These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  He looked down at the marble steps, swallowing hard. His eyes were blinking rapidly, but he could not seem to find the words he wished for.

  “William?”

  “Elizabeth,” he said abruptly, “will you take a walk with me? I do not care to be indoors, and I have been for too long today.”

  She turned wordlessly, facing back down the steps and tilting an inviting smile back to him. He seemed at a loss, but a bashful smile quivered in answer beneath his beard. Haltingly, he extended his elbow, hope shining in soft brown eyes.

  Gingerly, she reached to pass her arm through his, studying his expression. Their first, precipitous moment of reconciliation seemed to have shattered some measure of his reserve, at least with her, but he had been terribly shy of everyone else, and looked apprehensive about touching even her with others watching.

  Once secured of her arm, she could feel some of the tension drain from him. His eyes more often on her face than on the steps, he slowly led her down. Not more than halfway, however, Georgiana’s voice halted them. Elizabeth sensed him bracing himself, and together they turned.

  “Fitzwilliam, has Richard truly gone? I was not able to say good-bye! Oh, Fitzwilliam, why has he gone? Was he recalled to his regiment?”

  Darcy flashed a helpless look to Elizabeth. Understanding, she ventured an answer on his behalf. “The colonel expressed his desire to return to London.”

  Georgiana shot Elizabeth a brief glare, then turned again to her brother. “But so late in the day! Why, he can go no farther than Lambton. Why would he not wait until morning?”

  Darcy glanced toward the stoic footmen at the door. “We will discuss it later, Georgiana. I… Miss Bennet and I were about to take a walk. Would you care to join us?”

  Georgiana flicked a deadpan expression toward Elizabeth, then directed a pronounced pout toward her brother. “No, it is too late. I should dress for dinner.” She followed this statement with another meaningful glance at each party, then turned back into the house.

  Darcy’s arms dropped, his face falling. “She is correct,” he admitted.

  Elizabeth forced a cheerful smile and turned, offering him her other arm. “Perhaps we will take that walk on the morrow, Mr Darcy.”

  He nodded, quietly accepted her arm, and led her back into the house.

  49

  “Fitzwilliam, you cannot have heard all the other family news yet,” Georgiana spoke quietly at her brother’s left elbow.

  “News?” Darcy pulled his eyes from Elizabeth, who sat at his right. At his request, it was only the three of them taking their dinner in the small family breakfast room, for theirs were the only faces he desired to see. Elizabeth, he presumed, had managed to smooth things over with her sister, and he was grateful for at least this one evening without any tangible reminders of George Wickham at his table. “What news?”

  Georgiana seemed glad of his attention, smiling bashfully. “It is sad news, actually. Our poor cousin, Priscilla Fitzwilliam has died.”

  “Died?” Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, but she met his eyes only briefly before dropping her gaze and forcing him to once again look to Georgiana. “When was this?”

  “Last Sunday, I think. I was not permitted to read the note, for our aunt took it when it arrived. I only know that it was some long illness that had been kept quiet until all hope was lost.”

  Darcy prodded the fine roast duck on his plate, then set down his fork. “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, Brother, I was thinking, perhaps we ought to go to London to pay our respects.”

  A chill washed through him as he verily shuddered from the neck down and felt his hands cramp. He sucked in a deep breath and realised his teeth had chattered aloud. “No! I will not go to London.”

  “But Fitzwilliam, think how pleased Uncle and Aunt will be to see that you are alive! Will not your presence be cause for gladness at a sad time?”

  “Richard’s word, and the testimony of Lady Catherine will suffice for the present. I shall send a note of consolation.”

  She pursed her lips and toyed with the food on her own plate. “I think a note hardly fitting,” she answered unhappily. “Aunt insisted that we must make the journey; it was the only proper thing to do.”

  From his right, Darcy watched Elizabeth’s brow quirk, but she said nothing. Rather, she seemed to be exerting a valiant effort to keep silent and not engage Georgiana whatsoever on the topic. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and fixed her eyes on her plate.

  “I am afraid we must make our excuses,” he stated with finality.

  Georgiana pouted down at her glass. Darcy released a tight breath and resumed staring at his own dinner… he would much rather look at Elizabeth. A moment later he was hungrily admiring the fine curve of her brow, the rich glossy curls at her cheeks, the perfection of her skin….

  “Fitzwilliam, surely you will have business in London.”

  He blinked from the dash of cold water over his reverie. “What?”

  Georgiana waited until he was looking at her before she continued. “Why, everyone thought you dead, and surely the solicitor will have paperwork to sort now. You know; wills, settlements, that sort of thing.”

  “I will certainly have to go, but not now. The most pressing matters can surely be resolved by bringing our solicitor here.”

  “But you will need witnesses to verify your identity,” she pressed. “Else how would anyone be certain that it truly is you? You do look somewhat different, but I am certain that Uncle and our cousins, or perhaps Mr Bingley or some of your other friends might have no trouble recognising you.”

  “I have seen Mr Bingley already, and can no doubt request a sworn statement, if that is necessary.” He let the conversation drop and was determined to focus on his plate when he perceived a shift in Elizabeth’s posture.

  “You have seen Mr Bingley?” There was a deep warmth in her eyes, a significance attached to her words.

  His own face softened. “I am afraid I did not have the honour of paying my respects to Mrs Bingley, but yes, I spoke with my friend. It was he who told me that you had come to Pemberley, and after that, I was on the nearest fresh horse at hand.”

  Laughter sparkled in her expression, but a chair screeched to his left.

  “I am not feeling well,” Georgiana mumbled. Making no further excuses, she hurried from the breakfast room.

  His brow furrowed, gazing after her, then he turned back to Elizabeth. “Has my sister’s health been troubling her?”

  There was a gravity in her expression as she gazed at the door. “It is not her health, William. She was crushed with grief when she thought you dead. I think she perceived my sorrow as well—and my sister’s, over her own affairs. Mourning was the common thread in this house. Now you have returned and she wishes to rejoice, but she feels, perhaps, that you are less delighted to see her than she is to see you.”

  “But I thought constantly of returning to….” He sighed. “No, that is untrue. I could not think of her. I did not dare. It was not because I did not wish to see her, but because I feared for her! I thought she understood that.”

  “Her life has been shifting constantly. Overnight she was thrust into duties she did not want, overpowered at every turn by her relations. Now that you have miraculously returned from the dead, she wishes everything could become as it once was, but she fears that I have replaced her in your affections.”

  “Replaced her! That is impossible—forgive me, Elizabeth. Is she such a child that she does not see that?”

  “William,” she reached boldly across the table, and after a second of hesitation, he gave her his hand. “You are all she has ever had—you and the colonel.”

  He was silent a moment, staring at nothing as he considered his sister’s predicament. “It must have been difficult for her. It may take her some while to adjust, but I am confident that she will come to understand. She is an intelligent girl, and will soon be a woman.”
<
br />   “I believe she would be comforted if you spent time with her alone. Perhaps I might pass the remainder of the evening above stairs with my own sister?”

  Her words made his stomach quiver. His first real evening in his own house, with Elizabeth present, and she was not to play and sing for him? He could not admire the glow of her skin in the firelight, or warm himself by the radiance of that delicious smile? He had longed all day for that scarce hour or two he could claim for himself before they all retired for the night. Mr Bennet’s reply to his letter could not come soon enough, for then he could keep her by his side in truth as well as in dreams.

  “William?”

  He tightened his fingers around hers and met her eyes. “I do not think it necessary to make special provisions for this night. I will set aside an hour to speak with her on the morrow.”

  She tilted a brow. “William, the longer you delay, the more difficult it will be to assure her of your devotion.”

  “Elizabeth, I beg you, do not ask it of me tonight.”

  “Very well, William,” she relented. “Is there anything I can do to help you pass the evening peacefully?”

  His eyes flashed over her figure—he could not help it—but he forced himself to look back to her face. “I have longed for your presence, Elizabeth. Simply occupying the same room with you brings me more peace than I can express.”

  “I think I can do better than that,” she smiled. She cast a mischievous glance toward the door, where the stoic footman’s shoulder could just be seen. She then touched the index finger of her free hand to her lips and began to silently ease herself from her chair.

  Puzzled, he rose to follow her, and when she reached for his hand again, he gave it readily. She rose on her toes once, peeking over his shoulder toward the door, and drew him a few more steps from the table until she was satisfied.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispered, curious at her precautions, “what are you about?”

  She made no answer, but lifted her hands toward his shoulders. She paused, catching his eye and waiting for his permission. He felt his chest swell. Was she truly making an advance? His face burned, warming even the tips of his ears.

  She must have seen what she was looking for in his eyes, for her slow, gentle hands slid carefully up his chest to his shoulders. He was staring, drinking in every detail—the way her fingers spread, as if to take more of him to herself, the flutter of her nostrils as her breathing grew ragged, the sudden blackness of the eyes she turned up to him. Cautiously, he brushed her waist with his fingertips, and a spear of desire shot through his body.

  He curled his fingers, closing his eyes and clawing desperately for control. He had so little strength to resist, and she was truly there, willingly captivating him. She could not know in what danger she was placing herself! A maiden such as she must little imagine how ardent his thoughts had become in an instant, but a vision of himself as a great lion dragging down its helpless prey cooled him at once. He could not do that to Elizabeth… could not betray her trust or steal her virtue….

  Warm fingers slid up the back of his neck, and he was lost once more. She teased his head lower, and he opened his eyes just long enough to see hers fall closed. Her breath shivered over his lips and he responded with a hesitant caress. Her lips were soft, the taste of her skin sweet. Somehow his arms had found their way about her waist, and he was sweeping his hands down her back. She felt firm, vibrant, and so very real!

  She arched, startled at his intimate touch, but he could not release her now. Instead, he drew her closer, deepened their kiss, and his hands strayed ever farther. He could feel her pulse through his chest, and each breath of hers complimented his. One flesh… the phrase lanced through his consciousness and he groaned in ecstasy. Not long now and they truly would become such, and then her courage and cheer, her faithfulness and cleverness, could be his own. Elizabeth.

  He had curled her into his embrace so that her head rested upon his shoulder as it tipped up to him, and his body acted as a balance for hers. He deemed it necessary, for her legs seemed to have grown unstable. Sweet, delicious Elizabeth, how could she have known that she was what he had craved to soothe his cares on this night? She was meeting each touch with an ardour to match his, and an occasional gasp informed him that, perhaps, this notion of hers had been as much to serve her desires as his own. He smiled at the thought. Glorious woman!

  His near hand wove into the rich nest of curls at the base of her neck, reveling at last in the luxuriant silk. How long he had ached to test its softness, to know if the lavender scent came from those tresses or somewhere about her neck! He still could not be certain, but he vowed to learn the truth of the mystery. There was so much more of her to discover, secrets to unveil….

  She stiffened in his arms and lifted her chin away from him with an uncomfortable little gasp. “William,” she whispered, and squirmed faintly under his hand.

  Too late, he realised what he had done. While one hand was twining deliriously in her hair, the other had fallen to squeeze…. He fell back, withdrawing completely. “Forgive me, Elizabeth!”

  She was laughing silently. “Sir, I think my father would insist upon your honour in this circumstance.”

  “He may have it. I have no use for it. So long as he gives you to me, he may take all the rest.”

  She reached for him again, lacing her fingers at the base of his neck, and stood on her toes. “We should leave the room, William. The footman has disappeared.”

  He clasped his arms about her, sighing into her rich chocolate crown. “You cannot know what this has meant to me, Elizabeth,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

  She trailed her fingers back down from his neck, tangling them playfully in his beard before letting them fall again to his chest. “I did not do it for you, William,” she teased.

  He trembled in a surprised chuckle. How could he ever be fearful or desolate again, with her in his life? While his own faith was still weak, she lent him hers. No greater treasure could he possess than one who would stand by him, forgiving when he had been wrong and loving even when he had been unlovable. He swallowed and lifted her hand in his own, threading her fingers between his and admiring the contrast of her soft skin against his own flesh.

  “Elizabeth, perhaps you were right before. It might be best if I seek out Georgiana this evening.”

  “That is wise, for I think if we retired to the library, we would not read.”

  Dear heaven, he was laughing again! A few weeks ago, he thought he might never laugh, and now he could not stop.

  She smiled and wound her arms about his neck again to press a final kiss to his chin. “I have missed you, William, but I can share you for this evening. Would you mind…” she fell to her normal height and coquettishly bit her lip, “… perhaps Georgiana would like it if you carried her some tea. I think Mrs Reynolds would be happy to make it herself, if you were to ask.”

  He captured her hands as she slid them away. “If I am not careful, you will have me taking a Scotch to Richard in Lambton this evening, as well.”

  “Now that is a capital idea,” she agreed. “I think he could do with a drink.”

  He released her hands and sighed wearily. “You told me once that I was arrogant and disdainful of the feelings of others. I do not wish to be so.”

  “I was wrong. You are not arrogant, you merely despise weakness in yourself. Trusting them is not weak, William. In fact, I believe it would strengthen you.”

  He surprised her with a fervent embrace, assuring himself once more of her—everything about her. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he rumbled in her ear.

  50

  Matlock House, London

  Matlock crumpled his evening paper and thrust it aside. “Damned war! Blasted waste of men and money.” He cupped his hand under his jaw and gazed about the sitting room.

  The countess stilled her fingers on the piano and frowned at her husband. “Really, my dear, it not as if it is news. We ar
e winning at last. I should think that would satisfy you.”

  His finger brushed his upper lip and he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Satisfy me? No, my dear, I would be best pleased if there had not been so bloody much destruction.”

  “James!” his wife protested, but her annoyance fell upon deaf ears.

  The earl still sat, gazing at nothing but the visions in his imagination. “All those ports,” he was musing. “So much industry and opportunity lost! It will be years now, unless—”

  “Well, really!” she huffed, and rose from the instrument to stand at his side and demand his attention. “My dear, have you had word from Richard?”

  “Who?” he started. “Richard? Why, no, but it is two or three days to Pemberley for a good express rider. The note can have only arrived yesterday, or perhaps the day before. No, wait… did I send it on Monday or Tuesday?”

  “Poor, dear Reginald!” the countess lamented, ignoring her husband’s comments. “I do hope Richard arrives to comfort his brother, for I am quite at a loss!”

  “Comfort him? He is a grown man! You speak as if he would give way to melancholy. And what can Richard do or say?”

  “Well,” sniffed his wife, “I should be mortified to learn with what distress and anguish you should mourn me!”

  The earl chortled silently, and muttered something under his breath regarding her powers of observation if she were deceased.

  “James,” she chided, “you are not listening to me!”

  “Of course I am, my dear, you are shouting in my ear. I do not even need my trumpet.”

  “Oh!” she fanned him with the back of her hand. “Trumpet, indeed. James, you did instruct Richard to bring Georgiana with him, did you not? The poor girl ought not to be left alone.”

  “Of course,” he nodded absently. “I say, Georgiana ought to be thinking more seriously of marriage by now. It has been over half a year, long enough to mourn Darcy. ‘Tis a pity about Priscilla just now, for we must put on black all over again.”