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

by Sharon Lathan

  “That may be a slight exaggeration, Lizzy.”

  “Yes, of course it is. But not by too much, you have to admit, Jane. If not for the random whisper or offhand comment or rare affectionate couple, like our uncle and aunt Gardiner, there would be no evidence to point to human intimacy being particularly enjoyable.”

  “Unless one is male,” Jane whispered.

  Lizzy nodded, knowing what she meant. Females boldly discussing matters of sensuality and intimacy were expressly forbidden. This mandate was ignored, of course, but circumspectly, with hesitant whispers and the barest knowledge gleaned from questionable sources. At the same time, it was an accepted fact, loudly proclaimed, that men were highly sexual beings. Females were constantly warned against the male species with their “uncontainable lusts” and similar cautionary phrases. So much so that even if clueless what an “uncontainable lust” entailed, you were on the lookout for it.

  “In retrospect,” Lizzy said slowly, the idea newly forming in her mind, “it is not that the knowledge is unspoken, rather that it is mixed with innuendo and false facts.”

  “And guilt or shame for daring to let your thoughts drift in that direction.”

  Lizzy nodded in agreement with her sister’s assertion. “Quite so. Are you…afraid, Jane?”

  The sharp rap at Jane’s bedroom door, followed by it swinging open abruptly, jolted a squeak from each of them.

  “Oh! Girls! I heard your voices and decided it was time. Indeed, past time!”

  Mrs. Bennet rushed inside, ruffled nightdress and robe fluttering, her tone on the edge of berserk and movements jittery. Even for her it was extreme. Jane and Lizzy exchanged a worried glance and half expected a calamity to hit the house any second.

  “Past time for what, Mama?”

  “Why, to discuss your wedding nights, of course! So much to say. Yes. Well, we cannot voice such matters where your sisters may overhear. They will need to know in due course, but I am sure my nerves are unable to withstand all four of you staring at me and asking questions! Lydia found out on her own, I daresay, and appeared none the worse for it, so I thought to do the same until Mr. Bennet told me to—”

  “Papa told you to talk to us?” Lizzy wanted to drop into a hole and shot a horrified look toward Jane. Surprisingly, aside from high color to her cheeks, Jane calmly watched Mrs. Bennet pace and wore an expression of curiosity, not the embarrassment Lizzy expected and was feeling. Wondering why she was mortified, instead of relieved at the prospect of finally getting answers from someone experienced on the topic, occupied her mind long enough that Lizzy missed part of her mother’s speech.

  “…be prepared for your husband’s demands and expectations. It is safe to presume that all men are not the same in…their urges or how they…pursue relations, but be assured that for most, as I understand it, the need to be with a woman is strong. Animalistic in that respect. Now, what you two can expect on your wedding nights, and as often as your husbands can manage it thereafter, is…”

  Mrs. Bennet plopped down between Jane and Lizzy where they sat on the bed, clasped on to each of their hands, and launched into the topic with barely a breath taken. Amazingly, Mrs. Bennet’s nerves calmed the more she delved in. Clearly it was an unprepared discourse, with more advice on how to avoid intimate encounters than what those encounters precisely entailed. Yet, amid the rambling, gems of information were interspersed. Grabbing hold of those nuggets was the challenge.

  Neither Lizzy nor Jane said much, only breaking in a handful of times with pointed questions or clarification. By the time Mrs. Bennet exhausted herself—an hour later—Lizzy’s head was spinning. Then, as quickly as she had arrived, she was out the door with her good-nights tossed over a shoulder.

  For easily fifteen minutes, Jane and Lizzy sat in silence staring at their hands, the carpet, the wall—anything but each other. Finally Lizzy murmured, “I cannot decide between ‘amorous congress’ or ‘convivial society’ as my favored euphemism. Either is better than hearing Mama use a clinical word like ‘coitus’ or ‘copulation.’”

  Jane stared at Lizzy for all of two seconds. Then they fell back on the bed, giggling hysterically. Breathless and wiping tears, Jane gasped, “This is all your fault, you know.”

  “My fault?”

  “You brought up the subject, remember?”

  “Oh my! I suppose I did! I had actually quite forgotten.”

  “You asked if I was afraid and I was about to answer that I was, a little anyway. Now, thanks to Mama, it all seems too amusing to be fearful of.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is to a degree.” Lizzy turned her head to look at her sister, but Jane was staring up at the ceiling. “What were you afraid of?”

  Still staring upward and smiling with the recent attack of laughter visible on her countenance, Jane explained, “Nothing for myself. Mainly my fears arose from the desire to please Mr. Bingley as a wife aught while unsure how I could do that when knowing so little. Yet even before Mama’s information, I was realizing I had no need to fret over that either. It is God’s design, Lizzy, and every woman since Eve has been exactly where we are now. Every man too, for that matter. Whether the first time or the hundredth, sensual intercourse—another intriguing euphemism—is a part of the marriage relationship as God intended.”

  “So, logically it cannot be a frightening, unwanted activity,” Lizzy added when Jane said no more.

  “Exactly.”

  “Even though Mama gravely declared otherwise?” Jane turned her head and looked at Lizzy—just looked at her, no words passing her lips and her expression bland, yet Lizzy knew the message being conveyed. “Right. How silly of me.”

  “I trust Mr. Bingley and how I feel when with him. I cannot share specifically, Lizzy. It would be too uncomfortable. I can say that I feel wonderful with him, enough so that I am convinced the…rest will be equally as wonderful.”

  “Of course you are right. Like you, I want to ensure William’s happiness and…satisfaction, I suppose is the most apt term.” Suddenly hit with embarrassment from she knew not where, Lizzy sensed the heat washing across her cheeks and giggles tickling her throat. “Speaking of William’s happiness, you must help me, Jane. I learned from Miss Darcy that his birthday is in November. I would like to plan something special.”

  Jane was thrilled with the idea, and soon the two were plotting various ways to surprise Mr. Darcy, the diversion perfect to relinquish apprehensions surrounding amorous congress.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emotional Downpour

  at Darcy House

  Darcy strolled through his London townhouse’s parlor, crossed the entrance foyer, and entered the dining room. Standing behind his chair located at the head of the crisp, bleached-white linen-draped table, he swept his scrutinizing gaze over the room. Of particular study were the gold-edged china place settings and sparkling wineglasses, gleaming silver candelabras and serving utensils, fragrant flowers, and polished chairs with spotless cushions. As in the previous chambers of the townhouse, nothing was deemed inconsequential for his examination.

  Hosting formal dinner parties was high on his list of least favorite duties. Nevertheless, when an occasion arose requiring guests at his table, Darcy ensured perfection and protocol down to the tiniest detail. The exacting demands given to the staff and his rigorous character had been put to the test repeatedly since inheriting the title of Master of Pemberley and Darcy House. Over time, he had hosted dozens of gatherings with aristocracy and persons of eminence, managing capably despite his discomfort. Invariably, his guests concluded their evenings satisfied.

  History was in his favor, so Darcy knew it was illogical to fret over menus and ambience for the small group of intimate friends and family expected tonight. Yet never had a dinner at Darcy House held greater significance for him personally than the one planned for this evening.

  Mr. Travers entered through the servants’ doorway and approached his employer. As he traversed the large room, the butler’s keen eyes
surveyed the scene, undoubtedly detecting a multitude of minor flaws that Darcy would never notice.

  “Is anything amiss, Mr. Darcy? Have all your specifications been fulfilled to your satisfaction?”

  “Excellent, Mr. Travers, as always.” He read the label on the wine bottle the butler held for his inspection. “Two bottles should suffice, but have two more within easy access.”

  Per standard procedure, Mr. Travers delineated the list of spirits for the evening. Darcy offered one or two suggestions but trusted the butler’s superior expertise. As they were finishing, Georgiana glided into the room. She waited until Mr. Travers left before greeting her brother with a kiss upon his cheek.

  Referring to the bottle Darcy had been inspecting, Georgiana smiled winsomely and inquired, “How many glasses of that chardonnay am I allowed to have?”

  Darcy pursed his lips and frowned sternly. “Perhaps I will allow half a glass.”

  “A half! I drank a whole glass while dining with Uncle and Aunt last week! I am seventeen, William—”

  “I am aware, Georgiana. I was present at your birthday celebration if you recall. Why the fervency to imbibe? Could it be nervousness, my dear?” He tweaked the tip of her nose.

  Georgiana blushed but tilted her head and arched a brow. “I might ask who has been pacing through the rooms since seconds after arriving at noon? Is compulsively rearranging flowers and straightening pillows a frequent habit, Brother dear? And”—she lifted his hand and twisted until the candlelight shimmered off each shiny fingernail—“am I correct that you buffed your nails?”

  Darcy jerked his hand from her grasp, growling, “You may have one glass of wine, perhaps two, little imp!”

  “Thank you, William!” she trilled, clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes. “You are the best brother!” Laughing at his sardonic grunt, she then confessed, “It is true that I am nervous about tonight, although wanting the wine is merely because I am curious.”

  “‘Curiosity is one of the permanent and certain characteristics of a vigorous mind.’”

  “Samuel Johnson,” Georgiana promptly replied, earning a proud smile from her brother. “A ‘vigorous mind’ is a compliment I accept. And as William Wirt said, ‘Seize the moment of excited curiosity on any subject to solve your doubts; for if you let it pass, the desire may never return, and you may remain in ignorance.’”

  “A tragedy, indeed, to remain in ignorance on the delights of wine,” he agreed with false incredulity. Georgiana playfully slapped his arm. “Rather than pointlessly lecture, I will caution with another quote, ‘Be not curious in unnecessary matters: for more things are shown unto thee than men understand.’”

  “Oh bother! Must you always counter with scripture? I cannot very well argue with God, now can I?”

  “You can argue all you wish, Georgie, but I doubt the endeavor will meet with success.” Darcy chuckled at her indignant huff, then tucked her to his side for an affectionate squeeze. Shifting into a serious tone, Darcy observed, “Rationally, neither of us have the slightest reason to be nervous. Elizabeth adores you—”

  “And she loves you.” Georgiana peered up at his happy face.

  “So she has assured me.” Darcy hid the blush warming his cheeks by bending to kiss her forehead. “Furthermore, Mr. Bingley you are well acquainted with, and our other guests are honest, pleasant people. You will like them, I am sure of it. Now,” he said in a brisk tone, clutching her upper arms and stepping away, “let me look at you.”

  Darcy’s intention to flatter with vague comments about her dress or something of that nature, mixed with a tease about her youth, was revised upon honest examination. “My word, Georgiana! When did you mature into this young woman before me? You are a vision, especially in this gown and with your hair arranged elaborately. You”—he swallowed, finishing in a whisper, “you resemble our mother more with each passing day.”

  “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”

  “It is the truth.”

  The doorbell interrupted further sibling conversation and forestalled either of them giving in to emotional reminiscences. Swiftly they positioned themselves in the foyer to welcome their guests. Darcy’s tug on his jacket and Georgiana’s pat to her hair were their last fidgety gestures.

  Mr. Travers opened the door, two footmen at the ready to take coats and hats, while Darcy greeted with typical pomp and introduced everyone to his sister. Georgiana maintained her calm, a hint of rosiness to her pale cheeks and intermittent glances at her toes the only signs of her bashfulness.

  As soon as he could manage, Darcy cornered Elizabeth to clasp her fingers and bestow an earnest kiss to her knuckles. “Elizabeth. My dearest Elizabeth.” He crooned her name caressingly. “It is my supreme joy to welcome you to Darcy House. Tonight you are my honored guest, and my happiness is immense. Greater still shall be my euphoria when you are here as Mrs. Darcy.”

  Darcy straightened before she responded, not trusting his restraint if she extended a similar sentiment. Slipping her arm under his and pressing her dainty hand firmly, Darcy broadcast to his guests, “Dinner will be served at precisely seven o’clock. Miss Darcy and I thought a stroll on the terrace and garden in the fresh, autumn air would be beneficial prior to a bountiful meal.”

  “Dare I hope you have a trout pond here, as you do at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Alas, I fear your hopes must be dashed, Mr. Gardiner. There is a fountain, a large one, in fact, but it never occurred to me to utilize it as a home for fish. Somehow I doubt more than four or five trout would deem it a sufficiently ample habitat.”

  The fountain he referred to was heard before seen. The mullion-paned glass French-style dual doors opening to the walled rear yard gaped wide, and the musical cadence of bubbling water drifted inside. Leading through the doors with Elizabeth on his arm, Darcy stepped to the right, so as not to obstruct the view for his trailing guests. Elizabeth sucked in a breath and reflexively squeezed his arm.

  “Oh! William, it is beautiful!”

  Located in the precise center of the enormous rear yard, the fountain’s water-filled base was eight feet square with raised sides and a flat ledge for sitting. Constructed of mosaic tiles painted in vivid hues, the tall, central column was designed as twined stems of a flower bouquet. The petals of each colorful flower gracefully curved downward in a cascade, rivulets of water dropping melodiously. A path of smoothly cut stones extended from the terrace and encircled the fountain.

  Surrounding and stretching beyond into the dusky shadows, past the reach of the glass-domed torches, was a flat expanse of freshly cut lawn. Bushes and trees of various species were planted amid the gardens and dotted the periphery—some evergreen and others transformed with the colors of autumn—the diverse shapes indicating a rear enclosure enormous and generously vegetated.

  Two gaslight lamps illuminated the stone patio where the party clustered in awed admiration. The light revealed cushioned chairs; small, round tables; and potted shrubs and vines, spaced evenly along the wall and railing.

  “Mr. Darcy, this is impressive! I never suspected some of the houses in Town boasted yards so generous.”

  “Some do, Mrs. Gardiner, although not all. My great-great grandfather was friends with Sir Grosvenor. Married his cousin, in fact. This townhouse was one of the first Sir Grosvenor built, purchased before it was completed and designed specifically for my great-great grandfather. One of the requests was a substantial garden area.” Elizabeth left his side to join Jane and Georgiana at the fountain, Darcy observing her nimble steps and pleasing figure even as he expounded on the yard’s features. “The light of day offers the optimum effect; however, additional torches can be lit if further investigation is wanted. I do assure the lawn is level and free of hazards, so strolling in the moonlight is safe.”

  Mr. Bennet asked a number of botanical questions—Darcy answering with superb knowledge of the subject—while Mr. Gardiner was most curious as to which tradesman supplied the plants and furnishings. Darcy’s conv
ersation with the gentlemen was effortless and interspersed with casual humor. The two older men may not yet technically be Darcy’s relatives, but their kinship and easygoing personalities created a family atmosphere often missing when Darcy entertained his own blood relations. Elizabeth interacted with his sister as if she’d know her for years, and Jane and Mrs. Gardiner joined in with their amiable natures, Georgiana soon laughing and talking with barely a trace of shyness. That alone was remarkable enough to melt Darcy’s heart and erase any lingering nervousness.

  But it was when Elizabeth glanced his direction, as she frequently did outside and when dining, that his soul soared. Laughter, jesting, and flowing conversation trumped the exquisite cuisine and expensive wines as the best part of dinner. Darcy amazed himself with how gregarious and vibrant he acted. He might have attributed it to intoxication, except that he never finished his second glass of wine. The gay company contributed to his unusual ebullience to be sure. The main reason was that, for the first time since inheriting the seat of command, over five years ago the woman he had long searched for to share in his life with was occupying the seat to his right. The awareness that Elizabeth would forever be with him in this room, even if at the far end of the table as proper for Mrs. Darcy, made him giddy. Indeed, astonishingly and refreshingly giddy!

  As they rose from the table, the others merrily trailing behind Georgiana into the formal salon, Elizabeth stayed him by gripping his arm.

  “Mr. Darcy—”

  “William,” he corrected, playfully pinching the tip of her nose. “You have successfully separated me from the group, leaving us somewhat alone, and thus you, my love, are obliged to address me by my Christian name.”

  “William,” she repeated, her voice softly caressing his name, which only made him yearn to kiss her. “I want to thank you for a fabulous evening, in case I do not have another opportunity. I also wanted to comment on how pleasurable it is to see you relaxed and enjoying yourself. I admit it is…startling. I hope I have not offended.”