Mr. Darcy's Forbidden Love-kindle

by Webb, Brenda

  Jane lowered her voice in warning. “Lizzy!”

  In unison the sisters collapsed on the bed giggling.

  ~~~*~~~

  Later that evening when Jane was in another room helping Kitty with her embroidery, Elizabeth reached under her mattress to retrieve the book that Mr. Grant had delivered to the house whilst she was bedridden. Though she had coveted it for months before its arrival at the bookshop, she had secreted it away because it reminded her of him—of their meeting in the bookshop and the fact that he quit Meryton without a word of goodbye. But three weeks had passed, and Elizabeth was determined to let go of the hurt that accompanied his memory. So she crawled onto the bed, piled a few pillows behind her head and reached for the tome.

  As she lifted the book, however, a folded paper fell into her lap. Picking it up, she immediately realised that it was a letter written in a woman’s script. The recipient of the letter made her startle—Fitzwilliam Darcy. She blinked continuously until it dawned on her what must have happened. Mr. Darcy must have purchased the book intending to give it to her and then had Mr. Grant deliver it after he was called away. Her heart soared. Curiosity got the better of her as she eagerly opened the missive and began to read.

  Dearest Fitzwilliam,

  Our dear Georgiana is doing so much better in Bath. The change of atmosphere has been like a tonic, and her disposition improves every day. But as it has been several weeks, she longs to see you again. No one can take your place in her heart, and that is the way it should be.

  We shall be back in London before the end of the month, and naturally she expects you to be waiting with a present from your trip to Netherfield. How you spoil her! We shall travel to Ramsgate next, but there should be ample time for you to be together in the weeks before we leave.

  God bless you until we meet again,

  Audrey Ashcroft

  The elation Elizabeth had felt moments before turned to trepidation —her smile to a frown. Who was Audrey Ashcroft? And more importantly, who was this Georgiana who missed Mr. Darcy so dearly?

  ~~~*~~~

  Chapter 7

  London

  Grantham Townhouse

  Gisela Darcy carefully examined her reflection in the large, gilded mirror that hung over her intricately carved dressing table just as she did every morning. With practiced acuity, she leaned closer to inspect her countenance for signs of aging, slowly gliding her fingers over every inch of her face and then down her long, slender neck. She was so proud of her neck that she had had all her necklaces refashioned into chokers to take advantage of what she perceived to be one of her best assets. Relieved to find no discolouration or wrinkles marring her flawless ivory skin, she was equally pleased that she had not found one grey hair among the dark blond curls now woven into an elaborate design, courtesy of her new maid.

  Satisfied, Gisela stood and removed her robe and gown to peruse her body, inspecting it with equal diligence. She sought reassurance that her breasts were still pert, her waist still small and her hips trim. Turning this way and that, she smiled at the image in the mirror, pleased that she was still as shapely as a debutante. Many of her friends were overweight now, having given birth to several children and gaining considerable weight with each confinement. A good many others had just let themselves go once they had secured a husband.

  At least being barren has its advantages. I shall never be fat like them! And, I shall never neglect myself, as is their wont. If those fat cows only knew the offers that their husbands have made me!

  Her green eyes danced with delight, her lips curving into a smile as she recalled the men who had lusted after her. Nonetheless, the smile faded as the one man who had never wanted her came to mind. Instantly, she sought to reaffirm her allure.

  Do not let Fitzwilliam’s rejection affect your attitude. Remember that you are still beautiful—even more so than any of last season’s debutantes! It is his loss if he chooses not to partake of your favours, and other men are eager to take his place in your bed.

  However, having worked herself into a fury at the thought of her husband’s rejection, Gisela slipped on her robe and hurried into her bedroom, heading straight to a large closet, which held a secure chest. Using a key that was hidden in a secret place, she unlocked the chest and began removing several velvet boxes stacked inside. Returning to her dressing table with them, she was determined to think of more cheerful things—such as the Satterfield ball that night. She would choose her jewels for that soirée now.

  As was her custom, she reached for the most spectacular of all her jewels and clasped it about her neck, though she did not intend to wear it that evening since her gown was dark green and thus called for her emeralds. Even so, the multiple strands of diamonds sparkled against her skin, and she smiled conspiratorially at the woman reflected in the mirror. The necklace, a choker five strands deep, had been the reason she had accepted Lord Stanley Grantham’s proposal of marriage… well, that and a half-dozen equally impressive pieces he had shown her in a bid to win her hand.

  At that time, she had been young and naive enough to believe her mother’s assertion that the portly Earl of Chesterfield, who had never married and had no heirs, would most likely be dead of his heart ailments within the year. Thus, Gisela had accepted him and, as Fate would have it, he had lived for another decade. But as she fingered the finest of his many gifts, she allowed that she had made the right choice, as he was far too wealthy to refuse. After all, these treasures had been attained with little effort on her part. Grantham had made it clear from the beginning that he was too weak for marital relations and only wished to have a beautiful woman on his arm. He had even gone so far as to hint that he would turn a blind eye to any affairs she might have, as long as she was discreet.

  As she exchanged the most expensive necklace for another consisting of emeralds and diamonds, she gloated at her good fortune. She had had many lovers during the ten years she was married and had welcomed widowhood as a chance to do entirely as she pleased with no need to hide her liaisons. It had been amusing at first. Grantham had left her quite wealthy and independent—she clearly need never marry again. Nevertheless, after bedding innumerable young bucks of the ton that were off to the next widow soon after leaving her bed, she had tired of the novelty of being merely a convenience.

  Yet, due to her noticeable contempt for society during her season of indiscretion, the upper echelons had begun to shun her, and she began receiving less and less invitations. Thus, Gisela had come to a crucial decision. Vowing that there would be no more ugly, old men for her, she set out to find a respectable, wealthy and handsome second husband—one who could not only ensure her a place in society, but one she would welcome in her bed. The notion had been simpler than the execution of it, however.

  On the whole, the extremely wealthy men she encountered after her momentous change of course were just what she feared—old, ugly or married— in most cases, all three.

  She had almost despaired of finding anyone who fit her criteria when she spied Fitzwilliam Darcy at a ball in London two years before. Having been only a boy when she had married Grantham, she had paid him no mind, but now he was every inch a desirable man. And as he walked into Matlock House that spring night, the tall, dark and handsome heir of Pemberley seemed the perfect answer to her predicament. Even now, her heart beat faster at the memory of how he looked that night.

  Dressed in black coat and breeches, black boots, white linen shirt and a gold waistcoat, his dark curly hair, tanned skin and light blue eyes had mesmerised her when they were introduced, at her insistence, by her current good friend, Lord Norton. But in spite of her arts and allurements, that evening she was not able to coax a single smile from him or even an invitation to dance, though she hinted that she was without a partner. It was as though he was impervious to her manoeuvrings and, in fact, he seemed to grow more unreceptive the harder she struggled to gain his attention.

  This she could not tolerate! Men had always been at her beck and call. A lit
tle flirting and they grovelled at her feet—but not Fitzwilliam Darcy. Infuriated, she had taken the wrong stratagem by following him onto the terrace and openly propositioning him. Incensed, he had told her in no uncertain terms that he was not interested in anything she had to offer.

  Instantly irate at the memory of his insult, Gisela hastily unclasped the emeralds and unceremoniously dropped them back in their case. Then picking up all the boxes, she headed back to the chest, no longer intrigued or entertained with her bounty.

  Who is he that he should turn up his nose at me? It is not as though he is a paragon of virtue!

  She missed a step and stopped, considering her last thought.

  What am I saying? He IS the epitome of virtue! That is the problem! That strait-laced Puritan could never appreciate a passionate woman like me! I do not know why I bother to stay married to him!

  Swiftly she hurried on to her task of replacing the jewels. Then returning to her dressing room, she considered the consequences of no longer being Mrs. Darcy—no more invitations to the Matlock’s soirées and rubbing elbows with the Countess’ friends in the ton, no more looks of envy from the women just learning that Fitzwilliam was her husband. She had no doubt that most of them despised her and would shun her without the Fitzwilliam’s cachet. Picking up a vase of flowers atop a stand, she hurled it across the room where it crashed into the hearth.

  No! I relish being Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I love the doors that open to me because of his name. I shall never give that up! After the way he has humiliated me, I shall see to it that he never has another woman or an heir! I shall forever be a reminder of what his arrogance and disdain has cost him.

  With that, Gisela pulled the cord to summon her maid, and Jemima briskly appeared in the doorway, looking nervously at the broken vase of flowers. As she moved towards the mess, Gisela’s outburst stopped her.

  “Help me dress! I have someone important to call on this morning.” The maid bobbed her head and started to the closet. “Never mind! I shall select my gown. You shall assist me in dressing.”

  The young maid, her third in as many months, stopped in her tracks, too afraid to speak. Gisela was caught up in her own thoughts and did not notice the maid’s discomfiture. With a smug smile, she walked to the large closet, and slowly began examining the long line of expensive gowns hanging inside. Something mundane would never do for a call on Darcy House.

  I shall try once more to talk to my arrogant husband. After all, though Fitzwilliam may hate me, I enjoy reminding him why he can never divorce me.

  Finally, she pulled a burgundy gown, cut very low with sequins across the entire bodice, from the assortment. It might have been fashioned for a night at the opera, but she wanted to make an impression and this gown would definitely do that. After all, she mused, Darcy very seldom saw her when she was dressed opulently. She reached for one of her more modest wraps, intending to wear it over the gown and dazzle him when she removed it.

  Luckily, as Gisela laid the gown on the bed, she did not see the stunned look on Jemima’s face. Her former employer, a great lady who had expired recently, would never have worn such a gown in broad daylight. She stifled a smile.

  Lady Gisela Darcy may have a good deal of wealth, but she obviously has no taste!

  ~~~*~~~

  Darcy House

  William’s Study

  Lord Landingham stood at the tall windows, taking in the view of the gardens as he enjoyed an expensive cigar. Every so often, he shook his head in agreement with the proposed settlement that William was reading. Finally he turned and marched back towards the desk.

  “I do not care how you want to handle it, Fitzwilliam. One way is as good as another, and I trust your men to replace the fence along the correct property lines. Besides,” Lord Marshall Landingham smiled mischievously, “if your men do the work, then I shall not have to pay my men to do it.”

  William laughed aloud at his godfather’s remark, then relaxed back in his chair to study the tall, distinguished, grey-haired man that had been like a second father to him. “I suppose I was too quick to offer to manage the problem. The next time I shall wait for you to propose a settlement!”

  “Now you sound like your father!” Landingham’s smile waned as he offered sadly, “I miss George… and Anne.”

  William’s countenance darkened. “Yes. I miss them more each day. Just take this matter, for instance. If he had been here, Father would have known what to do instinctively without dragging you into Town to discuss it.”

  “Nonsense! I had business in London, and as you could not leave, it worked out well for me to come to you! Besides, you handled everything admirably, my boy!” Landingham declared with his usual enthusiasm for whatever William did. “George could not have done a better job of settling the tenant’s dispute, and I have thirty years as your nearest neighbour to support my claim.”

  William tossed the pen he had been fiddling with onto the desk. “Without your valuable counsel the first year after Father died, I think I would have gone mad!”

  “I think not! But rest assured that I will always be available if you need me. I believe, however, that you have learned your lessons so well that my services may never again be required—at least, in regard to estate management.” At the pleased look on William’s face, Landingham changed the subject. “I know you do not like to speak of it, but I cannot help but wonder...”

  William coloured, knowing the direction the conversation would take, as Landingham had always played the role of mentor and counsellor. He had taken in his altered appearance when he first entered the study, and Landingham could not have failed to note how much weight William had lost or the new worry lines around his eyes. Other than his best friends, Richard and Charles, the earl was the only person that knew of Gisela’s threat to reveal that Georgiana was not a Darcy. And like his true friends, Landingham could always tell when he had slipped into a quiet desperation. “Wonder?”

  “Have you reconsidered what we talked of … about telling Georgiana?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I feel I cannot take the chance of telling her about her father until I know his identity. I have paid too high a price to keep her from learning of that scoundrel’s role, and I want to wait until she is older and wiser.”

  Landingham’s face fell at William’s description of Georgiana’s father. “Fitzwilliam, I was acquainted with your mother from the time she was just a child. I knew her well enough to know that she would not have taken up with a scoundrel. She was a true lady, and if she sought comfort in another man’s arms, then it had to have been someone she cared about and trusted.”

  William stood and walked around to the front of his desk, where he stopped and leaned back on the edge. Cupping his chin with one hand, he considered Landingham’s words.

  “You are correct. My mother would not have turned to anyone she did not respect, but I will NEVER respect the man who took advantage of her distress.”

  Landingham looked away. Since William had confided in him about the letter Gisela held over his head, he had wanted to be honest with his godson about his love affair with Anne Darcy. But he was only too aware that William had much responsibility resting on his shoulders and little family he could trust for advice. As it was, William sought his counsel often, and if he must keep the fact that he was Georgiana’s father a secret a while longer, he would, if only for the young man’s sake. As all of these thoughts were running through his mind, William began to elaborate.

  “I suppose I speak of him in that manner because it is easier to blame him than my mother. Yet you know as well as I that there is no certainty that I shall ever learn his identity. And if I tell Georgiana what I suspect—that she is not a Darcy—she will be heartbroken! And how could she ever recover without knowing her true father’s identity?”

  Landingham stood and put an arm around William’s shoulder. When he was in the young man’s company, it was never far from his mind that, but for a qu
irk of fate, he could have been William’s father. As it was, Anne Fitzwilliam was the woman he had fallen in love with as a boy, and after she declined his offer and accepted George Darcy, he had never married.

  “I support whatever you decide, but I cannot fathom how any young man can stay with a woman he despises—a woman who has trapped him into marriage. It must be very hard not to notice a pretty face or to ignore a young woman to which you might feel an attraction.”

  The look of pain that crossed William’s face was not lost on his counsellor. “Fitzwilliam, is there something I should know?”

  William’s eyes dropped to his shoes. “There is nothing to tell. I met a young woman I believe I could have loved, but she is lost to me.”

  “I am sorry. Anne spoke to me often before she died of her belief that you had married Gisela for the wrong reasons, though she had no way of knowing the truth. She would not have wanted you to sacrifice yourself. You realise that.”

  “I can only pray that, because she never learned about Gisela’s affair with Father, she was at least not tormented with that humiliation before she died. If so, I accomplished what I set out to do.”

  “I understand that she never knew that Gisela was supposedly carrying a child when you married.”

  “No, she did not. I forbade Gisela from telling her, as mother was so sick.”

  Landingham squeezed William’s shoulder. “While I did not agree with the method you chose, your love for your mother is admirable. You are truly the man she hoped you would be.”

  “It is kind of you to say.”

  “No. It is not kind, it is the truth. And there are no words to describe the witch that has ensnared you—first with her lie about the child and then with the letter.” William nodded but did not speak, so Landingham offered, “Shall we speak of more pleasant things? When is Lady Audrey expected back from Bath with Georgiana?”