Longbourn to London

by Beutler Linda

  Musing on the possibility of establishing a correspondence between his elusive beloved and his sister, Darcy strode smartly around a hedge, but he was stopped by what had to be an illusion borne of his speculations. He blinked, wondering whether something in the pond water might produce visions.

  However, the vision abruptly halted her rambling approach and stood staring at him. She was above Darcy on the sloping lawn and a step forward caused her to stumble towards him.

  “Miss Bennet!” Darcy exclaimed as Elizabeth landed rather forcefully in his arms. He unconsciously chuckled with the abandon of a boy with a new puppy.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth squirmed as he held her.

  Remembering himself, he set her gently on her feet. With genuine concern, he asked, “Are you well? You are not hurt?”

  She looked down, clearly mortified. “No, sir, I thank you.”

  “I…you…” He tried valiantly to gather his thoughts, but he had just held the woman of his dreams in his arms, and the urge to savour the moment nearly overcame the necessity of making a properly hospitable remark. “Welcome to Pemberley, Miss Elizabeth. What a delightful surprise! What brings you here?”

  Her confusion was explicit in the blush advancing on her cheeks and the hand trying absently to force a dislodged ringlet back under her bonnet. “Oh!” Her startled eyes met what he hoped was a friendly aspect. “Mr. Darcy, had we known we would be intruding, we would never have come. Please…I apologise.”

  “Nonsense. Parts of the estate are open for anyone to visit. And as a friend,” he looked particularly into her fine dark eyes, “you are all the more welcome.”

  Elizabeth seemed overly heated, and touched her forehead. Her spencer and gloves were too heavy for so warm a day.

  Without a thought, Darcy took her hand, leading her the way he had come. “Do you swim Miss Bennet?” Darcy smiled at her over his shoulder.

  “I can tread water.”

  “That is a good start. Come with me.” He started running, and she could do nothing but follow.

  As they approached the little lake, Darcy slowed. “This is where I swim.”

  “I had no notion Derbyshire could be so warm.”

  “It is rather hotter than is typical. I cannot control the weather!”

  “I am all amazement. You try to control everything else…”

  “Such irreverent remarks will not go unpunished, Miss Bennet.” He turned and looked at her with an ardent desire flickering to life. He pulled her close, removing and dropping her bonnet. He helped her unbutton and remove her spencer, turned her to unlace her gown, and pulled it off her shoulders so it slipped to the ground.

  “Mr. Darcy…” She started to move away but appeared faint.

  “This heat will make you swoon. You must be cooled.” He tried to sound kind yet authoritative.

  He unbound her next layer, a petticoat. She wore no corset, and she was left in a plain thin chemise. “That should do. Come and sit on this rock. Take off your stockings and walking boots, and I shall escort you into the water.”

  “Wading will suffice, Mr. Darcy, if you will leave me to it.”

  “The bottom is slick, and I would not have you drown. Now that you are here, I do not mean to lose you so quickly.”

  “I am not afraid of the water, sir.”

  “Please, I shall lead you.”

  His eyes were voracious as he took in her figure revealed in the startling daylight. His intensity burned as he whispered, “Are you truly so luscious? This will not do. My intent was to behave in a gentlemanlike manner, but you thwart me at every encounter, loveliest Elizabeth.”

  She half smiled but said nothing.

  He slowly led her into the water. It was not unpleasantly cool, and the sensation of muddy pond bottom between her toes made her giggle.

  “Please, sir, not too deep?” Elizabeth requested when he led her in up to her waist.

  Darcy took her in his arms, the water wicking up their clothes. “I plan to take you as deeply as possible.” His eyebrow rose, but he soon realised she would not understand his double entendre.

  “Silly man.” She looked up at him. “I do not understand you. But I comprehend from your letter that I have never understood you. Even now, you should loathe me for my unkindness and prejudice.”

  “No, Elizabeth, that is not the way of it. I love you all the more for your honesty. Let me prove my love to you.”

  It felt heavenly to be with her in the water on such a hot day. He started squatting down, lowering them both until Elizabeth’s bosom was wet. Then he slowly stood again until she was returned to waist depth. He kissed her with tender passion, and she responded, slipping her tongue timidly into his mouth. Darcy pulled his hands from her waist to her breasts, enthralled with their roundness under the wet fabric. She sighed. He moved to shallower water and lifted her onto the grassy edge of the pond. He stepped back to gaze in approval.

  He untied the drawstring at the neck of her chemise, peeling it to her waist. Even in the sunshine of a hot day, his actions made her nipples pucker. “May I, Miss Bennet?” he whispered. His mouth was less than inches from her breast.

  Elizabeth breathed, “You must, please. I feel I might die if you do not.”

  “I shall only proceed if you promise we shall wed.”

  Her smile was radiant. “Perhaps it was not a mistake to visit Pemberley after all.”

  “I do not wish to act upon a possibly mistaken assumption again. I must have you speak plainly.” He took one breast gently in his hand, and with careful slowness, gathered it so the nipple was placed in the circle of his thumb and forefinger as his palm lifted the weight of it closer to his mouth. “I am waiting…”

  “I am yours, sir. We are already wed. Although I cannot say I predicted such teasing, being your wife holds delights of which I was kept entirely unaware. Happy anniversary, Fitzwilliam. Happy 21st of July.”

  Darcy drew her peak into his mouth as she murmured his name.

  Darcy had awoken writhing, with the corner of a down pillow well into his mouth and soggy. He spit it out and laughed at himself.

  ***

  As he revisited the Elizabeth of his dreams, and the progression of their mutual regard, Darcy began to understand just how deeply he had insulted the real woman sitting with him in the Darcy family coach. Of all the stupid things to do…mentioning Wickham at a moment such as this.

  This woman was not the wanton, almost slatternly, siren of his dreams. She was his unique and sometimes inscrutable Elizabeth. She was his lively, clever, beautiful wife, at long last, exactly the woman who could share his future with the necessary spirit of humour and affection in an enlightened, loving partnership. But in fearing the actions that could either make her his devoted lover or scar their intimacy forever, Darcy had reduced her to this, something much less than her dear confidant self. Surely, a man can maintain control by simply not unbuttoning his trousers.

  He was ashamed. To think, I have been so worried about frightening her that I have abandoned her! But how do I guide her from innocence to awareness? She expects me to know.

  Wake up, Darcy. She is your wife. Let her be your partner in this, too.

  Chapter 17

  Ice and Fire

  “Why, what’s the matter,

  That you have such a February face,

  So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?”

  William Shakespeare

  Much Ado about Nothing

  The day remained bright and clear. Every vista of the passing landscape was crystalline with persistent frost. Darcy glanced at his bride. Sitting by herself in one corner of the coach, staring beyond the far horizon, Elizabeth appeared smaller than usual and quite alone.

  After briefly rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, as he habitually did when he was searching for the perfect words to correct an awkward situation, he ventured, “The whole countryside is cold and glaring, is it not?”

  “Indeed, sir, by your definition, the outside
landscape greatly resembles the inside of this carriage.”

  His eyes snapped to her face. Elizabeth levelled her shot right at him, but just as their eyes met, hers darted away and looked out the window. Her mouth was a thin line, her profile otherwise impassive, and her eyes were blinking. She was fighting tears, and he had never seen her so angry. No, he had seen her that angry— at the Hunsford parsonage last April. Darcy, you are an imbecile.

  With a quick agile motion, he slid from his seat and turned to sit on her side of the carriage, pulling her gently closer. She was rigid, but did not resist. With a sweep of his hands, he spread the ignored lap robe over their legs and tucked it under his thigh and hers, without, he hoped, appearing to take liberties. She was passive. He took her gloved hand in his, and laid them on his leg under the blanket.

  Without a word, Elizabeth shook her hand free and held the coverlet to her neck with both hands. She was cold but could not discern whether the shivers she was trying so valiantly to hide were some symptom of temper or reflected true physical discomfort.

  Given their amiable conversation from the church to Netherfield, and then later to Longbourn, Elizabeth never would have expected this. He had kissed her as they rode in the open, but once enclosed in the Darcy barouche, he became missish. That Darcy would choose to insult her deeply was unfathomable. Now he was next to her, perhaps wishing to make amends, but she could not conscience it. This was the start of their married life, and it was no better than their first meeting at the Meryton assembly.

  “Elizabeth, you have taken a chill.” He reached an arm around her shoulders.

  She pursed her lips a moment before responding. She looked away from him to the carriage window, but spoke loudly enough to be heard. “It is my distinct impression that a cold wife is what is required. I would not wish to try your goodness, Mr. Darcy. We must not disrupt the careful regulation of your manners now that you are alone with your bride.”

  He inhaled as if to speak, and Elizabeth awaited his rejoinder with exaggerated interest. She sat with hands primly folded in her lap, with a countenance indicating he might be about to utter the most fascinating words she had ever heard. It was easier to be passionately angry with this man; any other passion was too unsettling…too mysterious. She rather hoped he would make some further blunder. Her father’s words, “Be kind,” echoed in her ears, but she did not know whether it was in her to be charitable. When Darcy proposed, he had said she was too generous to trifle with him. Who is trifling with whom? Is he so afraid of losing control? Surely, he would stop if I asked it of him.

  When Darcy did not speak, Elizabeth could not forbear filling the silence. “In case I have mistakenly given you reason to think otherwise, sir, it is not my intent to be taken in a carriage, as you so indelicately put it. I had hoped to avoid being taken at all. I thought when we arrived in London I would be asked to give myself…that you might do things that would coax me to give myself. You must see my predicament.”

  “Elizabeth…” Darcy whispered and tried to pull her closer.

  She squirmed away. “Now I find I am not inclined either to give or be taken.” No longer able to suppress the curiosity at what his looks might reveal of his thoughts, she turned. She wanted to appear haughty, but she had never practised that posture. She was therefore aggrieved when, instead of meeting Darcy’s dark, distant, and disapproving gaze with a coolness to match his, she saw he was distressed. She burst into angry tears, and he folded his arms around her.

  He rocked her with the rhythm of the carriage until she was no longer sobbing. “I am sorry to be so inept, Elizabeth. You see, I have never been married before. Do not think for a moment that I do not long for you.”

  She snorted softly, dismissive of his words. “And wounding me, reminding me of my darkest days, is how you choose to express this longing? I do not believe you.” She struggled in his arms, but this time he held firm.

  “It appears I should try arts and allurements other than those I have employed thus far.”

  For the past six weeks, any reference to Lady Catherine de Bourgh always made her smile when nothing else would. While still vexed, Elizabeth felt the contours of her face soften, but she did not allow herself anything further. I will not smile at him.

  The blanket had slipped, and Darcy took her hand, kissing the back of her glove. She raised an eyebrow. “I gave you no leave to kiss me.”

  “I am attempting to earn a smile.”

  “Silly man. I smile rather constantly, or I did until entering this carriage.”

  “Silly man? I wonder no one warned you, Mrs. Darcy, that you have married a complete fool.” He squeezed her hand. “Whatever do you see in him?”

  She looked down, and a smile just started to lift the corner of her mouth. Without meeting his earnest gaze, she replied conversationally, “He has quite an astonishing smile, if you must know. It renders his entire countenance irresistibly handsome. When he smiles, I can deny him nothing, but fortunately for me, he is not aware of this great advantage. I have known him a little upwards of fourteen months, and have seen him smile six times, mainly while at Pemberley—never in Hertfordshire— though several more came earlier today, and one or two were even directed at me. I firmly believe that, should he and I take particular care of our health and live to be married fifty years, I may reasonably expect to see perhaps twenty more such smiles, principally when I present him with children, or so I imagine.”

  She succeeded in making him smile and felt an attendant sense of victory. How was it that he so constantly provoked her competitive nature? Why was the destruction of his apparently hard-won sangfroid so devoutly to be wished? She glanced around the interior of the carriage, marvelling at his largeness within it. That he was a tall, well-made man had never intimidated her, but he seemed suddenly a giant confined in an insufficient cage. I ought to be grateful he is not a different sort of man. Her considerations made her sober. Yet, he concedes some power to me that I do not recognise. He protects me from something I would rather embrace than fear. With quiet conviction, she determined to succeed in making him do something more than hold her hand.

  “I am sorry, Elizabeth.” Darcy lifted their hands from under the robe, removed his gloves, and then, more slowly, her left glove. He leaned over her bare hand, meeting her eyes from under his brows, silently requesting permission. She nodded and he kissed the back of her hand reverentially. With fingers entwined, he placed their hands back upon his leg and covered them.

  Rather than disturb the warm intimacy of their joined hands, Elizabeth drew off her right glove with her teeth and tossed it aside while Darcy watched intently. She had often caught him looking at her mouth and knew her actions drew his concentration. She pulled the shared coverlet to her shoulders and, having turned slightly towards him, let her hand remain atop his frock coat. And waistcoat, and fine linen shirt, and I know not how many more layers. Perhaps he wears more layers than I do. Why do I not know this? Why did I not ask Aunt Gardiner what men wear? But she was happy with their present level of familiarity, happier still to be warmed by him and no longer competing for who could tolerate more cold; shivers were, she now knew, exceedingly hard to suppress. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Do I endanger your equanimity if we ride thus?” The innocence in her voice was feigned.

  Darcy covered the beguiling hand on his chest with his and sighed contentedly by way of answer. I might have denied myself this? He kissed the top of her head, once again appreciating the pearl-headed hairpins he had known would look becoming in her dark hair. His eyes travelled around the carriage absently until he noticed that a garment he expected to see was missing. “What has happened to your wedding bonnet?”

  “When I went upstairs at Longbourn, I placed it on my mother’s bed, upon her pillow.”

  “Elizabeth!” He was surprised and delighted. “Well done!” And about damn time!

  “Hateful thing… I have never worn a more uncomfortable or ill-suited object in the whole of my life. I
hope you know I never wanted it. My bonnet was to be made from the remaining fabric from my gown. Two white bonnets were sent for Jane to choose between. They arrived the same day as your hairpins.”

  “Your hairpins, Elizabeth,” he corrected her.

  “Mama was jealous of our lovely hairpins on Jane’s behalf. Jane was not jealous; she does not know what it is to be jealous. But Mama was worried I would outshine Jane if I dressed my hair as you wanted. Me, outshine Jane?”

  Of course, you would. You always will, and this morning you did. During their engagement, he learned he could not convince her of her superior beauty, at least not yet. His kissed her hair again. “And it was Jane’s cast-off, too? That tops it all. I do wish I had known.”

  Elizabeth had been wonderful. “Today you were far lovelier than your sister. Jane always looks the same—an ornament from the Parthenon— no matter the occasion.” He looked down at her with amusement and found her eyes were merry, yet she did not smile. “I have been told by men who know such things that no wedding ever runs smoothly. This will be the story we tell our granddaughters, Elizabeth. Why did you not tell me my gift had launched a battle of wills?”

  “You think ill enough of Mama already. Up until the last possible moment, I thought surely she would relent. How could she risk demeaning a gift from her loftiest son-in-law? But her purpose was to ensure that I knew, to the end, that I am her least favourite daughter and must never think anything special of myself simply because I accidentally married well. Dear Papa saved me.”

  “A tempest in a teapot.”

  “A hurricane in a hatbox!” Elizabeth laughed.

  “Ah! At last, you are smiling. Everything you said of my smile could as easily be applied to yours, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. I live for your smiles.”