by Lory Lilian
“You smell beautiful,” she replied, and they laughed, staring at each other adoringly. The torment and pain seemed to dissipate, and there was nothing in the room but them and their bond of love.
Though Darcy had insisted he should leave, he remained with Elizabeth, holding her in his arms and caressing her hair. Finally, closely cuddled against his chest, with her hands around his waist and his fingers caressing her hair, Elizabeth fell asleep. From time to time, his heart heavy with worry, he heard her sighing in her dreams; he placed a soft kiss on her cheek, and he heard her whispering, “You do smell beautiful.” He laughed softly, wondering how it was possible to love her as much as he did.
Suddenly a cold sense of panic—the panic of losing her or seeing her hurt in any way—overwhelmed him. His worry for her safety had vanished, indeed, and he felt fortunate and grateful that Elizabeth was unharmed. But now his rage took control, and he could barely restrain himself at the thought of Markham. While Elizabeth was sleeping in his arms, Darcy’s distress grew again as he was still unable to understand how everything occurred. What was Markham doing there, and how did he come to attempt to force himself upon Elizabeth?
Thank God she is well and healthy, was his primary thought. However, aloud, without considering his words, he whispered coldly, “I shall kill Markham!”
***
“Mr. Bennet, I have to say I am shocked to see that you allowed Darcy to leave with your daughter in such a disgraceful manner,” the earl said with no little disdain.
“I am afraid I do not understand your meaning, sir,” said Mr. Bennet, his voice suddenly regaining his usual sharp irony. “Are you, by any chance, teaching me about proper behaviour, Lord Markham?”
“I surely am,” the earl stated.
“Well, you are truly diverting; I wonder if all earls are as amusing as you are,” Mr. Bennet replied.
“How dare you, sir?” the earl burst out in anger. “I have not been so offended in my entire life!”
“Offended?” Bingley intervened, impromptu. “Lord Markham, your son insinuated himself upon my sister and pretended to have a serious interest in her; he convinced her to procure him an invitation to Netherfield, and when he came here, he harmed Lady Cassandra and my soon-to-be sister! He deceived us all and acted like the worst of savages—and you are offended? You are fortunate I would not want such a man in my family or I would force him to do his duty regarding my sister since her reputation surely has been affected by his behaviour!”
“I never claimed to have any intentions regarding your sister; it was all in her imagination!” The younger Markham seemed to lose control, his face coloured highly, and his eyes assumed a strange expression. “The only woman I truly want is Elizabeth! Mr. Bennet, you must—
Four pairs of eyes stared incredulously at Markham, and Bingley finally put aside his anger and simply shrugged to the others. “He is out of his mind! I will call the servants to show them out of the house.”
“No need to disturb yourself, young man! We shall leave this disgraceful house immediately!”
Hesitating for a moment to follow his father, the younger Markham stepped near the colonel and Cassandra and whispered in a low voice, “This will not end here!” and then hurried to the door.
The colonel moved toward him, but Lady Cassandra grabbed his arm.
“Please, let them leave. Bingley is right; he is out of his mind. Let us put all this behind us.”
The colonel seemed unwilling to listen to her, but a moment later, he met her pleading eyes and nodded in agreement. “Very well…it will be as you wish…for now.”
***
When he was certain Elizabeth was breathing steadily and there was no danger of waking her, Darcy gently freed himself from her embrace and cautiously left the room.
He went downstairs, his rage increasing as each step brought him closer to the library. The moment he entered, his mood became darker as he saw his friends talking, apparently calmly.
“Darcy! How is Elizabeth?” Mr. Bennet and Cassandra asked him almost at the same time.
“Elizabeth is well enough now. But you seem very well indeed—all of you! If I did not know better, I would never suspect the gravity of the situation mere hours ago.”
Before any of them found the proper words to reply to his statement, Darcy continued, talking mostly to Cassandra and his cousin. “What on earth was Markham doing in this house? And how is it possible he was alone with Elizabeth?”
His voice was so reproachful that Bingley hung his head guiltily while answering, “It was my mistake, Darcy. I never knew who Markham was. Apparently, he and Caroline had become quite friendly during the last few weeks, and she asked me to invite him to Netherfield for the ball. We thought…I thought he was courting Caroline. I am very sorry.”
“Markham courting Caroline? Upon my word, Bingley, sometimes you are so naïve.” Bingley only blinked a few times but remained silent. “But why did you not throw him out of the house when you found out who he really was? He is not a man to be allowed near any respectable lady!”
“Darcy, there is no need to blame Bingley! He knew nothing. We did not tell him anything about Markham,” the colonel interrupted, but Darcy’s rage turned on him.
“You told him nothing?! How could that be? Of what were you thinking?”
“He wanted to talk to Bingley, but I would not allow it,” Lady Cassandra replied. “After all, Markham appeared to be nothing more than Miss Bingley’s guest, and I thought we had no reason to worry. We never guessed he might have an interest in Elizabeth until tonight, and I warned her—
“No reason to worry? Cassandra, are you out of your mind? But of course, as always you presumed your opinion to be the only correct one, and you cannot be wrong. Your presumptions put Elizabeth in such danger—
“Darcy, you forget yourself!” shouted the colonel with equal anger. “How dare you address Cassandra in such a manner? She was the one who saved Miss Bennet, and she did so with no concern for her own safety. Have you asked how badly Cassandra was injured? Or has your anger blinded you to all reason?”
“Colonel, calm yourself…Darcy is upset, and he has reason to be so. It was my fault indeed—
“No, it was not your fault—not at all,” the colonel replied soundly.
Darcy continued, his tone slightly lower as he made an apparent effort to regulate his response. “Markham should not have been allowed to remain here, and you two were aware of that!”
“You are correct,” admitted the colonel. “I should have been more careful. I am to blame! My only excuse is that I did not remember that Markham and Miss Bennet had ever met each other, and I kept my attention upon him only regarding Cassandra and Georgiana. I am very sorry.”
“Come now, son,” Mr. Bennet said warmly, taking Darcy by the arm and directing him to a chair. “Take a seat and let us talk calmly. There is no need to fight amongst ourselves.”
“I shall take care of Markham myself,” Darcy whispered.
“Markham is gone, together with his father,” Lady Cassandra said with the same low voice. “I dare say you will not meet again anytime soon.”
“Gone? Where?” Darcy cried, instantly rising from his seat.
“I do not know and really do not wish to know.”
“But I wish to know! I shall go after him directly!”
“He has been gone for more than an hour. There is no way you could find him now, and besides, you had better take a bath and get some rest. Elizabeth will need you tomorrow morning. Running through the countryside after Markham surely will not give her much comfort.”
Darcy cast a furious look toward her. He attempted to continue on his way, but the colonel grabbed his arm. “Darcy, she is right. Let it be…for the moment.”
“Are you out of your mind? You want me to stay here and put everything aside? You expect me to forget what he has done and let him live in peace?” His countenance darkened with each word, and he paced the room like a caged beast.
Suddenly, he hurried toward the door without giving them another look. The colonel fought to stop him, but Darcy pushed him aside.
“Darcy,” said the colonel in a low voice. “Cassandra is correct. Miss Bennet will surely need you. She will ask after you first thing tomorrow. She does not deserve more distress and fear, would you not agree? Besides, there will be a ball in two days’ time.”
“You are out of your senses if you believe I am in any disposition for a ball,” Darcy replied, struggling to contain his anger. “The ball? Is that what you are thinking of?”
His tone was offensive, yet the colonel would not allow another argument to develop. “Oh, you should think of the ball, too, Darcy. That would help you to calm a little and think reasonably—and to find a more appropriate time to finish this business to your satisfaction.”
Tired and too exhausted to balance his own angry stubbornness with his cousin’s insistence, Darcy forced his mind to grasp the colonel’s words and judge their wisdom. Seemingly defeated and with a silent nod to David, he finally returned to the library. “Please forgive my wild behaviour,” he whispered as he fell into a chair.
Darcy’s gaze remained fixed on the fireplace, and none of the others disturbed him for a time. Eventually, Mr. Bennet decided to leave for home to calm his undoubtedly nervous wife, and he asked for the carriage. Darcy barely heard the elder gentleman when he took his leave, nor did he move when the door closed behind him.
Silence and apparent peace finally enveloped Netherfield. It was almost dawn.
***
Not even a hot bath and another glass of wine were able to calm Darcy. He was still restless; not a single moment passed without blaming himself for the attack on Elizabeth and for his unfair behaviour toward Cassandra. The need to do something—to be of assistance or to punish the man who had caused so much pain—was unbearable. The only palliation to his distress was the knowledge that Elizabeth was well.
The desire of seeing her turned his steps toward her room. He entered as silently as he could; inside, sitting on Elizabeth’s bed, he found Cassandra. She turned her head to him with a warm, friendly smile. He wanted to smile back but simply could not. He felt too guilty and ashamed of himself.
“She is sleeping. She seems well and calm,” she said.
“I hope she is well. I shall stay with her a little longer,” he whispered back.
“She will be happy to have you here She was more affected by your possible reaction than by anything else.”
“Cassandra, I…Please forgive me for acting so rudely, so unfairly to you. I was principally angry with myself and allowed my anger to fall upon you. But I cannot tell you how grateful I am for everything you have done for Elizabeth. If not for you—
“I know, I know. Do not worry so. You are not very pleasant when you are angry,” she replied, her smile growing on her lips. “You never have been, even as a child.”
“Yes, I know.” He finally smiled back. “I am difficult to bear. I was extraordinarily fortunate to be accepted by Elizabeth.”
“Indeed you were, my friend,” she replied, her voice wearing an unexpected trace of sadness. “Be careful not to waste your chance at happiness. More than anything, keep yourself healthy and safe, close to Elizabeth. I am sure that is what she wishes.”
“Cassandra, I can imagine how difficult this evening’s events must have been for you. And you were hurt, too,” he said with much affection, gently touching the bruises on her cheek.
“Do not worry about me. Good night—as much as there remains of it.”
Darcy’s gaze followed Cassandra for a few moments, deep in thought. Until the morning light entered through the heavy curtains, he stayed by Elizabeth, watching her, caressing her hair with infinite care not to awaken her, his heart filled with gratitude and love. He would not waste his chance at happiness—of that, he was certain!
***
Cassandra did not go to her room. She did not want to dream, as she knew her dreams would haunt and terrify her after such a night. She was tired of nightmares and did not want to be alone in the coldness of her bed.
Unconsciously, her steps directed her to the library; the room still held the tension of their earlier arguments. The nerve of those Markhams! The young one was out of his mind, obviously, but his father? Had he lost his common sense, too?
She entered and poured herself a glass of wine. She was thirsty; the Markhams made her thirsty as Mr. Bennet said. Cassandra smiled, remembering the gentleman—she had really come to admire and even feel affection for Mr. Bennet. And that very evening, when he so decidedly had refused the earl’s offer for Elizabeth…The earl likely had never been mocked that way.
Yes, she truly liked Mr. Bennet, as did Darcy. He and Mr. Bennet seemed quite close. Darcy was fortunate—he was correct—in being accepted by Elizabeth. She would be perfect for him and for Georgiana too, and there would likely be plenty of little Darcys at Pemberley. She smiled with tender affection at that thought, then sadness and emptiness cut sharply at her heart; there would be no room for her in their felicity. She would only disturb them. She had always brought pain and disorder to the people around her. That was why she was alone—and always would be.
She gulped her wine with a greedy swallow and then filled the glass again. She found a place on the settee near the fireplace, but the fire had already died. Only then, staring at the ashes, did she notice how cold the room was. That chill was negligible, however; her soul and her life were much colder. Everything was frozen around her—frozen and empty.
She felt herself lifted by strong arms, and she was startled, fighting against the intruder. As soon as she regained her senses, even before opening her eyes, she knew it was David; their eyes met, and the tenderness in his gaze seemed the perfect nourishment for the emptiness in her soul. He seemed the perfect solution to her loneliness. Her hands encircled his neck and her head rested against his shoulder.
“I shall help you to your room; you look exhausted.” She only nodded in agreement.
What was happening was not right; she knew that. It was not right for David to carry her up the stairs to her room in the secluded guest wing. It was not right, but it felt so right! She knew she should end this instantly, yet she was too tired, too powerless, and too afraid of remaining alone again to do what she ought. His warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt, his arms holding her tightly, his breath, a little vein pulsing wildly in his neck, the sensation of being so close to him, to actually hearing his heart beating—she could not let these things go so soon. She needed him just a little longer; she wanted him a little longer.
They reached the door of her room, and he stopped, but she did not move; so, after a momentary hesitation, he entered and stepped forward, tentatively, until he reached her bed. He put her down then, and as her hands remained locked around his neck, for a moment their faces almost touched; the room was dark and silent, so silent they could hear the fire. Her hands pulled him closer, and her lips brushed against his. They both startled and withdrew instantly, and then their lips met again, first tentatively but gradually more daring, more passionate, more demanding. Neither of them could think or breathe, and neither could stop.
David found the strength to put a few inches between them before finally speaking, his eyes fixed on hers. “Cassandra, this is not right…I should leave you now. You are exhausted; you ought to sleep…I have to leave, I must,” he whispered with a determination that struggled to defeat his desire.
Without thinking and against every reason, even against her will, she whispered back. “Please, do not leave…Please, stay with me…”
He frowned as their eyes met. “Cassandra…I am afraid to ask and dare not presume what you mean. What do you want?”
“I want you to stay…I do not want to be alone,” she repeated, her eyes more pleading than her voice.
“I want to stay, more than I ever wanted anything in my life. But…are you certain? I cannot bear the thought that you are asking me to s
tay only because you feel lonely or that you will wake tomorrow believing you made a mistake and that I took advantage of you in a weak moment.”
“I know my wishes, David…and I will still know them tomorrow morning.”
He lowered his body upon hers. “Cassandra, tell me…Why do you want me to stay? Please tell me…”
She looked at him so intently that he was certain her eyes became tearful. She seemed unable to find the answer; finally, her barely audible voice broke the silence. “I…David, there is no other man in the world whom I would ask to be here with me…That is all I can tell you.”
“And that is all I need to hear,” he replied.
For long, torturous moments he made no gesture—only stared at her silently, intently with a mixed expression of wonder and desire; his face displayed the torment of such a storm of feelings that Cassandra could hardly bear it. She tried to move, to touch him, to make him do something—but he half leaned upon her, and his weight kept her prisoner.
“David,” she whispered, her hands gingerly touching his face. Suddenly her moves turned shy and uncertain, and her voice was trembling.
“Cassandra, if only I could tell you how much I love you…I cannot believe that—
“David, please, please do not speak…please…” Her voice sounded so painfully pleading that for a moment he was certain she was crying. But he had no time to look at her eyes as she pulled him toward her, and her lips pressed against his. He still had so many things to tell her—but they could all wait! If she wanted no words, so be it. The only thing that truly mattered to him was that she finally accepted him, despite everything she had said before. She would finally be his.
Her lips were softer and sweeter than he could ever imagine. He was kissing her, tasting her, savouring her flavour impatiently as his hunger grew, and her skin was the only food he needed. His mouth desperately wanted more of her, all of her, but for the time being, it simply could not leave her beautiful face. Countless kisses covered her cheeks, her eyes, her earlobes, until his greedy lips returned passionately, possessively to capture hers again and again.