“Yes, brandy, thank you.”
He took a sip of the fine brandy Thomas handed him. “I need to return to Pemberley on the morrow.”
His cousin’s eyebrows drew to the centre with his frown. “I wish you would stay for at least a week or two. You and Georgiana can rest before you journey home.”
Fitzwilliam nodded and sat in the chair in front of Thomas’s desk. “I would not mind, but I should return. Georgiana and I need to face Pemberley on our own eventually. We cannot flee our reality forever.” He could not really say why he needed to leave Worthstone—especially now that he knew the entire truth.
“You have hardly avoided your present situation.”
“No,” he said crossing an ankle over his knee, “and I admit that being with Lizzy has helped Georgiana immensely.”
Thomas walked around his desk and patted Fitzwilliam on the shoulder. “Think about it tonight. You might feel differently in the morning.”
If only Thomas knew how he really felt! He would be happy to stay and be with Elizabeth forever, but would his heart survive it?
“Come, I am sure the ladies await us in the drawing room by now.”
When they joined Elizabeth and Georgiana, Thomas poured a glass of wine and handed it to Elizabeth. “I assume nothing of import occurred while I was gone?”
She took a sip and arched that darned eyebrow that made Fitzwilliam want to kiss that smug look from her face. “No, your steward never required my aid, and I saw nothing of note when I walked the grounds.”
“That is a relief,” said Thomas with a smile and a lift of his glass.
“I beg your pardon.” The housekeeper stood in the doorway. “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth as she stood. When she reached her feet, she was a bit unsteady before gaining her footing.
Thomas offered Georgiana his arm, so Fitzwilliam approached Elizabeth. “Shall we?”
Her small hand fit perfectly into the crook of his arm. He ignored the fact he could feel her touch so acutely through his fine lawn shirt and his topcoat. It practically felt as though nothing stood between the gentle way her fingers rested upon his sleeve, but he could not continue to dwell on that. He saw her to her chair before he took his own.
Once the first course was served, Thomas smiled. “I was just telling Georgiana how I hoped the two of you would remain with us longer.”
His sister paused with her utensils over her plate. “I would dearly love to visit more with Lizzy.”
Elizabeth took a drink from her glass and set it on the table. “I would dearly love more time with you, dearest, but how long you remain is the decision of your brother.”
Thomas perked up and looked between all of them. “I have a wonderful idea. We should spend Christmas together. If you do not plan on venturing to London, Elizabeth and I would be pleased to join you at Pemberley. We should be a merry party.”
“Oh, yes!” Georgiana turned to him. “Can we? It would be so nice to have someone since Papa shall not be there.”
Fitzwilliam nodded and glanced back to Elizabeth who took another swallow of wine. “Christmas at Pemberley sounds lovely,” she said. She brought the glass back to her lips and his hands stilled over his plate. No sooner had she set the glass on the table than Thomas motioned to the butler to fill it.
For the remainder of the meal, Georgiana and Thomas carried the conversation with only occasional bursts of input from him and Elizabeth. By the time they stood so the ladies could withdraw, Fitzwilliam could have repeated very little of what was discussed. He had spent too much time watching Elizabeth drink wine as though she were drinking tea at a party.
When she stepped towards the door, she swayed, so with a hand to her elbow, he steadied her. “You must be exhausted, Lizzy.”
She pressed her palm to her forehead and frowned. “I suppose I am. Pray forgive me, Georgiana, but I believe I should retire.”
“Oh! I should be pleased to walk you to your chambers. I believe I should prefer to retire early as well.” She kissed Fitzwilliam on the cheek. “Good night, Brother.”
The smile he forced tightened his face. “Good night.”
He and Thomas escorted the ladies into the hall and watched them ascend the stairs. Elizabeth did not take the steps with her usual vigour but held the railing until she reached the top. Her other arm was wrapped through Georgiana’s.
“Her abigail will set her to rights. The last few weeks have been difficult upon us all.”
When Fitzwilliam turned, Thomas held out his arm towards his study. “Do not allow the ladies’ early evening ruin ours. Come, let us have brandy.” As he passed, Thomas slapped him on the back. “Have you ever heard of the Irish custom of honouring the dead? They drink and tell tales of their loved one. I have some wonderful stories of your father I should tell you.”
Fitzwilliam took the same chair he occupied earlier as Thomas poured them both a generous drink and handed one to him. “Have I ever told you the story of when your father stole your grandfather’s horse?”
He swallowed the sip in his mouth and regarded his cousin with lifted eyebrows. “No, I have never heard that one.”
“I was twelve and your father eleven, and I dared him to ride my uncle’s, your grandfather’s, horse. Your father was an excellent horseman—even at that age—yet the horse I challenged him to ride was a spirited stallion named Hades. This horse could only be ridden by your grandfather. He would not accept a groom and had injured several who had attempted to work him in your grandfather’s stead.”
“What happened?”
He chuckled and sat behind his desk, relaxing into his chair. “The horse let your father take him as far as the footbridge before he bucked him off. Your father hit his head and did not wake until the day after.” Thomas smiled and shook his head. “Your grandfather whipped me, and when he was done, my father did the same. I could not walk without remembering what I had done for a week.”
Fitzwilliam took another drink from his brandy. “Father was fortunate he was not killed.”
“He was. Very.”
His cousin smiled wider. “Oh! What of when your father attempted to kiss your mother at her coming out?”
“He did?”
And so the evening passed. Thomas recounted story after story of Fitzwilliam’s father while they enjoyed his fine brandy. Fitzwilliam had heard some stories from their time at Cambridge from his father, yet it seemed Thomas had dozens of them, and he continued to regale him of them until the clock suddenly struck midnight.
Thomas threw back the remnants in his glass. “I have enjoyed tonight. Thank you.”
After sitting forward, Fitzwilliam set his empty glass on the desk and stood, but his head spun when he got to his feet. He found it necessary to prop himself with the strong surface of the desk to gain his balance.
Had he really had so much to drink? He furrowed his brow while he tried to remember how many glasses he had imbibed. For the life of him, he could only think of one instance of Thomas pouring him more brandy. Thomas had partaken of significantly more but seemed no worse for wear.
“That brandy has a kick to it, does it not,” said Thomas, putting an arm around him. “Let me help you.”
Fitzwilliam attempted to follow the route they took, but Thomas helped him up the servants’ stairs and through several corridors he did not know until he stopped before a door. “Here we are. Can you manage on your own? Your valet has surely retired for the evening.”
“I shall be well.”
With a swift turn of the latch, Thomas ushered him inside. “Good night,” said his cousin softly before the door clicked shut. The fireplace provided precious little illumination, so he blinked his eyes in a futile attempt to adjust to the lack of light.
He shed his topcoat and waistcoat, tossing them over a chair. He attempted to work at the knot of his cravat but simply pulling at the fabric made him rock on his feet and need to steady himself using the back of the sofa.
“Blast,” he said as his free hand continued to work on that damned knot. He finally liberated himself from his neckcloth and easily stripped his remaining clothing, crawling into the welcoming bed awaiting him.
He stared up at the dark canopy before he rolled to his side. Just like every night, Elizabeth awaited him, her curls spread across the pillow, her expression serene. Her large doe eyes opened and met his, and just like every night that preceded this one, he leaned in to claim her lips.
Chapter 12
Elizabeth took a deep breath while she relaxed into the warmth of the coverlet. The scullery maid must have tiptoed in quite early to replenish the fire because she had never been so delightfully ensconced in warmth upon awakening.
Her eyes never opened while she burrowed back into the source of her comfort only to meet with human flesh that groaned deeply and pulled her tighter against him. Those same eyes she had yet to open nearly popped from their sockets. She shifted her hand down to the strong and slightly hairy arm that wrapped around her waist, the palm flattened against her stomach. Her heart beat out of her chest, and she bit her lip.
Oh, why had she drunk as she had? What a stupid thing to do! She never overindulged, yet last night, she struggled to walk to her bedchamber without falling into a heap on the expensive carpets and apologized profusely to Georgiana because she was simply too tired to talk over chocolate and biscuits in her rooms.
When she entered her dressing room, Lalande awaited her and aided her in preparing for bed. As she closed her eyes and struggled to recall any image of what occurred next, all that sprang to mind involved a movement in her bed. She had opened her eyes to Fitzwilliam lying next to her. At the time, it seemed a lovely dream, so when he kissed her, she indulged in the one way she could hold him close—in her dreams.
“Lizzy,” he said, slurring her name as his hand shifted and his fingers entwined with hers.
She covered her mouth with her other palm. It was certainly not a dream! The sight of her nightshift tossed haphazardly in the window seat made her stiffen, and she peered down, coming to the realization that she wore naught but a sheet—as well as naught between her and Fitzwilliam.
As carefully as possible, she removed her hand from his and turned to face him, a tear landing against her nose when she set eyes upon his dear face. He still slumbered, his features more relaxed than she had ever seen him, even when he slept in her arms the day after his father’s death.
Her palm rested against his cheek, and she cherished the ability to caress the light spattering of stubble that graced his face. He was always cleanly shaven. She had never before seen him thus. Her thumb traced along his eyebrow and down the length of his nose. He was so beautiful with his sculptured features and dark chestnut locks that currently shot out in all directions.
She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and finally a gentle peck on the lips. His head jerked back, and his eyes popped open. His chest heaved a few times before he glanced around the room and back to her. “How did I get here?”
“I know not. I awoke to find you curled against my back.” His eyes closed, and he groaned while he relaxed back into the pillow. “Forgive my brusque awakening. You startled me.”
She smiled and rested her hand over his heart. “I am certain no more than you startled me. I awoke, thinking the maid had replenished the fire. I was rather taken aback when you pulled me closer and mumbled my name.”
His hand covered hers on his chest while his eyes searched hers. “How much do you remember of last night?”
She blew out a breath and winced at the memory. “I believe I have pieced together the relevant details. After you left me in the library, I drank two large glasses of brandy. I remember wanting to numb that ache my chest. I did not want to hurt and miss you as I have as of late. You escorted me to dinner where I continued to drink wine. The butler refilled my glass, but I am unaware of how many times.”
“I believe three times.” The fingers of his free hand brushed a curl from her face. “When Thomas motioned to him, I thought to stop him, but I hesitated because of Georgiana. I did not want to arouse her suspicions of anything amiss between the three of us.”
She nodded and turned her hand to hold his. “Your sister and I walked upstairs together. She escorted me to my door but wished to talk as we have in the past. I told her I was too fatigued. Lalande helped me prepare for bed, and I do not remember anything else until I opened my eyes to find you thus. I confess I thought you a wonderful dream.”
“I thought the same when I found you in my bed last night.” He rubbed the heel of one hand against his eye. “I fear Thomas took advantage of both of us. Once he had you sufficiently indisposed, he insisted we drink brandy and tell stories of my father. I believe he filled my glass on several occasions when it was not yet empty, and I was not looking. After hours of imbibing and sharing tales, I was surely well in my cups—as much as you were in the dining room, if not worse. Thomas helped me to my bedchamber—your bedchamber, I should say. He led me here, opened the door, and ensured it was closed after I stumbled inside.”
He bit his lip and squeezed her hand. “I remember merely bits and pieces after. Forgive me for hurting you.”
Her fingers covered his mouth. “My mother told me there would be some pain. You did nothing I did not expect. Feeling so close to you was worth every bit of the discomfort, which was fleeting.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You were so careful and gentle with me. I felt loved and cherished. I could not ask for more.”
He returned her kiss, brushing his lips ever so gently against hers before deepening their connection. She shifted into his arms, craving his body closer to hers, but a door opening startled them apart. Elizabeth pulled the covers to her chest and quickly sat up to find her husband standing in the doorway adjoining their rooms.
“Good morning,” he said, in entirely too cheerful a manner.
Fitzwilliam sat up beside her and propped an arm on his knee. “You are certainly happy this morning. I suppose you are content that you have your dearest wish.”
He sighed and stepped further into the room, tinkering with a book on her escritoire along the way. “I shall be well pleased not to witness your incessant moping. You will have no need of such drama since the two of you are together.”
“You made that choice for us,” said Elizabeth, her tone hard. “I shall not thank you for that.”
The duke crossed his arms over his chest, and after moving Fitzwilliam’s lawn shirt aside, leaned against the back of a chair. “I may have, but ’tis done and done for the best. Now, I have told Georgiana that both of you are feeling unwell this morning and are not equal to company. With your exhaustion last night at dinner, Elizabeth, she had no problems believing you had taken ill.” He dropped his chin and levelled a no-nonsense look at Fitzwilliam. “I simply told her you were fatigued from the schedule you have maintained since your father died. I did not want her to worry excessively over you.”
“How kind of you,” said Fitzwilliam dryly. “But to what end? What do you hope to accomplish?” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “’Tis not terribly late. We could still join her for breakfast.”
“I thought to give you a day to yourselves.” Thomas’s gaze stayed on Fitzwilliam. “From your time at Cambridge with Wickham, I know your valet is trustworthy. He is aware of your current location and shall sleep in your chambers tonight at the instruction of my valet. We do not wish your bed to be too pristine.
“Elizabeth, you should know Lalande discovered the two of you early this morning. It was she who kept the scullery maid from entering, claiming I was in residence and replenished the fire herself. The servants probably believe you remain in your chambers due to an amorous night with me.” He giggled, an odd sound from him, and shook his head. “I give her credit for her ingenuity, which serves our purposes well.
“I ordered breakfast to be brought to your sitting room. Lalande shall knock when it is delive
red. I am certain you do not appreciate my interference, but when Elizabeth over imbibed on wine last night, I saw an opportunity for the two of you to be happy—even if you deny yourselves the company of each other after today and make yourselves miserable hereafter.”
Elizabeth glanced over at Fitzwilliam before levelling a stern glare at her husband. “Thomas, get out.”
Her husband did not so much as flinch. He simply laughed once more. “As you wish, my dear.” After an over-exaggerated bow, he departed to his rooms, leaving them to each other.
She pulled the coverlet to keep herself covered as she rose, leaving the sheet to cover Fitzwilliam. “He does have gall. I shall give him credit for that.” She bit her thumbnail while she paced in front of the fire. “He wants an heir but simply because we spend a day sequestered together does not mean his desire shall be granted. Some couples are never blessed, though they are intimate for years. I tell you, he is too overconfident in his assumptions. Lalande and your valet might be circumspect, but to tell them goes beyond the pale.”
Fitzwilliam rose from the bed, and she halted in her place. He wore not a stitch of clothing and had not covered with the sheet. “My valet will not say a word, and frankly, all I ever do is consider what might happen—how everything could go wrong, how to please others. I am tired of worry. I am tired of wanting with all that is in me what I cannot have.” He brushed his fingers through his unruly curls. “Am I upset with Thomas for making decisions he had no right to make? Yes, wholeheartedly. Yet, at this moment, I cannot bring myself to muster the righteous indignation I know I should feel. I only want to be with you, whether we have one day together or five. I want to be selfish for once in my life. I do not want to consider what others might think.”
He reached out and grabbed the corner of the quilt she held near her shoulder, pulling the coverlet away from her and dropping it to the floor. His eyes roved over her exposed flesh, making her gasp and her skin pebble with his intense gaze. “You are stunning. My dreams never did justice to the reality.”
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