Elizabeth sat on the stone bench, leaning against the wall with eyes closed, Darcy kneeling in front. He was fanning her vigorously and holding her hand.
“Thank you, beloved. That truly helps.”
“Do you need something cold to drink, my love?”
She opened her eyes and smiled, softly caressing his cheek. “It is passing. Here, sit next to me.” She patted the bench and he complied, leaning first to plant a kiss to her lower abdomen. He sat near, circling an arm about her shoulders and drawing her close. He kissed her forehead, free hand gently rubbing her belly.
Lizzy sighed and shut her eyes. “I think I am just tired. My mistake. I felt so well today that I did not nap and now it is catching up with me.” One hand lay on his inner thigh, the other over his caressing one.
“As soon as you wish, we shall extend our apologies and go home. Jane and Charles will understand. Then I can hold you in my arms and ensure you sleep the night through.”
“Hmmm. What a delightful thought. I want to be well rested for tomorrow.”
He smiled, burying his face in her hair and kissing softly. “I have planned an easy day, my heart. Nothing too strenuous. Just you and me, alone, with plenty of opportunities for me to tell you how deeply I love you.”
Elizabeth lifted her face to his with an unabashed glow of love. He cupped her cheek, running a thumb over her lips and chin. “Mrs. Darcy,” he whispered, meeting her mouth with a tender but thorough kiss.
Caroline observed and heard it all, a fist at her mouth preventing the choked sob from escaping. With a lurch she retreated to the first room available, the dark library. Never in all her life had she witnessed such a scene. With a stab to her heart she nonetheless recognized it for what it was: love. The elusive emotion spoken of in fairy tales and poems and songs, but rarely seen, at least so openly. Caroline did not quite know what to feel. The anger at losing Mr. Darcy was still there, the resentment at the inferior ranked country chit for becoming Mistress of Pemberley remained, yet she could not deny what she had seen. They truly loved each other. Any interpretations of enchantment or nefarious designs were baseless.
For the first time in her life, Caroline Bingley wondered if such an emotion could be hers. She visualized their countenances as they gazed at each other and her stony, selfish heart melted minutely. Still, she quickly reasoned, what profit is love without status and wealth? With much to ponder, Caroline sought the sanctuary of her bedchamber. Only time would reveal if these epiphanies would usher in a permanent character alteration.
GRACEFULLY ESCAPING FROM THE Bingley Townhouse was an easy task, all parties solicitous of Lizzy's needs. No one commented on Caroline's absence; in truth, only Charles noted her omission from the group. Once safely returned to Darcy House, Darcy ordered his wife to their chamber while he bid the girls wishes for pleasant dreams and performed the ritual task of assuring the house was secure. Lizzy sat on the balcony sofa when Darcy rejoined her, patting the waiting space next to her.
“Night dreaming, my love?” he asked with a soft kiss to her temple.
“Speculating on the morrow and recollecting your birthday. I did surprise you greatly, did I not, William?” She turned, draping her legs over his lap. He smiled, beginning his nightly custom of fondling her belly gently.
“You certainly did! I knew on some level that my birthday was approaching, but all my thoughts during those days were on you and November the twenty-eighth, willing time to hurry. As I was departing London the day before, Mrs. Smyth bid me birthday wishes. I covered myself well, I believe, but the truth is she caught me completely unaware. For a moment I had to perform rapid mathematics, as I had not consciously noted the date since jotting it on a correspondence three days prior!”
“Were you never going to tell me? Keep me thinking you were eight and twenty forever?” She tickled him, earning a chuckle.
“Yes, that was the plan,” he answered drolly. “Perpetual youth. Actually, I fretted all the way to Hertfordshire. I was stuck, you see. If I mentioned it was my birthday, I feared you would feel guilty for not inquiring. I did not wish this, as I truly do not care about such celebrations, at least as regards me. However, if I did not confess, I feared you being hurt, thinking I was withholding a portion of myself. Never would I want you to think this!” He spoke the last with vehemence, Lizzy lifting to hug him close and bestow a kiss.
“I would never harbor such a thought, beloved. Even then we were nearly one flesh, despite not yet being wed.”
He beamed, stroking her downy cheek. “Yes, this is true. In the end you were a step ahead of me and proved, once again, how deeply you love me.” He paused, staring intently into her eyes as he caressed. He resumed, his voice low and husky, “What a road we have traveled, Elizabeth. So many delightful memories already, all which testify to our unique love. I will never forget my birthday, my soul, nor not treasure your gift to me. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she replied, words then lost to passionate kisses as memories of that special event swirled.
Setting: Evening at Longbourn some three weeks after the engagements of the Bennet sisters.
Dinner had finished, the young couples had taken their evening stroll about the grounds, and now all reposed in the parlor. It had become a sort of routine the past three weeks, although on occasion Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had hosted their fiancées at Netherfield.
Darcy, as always, felt an odd mixture of supreme elation to be with his Elizabeth and annoyance at the presence of the members of her family. Mary was in the other room pounding out a particularly morbid tune on the old pianoforte. Kitty was off somewhere, probably playing with her puppy, Darcy supposed. Jane and Bingley sat on the other sofa in placid companionship. Mr. Bennet sat hunched in the corner chair, alternately reading as he sipped his port and gazing with amused pleasure at his two eldest daughters. Mrs. Bennet bustled about the room, chattering constantly, and being ignored by all.
Darcy sat in one corner of the sofa with a book in his lap propped on a pillow and a tumbler of brandy in his other hand. Elizabeth sat next to him, close enough to feel her warmth and catch an occasional whiff of perfume, yet not actually touching him. She bent diligently over her embroidery, luscious neck arched and oh so very tantalizing.
He shifted uncomfortably, sensuous musings again assaulting his self-control, and forced bedazzled eyes to the page in front of him. He momentarily could not remember his place and, when he did, realized that he had read the same paragraph at least a dozen times and had no idea what it said. In fact, he who could normally devour a book in a handful of days had been attempting to read this one for some two months! To make matters worse, the truth was he had absolutely no clue what the book was even about. He sighed. In point of fact, he had not managed to complete a book since the horrid events at Rosings in April. He kept picking up a different one, telling himself that the book was at fault when he patently knew that was not the root cause of his distraction.
He managed to focus attention enough to finish the current page, but he was again distracted when Elizabeth stretched her neck and brought one delicate hand up to rub her muscles. How he yearned to be the one massaging her aching shoulders! The mental image caused him to grip his glass so tightly that fingers turned white. The all too familiar clench in his groin made him abundantly thankful he had a pillow on his lap. To his increased mortification, he glanced up to see Mr. Bennet staring at him over the top of his book with a wise smile. Darcy flushed and quickly turned his eyes to the book.
He wondered if Elizabeth experienced any of the same discomfort he did. The few chaste kisses they had indulged in had been welcomed by her and—he was convinced—enjoyed. Additionally, he could not erase the passion that had flared between them upon the occasion of their first kiss in Longbourn's garden barely an hour after their engagement. He was confident of her love for him, but remained unsure of its depth. He chided himself for doubting her or for expecting too much too soon. His love, his passionate ardor fo
r her, was of long standing. It often seemed as if he could hardly remember a time when she had not lived in his heart and soul. He understood that her affection for him was more recent and, therefore, perhaps not as profound. He was willing to give her time.
He would have been quite surprised, therefore, to discover the train of her thoughts. His nearness was frankly driving her mad. She was vividly cognizant of every breath he took and every glance sent her direction. His heat radiated and oozed under her skin; his cologne, a mix of cardamom, something vaguely woodsy, and a musky aroma that she rightfully believed was his natural scent, assaulted her senses; and the long-fingered, elegant hands resting on firm thighs elicited graphic images and memories of each time he had touched her. Strange sensations threatened to overwhelm her. Every time he took a sip of brandy she felt a stab of emotion not unlike jealousy! The memory of each and every time his lips had touched hers was etched in her mind and felt deep in her veins. The five weeks remaining of their engagement seemed an eternity.
“Mr. Darcy,” she asked abruptly, hoping to dispel the visions and halt the shivers, “the book you are reading, is it an interesting one?”
Darcy jumped slightly when she spoke. He looked up into her amazing eyes and time stopped. He had no idea what she had said. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth. What did you say?”
She smiled. “I asked if the book you are reading is interesting.”
“Oh! Yes. Quite interesting,” he answered lamely.
“Do you think it would be of interest to me? You know how I enjoy reading. Improves the mind, you understand.”
Darcy laughed softly. “Yes, it does.”
“So, then you believe I may glean value from reading your book? When you are finished, naturally.”
“If you wish, Miss Elizabeth. I would be delighted to lend it to you.”
“I assume it must be a particularly fascinating story. Or possibly it may be too deep for my young mind to comprehend.”
He was puzzled. “I am positive your mind is adept enough to comprehend any topic, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I was concerned, you see, Mr. Darcy, as it has taken you more than an hour to study this one page. In point of fact, you have been reading this book for the past two weeks and are only on page fifteen. I can only speculate, but considering how intelligent you are, the only feasible conclusion is that the story is so extraordinary that you are rereading each paragraph several times for sheer pleasure, or it is necessary to do so in order to decipher the author's intent.” She was smiling impishly and he could not resist laughing.
“You have caught me, my dear.” He glanced quickly around the room, relieved to note that no one was paying them any attention. “The truth is, if you must know, I find myself terribly unfocused whenever I am near you and cannot concentrate. I may be on page fifteen; however, I would be unable to render an accounting of the content thus far.” He blushed faintly but met her dancing eyes. “Does this shock you, Miss Elizabeth?”
“You see this sampler?” She held up her embroidery.
“Yes, of course,” he answered in confusion.
“I have been working on this for a month and should have completed it in a week. These stitches here are all wrong, and I have had to rip this section out three times! And I cannot tell you how many times I have stabbed my fingers. I judge you and I are suffering from the same disease.” She, too, was blushing, but she held his penetrating gaze.
He reached down and squeezed her hand, then brought her fingers to his lips for a tender kiss. His eyes captivated her, crystalline blue orbs darkening slightly in what she now recognized was ardor. “I am very pleased to hear you say that, Elizabeth. You have no idea how pleased.” His voice was muted and husky, imbued with emotion, and her breath caught in her throat. Look away from his eyes, Lizzy! she thought desperately, but could not comply.
In a desperate attempt at levity, she teased, “Pleased, Mr. Darcy, that I have pricked my fingers?”
Darcy, however, was wholly absorbed in her fine chocolate eyes and only smiled. “I am William to you, and my mother used to kiss my wounds to make them better. Should I kiss your aching fingers? Will that relieve your pain?” He proceeded to give the tips of each finger a tiny kiss with full lips soft and warm. Lizzy released a shaky laugh and managed to pull her hand from his grasp, resuming her embroidery with rosy cheeks.
Darcy seemed immeasurably pleased with himself.
“I received a letter from Georgiana today,” she said, needing to change the subject.
“Did you? My sister seems to have forgone writing to me these past weeks in favor of writing to you.”
Lizzy looked quickly at his face. “I am sorry, William! I have no wish to keep her from writing to you.”
Darcy laughed. “I am joking Elizabeth. You know how pleased I am that you and Georgiana are friends.” And it was true. Two days after their engagement, Lizzy had asked him for permission to write to Georgiana. He had lightly scolded, reminding her that Georgiana would soon be her sister. Therefore, he stated emphatically, it was important that they establish a relationship and he, frankly, no longer had any authority over the situation. She had been deeply moved by his assurances, well aware of how dear his sister was to him. It was another of the dozens of ways he daily showed his love for her.
Now he asked, “So what did my sister have to say?”
“Nothing of consequence. Just girl talk.” There it was: the two most effective words in the English language to render any man mute. In actuality, Georgiana had imparted information of extreme significance. It was revealed that Mr. Darcy's twenty-ninth birthday was on November the tenth, less than a month away. Elizabeth was unclear on what she would do with this knowledge, but it assuredly was too important to ignore.
Later that night, as she and Jane were readying for bed, Lizzy told her about Mr. Darcy's approaching birthday. “You must help me think of something special, Jane. This is our first celebration together so it must be memorable.”
“Of course! We have time to plan, and I am sure Mr. Bingley will assist us. Fret not, Lizzy, we shall make it memorable.”
November the tenth, Darcy's birthday and precisely eighteen days before their nuptials, dawned clear but extremely cold with a dusting of snow having fallen in the night. Aware that the weather was unpredictable this time of the year, Lizzy and her cohorts had planned the birthday festivities to take place inside Netherfield. Mr. Bingley had been as giddy as a child at the idea of surprising his friend. In fact, his enthusiasm was so infectious that Lizzy was afraid that he would be unable to keep the secret. Luckily for her, Darcy was so engrossed in his own happiness that he hardly noticed anything Bingley said or did.
Darcy had uttered not a word about his birthday. Although Lizzy was relieved to be able to carry out her plans for surprising him, she did think it odd that he kept silent. She feared that perhaps his normally reticent and shy nature would not welcome being taken unawares. Bingley assured her that he would love it. She worried that he may be wounded as she had not shown interest in establishing when his birthday was. To her chagrin, he had discovered her birthday by boldly asking her mother one evening while at dinner, so maybe he was injured that she had not returned the gesture. She abhorred the very idea of causing him pain, no matter how slight. Thankfully, the day was finally here and soon he would know how special he was to her.
He had returned to Netherfield the previous afternoon, after a short trip of three days to London on business. It was his second such trip since their engagement, and Lizzy missed him terribly when he was gone. His first separation from her had occurred two weeks after their engagement and had only lasted five days. At the time, Lizzy had mentally shrugged, waving adieu with mild sadness but not anticipating how deeply her grief would be by that evening when, for the first time, they did not dine together. It had struck her suddenly and forcibly how utterly his presence had wrapped around her heart. The loneliness she had felt while sitting at the Longbourn dining table with her bois
terous family chattering all about was as a knife in her soul. That night she had cried herself to sleep, mortified at her silliness but unable to halt the tears. For the first time in her entire life, she had known what it was to truly mourn and suffer depression. His letters, arriving each day, eased her wretchedness to a degree. Still, her joy upon seeing his staid but oh-so-handsome face had flowed through her in a piercing wave, stunning her in its intensity.
This separation was equally as horrible; however, on this occasion his absence had been fortuitous, as it made carrying out the final plans easier.
It had not been difficult to get Darcy out of Netherfield that morning, since he daily went to Longbourn with Mr. Bingley to meet their fiancées. After the obligatory greetings to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Mary, the couples left. Jane had “innocently” suggested that a morning carriage ride to see the freshly fallen snow would be enjoyable. So Mr. Bingley and Jane set out ahead in one phaeton, Darcy and Lizzy following in the other.
It had been almost six weeks since their engagement, and in that time, Lizzy and her betrothed had grown unbelievably close and so very comfortable with each other. They conversed about everything now with an ease that was extraordinarily intimate. The agony of waiting for their wedding day was acutely felt by them both. At times like these, sitting side by side in the carriage with fingers intertwined under the blanket, talking and laughing joyously, their mutual communion and love were overwhelming. Lizzy was hard pressed to remember that they were not already married, such was the level of their unity.
They arrived at Netherfield in time for luncheon. Once they had been relieved of their coats, gloves, and hats, Mr. Bingley took the lead. He offered his arm to Jane and walked toward the dining room. However, he passed by the double doors and continued on down a hall toward a far parlor rarely used. Darcy, who was absorbed in the enchanting appearance of Elizabeth's rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, did not even notice the detour until they were almost to the door.
Loving Mr. Darcy Page 10