Darcy helped Elizabeth dismount, and as his hands secured her waist, he lowered her to the ground. Her wide, expressive eyes looked up at him, and she granted him a sweet smile.
He tried to ignore the effect that smile had upon him. Certainly he was capable of restraining himself long enough to spend time in her company without the need to monitor his behaviour.
As if in defiance of that very thought, rather than releasing her, his arms automatically encircled her waist, drawing her body closer to his.
The receding sunlight filtered through the swaying leaves of the surrounding trees and seemed to dance across her face. Her laughing eyes quickly turned serious as he searched their depths. He resisted every urge to forcefully capture her full, generous mouth. Instead, he slowly lowered his head, giving her ample time to deny him, if that was her wish. But he felt no resistance as he moved his mouth towards hers and gently placed a soft kiss upon her lips.
Elizabeth responded to the sheer tenderness of his actions. It was as if every bone in her body had turned to liquid and she seemed to melt into his arms.
As for the kiss itself, it was achingly delicate . . . lingering . . . perfect. Even for a man who rejected the idea of love, Darcy would have to admit, it was the most romantic kiss he could ever recall.
He suddenly pulled back, unnerved and angered by his emotional reaction, for were these not the very feelings he had been trying to avoid? Defying his yearning to caress every soft curve of her body, he now held her at arm’s length and witnessed her look of confusion. But there, reflected in the pools of her eyes, he saw his own dark desire. “It seems all of my struggles to resist you have been in vain, Miss Bennet.”
Any response she might have produced was silenced as Darcy pulled her back into his embrace and brought his lips more imposingly down upon hers. The anger he had just experienced rapidly dissipated and was replaced by something far more agreeable. As perfect in sweetness as their first kiss had been, this one could easily rival it for its fervor. This kiss was anything but gentle; it was forceful, demanding and all-consuming. It was a kiss that conveyed his passion for her in its most primitive form.
His boldness was immediately rewarded as she eagerly returned his kiss, and he lost himself in its fervency.
He struggled with his conscience, but then forced himself not to think, only to feel. Just this once he would allow his passion to surface and give in to this desire for her. For one thing was abundantly apparent: he wanted her. He wanted her as he had never wanted any other woman.
His lips deserted hers, but only to carry on their amorous attack upon the length of her neck. She softly moaned, and the sound she emitted encouraged him to further explore her tempting curves. He caressed the length of her torso, gliding his hand along the firm arc of her hip then moving it upwards until his hand enveloped her full, supple breast.
Her soft gasp should have served as a warning to stop, but it had exactly the reverse effect upon him. He urgently brought his mouth down again upon hers in another devouring kiss, his tongue teasing hers and heightening the intimacy between them. In all his life he had never felt so out of control, as his mouth and hands desperately sought to consume all she was willing to offer.
He felt her hands rest tentatively upon his chest. Her touch was apprehensive, as if she were afraid of the effect it would have on them both. But slowly her inhibitions dissolved. When she, at last, sweetly caressed his body, her inexperienced fondling was more provocative than that of a practiced courtesan. Her beguiling innocence would be his undoing.
The stimulating result of her innocent, exploring touches forced Darcy to break from their kiss. “Sweet Lizzy,” he breathed.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and met his gaze. Her cheeks flushed, immediately displaying her embarrassment as their bright shade of red pronounced judgment over her scandalous behaviour.
Her voice was shaky as she sought to turn away from his unwavering stare. “Mr. Darcy, I . . . I am mortified at my conduct . . . what must you think of me?”
Darcy would not allow her to evade him as he gently turned her face back to his and steadily held her gaze. “Don’t, Elizabeth. Don’t turn away from me,” he breathed. His look grew in intensity, but then his eyes softened, and he suddenly bestowed an uncharacteristic roguish smile upon her. “Surely that was not meant as an apology, for you have made known your great dislike of regrets.”
Her brow crinkled as she glanced up at him with uncertainty. Was he making fun of her, or was it possible he was attempting a tease of his own? Her look bespoke her astonishment.
“As for what I must think of you, Miss Bennet, I think . . . you have thoroughly bewitched me.”
They seemed each to be studying the countenance of the other for several moments, and then Darcy took her hand and led her to one of the benches.
They sat, each lost in their own thoughts, the impact of what had just occurred still not fully apparent in their minds. And yet they both were wholly aware of a marked change in their association.
Despite the slight chill that the setting of the late afternoon’s sun had produced, they lingered in each other’s arms. They sat there silently, each not daring to voice fragile feelings; Elizabeth doubtful that hers would be reciprocated and Darcy afraid to acknowledge his at all, not even to himself.
As a cool breeze drifted over them, he drew her closer. “Are you cold?” he asked, as his hand briskly rubbed the length of her arm to generate some warmth.
“No, with your arms around me, I am quite perfect,” she said. He could not help but silently agree as he lifted her chin to bring her lips to his, savouring the sweetness of her delectable mouth once more.
Early evening forced the afternoon sun to descend behind the horizon in a blaze of orange. Darcy looked around him at the approaching dusk. This was his favourite time of day, watching the sunlight softly surrender to the night.
Reluctantly he released his arms from around her. “We had best return to the house. I am sure we have been long missed by now.”
********
Unsurprisingly the next afternoon found them both again at the stables where Darcy informed Elizabeth of his plans for them for the afternoon. They were to ride far beyond where they had previously ventured to a ridge that was so high that it was rumored that if your eyesight was keen and the weather conditions just right, you could actually see the White Cliffs of Dover.
As they rode out, they passed the copse that obscured their little park, and they unconsciously gave each other a sideways glance. Elizabeth could not help but blush, knowing they would again most likely end their afternoon’s ride in the privacy the little park provided.
The wind carried the faint sound of a voice calling out his name, and Darcy turned. A lone rider galloped towards them, and he smiled at the recognition of his cousin; Colonel Fitzwilliam had finally arrived at Rosings.
“Well, it’s about time!” chided Darcy as his cousin approached. “I have been left to fend off our aunt on my own for quite long enough.”
The colonel smiled knowingly and guided his horse alongside the two others.
“Richard, allow me to introduce you to Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet, my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I have heard your cousin speak of you often, Colonel. I have been anticipating the honour of meeting you.”
The colonel studied her for a long moment. “If memory serves me, I believe I was in your presence once before, at my uncle’s memorial service. Were you not the young lady who assisted my cousin Georgiana?”
“Why yes, Colonel, your recollection is exactly right. But forgive me; I’m afraid I do not recall seeing your face that day.”
“There is no need for apology. I daresay I would be the first to admit your face is far more memorable than mine,” stated the colonel with a good-natured laugh. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet.”
They exchanged smiles, and Elizabeth was charmed by his easy-going manner.
“
Speaking of Georgiana, Darcy, I hope to visit her soon. I have not seen her in almost six months. I can hardly believe she will soon be eighteen. She seems to have grown up before my very eyes. I trust she is well?” asked the colonel.
“Yes, she is quite well and looks forward to your next trip to Pemberley.”
“As do I,” the colonel earnestly replied.
“So, when did you arrive?” inquired Darcy.
“Just a short while ago. But I barely had time to stretch my legs before our aunt insisted that I find you and return you to the house. She seems to be in high dudgeon, something about your promise to take Anne out for a ride in her phaeton this afternoon.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. Ah yes, he wearily thought, how could he have forgotten? On the previous evening his aunt had been relentless, insisting that he spend some time with Anne. He had known she would never have left him in peace until he had agreed.
Darcy released a sigh of resignation. “I’m afraid we must forego our ride for today, Miss Bennet.”
Her disappointment was equal to his own, as she looked up at him and gave him a regretful smile.
“I would be more than glad to continue on as your guide, Miss Bennet; my cousin can attest to my knowledge of this entire area,” stated Richard.
“I would not wish to impose upon you, Colonel”
“I assure you, it is no imposition.”
She gave a brief glance in Darcy’s direction.
“Well . . . perhaps a short ride, as Florio has yet to take his daily exercise. I would be honoured, sir, if Mr. Darcy does not mind losing your company so soon upon your arrival.”
Seeing no option but to graciously comply, Darcy turned his horse back towards Rosings. “As it seems Anne awaits my presence, I can find no reason to object. I shall see you both later as I understand our aunt has invited the entire parsonage to dine tonight.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth as she favoured him with a becoming smile. “I am looking forward to it.”
Their eyes lingered a moment before Darcy gave his reins a quick snap and took off towards the house.
Elizabeth and the colonel rode on at a moderate canter, passing several meadows and gardens. As they observed a particularly lovely apple orchard, they slowed their pace, allowing them to indulge in some congenial conversation.
“Are you also a guest of my Aunt Catherine’s?”
“I am here visiting my friend Mrs. Collins at the parsonage. Before her marriage, we were neighbours in Hertfordshire. We both had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Darcy at an Assembly during his visit to Netherfield.”
“Ah yes, I recall Darcy’s letter. He accompanied his friend, Mr. Bingley, I believe.”
“Yes, and I’m afraid he took terrible advantage of Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth with some amusement in her voice.
“How so?”
“As Mr. Bingley happened to seek my sister Jane’s company, he prevailed upon your poor cousin to act as chaperone on many occasions,” replied Elizabeth, now taking some delight in her playful banter regarding Mr. Darcy.
“Well, according to Darcy’s letter, it seems that was not the only manner in which he was prevailed upon during his stay there.”
“Oh? What other dreadful hardships was he forced to endure?” teased Elizabeth.
“Well, it seems a neighbour of Mr. Bingley’s had the temerity to request my cousin’s attendance upon one of his daughters.”
Elizabeth’s smile remained frozen in place for a moment, and then it slowly disappeared as her mind processed the colonel’s words.
“Are you saying that a gentleman in Hertfordshire asked Mr. Darcy to call on his daughter?”
“As astonishing as that may sound, I believe that is exactly what occurred. It seems the young lady was afflicted in some physical manner, and Darcy felt sorry for her, acquiescing to the gentleman’s request.”
“He . . . he befriended her out of pity?”
“Pity is such a severe word; let us just say it was out of sympathy for the young lady’s situation.”
“Yes I, too, find the word pity rather harsh,” said Elizabeth softly. “In fact, I would say it is one of my least favourite words,” she murmured as she valiantly fought off tears.
She paused a moment, taking in a deep shaky breath as she tried to rationalize her jumbled thoughts.
“But knowing Mr. Darcy, I am sure he would not have been so diligent if he had not found some enjoyment in the commission of his task,” she stated as her voice began to quiver.
“Perhaps, but if that were the case he would not have expressed his great relief in returning to London and extricating himself from the situation.”
Elizabeth’s face seemed to drain of its colour, and her breathing became short gasps for air. “Are you unwell, Miss Bennet?”
“I . . . I guess I was overly ambitious in my attempt to know more of the countryside. Perhaps I have learned enough for today. May we turn back?”
“Of course, we shall do so immediately.”
They rode back in silence. As they approached the parsonage, Elizabeth made an excuse to the colonel, stating her desire to stay and speak with her friend, and insisted that he continue on to Rosing’s stables without her.
He was reluctant to leave her, but she finally managed to convince him. Once he saw her walk, he would be apprised of the fact that she was the young lady whom Mr. Darcy had referred to in his letter, and she could not bear to endure yet another gentleman’s pity.
As soon as the colonel left her company, her tears began to fall. Though she wanted to ask more of him, she knew there was really little point, for the colonel had already revealed the most pertinent information. Mr. Darcy’s attentions had been bestowed upon her for one reason only: her father had asked him to call on her. He had simply felt sorry for her.
With all the young ladies of the ton at his beck and call, how could she have let herself believe that Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Master of Pemberley, would want her?
He had only pitied me. He never really wanted me.
All of her past insecurities instantly returned to her in that one sobering moment of realization, and the ache in her heart was unbearable. Their entire relationship had been a lie, a result of her father’s request. She tried to think back to the first time he had called upon Longbourn and realized it was right after her father had retrieved Jane from Netherfield. Was that when he had engaged Mr. Darcy’s co-operation? She must be even more wretched than she thought, if her father’s intervention was required in order for a gentleman to pay her some interest. How would she ever be able to face Mr. Darcy again?
Now she was truly left with nothing, not even her pride.
At the sound of Charlotte’s voice, Elizabeth startled and looked down, surprised to see her friend standing there.
“You have been sitting up there for almost twenty minutes. Are you planning on ever coming down? I know how much you love this horse of yours, but is it your intent to eat your dinner while perched atop him? I doubt Lady Catherine would approve,” said her friend with some amusement.
When Elizabeth’s eyes met hers, Charlotte’s amusing banter quickly died, as she saw the tears that welled there.
“Oh, Lizzy, what is wrong? Let me help you down.”
Charlotte called to her husband. “Take Lizzy’s horse back to the stables, William. She is feeling unwell!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mr. Collins bustled about the room, impatiently waiting for his wife to make ready for their departure to Rosings Park, where his patroness was awaiting their company for dinner.
“My dear, the time!” he groused.
“Are you sure, Lizzy?” asked Charlotte. “Because I would willingly stay at home with you and risk Lady Catherine’s displeasure.”
“It is only a headache, Charlotte. I shall be fine.”
Charlotte gave one last concerned look to her friend, then gathered up her bonnet and pelisse as Mr. Collins hurried her and Maria out to Lady Catherine’s carriage.
Elizabeth was grateful for the sudden and complete solitude that followed the closing of the door. She had not been able to think since her return to the parsonage with Charlotte hovering over her like a mother hen.
Her complaint of a headache was not feigned, but if not for the fact that Mr. Darcy would also be in attendance at dinner tonight, she might have braved the situation. After all that had taken place between them, how could she now face him knowing it had all been a lie?
His interest in her, his friendship, his kisses—all of it lies; a role her father had asked him to play for her benefit. A role he played only out of pity for her. And he had played his role so well, too well.
Now it all made sense. Now she understood why the rich, handsome and very eligible Mr. Darcy had paid her such attention. How could she have been such a fool?
She had resigned herself years ago to the fact that no man could ever love her as she was. But genuine caring and affection, those emotions Mr. Darcy had made her believe were not beyond her attainment. At times, she was almost certain that she had even seen desire in his eyes when he looked upon her. And though she would be reluctant to admit it, perhaps somewhere buried deep in her foolish heart had been the hope that those feelings might blossom into something more.
Over the course of their acquaintance, he had convinced her that it did not matter how the rest of the world might view her, but only how she viewed herself when in his company. And while there, in his blissful presence, he had made her feel as desirable as any perfect young lady might. But she had not really tempted him at all. It had merely been an act.
To his credit, from the onset of their acquaintance, he had been honest with her as to his opinions regarding love. It was she who had chosen not to heed his warnings.
If it was not for the sadness that currently consumed her heart, she might have found humour at the irony of their situations; he unwilling to offer love and she convinced of her unworthiness to receive it.
Just what could her father have been thinking? How could he have asked Mr. Darcy to call on her? How could he have made her appear so pitiful in the eyes of the one man she had wanted so desperately to look upon her favourably? And why did Mr. Darcy agree to go along with it? Did he find her such a pathetic case? Or did he think it might serve as an amusement?
The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love Page 19