She looked most earnestly into his eyes, and he returned her gaze quizzically at first. Then she saw his eyes narrow and his face become rigid. Darcy angry was indeed a fearsome thing, as Bingley had warned her once in jest, but she now knew him well enough to know she was not the source of his pronounced disapproval.
Darcy stood abruptly and began pacing before her. Damn them all! The old tabbies have been at her. “God’s blood, Elizabeth!” he cursed in a low tense voice. “Jane, too?” Elizabeth nodded. “How I wish I had thought to spare you this.” All my work of gaining her confidence, ruined. Now she will expect herself to be like every other meek wife…
“But how could you? You cannot be always with me. And you do not know what ladies can be.”
Oh yes, I do! He tossed his head back, losing his hat. “Ladies! Ha! Ladies you call them. I could easily, aye and joyfully, wring the neck of every one of them.”
This conjured a mental picture for Elizabeth that she found deeply gratifying, and she smiled. Then she started giggling, and finally she laughed at the image of Fitzwilliam Darcy, in evening clothes for some reason, throttling her Aunt Phillips. Oh, yes, a scenario devoutly to be wished. Her eyes were dancing with merriment, and she shared this vision with him when he turned to look at her as if she had lost what little was left of her wits.
“I am heartily glad to see you smile, but I assure you, I am serious. Who has been telling you these strange tales?”
“Honestly, Fitzwilliam, every one of the married ladies I know has importuned me in some way. Jane was at Netherfield yesterday, so goodness only knows what she has been privy to that I have not.”
“Surely Louisa would not speak so in front of both her sister and Jane?”
“Fitzwilliam, think on it. Does Caroline not appear to know more than she ought? I think so, and I lay it at Louisa’s door. Then there is Charlotte Collins, from whom I had a letter yesterday, stating she and my cousin will be here in a few days to stay with the Lucases until our wedding. You may well imagine my trepidation about her advice.”
“God in heaven,” Darcy swore again, shaking his head.
“Last night, Jane and I conferred, and as you know us well, you may imagine we have decided on differing strategies to see us through until the wedding.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Jane’s strategy is to try to avoid the old hens, not read any letters we might receive from Lydia”—here Darcy interrupted with a louder, meatier oath — “and in general, she means to attempt, through her natural serenity and trust in Charles, to meet her wedding day with some measure of equanimity.”
“Sadly, this is entirely too passive a plan for my Elizabeth.” Darcy smiled and sat down again. “I both love and fear that you are so inquisitive.”
“Yes, sir, you may depend upon it. I am bent on such research as I can manage and yet maintain my—our—dignity.” She nodded her head, determined.
“Elizabeth, I truly do shudder to think…” He took her hand, removed its glove, and held it in his. “I pray you, dearest Elizabeth, do not pursue this. It is for you and me to find our way. That is what is proper.”
“If I am to judge from what I have already heard, I comprehend this is not an unimportant part of married life. I have received so much conflicting information that I am not able to ignore it. Like you, I find it unpleasant to be made sport of when I am at such a disadvantage. And I am not without resources.” She lifted her chin.
Darcy was filled with foreboding. “You are not?”
“I plan to write to my Aunt Gardiner. She has a happy marriage and shall not seek to jest at my expense. What she is unwilling to commit to writing, I shall ask her to say to me in private conference when she and my uncle arrive in a week.”
Darcy sighed in relief. Mrs. Gardiner was indeed the most sensible woman he knew in Elizabeth’s family— or in his own, for that matter. Perhaps not too much harm could come of this.
“And then there are Papa’s books.”
“What?” Darcy was incredulous. “Your father keeps…” He nearly sputtered “erotica,” but stopped himself. “Your father keeps such books in his library?”
“Yes, there are two books secreted in his desk where we daughters are forbidden.”
“For all the good forbidding has done…”
“Oh, I found them years ago.”
He saw she was ineffectively attempting nonchalance and nodded for her to proceed.
“And have not looked at them since. But after last night, the evening party at Lucas Lodge—it was uncommonly arduous and provoked a most disquieting dream.”
Aha! She has admitted it!
Elizabeth paused and drew in a deep breath. “When I awoke in the night, I sought the books. Jane followed me. It is my intention to make a study of them, but she will not.”
“Dear God, Elizabeth, is there anything I can say to dissuade you?”
“I imagine not.”
“What can you tell me about the books?”
She offered with a shrug, “One is French and quite silly, but there may be some facts buried within the cartoons. The other is more foreign. The language is nothing I have the means to translate, but it has many drawings.”
Darcy was blushing. This gets worse and worse; nothing good can come of it. “If you will not obey your father and leave them alone, is there anything I can say, anything, to halt your research?”
Her chin lifted further, defiant. She blurted, “Am I correct that you are not a virgin, Mr. Darcy?”
There it was, the question he dreaded most. And worse, he was Mr. Darcy again. She was asking him the most intimate question he could imagine as if it were an accusation.
The silence was heavy between them, and Elizabeth could barely breathe. She had inferred from overheard snippets of conversations with his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and with Bingley—many things were said in a billiard room that a woman with keen hearing might find useful—that Darcy experienced some adventures of a carnal nature during his grand tour of the continent after his university years. She prayed he would not lie.
“I shall answer your question, but first I must say this. Our experiences, relative to each other, ought not to be a source of competition. It would be an unpropitious foundation for a marriage.”
“I agree, sir. It is knowledge I seek, not experience. Do you only want me to know that which you want me to know?”
“Elizabeth, this is no time for stubbornness. Honestly, yes, I only want you to know what I want you to know, and yes, I am not a virgin.” His voice was tight.
Her emotions exploded into motion and she stood. “Sir, I think we should walk.” And she rapidly took off down the path away from Longbourn, nearly running.
Darcy easily caught up to her, his hat in his hands, and continued by her side. After some time, she finally stopped. They had made an arc around the perimeter of Netherfield, and they were on the far side of the estate. The sky darkened.
“How the weather has caught my mood!” Now a little calmer, she tried to make light of her feelings. To cool herself, she took off the one glove she still wore, realising how ludicrous she must have appeared, marching along wearing only one glove. She hoped Darcy still possessed its mate.
“Elizabeth, what do you want to know?”
She looked down. “Am I likely, sir, to ever meet a woman with whom you have…?”
He raised her chin to look in her eyes. “No. Not unless you plan to frequent a certain exclusive brothel in the south of France and two in Vienna.” He spoke gently but with thinly veiled mirth.
France, oh dear. Elizabeth recalled one or two images from her father’s French book that depicted the actions in her dream. She lowered her gaze but soldiered onward. “You have never had a mistress here? You never supported an actress in London?”
“What on earth?”
“Newspapers.”
“Newspapers lie, Elizabeth, but I shall not. Other than at the age of one and twenty, in Cannes and Vienna, I have never
been with a woman for sport, or for love.”
“And you are now nine and twenty?”
“Yes.”
“So you have not… there has been no one…”
“For eight very long years.” He looked away, smirking.
“Well!” She tossed her head. “I do not call that so very much experience.” She embroidered the word by elongating it.
The conversation reminded him of a circumstance he had met with recently regarding a beautiful, unbroken filly. All that could be done was to let her run until she tired and became docile. His first instinct was to defend his youthful exploits until he remembered he was not jousting with a friend but, in fact, was wading through the mire of a damned tricky negotiation with his future wife. He drew himself up to his full height. “I believe you will find me knowledgeable enough in five weeks’ time, and that is all I shall say.”
“Sir… Fitzwilliam…” she looked up at him with more trust and open affection than she had shown all morning. “I rather hoped you might also be a source of information.”
“Under different circumstances, with clearer heads, I may be prevailed upon to elaborate what I hope from you and what you may hope from me, but we are too overwrought now.”
“Oh. We are?”
“Yes. But I do have one question for you. Will you not tell me something of what you dreamt?”
She met his supplication with an implacable gaze.
“I assure you, Madam, my imagination will run quite wild, and we do not want that, do we?” He tried to sound jovial but realised it was merely his own prurient interest he sought to assuage rather than offering her any solace.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered.
At first, Elizabeth did not at all like the tone of his voice, but when he whispered at her ear beseechingly, her eyes widened, and for the third time ever, a single strong shiver shuddered through her with a verbalised inward gasp. “I cannot.” She shook her head, raising and lowering her forearms ineffectually.
She could see the beginnings of alarm in his piercing eyes.
“Please. Give me this much… You were with a man—passionately with a man?”
He was too vulnerable, and while she found she could not speak, she also could not break his gaze or risk hurting him. She nodded.
“It was I?”
She nodded again, and finally murmured, “Dearest Mr. Darcy. Of course it was you.”
Darcy closed his eyes and released a long-held breath. “That is all then… Nothing else matters.”
“I am pleased to know so little will give you comfort.” She managed a weak smile.
“Perhaps comfort is not precisely the word you want.” He smiled enough to deepen his dimples. Without her leave, he embraced her, and started laughing as the brim of her bonnet bumped against his chin and fell off. He caught it as it tumbled down her back, and she put her hands on his arms. They both laughed with relief.
“How long has it been raining?” Darcy asked. He released her and replaced her bonnet, scattering raindrops.
“It cannot have been for too long. I am not very wet.”
They joined hands and, still laughing, ran for the shelter of the manor.
***
Caroline Bingley was not a woman given to gazing at views from windows, for she was in no way a romantic, but in Netherfield’s small breakfast parlour, the atmosphere darkened so precipitously that she stood up from her food and looked outside. At the far end of the broad lawn, where the stone path passed through boundary shrubs, a movement of colour drew her attention. It was the rust bonnet and spencer of Miss Eliza Bennet, standing in serious conversation with Darcy. The rising wind was whipping her skirts against their legs but neither seemed to notice.
“Louisa,” she whispered, “attend this.”
Her sister joined her, and together they watched the couple. “I believe our Mr. Darcy and his Miss Eliza are having a disagreement,” snickered Louisa.
It looked as if Darcy and Elizabeth were executing a symmetrical formal dance: Darcy stepped to Elizabeth and spoke. She looked away. He stepped away and Elizabeth pursued, he looked away. Back and forth they went until, suddenly, they were smiling, he embraced her, and the couple turned and ran hand-in-hand for the house.
“I swear, Louisa, between the two of them, they have not the sense God gave a goose,” Caroline snorted, and turned back to the table.
“Such a country saying, Caroline,” her sister tut-tutted.
“Who has no sense?” asked their brother, who entered the room rubbing his chilled hands. He made for the coffee urn, followed by Louisa’s husband, Marcus Hurst. The men had left the house early, though not so early as Darcy, hoping to provide some pheasant for dinner. The sudden cold rain chased them back, guns unfired.
“Mr. Darcy and Miss Eliza, Charles. Unless Louisa and I are much mistaken, they have just had a spat and reconciled, and will be bursting upon us any minute.” Caroline turned from the window. “Heaven spare me from nursing another sodden Bennet sister.” Bingley glared at her. She did not notice.
***
When Darcy and Elizabeth reached the overhang of the house outside the kitchen entrance, he caught her in another embrace. They were both laughing and panting for breath. Darcy removed Elizabeth’s bonnet and shook it with his hand behind her back, whilst keeping her within the circle of his arms.
“I shall call for Bingley’s coach and send you home.”
Elizabeth returned his smile, staying close. Then she stopped smiling but continued looking into his eyes. He saw her lips part and met them with his. It was, he thought, for a third or fourth kiss, quite satisfyingly executed. Their lips were soft together until he pulled away.
She was flushed from running, which he found enchanting. “I love you, you know. You will not forget between now and when Bingley and I arrive for tea?”
“No, Fitzwilliam, I shall not forget, nor have I forgotten for a single moment since”—she hesitated—“Hunsford.”
Darcy smiled and opened the door into the kitchen, producing a great to-do amongst the servants as they scattered, bowed, curtsied, assisted with the removal of outer garments, and generally made way for the hurried progress of the couple from above-stairs.
Darcy and Elizabeth did indeed burst into the breakfast room and fell upon the coffee urn as if it dispensed manna from heaven. “Bingley, I found this bedraggled creature in a hedgerow and have ordered your carriage to take it home.”
Caroline could not resist being snide. “Mr. Darcy, are you quite certain she will not take ill? In my experience, Bennet women become chilled with uncommon ease.”
“Caroline!” Bingley was as vexed as Elizabeth had ever seen him. “You malign both Miss Elizabeth and my bride. I must insist you stop.”
Caroline’s observations were ignored by Darcy and Elizabeth. As Elizabeth warmed her hands on her cup, she thought to ask, “Mr. Darcy, have you a glove of mine in your coat pocket?”
“Of course, let us fetch it.” They exited the room with as much commotion as they had entered it. In the entrance hall, Darcy called up the stairs, “Murray?”
After a moment, his man appeared. “Mr. Darcy, sir? Do you require a lady’s glove?” He held Elizabeth’s twisted glove for them to see.
“Ah!” Darcy bounded up the stairs. “You found it. Good man.” He was back at Elizabeth’s side in no time. “Shall we re-join the others?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Make my apologies to the Bingleys. I am too tired to spar with Caroline. I shall await the carriage here, and thank you for arranging it.”
“I shall wait with you.” Darcy took the hand not holding coffee. “Once Bingley and I arrive at Longbourn, I do not imagine we shall be alone again for the rest of the day.”
“Look at it rain.” Elizabeth tipped her head towards the windows next to the front doors. “There will be no more walking today.”
She seemed distant again. “Elizabeth.” Holding her gaze, Darcy kissed the back of her hand, then turned
it over and kissed the palm. She caught the corner of her lower lip with her teeth. He stepped to her, lowering his lips as she released hers. Again Darcy was the one to end their kiss, but he rested his forehead on hers, whispering, “Promise me you will try to nap until we arrive?”
“Yes, I shall. It seems, sir, whether awake or asleep, I deny you nothing.” Her voice trembled
Darcy became dizzy at this confession. The carriage rolled by the windows. Elizabeth placed her coffee cup on the hall table, put on her bonnet, and picked up her gloves. The sky had opened, and Darcy moved with her to the door, now held open by a footman. The rain was nearly deafening.
“Were you afraid?” he murmured.
She met his eyes with a troubled brow. “No, I was not— not until I awoke and could judge what was being done…what was happening.
“Stay here. Stay dry.” She turned and darted for the carriage, where the footman handed her in, and she found a maid waiting to ride with her.
Darcy stared after her, too stupefied to move.
***
As the carriage bore her away, she reflected, I do want to tell him about the dream. Someday…someday when I know a great deal more than I do now…
Chapter 5
Some Letters
“Neighbours, you are tedious.”
William Shakespeare
Much Ado about Nothing
What just happened? Darcy slowly shook his head as he watched the Bingley coach leave with Elizabeth aboard. He thought about her parting words and her remembering that he loved her since hearing his proposal at Hunsford. Those few months from Hunsford to Pemberley—did she start to love me, even then? Nothing less than half a bottle of fine port, added to an extended period of quiet and solitude, would allow him to sort the meaning of everything Elizabeth said.
But there was to be no such opportunity in the immediate future. An urgent note must be written to Elizabeth’s father, and there was an equally urgent need to confer with Bingley in private. Darcy was about to stick his head into the breakfast room when he heard raised voices, and he paused at the partly opened door.
Longbourn to London Page 4