by Jane Hunter
Elizabeth watched her aunt carefully, but said nothing, knowing that if she were so inclined, the other woman would share everything with her upon their departure.
“Indeed,” was Mrs. Gardiner’s only reply. The red-haired lad hurried by them, straining under the weight of their valises, and the innkeeper’s wife smiled fondly as the boy rushed between them and out to the carriage.
“Wishing you a pleasant journey back to London, madam. I do hope the letter contains some good news. You all have such long faces on, I daresay you deserve some happy tidings.”
The woman meant well, but Mrs. Gardiner did not reply and swept out the door of the inn. Elizabeth thanked the red-cheeked woman for her kindness and hurried after her aunt.
Mrs. Gardiner ignored the helpful hand of the footman at the carriage door, but Elizabeth took it gratefully and settled herself opposite her aunt on the carriage seat.
“Whatever is the matter?” Elizabeth asked quietly, but Mrs. Gardiner waved away her question. The footman closed the carriage door, and at the snap of the driver’s whip the carriage lurched into motion. Elizabeth was content enough to have a quiet journey, there was entirely enough to keep her thoughts occupied for the entirety of the journey – but she hoped that her aunt would share the contents of the letter that Mr. Gardiner had left, or that anything would be said about the sudden procurement of the carriage.
Elizabeth sighed and leaned back against her seat to look out the carriage window. Thankfully, the countryside was lovely, even in the oppressive heat of the late summer, and Elizabeth was grateful to watch it glide by the window as she replayed the events of the last few days in her mind. The coolness of the Pemberley gardens, and the hot words Mr. Darcy had spoken in her ear... the feel of his hands upon her skin in the night; and how she had wanted him... how she had begged for him.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warming, and tried to focus on the realities of what had happened. As a result of her actions, as a direct punishment for her foolishness... she had been ruined, and there was no retrieving that which had been taken away. And Lydia... Lydia.
Elizabeth brushed away a tear that threatened to fall, and she scolded herself a she realized that the tear she had been about to shed had been for herself and Jane, and not for her poor sister.
“Lizzie,” Mrs. Gardiner said, placing a gentle hand upon her niece’s arm, “you must not worry for Lydia. I am sure that your uncle will find her soon.”
Elizabeth brushed at her cheeks, grateful that her aunt could not hear her selfish thoughts. “Yes, of course. I have every confidence in him. It is only... I wish I could have done something...”
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head. “It seems that Lydia had her own plans when she asked to go away to Brighton. I have no doubt of that fact. Your sister is a cunning young woman, though I wish she had applied that skill to something more suitable...”
“Indeed,” said Elizabeth ruefully. Lydia had always been smarter than she allowed people to think she was and, when it came to their mother, she was a master of manipulation. Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. “Colonel Forster will have to answer to Papa for this lapse in care... to think of poor Lydia, coerced into eloping with Mr. Wickham. Impossible!” She could not help the vehemence of that final word. It all seemed so implausible. Mr. Wickham had never shown Lydia any hint of affection – but perhaps her own observance of it had been overshadowed by her own misinterpretation of the man’s intentions. It was not long ago that she had considered he would offer her a proposal of marriage... one that she might not have refused.
To think that she could have been confounded in such a way... It did not bear thinking about.
And yet, she had allowed herself to be confounded by a gentleman of a very different sort.
Or perhaps, not so different at all.
Elizabeth’s stomach twisted, and she felt sick for just a moment. It was all too much. All of it. How could she ever tell Jane? And if Papa were to discover it? She could not bear the shame if her father knew how she had been compromised. What would he do? Mr. Darcy would not marry her, surely not now... not when Lydia was...
“Oh, what shall be done?” she burst out, the tears coursing freely down her cheeks as the misery of it all washed over her.
“I fear I cannot say.” Mrs. Gardiner patted Elizabeth’s arm in an attempt to reassure her, but Elizabeth felt as though she were beyond consolation.
“Shall I read my letter?” Mrs. Gardiner asked as a means of providing a distraction. Elizabeth pulled a handkerchief from the neckline of her gown and dabbed at her face while her aunt broke the seal on the letter and scanned it quickly. Her expression changed several times as she perused the contents of the letter and Elizabeth’s apprehension rose once more.
Mrs. Gardiner collected her thoughts for just a moment and then began to read aloud.
Dearest,
I have departed for London ahead of your leaving, and I apologize that I could not tell you sooner. You will, by now, have begun your own journey in a carriage that Mr. Darcy was kind enough to provide.
Elizabeth gasped aloud, covering her mouth with her hand as her aunt arched an eyebrow at her and then continued.
The gentleman has been most generous in our time of need, and he has also provided me with a contact in London who might be able to give us some information as to our dear Lydia’s whereabouts in London. It is sure that she and Mr. Wickham will stop there on their flight to Gretna Green, for that is undoubtedly where they are headed.
“So he does mean to marry her,” Elizabeth said with relief. “I must write to Jane as soon as we arrive...”
Mrs. Gardiner held up a finger to indicate that she was not finished reading.
I will not tarry long in London, and I ask, dear wife, for your patience while I ascertain the seriousness of the situation, and if Mr. Wickham does, indeed, plan to wed our poor Lydia. Mr. Darcy has written to Colonel Forster and secured the man’s silence until Mr. Wickham can be brought to heel. I can only hope that my deepest fears are not realized, and we are able to discover them before more damage can be done.
“Would he not marry her?” Elizabeth choked on the words; a sudden chill crept over her shoulders and made her shiver.
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head in disbelief. “I cannot say, I can only hope and pray that your uncle is able to deliver Lydia back to us without trouble... but there is more.”
You must make me a promise: that you are not to speak of Mr. Darcy’s involvement to anyone, save our niece. The gentleman requested my silence most explicitly, and I would not betray that trust for anything in the world.
Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes again, disbelief washing over her. “Whatever could have possessed him to assist us in such a manner?”
“I had a similar thought,” her aunt mused, folding the letter once more and tucking it into her reticule. “We shall never be able to repay him for his kindness, that much is certain. And I shall keep his secret, as I trust that you shall as well.”
“Without a doubt,” Elizabeth agreed. She rubbed her fingers over the fine material that covered the carriage seat and wondered at the gentleman’s involvement in their troubles. Mr. Darcy’s request for anonymity in his assistance could be twofold – that he did not wish to be aligned with a family brought so low, or that it was assurance that if any of them did speak of it, he held information that would ruin them utterly; and Elizabeth had no one but herself to blame.
Their journey to London passed quickly, filled as it was with speculation as to where Lydia and Mr. Wickham might be found, and the identity of the contact Mr. Darcy had provided to Mr. Gardiner – but as they reached the outskirts of London Elizabeth’s felt a heaviness descend upon her that she had never experienced before. The weight of her secret was a tight band around her chest, and she did not know how to relieve it.
Elizabeth had stayed two nights in London with her aunt, waiting for any news from Mr. Gardiner. Finally, unable to bear the strain, Mrs. Gardiner had gone to suppe
r at her cousin’s house on the outskirts of London. Elizabeth had been invited, but she had declined.
“I have written to Jane,” she said with some regret. “I shall be returning to Longbourn in the morning. I am of no use to anyone here in London, and I should be at home to help Jane.”
Mrs. Gardiner had nodded gravely, the last two days had taken their toll, and her aunt looked drawn and tired. Mr. Gardiner had written sparingly since their return to London, but each time with less news, and less hope in his words.
Now, Elizabeth sat alone by the fire in the drawing room, listening to the summer rain that fell upon the high windows and trying her best to distract herself with a piece of needlework she had brought from home. She had made precious little progress in the last weeks, but she knew that Jane would not admonish her for her negligence. She was exhausted, but had been unable to sleep so early, and it was easier to be by the fire than to lie awake in bed reliving her last moments in Mr. Darcy’s arms. She knew that she would never feel them again, and it did no good to dwell on such things.
She poked the needle through the fabric, trying to allow the repetition to calm her shattered nerves, but it was not working.
Just as she fed the silver point through the center of a red rose, the bell jangled at the front door, startling her.
“Ouch,” she muttered, as the needle stabbed into her finger. She looked to the hallway, before examining the drop of ruby blood on her fingertip. She set aside her needlework and dabbed at her wounded finger with her handkerchief. The bell rang again, and Elizabeth remembered that Mr. Farris had been dismissed for the evening.
The clock on the mantle reminded her of the lateness of the hour and with a cross exhalation, Elizabeth rose from her chair and walked quickly to the foyer. It was late to be calling, so she assumed that it would be her aunt, returning from her supper.
She unlatched the door and pulled it open with a smile on her face. “It is quite late,” she began before she realized that it was not her aunt standing on the doorstep.
It was Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
“Miss Bennet,” he said stiffly. He paused for just a moment, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made Elizabeth’s heart leap in her chest. “Is Mr. Gardiner at home?”
“No, I am sorry. We have not seen him since our return to London – and have only received a few letters, and they have been very poor sources of any news. Will you come in, Mr. Darcy?” She paused for just a moment, and then more words came out in a rush. “I am sure that my aunt would prefer to hear something cheerful. I shall ring for some tea, or perhaps you would prefer brandy?”
What was she thinking? To invite him in on such a night? But perhaps she did not want to be alone with her misery any longer.
Elizabeth blushed fiercely, hoping that Mr. Darcy would see the error of her invitation and decline, but, to her horror, he removed his hat and stepped through the door. “I thank you, the evening is miserable, and I have been on horseback all day. A brandy would be most welcome, and then I shall be on my way.”
Elizabeth nodded and closed the door before stepping in front of him. “The drawing room is this way,” she said awkwardly, gesturing for him to follow.
“I fear that my news is not as happy as you would hope, Miss Bennet, and I do apologize for that.”
Mr. Darcy walked past her to where Mr. Gardiner kept his spirits and poured himself a small glass.
“But Mr. Darcy, if you do not have good news, why are you here? Would a letter not have sufficed?” She was growing annoyed and the shame she had felt upon waking that morning in the Lambton Inn was presenting itself as anger towards him – but perhaps he deserved it. He had used her as ill as Mr. Wickham had used Lydia, and he seemed to be unaffected by it.
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Some things must be delivered in person,” he said quietly.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied stiffly. “Well, you may deliver your message, Mr. Darcy, and I will be sure that it reaches my aunt before I leave for Hertfordshire.”
“You are returning to Longbourn?”
“I am. With the morning mail carriage.”
“Will you not stay longer in London? To help your aunt and uncle?”
Elizabeth blinked at him for just a moment. “No. I am needed at Longbourn. Jane is all alone and she will need my help to care for my mother and sisters.”
“They are lucky to have you,” Mr. Darcy said quietly.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks heating just a little; it was entirely improper for Mr. Darcy to be here. Her aunt would be returning at any moment... and she could not bear being in his company without fear of saying something she would regret any longer.
“Please, Mr. Darcy, if you could deliver your message, I shall be sure that it reached its intended recipient.”
“Yes, of course. I believe I have come to the end of my search of London. Mr. Wickham has not appeared for more than a few hours at his usual haunts – and only to collect money owed or play at cards until he wins a sum of money, and it seems that I am at least a day behind his movements. My contacts say that he is traveling with a companion, but they cannot say who it is... Or where they plan to go.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth whispered furiously. “And are they still not married?” She could not keep the twinge of desperation out of her voice.
Mr. Darcy shook his head sadly and his dark eyes burned into hers. “It would appear that they are not.”
Elizabeth choked back a sob and she turned towards the fire to hide her face from him. With three quick strides, Mr. Darcy was behind her, and his hands were warm and strong upon her shoulders. “I swear to you, I will find them. I will find your sister and I will see her married.”
Elizabeth turned in his arms and paused for just a moment, relishing the feel of his hands upon her flesh before she stepped back. “I thank you, Mr. Darcy, for your care of Lydia. You do not know her, and I know that you do not have to help us. I hope it does not bring you any shame to do so.”
“There is no shame I would not bear to do this deed,” Mr. Darcy said softly, and Elizabeth felt something inside her leap at an impossible ledge.
“But why?”
“Do you not know?” he replied. When she did not answer, Mr. Darcy turned and began to walk towards the foyer. When he reached the drawing room door, Elizabeth finally blurted out the words she had been holding in her heart since that night in the Lambton Inn.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
Mr. Darcy’s pace halted suddenly and he turned to face her, his chest heaving beneath his finely tailored jacket.
He was at her side in moments, and Elizabeth found herself crushed against his chest as his arms came around her. Without a moment’s thought, Elizabeth’s eyes closed and she opened her mouth under Mr. Darcy’s heated kiss. It was as though he had been waiting for her permission... and as their bodies pressed against each other, Elizabeth forgot every angry thought she had directed towards Mr. Darcy.
He had said he loved her, and she had replied. He had said it again, but in different words... and she had replied.
Mr. Darcy’s hands were in her hair and his lips were gentle and possessive upon hers. She moaned against his mouth and pressed closer, rubbing her hands up over his chest and shoulders, thrilling as he groaned deep in his throat at her touch. His hands tightened in her hair, making her gasp, and she did not pull away when his fingers trailed down her neck to the ribbon that held the neckline of her gown closed.
He worked quickly to untie it, and before Elizabeth could assist him, her gown was in a pool of crumpled material at her ankles, leaving her standing in front of the fire in her thin chemise. Mr. Darcy pulled away long enough to divest himself of his jacket, vest, and linen shirt, and then he was pressed against her once more.
His mouth was hot upon her neck and at the swell of her breasts, and Elizabeth gasped as he tugged at the ribbons of her chemise with his teeth.
The thin muslin billowed and sagged, falling to the flo
or with her gown, and she stood bare in his arms, her knees weak with need for him.
He pulled her close, their bodies meeting in bare skin and warmth.
Mr. Darcy bore her gently to the thick carpet, laying her back upon a fine sheepskin that Mrs. Gardiner kept for cold nights. Elizabeth lay under Mr. Darcy’s dark gaze, worried that what he saw displeased him, but the expression in those eyes was nothing short of adoration and ardent desire, and Elizabeth felt a warmth begin to grow in her belly.
His skin shone in the firelight and Elizabeth reached for him, pulling him down and offering up her mouth to him. He kissed her gently as his hands trailed over her body, setting her skin alight with sensation and warmth that was more than from the fire that crackled beside them.
He pulled his lips away from hers and began to sear a hot trail down her neck. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he said the words against her collarbone, and she felt her stomach twist again.
“I love you, William,” she replied.
He pressed his lips to hers once more and she sighed, opening to him. He kissed her deeply, his tongue delving in to tangle with hers.
Mr. Darcy moved slowly, dragging his hands over her arms, down to her fingertips before threading them together. Elizabeth slid a leg up around his hips and he moaned into her mouth. She could tell that he was resisting the urge to press his hardness against her, but she knew that he was aching for her, the outline of his manhood had been clearly visible under the material of his breeches, and she felt a familiar, shameful, hunger for what was concealed.
Instead of giving her what she wanted, Mr. Darcy moved his hands over her breasts and palmed them, spreading his fingers to encompass them. His thumbs moved over the ridged peaks and he watched them pucker tighter under his touch.
Elizabeth gasped and closed her eyes; her head tilting back as Mr. Darcy leaned down and used his hand to guide one taut nipple into his mouth. Elizabeth gasped again and he moaned against her flesh as his tongue skimmed over the nub, his hand holding the weight of her breast. Just when she thought she had reached the peak of her desire, he switched to the other side, his mouth greedily sucking in and laving over her flesh.