After several hours pondering the situation, and to the detriment of a large patch of jasmine, his stomach and the dwindling light told him he had passed the day away in idle torment. One minute feeling the injury against himself at the hands of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, the next full of self-loathing for not having the strength or courage to step aside so the lovers could be together.
Realising he must make haste and return if he was to change before supper, Darcy called to Nelson.
The evening repast, the only meal they shared together, was a sadistic pleasure. It caused him unbearable discomfort to be so close to her, remembering their recent encounters, while knowing he could not forgo sharing her company, regardless of how much it pained him. Walking the final few steps to meet the ever patient Nelson, he mounted and made his way back to the stables.
Entering the house through the salon doors, Darcy hoped to slip upstairs before being noticed.
Turning into the atrium, he was surprised to see the tree was finished. Slowly, he completed a circuit, taking in any new decorations and looking for old and familiar ones. Mrs Reynolds had outdone herself this year, he thought. It looks amazing; so balanced, so bright and cheerful glowing in the reflected candlelight. It was her best effort yet.
“Does it please you, sir?”
Darcy spun around to see Elizabeth standing a few paces away. She looked adorable in a lemon dress, which complemented her dark hair perfectly.
“It is delightful madam,” he answered with genuine warmth.
“I am glad you approve, I enjoyed myself immensely…”
“You did this? But I thought Mrs Reynolds…”
Elizabeth, thinking his words were said in reproach, bristled in her reply.
“Oh, fear not sir; Mrs Reynolds instructions were quite comprehensive, and I followed her direction in all areas, all but one.”
She walked over to a small wall table to retrieve the red velvet box.
“I hope I have not been too presumptuous sir, but I must own to making the decision to omit this particular decoration all by myself. Of course, I will understand if you feel it should be included.”
She handed him the box that contained the likeness of Wickham and watched his expression as he lifted the lid.
Darcy stared down at its contents and released a weary sigh. An array of emotions played across his face. Elizabeth stepped closer.
“Your decision sir?” she asked softly.
Darcy knew adding the ornament would bring no harm to him or his family, as the real Wickham had, but the memory of past incursions was still fresh in his memory. He wanted no unsavoury memories to mar what little happiness they may be able to salvage during the Christmas festivities.
“I think for this year at least, it is best returned from whence it came,” he replied solemnly, then in a barely audible voice, he added,
“I thank you for your thoughtfulness Elizabeth,” and he held out the box for her to return to the drawer.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, taking the item. Then she purposely offered him a deep curtsy with her eyes lowered.
Darcy could not bear to see her acting so subserviently and said in an exasperated tone,
“I am neither your father nor am I your master, Elizabeth. I am your husband; you do not have to call me sir, nor lower your gaze when addressing me.”
With a defiant tilt of her chin and a flash of daring in her eyes, she replied,
“Well, sir,” emphasising the latter, “as things stand between us at present, I cannot call you husband, nor employ any of the familiarities that are afforded a wife.”
Darcy quickly closed the space between them and retorted sardonically,
“As we exchanged vows before a minister I beg to differ, you are my wife, Elizabeth!” and now Darcy emphasised the latter phrase with a raised brow.
“You are, of course, correct sir,” again Elizabeth paused after calling him sir, “in the eyes of the law, and the church we are married. But in my eyes, I am as I was when I resided under my father’s roof and went by the name of Miss Bennet.”
Darcy was fully aware of what she was referring to and opened his mouth to deliver a harsh set down. But as he looked into her defiant eyes, he knew what she said was true, and of his doing.
Expelling his held breath, Darcy turned and made for the stairs.
Looking down at the red box in her hands, Elizabeth blinked to forestall the tears from falling. The onset of Elizabeth’s plan had been to goad Darcy into voicing what name he preferred her to use, and then there would be no repetition of the previous disastrous events. But it seemed her scheme had fallen flat at the first hurdle. Brushing away a stray tear, she too turned to climb the stairs. Only Darcy was still standing there, watching her. She waited, expecting to be scolded.
He studied her face intently for a moment, and the fact that she was crying had not escaped his notice.
Turning his back to her, he said wearily,
“You will call me William, Elizabeth.” Then he continued upstairs.
A smile spread across her face as she returned the box to the drawer. Happier now, she followed him upstairs to change for dinner.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and leant her head back, resting it on the rim of her bath. After their earlier exchange, she was encouraged that her plan might succeed, convinced Darcy still had feelings for her.
Methodically, Elizabeth went over each detail in her mind.
Fletcher would ensure there was a roaring fire burning in the library and plenty of wood to keep it so. He would also procure a few extra cushions and blankets, discreetly placed near the hearth. On the table, only one, half-filled decanter would be set out, thus ensuring Darcy could not imbibe too heavily. Once Fletcher had dressed Darcy for dinner, he would feign illness, asking to retire early. Darcy would, of course, agree, and then be in no hurry to return to his chambers. Fletcher would position a chair under the stairwell, hidden from view, to ensure there was no unexpected interruptions or prying eyes. Finally, Elizabeth would dismiss her maid with instructions to wait until summoned in the morning. All eventualities had been thought of, she hoped.
Fletcher, in preparation, had gathered a few amusing books to help keep his spirits from flagging. Plus, he could use one to cover his eyes should their plan be successful. He had no desire to witness the master carry his bride off to their marriage bed dressed only in her night clothes.
Seated in the smaller dining room, Elizabeth and Darcy ate their meal in relative silence, only conversing when the servants were present. Elizabeth began her prepared narration, knowing she must lay the foundations before he excused himself and retreated to the library.
“I find your tradition of decorating a tree for the festivities quite charming, are there any other Darcy traditions I should know about?” she asked pleasantly.
Surprised by her enquiry, he took a moment before replying cordially.
“A gift is sent to each of my tenants, usually a small hamper. Something appropriate for each family, usually food and household items. The children are each given a toy. We have a list for both boys and girls, and it is rotated every five years. Also, we hold a New Year’s Eve party for all that are able to attend, young or old.”
“Including the children?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course, including the children, they are under my care too, are they not? Besides, it helps to put names and faces together, which benefits the whole estate.”
Elizabeth was again reminded of the weight of her husband’s responsibilities. She could see how this might give him the appearance of being of a studious nature, when, in fact, she knew him to be quite personable. Also, it explained how when they first arrived, he was able to greet everyone by name.
“And gifts William, do family members exchange gifts also?”
She cast him a sly glance after using his name for the first time, wanting to observe his reaction. She was not disappointed.
Darcy almost dropped his cutlery at her ut
terance. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth although he made a great play on chewing his food, and emptying his mouth before replying.
“Yes, Elizabeth,” he emphasised her name, “we also exchange gifts. Is it a custom you followed at Longbourn?”
“It is, William, we would exchange our gifts on Christmas Eve, giving Christmas Day over to celebrating the birth of our Lord.”
“Then we are in accord,” he said with a smile.
Elizabeth returned his smile and nodded her agreement.
Again they lapsed into silence, neither wanting to risk disrupting their new found harmony.
Darcy wondered if Elizabeth had a present for him. He had secured Elizabeth’s present while in London several weeks earlier when still under the illusion she could love him. The diamond and ruby compilation nestled in a black, velvet-lined box. It sat in the safe even now. As for her gift to him, he had only ever wanted one thing, and now that seemed unattainable.
Once the meal was complete, Elizabeth waited for Darcy to excuse himself, as had become his custom, before returning to her room to prepare. Laid out on her bed was the nightgown and robe her Aunt Gardiner had gifted her. On the dressing table was a blood red ribbon to go in her hair. Mary was especially attentive tonight, tying Elizabeth’s hair exactly as instructed. Fletcher had advised Elizabeth that ‘it may be some hours before Mr Darcy succumbed to the effects of the refreshments, having a strong tolerance to alcohol’ so she settled down to wait.
It was after eleven before Fletcher tapped at her door.
Mary repeated Fletcher’s message verbatim,
“The master has acquiesced to Mr Fletcher’s request, and when quite convenient he would like your company, madam.”
Mary’s last duty of the night was to relay Elizabeth’s reply to Fletcher, ‘ten minutes.' The excessive fluttering in her stomach made it hard to breathe, and Elizabeth hoped her courage would not fail her. Checking her appearance one last time, she took a deep breath, picked up the candle and exited her room.
How strange and quiet the house seemed, now devoid of all activity. Aware that the fabric and style of her nightgown were created to induce an amorous reaction, Elizabeth hoped all the servants had heeded Fletcher’s advice to be in their rooms well before midnight.
With slippered feet, she made her way silently down the stairs.
As she drew near to where Fletcher was on sentry duty, she paused and quietly called,
“I am passing now Fletcher.”
On hearing their prearranged signal, he diverted his gaze whilst offering up a silent prayer for her success.
Placing the candlestick on the nearest table, Elizabeth stood before the library door, her hand trembling as it hovered over the handle. Taking one final, calming breath, she smoothly turned the lever and entered Darcy’s inner sanctum.
CHAPTER 32
Elizabeth was pleased the glow from the fire still provided enough light to gently illuminate the room. The flames flickered to and fro, casting shadowy patterns that danced on the walls. The ambience of the room was warm and inviting, just as she had hoped.
She searched for Darcy and found her heart’s desire slouched in a large easy chair in the recess by the fire. One leg was carelessly slung over the chair arm and a half empty glass of amber liquid nestled in his hand. Devoid of his jacket and waistcoat, with his neckcloth hanging loosely, he looked at his ease. A stray curl rested on his brow, and he appeared to be quietly talking to himself as he gently swirled the brandy around his glass. He had never looked more handsome, or more vulnerable than he did at this moment, and Elizabeth knew she would never love another.
Taking childlike steps, Elizabeth slowly inched her way forward. Not wishing to startle him, she paused a few feet shy of his chair. Untying the belt around her waist, she let the robe slip from her shoulders. The glow from the flames filtered through her nightgown, revealing the outline of her slender body.
Standing before him, Elizabeth softly called his name.
“William.”
Darcy lifted his eyes from the glass just enough to see a pair of slipper encased feet before him.
“Even in my dreams the siren calls to me, how am I to resist?” he mumbled.
Smiling at his own witticism, he closed his eyes and emptied the contents of the glass, then reached for the decanter again.
Elizabeth knew this might be her only chance to convince him of her true regard. Also aware she was no femme fatale in the art of seduction, she closed the space between them with trepidation, then silently knelt before him. Having surreptitiously gained knowledge of his deepest desire from his diary, she tentatively reached up and caressed his cheek, then gently drew the palm of her hand down his strong jaw.
Unsure if this was real or yet another of his drunken incarnations, Darcy set his glass down and shook his head.
As if reading his thoughts, she offered him confirmation.
“It is no dream, William, I am here,” she said, unable to hide the quiver in her voice.
Darcy seized her hand and placed a lingering kiss on the soft skin of her wrist, then drew it to his breast.
“So you are, my little vixen, but I must resist your many charms, for whenever I succumb, reality encroaches, and once again I find myself alone.”
Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the back of the chair and sighed heavily,
“Would that my Elizabeth desired me so.”
Elizabeth realised Darcy still thought he was dreaming, and for a moment her resolve faltered. What if he accused her of taking advantage of his weakened state? Despite that possibility, she was willing to risk his wrath on the morrow if only she could spend one night in his arms.
“William, I have come to give you your gift.”
“My gift?” he questioned, raising his head to gaze at her once more before realising to what she pertained.
“Ah, yes, ’tis Christmas Eve and we must exchange gifts,” he said with a low chuckle.
Retrieving her hand, which Darcy released with reluctance, Elizabeth reached up and took the velvet ribbon between her fingers and slowly pulled.
Darcy sat mesmerised as Elizabeth’s hair cascaded down in a fluid, luminous curtain, the soft, lush curls coming to rest about her shoulder.
Again he shook his head as if trying to dispel the fog of alcohol from his senses. Was she really here, and inviting him to indulge himself he wondered? Hesitantly, he reached out to pluck at a stray tendril and then raised it to his face. Inhaling deeply, he detected the sweet scent of lavender as it rippled over his senses. Darcy allowed his eyes to roam over the vision of loveliness before him. From her sparkling eyes to her moist lips, which were parted expectantly, all encompassed in that gown. Finally, he realised she was actually here, and his heart began to pound against his ribs. He ached to pull her into his embrace and plunder her sweet mouth, to feel her respond to his desire as he had so long dreamt she would. All he desired was only an arm’s length away, yet fear of rejection held him rigid in his chair.
Seeing his uncertainty, she reached up to finished removing his neckcloth, pulling it slowly from around his neck and tossing it on the floor. Placing her hands lightly on his chest Elizabeth slowly moved them over the contours of his firm torso, shyly letting her fingers brush his nipples. Concerned Darcy would think her to forward, she glanced up to gauge his reaction. His breathing was shallow, and his jaw was clenched, but his eyes told her it was desire, not anger he was experiencing. Though she had memorised his dream in its entirety, actually seducing one's husband was a shocking reality. Elizabeth’s hands travelled back to the buttons on his shirt, and she started to unfasten them, relieving them of their burden. Focused wholly on her task, she unconsciously tilted her head and moistened her lips.
Darcy knew he should put a stop to her ministrations; her touch was wreaking havoc with his self-control, but his desire and longing were too strong to resist. Unable to remain passive any longer, he pushed the chair back and knelt on the floor before
her. He knew it was not the heat from the fire that seared through his veins and warmed him, but an all-engulfing animal hunger to possess Elizabeth. His knuckles had turned white as he gripped the chair, but he was oblivious to the pain.
As she continued to unbutton his shirt, he reached up to entwine his fingers through her thick, luxurious curls, savouring their softness before giving it a gentle tug, forcing her to tilt her chin up to face him.
So often had he dreamt of this moment, never daring to hope it would become a reality, but here she was of her own volition, beautiful, intoxicating, and offering herself to him? Would she allow him to taste her sweet mouth, to quench his thirst as only she could?
Elizabeth met his gaze for a moment and guessing his intention, lowered her eyes. She parted his shirt fronts, exposing his broad, muscular chest and the soft, dark curls of his chest hair. Slowly, Elizabeth began placing delicate feather kisses on his exposed skin, tracing a line from his neck to his shoulders before tentatively delving still further.
Mr Darcy's Struggle Page 24