A New Bride for Pemberley

by Anna Harlow

  However, Elizabeth did not rise to his bait. Instead, she got up and crossed over to the fire, adding in more wood and bringing it more fully to life. She did not look at him as she said, “There now, that should keep the room warm enough while you sleep. I will bring you more pillows and a blanket or two, so that you may rest comfortably.”

  “And where will you sleep, Lizzy?” he asked, too drowsy now to notice he’d used her nickname.

  “I shall sleep in one of the bedrooms, sir,” she told him. “None of the furniture has been removed from them. Would that I could help you up to a bed, where you might rest comfortably—but it was fortunate enough I managed to carry you in here. I do not begin to imagine I could get you up a flight of stairs.”

  “I shall be quite comfortable here,” he said, stifling a yawn.

  When Elizabeth returned, she laid a blanket over him and tucked it around him. But when she brought over the pillows, and he lifted his head so she could slide both of them under, his arms shot out, capturing her around her middle. She gave a little gasp of dismay, her eyes zeroing in on his face—and then his lips in particular.

  “What harm will it do, sweetheart, to taste me a little?” he coaxed her. “It is what we will be accused of anyway. Do you not wish to discover the flavor that will soon be all yours?”

  “You, sir, are out of your mind with poppy,” she teased him. “It is quite a revelation all on its own.”

  Darcy tugged her down and kissed her. Elizabeth did not resist him, he was happy to note. She would, perhaps, deny later on that she had been taken in so willingly, but he could not but enjoy the fact at the moment. He used the tip of his tongue to good effect, running it gently along her bottom lip, then teasing her mouth open with it.

  Elizabeth groaned slightly as he entered her, and her tongue came up to dance with his as he increased the pressure, holding on to her tighter than ever. Their breaths mingled deliciously, and he realized he had never in his life tasted anything half so sweet. Her warm receptiveness was quite pleasing, and when he took every other thought of her into account—her kindness, her beauty, her intelligence, in that moment he realized how easily his interests might turn to love.

  “I fear you might take a disgust of me if I persist,” he whispered against her mouth. “You know that as a married man, I have become used to far more than this. If you do not wish for this drug to further loosen my sensibilities, and blind me to the manner in which I should behave with you, Miss Bennet, I suggest that you take to your bed now, so you are well out of my reach. My own desire for more is not to my credit as a gentleman.”

  Blushing profusely, Elizabeth moved away from him. “I will mix another batch of laudanum for you, sir, but you must not take it for a few more hours. Perhaps I ought to keep it with me, and bring it to you later?”

  “Do you trust me, or do you not?” he teased her.

  “I will want to check on you in any case,” she pointed out. “For lack of another doctor at the moment, you are my patient, sir, and I pride myself on my diligence.”

  “Your attention to duty and detail is most pleasing, madam,” he said, smiling. “Will you not give me one last kiss before you flee?”

  Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head at him. “You are a most determined man yourself, Mr. Darcy. I will not kiss you now, while you are in such a mood as this. I should not have even allowed you such a boon at all. It could only encourage you in your notions of making an offer.”

  “The offer will be made and accepted, my dear,” he said softly, his eyes beginning to close. “You cannot escape me now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elizabeth’s dreams were plagued by Darcy’s kisses, and all of her insecurity about the gentleman, who and what he really was, assailed her as nightmares. At once, he was kind, they were soon married, and blissfully happy together. In another moment, he changed from a handsome and kind gentleman into a rabid wolf intent on devouring her. But the final dream before she opened her eyes was either the worst, or the best of them all.

  “Duties in the bedchamber are perhaps the best of all,” announced dream-Darcy as he descended upon her. Neither wore any clothing, and he began touching her all over, inflaming her with a heady desire. And then just as things started to get interesting, she was awake and staring at the wall.

  “I suppose I had best bring down his next dose,” she said with a sigh. “And hope he can control himself.”

  Though, with her body still heated up from the antics of her dream, perhaps she did not hope it as strongly as she should. She caught herself wishing that he would at least attempt to kiss her once more. And in that thought, she began to wonder if Darcy was the real threat, or if her own desires might be even worse.

  The only light in the room now came from the fire, which was almost burned out. Elizabeth first moved to it, adding more kindling and a couple of logs, before she turned to look at Darcy. She found him watching her, a sleepy smile plastered across his face, but mixed with a grimace.

  “Tell me that glass holds what I need, sweetheart,” he whispered. “This ache is excruciating.”

  “I have brought more laudanum, sir,” she confirmed, stepping over to him and setting the drink into his hands. “I may have slept longer than I intended. I am sorry.”

  Darcy downed the potion quickly. “Have you brought the brady along with you, by any chance? Perhaps I will rest more easily with the decanter in hand.”

  “It is here, sir,” she said, smiling. Taking the cup, she poured out a bit more liquid courage for him. “Does it hurt so much?”

  “I have begun to notice I’m aching all over,” he admitted ruefully.

  “I should think you would be, after such a fall. You still have not explained how you came to be there.”

  “I borrowed an unfamiliar horse, though I should have known better,” he said with a sigh. “But I could not help it—when I am especially bedeviled, I am only comforted when I ride.”

  “Was it Wickham, sir, who upset you?” she asked sympathetically.

  “It was seeing Wickham speaking to you, I believe,” he admitted. “I feared greatly he would poison you against me.”

  “Sir, until I told him, he did not even realize you knew me,” she chuckled. “I promise you, we were speaking of the weather, the crowds, and whether or not his time at Meryton would be pleasing.”

  “And after?”

  “He may have said some things,” she admitted. “But nothing that bears repeating. You do not need to be upset right now and must go back to sleep. In the morning, if the storm has passed on, I will go to Netherfield directly. Rest now, sir. All will be well.”

  Elizabeth’s fingers brushed over his brow and into a stray lock of hair, comforting him. His hand came up, caressing her fingers.

  “I will sleep quite well, knowing I have such an excellent caregiver. You sleep well too.”

  *****

  As it turned out, Elizabeth did not have to leave the cottage to find help, for Bingley had sent out a search for Mr. Darcy once the storm had broken. When she heard voices below, she sprang from her bed and instantly rushed down.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” gasped John, a young man from town who had lately been hired as a servant at Netherfield. “How came you to be here with Mr. Darcy?”

  “It is a long story,” she said with a shrug. “But please, do not attempt to move him just yet. I have been killing his pain with some laudanum, and he is due for another dose.”

  “Do not be concerned,” he said. “Word has been sent that the man himself is found, and there is a medic among the party with full kit. He shall certainly sort him out. And you, Miss Bennet? Is everything well with you?”

  “I was out walking when I saw that the clouds were gathering, and I would have gone home but for hearing a cry for help,” she told him. “Imagine my dismay upon finding Mr. Darcy lying in a ditch just down the way.”

  “Miss Bennet was very brave and helpful,” Mr. Darcy added from his vantage point across th
e room. “I intend to reward her courage and fortitude in the best possible way.”

  Elizabeth blushed as she caught his meaning. He was already beginning to lay the groundwork for his upcoming campaign. It was his duty, in his mind, to rescue her from ruin, and he would do all in his power to that end.

  Should she not be upset with him for it? All she could muster was a warm sensation deep in her belly, but it reminded her far more of his kisses than his highhanded plans. She inwardly scolded herself—had she allowed herself to be taken in by him? By his sweet, hot kisses, and the affectionate gazes he had been casting her way? Was she truly so very weak?

  Yet, had she not decided to like him until Mr. Wickham had painted him so ill? Had she not sympathized with him for being forced to marry his cousin, and living with her all those years? Yes, she could easily admit that, despite her doubts as to his character, that she even liked him still. Surely Wickham’s misfortunes could not possibly be all because of him.

  Mr. Bingley came in with the medic, and saw that Elizabeth was among those present. He stepped over to her immediately. “Miss Elizabeth, why are you here?”

  “I happened upon Mr. Darcy on my way home, and helped him inside,” she explained. “The storm prevented me from seeking immediate help, but I have kept vigil over him throughout the night. I believe he may have broken his ankle.”

  “You have done an admirable job of setting it up, Miss Bennet,” said the doctor, Mr. Carlyle, as he stood from examining the appendage. “Sir, I believe that if we bring down a cart, we might easily transport the gentleman back to Netherfield, though it may be too much to attempt to bring him to a room upstairs.”

  “He shall be comfortably installed in the small parlor,” Bingley declared.

  “But I simply must go to Longbourn,” Mr. Darcy complained. “I must speak with Mr. Bennet immediately. Surely you take my meaning?”

  “Sir, you cannot possibly do anything of the sort,” Mr. Carlyle insisted. “We must get you home immediately, and make certain only your ankle has suffered. Mr. Bingley can certainly see Miss Bennet home, and explain to her family what has transpired.”

  “Bingley, if you will take Elizabeth home, I beg you will ask Mr. Bennet to come to Netherfield, and attend to my words directly. For no true gentleman would allow time for idle gossip to fester, in light of this situation. I must be heard immediately.”

  Elizabeth smiled at his insistence. “Sir, you must calm down. I am certain that a day, or even a week, shall not cause undue harm to my reputation. You must cease your concerns for me, and think only of getting better. And perhaps my father will understand fully that nothing untoward has gone on, and will agree with me that nobody would think ill of me in this. For I believe you are quite familiar with my sentiments.”

  “If it is love you require, Miss Elizabeth, we can easily work on it,” said Darcy with a smile as he took her hand, kissing her knuckles. “I am already certain of its seeds.”

  Elizabeth blushed profusely, yet she moved quickly toward the door rather than respond to him. As she reached it, she turned around impatiently.

  “Mr. Bingley, are you coming? My family must certainly be quite worried about me.”

  “Indeed, Miss Bennet, I shall join you directly,” he said, and stepped over to cast Darcy a grave look. “Are you certain in it, sir? I do not wish to watch you suffer yet again.”

  “I am most certain,” Darcy said. “You know I liked her well enough before all of this happened, sir. Perhaps it is the hand of fate giving us a push?”

  “Next time, you ought to tell fate not to push quite so hard, then,” said Bingley, smiling. “Come along, Miss Bennet. I have brought along an extra horse.”

  Elizabeth scoffed at this as they headed outside. “Let us hope this spare horse is better behaved than the last one, sir!”

  She could hear Darcy’s painful chuckle as they shut the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Mama! Mama! Elizabeth has come home! She is with Mr. Bingley!” Kitty shouted as she dropped her shears and ran from the garden toward the front door.

  “Oh, thank goodness you are safe!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed as she came running out. Elizabeth slid down from her mount and allowed her mother and sisters to embrace her. Then, in a sterner tone, her mother asked her, “But you simply must tell us what has transpired, my dear!”

  “Never fear, madam,” said Mr. Bingley as his own feet hit the ground. “Let us head inside and find your husband, and then all shall be revealed.”

  “Indeed?” Mrs. Bennet asked, her face somewhat concerned now. “Is anything amiss, sir? Did she have to stay at Netherfield due to the storm?”

  “The storm did indeed drive me inside, Mama, but not inside of Netherfield,” said Elizabeth. She did not elaborate, but walked tiredly through the parlor door and fell heavily upon one of the chairs.

  “Then pray, where have you been all night?”

  “Moore Cottage,” she provided, though she did not elaborate.

  “Miss Elizabeth, shall all your heroics go unmentioned?” Mr. Bingley inquired. “What she has not told you of, madam, but which you must soon learn, is that she rescued my friend, Mr. Darcy, from a ditch, where he’d been thrown by a wayward horse from my stables. I fear his ankle was broken, or he would have surely returned your daughter here himself.”

  “I see,” said Mrs. Bennet as she took on a somewhat wooden expression. “And the two of them were quite alone last night, then?”

  “Quite,” Bingley agreed, nodding. “Mr. Darcy has said that although he cannot venture forth himself, that he is insistent that Mr. Bennet must come to Netherfield at his earliest possible convenience to speak with him.”

  “I understand you perfectly, sir,” she said, glancing over at Mr. Collins, who looked as if someone had just forced him to swallow a goat. Elizabeth cast him a look of slight apology, for she was well aware of the hopes he had been entertaining, and though her answer would have been no, now that she was spared the question, she could afford to sympathize with his disappointment, rather than causing it herself.

  “Miss Mary?” he said, following her as she headed for the piano. “Might I help you with your pages this morning?”

  “How quickly they turn,” she commented to Bingley, trying not to smirk.

  “Though it is certain you do not mind,” he added in a conspiratorial tone. To her mother, he said, “Mrs. Bennet, in light of certain events which will soon transpire, I would wish to invite Miss Elizabeth to spend a few weeks at Netherfield herself. For certainly, she will want to learn more of my friend as soon as may be, and he will not be able to come to her.”

  “I will not send her there alone,” Mrs. Bennet said speculatively. “She will need Jane there with her, to lend the visit some propriety. But, of course, this all depends on my husband’s reaction to the situation, as you must know.”

  “May I go and speak to him now, ma’am?” Bingley inquired. “I should very much like to deliver my message for him, and head back home. My friend will not rest easy until everything has been properly settled.”

  “Sir, I beg you will go immediately,” she agreed. “The matter cannot be addressed too soon, I heartily agree. Lizzy, you must go and clean yourself up directly. I will send Hill up with something for you to eat. And the maids will bring up a bath too, I think. You are fair covered in dust and debris.”

  “It is six months since the cottage had been cleaned,” Elizabeth pointed out. “It would not surprise me greatly. Though, in truth, with no light to see any of it, you could hardly expect me to return from the place dust free.”

  And so she headed upstairs, ate a hearty breakfast, and soaked in her bath leisurely. It almost felt surreal, to be arranged so comfortably after last night’s difficulties.

  Sighing deeply, Elizabeth rubbed at her temples. “Why did I let him kiss me?”

  The thought had been plaguing her throughout the morning. For, having tasted her lips so fully, Mr. Darcy would only be more insistent tha
t the two of them must marry. Not that he’d had any intentions of backing down in either case. He had the right of it, it seemed. If she was meant to marry him anyway, and she wished to marry for love, there was but one remedy.

  But could a girl convince herself to fall in love with a particular gentleman for such a convenience? Could she grow to love Mr. Darcy? How did a person come to love another person anyway? Was it something that happened by chance? A decision that one made which could be manipulated? Or was it truly just a matter of fate? These thoughts were very heavy, and weighed upon her greatly.