Sorry about being late. I was out of town until late last night. :D
Chapter 32
8 April 1812
Darcy sat in Lady Catherine’s drawing room near his cousin Anne, restlessly shifting in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he readjusted his position. His gaze was decidedly fixed on Miss Elizabeth Bennet and his cousin at the far end of the room. She and Fitzwilliam sat playing whist with Mr. and Mrs. Collins while his aunt oversaw their game, interjecting her advice whenever she deemed it fit, whether it was needed or not. Twisting his signet ring in agitation, Darcy was growing more irritated by the moment as Elizabeth appeared to enjoy Fitzwilliam’s attentions. Repositioning himself once more, he rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head, continuing to stare at them while conflicting thoughts and feelings tormented him.
Turning away from the gaiety at the other end of the room, he now knew the feelings he held for Miss Bennet were more than merely a physical attraction, though that was certainly a factor foremost in his thoughts. No, he thought to himself, my desire has long since gone past mere infatuation. I want her for my partner in life—a companion with whom I can share my life and earthly goods. But therein lay the dilemma, the insurmountable problem: his elevated station in life relative to her inferior one.
He released a long, ragged breath as he once again shifted in his seat. Although the battle in his heart was decidedly won, the war still raged in his mind. Darcy cast a fleeting glance at his aunt. Lady Catherine would never accept any other choice but that of her daughter Anne—and she would especially not accept one from Miss Bennet’s station.
A sudden burst of laughter caught his attention, and he returned his gaze to the card table. He could feel the heat rising in the room, and he flushed as once more a huge hand seemed to grasp his chest, squeezing him in its grip. His cousin had done nothing but flirt with Miss Bennet all evening, and that was another source of irritation.
Blast Fitzwilliam! Is his breeding so lacking that he does not know the impropriety of openly flirting at every opportunity?
But before he could contemplate the situation further, Darcy’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud, bellowing voice.
“Really, nephew, you must pay attention to the game, or you will never play well,” Lady Catherine admonished. “If you allow Mr. Collins to best you once more, I shall consider it a disgrace, for he cannot play well at all.”
“Sorry, Aunt,” the Colonel said with a laugh, “I was merely admiring my lovely partner’s abilities. Miss Bennet’s strategies are quite remarkable.” He turned to his companion and flashed a very charming smile. “How did you achieve such extraordinary skill at cards, Miss Bennet? You seem to win at every turn.”
“Colonel, what a very strange creature you are. You do indeed flatter my vanity, sir—first with music, then with chess and my taste in reading, and now with cards.” She laughed merrily. “However, the skill is not mine alone to boast of. I owe my abilities to my father. He taught me from a very young age to observe my surroundings carefully and to read people’s expressions in order to determine their intent. For example,” she said, turning her eyes to her cousin, “when Mr. Collins smiles, as he is doing now, I know that his hand is favourable.” Elizabeth looked toward Charlotte and smiled. “Charlotte’s thoughts are very easy to make out. As we have been friends since childhood, I know all her secrets.” Returning her gaze to the Colonel, she arched an eyebrow. “As for you, sir, you furrow your brow in deep concentration, and when you do, I know that you are considering your hand with great care. Therefore, I am able to anticipate your next move with accuracy.
“And there it is, Colonel. I am sorry to disappoint you with my impertinence, but as you see, I am a studier of character—quite unusual for a lady, as I’ve been told. But it does create good sport for one’s enjoyment when applied properly.”
“My dear, cousin!” Mr. Collins raised his fingers to his mouth. “Remember where you are,” he said in a near whisper, shaking his head in censure, his brows deeply furrowed.
“Well, for my sake, I am glad things are as they are. You make a charming partner, Miss Bennet. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the Colonel said, glancing at Darcy and ignoring the obsequious parson. “In point of fact, I am willing to wager that if pigs could fly and women were allowed to administer estates, you would make a very good manager.”
Mr. Collins gasped, his face turning various shades of red.
Darcy could not help but smile at his cousin’s observation and thereby diverted his anger momentarily, for he was more than certain that if she had a mind to, Miss Bennet could do just that.
Clearing his throat, while adjusting his collar, the toady vicar replied in meek submission, “Perhaps it is best we continue the game. Would you not agree, Mrs. Collins?”
Charlotte glanced between her husband and Lady Catherine. “Yes, do let us continue. It is my turn to shuffle,” she said, reaching for the cards.
“Indeed,” the Colonel said, “I am looking forward to another game with my charming partner. Let us see who wins this one.” He flashed a wide smile, and Elizabeth’s gay laughter rang out once more.
Darcy released a quick breath and averted his gaze from the whist table to the footman removing the tea service. His anger had returned in full force. Fitzwilliam’s flattering tongue and flirtatious manners, along with Elizabeth’s teasing smiles in reaction, were causing his cool and collected demeanour to fray dangerously.
Apparently, from Lady Catherine’s reaction, his disgruntled expression was not lost on her for she soon called out.
“Fitzwilliam!” she interjected, her eyes shifting between her two nephews. “The hour has grown late. Therefore, I must affirm the game ended. Miss Bennet is the declared winner, and you the loser. Mr. Collins has bested you twice. It is not to be borne,” she said, fixing her disgruntled gaze on her clergyman.
“No, Lady Catherine, it shall not! I assure you I meant no—”
Lady Catherine turned away and left her vicar in mid-speech. “Cogsworth! Cogsworth! Where are you? I wish to retire for the evening.”
The footman quickly appeared and bowed. “Your walking stick, madam,” he said, holding out an ornately carved cane.
With some difficulty, Lady Catherine rose to her feet and reached for the stick, snatching it from her servant’s hand. Hobbling across the room, the cane clicking on the marble floor as she went, Lady Catherine abruptly stopped, and, as if in afterthought, turned back to the Colonel. “If you and Darcy would not mind, nephew, see Mr. Collins and his company to the carriage I have waiting for them, for I am excessively attentive to these things. However, tonight I request you do the honour of escorting them out. It is time Anne and I retired for the evening. All this jauntiness has made me weary. Come, Anne. You are in need of rest as well.” She smiled as her daughter rose from Darcy’s side, where she had sat all evening by Lady Catherine’s design.
“As you wish, Aunt,” the Colonel replied, glancing at Darcy.
“Yes,” Darcy said, standing to his feet. “The hour is late.”
He was more than ready for the evening to conclude. If he had to sit a moment longer and listen to his cousin’s playful banter while Elizabeth laughed, obviously enjoying the attention, he would forget himself and call his cousin aside for a much needed correction in deportment.
The Colonel walked Elizabeth to the waiting carriage while Darcy remained a few steps behind, watching the happy party, his eyes cold with resentment. But when they came to the coach, it was Darcy who took her hand and helped her to her seat.
She glanced back with a surprised look.
He tipped his head, resisting the urge to place a kiss on the back of her gloved fingers. “Goodnight, Miss Bennet. I trust that you will rest well. I shall see you on the morrow.”
“Mr. Darcy?” she said with astonishment.
After some moments, she found her voice and continued. “Yes, I’m sure we will meet at least once more. We are to come to Rosings again. As you are aware, your aunt has been most gracious in her generosity and invited us for tea.”
Darcy released her hand and turned to walk away.
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Yes,” he said, turning back.
“Goodnight to you, too, sir.”
He gave a small smile and then proceeded up the steps as the carriage pulled away.
Before he reached the landing, Colonel Fitzwilliam was by his side.
“Darcy, why were you so solemn during dinner, and why did you refuse to join us at whist? Why not be more sociable? You obviously like Miss Bennet, so why are you so reserved whenever she is in your presence?”
“Fitzwilliam, you, of all people, should know that I am a man of few words and not accustomed to bestowing flattery as you seem to be—admiring your lovely partner indeed!” Darcy said with coldness.
The Colonel smiled. “Oho! My good Cousin! You are indeed wise in the ways of the world, but I see you’ve yet to learn the rules of engagement. Let me share a bit of advice that will help you along life’s pathway to happiness. If you have feelings for the lady, you should make them known. She cannot read your mind, Darcy.”
“Umm…according to her, she has mastered the skill quite handily. Perhaps she reads yours.”
The Colonel laughed yet again. “Come, Darce,” he said, dismissing his cousin’s concerns, “let us have a brandy and talk. I’d like to tell you more about Mother’s letter that arrived this afternoon. I believe she is planning a soirée for Mrs. Gimbal and her two nieces, hoping to introduce me to yet another heiress. And perhaps this one will catch my fancy.”
Darcy rolled his eyes and laughed despite his earlier irritation with his cousin. “So Aunt Eloise is conspiring once more, and with Mrs. Gimbal, one of the top patronesses at Almack’s, no less. Let us see. She has two nieces—one for you, and I am quite sure your mother has the other in mind for Wex.”
“Precisely. You know my mother well.” The Colonel flashed a broad smile.
Darcy laughed. “A brandy it is, then, and tell me about these heiresses. Do you suppose they are handsome?”
“Probably not,” the Colonel replied. “But then when does one’s looks matter in the quest for a suitable match. Mother is determined to have us married off and out of her hair by Christmas—if she can at all manage it, that is.”
Moving up the steps and into the house, Darcy felt somewhat relieved as they rounded the corner to Lady Catherine’s library. At least, in one regard, his Aunt Eloise was working in his favour. It was comforting, but not enough to remove the large weight crushing his chest.
Moving towards the drinks cabinet, he sighed deeply as Fitzwilliam poured a brandy and handed it to him. Taking his seat, Darcy listened to his cousin’s exchange, but his mind was not in the least engaged in Mrs. Gimbal’s nieces, the homes in Mayfair they were to inherit, or the amount of their fortunes. Instead, his thoughts were occupied with Miss Elizabeth Bennet and the coquettish laughter she had bestowed upon his cousin this evening. As Fitzwilliam rambled on, Darcy considered broaching the subject with his cousin but then thought the better of it. The last thing he wanted was for his cousin to know the depth of his struggle—or how much his and Miss Bennet’s flirtations had affected him. His reserve and ability to guard his inner thoughts and feelings were his skills in the game of life, cards notwithstanding. He lifted his drink and took a slow sip as he wondered if Elizabeth could read him as well as she presumed to read everyone else.
~*~
After several brandies and much talk, at least on Fitzwilliam’s part, Darcy bid his cousin goodnight on the stairs before retiring to his bedchamber. Once inside his room, his man quickly approached. “May I assist you in removing your boots and coat, sir? And do you wish anything before retiring for the night—perhaps a cigar?”
“No. I wish to be alone,” Darcy answered. “I shall see you in the morning at my usual hour. I will have a hot bath and a shave before removing to the breakfast parlour.”
“Very well, sir. I shall see you promptly at six, then.”
When the door was firmly shut behind his valet, Darcy released an exasperated breath and fell into a nearby chair close to the fire where he began to remove his boots. Slipping them from his feet, he threw them aside, grumbling under his breath. Then, in sheer vexation, he leaned back and stared into the burning logs piled high for the night. As he sat there gazing at the flames glowing brightly, images of Elizabeth’s bright smiles and laughing eyes, taunting and teasing, appeared before him.
Darcy narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “It should have been me sitting beside her at cards and sharing in her lively banter…. It should have been me,” he said in a half daze as once again his anger and frustration returned in full force, and he reprimanded himself for his lack of social skills, something he had never before cared about—until now, when he truly needed them.
Finally, unable to bear the deprivation of his situation a moment longer, he rose from his seat and removed his coat and waistcoat and then threw them over the back of his chair. In nothing but his breeches, shirt, and stocking feet, he paced back and forth in an agitated manner, cursing himself for allowing Elizabeth’s and Fitzwilliam’s mild flirtation over dinner and cards to bother him as it had, and still did, for he knew his cousin was not intentionally trying to goad him, and yet, he had allowed Fitzwilliam to do exactly that.
At long last, he strode over to his bed and plopped upon it. Crossing his feet at his ankles and tucking them under himself, he rested his elbows upon his knees. Sitting there, disgruntled, he began to bitterly berate himself, not only for his own inability at conversing so freely as his cousin had the natural propensity to do, but that he allowed himself to be drawn to Elizabeth more and more, even going so far as taking another walk with her this very afternoon when he had sworn after their last meeting that he would never be alone in her company again. It was too perilous, and yet when visions of her loveliness came to the forefront of his thoughts, he was powerless to abstain.
He knew full well that he was displaying his preference for her, and yet he could not help himself. On several occasions, while strolling through the park, he had desired for her to let down her guard just once and share the same smiles and brightened eyes that she so willingly bestowed upon his cousin. But no, not once had she given him that satisfaction. He closed his eyes and moaned from deep within.
In fuelled frustration, he flopped back on his bed and linked his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling while their afternoon tête-à-tête came into full view in his mind’s eye. It had been a glorious day for a leisurely ride through Rosings’ woods. In all honesty, he had hoped, no, almost willed that she would be there. Then, without warning, she had appeared out of the wooded coppice, reminding him of the wood-nymph who had so often haunted his dreams over the years. He swallowed hard; his breath caught in his throat as he blinked. Her eyes were vibrantly green and alive with the vitality of a woman in the full bloom of life. Darcy smiled and took another deep breath. Her hair had appeared damp, the ringlets framing her face blowing wild and free in the gentle breeze. She was beautiful—the very sight of her had stolen his breath away, and he could think of nothing more than how much he wanted her.
Darcy closed his eyes and recalled the scene with vivid accuracy. Sam had been there with her, frolicking and prancing about as they wandered the wooded path together. He had dismounted and joined them. They had walked beside one another for what seemed an eternity, strolling down a path that led to the stream cutting across the park through Rosings’ woods. Inhaling deeply, he could almost smell the clean scent of the lavender she had worn. His mind had been full, and as much as he had wished to converse, telling her his innermost thoughts during their walk, the words would not come.
Oh, they had made small talk. He had managed to ask after the health of her family and if her sister was still in London, and she had remarked on the beauty of the warm English spring and the bounty of flowers that grew in the woods, especially the daffodils lining the bank of the brook. He remembered how she had expressed that she often walked there, and that yellow was her favorite colour, and how the daffodils were especially lovely this time of year. A fond smile curled his lips. She had not said much more after that, and a long stillness had fallen between them, but he had not minded the silence. All he had thought about was the great pleasure he felt from simply being in her presence.
He winced and drew in a sharp breath as his eyes flew open. What was he thinking, leading Elizabeth on so? She must have been waiting for his offer of marriage. Why else had she turned so solemn? Yet, he feared that the recriminations of his union with her would prove too much. He was certain that most of his peers and nearly all his family would not accept her. They would ridicule his choice. Their disdain would be cruel enough for him to bear alone, but to have Elizabeth bear it as well was more than he could fathom. Situations might arise that would forever sever the ties of family and friends, isolating not only him and Elizabeth, but quite possibly chancing Georgiana’s introduction into society as well. Could he really sacrifice so much to claim his heart’s desire?
Lying there deep in thought, contemplating everything before him, Lady Catherine’s words rang though Darcy’s mind as he recalled his aunt’s opinion on another young lady with similar connections to those of Elizabeth. She is the daughter of a country squire who was educated at Mrs. Woolsey’s School for girls of the middle gentry. She will do very well for a governess.
Those words haunted him and served to reinforce his conclusions. Elizabeth would not be accepted by his family, and he knew it. Yes, Lady Matlock would be amenable to the notion of his marrying for love. She was a romantic herself and had made a love match in her marriage to the Earl, though, by all accounts, it had not been so in the beginning.
He sighed. She will do very well for a governess. Yes…that is what his aunt thought of women like Elizabeth, and what he had once thought himself. Lady Catherine might entertain them in her drawing room with cards and supper, but they were by no means acceptable when she could get somebody else more suited to her station in life. No, Darcy knew his aunt would never accept her as her equal, even if she were his wife.
…Governess… Darcy slowly shook his head as he considered the thought of Elizabeth in service, which, upon her father’s death, could very easily become her fate. No! The mere thought was abhorrent. He could not bear to think of it, for he would hate to see her forced into such deprivation, especially when he held it within his power to elevate her from such a fate. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had so much more to give than to waste away as a spinster caring for the children of high society. And knowing what he knew on that subject, he grieved, for he knew that not all men were as affable or as honourable as himself.
Snapping out of his reverie, Darcy bolted upright and released a gasp as he ran his fingers through his dishevelled curls. “Damn it! It is unfair. What in the name of God am I going to do? The want of her is tormenting me, and if I do not ask for her hand, I fear I shall regret her all the days of my life—especially if.… No! I will not think of it! Dear God, help me—help me to know what I am to do. I am burning with a desire that is consuming me! The flames wrap around me, singeing my heart. The sheer torture of it is unbearable!”
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Sleep.… I need sleep.”
After punching the pillow several times and settling back down, sleep finally came and relieved him of his pent-up anger and frustration but not from his tormenting dreams. Those lingered.
Tossing and turning throughout the night, he moaned in restless sleep, his dreams filled with want and desire as the spectre of Elizabeth Bennet once again shared his bed.
In his dreams, he held her in his arms and spoke freely all the things that he could not utter in the light of day, telling her how much he admired and loved her…how much he needed her…wanted her. He shared his dreams and aspirations for their future, and, most of all, he shared the deep abiding love which, in spite of her low connections in trade and vulgar relations, had conquered all. For in the midnight hour, in the quiet of his room, none of that mattered.
Darcy struggled through the night with visions that were so vivid he could almost feel her warm breath against his bare skin as she caressed him with her tantalizing kisses, and as he kissed her, he could nearly taste her sweetness. His desire was so great—so intense—that his will was slowly breaking under the sheer weight of it. Then, as the cock crowed in the distance, Darcy’s eyes flew open. He awoke in a cold sweat, trembling and gasping for breath.
At long last, realization swept over him, and he sat up straight. The only possible conclusion to his suffering was to take her for his wife. Yes! In spite of all he knew—her family, her connections in trade—he would marry her, and the rest of the world be damned! They would face society’s cold shoulder together. All would not be lost. He had a few connections that would stand by them. His cousin, the Viscount of Wexford, Fitzwilliam, and the Duke of Beaumont and Millicent would accept them, and then there were Kathryn and Lord Brockton, and, perhaps, Randal Pennington, as well. Yes, he and Lady Susan, too. They would all be there for him and Elizabeth. He was certain of it. And that would have to be enough. As for Georgiana, once she saw the happiness that a marriage based on love could bring, she would understand that a marriage of wealth and connections was not so important after all. Perhaps she, too, would want to marry a man she esteemed. Yes…just maybe those things were not so important as he had once thought.
Suddenly, a wide smile spread over his countenance, and he began to plan his proposal, which he would present to Elizabeth this very evening while they were all at tea. He would take her aside and suggest a stroll in the garden, perhaps through his aunt’s maze. Yes, that is what he would do. He would propose in the great outdoors amongst the flowers and the night creatures, with owls hooting in the distance and nightingales singing their melodious songs. He grinned. She loved nature and so did he. Therefore, he would ask for her hand in the gardens of Rosings.
There was only one difficulty with which to contend: how to avert and detain Fitzwilliam elsewhere? A wicked glint quickly shone in his eyes. If he timed things just right, perhaps Lady Catherine could be prevailed upon to be of service and do it for him. Yes, he thought to himself. Directing his aunt’s attention in that quarter could very easily do the trick. All it would take was the mere mention of Fitzwilliam’s future plans of marriage—perhaps he would share the news of Lady Matlock’s soirée and Mrs. Gimbal’s nieces. Once that bit of intelligence was loosed, Lady Catherine’s diatribes would flow long and freely, giving him the time he so desperately needed to finalize his future happiness.
Darcy threw back the counterpane and quickly rose from his bed. He went over to the washstand and filled the basin from the pitcher sitting nearby. Lifting a large handful of cool water, he splashed his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “We shall be married by special license as quickly as I can arrange it. Elizabeth, I ardently admire and love you.” He glanced back at his large oversized bed. “Soon you shall share my bed in reality instead of only in my dreams, and may we be blessed with many children, just as Mr. and Mrs. Chaney are blessed. Yes, we shall have a full quiver—cheaper by the dozen, I say, for I have a large appetite which only you can satisfy.” He gazed at his image in the looking glass. “Indeed, St. Paul is correct. It is better to marry than to burn, and we must marry soon before the flames of passion consume me. Elizabeth, I hope you are as agreeable to the marriage bed and children as I, for I am very eager for you to share my bed each and every night. This nonsense of separate chambers will not do for us.”
Taking up another large handful of water, Darcy splashed his face again, running his fingers through his thick dark hair as water dripped from his elbows. He laughed out loud. “I am as light as a feather—as giddy as a goose—as love struck as any school boy ever was. Yes! We have our whole lifetime before us. It will indeed be one celebrated marriage—one that will be talked about for years!”
Suddenly his attention was diverted by the sound of a discrete knock on his chamber door. Darcy glanced over to the entrance of his room and smiled broadly. Soon his man was in his chamber along with several footmen carrying pails of hot water.
“Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well?”
“Winfred, you’ve no idea,” Darcy said, moving in their direction. “Yes, my good man, I slept very well indeed. Today is a splendid day, and I want to look my very best.”
“Your best, sir? You look your best every day.” The older man tilted his head and contemplated his master’s good spirits. “Sir, may I ask, if it is no imposition, that is…but…what has come over you? Has the devil got your soul?”
“No.” Darcy laughed. “Nothing quite so dramatic as that. But when the time is right, I shall inform you of my plans. You shall be among the first to know, for it will affect you.”
“Very well, sir,” the valet said with a crooked smile. “Whatever it is, I pray it is truly good.”
“Oh! It is! It is truly brilliant, my good man…it is very good. Now, let us get on with the day. I have a lot planned and much to accomplish.”
After his bath and shave, Darcy left for the breakfast parlour with a song in his heart, a spring in his step, and a broad smile upon his face. His mind was firmly made up. Today was to be the best day of his entire life! Today, Miss Elizabeth Bennet would become his betrothed—and very soon, his wife.
~*~*~*~
8 April 1812
Darcy sat in Lady Catherine’s drawing room near his cousin Anne, restlessly shifting in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he readjusted his position. His gaze was decidedly fixed on Miss Elizabeth Bennet and his cousin at the far end of the room. She and Fitzwilliam sat playing whist with Mr. and Mrs. Collins while his aunt oversaw their game, interjecting her advice whenever she deemed it fit, whether it was needed or not. Twisting his signet ring in agitation, Darcy was growing more irritated by the moment as Elizabeth appeared to enjoy Fitzwilliam’s attentions. Repositioning himself once more, he rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head, continuing to stare at them while conflicting thoughts and feelings tormented him.
Turning away from the gaiety at the other end of the room, he now knew the feelings he held for Miss Bennet were more than merely a physical attraction, though that was certainly a factor foremost in his thoughts. No, he thought to himself, my desire has long since gone past mere infatuation. I want her for my partner in life—a companion with whom I can share my life and earthly goods. But therein lay the dilemma, the insurmountable problem: his elevated station in life relative to her inferior one.
He released a long, ragged breath as he once again shifted in his seat. Although the battle in his heart was decidedly won, the war still raged in his mind. Darcy cast a fleeting glance at his aunt. Lady Catherine would never accept any other choice but that of her daughter Anne—and she would especially not accept one from Miss Bennet’s station.
A sudden burst of laughter caught his attention, and he returned his gaze to the card table. He could feel the heat rising in the room, and he flushed as once more a huge hand seemed to grasp his chest, squeezing him in its grip. His cousin had done nothing but flirt with Miss Bennet all evening, and that was another source of irritation.
Blast Fitzwilliam! Is his breeding so lacking that he does not know the impropriety of openly flirting at every opportunity?
But before he could contemplate the situation further, Darcy’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud, bellowing voice.
“Really, nephew, you must pay attention to the game, or you will never play well,” Lady Catherine admonished. “If you allow Mr. Collins to best you once more, I shall consider it a disgrace, for he cannot play well at all.”
“Sorry, Aunt,” the Colonel said with a laugh, “I was merely admiring my lovely partner’s abilities. Miss Bennet’s strategies are quite remarkable.” He turned to his companion and flashed a very charming smile. “How did you achieve such extraordinary skill at cards, Miss Bennet? You seem to win at every turn.”
“Colonel, what a very strange creature you are. You do indeed flatter my vanity, sir—first with music, then with chess and my taste in reading, and now with cards.” She laughed merrily. “However, the skill is not mine alone to boast of. I owe my abilities to my father. He taught me from a very young age to observe my surroundings carefully and to read people’s expressions in order to determine their intent. For example,” she said, turning her eyes to her cousin, “when Mr. Collins smiles, as he is doing now, I know that his hand is favourable.” Elizabeth looked toward Charlotte and smiled. “Charlotte’s thoughts are very easy to make out. As we have been friends since childhood, I know all her secrets.” Returning her gaze to the Colonel, she arched an eyebrow. “As for you, sir, you furrow your brow in deep concentration, and when you do, I know that you are considering your hand with great care. Therefore, I am able to anticipate your next move with accuracy.
“And there it is, Colonel. I am sorry to disappoint you with my impertinence, but as you see, I am a studier of character—quite unusual for a lady, as I’ve been told. But it does create good sport for one’s enjoyment when applied properly.”
“My dear, cousin!” Mr. Collins raised his fingers to his mouth. “Remember where you are,” he said in a near whisper, shaking his head in censure, his brows deeply furrowed.
“Well, for my sake, I am glad things are as they are. You make a charming partner, Miss Bennet. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the Colonel said, glancing at Darcy and ignoring the obsequious parson. “In point of fact, I am willing to wager that if pigs could fly and women were allowed to administer estates, you would make a very good manager.”
Mr. Collins gasped, his face turning various shades of red.
Darcy could not help but smile at his cousin’s observation and thereby diverted his anger momentarily, for he was more than certain that if she had a mind to, Miss Bennet could do just that.
Clearing his throat, while adjusting his collar, the toady vicar replied in meek submission, “Perhaps it is best we continue the game. Would you not agree, Mrs. Collins?”
Charlotte glanced between her husband and Lady Catherine. “Yes, do let us continue. It is my turn to shuffle,” she said, reaching for the cards.
“Indeed,” the Colonel said, “I am looking forward to another game with my charming partner. Let us see who wins this one.” He flashed a wide smile, and Elizabeth’s gay laughter rang out once more.
Darcy released a quick breath and averted his gaze from the whist table to the footman removing the tea service. His anger had returned in full force. Fitzwilliam’s flattering tongue and flirtatious manners, along with Elizabeth’s teasing smiles in reaction, were causing his cool and collected demeanour to fray dangerously.
Apparently, from Lady Catherine’s reaction, his disgruntled expression was not lost on her for she soon called out.
“Fitzwilliam!” she interjected, her eyes shifting between her two nephews. “The hour has grown late. Therefore, I must affirm the game ended. Miss Bennet is the declared winner, and you the loser. Mr. Collins has bested you twice. It is not to be borne,” she said, fixing her disgruntled gaze on her clergyman.
“No, Lady Catherine, it shall not! I assure you I meant no—”
Lady Catherine turned away and left her vicar in mid-speech. “Cogsworth! Cogsworth! Where are you? I wish to retire for the evening.”
The footman quickly appeared and bowed. “Your walking stick, madam,” he said, holding out an ornately carved cane.
With some difficulty, Lady Catherine rose to her feet and reached for the stick, snatching it from her servant’s hand. Hobbling across the room, the cane clicking on the marble floor as she went, Lady Catherine abruptly stopped, and, as if in afterthought, turned back to the Colonel. “If you and Darcy would not mind, nephew, see Mr. Collins and his company to the carriage I have waiting for them, for I am excessively attentive to these things. However, tonight I request you do the honour of escorting them out. It is time Anne and I retired for the evening. All this jauntiness has made me weary. Come, Anne. You are in need of rest as well.” She smiled as her daughter rose from Darcy’s side, where she had sat all evening by Lady Catherine’s design.
“As you wish, Aunt,” the Colonel replied, glancing at Darcy.
“Yes,” Darcy said, standing to his feet. “The hour is late.”
He was more than ready for the evening to conclude. If he had to sit a moment longer and listen to his cousin’s playful banter while Elizabeth laughed, obviously enjoying the attention, he would forget himself and call his cousin aside for a much needed correction in deportment.
The Colonel walked Elizabeth to the waiting carriage while Darcy remained a few steps behind, watching the happy party, his eyes cold with resentment. But when they came to the coach, it was Darcy who took her hand and helped her to her seat.
She glanced back with a surprised look.
He tipped his head, resisting the urge to place a kiss on the back of her gloved fingers. “Goodnight, Miss Bennet. I trust that you will rest well. I shall see you on the morrow.”
“Mr. Darcy?” she said with astonishment.
After some moments, she found her voice and continued. “Yes, I’m sure we will meet at least once more. We are to come to Rosings again. As you are aware, your aunt has been most gracious in her generosity and invited us for tea.”
Darcy released her hand and turned to walk away.
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Yes,” he said, turning back.
“Goodnight to you, too, sir.”
He gave a small smile and then proceeded up the steps as the carriage pulled away.
Before he reached the landing, Colonel Fitzwilliam was by his side.
“Darcy, why were you so solemn during dinner, and why did you refuse to join us at whist? Why not be more sociable? You obviously like Miss Bennet, so why are you so reserved whenever she is in your presence?”
“Fitzwilliam, you, of all people, should know that I am a man of few words and not accustomed to bestowing flattery as you seem to be—admiring your lovely partner indeed!” Darcy said with coldness.
The Colonel smiled. “Oho! My good Cousin! You are indeed wise in the ways of the world, but I see you’ve yet to learn the rules of engagement. Let me share a bit of advice that will help you along life’s pathway to happiness. If you have feelings for the lady, you should make them known. She cannot read your mind, Darcy.”
“Umm…according to her, she has mastered the skill quite handily. Perhaps she reads yours.”
The Colonel laughed yet again. “Come, Darce,” he said, dismissing his cousin’s concerns, “let us have a brandy and talk. I’d like to tell you more about Mother’s letter that arrived this afternoon. I believe she is planning a soirée for Mrs. Gimbal and her two nieces, hoping to introduce me to yet another heiress. And perhaps this one will catch my fancy.”
Darcy rolled his eyes and laughed despite his earlier irritation with his cousin. “So Aunt Eloise is conspiring once more, and with Mrs. Gimbal, one of the top patronesses at Almack’s, no less. Let us see. She has two nieces—one for you, and I am quite sure your mother has the other in mind for Wex.”
“Precisely. You know my mother well.” The Colonel flashed a broad smile.
Darcy laughed. “A brandy it is, then, and tell me about these heiresses. Do you suppose they are handsome?”
“Probably not,” the Colonel replied. “But then when does one’s looks matter in the quest for a suitable match. Mother is determined to have us married off and out of her hair by Christmas—if she can at all manage it, that is.”
Moving up the steps and into the house, Darcy felt somewhat relieved as they rounded the corner to Lady Catherine’s library. At least, in one regard, his Aunt Eloise was working in his favour. It was comforting, but not enough to remove the large weight crushing his chest.
Moving towards the drinks cabinet, he sighed deeply as Fitzwilliam poured a brandy and handed it to him. Taking his seat, Darcy listened to his cousin’s exchange, but his mind was not in the least engaged in Mrs. Gimbal’s nieces, the homes in Mayfair they were to inherit, or the amount of their fortunes. Instead, his thoughts were occupied with Miss Elizabeth Bennet and the coquettish laughter she had bestowed upon his cousin this evening. As Fitzwilliam rambled on, Darcy considered broaching the subject with his cousin but then thought the better of it. The last thing he wanted was for his cousin to know the depth of his struggle—or how much his and Miss Bennet’s flirtations had affected him. His reserve and ability to guard his inner thoughts and feelings were his skills in the game of life, cards notwithstanding. He lifted his drink and took a slow sip as he wondered if Elizabeth could read him as well as she presumed to read everyone else.
After several brandies and much talk, at least on Fitzwilliam’s part, Darcy bid his cousin goodnight on the stairs before retiring to his bedchamber. Once inside his room, his man quickly approached. “May I assist you in removing your boots and coat, sir? And do you wish anything before retiring for the night—perhaps a cigar?”
“No. I wish to be alone,” Darcy answered. “I shall see you in the morning at my usual hour. I will have a hot bath and a shave before removing to the breakfast parlour.”
“Very well, sir. I shall see you promptly at six, then.”
When the door was firmly shut behind his valet, Darcy released an exasperated breath and fell into a nearby chair close to the fire where he began to remove his boots. Slipping them from his feet, he threw them aside, grumbling under his breath. Then, in sheer vexation, he leaned back and stared into the burning logs piled high for the night. As he sat there gazing at the flames glowing brightly, images of Elizabeth’s bright smiles and laughing eyes, taunting and teasing, appeared before him.
Darcy narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “It should have been me sitting beside her at cards and sharing in her lively banter…. It should have been me,” he said in a half daze as once again his anger and frustration returned in full force, and he reprimanded himself for his lack of social skills, something he had never before cared about—until now, when he truly needed them.
Finally, unable to bear the deprivation of his situation a moment longer, he rose from his seat and removed his coat and waistcoat and then threw them over the back of his chair. In nothing but his breeches, shirt, and stocking feet, he paced back and forth in an agitated manner, cursing himself for allowing Elizabeth’s and Fitzwilliam’s mild flirtation over dinner and cards to bother him as it had, and still did, for he knew his cousin was not intentionally trying to goad him, and yet, he had allowed Fitzwilliam to do exactly that.
At long last, he strode over to his bed and plopped upon it. Crossing his feet at his ankles and tucking them under himself, he rested his elbows upon his knees. Sitting there, disgruntled, he began to bitterly berate himself, not only for his own inability at conversing so freely as his cousin had the natural propensity to do, but that he allowed himself to be drawn to Elizabeth more and more, even going so far as taking another walk with her this very afternoon when he had sworn after their last meeting that he would never be alone in her company again. It was too perilous, and yet when visions of her loveliness came to the forefront of his thoughts, he was powerless to abstain.
He knew full well that he was displaying his preference for her, and yet he could not help himself. On several occasions, while strolling through the park, he had desired for her to let down her guard just once and share the same smiles and brightened eyes that she so willingly bestowed upon his cousin. But no, not once had she given him that satisfaction. He closed his eyes and moaned from deep within.
In fuelled frustration, he flopped back on his bed and linked his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling while their afternoon tête-à-tête came into full view in his mind’s eye. It had been a glorious day for a leisurely ride through Rosings’ woods. In all honesty, he had hoped, no, almost willed that she would be there. Then, without warning, she had appeared out of the wooded coppice, reminding him of the wood-nymph who had so often haunted his dreams over the years. He swallowed hard; his breath caught in his throat as he blinked. Her eyes were vibrantly green and alive with the vitality of a woman in the full bloom of life. Darcy smiled and took another deep breath. Her hair had appeared damp, the ringlets framing her face blowing wild and free in the gentle breeze. She was beautiful—the very sight of her had stolen his breath away, and he could think of nothing more than how much he wanted her.
Darcy closed his eyes and recalled the scene with vivid accuracy. Sam had been there with her, frolicking and prancing about as they wandered the wooded path together. He had dismounted and joined them. They had walked beside one another for what seemed an eternity, strolling down a path that led to the stream cutting across the park through Rosings’ woods. Inhaling deeply, he could almost smell the clean scent of the lavender she had worn. His mind had been full, and as much as he had wished to converse, telling her his innermost thoughts during their walk, the words would not come.
Oh, they had made small talk. He had managed to ask after the health of her family and if her sister was still in London, and she had remarked on the beauty of the warm English spring and the bounty of flowers that grew in the woods, especially the daffodils lining the bank of the brook. He remembered how she had expressed that she often walked there, and that yellow was her favorite colour, and how the daffodils were especially lovely this time of year. A fond smile curled his lips. She had not said much more after that, and a long stillness had fallen between them, but he had not minded the silence. All he had thought about was the great pleasure he felt from simply being in her presence.
He winced and drew in a sharp breath as his eyes flew open. What was he thinking, leading Elizabeth on so? She must have been waiting for his offer of marriage. Why else had she turned so solemn? Yet, he feared that the recriminations of his union with her would prove too much. He was certain that most of his peers and nearly all his family would not accept her. They would ridicule his choice. Their disdain would be cruel enough for him to bear alone, but to have Elizabeth bear it as well was more than he could fathom. Situations might arise that would forever sever the ties of family and friends, isolating not only him and Elizabeth, but quite possibly chancing Georgiana’s introduction into society as well. Could he really sacrifice so much to claim his heart’s desire?
Lying there deep in thought, contemplating everything before him, Lady Catherine’s words rang though Darcy’s mind as he recalled his aunt’s opinion on another young lady with similar connections to those of Elizabeth. She is the daughter of a country squire who was educated at Mrs. Woolsey’s School for girls of the middle gentry. She will do very well for a governess.
Those words haunted him and served to reinforce his conclusions. Elizabeth would not be accepted by his family, and he knew it. Yes, Lady Matlock would be amenable to the notion of his marrying for love. She was a romantic herself and had made a love match in her marriage to the Earl, though, by all accounts, it had not been so in the beginning.
He sighed. She will do very well for a governess. Yes…that is what his aunt thought of women like Elizabeth, and what he had once thought himself. Lady Catherine might entertain them in her drawing room with cards and supper, but they were by no means acceptable when she could get somebody else more suited to her station in life. No, Darcy knew his aunt would never accept her as her equal, even if she were his wife.
…Governess… Darcy slowly shook his head as he considered the thought of Elizabeth in service, which, upon her father’s death, could very easily become her fate. No! The mere thought was abhorrent. He could not bear to think of it, for he would hate to see her forced into such deprivation, especially when he held it within his power to elevate her from such a fate. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had so much more to give than to waste away as a spinster caring for the children of high society. And knowing what he knew on that subject, he grieved, for he knew that not all men were as affable or as honourable as himself.
Snapping out of his reverie, Darcy bolted upright and released a gasp as he ran his fingers through his dishevelled curls. “Damn it! It is unfair. What in the name of God am I going to do? The want of her is tormenting me, and if I do not ask for her hand, I fear I shall regret her all the days of my life—especially if.… No! I will not think of it! Dear God, help me—help me to know what I am to do. I am burning with a desire that is consuming me! The flames wrap around me, singeing my heart. The sheer torture of it is unbearable!”
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Sleep.… I need sleep.”
After punching the pillow several times and settling back down, sleep finally came and relieved him of his pent-up anger and frustration but not from his tormenting dreams. Those lingered.
Tossing and turning throughout the night, he moaned in restless sleep, his dreams filled with want and desire as the spectre of Elizabeth Bennet once again shared his bed.
In his dreams, he held her in his arms and spoke freely all the things that he could not utter in the light of day, telling her how much he admired and loved her…how much he needed her…wanted her. He shared his dreams and aspirations for their future, and, most of all, he shared the deep abiding love which, in spite of her low connections in trade and vulgar relations, had conquered all. For in the midnight hour, in the quiet of his room, none of that mattered.
Darcy struggled through the night with visions that were so vivid he could almost feel her warm breath against his bare skin as she caressed him with her tantalizing kisses, and as he kissed her, he could nearly taste her sweetness. His desire was so great—so intense—that his will was slowly breaking under the sheer weight of it. Then, as the cock crowed in the distance, Darcy’s eyes flew open. He awoke in a cold sweat, trembling and gasping for breath.
At long last, realization swept over him, and he sat up straight. The only possible conclusion to his suffering was to take her for his wife. Yes! In spite of all he knew—her family, her connections in trade—he would marry her, and the rest of the world be damned! They would face society’s cold shoulder together. All would not be lost. He had a few connections that would stand by them. His cousin, the Viscount of Wexford, Fitzwilliam, and the Duke of Beaumont and Millicent would accept them, and then there were Kathryn and Lord Brockton, and, perhaps, Randal Pennington, as well. Yes, he and Lady Susan, too. They would all be there for him and Elizabeth. He was certain of it. And that would have to be enough. As for Georgiana, once she saw the happiness that a marriage based on love could bring, she would understand that a marriage of wealth and connections was not so important after all. Perhaps she, too, would want to marry a man she esteemed. Yes…just maybe those things were not so important as he had once thought.
Suddenly, a wide smile spread over his countenance, and he began to plan his proposal, which he would present to Elizabeth this very evening while they were all at tea. He would take her aside and suggest a stroll in the garden, perhaps through his aunt’s maze. Yes, that is what he would do. He would propose in the great outdoors amongst the flowers and the night creatures, with owls hooting in the distance and nightingales singing their melodious songs. He grinned. She loved nature and so did he. Therefore, he would ask for her hand in the gardens of Rosings.
There was only one difficulty with which to contend: how to avert and detain Fitzwilliam elsewhere? A wicked glint quickly shone in his eyes. If he timed things just right, perhaps Lady Catherine could be prevailed upon to be of service and do it for him. Yes, he thought to himself. Directing his aunt’s attention in that quarter could very easily do the trick. All it would take was the mere mention of Fitzwilliam’s future plans of marriage—perhaps he would share the news of Lady Matlock’s soirée and Mrs. Gimbal’s nieces. Once that bit of intelligence was loosed, Lady Catherine’s diatribes would flow long and freely, giving him the time he so desperately needed to finalize his future happiness.
Darcy threw back the counterpane and quickly rose from his bed. He went over to the washstand and filled the basin from the pitcher sitting nearby. Lifting a large handful of cool water, he splashed his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “We shall be married by special license as quickly as I can arrange it. Elizabeth, I ardently admire and love you.” He glanced back at his large oversized bed. “Soon you shall share my bed in reality instead of only in my dreams, and may we be blessed with many children, just as Mr. and Mrs. Chaney are blessed. Yes, we shall have a full quiver—cheaper by the dozen, I say, for I have a large appetite which only you can satisfy.” He gazed at his image in the looking glass. “Indeed, St. Paul is correct. It is better to marry than to burn, and we must marry soon before the flames of passion consume me. Elizabeth, I hope you are as agreeable to the marriage bed and children as I, for I am very eager for you to share my bed each and every night. This nonsense of separate chambers will not do for us.”
Taking up another large handful of water, Darcy splashed his face again, running his fingers through his thick dark hair as water dripped from his elbows. He laughed out loud. “I am as light as a feather—as giddy as a goose—as love struck as any school boy ever was. Yes! We have our whole lifetime before us. It will indeed be one celebrated marriage—one that will be talked about for years!”
Suddenly his attention was diverted by the sound of a discrete knock on his chamber door. Darcy glanced over to the entrance of his room and smiled broadly. Soon his man was in his chamber along with several footmen carrying pails of hot water.
“Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well?”
“Winfred, you’ve no idea,” Darcy said, moving in their direction. “Yes, my good man, I slept very well indeed. Today is a splendid day, and I want to look my very best.”
“Your best, sir? You look your best every day.” The older man tilted his head and contemplated his master’s good spirits. “Sir, may I ask, if it is no imposition, that is…but…what has come over you? Has the devil got your soul?”
“No.” Darcy laughed. “Nothing quite so dramatic as that. But when the time is right, I shall inform you of my plans. You shall be among the first to know, for it will affect you.”
“Very well, sir,” the valet said with a crooked smile. “Whatever it is, I pray it is truly good.”
“Oh! It is! It is truly brilliant, my good man…it is very good. Now, let us get on with the day. I have a lot planned and much to accomplish.”
After his bath and shave, Darcy left for the breakfast parlour with a song in his heart, a spring in his step, and a broad smile upon his face. His mind was firmly made up. Today was to be the best day of his entire life! Today, Miss Elizabeth Bennet would become his betrothed—and very soon, his wife.