Prince Darcy

by Allison Smith

“I will inform him to make the announcement.”

  His sister smiled brilliantly. “Good. After the wedding, we will begin your training. I am so excited.”

  “Wait—whatever do you. . .training?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Georgiana rang for a servant to summon Darcy. He arrived as if he had been hovering nearby the entire time. His gaze zeroed in on Elizabeth standing next to the window. He crossed the room, taking her hands and lifting them to kiss each knuckle.

  “Are you pleased with this room?” he asked. “It belonged to my mother. She frequently entertained her ladies here.”

  “The room is lovely, and I understand why she might have spent time here.”

  “I will give you a tour of the entire estate at your leisure.”

  It struck her then, that underneath his calm, self-assured tones was a man anxious to please his betrothed. She freed one of her hands to cup his cheek. “I would enjoy that, thank you.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s very good,” Georgiana said. “Elizabeth had consented to the announcement.”

  Darcy turned, not releasing her hand so perforce she moved to his side. “How did you convince her?”

  “Oh. . .women’s talk. It was simply bridal nerves.”

  He looked down at Elizabeth. “Bridal nerves? You?”

  His sister laughed. “William, you act as if she is impervious to all the usual tender emotions of women. If you make that mistake again, you will continue to mishandle her.”

  “I would hope there is no need to handle me, per se,” Elizabeth said.

  “When?” Darcy asked.

  “There is no time like the present,” was Georgiana’s crisp reply as she strode back to the bell pull. “I will summon the court for the morning. They are doing nothing pressing this time of week.”

  “You are taller than Elizabeth, but perhaps—”

  “Yes, yes, I will see to it. Run along, brother, she and I have work to do. Did I say the training would start after the wedding, Elizabeth? I may have misspoke.”

  He gave his sister a look. “I will bow to your wishes, of course, but might I have a moment with my betrothed?”

  “Certainly. The more of those moments you have, the faster we will arrange the wedding.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it. She would like a say in the arrangements, but that was a battle she preferred to wage out of Darcy’s presence, in case blood might need shedding. There was no purpose in involving him in a battle of wills between his beloved sister and his future wife.

  Once Georgiana closed the door behind her, Darcy turned back to Elizabeth. “Was she welcoming to you?”

  “Your sister is an utter delight. I fear I shall love her as much as I love Jane.”

  He smiled, shoulders relaxing. Every time his posture eased, Elizabeth realised again how much energy he spent on guarding his words and actions. She despaired of ever attaining that level of control and self-awareness.

  “Elizabeth, you know I esteem you above all women,”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You cannot read my mind by any chance can you?”

  “If I could read your mind—” He paused. “Never mind.”

  Darcy finally released her remaining hand but only so his could slide lightly around her waist. She knew she was decently clad, all the proper layers in place, but his touch felt as if on bare skin. His fingers brushed up her rib cage, stopping well below her bosom, but the look in his eyes said the caress was no accident.

  “I am famished,” he said. “Do not allow me too much time alone with you. It is difficult not to think on our wedding night.”

  Elizabeth was not prone to blushing, but heat flooded her cheeks, and she knew her skin must have shaded pink.

  The expression in his eyes turned speculative. His head tilted, and he eyed her without blinking. “I know you are a woman of honour. But have you truly never. . .”

  “Your Highness.” Despite cheeks she was certain resembled ripe cherries, she injected a suitable chill in her voice.

  His small, wicked smile was utterly male. “Forgive me. I am only a man.”

  “You are only a rogue,” she muttered. “I never would have thought it.”

  “I am only a rogue with the woman who is to be my wife. May I reward my good behaviour with a kiss?”

  “I wonder you call this good behaviour.”

  The hands on her ribs increased their pressure, drawing her close to his body. Had she ever been so aware of his restrained strength, the warmth so carefully concealed beneath the dignity of a prince?

  A thrill shot through her at the thought of their coming night. How much passion was he concealing from her? Elizabeth suspected she had not even scratched the surface of his private, masculine self.

  “What are you thinking, my lady?” The timbre of his voice combined with the press of his fingers in a double caress.

  She inhaled. “I was thinking about Lydia’s ribbons.”

  “Oh, indeed.” His head lowered. Hair untrimmed since before he left Pemberley for Meryton spilt over his temple. “Ribbons.”

  “Lydia prefers pink, but Kitty insists she does not at all look well in the colour and should choose yellow instead.”

  His lips brushed her cheekbone.

  “I. . .suspect she will. . .attempt to purloin the ribbons before the ball.”

  Warm breath drifted into her ear. Her entire body froze, and Elizabeth gasped, the sensation so unalike any other she had ever felt. Darcy’s head turned, lips capturing hers in a soft kiss.

  Deceptively soft. He took control over her mouth as her head tilted back, and his body shifted until they were fused from chest to knee. Elizabeth was no child, she knew the ways of male. . .animals. Felt the telltale signs of true passion and dimly realised she must halt the kiss, now, if he did not. The clamouring deep in her belly protested. As he kissed her, she did care one whit whether they were wed or not.

  Elizabeth pulled away, lifting her hands to press against his chest.

  “Darcy. Perhaps we should. . .air.”

  His head lifted, blue eyes bright with a ruthless desire. Then he blinked and stepped away, releasing her. “I do not know if I should curse you or thank you,” he said, a thread of roughness in his cool tone.

  “You do not want your heir born on the eight month, do you?”

  “My love, it would not be the first time.”

  Despite Georgiana’s eagerness, convening the court for the formal presentation would take at least four days, right up until the day before the ball.

  “It is just as well,” Georgiana said. “We will use that time for training.”

  Elizabeth had never once in her life imagined that in her twenties she would be back in the schoolroom—for princess training.

  The princess was a merciless drill instructor, putting Elizabeth through her paces. She learned curtsy after curtsy. The proper greetings and just what level to incline one’s head based on the convoluted interplay of status, rank, and current favour with the prince. She memorised the ceremony to present her and was instructed—warned, really—to expect an influx of invitations and other. . .requests. Until the courtiers knew the measure of the prince’s bride, they would assume her susceptible to all kinds of mischief and bribery.

  “Which will be very useful,” Georgiana added. “It will give us the pulse of the court.”

  Elizabeth escaped to Aunt Julia’s home each evening, spending the time with her sisters passing on the higher level etiquette she learned, and also reworking the gowns they would wear to the ball, labouring deep into each night.

  A measuring tape draped over her aching neck, and pins dotted her skirts. Elizabeth stood, stretching aching muscles she had cramped into various positions to reach the hem of her dress and apply the delicate stitches necessary for the work.

  “We need another candle,” Jane said. “I shall return.”

  Elizabeth suppressed her prick of guilt over dragooning Jane into work when her sister should be enjoyin
g a kind of abridged honeymoon. But with a certain amount of ruthlessness, she realised that if they were all to get through the comings days, Elizabeth would have to utilise whatever resources were at her disposal.

  She stared at the dress draped over the form, wondering if she was being foolish in not allowing Darcy to deploy his wealth on her behalf. She suspected Georgiana had ordered a trousseau for Elizabeth despite her desire to wait until after the wedding.

  The door opened, and Adelaide entered. Her stepmother stopped, staring malevolently at the dress.

  “You are a stupid girl to insist on dressing in rags when your betrothed is able to drape you in silks and jewels.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “After the wedding is soon enough to burden the people with the expense of clothing all of us.”

  This concession did not appease Adelaide. She pinned Elizabeth with a look. “But the ball after the presentation—which will be your de facto betrothal ball—is when Lydia, Kitty and Mary shall be seen for the first time. And they will not be dressed according to their new station and connections.”

  Elizabeth crossed her arms. “Or perhaps their modesty and humility will attract husbands who are wary of husband-hunting mamas.”

  “I wish I could trust you, Elizabeth. I wish I knew you would keep your word.” Adelaide blinked rapidly. “You and Jane wed so well in a matter of weeks but not even a crumb from your tables for my girls. What have you done to deserve such good fortune? What will become of us?”

  She left just as Jane entered the room. “She seems out of sorts lately,” her sister said. “Perhaps I should spend some time with her, just the two of us.”

  “I do not think that will help,” was Elizabeth short reply. Then she sighed. “After my wedding. . .I will see what I can do to ease her mind.”

  Adelaide’s mind, and Mary’s, for she was still convinced it had been her youngest sister to have attempted the sabotage of Jane’s courtship.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Georgiana acted as her sponsor for the presentation. A woman requesting the court acknowledge the prince’s intention to wed her required by law at least one high-born woman of unimpeachable character to vouch for her.

  “It is a formality now,” Georgiana said, “though in the old days a sponsor could be put to death for presenting an unsuitable candidate to the prince. It was all very grand.”

  That was not Elizabeth’s idea of grand.

  She pressed her hand to her stomach. So caught up in her gown for the ball, she had quite forgotten the gown for her presentation. The only saving grace was apparently court dress was not required for this occasion, though she suspected that if it had been, Georgiana would have put her foot down and insisted Elizabeth accept appropriate clothes.

  So she wore her second best assembly dress in cream with a shawl draped over her arms. A set of pearls at her neck, ears and wrist completed her attire. Hopefully the court would approve of simplicity and elegance and moderation rather than desire an ornate display of wealth.

  “Do you know your cousin Mr Collins called upon my brother today?” Georgiana asked.

  Outrage swept aside all her nervousness. Elizabeth gaped at her. “What? Whatever for?”

  Amusement danced across her face. “To negotiate the terms of your marriage, of course. He quite forgot that you are of age and, in our laws, need no male relative to contract for you.”

  “That toad.” She fumed silently, imagining all kinds of retribution. Lydia would help.

  Georgiana laughed. “Good. Now you are no longer nervous. Let us go in.”

  A sly woman, the princess. They approached the doors to the official receiving room. Room being a misnomer as it was a large, open chamber with chairs lined along the walls. At the far end a dais hosted a chair for the prince, a runner leading the way.

  The titled gentry of the court sat in their seats lining the walls, silent and watching, dressed in the latest fashions. Her stepmother and sisters were also already present, much less grand but dignified. Well, Lydia waved, a bright smile on her face, and Kitty clapped before Adelaide grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm back to her side.

  “Her Royal Highness Princess Georgiana,” the announcer called, “Miss Bennet of Longbourn.”

  They walked down the runner, approaching Darcy. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, clad in his customary dark colors, though this afternoon he had traded black for gray. Somber, but for him a rather happy colour.

  The women curtsied.

  “Brother,” Georgiana said, “I present you Miss Bennet of Longbourn, called Elizabeth. She is the daughter, born in lawful wedlock, of Aaron Bennet and his wife, Frances. I attest her to be of sound moral character and ask she be welcomed by the court of Pemberley.”

  “Welcome, Miss Bennet,” he said, voice grave, “to the court of the Seat of Pemberley. We are pleased to receive you and offer you honor for your part in retrieving our family’s valued heirloom.”

  What was happening? This was not part of the script. She stared at him as he smiled slightly. A man approached, tall and lean with graying hair, and handed Darcy rolled sheaf of papers.

  “The court wishes to bestow on you, in reward for your service, the title Baroness of Wilshire, as well as the associate lands and incomes.”

  Elizabeth struggled to breath. “I don’t understand.”

  “Say thank you, Elizabeth,” Georgiana said.

  Elizabeth sank into a deep curtsy, then rose and accepted the patent. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “Brother, furthermore I present Miss Bennet as a candidate for marriage.”

  “Miss Bennet,” he said, “do you know of any reason why in good conscious we should not wed?”

  “No, Your Highness. I am unwed, chaste and the daughter of a mother who bore two children. I know of no reason.”

  Darcy extended his arm. Elizabeth placed her hand in his and he drew her to his side so they faced the court together.

  “My Lords and Ladies,” he said. “My sister offers a bride who is pleasing to me. Are there any objections to our union?”

  No one spoke, and Elizabeth let out a silent breath. They had both insisted this was just a formality, though one required by law. She had not quite believed them. It felt like a wedding ceremony in a certain sense.

  “There are no objections, Your Highness,” Georgiana said. “Offer her the ring and prove that it will accept her as its new mistress.”

  Darcy pulled the sapphire from his finger, turning to Elizabeth.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said, and she held out her left hand, palm down, fingers trembling.

  He slid the sapphire over her index finger. The cool metal heated against her flesh, and bit in. She gasped. Artic fire bloomed inside the gem then flared outward, casting their faces in an ethereal glow for several seconds.

  “Who will witness?” Darcy asked, satisfaction rich in his tone.

  A lord stood and came forward, bowed to the prince and princess and inclined his head to Elizabeth.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said.

  “Permit him to touch you to see if he can remove the ring,” Darcy said quietly.

  Elizabeth adjusted her stance, and the lord took her hand, fingers grasping the ring and attempting to pull it off. It did not move.

  “I cannot,” he said finally. “We have a bride for our prince.”

  There was polite clapping, and the courtiers stood. Darcy took her hand, raising it to his lips.

  “Now,” he said, “you are mine.” His gaze caught hers, held.

  “Not quite,” Georgiana said. “There is still a wedding.”

  Darcy and Georgiana argued as they left he castle and went out the where an afternoon luncheon was prepared.

  “The real wedding is the offering and the accepting of the bride,” he argued. “Once the ring is on her finger, a wedding is a moot formality.”

  “Not so moot when it comes to inheritance laws,” was his sister’s crisp reply. “If you are so eager, we will abridge the usu
al grandeur of a royal wedding in favor of speed.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Georgiana turned to Elizabeth, voice plaintive. “Now will you let me buy you some clothes?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I am a baroness, so I suppose I can buy my own.”

  “Quite.”

  “Do not tell me you gave me a baronetcy to win the argument over who gets to purchase my clothing?” she asked Darcy.

  He did not look at her. “Don’t be silly. Ah, look, I see. . .” He strode off, hailing someone loudly in a very busy manner.

  “So, you have risen in the world, stepdaughter,” Adelaide said, approaching as Darcy left.

  Her sisters swarmed, Lydia and Kitty laughing and making plans on how to spend Elizabeth’s money. Jane stood arm in arm with Bingley, smiling as her husband grinned and Mary looked bored.

  “I suppose,” Elizabeth said.

  Adelaide’s eyes stabbed her. “Now that you can afford to dower your sisters—”

  “I don’t even know what the income from the title will be!” Elizabeth stared at her, exasperated. “Can we not talk about that right now? The seal on the patent isn’t even set.”

  Adelaide walked away.

  Mary looked at Elizabeth, shook her head, and followed after her mother.

  Elizabeth inhaled, chagrin and impatience warring. “Was I abrupt? I did not mean to be.”

  “You are overwhelmed,” Georgiana said kindly. “She should have waited for a better, and more private, time.”

  “Oh, Lizzy, it is so marvelous,” Jane said. “Everything is happening just like in a fairy tale.”

  “You must be Jane,” Georgiana said. “Come, let me steal you. Elizabeth has told me so much about her elder sister.”

  Elizabeth, for once, was glad of the company of her sisters for the remainder of the day. The little luncheon was an affair worthy of royals. Tents billowed in the breeze, table laden with food as servants brought around wine. There were lawn chairs set out for ladies to recline and games for the younger men and women to play. The food was a far cry from the plain fare she was used to, and she ate little of it.