Darcy & Elizabeth: Hope of the Future: Darcy Saga Prequel Duo Book 2

by Sharon Lathan

  Squeezing his hand for emphasis, she declared, “I want to be clear, however, that more important to me than duty is my immense desire to share in your interests because I love you and want to be with you. I long with all my heart to be your wife and partner, William. Standing beside you in church, I can, if only for a short while, feel as if I already am.”

  Once again, they lost themselves in a world of their devising. Eyes locked, Darcy said nothing for several seconds. Then, slipping his fingers under her palm, he lifted her hand to bestow a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough. A next kiss followed, and then another, a bit closer to her wrist, before Mr. Bennet gruffly clearing his throat reminded them they were not alone.

  Tragically, that brief interlude was the extent of the intimacy arranged that evening. Collecting the remaining kisses would have to wait.

  * * *

  Darcy stood before the parlor window with eyes fixed on the street entering Grosvenor Square. Barring a traffic mishap, which was not unusual in London, the carriage sent to convey Elizabeth safely should return any moment.

  Mr. Gardiner kindly offered to provide a vehicle for his niece’s transport to Darcy House, which Darcy appreciated but deemed too risky. If all the Bennets traveled together, Darcy acquiesced to the use of Mr. Gardiner’s older but adequately maintained carriage. This time it was Elizabeth alone, however, and he could not permit her to travel without a trusted vehicle and the security of two strong footmen to escort.

  Darcy had smoothly refused the generous offer so as not to offend and now waited by the window with bated breath. Despite his absolute trust in the chosen footmen, Hobbes and Peters, and in the coachman’s superb skills, this was London. Reliable street conditions and policing—brigands were always around, even on a Sunday morning—meant that anything terrible could happen. Thus, he exhaled audibly when the familiar coach turned the corner.

  “Are you going to dash outside and make sure she wasn’t rattled about excessively?”

  Darcy ignored his sister’s teasing comment. The truth is, the idea had occurred to him. Instead, he remained at his post, feigning a calmness he did not feel.

  Worry over Elizabeth’s safety while traveling wasn’t the primary cause of his roiling emotions. Aside from the excitement and intoxicating joy always felt when she was in his presence, he remained overwhelmed by her request to join him at church. Years before meeting Elizabeth Bennet, one of the deepest desires of his heart was to stand in worship beside the woman he loved. It conjured images of more than Sunday services, such as the reading of banns, their wedding, and christening babies. Another item to check off his list of long-held dreams. At times, the promise of fulfilled dreams seemed like a dream itself.

  With these musings forefront in his mind, the carriage came to a halt before the townhouse and seconds later his soon-to-be wife was peeking out the door opened by the footman. Darcy’s dreams were now a flesh and blood reality.

  Dressed in a lovely, deep-blue gown and ivory velvet pelisse, her bonnet adorned with tiny white flowers and a ribbon matching her dress, Elizabeth was stunningly beautiful. More than her clothing, however, it was her bearing which caused his heart to soar. Her bright eyes scanned the townhouse top to bottom with warmth and admiration, a sweet smile curving her lush lips.

  Taking Hobbes’s hand, she alit from the carriage, her svelte figure gracefully descending to the walkway. She said something to Hobbes that made him crack a small smile, and then turned to Peters and the coachman, Mr. Anders, offering, Darcy presumed, her thanks or Sunday blessings or perhaps both. They looked rather startled, the gesture quite unusual, but politely responded in kind. Such a small thing, but to Darcy it was immense.

  She practically skipped up the front steps, pausing to greet Mr. Travers, whom Darcy could not see from the angle of his window but knew to be the one holding the door open. Sure enough, less than a minute later the butler escorted her into the parlor.

  “Miss Elizabeth! You are here! Such a delight, is it not, Brother?”

  Understatement of the century. “Yes, indeed, a lovely delight. You are well this morning, I trust, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Quite well, Mr. Darcy.” Her teasing tone and twinkling eyes expressed her amusement over the blandly spoken traditional greetings. “I trust you are well this morning, sir? And you, Miss Darcy? Yes? Fabulous! I am delirious with relief to discover we are all so very well.”

  “Oh, Miss Elizabeth. You do make me laugh! I will miss you awfully. Must you really leave tomorrow?”

  Sitting on the sofa beside his sister, Elizabeth clasped the girl’s hand. “I am afraid so, my dear Georgiana. Be cheered, as we shall see each other again in just a few weeks.”

  “Yes, but only for a day or two before I am forced to return to Town while William whisks you off to Pemberley. It may be months before I am in your company again.”

  Resisting an urge to scold her over her histrionics and impertinent liberties, Darcy settled for basic facts. “Pouting and whining will not change the plans, Georgie. Furthermore, you will be home by Christmas, so less than a month is the accurate interval. Surely you cannot begrudge my time alone with my new bride?”

  She flushed and dropped her eyes. “No, of course not—”

  “What your brother does not understand,” Elizabeth interjected when Georgiana stammered, “is that women as close as sisters can be quite silly. Almost childish at times. A fault, according to some, perhaps, yet a truth we freely acknowledge as a divinely gifted characteristic of the fairer, gentler sex.” She sighed, as dramatic as his sister, and Darcy half expected her to dab a pretend tear from her eye! Instead, she turned her face his direction, a saucy look warning him. “We must be tender with him, my dear, and ever strive to ease his severity with gaiety, as is our purpose in life. To be male has such heavy burdens and tragic deficiencies.”

  The sudden chime of the longcase clock striking the half hour distracted from the laugh he attempted to muffled behind a cough. The reminder that it was time to depart also saved him from enduring further feminine whining and dramatics.

  Grosvenor Chapel was located on Audley Street a few blocks south of the townhouse. As Darcy explained to Elizabeth on the short ride, the chapel had been his family’s place of worship when in London since shortly after construction in 1731.

  “Most of the buildings in this area”—Darcy swept his hand toward the rows of grand townhouses passing the carriage window—“were developed in the early 1700s at the initiation of Sir Richard Grosvenor, the fourth baronet. Our great-grandfather was Sir Richard’s friend, one of the reasons he built the townhouse in Grosvenor Square for the Darcys.”

  “As I learned yesterday, it can pay to have connections in high places upon occasion.”

  Darcy laughed. “Quite so, Elizabeth. Whether gaining entrance to the palace or purchasing a home, knowing the right people is beneficial. As for the chapel, my great-grandfather was not a particularly religious man, or so I gathered from the stories. On the rare occasions he attended services with his family, he chose this chapel solely for its proximity and connection to Sir Richard. Our grandfather, however, had a different opinion, both in the application of his faith and reasons for choosing Grosvenor Chapel. Someday I will share more of my family history regarding the former, and since we are nearly there, I shall let you guess on the latter. Bear in mind that I am very like my grandfather in personality and beliefs.”

  “Another guessing game, Mr. Darcy? These are proving to be somewhat dangerous.”

  “Frankly, I quite enjoy the thrill of danger. It warms the blood and stimulates the…mind.” He winked, satisfied to see a rosy hint touch her adorable cheeks. “However, we should be safe if the prize for this test is jewelry or some other tangible object less hazardous to give.”

  “We shall see,” she demurred. Her cheeks were still rosy, but she flashed an impish smile before turning to look out the carriage window.

  Oh yes indeed, my sweet. We sh
all see. I still have two kisses to collect and two to deliver. Nor do I intend for the prizes to be interrupted and delayed, as happened last evening.

  Georgiana’s gaze darted between the two, confused by the banter, to Darcy’s relief. Then she shrugged, declaring, “I’ll spare you guessing my favorite aspect of the chapel, Miss Elizabeth. It is the organ! A fabulous instrument built by organ specialist Abraham Jordon of elegantly carved oak and brass pipes. It dates to 1732, and the sound is incredible. The rector let me play it once. Oh, it was such a thrill!”

  “If only your recollection of and enthusiasm for historical dates and facts filtered to other subjects besides music.” His tease was accented by a brotherly peck on her cheek and tweak to her nose before he opened the door and hopped out of the carriage. Assisting Georgiana from the carriage first, he then turned to Elizabeth, watching as she scrutinized the outside of Grosvenor Chapel.

  “I can already understand your appreciation, William,” she said after a few minutes. “It is the classical form and modesty of construction, as seen in the simple tan bricks and white stucco, and in the pediment gables which are bold and in the Romanesque style reminiscent of Pemberley. Even the bell tower, though shorter than I suspect you would prefer, is strong and beautifully ornamental.”

  Leaving off her visual inspection of the chapel, she looked up at him and continued softly. “You are a man of contradictions in many ways. The grandeur, dramatic beauty, and boldness of Baroque styling appeals to you greatly, I believe. Yet, when tempered with aspects of romanticism and the picturesque, a perfect balance is achieved for your sensibilities—an equal melding of the natural form and minimalism expressing harmony and reserve, with the intense contrasts and opulence declaring power and wealth.

  “Your aesthetic style is a dichotomy, of sorts, as is your personality in many respects. The exception to this is in your relationship with God and how you believe it best manifested in a house of worship. My guess is that while you can appreciate the artistic beauty of ornate architecture, sculptures, paintings, and the like, you feel it subtracts from the purity and simplicity of the Biblical message. Hence, a plain chapel such as this is more to your liking, as it was, I deduce, for your grandfather.”

  This was not the first time Elizabeth had amazed him at her insights into his soul and mind, so perhaps he should not have been so stunned. Nevertheless, once again, he was flabbergasted. He could not recall discussing his personal religious beliefs with her beyond the most cursory of comments, and after touring Westminster Abbey, where grandeur and opulent architecture were prevalent, it would be logical for her to conclude that more to his taste. Instead, she somehow comprehended his feelings on the subject with absolute accuracy and summarized her conclusions in precise language.

  “I can only attribute your remarkable insights to Him, Elizabeth. I swear you know me better than I know myself.” He lifted her gloved hand for a light kiss, then placed it on his forearm. Offering the other arm to Georgiana, he escorted his two favorite women toward the small church.

  The possibility of encountering people of his acquaintance who might have heard the lies disseminated by Lady Catherine de Bourgh had occurred to him moments after Elizabeth asked to accompany him and Georgiana to church services. There were much higher odds of it happening at the chapel attended by many of the families who resided in the Mayfair district, which included Grosvenor Square.

  His joy over her request overcame the worst of his anxieties. Furthermore, as far as he was aware, over a week in London had passed without any confrontations or overheard whispers disturbing Elizabeth. Darcy was beginning to believe the gossip wasn’t as bad as his cousin Richard had reported, had already faded away as gossip naturally did when unfuelled, or had given way to a more scintillating scandal.

  Despite this, he was on alert as they entered the church. Being a reserved, closemouthed, and somewhat aloof man by nature, and with a sister who instantly reverted to her innate shyness when in a crowd, it was typical for the Darcys to nod noncommittally as they silently passed through. If there was one skill Mr. Darcy of Pemberley possessed that was as natural to him as breathing, it was the ability to exude imperious indifference and ignore anyone he chose to. With this tactic in his favor, and the fact that services were soon to begin, he adroitly evaded conversation. Even Elizabeth’s sunny smile and openly welcome expression failed against the perfected aura of Darcy unsociability.

  Darcy led his sister and fiancée through the chapel narthex, ascended the stairs to the upper gallery, and unlocked the door to the secluded box-pew long ago designated for the Darcy family.

  Elizabeth’s faint gasp and lifted brows indicated surprise over something. Confused, Darcy used his assistance in seating as a cover to whisper into her ear, “Is something amiss, Elizabeth?”

  “Not at all,” she quickly reassured him, smiling. “I’ve just never seen such plush seating and unique construction in a pew.” She ran her hand over the lacquered mahogany paneling, then gently patted the red velvet cushions covering the bench seat. “I’m rather jealous, to be honest. These benches are molded into a curve befitting the human body to prevent the inevitable aching back. Furthermore, I’m lamenting the years of sitting on the hard pews in our Meryton church where, apparently, no one considered adding a cushion!”

  “It is a toss-up, I suppose. Too comfortable and one may fall asleep, particularly if the priest is less than riveting in his delivery. Too uncomfortable and the soreness of one’s buttocks preoccupies rather than the message.”

  “Indeed,” she agreed, stifling a laugh. “Although, for me, it was the sharp edges digging into my shoulder blades that annoyed. Whichever Darcy ancestor came up with the brilliant idea of curved and padded backs has earned my undying gratitude.”

  “Alas, I doubt it was a Darcy invention, as all the pew boxes have them. However, it was my grandfather who increased the depth of this row and added the small footstools. He was taller than me, and legs our length quickly cramp up in tight spaces.”

  “Taller than you? My goodness, he must have been a giant.”

  “He always seemed so to me, for a host of reasons. I wish you could have known him, Elizabeth, and my father as well. They would have adored you.”

  The statement was true, Darcy knew it for certain in his heart, although why the sentiment chose that moment to slip out, he could not say. Her eyes grew slightly misty, and she swiftly caressed the top of his hand where it lay on his thigh as she glanced down into the nave.

  It seems we are both easily affected by maudlin emotions these days, he thought, unsure whether this was laughable or alarming. The entrance of the choir as the organ sprang into life diverted further personal analyzing of his strangely unbridled sentimentality.

  Upon later evaluation, Darcy would acknowledge the fault in averting the unpleasant after-service encounter lay solely upon his shoulders. Elizabeth’s proximity throughout the worship and sermon gave him a taste of their future as one soul united in God. Blanketed in the warmth of his emotions, he exited the church with his guard lowered, mind numbed, and focus narrowed.

  At the shouting of his name from amid the milling crowd of churchgoers, he stopped and turned, a bemused smile fixed upon his lips. Worst yet, upon seeing the two men hastening directly toward him with two finely dressed women trailing behind, his smile broadened.

  Not a single bell of warning chimed.

  * * *

  The only bells Lizzy heard were from the residual ringing song of the excellent church choir and organ.

  Arm linked with Mr. Darcy’s, she exited the chapel in step with him, but her attention was on the bubbly girl skipping to her left. Georgiana gushed on about the organ’s tonal qualities, pipe speech, reed timbres, and other technical notations which were gibberish to Lizzy. This mattered not, of course, as Georgiana was precious in her joyful enthusiasm, and Lizzy was far too happy to be perturbed by anything.

  In truth, her mood was remarkably similar to Mr. Darcy’s. For star
ters, she had never enjoyed a Sunday service to the extent she had this one. The music truly was as fantastic as Georgiana claimed, and the priest spoke his message in a voice both pleasant in tone and lively in elocution. The latter was a rarity, Lizzy unable to resist whispering a comparison with Mr. Collins into Mr. Darcy’s ear, his chuckle thankfully unheard from their sheltered pew in the upper level.

  Jesting at her ridiculous cousin’s expense notwithstanding, Lizzy’s present disposition arose in part from the service itself, but not as the primary source. Unlike her serious, religiously inclined betrothed, until recently Lizzy had never envisioned standing in worship with a future spouse.

  The night before, when requesting to join him, she had said, “I long with all my heart to be your wife and partner, William. Standing beside you in church, I can, if only for a short while, feel as if I already am.” Though spoken with sincerity, she had not expected how real the illusion of being his wife would feel. An ordinary, weekly ritual engaged in more times than she could count had today become a momentous experience.

  Thus, between listening to Georgiana’s effusive praise of the organ music and the warmth of her emotions, Lizzy did not hear the shout of her future husband’s name. Rather, it was his unexpected halting and pivot about—her hand losing contact with his arm in the process—which alerted her to anything.

  Pressing a hand to Georgiana’s arm in silent communication, she peeked from behind William’s back just as a rotund, older gentleman boomed out, “Darcy! Well met, indeed! I was hoping to see you here! Based on your high breeding standards and promises, I will be placing a hefty bet on Bathsheba Fire to win at Newmarket. I best not be disappointed!”