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

by Sharon Lathan

  “Where did you learn of a new publication upcoming from Lord Byron? I hadn’t heard that news.”

  “Really? It was listed in the ‘Literary Intelligence’ section of this month’s Gentleman’s Magazine. You do not subscribe?”

  “I do, but it was just published and I have been rather occupied of late, in case you had not noticed.” She nudged his side, laughing. Continuing in as serious a tone as he could muster, he said, “I am surprised a genteel lady such as yourself, Miss Bennet, would waste her delicate intellect on a magazine primarily intended for the male mind.”

  “Well, naturally I first scour through La Belle Assemblée and the Lady’s Magazine until they’re memorized. I only flip open the Gentleman’s Magazine to read the recipes and domestic articles Mr. Urban has included. It isn’t my fault if my eyes accidentally fall on the latest news from Parliament, crime reports, and literature reviews.”

  “Yes, I see. Indeed it is the editor’s fault.” Darcy winked but kept his focus on the road as he made the tight turn onto the narrower lane. “Now that we have cleared that up,” he resumed once safely heading straight, “I thank you for the information. I shall send a note to Mr. Hatchard in London, asking him to procure a copy of Lord Byron’s poems as soon as it is available. In December, you say? He can send it to Pemberley, then. It shall give us something to do on those long nights.”

  “Ha! If I have my way, sir, reading will be the last activity on your mind, particularly at night.”

  Darcy nearly choked and had to swallow several times. Despite their comfort with each other and their mutual passionate desire, bold references to lovemaking still surprised him!

  “While you are making requests, William, if you do not mind, there were a couple of other titles I am also interested in.”

  “Of course, Elizabeth. Anything you wish. All you have to do is ask. If they are already released publications, I can check with Mr. Leonard at the book shop in Meryton. He seems competent.”

  “You can ask and may have influence where I don’t.” At his frown, Elizabeth shrugged. “Both titles I want are written by women. Mr. Leonard is old-fashioned about such things. Your jesting a moment ago would be a fervently held opinion of his, trust me. I rather doubt he allows Mrs. Leonard to read a lady’s magazine, if she can read at all.”

  “Such attitudes are outrageous,” Darcy fumed. “Never mind then. I’d just as soon not do business with him. Mr. Hatchard usually has new books on hand anyway, so can have them delivered to you at Longbourn.”

  Pleased at that report, she said no more. Bobbing her chin toward the approaching end of the lane. “We are to visit the bluffs?”

  Snickering, Darcy nodded. “We are, although I cannot help but laugh at the local moniker for what barely constitutes a hill being ‘the bluffs.’ I’ve seen fairy mounds that were higher.”

  “Allow us deprived flatlanders our delusions, please. We aren’t blessed to have the majestic Peaks in our backyard, rising to uncharted elevations. Why I heard intrepid climbers are giving up on scaling the Himalayan heights in lieu of challenging the Derbyshire Peaks!”

  “Ha-ha, very funny. But, the point is valid. It is a matter of perspective in the end. I will concede the view from your revered bluff is an impressive panorama. Bingley and I thought that with the snow, the view should be lovelier still.”

  “Ah, yes. The view. That is why you chose this destination. What other reason could there be?”

  Darcy’s answer was a lusty grin and penetrating leer from her mouth to bosom. Her instant reaction was a bright flush to her cheeks and averted face. One minute saucy and alluding to bedroom activities, the next blushing and struck with shyness—oh, how he adored his Elizabeth’s mix of brazenness and innocence!

  Moments later, they reached the wide clearing of the so-called bluff. Darcy steered to the right, a quick glance noting Bingley driving his phaeton to the left. Directing the horses into a slight angle, he reined them to a stop and set the brake. Another swift inspection revealed Bingley doing the same, the two open carriages within eyesight of each other, and within hearing if one shouted, but aligned so unable to peer directly into the hooded seating area. Securing the reins before taking off his gloves, Darcy turned toward Elizabeth.

  A playful smirk curved her lips, and one brow was lifted, and her brown eyes sparkled naughtily. She didn’t need to comment on the parking arrangement for him to know she understood completely. Quite sure his own expression was similarly naughty and playful, he slipped his right arm over her shoulders and drew her into his body. The shift in position slid her hand higher up his thigh until dangerously close to his groin—a pleasant relocation that raised his internal temperature.

  “So, Miss Bennet, shall we enjoy the view?”

  “I have seen it before, with more snow than this, in fact. I doubt much has changed.”

  Needing no further encouragement, Darcy lifted his hand to her face and lightly stroked her delicate skin. There was no need to rush this sweet interlude. He and Bingley had agreed—in halting and cryptic verbiage, as neither was comfortable discussing matters of intimacy—to limit their time at the bluff to thirty minutes tops. Without expressly saying it, each man comprehended the hazards in pushing boundaries. They were, after all, only human!

  Cradling Elizabeth’s jaw in his palm, he drew her tighter into his embrace while bending to meet her upturned lips. As always, that initial moment of contact, whether gentle or firm, took his breath away. A muffled sigh caught in his throat and a sizzling current of heat rushed through his body. Instantly, his groin stiffened, and a harsh mental rebuke was necessary to deter a full-blown arousal that would rob him of the last shreds of coherency.

  Instinctively intensifying the kiss, one thought screamed through his mind: Dear God, how desperately I want to make love to her!

  As if one of his nighttime dreams were invading his waking mind, Darcy could see himself loving her right there in the carriage. More than that, he could feel it. Vividly. He had never conceived of doing such a thing, yet his mind’s eye effortlessly provided step-by-step, full-color, moving illustrations! He’d start by running his hands up her legs while lifting her skirts until her lower body was bared. Then, he’d pull her onto his lap so that her lean, silky legs straddled his thighs. A simple twist to the buttons on his breeches, as he’d done thousands of times, would free his swollen member. Clasping his hands onto her firm, rounded buttocks, all it would take is a hoist upward followed by a smooth thrust to be buried deep inside of her. Ah! To be joined as one with the woman he loved—exquisite bliss transcending all imagination!

  Shuddering, he withdrew from her lips with a gasping groan and dropped his head onto her shoulder. Inhaling slow and deep, he blocked the visions and willed the seething sensations to subside.

  “What is it, William? Is something wrong?”

  There was some consolation in hearing her husky tone and breathlessness. He wasn’t the only one physically affected by an impassioned kiss.

  “Nothing is wrong,” he finally managed to hiss through a clenched jaw. “Except, perhaps, for the timing.”

  She said nothing for a minute at least, holding still as if in thought while Darcy collected his scattered wits. What was intended to be a playful, temperate interlude of kisses and maybe one or two borderline-indecent tactile inspections, had gone wildly astray within five minutes, leaving him quite rattled. Then, when he was almost entirely in control, it was Elizabeth who moved first.

  Removing her hands from where they lay on his right thigh under the blankets, she encircled his neck and laced her fingers into his hair. Tugging gently, she drew him up until able to look into his eyes.

  “I am not sure what you mean by that, although I have my suspicions. What I do know is that we must soon leave for lunch at Netherfield. As I see it, the timing is perfect for what we can safely do right now. I do not intend to waste a single second.” She paused only long enough to smile, vibrant and confident, and then took the initiative.


  Darcy wondered if those occasional bouts of acute lust were critical in the long run. It wasn’t the release he desperately needed and wanted, not by a long shot, but letting loose his pent-up sexual energy in small measures aided in preserving his sanity and maintaining restraint over the remaining days until they married. Today, as had happened before, once past the violent, spontaneous reaction, he was able to calm—comparatively, that is—and enjoy the sweet pleasure of tender kisses and caresses.

  Following her lead, he returned the kiss, and both regulated themselves as they explored with tongues and lips. With a tug, he untied the laces of her brocade cape, eased the fabric aside, and slid his hands into the warm pocket surrounding her upper body. She wore a collared spencer of thick woolen flannel over a high-bodice gown, understandable with the colder weather, so unless he went as far as partially undressing her—a tempting but ill-advisable action—over-the-clothing fondling would have to satisfy his need to touch her.

  Elizabeth apparently came to the same conclusion. With a surprising degree of deftness, she unbuttoned his overcoat and jacket and, after briefly toying with one waistcoat button, contented herself with leaving two layers of garments under her exploring palms.

  The game was rather humorous. In those scant occasions when they had managed to be alone long enough to touch each other, it was as if they strictly delineated their bodies into safe zones and taboo territory. The permissible areas were from head to naval—except for Elizabeth’s breasts—and the stretch from knee to mid-thigh was harmless.

  Darcy freely admitted riskily trespassing into forbidden regions more often than wise or proper, mainly by cupping her buttocks and pressing her body against his throbbing hardness. Once, completely on accident, he had brushed over her breast, searing into his brain the titillating sensations of round, soft flesh and pebble-hard nipples.

  Yet every kiss and caress increased their comfort with each other, deepened their connection, and furthered their mutual trust. Darcy was convinced that these periods of intimacy would benefit them on their wedding night particularly, and in their relationship as a whole.

  Everything was as Elizabeth had forcefully proclaimed a mere two weeks ago in his mother’s bedchamber. Heeding her advice, he had surrendered to his passionate nature and freely expressed his love—within reason, of course, which is why the body boundaries and the unstated but bilateral agreement to pull away after a delightful fifteen minutes. Breathing a bit too heavily and heart rates significantly faster than normal, they cuddled close and passed the remaining time staring out at the landscape.

  Whether either of them actually saw the scenery is doubtful.

  * * *

  With the carriage interlude foremost in his mind and conflicting mightily with competently driving the phaeton, Darcy suspected absolutely nothing when they arrived at Netherfield. He could barely keep his eyes off Elizabeth’s glowing mien to pay attention to the footman who was attempting to assist him with doffing his overcoat, gloves, and hat. Then his beloved linked her arm with his, and the duo following behind Bingley and Jane automatically.

  Not an inkling of aroused suspicion, even when he noted bypassing the dining room. Bingley’s cheery assurance that they were to dine in the second parlor, that one smaller and facing the rear of the house so not as often used, was shrugged off as well. It wasn’t until the door was shoved open with a bit too much vigor and Bingley danced aside, so that Darcy, still paying minimal attention, walked over the threshold first, that he finally recognized the truth.

  Two steps into the room, Darcy was struck dumb. He could not believe his eyes.

  The parlor had been converted to a ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall party suite. Ribbons in a rainbow of hues draped over the windows, the twisted yards of fabric pinned to the ceiling crisscrossing the whole expanse with numerous streamers dangling and swaying in the air. Covering the opposite wall was an enormous banner, upon which were painted in bright colors the words: “Joyous Birth Day!”

  In the middle of the room were two tables. One was elaborately set for four diners with a single chair, presumably for the guest of honor as it was decorated with a massive red ribbon tied into a bow. A smaller table practically sagged from the weight of presents and a huge cake the likes of which Darcy had never seen before. Round and frosted white, it was adorned with real flowers and leaves, and in the center was a tall, thick, flaming candle.

  Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his waist, lifting on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Are you pleased, my love?”

  Bingley and Jane walked into the room, pausing only to smile and extend their wishes. Turning his attention back to Elizabeth, he noted the mixture of pleasure and anxiety in her expression.

  “I am quite speechless, to be honest. You planned all of this?”

  “With the help of Jane and Mr. Bingley, of course.”

  “Who gave me away?”

  “Georgiana told me weeks ago. I know you are not fond of surprises, William, especially for your birthday, but I had to do something. I do pray you are not too upset over the fuss. Are you pleased, at least a little?”

  “Yes! Yes, I am!” Embracing Elizabeth and squeezing her tight, he bestowed a tender kiss. “Rather shockingly pleased, I have to say. To be honest, I kept forgetting myself. When I did remember, I hoped you had no idea of the date although I figured you probably did.”

  “I suppose you feared an outrageously ostentatious fete with all of Hertfordshire in attendance.”

  Laughing, he nodded. “You know me remarkably well, don’t you?”

  “More each day. This is a simple celebration with just us. I didn’t tell anyone else. Goodness knows what my mother might have done with the information!”

  “I owe you for that kindness,” he remarked earnestly. “And, truly, this is wonderful. Thank you, Elizabeth. I love you for remembering me.”

  “I wanted to surprise you. It is more fun that way. But I was worried you might feel hurt that I had said nothing or asked outright when you were born, as you did my date of birth. I am sorry if you thought I did not care.”

  The sadness in her voice broke his heart. “My dearest Elizabeth, never could I doubt how much you care for me.” He kissed her again, a bit deeper, and caressed feathering fingertips over her cheek. “As for my birthday, I haven’t honestly cared about it since my youth. This is quite unexpected, but pleasantly so.”

  “Excellent! We do have all sorts of festivities on the agenda. However, another thing I know about you, Mr. Darcy, is that about now you are starving, so we shall begin with luncheon. Come!”

  If Darcy had been forced at pistol point to plan his own birthday party, that afternoon’s entertainment would have been unchanged. The day was perfect from the start to the finish, many hours later.

  As Elizabeth rightly conjectured, Darcy was famished so beginning with luncheon was an excellent way to launch the fun. The Netherfield cook was skilled, and today she and her helpers had outdone themselves. The delicious menu included turtle soup, a salmagundi of mixed greens and vegetables with seasoned vinaigrette, Scotch quail eggs, beef a la mode, spinach soufflé, stewed oysters, and a salver of assorted fruits.

  Then, no sooner had the table been cleared than a servant entered carrying a tiered server upon which were an array of sweet and savory treats. In step with the first servant was a second bearing a tray upon which sat a silver gilt pot and four cups. Quite replete, Darcy was eyeing the piles of ratafia cakes, coffee wafers, lemon biscuit, and fruit fritters with a mix of delight at seeing his favorites and dismay at how he could not eat another bite after the fabulous luncheon. Sincerely hoping the idea was to leave the treats on the table to be nibbled on at leisure, he gave no thought to what he assumed was a pot of brewing hot tea—not until the tray was set onto the table centered between the two settees did the aroma catch his attention.

  “Hot chocolate!” he exclaimed, instantly looking at Elizabeth, who was beaming. “You remembered.”

  Bingley lau
ghed. “Darcy, when will you finally accept the reality that our lovely ladies have us completely figured out and will forever strive to please us?”

  “As will we for them,” Darcy confirmed, also chuckling. “Of course, you are correct, Bingley. Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m sure tea can be brought, if preferred over chocolate.”

  Jane leaned to pour the thick beverage into the waiting cups. “Lizzy and I can count on one hand the number of times we have tasted hot chocolate. No offense, Mr. Darcy, but this is the part of the day I have most looked forward to.” Smiling, she handed him a steaming cup.

  “None taken, I assure you.” As soon as the foursome held their filled cups, Darcy lifted his into the air. “A toast to friends who are soon to become family.”

  “And to Mr. Darcy, whose fortuitous day of birth has given us an excellent reason to indulge in chocolate and much more,” Bingley added, with rousing cheers of agreement from the others.

  Silently sipping the sweet drink and chewing a pear-and-apple fritter, Darcy peered at the cake. Unsure how he was finding room in his stuffed stomach for the fritter—even as he finished it and reached for a jam-smeared lemon biscuit—he prayed the afternoon’s program called for slicing into the cake after hours to digest what he had already consumed.

  “The cake”—he gestured with the biscuit—“is fascinating. I have never seen one with a lit candle. Is there a purpose?”

  “Lizzy read about it,” Bingley answered. “A German tradition, is that correct?”

  “It is.” Elizabeth bobbed her head, then setting her cup down, she clasped onto Darcy’s hand. “You will appreciate this, William, as you love historical tidbits. A few years ago, I read the English translation of Andrew Frey’s interaction with the Moravians in Germany. He wrote in detail about the birthday celebration for a Count Ludwig von Zinzendorf, which included a cake that had one candle for the years of his life. Over fifty! The imagery intrigued me and stayed in my mind. I’ve seen references since, scattered here and there, primarily German. They have for centuries celebrated birthdays as an important rite of passage, as we do not tend to do in England. The candles are an old tradition. Typically one is inserted into the cake for each year that has passed, with a single candle in the center representing continued life in the year ahead. Hence the name ‘light of life’ for the main candle. A lovely custom, I think.”