Love Then Begins

by Gail McEwen

  “We’ll take the long way then,” his lordship answered. “So, ladies, this is where you get to do your bit!”

  To Holly’s great surprise, she was swept away with Elizabeth and Miss Darcy in the direction of the stables. She tried to ask her husband what was going on, but he was back to playing his flute and the people were skipping and singing and rolling past her and the now forgotten brawlers and he just smiled and winked at her. Miss Darcy trailed readily behind Lord Baugham, but kept her thick shawl tightly wound around her. Holly watched Elizabeth give her husband one quick look and then sided up to her.

  “Dancing? In the barn?!”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “It is better than fighting on the lawn, I dare say. Although if they do insist on performing all ten verses, I suppose only marginally so.”

  “He fancy’d himself very fit for ye game,” the crowd sang as they followed the fiddlers down the slope, “She sent him to Holland all in a flame . . . ”

  The cousins exchanged a horrified glance. “Better get them to the stable and the jigs quickly,” Elizabeth said and Holly nodded as they hurried on.

  AFTER A LITTLE TOUR AROUND the stables and past the massive yew hedge that obscured the auxiliary buildings from the main house, Baugham had almost exhausted the capacity of the merry Lambtoners to keep up their rendition of The Black Joke. What they found when they turned the corner to the hay barns was that Mr Darcy and Palmer had somehow managed to open all the doors, pull out all the wagons, sleighs and carriages to free the large storage room, procure several burning torches to light the yard, haul one large, sturdy cart to serve as a stage and light at least ten lanterns to illuminate the indoor space. The floor was still dirty, the dust swirled around in the air as testament to the enormous activity that had just taken place before the crowd arrived and Mr Darcy was standing in his shirt sleeves giving orders about bringing benches from the stables to put around the walls.

  He looked up at the approaching procession. A long line of dancing men, women and children, some of them singing, others walking arm and arm with their companions, filled the barn from one wall to the other. Some preferred to stay outside and he could hear the clinking sound of tankards and bottles accompanying the singing.

  Those filing into the shed waited and skipped in time to the music as they looked around them and the fiddlers took their place on the cart. Lord Baugham walked into the middle of the floor where Mr Darcy was already standing, still bravely blowing out the tale of the various men looking for fun and pleasure in private places, until he came to a halt.

  At once, the fiddler followed him and the crowd watched as his lordship took a deep bow in front of Mr Darcy.

  “Our host,” he said loudly. “What shall it be, Darcy? A jig, a cotillion or shall we go straight to it and do a Maggot?”

  A smile played on Mr Darcy’s lips.

  “The Maggot it is then!” Lord Baugham said, bowed again and backed out of the middle.

  He threw the flute in a bold arch across the room to its owner and walked past the fiddlers telling them to keep the beat nice and sharp and don’t stop until you have to. Then he backed all the way down to the entrance where Mrs Darcy, Miss Darcy and Lady Baugham stood, breathlessly waiting for whatever was to come next and not quite certain they should be there at all in the first place.

  Mr Darcy was what came next. He walked up to his wife, bowed before her and reached out his hand. At first she looked at it in surprise but then something in her eyes lit up and she quickly divested herself of her thick fur lined coat, gloves and muff, throwing them at her two attending ladies until she stood before him mirroring his casual appearance but for her bear skin hat.

  Carefully she put her hand in his and so they stood for a moment, seemingly lost in something that was hard to know whether it was hesitation or awe and then Mr Darcy bowed once more before he turned to the musicians on the cart behind them and the fiddler realised this was his cue.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, wives and husbands, girls and boys! This is Mr Beveridge’s Maggot!”

  There was a cheer among the spectators as Mr Darcy walked into the middle with his wife and they took their positions. Holly could clearly see some words were exchanged between them though it was impossible to hear them, but a moment before the music started Elizabeth broke out in a brilliant smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at her husband and then mouthing the single word, “Yes.”

  Not really knowing why, Holly found herself smiling, too, and her smile only grew at the approach of his lordship, carrying two steaming mugs.

  “Something to warm you up again, my dear?” He gave her a disarming smile along with the mulled wine, “I must say, I am enjoying the spectacle of seeing my friend Darcy leading a dance among the savages. Until we can find some dark corner in which to resume our interrupted conversation, that is.”

  “You are incorrigible, my lord,” she smiled over her cup, but had to admit that he looked particularly irresistible at the moment. “But you must do something for me first.”

  “Anything,” he twinkled over his own cup.

  “Ask Miss Darcy to dance,” she nodded to where the young lady was smiling and tapping her foot as she watched the scene before her.

  “Ho-olly,” the dashing, irresistible man turned into a whining toddler before her eyes, “I don’t want to. How am I supposed to after what you said last night? You said not to be charming, but I haven’t been trying to be charming and now I don’t even know what to say or—”

  “Oh for goodness sake, stop fussing!” Holly laughed. “I also told you to be nice to her and it’s obvious that she wishes to dance. And . . . ” she smiled seductively, “I am reasonably certain that by the time your dance is over, I will have finished this drink and will be quite . . . warm, indeed.”

  He leaned in and kissed her nose, “Now who’s being incorrigible? Very well, I’ll ask her to dance, but I cannot promise not to be unwittingly charming and clever, however hard I try to avoid it.”

  “I know you can’t, and I love that about you. But,” she ran her hand down his side and slipped it into his coat pocket, pulling out the cravat he had hastily stuffed in it earlier, “the case being such, I think we need to make you a bit more presentable for the occasion.”

  They stole behind a few piled bales of hay, and before she could begin, he kissed her long and soundly. Whether this was an attempt to make her forget her intentions was a matter of debate, but he very nearly succeeded. If it had not been for the cravat that was still in her hand getting tangled in his undone coat buttons, he would have.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she pulled away, tossing the cloth at him while putting some distance safely between them. He pulled a face, but buttoned and tied and, after downing his drink in two swallows, tugged on his waistcoat and walked to the dance like a man going to the gallows.

  The fiddlers were doing their utmost to keep to his instructions. Within two minutes of Mr Darcy standing up with his wife, the melody had been irresistible to the onlookers and women young and old were dragging reluctant men out of corners and away from their companions and tankards to join in. The shed was warming up and shouts of laughter and stomping feet admirably kept up the competition with the musicians.

  Sipping her drink in the protection of the hay bales, Holly watched her husband stiffly approach Miss Darcy, saw Miss Darcy turn a beaming smile upon him, say an enthusiastic “Yes!” and eagerly take his offered arm. In the course of the half hour of the dance, his stiff reserve softened somewhat but the conversation remained scarce and his lordship was obviously exercising great care not to be particularly witty or engaging. He lasted until the final turn, when he leaned in and said something that immediately had them both laughing, but he stiffened again when she turned her bright and admiring face to his. He looked over at Holly with a panicked expression and while the last chords of the song still hung in the air, he handed his charge over to her brother with a look of immense relief.

  “There!” he said. “
But I really must thank you and claim an old married man’s need for rest now.”

  Miss Darcy just beamed at him. “That was wonderful!” she said. “This whole place is wonderful! You are wonderful!”

  Baugham raised his eyebrows.

  “In thinking of it,” Miss Darcy hastily added. “I never thought I could have so much . . . fun! I mean, look how it all started out.”

  Her sincerity made both men exchange a smile and Mr Darcy happily asked his sister for the next turn.

  “Oh no!” she said, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. “Oh, no thank you, brother! I’m quite content. I don’t think . . . I don’t think I shall dance any more tonight.” She gave his lordship a shy smile that made his heart sink a little again.

  “I think I’ll just go home now,” she continued happily. “It has been perfect!”

  She gave a little skipping turn out of pure, childish and innocent joy and it was such a delightful sight she received a kiss on the cheek from her brother and another one from Lord Baugham and so it was safe to say, Miss Darcy’s happiness was complete and perfect as she ran all the way home to her bed, her dog and her journal.

  Baugham looked after her and then came sauntering back to his wife, shaking his head ruefully.

  “You just cannot help yourself, can you?” she said in a stern voice, but her eyes were laughing as he returned, looking slightly bewildered.

  “I need a drink,” was his only reply.

  “I think we can manage something better than that,” she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him out the door and into the darkness of the night.

  The moon was out now, huge and shiny like a brass plate it hung above their heads, making the torches pale in comparison. The walk over the gravel to the stables shone under their feet in the light and their steps gave an icy crunchy sound. Once they left the dancing behind them they slowed down again until they reached the stable door. Baugham unhinged the gate and pushed it open. Immediately the horses reacted to the intruder and the warm breath of beasts in their boxes rushed towards them. Closing only the lower half of the door, Baugham stayed and they looked back out at the moon casting cold shadows over the eerily quiet yard.

  “So you don’t want to dance with me?” Baugham said and put his arm a little tighter around Holly’s waist. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

  “I think I need a little break from this Candlemas madness. Maybe later.”

  The quiet around them made them pause. “Yes,” Baugham said a moment later, “it has been madness, hasn’t it?”

  “But it all turned out well.”

  There was no reply. She turned to look at him.

  “Love?”

  “Candlemas?” It was obvious he was stirred out of his thoughts. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so. Not that I think the mummers of Lambton necessarily will agree.”

  Holly sighed and Baugham kissed her hair. “You look very lovely in moonlight,” he said.

  “And you saved the day today,” Holly answered.

  Baugham snorted.

  “No, you did. First the end of the mummers and then the dance.” She leaned into him. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. “So very, very proud of my husband.”

  For a moment they were lost to the world in what seemed a new feeling between them. Companionship, trust, harmony based on something even bigger than their feelings. A common destiny, perhaps, that did not look as frightening or unknown as before, but secure and promising. A quiet spot in the storm that had been raging around them all day and perhaps even longer. Baugham kissed his wife and she put her head on his shoulder again. A horse, obviously wondering why this human presence did not entail closer attention to him, snorted and shook his head, breaking the quiet.

  As they looked out, the cool silvery moonlight bathing the path was pierced by a shaft of warm, orange light and momentarily the distant sounds of music, laughter and dancing feet grew more immediate. They watched in silence, listening to the sounds of a door closing, shutting in the exuberant human noises again, footsteps crunching on the gravel, and of muffled voices. Neither was particularly shocked when the master and mistress of the great estate of Pemberley appeared in the moonlight, leaving their own party behind. They walked slowly, his arm comfortably draped around her shoulder, her leaning into him and letting him support her. He said something that made her laugh; she reached up and tenderly touched his cheek. He stopped, took her gloved hand and brought it up to his lips and then they resumed their slow and comfortable walk, past their unknown observers, and back toward the house.

  “They’re going home,” Holly said quietly.

  “So they are.”

  “And I think she doesn’t need me anymore.”

  “I think you may be right.”

  She turned and pushed her arms beneath his coat to feel the warmth and strength of him beneath. “But you do, don’t you? You need me still?”

  “Always,” he said, folding her up in his arms and bending to kiss her, to show her just how much he did need her.

  “I think,” she asked breathlessly when he at last released her, “we should go back too.”

  “I think,” he said, pressing against her, walking her backward across the hay strewn floor and sitting her down on a pile of blankets, “we should stay right where we are.”

  “My lord!” she gasped, partly horrified, partly intrigued. “Here?”

  “Perhaps it is the company,” he said, sitting down beside her and moving his hand beneath her skirt, tracing the place where the soft warm flesh met the silky line of her stockings, “but I have a very strong need to give in to the basest of instincts,” his touch wandered around and he felt her unconsciously shift to allow him better access, “right here and right now.”

  Despite her hesitation she felt it too. The whole day had been such a strange exercise in balancing between the bawdy and dignified, between exaltation and despair she had hardly had time to pause and think. Not that this was any time for thought either. Quite the opposite. He was here, she was here, they were in some strange, peaceful no man’s land, with fervent dancing going on next door in the coaching stables and their hosts walking home to their grand rooms and halls. What did that make them?

  Holly did not quite know. But she knew who they were and how she felt about being here with her husband, in the dark, with the moon shining through the window and the horses moving restlessly around them, not quite seen but heard and smelled and felt. She felt excited and free and hidden away in a private magical world.

  His touch was so sure, so confident, that resistance and reason were hard pressed to compete, but she tried once again, “But what if . . . what if someone . . . the door . . . oh . . . ” but by that time his fingers had reached their goal and she was overcome by a rush of heat and wetness. She pressed against his touch, letting her head fall back and giving in to the moment. Vaguely aware that he was pushing up her skirt, that they slid down on the floor and the blankets fell down beside them to accommodate, she felt the cold air hit her bare legs, felt his warm mouth on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and soon the sharp sensations of his sure fingers in her most sensitive places gave way to an overwhelming suffusion of warmth and softness as she felt his mouth move ever upwards and upwards. She moaned and twined her fingers through his hair, giving in to the brilliant waves of softness and heat and bliss, and while she was still floating on those waves he moved over her and slid inside her, and it was more than perfect that he should know and fill that need within that she had not felt until he was there and moving and carrying her once again to the heights of pleasure, and his heavy breath in her ear, and his noises only made her grip him all the harder and pull him in that much closer until he was there too, carried away on the waves and out of control. She urged him on and he told her he was close and then she was there and he followed soon after, and they lay together, a tangle of limbs and dampness, hard breathing, and soft bodies slowing down and finally stopping and growing colder in the c
hilled air of the stable.

  The horses snorted. Their hooves clattered against the floor, they bumped against the walls of the boxes, the bridles clanging when they shook their heads. The smell of dry hay, muck and warm animal bodies grew stronger as the sweat and heat of the human bodies died away. Holly carefully arched her neck and kissed her husband on his throat. It turned into a lick and she smiled as she realised she was tasting him. Like he had tasted her. Then she gently bit him and heard a rumbling sound in his chest.

  “I think,” she said, “I have grown tired and too used to fine bedrooms. I think I want to stay in here forever.”

  In one sweep he drew the blankets around them and covered her with his still warm body.

  “Then let’s rest a while,” he said. “We’re in no hurry, are we?”

  SOMETIME IN THE WEE HOURS of the morning, their lordships awoke and stumbled, bleary-eyed, out of the stable. The grounds were deserted, but for two local farmers slumped against an overturned bench, snoring deeply. The lawns had been trampled bare of snow and were strewn with litter, forgotten hats and gloves and, surprisingly to Holly, one lone boot with a lace petticoat stuffed inside. A sudden moment of clarity had her lifting her own skirts, checking to assure herself that her own undergarments had not been neglectfully left behind in the stable. Thankfully, they were all present and accounted for.

  Still feeling rather surprised at their daring, Holly prepared for the shame she knew she ought to be feeling to appear, but as she examined her feelings about what they had done in the stable, she could not conjure up anything more than a smile and a slight blush. It had seemed nothing but right when he sat her down on that pile of coarse horse blankets, it had seemed perfect when he made the world around them disappear and staying there for as long as they could was all she wanted. When the first thing she felt when she awoke all those hours later was his body pressed to hers, still warm and still strong and there, with her, she knew no one could tell her that what they had just done had been wrong. Foolish, perhaps, and maybe a bit ridiculous, but not wrong.