by Nia Farrell
Charles and I walk or ride the property daily, giving us time for casual conversation away from the ears of servants and siblings. I mention Meryton, and he closes up, tight as a clam, unwilling to open himself up to fresh hurt. I let it go and try again later, only to be shut out once more. After weeks of this, I remark on what a wonderful addition Miss Jane Bennet’s fine singing voice would be to our evening performances.
He shifts in his saddle. His eyes go unfocused as he stares into the distance. “Yes,” he says, “if she were here. But sadly she is not.”
At last.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I should be happy, despite the summer heat that has driven the others to Scotland, intent on seeing the scenic lands to the north. There is hope, I believe, for Charles and Miss Jane. This month, Hugh’s year is up and he may gain Aunt Catherine’s approval to officially court my sister—if he is still here and not on a ship, bound for war in the Americas.
If only I knew what the hell to do about Miss Elizabeth.
The question of her looms large in my head as I travel between London, Rosings, and Pemberley, taking care of business, family and otherwise. Word reaches me at Aunt Catherine’s that the sightseers are headed home. I go now to make things ready for them.
It does me good to see the familiar faces of my servants. Taking the horses. Greeting me at the door. Preparing my dinner and drawing my bath to wash off the sweat and dust of the road. I drink enough water to float a boat, to replace what I have shed today. I inspect the newly decorated sitting room that my sister has claimed for herself and reappointed, and I examine the new pianoforte—my surprise for Georgiana when she returns.
The house seems empty, without music, without laughter, without snippets of conversation or readings from books. For years it has been Georgiana and I (and sometimes Hugh, when he was not stationed abroad), but having the Bingleys has made me yearn for a family of my own.
And for that, I need a wife.
What if…what if…what if….
What if Miss Jane is willing to do what it takes to make Charles happy? What if she trains with Aunt Catherine and learns mastery? What will happen if and when they marry? Is my connection to Charles excuse enough to pursue his sister-in-law and prove myself worthy of her submission?
What will Aunt Catherine say?
Jesus God. I will drive myself insane if I do not quiet the chatter in my mind. I have things to do. People to see. A house to be made ready to receive the pseudo-prodigal son and daughters. A thousand concerns about investments, tenants, crops, weather, livestock, the wool market, local and national politics, a deuced untimely war, the new footman’s tempting mouth and soulful eyes.
Yet his is not the face I see kneeling before me in my dreams. I can smell the perfume of Miss Elizabeth’s skin, uniquely hers underneath the scent of night-blooming jasmine. I can hear her moan as she brings herself to orgasm. I imagine her cry when I spank her for coming too soon.
I stop when I see a strange carriage in the lane. Adjust myself. Ignore the look that my dogs give me and continue walking toward the house, cursing the timing of tourists who delight in scenic vistas and grand manors and have chosen today of all days to descend upon mine.
And then I see her. Miss Elizabeth. Not twenty yards from me, and here I am, sporting a greeting that I would prefer to spare the gardener, Miss Elizabeth, and her guests. My man is shocked but says nothing. The couple with Elizabeth focus on my face, no doubt comparing it to the portraits in the house to predetermine my identity before we are officially introduced.
“Mr. Darcy!” Miss Elizabeth squeaks, blushing profusely. Her dark eyes, already wide with shock, widen more when she sees the misshapen front of my breeches. Her mouth makes a damnably tempting O.
The man behind her clears his throat.
I recover myself and advance cautiously towards their party, having no wish to frighten her away, given the state that I am in. “Miss Elizabeth. You are here. You are well?”
She fastens her gaze on my neckpiece and will not meet my eyes. Is it because I am hard for her, or because of something else? She might be embarrassed for being so very wrong about Wickham. She may still be upset with me for separating Bingley and her sister. Or is she remembering how it felt to be held against me, my erection pressing into her back, my hand covering hers as she brought herself to a climax?
“How is your family?” I ask her, striving to make polite conversation when my mind is yet filled with all the decadent things that I would like to introduce her to. “They are well?”
“Um. Yes,” she manages, her honeyed voice breathless. “Yes. Pray, excuse me.”
She opens her parasol to protect her skin from the early August sun but uses it to hide behind.
“I have not seen you since the parsonage at Hunsford.” I drop my voice to an intimate murmur. “The way that we parted, I did not know if I should see you again, but I have thought of you. I was thinking of you but moments ago,” I confess, trusting that she will realise that she is the reason for the state I am in, “and there you were, my vision given form.”
Every sentence seems to increase her embarrassment. I am no more at ease, being seen in my current state with nowhere to hide my arousal save my dogs, who are investigating the older gentleman who is with her. Comparing him to Victoria’s report, I surmise that this is Edward Gardiner of Gracechurch Street and his much-younger wife Millicent, the uncle and aunt who hosted Jane Bennet’s stay.
And now it is Elizabeth’s turn to be with them.
She stands before me, blushing profusely, momentarily distracted by the cold, inquisitive nose that nuzzles her hip, gathering her scent.
“Sorry.” I apologise for my dog and feel a twinge of panic when my thickening tongue threatens to reduce me to a stammering schoolboy. “When did you leave Longbourn? How long are you in Derbyshire?”
“Recently,” she blurts. “We will not stay long.”
She fidgets, nervous as a fox before hounds and just as anxious to get away. To put us both out of our misery, I take my leave and hurry into the house, wondering what the hell just happened.
There she was, the woman who has haunted my dreams for months, my body aroused by thoughts of her, and I can say nothing more than I would to a veritable stranger?
Jesus God, Darcy! Be a man. Go after her. See if there is hope. Tell her how you feel.
I turn on my heel and head out the door, my eyes searching for a familiar green skirt, but she is nowhere to be seen. Not gone, though. Their carriage is still here.
Having mastered my body, I set out after them and find them walking the accustomed circuit through the most scenic portions of Pemberley’s park, an expanse that measures ten miles round. The course winds over hill and dale, to the edge of a stream and across the bridge that spans it, and boasts charming views of the valley and glen, bordered by rough coppice-wood.
“Mr. Darcy.” She greets me first, cordially if not intimately. I nearly sigh in relief. “What a delightful estate you have. Such a lovely house and property, and a perfect path to walk it.”
She blushes and falls silent, while I stand equally so, drinking in the sight of her as a desert nomad views an oasis.
Her aunt stands a little behind her, giving us distance. Mr. Gardiner clears his throat.
“Miss Bennet,” I say, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to your friends?”
“Mr. Darcy, may I present my uncle Edward Gardiner and his wife, my aunt, Millicent Gardiner? Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.”
“Good day to you both. I hope you are enjoying the park. It can be tiring, especially if you take the long route, but your niece is a great walker. Something you have in common, I should think. Mrs. Gardiner, there are several species of wildflowers in bloom. Did you happen to see the fairy flax and milkwort in the last little clearing?”
“Yes,” she says. “Lizzie pointed them out.”
No doubt with their Latin names.
“And you, Mr. Gardiner? Are you a great walker like your niece? Do you share her interest in botany, or are you more into fauna than flora? We take game birds and deer in season, but there is fishing year round.”
“Indeed!” exclaims Mr. Gardiner. “I counted the trout that were jumping, begging for a line to be cast. We could have made a feast.”
“You still can,” I tell him. “Please, feel free to fish here as often as you choose while you are in the neighborhood. I can supply you with anything that you need—rods, flies, tackle boxes, creels. If you have the time, I should be happy to show you the parts of the stream that usually offer the most sport.”
Mr. Gardiner is quick to accept my offer, and we start down the path. I act as tour guide, describing the various geological features and points of interest, while the women walk arm-in-arm ahead of us, listening to the conversation. After a time, Mrs. Gardiner pleads fatigue from the morning’s exercise and asks for her husband’s arm to support her. It seems genuine enough, but whether out of necessity or by design, I take her place by Miss Elizabeth and the four of us walk on together, the two of us leading the way at Mrs. Gardiner’s insistence.
They follow at a slower pace, and the distance between us widens. After a minute, Miss Elizabeth apologises, her honeyed voice barely above a whisper, designed to keep the conversation between the two of us. “I am sorry. I was assured of your absence before I came here. Your arrival was very unexpected, for your housekeeper informed us that you would certainly not be here till tomorrow; and indeed, before we left Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately expected in the country.”
“That is so,” I agree. “I had not planned to return so soon but business with my steward occasioned my coming ahead of the rest of the party who have been travelling. They will join me early tomorrow, and among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you—Mr. Bingley and his sisters.”
Miss Bennet acknowledges this information with a slight bow.
“There is also one other 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?”
Her head snaps up, sapphire eyes searching, questioning, that clever mind working to fit the puzzle pieces in place. However ill we parted, we are moving beyond that with each step that we take, on new ground of my choosing. It will be her decision whether or not to share the journey or part ways once more.
Lowering her gaze, she dips her head and whispers meaningfully, “Your wish is my command.”
A rote answer on the surface, should her aunt and uncle hear it, but those five simple words are our Magna Carta. She knows what I wish, what I crave. Knows something of what I will demand of her…and she is willing to yield herself to me. She will submit. Before the end of this Leap Year, we shall be in Room 366.
Jesus God. In my mind, we are already there.
“Good girl,” I hum, treasuring the soft, shy smile that I coax from her. It takes all of my concentration to keep my thoughts composed and my Priapus from misbehaving. Having reached a new understanding, we walk on in silence, each of us deep in thought. She is nervous, no doubt thinking of what I told her in Hunsford, the erotic picture I painted at the parsonage.
Bondage.
Spanking.
Kneeling before me.
Calling me Master.
Her mind is full of questions that I cannot answer until we are alone. Each attempt at allusion is quelled with a look, a silent command to not go there. At last she gives up and speaks of their travels, talking at length of Matlock and Dove Dale.
Our tête-à-tête continues outside my front door as we wait for the Gardiners to come. They are not overlong in catching up but decline an invitation to come inside and take refreshment, pleading Mrs. Gardiner’s need to rest. While Mr. Gardiner helps his wife into their carriage on one side, I hand Miss Elizabeth in with a squeeze on her arse, too tempting a sight to resist.
“Later,” I promise.
She flicks her gaze to her relations and exhales softly when they remain ignorant of the game that we have begun. “Yes. Later. Good day to you, sir.”
“And to you, Miss Bennet. Safe journey,” I bid them, “until next we meet.”
Closing the door, I step away from the carriage. The driver snaps the reins and cracks his whip, setting the wheels into motion. I watch as it leaves, carrying Miss Elizabeth away from me, then walk slowly towards the house, no longer quite so empty, now that I am filled with hope.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next morning, I am surprised when Bingley arrives with my sister and his—not the three whom I was expecting, but the other two. While in Scotland, the family reconnected with a cousin who married well, and the enticement of a manor house and upcoming games with the promise of kilts kept the three youngest Bingleys there. George Hurst has come with Louisa, and Caroline has brought a Mrs. Eugenia Ashcroft. Evidently the two are living together now.
Mrs. Annesley is coming with the servants.
No matter.
Bingley’s family and guest descend first. I direct them to go into the house, then turn back to the carriage, waiting a moment before plucking my sister from it and swinging her easily down.
We are alone.
“Sister,” I ask, kissing her cheek, “you are well?”
“Of course.” She giggles when I buzz it and teases me in turn. “But are you? I scarce know what to think. Such an odd question. An odd greeting. I thought you were going to make me stay in the carriage until you finally let me out. Surely you are not growing senile in your old age?”
“Old?” I growl, pretending offense, and exaggerate a frown. “Hardly. I am, however, anxious to have you meet someone.” My face softens before Georgiana’s curious look. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Jane’s next younger sister who nursed her to health at Netherfield Hall. Surely Hugh and the girls have spoken of them. Charles routinely danced twice with her sister Miss Jane.”
“Yes,” she beams. “Oh, yes. The girls speak highly of them both. Hugh was favourably impressed with Miss Elizabeth when the two of you visited Rosings.”
“I am glad to hear it.” I kiss her cheek again and whisper in her ear. “Hold to their truths, and do not allow Caroline to poison them. She wants the Bennets gone from us.”
We go inside and join our guests. Once we’ve seen them quickly settled, I beg to have a moment alone with my sister. The pretense is the new pianoforte, but the real reason is to ask a favour.
“I know you just arrived, but I want you to come with me, now, to Lambton. Miss Elizabeth is there with her aunt and uncle, and she has agreed to be introduced. The sooner, the better,” I say firmly. “I almost had her hooked at Hunsford and do not wish her to be the one that got away.”
Georgiana squeals like a little girl and clasps my hands. “Is this true, then?” she asks, knowing full well that it is. “Can this really be happening? Hugh and I, and now you and Miss Elizabeth? Oh, Fitzwilliam! Of course! Of course I shall come! I would not miss it for the world, to see the woman who is your heart’s desire, as Hugh is mine.”
“I must ask that you keep this our secret, for now. I plan to surprise Charles. I shall tell him to meet us at the inn and give him no choice but to come. I do not wish to get Charles’s hopes up, but I want to be present when he meets Miss Elizabeth again. Listen to how he remembers her sister. See how deep and genuine is any fondness that remains. I would appreciate your observations and opinion as well. Now, I shall order the curricle ready and talk to Charles. He can follow close behind us. The ride will do him good.”
I am determined to go, with or without Georgiana or Charles, but the trip is made sweeter by my sister’s enthusiastic presence. She clings to every morsel I feed her of our story, from its unfortunate beginning at Meryton’s ball until yesterday’s reunion, which gave me hope for a shared future.
“Well!” Georgiana looks at me, rather sternly, from beneath
the brim of her bonnet. “You realise, of course, how horribly you acted and how generous a nature Miss Elizabeth must have to forgive you your slights. You should be ashamed, brother. It is quite beneath you. Quite unlike you. Whatever were you thinking, Fitzwilliam?”
“On hindsight, I wonder if I did not wish to like her. That some part of me was compelled to keep her away, but once I had her within arms’ distance and danced with her…well, I was lost to all good reason. Her sister Jane aside, her family is a mess. A father too lazy to lead by example. Three younger sisters, all out, and a mother who betrays a total want of propriety. Their father’s connections are more easily overlooked than the mother’s family. Mrs. Bennet’s late father, her brother-in-law, and her brother, Mr. Gardiner—solicitors all,” I warn her. “Mr. Phillips lives in Meryton. Mr. Gardiner in Gracechurch Street. I cannot believe this is what our father would want for me. If he were here, he would forbid it.”
“But Mother would not,” she says, gently but firmly. “She would take one look at your face, and tell you to choose happiness above all.”
“If only it were that simple.” I shake my head. “Mother is gone. We have Aunt Catherine to deal with. She can make things difficult. Catch her in the wrong mood, and she shall make us wait years, not the twelve months that you and Hugh have managed. I am proud of you, by the way. I know it has not been easy, for either of you, but two more weeks and her edict will be met. After that…if things go well, perhaps a double wedding, if you care to share your day, hmm?”
Her smile widens. “I would love nothing more,” she swears. “But first things first. Introduction, then Aunt Catherine. Everything else needs must follow.”
We inquire after the Gardiners and their niece at the inn and are told that they are here. A sitting room off the entrance fronts the street, and we find the three of them standing when we enter, not shocked to see us (having spied my livery from the window) but still surprised.