Yes…" he nearly choked on his reply, brows flying to his hairline and bright hazel eyes widening to attention.

"And does this feel real…?" she directed his hands behind her, his beautiful, skilful doctor's hands, tugging at long laces together until the constraining, cumbersome corset – the chief barrier separating them all these years – loosened. Anne transferred his grip to her bodice, directing him to the fastenings he opened with a hushed reverence, until the garment fell away, like an oyster revealing its pearl.

"Yes," Gilbert determined with a dawning smile of wonder, pressing her close to him, all of her close to him, for the very first time. "This is most definitely real."

Chapter Notes

*John Keats To Fanny, one of very many poems he wrote in dedication to (and occasional frustration with!) his great love, muse and mostly-secret fiancee Fanny Brawne.

The film Bright Star (2009) is a very lovely rendering of this romance, also dealing with Keats' financial woes and the ill health (tuberculosis) that plagued his family and ended his own life in Italy at the terribly young age of 25. Tinalouise88 may be interested to know that Fanny had a strong interest in fashion and was something of a cutting-edge dressmaker, which the film depicts.