I stepped within inches of her. For a mad moment, I contemplated wrapping my arms around her and pulling her to my chest. My mind was already lost to her—as was my heart.
“I share your feeling, Miss Bennet. I would gladly remain here forever if I did not have business in Town. And Georgiana is at that age that she must come out soon. We are both more anxious than eager for that moment, but it must be done. I must think of my sister’s future. Hopefully, the time will come when we will stay at Pemberley for as long as we like.”
“Your affection for your sister is admirable, sir. And Miss Darcy has proven—at this tender age—that she possesses extraordinary fortitude and strength of character. Many women much older might not have shown equal wisdom in difficult situations.”
Was she showing me that she read the letter and took it to heart? I smiled before I said, “I hope I offer her all the happiness that she deserves. I would do anything to protect her from any suffering and now I better understand how devastating it can be to know that someone had ruined the happiness of a beloved sister.” It was my turn to show her that I admitted my faults and was prepared to make amends.
She turned to me and our glances remained locked for a moment. Only the approaching voices of the Gardiners reminded me to master my countenance. We resumed our walk, careful not to touch her hands but close enough for the thrilling possibility.
“Miss Bennet, there is another person in the party who more particularly wishes to be known to you. Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?"
This new surprise seemed to impress Elizabeth and she opened her mouth as if to speak but no words came. My attention was drawn to her full lips and I wondered for the hundredth time what it would feel like to claim them. Will I ever satisfy my dreams? Will I ever satiate my thirst?
“I would like that very much,” she whispered. Was it possible that she shivered on such a warm day?
I swallowed and murmured, “Excellent.”
We now walked on in silence, deep in thought. My eyes travelled to her every movement, and I noticed her quick looks observing me as well.
I was not comfortable, nor tranquil—that had been impossible since almost the beginning of our acquaintance. But my distress, anxiety, wonder, were all so very different than before—just as I finally recognised that her manner of speaking to me, of looking at me, of smiling at me were completely different than before.
“Is your family in good health?” I inquired, hearing a trace of humour in my voice. “Did I ask that already?”
A small laugh bubbled from her. “Yes, you did, sir. They are all in excellent health, thank you. My sister Lydia is in Brighton, as a companion to Colonel Forster’s wife.” She paused a moment as I turned to her. “The regiment left for Brighton several weeks ago, much to the peace and comfort of many people. Some of the officers will surely not be missed,” she added. I understood her meaning and said nothing more.
We soon outstripped her aunt and uncle, and when we had reached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were well behind us.
“It seems we are both excellent walkers,” Elizabeth commented, and I laughed.
I realised that our meeting would come to an end shortly and it might never be repeated. Panic overwhelmed me and I desperately searched for a way to prolong the time in her company.
“Would you like to come inside for a few minutes? It is quite warm and you must be tired,” I asked with some restraint.
Her eyes narrowed in a smile. “I thank you, but I am not tired. It is a fine prospect and I would prefer to take the air a little longer.”
“As you wish. . . . Indeed, the sight seems even lovelier than usual,” I said daringly. Her cheeks, already glowing from the exercise, brightened and she turned away.
The Gardiners were slowly approaching but too hasty for my want. I breathed deeply before I dared voicing my thoughts.
“I have often imagined that I walked with you at Pemberley.”
I was as astounded by my statement as she must have been for she stole a look at me before turning her attention to the lake again.
My knees unsteady, I placed my hands on the stone balustrade to support myself. We were now standing side by side, admiring the splendour in front of us. My mind, heart, and body were desperately aware that no beauty was greater than hers and no joy was more profound than having Elizabeth near me.
At such a time, much might have been said to fill the awkward silence. But I must admit that I had never imagined awkwardness being so pleasant. Words were useless—those that were but niceties were not worth the effort, and those that truly needed to be spoken were yet forbidden. For now, silence was enough.
As Elizabeth leaned against the balustrade, a light breeze caught her loose curls escaping her straw bonnet. My heart quickened as she brushed one chestnut tendril aside then rested her gloved hand only a heartbeat from my own. I thought—I feared—that she might withdraw it. Instead, she murmured, “I never dreamt of walking at Pemberley with you. But I will—often. . . .”
Does she hint she will think of this moment often? My heart raced, dreading that I had misunderstood her. Before I could voice my disbelief, blessedly, no words were needed as her hand found mine. My fingers entwined with hers and I wondered if she too felt the stirring at this union.
When the Gardiners joined us, we had stepped apart and were properly discussing the weather and the surroundings. I received their praises while wondering if Elizabeth was as flustered as I. I extended the invitation to enter the house for refreshment, but I was gracefully refused. I could do nothing but permit them—her—to leave. My only consolation was the hope, the certainty, that the lure of the fishing would bring her uncle and maybe the ladies to Pemberley—that I would see her again soon.
I handed both ladies to the carriage and my regrets made me prolong my grasp of Elizabeth’s hand; it might have been hope but, even in the presence of her relatives, she allowed her fingers to rest a moment longer in my palm and gently linked them with mine before she pulled away. The Gardiners seemed too exhausted and too enchanted with Pemberley to notice. Not that I would have minded. The times when I struggled to conceal my affection for Elizabeth Bennet were long gone.
I saw her turn and gaze back at me as the carriage left Pemberley. From afar, I could not see her eyes, but I hoped—I knew—they were sparkling.
* * *
Four months later
* * *
I glanced at my image in the mirror and I laughed as I observed the large smile on my face. I had not been able to stop smiling for more than six weeks, since the day I proposed again and Elizabeth accepted me.
It was the fulfilment of my hopes and prayers, after six months of disguising my feelings, a horrible proposal, three months of resentment, sadness, despair, and self-reproach, and three more months of dealings with Wickham and her sister Lydia, making remedies to Bingley’s situation, arguing with my aunt Catherine, and more hopes and prayers.
My only compensation was that Mr. Bennet—after his initial reluctance that I did not miss—granted me his friendship and accepted a very short engagement. I made Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Bennet very happy by procuring a special license—and saved myself much anguish by avoiding elaborate and extended wedding schemes.
I looked in the mirror again, stroking my hand over the freshly shaved face then brushed my hair; I was nervous as a young boy and the sensation was equally amusing and exhilarating.
“May I help you with anything else, sir?” my valet asked.
“No, thank you. You may retire now. I shall ring for you tomorrow when you are needed.”
As my manservant exited, I smiled at my reflection again. I did not expect to need anyone else except Elizabeth—not tomorrow, and not for a long while after. Even my dearest sister understood that; she had decided to remain in London and only travel to Pemberley with the Gardiners and the newly wedded Bingleys before Christmastide. S
he generously gave us one month of perfect solitude at the beginning of our new life.
I checked my watch again. I promised my wife I would come to her in an hour so she might have time to prepare herself. I never imagined time could pass so slowly.
A week before, Elizabeth confessed to me that she would like to spend our wedding night at Pemberley, despite marrying at Longbourn. She had been teasing me as we walked arm in arm, her fingers entwined with mine. I still can see the sparkle in her eyes and the redness of her lips while she smiled at me. We then stopped and I closed her eyes with kisses and tasted her lips, right there in the field.
She might have spoken in jest, but if that was her want, I would make it possible. Therefore, right after the wedding breakfast, we left Hertfordshire and travelled for three days and two nights to Pemberley.
Of course, at that point I had not imagined the extent of the torture to which I sentenced myself. There were three days and two nights when I held her in my arms, enjoying her intimacy, turning tenderness into passion, teaching her the joy of shared love—but still waiting for the wedding night. I had every reason to congratulate myself for my excellent self-control. Very few newly wedded men would have showed such patience and restraint. But also, very few wedded men were as deeply, completely in love with their wives.
I had been pacing the room and checking my watch repeatedly when a knock on my chamber door surprised me, putting an end to my anticipation. Elizabeth entered my bed chamber, her gaze locked with mine, and my heart forgot to beat. A silky night gown skimmed her shapely figure while her loose curls adorned her creamy shoulders. A blush coloured her face and neck while my eyes travelled over her beauty.
Over the last few days, our bodies had delighted in each other’s touch, our lips yearned for the taste of the other, and our desires had grown to a fevered pitch. We had learnt much about each other, yet there was still much more to discover and to share.
“Am I too early?” she whispered, placing her hands in mine.
“You are quite late for my impatience.”
She laughed nervously, while I ceased fighting my enthusiasm and allowed my lips to claim hers. I felt her quivering under my caresses and her soft moans made my blood race.
I carried her to the bed which had once sheltered my torment then rested her against the pillows. Her beauty intoxicated me and the glimmer in her eyes ignited the joy in my soul. I stroked her lovely face, lying atop of her, satiating my thirst with eager lips.
Elizabeth’s arms closed around me, and she murmured, her voice trembling from desire, “My beloved husband, how can I bear so much love? How is it possible that I feel I belong more to you than I belong to myself?”
My heart beat powerfully and I was certain she could hear it. My lips brushed against hers, my hands lowering to explore her warmth, then I whispered hoarsely, “I can hardly say, my beloved Elizabeth, since I have long lost myself to you. In vain I have struggled to conceal my feelings—they were more powerful than pride. So, my dearest Mrs. Darcy, you must allow me to show you how ardently I admire and love you . . .”
* * *
Lory Lilian fell in love with Pride and Prejudice thirty-three years ago and discovered the charm of Jane Austen fanfiction exactly twenty years later. She lives in Bucharest, Romania, is a proud mother of an amazing daughter, and is addicted to anything Austen. After a career in business, she dedicates her time to reading and writing. Lory is the author of six bestselling books: Rainy Days, Remembrances of the Past, His Uncle’s Favorite, The Perfect Match, Sketching Mr. Darcy, The Rainbow Promise, and A Man with Faults. JAFF readers call her the “Queen of Hot Mush”—and she loves it.
In Terms of Perfect Composure
Susan Adriani
“I believe I thought only of you.”
Mr. Darcy to Miss Elizabeth, Chapter LVIII.
Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken.
As a boy, Fitzwilliam Darcy was given good principles, and it was upon these principles of honesty, integrity, and fairness that a sturdy foundation for his character was first laid. That his parents left him to follow such admirable criterion with pride and conceit had never even occurred to him. It was honesty and forthrightness that mattered most, not disposition, and Darcy had learnt by their example.
As a man, there was nothing in the world he abhorred more than disguise, for in disguise there can be no honesty, and without honesty there can be no honour. It was the way Darcy conducted every facet of his life down to the most minute detail, until the day his sister, Georgiana, then but fifteen, confided to him her intended elopement with George Wickham. Not only was Wickham a man more than ten years her senior but her brother’s childhood friend.
As it turned out, Darcy found there was little he was unwilling to do to preserve his beloved sister’s reputation or that of his own. And so, for the first time in his life, he laid aside the principles he valued so deeply and did everything within his power to conceal Georgiana’s indiscretion from the rest of the world. In short, he lied, not by intimation but by omission. From that day forth, he never spoke a single word of his sister’s near-elopement to anyone, save for his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, with whom he shared guardianship of her; nor did he so much as utter George Wickham’s name. Though the matter, as shocking and painful as it was, could never be entirely forgotten by any of them, to Darcy, it was at least considered closed.
Not many months had passed, however, before Darcy’s path crossed most unexpectedly with Wickham’s once more. His habits little altered and his situation likely dire, the scoundrel had taken a lieutenant’s commission in the —shire Militia and was posted in Hertfordshire, where Darcy happened to be visiting his friend Charles Bingley. While Darcy and the Bingleys removed to London for the winter, the regiment did not decamp for Brighton until the following summer. No longer under Darcy’s watchful eye, Wickham had been free to carry on as he saw fit; and carry on he did, in the most lascivious manner, for upon his quitting the place it was discovered that countless women, many no more than innocent young girls, had become unwitting victims of his debauchery.
That summer, in addition to a host of compromised tradesmen’s daughters and maid servants, a gentleman’s daughter who was visiting Brighton was persuaded to leave her friends and go to Scotland: fifteen-year-old Lydia Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire. Attractive, lively, and determined to enjoy herself at every opportunity, she gave no thought to her conduct, manners, or reputation. Unlike his own sister, Georgiana, who had a dowry of thirty thousand pounds, Lydia Bennet had no dowry to speak of, only the possibility of inheriting a thousand pounds upon her mother’s death.
While George Wickham was a charming, well-mannered opportunist who enjoyed passing his time with pretty, impressionable girls, securing his future was his main objective. With expensive habits and poor prospects, he always intended to earn his fortune by marrying well, and nothing less than a wealthy heiress would do. It did not take a genius to discern there would be no marriage for the youngest Miss Bennet after she’d deserted her family and friends for Lieutenant Wickham and his dashing red coat, only heartbreak and disgrace; a disgrace she would pass on to her entire family by association, and her four unmarried sisters particularly. As it happened, it was Lydia’s sister Elizabeth with whom Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley had fallen ardently in love.
Had he not called upon Elizabeth Bennet at the inn in Lambton that summer, where he found her distraught enough to confide her sister’s humiliation minutes after she had received the news from home, Darcy never would have learnt of it. Theirs was a history riddled with avoidance, misunderstandings, and one offensively worded proposal of marriage that had been irrevocably refused April last. In fact, Darcy and Elizabeth, after spending three months apart, he in reflection, and she in Hertfordshire, had only renewed their acquaintance three days prior when they had met by chance at Pemberley.
&nbs
p; Darcy was grieved, shocked, angry, and appalled; moreover, he was deeply ashamed. His shame, however, was not for Elizabeth, or even for Lydia and the wretched situation she had brought upon herself and her family. Darcy’s shame was for none but himself. It was owing to his pride and arrogance; to his failure to act and expose George Wickham for the reprobate he was, that Lydia Bennet was permitted to run wild, unchecked, and unprotected in the first place, and Elizabeth, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, left to suffer the repercussions of her youngest sister’s disgrace. The fault was his and his alone, and so must the remedy be.
It had taken Darcy some time, as well as a fair amount of money, but he managed to arrange it all in the end. While Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle quitted Derbyshire for Hertfordshire, Darcy, doubting the lovers were going to Scotland, travelled to London instead, where he eventually discovered them, arranged their marriage, paid Wickham’s debts, and purchased a commission for him in the Regulars. Darcy had anticipated his involvement in the business being met with resistance, but persuading Wickham to marry Lydia Bennet had not posed his biggest challenge; it was convincing Elizabeth’s uncle to allow Darcy to pay for the inconvenience of it, while he, Edward Gardiner, accepted all the credit.
It was one more untruth; one more concealment, however necessary its purpose, but the taste it left in Darcy’s mouth was bitter. It was nothing, though, compared to the feeling of disheartenment that constricted his chest once he realised the Gardiners, after having considered all Darcy had done for their family, might very well be anticipating an understanding between himself and Elizabeth as well.
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 20