by P. O. Dixon
“There my younger sisters go again, making a spectacle of themselves,” she said to Jane. “Let us go over at once and see what can be done to lessen the damage.”
Elizabeth was caught completely off guard when one of the gentlemen, whose back was to her initially, turned and looked at her. He was just as surprised as she was by now.
It was George Wickham. What is he doing in the militia, and what is he doing here in Meryton?
For the first time since Elizabeth had learned about her true heritage, she had encountered someone who knew her and her past life. This was to be her test.
The tall, handsome gentleman bowed. “Lady Elizabeth Montlake. What a pleasant and wholly unexpected surprise this is seeing you here in Meryton. This is indeed a momentous occasion.”
Elizabeth extended her hand, and he accepted it and bestowed a kiss. Seeing this did not meet with her sister Lydia’s pleasure at all.
Lydia said, “La! Lizzy is no more of a lady than I am.”
Jane’s angelic eyes opened wide. “Lydia! Remember yourself.”
“I speak no more than the truth. Tell him, Lizzy. Tell him that you are not the person everyone thought you were. Tell him who you truly are.”
Jane placed her arms around her youngest sister’s shoulders. “Lydia, this is neither the time nor the place.” She proceeded to lead her sister away from the officers. “Pray you will excuse my sister and me, gentlemen. It was a pleasure seeing you, but I am afraid we must be off.”
Lydia protested. “But I do not wish to be off. I want to remain here and speak with the officers, too.”
Jane said, “And I am sure you will, Lydia, at another time. Pray do not make more of a scene than you already have.”
When Jane, Lydia, and Kitty were gone, Elizabeth returned her attention to George Wickham, who, amid the confusion, was still holding her hand. Her gentle smile persuaded him that the thing to do would be to let go of her hand directly.
“Sir, I really must confess that there is some truth to what my sister Lydia said.”
“Your sister? But how can that be? You are Lady Elizabeth Montlake, the granddaughter of the late Duke of Dunsmore.” His tone took on a somber measure. “I heard of his passing some months ago when I was in London. Pray accept my condolences.”
“You are very kind, sir. I am afraid that my story is a little complicated and certainly not something that I wish to discuss while standing here on the street. However, as Meryton is such a small town, you are bound to hear the story in due course. As you and I have always enjoyed an amiable acquaintance, perhaps you will do me the honor of accompanying me to that quaint little shop across the street for tea.”
In truth, she and George Wickham were always cordial to each other, ever since their first meeting at Pemberley all those years ago when the elder Mr. Darcy passed away. It was her brother and Mr. Darcy who had no use for George Wickham. Elizabeth could only suppose her brother’s dislike of the gentleman was a consequence of his friend Mr. Darcy’s fierce disapprobation. Elizabeth always considered herself a fair studier of people. Rather than choose sides in a matter that could have nothing to do with her, she preferred to form her own judgments.
Soon the two of them sat opposite each other. Elizabeth’s companion, Miss Greene, sat off in the corner, thus allowing the two a modicum of privacy.
Elizabeth commenced explaining to Mr. Wickham the actual circumstances of her life—how the late duke’s grief had compelled him to act as he did, how her own family had suffered her loss, and how they later rejoiced at being reunited with her when all reasonable hope was gone.
“So, you see that is the story of my life. All these years I could have no way of knowing it.”
His handsome countenance colored with concern. “Now that you know, what is next for you? That is, if you do not mind my asking?”
“What is your meaning, sir?”
“Well, you mentioned that His Grace and his mother have assured you that this changes nothing as far as they are concerned. You will always be an important part of their family. I suppose what I am asking is will you remain here in Hertfordshire or do you plan on returning to the life you once enjoyed with the Montlakes?”
Elizabeth wondered if what the gentleman truly was asking was whether she intended to renounce her standing as an heiress. Then again, perhaps she was being a bit too sensitive. Her fortune, or lack thereof, did not factor into his question at all, and why should it? He had no fortune of his own to speak of, so surely he would not judge her or look upon her with disfavor.
Her silence encouraged him to say more. “Life has a way of defying our expectations. I was meant to have the living in Kympton when it became available.”
Here Wickham paused but a second. “You will recall my telling you that the elder Mr. Darcy was my godfather?”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement and, thus, he continued his speech. “It was my godfather’s dying wish, and though I did not always feel this way, it became my favorite wish as well. I was never meant to be a mere foot soldier. The living would have satisfied my every notion of what I ought to be doing with my life. Alas, Darcy did not agree and when the living became available he gave it to another.”
Slightly taken aback, Elizabeth said, “I find it difficult to imagine that Mr. Darcy would have defied his own father’s wishes if he did not suppose he had sufficient cause.”
“Darcy is capable of far more egregious conduct. I better than anyone ought to know.”
“Sir, if you will recall the last time we spoke, I mentioned that I am not in the habit of entertaining any manner of discussion that disparages Mr. Darcy.”
“I suppose that makes him a fortunate man.”
“I assure you, sir, I extend the same courtesy to you.”
“I am pleased to hear you say that. Indeed it is a comfort to me to know that you and I have always enjoyed each other’s company and we always shall.”
Smiling, Elizabeth did not attempt to mask her pleasure that they were of the same mind. This was sufficient encouragement for the gentleman.
“May I see you back to your father’s home?”
“Why, sir, I would be delighted.”
Chapter 6 ~ But a Dream
Darcy was lying in his bed, helpless to the world and barely conscious of what was happening to him. The last thing he recalled was making up his mind to travel to Hertfordshire to be near Elizabeth. His carriage had run into a terrible storm, and his driver advised him that it would be best to wait it out on the roadside just ahead. That was the last thing he remembered.
It turned out that the side of the road was not equal to the weight of the carriage. His driver should have known better, but he was a relatively new hire who was not so very experienced. The carriage tumbled down the hillside. Darcy was lucky to be alive.
In and out of states of laudanum-induced unconsciousness, he had a feeling of being cared for by his cousin Lady Victoria. It had to be her. He would recognize her scent, that of rose petals, from among a thousand women. No one wore the fragrance quite like her. If not for the fact that he had given his heart to Elizabeth, he supposed he might be in some danger from his cousin.
Being the mistress of Pemberley was all Lady Victoria wanted for as long as she could recall. She wanted it not for the prestige of being the mistress of such a grand estate, or for all the wealth and privilege it afforded. Being the daughter of an earl, she was already wealthy and she had a generous dowry of fifty thousand pounds. That alone was enough to help her attract the attention of the most eligible gentlemen from both near and far. She did not want just any gentleman.
For that matter, Lady Victoria did not even desire to be married to a peer. For as long as she could recall she was in love with her cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy. Oh, how she loved this man. It vexed her exceedingly that her obnoxious aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was bent on establishing the general expectation among family and friends that her daughter, Anne, and Darcy were to be married. Anne was not Lady Vic
toria’s equal in beauty or in accomplishments, and yet Victoria’s own family entertained the notion that Anne was destined to marry Darcy according to the favorite wish of Lady Catherine and her sister, Darcy’s mother, the late Lady Anne Darcy.
How utterly ridiculous to think that Darcy would ever consider such a fragile, sickly waif of a person. Lady Victoria always laughed to herself whenever her family discussed the would-be alliance. She knew better, or at least she thought she did. She was so confident that she would one day be Darcy’s wife that she did not even attempt to disabuse any one of her family members of the preposterous idea.
What was more, she and her cousin Darcy were as close as two cousins could be—that is, two cousins of the opposite sex. Darcy rarely looked at any other woman. Lady Victoria had even gotten him to make a deal with her that, should they both remain single on the third day of the third month of the year of his thirtieth year, then they would have no choice but to procure a special license and embark upon a union in holy matrimony that would put both of them out of their misery. Said misery was that of being two single people on the marriage market—he the target of every eager mamma in the ton with a single daughter and she the target of every single man in need of a wealthy wife. It was almost a game to the two of them.
This they often discussed in jest solely between themselves when they had nothing better to contemplate. Of course, all that changed when he began to notice ‘Lady’ Elizabeth and her amazingly fine eyes, Lady Victoria silently lamented.
Even though Darcy had set off to Hertfordshire, her ladyship had decided to remain at Pemberley for another day before returning to Matlock. Being the one who was at Pemberley when Darcy was carried inside on a stretcher, Lady Victoria had remained by his side ever since. With his sister residing at her establishment in London, Lady Victoria was effectively the mistress of Pemberley—managing things and attending to his affairs as though she were his wife while he gradually recuperated. During that time, she had many opportunities to appreciate nearly everything about the man who held her heart, including the most personal things that only a wife or a lover ought to know.
When they were alone, she would sit by his bedside and read to him. Soon, she began to notice what it meant when someone of the male persuasion was referred to as being a healthy young man.
On one particular evening, after she had dismissed Darcy’s man for the night amid the dutiful valet’s strong protest, she sat by her cousin’s bedside. She could not help but discern his aroused state even though she knew he was sound asleep.
Her desire to pull back the covers and have a peep increasingly outweighed her concerns for what it would mean for their amiable accord should he ever find out. What would be the harm? She was curious after all. What better way was there to satisfy her curiosity than in the privacy of his bedroom where they were utterly and completely alone and no one ever need know?
Cognizant of what a scandal it would be if someone were to walk in and catch her gazing at her cousin in such a state, she crept over to the door and turned the lock. She then walked back to his bedside. Even her maidenly sensibilities were insufficient to quell her curiosity about this man whom she had been in love with for so long as she could recall.
She pulled back the covers and slowly lifted his nightshirt. What she saw was such that she dared not look away. She had seen marble statues and pictures in the gallery at Pemberley, in her family’s home, and everywhere else where there were such prospects to behold, but nothing had prepared her for the sight she now feasted her eyes on—how beautiful.
Looking and seeing suddenly was not enough. She needed to touch him. At length, she commenced a lingering, trailing exploration that encouraged his ardor. She soon became entranced, which merely served to embolden her until the spell in which she found herself immersed gave way to a bit of reality when she heard him moan. She panicked. Jerking her hand away, she lowered his bedcovers. He did not awaken, which encouraged her to pick up where she left off, not only out of curiosity, but also for the fact that she was beginning to feel a pooling moisture—a moistness that she associated with him.
She drew the covers back once more. His ardor had not waned an inch. A thorough study of books that she should not have been reading had taught her that it was possible for a woman to engage in any manner of doings that required no participation at all from her partner. At such times as those, she even imagined what it would be like and when she did give over to such fantasies, there was only one man at the forefront of her mind.
Easing herself into bed next to him, she gave serious contemplation to doing those things to him that she recalled from the pictures. Her maidenly sensibilities aside, she longed for him. She needed to feel his hardness against her softness. Were he to awaken from his laudanum induced sleep and find her in his bed, she would convince him that he had been the instigator. She would be mistress of Pemberley in no time at all. Finally, she was on the cusp of having her fondest dreams come true. Lady Victoria was in heaven and she knew it.
Darcy’s deepest slumber always promised the cessation of pain from his injuries, the riddance of tight bandages protecting his wounds, and the gratification of being once again with Elizabeth. This dream, while along the same vein of all the others of late, gave Darcy a sense of not being alone. But, of course, he was alone. He was merely dreaming ... Yes, dreaming of what it would be like when he and his lady love, Elizabeth, were united as man and wife. He often dreamed of her—of making love to her. Even though it was a dream he was determined it would last and last.
Amid the prospect of such intoxicatingly warm moistness, all he desired was to push and push into the utter blissfulness of the woman he loved, but he would not make her his, not fully. He would tease her there instead all with the intention of pleasing her.
A healthy young man, he not only wanted completion, he desperately needed it. How frustrating this dream was for Darcy, but he dared not awaken and find it all over.
She was beginning to move—to press her body against his with more ardent yet pleasing insistence. Was she ready? Was he ready? He and Elizabeth were not yet married, but what did it matter for this was but a dream—an intensely vivid and passionate dream, but a dream all the same. What else can this be? Elizabeth is hundreds of miles away.
It being a dream, he gave in to both their bodies’ demands and commenced making her his. Her moans were intoxicating. What a cruel punishment it would be to awaken and not find Elizabeth by his side. Savor this, his dream state beckoned—savor this.
At length, he wanted to ease her from his body and slow things down, for he and Elizabeth had all night. Why was he unable to accomplish a small little thing like easing her away from his body? It was as if he were completely within her power. What a strange feeling for a man like him who was always arranging things for his own convenience.
She would not stay still, and with her lips pressed against his, he was powerless to beseech her to stop—to lie still. Elizabeth and I are not yet married. We should not even be doing this. Then again, it was just a dream. All too soon, he would awaken. What would be the harm in finding his release deep inside of her if it were just a dream?
It is but a dream.
Chapter 7 ~ The Most Deserving
The Bennet family would have been fools to fail to receive the young Duke of Dunsmore with the utmost deference inherent in his status. The Bennets were nobody’s fools. Awe and wonder replaced hidden animosities upon his arrival. A true to life duke had come to call on them at Longbourn. Even the younger girls regarded him as though he were a handsome prince straight from the pages of an enchanted storybook.
Out of respect for the master of Longbourn, Avery’s first order of business during his surprise visit was garnering a private audience with Mr. Bennet. He apologized for the pain rendered to the Bennet family. His grandfather’s misdeed had been the means of a great scandal and there was no changing that fact. Nevertheless, as horrific as it had been for the Bennets, the same could not be s
aid of himself. He told Mr. Bennet as much.
“Sir, pray you will understand that I mean no disrespect when I say that my life is richer because of my having Elizabeth as my sister. No manner of scandal will alter my great love for her. As I shall forever regard her as my only sister, any measures my grandfather undertook to guarantee her future happiness, I shall abide by. Please be assured that Elizabeth’s dowry of fifty thousand pounds remains intact.”
Having made no arrangements of his own for his daughters, whose prospects were severely diminished, Mr. Bennet was not of a mind to reject the young duke’s benevolence. Having engaged in correspondence with the young man soon after Elizabeth’s arrival at Longbourn, Mr. Bennet knew that the Duke of Dunsmore could be just as determined as Mr. Bennet was proud. The older man’s pride did indeed balk at the notion of accepting any manner of charity that was the fruit of the late duke’s coffers, but his lingering resentment would not be allowed to impede his better judgment. Elizabeth still considered these people her family. Hence, her dowry of fifty thousand pounds was her due.
A quarter hour later, when Avery and Mr. Bennet had joined the others, Lt. George Wickham was soon shown into the room along with his friend, Mr. Denny. Elizabeth immediately bore witness to the disgusted turn in her brother’s countenance. Knowing him as well as she did, his subsequent reaction came as no surprise to her.
Standing tall and proud, the aggrieved young duke said, “What is he doing here?”
Mrs. Bennet, concerned that her honored guest might be displeased, said, “Do you and the lieutenant know each other, Your Grace?”
George Wickham smiled and sauntered over to Avery with his hand outstretched. “Indeed, the duke and I are acquaintances of long standing.”
Avery ignored Wickham’s gesture. “On the contrary, this man is not an acquaintance of mine. Again, I ask what he is doing here, Elizabeth.”