Elizabeth blinked in surprise at his tone, but was reassured when his devastating smile appeared. Without a further word, he was gone.
She collapsed into her chair, feeling as if she had been running hard. Despite her concern over what had occurred, though, it was only a moment until she laughed at the thought of what her mother’s attitude would be if only she knew. Now Elizabeth could truly say she had disgraced herself and her family by her behaviour, and yet if Mrs. Bennet had been aware of it, she would have been nothing but delighted by the news. It is a pity she will never know! mused her daughter.
Chapter 6
Elizabeth’s last fortnight at Longbourn proved as distasteful as she had expected. She was beginning to doubt whether her mother’s vexation with her would ever abate. Mrs. Bennet’s want of propriety and inclination to complaint led her to be more vocal on the subject than another woman might have been, and her daughter could only do her best to turn a deaf ear to it. Her father’s occasional gestures and words of support warmed her, but she still could wish he might do more to rein in his wife’s behaviour in regard to her.
She was naturally relieved when the time came for her to remove to Netherfield, though there was a certain sadness attached to leaving her childhood home forever, especially under these circumstances. Although Bingley and Jane welcomed her warmly to their household, Elizabeth, conscious that they were still newlyweds and she had been invited to live with them as an act of charity only because it was untenable for her to remain at Longbourn, made an effort to leave the couple to their own devices as much as possible. She began to feel more comfortable as she realized that Jane was reassured by the familiarity of having Elizabeth with her, and that she could offer support and assistance as her sister took over the management of Netherfield House.
The thought of Darcy was a constant undercurrent during this time. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, and whether he was thinking of her; or whether, with more distance and time to reflect, he had come to acknowledge the seriousness of her reservations. The memory of his look and his kisses left her lying awake more than one night longing for him.
While she was still at Longbourn, her thoughts had been full of unhappiness and doubt, but gradually, once freed of the constraint of her family’s disapproval, her usual sense of humour began to emerge once more. It did not hurt that winter was turning to spring, and she could resume her habit of long walks, although she now never went in the direction of Meryton except when absolutely necessary. She could even be in good spirits if she avoided the painful question of how she was to face life without Darcy. She was tired of self-pity, and did not want him to think her to be grieving. She decided that if he returned to Netherfield, he would meet with her wit this time instead of her sorrow, and she ignored the qualm which came with the thought he might not return.
But it was only a month or so until Bingley received a letter from his friend announcing his plans to arrive the following week, accompanied by his sister and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Bingley, who enjoyed the lively company of the latter gentleman, exclaimed with pleasure over this addition to the party. Elizabeth, however, was silent; the traitorous surge of excitement she felt at the thought of seeing him tempered by the knowledge that their struggle was not over; he would not be bringing his sister were he not still resolved on changing her mind.
As the day of his arrival approached, Elizabeth began to admit to herself just how much she had missed him. It was almost as if he were a part of her which had been lost, and was now returning. The depth of these emotions worried her, and caused her to revisit her decision more than once.
She could not find another solution, though. She remembered his words at Hunsford about his connection to her being a degradation, all Wickham had said of his pride, the descriptions of Pemberley she had heard from her aunt and Miss Bingley, and she knew it to be impossible. It had been unlikely at best before the events of the autumn, but the Mistress of Pemberley and wife of Mr. Darcy must not be touched by any hint of scandal, much less be sister to the steward’s disreputable son and have a past with another man. Darcy might now, in the heat of passion and infatuation, be prepared to overlook it, but she could not imagine he would not eventually come to feel the shame and degradation of it. It would break her heart to see him suffer it, and to know she was responsible for it.
Yet she knew she would weaken again in his presence, especially if he was as unrelenting as she rather suspected he would be. Flight seemed her only option. I will stay a week, but no more, she thought. Surely I can manage one week. Feeling a complete coward, she quickly penned a letter to her aunt Gardiner, asking if she could again pay them a visit.
On the day the guests were scheduled to arrive she found herself unaccountably nervous, and decided to walk out to calm herself. She was longer returning than she had expected, for when she reached Netherfield, Darcy’s carriage was already being unhitched and the guests were inside. She took a deep breath before entering.
They were situated in the large sitting room. Elizabeth’s eyes flew immediately to Darcy, where they were met with a gaze of such intensity as to make it impossible for her to turn away. His eyes told her everything he wished to be doing, and it did not stop at kisses; he looked at her as if he wanted to strip away every secret she possessed. She found herself becoming aroused in response, and quickly turned her attention to greeting Colonel Fitzwilliam, who seemed delighted to see her again.
Darcy presented his sister to her, and Elizabeth was astonished to see that Miss Darcy was at least as embarrassed as she. Mr. Wickham had described her as very proud; but the observation of a very few minutes convinced her that she was only exceeding shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond a monosyllable.
Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth; and, though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance womanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother, but there was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as acute and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been, was much relieved by discovering such different feelings.
“So there we were, making our annual pilgrimage to Rosings,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had clearly been in the midst of a tale when she had entered. “You cannot imagine how dull it was, and one day I was saying to Darcy how much more agreeable it had been last year, when you, Miss Bennet, and Miss Lucas were also in Kent. Imagine my surprise when Darcy told me he had just seen you again! It has been an age since I had seen Bingley here as well, so when he told me that, I could not resist the opportunity to join him.”
Jane and Bingley both expressed their delight in his presence. Elizabeth, conscious of her position as a poor relation, said nothing, limiting herself to a smile of welcome.
Darcy could not take his eyes from her. She seemed more in spirits than when he had left, though her sober reaction on seeing him suggested she had not changed her mind about him. Well, he had been expecting that; he knew she was not a woman to be won over by a few kisses, and he had spent six weeks marshalling his arguments. For now, it was enough to be in her company and to see her smiles. Once he found a time to be alone with her, it would be different.
He was constantly aware of her presence, feeling alive in the way only she could make him, but had no opportunity even for guarded discourse until after dinner. When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Elizabeth without a word rose and moved to a corner of the room where she began to work on some embroidery. Jane cast a concerned glance after her, but said nothing.
Darcy was less than happy about Elizabeth establishing so clearly that she was not one of the hosts of the occasion, but he was not averse to taking advantage of the situation. He excused himself, then returned a moment later with a book in his hand. He sat in the chair nearest Elizabeth and said, “Miss Bennet, I hope I am not disturbing you.”
She glanced up with a quick smile. “Not at all, sir.”
“I brought you something from London.” He handed her the volume.
Looking down at it, she said carefully, so that no one could overhear, “You know I cannot accept this, Mr. Darcy.”
“Certainly you can. I will not tell a soul,” he said with an engaging smile which wrought havoc on Elizabeth’s equanimity. “Or you could consider it a permanent loan.”
“It is not proper,” she insisted.
“You could make it perfectly proper by accepting me,” he continued lightly. “Or you can refuse it utterly, but I will feel obliged to make a scene if you do.”
A glance at his face was enough to reassure Elizabeth that he was teasing her. She narrowed her eyes and replied, “Very well; if it is that important to you to have me read it, I shall be happy to accept the loan. Thank you.”
His smile broadened fractionally. Every concession from Elizabeth was one more step towards victory. “You are very welcome. I must mention there is little point in returning it, as I already have a copy in my library, and I did purchase this specifically with you in mind.”
“You are quite incorrigible, Mr. Darcy, but you are not a whit more stubborn than I.” Elizabeth opened it to the frontispiece and raised an eyebrow when she saw the title. “Songs of Innocence and Experience?” she asked dubiously. “I have never heard of it.”
“Mr. Blake is not as well-known as he ought to be,” allowed Darcy. “You might not want to admit to receiving it from me; he holds some rather scandalous religious and philosophical views. His poetry should not be missed, though.”
“Interesting reading material you are choosing for me,” she murmured, glancing at him teasingly from under lowered lashes. She flipped through the first few pages, noting the appealingly childlike illuminations accompanying each verse.
Darcy took the book from her hands for a moment, opened it to a page marked with a silken bookmark, and handed it back to her. She took one look at the drawing of a tiger at the bottom of the page and laughed delightedly, reading aloud,
“Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?”
She paused. “Is this meant to be a warning for me, Mr. Darcy?” she asked impudently.
“Merely a reflection, my dear Miss Bennet,” he said with a sidelong glance.
“And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
“A valid question, sir.”
“Read on,” he requested.
“When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?”
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “And which is it, Mr. Darcy? Are the tigers of Pemberley creatures of God or of the Adversary?”
He gave a low laugh. “Surely that is for the reader to decide.”
“But you must have some thoughts on the matter,” she said mischievously. “After all, I am not so experienced with tigers as you are.”
He gave her a look full of meaning. “Not for want of trying,” he said.
They were interrupted at that moment by Colonel Fitzwilliam, who came to request that Miss Bennet favour them with some music. Elizabeth, covering with a mocking glance the disturbance which Darcy had created in her sensibilities, readily agreed. Darcy watched her walk off with his cousin with a mixture of satisfaction at how their encounter had gone and vexation with his cousin for interrupting and for having the presumption to smile at his Elizabeth.
***
The next day Darcy hoped to find some time with Elizabeth when they could be alone, but his hopes were doomed to frustration. While he likely could have stolen her away from Mr. and Mrs. Bingley easily enough, it was a different matter altogether with Georgiana, who did not expect to be dismissed, and was overwhelmed enough by being in an unknown place. Colonel Fitzwilliam also seemed to gravitate to Elizabeth’s presence, making what seemed to Darcy to be a rather intolerable crowd. It was rather ironic, he reflected on more than one occasion, that he should be wishing two of his dearest relations far away, even though he had specifically brought Georgiana to Netherfield to become acquainted with Elizabeth. This endeavour had not had much success so far either, since Georgiana hardly said a word to anyone but him, and Elizabeth insisted on deferring to Jane as Georgiana’s hostess in terms of spending time with her.
In the meantime, he found consolation in being the frequent subject of Elizabeth’s teasing, which he interpreted as a sign of affection. There were a few intimate looks exchanged between them, and on one occasion, when everyone’s attention was distracted, he managed to catch her hand in his own for a few minutes. While she did not acknowledge his action overtly, neither did she draw away. Still, he had hoped for much more; and staying under the same roof as Elizabeth was exciting both his fancy and his desire.
It was the third day of his stay before he saw his opportunity. Stealing away while Bingley was showing his cousin his prized collection of hunting rifles, and able to hear the distant sounds of his sister practicing the pianoforte, he sought out Elizabeth, hoping fiercely she would not be with Mrs. Bingley. It seemed he was in luck; he discovered her alone in the dining room, standing by the table with her head bent over an arrangement of flowers. He stopped a moment in the doorway to admire the picture she made as her hands moved deftly through the blossoms. Her back was to him, and his eyes were drawn to the nape of her neck where a few tiny rebellious curls escaped the tight confines of her hairstyle.
A surge of desire overcame him, and his intention to speak with her slipped to the recesses of his mind. Without any plan, he moved silently towards her and, putting his hands lightly on her hips, he placed a light but lingering kiss at the point where those tempting curls met her flesh. She stiffened, apparently in surprise, but made no move or protest, which he took as invitation enough to continue to explore her tender skin with his lips.
After the first shock of being taken unawares, Elizabeth felt paralyzed by the exquisite agony of desire his caresses were causing. How could he, merely by moving his lips against the back of her neck, cause her entire body to ache for him? Against her wishes, she had found herself waiting for his touch since his return, and it had been a long time in coming. She closed her eyes and her breathing came faster as he explored her shoulder, then followed a line up to her ear. She felt him nibble her earlobe, sending a shock of sensation through her until, unable to resist the temptation any longer, she turned her face to his to meet him in a kiss of desperate longing.
She had not believe it was possible to want a man’s touch so badly. Nothing had prepared her for it; her response to Mr. Covington had been only lukewarm. It was as if she were a completely different woman with Darcy, one without shame, who could not have enough of the intense pleasure and arousal his touch afforded her.
Their mouths clung together passionately, meeting again and again as they sought to assuage the pain of their parting. Elizabeth sighed as she felt him slip his hands around her waist. As he drew h
er back against him, she felt a profound shock at the sensation of his body against hers. It was as if her entire body were coming to life in a new way, yet it also seemed so natural and so right. She pressed herself against him as if seeking more, but knew she could never have enough.
He whispered against her mouth, “Have you any idea how I have ached for you, my best beloved?”
His words opened a new well of need within her, and she kissed him as if wanting to draw his essence into herself. It seemed whenever he touched her that nothing else mattered in the world—not society, nor propriety, nor any rules or limits—only this conflagration burning between them.
Her need for his kisses was by no means sated when he heaved a sigh and buried his face in her hair. She attempted to still her breathing, but his arms were still around her, his thumbs caressing her body in a manner which sent shivers of fire through her. She could not concentrate on anything but those slight movements and the profound reaction they were eliciting from her, igniting a desire which came from her most secret self.
Darcy had hungered for her for too long; though he was able to force himself to stop kissing her, it only drew his attention that much more to the feeling of her soft body against his. He wondered vaguely how much longer he would be able to stop himself at kisses, and even whether Elizabeth wished him to or not. The thought itself was so provocative as to make his lips return to hers.
He murmured, “Please tell me you have reconsidered,” though he knew within his heart she had not.
“I cannot,” she said, her conflict evident in her voice.
He could not stop himself. “How can you kiss me like this and still refuse me?” he asked.
She could hear his frustration with her. It was a question she had asked herself repeatedly while he was away—how could she allow it, and be so shameless as to wish to do it again when she knew there could be nothing more between them? She could not be his wife, and would not be his mistress. “I do not know,” she whispered. “I do not know!”
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