Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo)

by Sharon Lathan

  “I cannot argue your logic, Miss Bingley. However, I am not now nor have I ever been a typical example of what most gentlemen desire from the ladies of Society. Fashion trends I do not follow, and too often what I see is ridiculous or bordering on tasteless.”

  A hard edge had entered his otherwise bland tone, and not once had he looked away from her eyes, even though she was standing inches away from him with her bosom generously on display. It was disconcerting. Not at all the reaction she expected. His words were ridiculous, and it impossible to believe he truly felt, since it was contrary to what was normal. The perplexing messages rendered her unable to formulate a response. Whether that was a good or bad thing, she never knew, because at that second Charles rushed into the room.

  “So sorry I am late! I hope no one is here…Oh not yet, I see. Good…Caroline! What in God’s name are you wearing? I can see your legs and your chest is practically spilling…Forgive me, Darcy, that was too personal…”

  “No, no. Lecture away as you deem it necessary.”

  Caroline distinctly detected amusement in Darcy’s voice as he walked toward Charles, adding to her irritation. “Charles, do not be a prig.” She tossed her head and sighed in exasperation. “You may not attend to the dictates of fashion, but I do. Being a proper lady of a fine house requires looking one’s best, especially when functioning as the hostess for a dinner party. You might want to remember this in regards to who you have chosen to be Mrs. Bingley.”

  “My Jane always looks perfect and stays properly covered in the process. Can you at least add a fichu? I suppose there is no time for you to change—”

  “There is no reason for me to do either. As I was attempting to explain to Mr. Darcy, fashion is—”

  “Yes, I have heard all the arguments.” Charles waved his hand, voice testy. “A daringly dressed lady is fine under certain circumstances, I will admit. Personally, I prefer not to see so much of my own sister, but I am sure Sir Giles will be pleased.”

  Caroline opened her mouth to refute any interest in the baronet and add on a bold declaration that she had her mind set on a particular gentleman, but the chime of the doorbell forestalled. Minutes later, the foyer was filled with people, and in Caroline’s estimation, the evening slide further downhill from there.

  Mr. and Mrs. Denbigh were decent enough, even moderately entertaining and surprisingly versed on the theatre and other aspects of London society. Yet neither of them paid Caroline much attention. Not that she cared for the regard of a lowly barrister or his wife; however, the lack disclosed their dismal understanding of proper social grace, augmenting her annoyance.

  Mr. Denniston was a quiet man, perhaps not as taciturn as Mr. Darcy, but close. When he spoke, it was with deliberation, his tone dull and ponderous. Caroline nearly fell asleep each time he opened his mouth and struggled against the inclination to ignore him completely only because Mr. Darcy appeared to respect his conversation. All the gentlemen did, in fact, to Caroline’s bafflement. On top of that, Elizabeth Bennet, of all the women in the room, actively partook of the concourse between the gentlemen. Whether Eliza truly knew what they were saying and contributed intelligently, Caroline could not tell, although the fact that they replied seriously in turn indicated she did. Worse yet was the proud expression on Mr. Darcy’s face whenever Elizabeth spoke. Caroline resisted grimacing or rolling her eyes with effort.

  Miss Stedman and Miss Osteler were reserved creatures on the whole. They spoke haltingly, primarily with the women in the room, and said little to Caroline. Both their mouths dropped upon laying eyes on Caroline, as she anticipated and rather enjoyed, and thereafter they were intimidated, as Caroline also relished. Of all the women present, only Miss Osteler was gowned in anything close to what Caroline would consider the latest fashion. Her gown was simple and modest, as seemed to be the standard amongst the pitiable country folk, but of a quality taffeta well sewn with beautiful embroidery along the hemline. Guessing as to the cost of even that basic of a garment, and the jewelry pieces and high-caliber accessories, affirmed Mr. Darcy’s assessment of Sir Giles Osteler’s wealth.

  Mr. Darcy’s other prophecy proved true as well. Sir Giles took one look at Caroline Bingley and his eyes literally bulged! As soon as the formal introductions were made, he glued himself to her side. Caroline’s emotions ran the gamut from egotistical pleasure at his adulation to nausea-inducing dismay when Mr. Darcy did not seem to notice. The latter gentleman’s focus was entirely upon Elizabeth, increasing Caroline’s stomachache.

  Then, at one point, she noticed Mr. Darcy flick a rapid glance toward Sir Giles, who was babbling something to her while his eyes were firmly locked upon her décolletage, followed by a harsh glower and tight press of his lips. While it was entirely possible the reaction was not borne of jealousy, Caroline refused to accept it was sparked by any other emotion.

  Hatching a new plan, Caroline smiled winsomely at the baronet and offered her hand for a glancing kiss. Sir Giles was handsome, Caroline admitted upon closer inspection, and his manners were impeccable. Under different circumstances she might have been interested in considering him a suitor. But for this evening, his purpose was specific: to make Mr. Darcy jealous.

  Flirting, for Caroline, was as easy as breathing. With no other women vying for the baronet’s favor, she was free to monopolize. Sir Giles was smitten within minutes, Caroline deftly playing the game all through the evening. There were the occasional disapproving glares from Charles, and indecipherable glances from Mr. Darcy, but she had no clue if her ploy was having a lasting impression. It was maddening!

  The after-dinner hour with the ladies in the parlor was another low point to the evening. Caroline’s hopes to embarrass the Bennet women and plant seeds of self-doubt with disparaging comments never seemed to have the desired effect. Elizabeth inevitably laughed, as if Caroline’s jibe was meant as a joke, or nimbly redirected the conversation. Once or twice a strained silence fell, Caroline noting a troubled flicker cross Elizabeth’s brow, but it passed too swiftly for assurance as to the lasting impact. It was enough to lift Caroline’s sagging spirits and inspire more subtle attacks, until, that is, Miss Stedman noticed the ring on Elizabeth’s finger. Cheeks rosy and eyes shining, Elizabeth recounted how Mr. Darcy had given the ring as a symbol of his affection and promise, the ladies oohing and ahing disgustingly. Caroline honesty thought she would retch.

  The final insult came after the guests had left. Caroline turned to Mr. Darcy, who was staring wistfully at the closed door, and requested he escort her upstairs to her room. She wanted to scream when Charles jumped in, before Darcy looked away from the door, and offered his arm. The message was crystal clear, Caroline additionally shocked when her normally polite, meek brother reproached, “I will escort you, Caroline. I believe Mr. Darcy has had enough of you for one night. Come along, Caroline.”

  * * *

  Darcy waited with a glass of brandy in each hand, thrusting one at Bingley the moment he entered the library. “No need to say a word, Bingley. Take a big swallow and forget the whole thing.”

  Bingley smiled faintly at Darcy’s light tone and did take a big swallow of the brandy, but then shook his head. “I must apologize for Caroline, Darcy. No, please, I must.” He dropped into a plush chair with a groan. “She vexes me no end! But what am I to do? She is my sister, and as much as I hate her ridiculous attitude, I can appreciate where she is coming from. She is wrong, but I am trying to be patient and understand. Is this weak or foolish of me?”

  “No, not entirely,” Darcy agreed, albeit with hesitation and a wince. “I am painfully aware that Caroline’s opinions are precisely as mine were not so long ago, and that you tolerate her expressing them, in part, out of deference to me.”

  It was Bingley’s turn to wince. “That is not entirely true and you know it, Darcy. Never have you been as…meanspirited, God forgive me, as Caroline can be. You were restrained. She is openly vocal.”

  “If you recall honestly, my friend, I was not always
restrained. Perhaps not as meanspirited, but I made no secret of my aversion to society here, or the Bennet family.”

  “That was a year ago, Darcy, and we both know why you reacted so strongly. Quit torturing yourself over the past.”

  Darcy smiled fondly at his friend. “Charles, can I say, without sounding condescending, that I am impressed by your…maturity, for lack of a better term?”

  “As I see it, we have both been changed, in ways we may not yet fully understand, by events this past year.”

  Reclining into the chair beside Bingley, Darcy humorously raised his brows and grinned. “Touched by love? Rather cliché, is it not?”

  “Indeed, it is. And best kept our secret.” Bingley lifted his glass, Darcy toasting as they both laughed. Then Bingley grew serious. “I cannot honestly say I am thankful for all that happened…with Jane. Yet it did afford me an opportunity to mature, as you say, and learn to think for myself. I do believe I will be a better husband because of it.” He shrugged. “I suppose I owe you thanks, Darcy, although I cannot go that far.”

  “If you thanked me I would question your sanity.” Darcy swirled the amber liquid, his tone as serious. “I am unable to completely embrace thankfulness for the struggle and torment of this past year, Bingley. I know I am also a better man because of it, yet I would not willingly walk through the valley again.”

  “Best we put the past behind us, except for remembering the lessons, and face the future with happy hearts and hope.”

  “I can drink to that.”

  They sipped in contented silence for a bit, each man staring at the fire and lost in their thoughts.

  For Darcy, those thoughts were centered on Elizabeth. He missed her, yet a part of him loved the night. Alone, mentally replaying every word and glance and stolen touch, he could allow his musings to drift. Sometimes they drifted into future imaginings, times when they would be able to freely express their love in highly intimate ways, but also in the simple joys of warm embraces or entwined hands. Other times, his private musings were for the present, listing all the topics he wanted to discuss so as to increase their bond, and planning a host of special moments to ensure their courtship was eternally memorable. It was amazingly easy for him to relax when thinking about Elizabeth, so much so that he nearly dropped his glass when Bingley’s voice broke into his reverie.

  “My hope has been that Caroline release her prejudices. I thought she would, at least to a large degree, the more she was around Jane and saw her sweet nature and pure heart. Should not our love be so evident that, if for no other reason than a sisterly desire for my happiness, she would accept it?”

  Darcy did not answer immediately. The subject of Caroline’s behavior was uncomfortable for several reasons. Yet clearly Charles sought the discussion, so after another sip of brandy and deep inhale, Darcy answered, “Indeed it should. I suspect if it were only you and Miss Bennet, Caroline’s attitude would be softening. Perhaps even resigned and happy for you by now.”

  “It is not right, Darcy. She has absolutely no business including you and Miss Elizabeth in her harangues! It is wrong for her to speak to me as she does, but I am her brother. While I know she is overstepping and being utterly rude, I practice tolerance because we are family. My choices are indeed mine to make, but they do affect her, so I am doing my best to maintain my calm. You are an entirely different matter, however. I am mortified by her behavior, and I confess rather flummoxed over how to deal with her.”

  “Caroline is playing a desperate game she is doomed to lose. I…mean no offense, Bingley”—Darcy shifted in his chair, eyes darting to his friend then back to the fire—“but I have never felt any attraction for your sister. I have been careful to never wittingly give her cause to expect more from me than friendship.”

  “Has this been your concern? That I would blame you for her actions because I believed you encouraged her? Lord! No!” Bingley scooted to the edge of his seat, forcing Darcy to meet his eyes. “My astoundment this past week is the result of incomprehension as to why she was so annoyed with your choice! Me choosing Jane, I could understand, as I said. But you? It made no sense to me precisely because it has been abundantly obvious from the first day you met Caroline that she did not interest you in that way! Hell, half the time you are barely civil to her! Not that I blame you, trust me.”

  Darcy was unable to halt the smile Bingley’s words elicited. “Thank you, Charles. I did need to hear your reassurance. Mind you, I do not dislike Caroline, and it is my pleasure to welcome her as your sister, as I do Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. I also cannot say I was wholly unaware of Caroline’s interest, although until this past week I underestimated the extent. I feared I blundered in some way, or my hospitality was interpreted as personal.”

  Bingley was shaking his head. “Indeed not! If Caroline interpreted thusly, it was her own misguided purposes, and not in any way your fault. In fact, you are masterful at deflecting undesirable advances from women, having been subjected to it for so long.”

  Bingley freshened his brandy and then leaned to pour more for Darcy. “Whatever craziness is going on in my sister’s head, we both know it will lead to nothing. Two questions remain: How far she will go? And how long I can be patient with her nonsense?”

  Honestly, Darcy did not know how to answer either question. Until seeing her in that dress tonight, and then her shameless display with Sir Giles, Darcy had not been worried. Annoyed, yes. But it had never entered his mind that the controlled, cool Caroline Bingley would cross a serious line. Just how desperate was she to have him? His mind cringed at the possibilities.

  As for Bingley dealing with Caroline, that opened up a host of variables.

  “I can take care of myself, Charles, and can handle Caroline. She is not the first woman of my acquaintance to overstep,” he asserted, the claim true. “She is your family, so naturally you desire accord for the future. This is proper and justified—to a degree.”

  Bingley frowned, his eyes questioning. Darcy did not move from his relaxed repose in the chair, but he turned the full force of his penetrating stare and commanding demeanor toward his young friend. “Never forget, not for a second, that your first and primary responsibility is to your wife. A formal betrothal is as binding as the final vows. Miss Bennet is the only one you completely owe your allegiance to. We pray our choices will never come to a disagreement or separation, but just as I had to take a stand with Lady Catherine, so too must you—if it comes to that.”

  They stared at each other in silence, Bingley finally nodding once. “Thank you, Darcy. You have given me much to meditate upon.”

  Darcy’s reply was to swallow the last of his brandy, setting the glass onto the table with a clink, and then standing. “Now, I am off to bed. Pleasant dreams of my Elizabeth await.” He clapped Bingley on the shoulder, exiting the room whistling softly.

  Chapter Six

  Warmth of Autumn

  Darcy woke the next morning wholly rejuvenated. Forever a person who slept deeply, if typically no more than six or seven hours at a stretch, Darcy had rarely been plagued with insomnia or restlessness. Therefore, waking invigorated was not uncommon. Lately, however, his slumber had taken on a new dimension. Sleep was no longer merely an empty span of time his body required to function. It had become a wonderful interlude, blissfully replete with dreams of Elizabeth.

  A good number of those dreams were erotic, and while left with the physical ache of unfulfilled sexual desire, his heart and soul were buoyed. In a few weeks, they would be husband and wife, no longer with any barriers between them. The yearning to be with Elizabeth was overwhelming at times, and there were moments when the weeks ahead felt an eternity. Yet he knew these days were precious and that they would speed by, so he welcomed the dreams of loving Elizabeth as a means to prepare himself for the reality. Practice sessions, as he jokingly referred to them.

  Not all of his dreams revolved around marital intimacy, however. More often they consisted of rehashed conversations and moments from their
days together. Others were jumbled image collages that were illogical, but lovely nevertheless. Expressly delightful were dreams pointing to future possibilities, such as them surrounded by hordes of children while walking across the gardens and lawns of Pemberley. The sweetness of these placid, soothing dreams was surprisingly powerful and went a long way in easing the urgency instigated by the sensual dreams.

  There was a beautiful balance to his dreams, leaving him renewed and eager for the day.

  Darcy’s valet, Samuel, assisted him in a truncated toilette. No need to shave or bathe thoroughly nor don a fine suit. Instead, he dressed quickly in one of his numerous casual ensembles designed specifically for riding his horse.

  It had been over a week since he and Parsifal had embarked on one of their daring, wild races. Few activities delivered the freedom and sense of adventure as thoroughly as when bent low on the back of his stallion. Reins held loose in his hands, he and the powerful animal flying as one across an open meadow, leaping over or dodging around the obstacles in their path. Since a young boy, Darcy turned to his horses as the preferred outlet for his bottled energy, frustrations, grief, or merely the need to disengage. Physical exertion in various forms—fencing, hunting, swimming—were an essential aspect of Darcy’s life, but none offered the complete gratifying experience as riding his horse.

  Whistling, he bounded down the stairs and entered the empty dining room. The servants were setting up the pots of coffee and boiling water for tea, half of the additives not yet on the table. The Netherfield butler apologized, but Darcy waved it away, smiling as he assured the man he was early and would be more than content with coffee and toast.

  Minutes later, both items were provided, and Darcy walked onto the rear terrace. Standing by the railing, he ate the raspberry jam–smeared toast and drank the hot coffee, taking his time with it despite his fervor to be riding, because the morning was simply too beautiful not to savor. The brisk air, hint of a breeze, lush smells of earth and foliage, and filtered beams of the rising sun casting shadows and illumination on the array of autumn colors augmented the sensations of health and joy pulsing through his body. Fresh from sleep and vivid dreams, and with the anticipation of another remarkable day with the woman he loved, Darcy almost felt as if he could fly. Not literally—although there had been a handful of odd moments when he swore his feet did not touch the ground—but in the sense that his spirit felt alive and invincible.