Alone in the east parlour, the lovers’ enthusiasm, by now, was sufficiently doused. They were alone, and with several hours remaining before they were destined to bid each other good night, they had no cause to repine. Whereas some conversation would have been in order, both seemed rather intent upon their private musings.
For Elizabeth’s part, the fact that Kitty had mentioned Lydia’s scheme in Mr. Darcy’s presence had been cause for concern. If only my entire family was privy to Mr. Darcy’s kindness and the sacrifices he made in recovering Lydia and the thousands of pounds of his own money he spent to see that she was properly settled with the one man in the world he despised more than anyone else, owing to his treachery, they might think better of speaking of that gentleman so liberally. Then again, maybe not, for George Wickham was a member of the family, and in a matter of days, he and Mr. Darcy would be akin to brothers. Oh, how Darcy’s haughty aristocratic aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had railed at such a notion, pontificating upon Pemberley’s contamination because of the alliance. Elizabeth would never forget her bitterly charged assertions:
Is such a girl to be my nephew’s sister? Is her husband … is the son of his late father’s steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth! Of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?
A larger reason for Elizabeth’s discomfort had to do with the letter she had received from Lydia, for she had not mentioned a word of its contents to Mr. Darcy. With the wedding mere days away, surely she could no longer put it off.
Elizabeth drifted towards the window. She folded her arms over her bosom, partly to shield herself from the draft, but mostly to collect her thoughts. Mere moments later, strong, well-muscled arms engulfed her from behind, and she leaned into the warmth of her betrothed’s embrace.
“Why are you so pensive, my love?”
Oh, how she relished the warmness of his breath caressing her neck. Surrendering her sweet sanctuary, she turned and faced him. Only now did she reap the benefits of having untied his stained cravat. Fighting the urge to trail her fingers along his chest, she placed her hands on his waistcoat. “Pray you will forgive me for not saying anything sooner, but I really ought to tell you that I received a letter from Lydia the other day telling me that she plans to attend our nuptials.”
Darcy’s expression was just as she had expected—exasperated. “In such a case as this, I know not what to say or even what to wish.”
“My wish is that Lydia penned the missive without her husband’s awareness, and he had the decency to persuade her against such folly before commencing the journey. Nothing pleases me more than knowing that Georgiana will be with us when we exchange vows, and yet the thought that she might be forced to suffer Mr. Wickham’s company for even a second fills me with dread.”
“Elizabeth, it immensely pleases me that you would regard my sister’s situation with such selfless consideration, even at the expense of your own sister’s desires and wishes. I was exceedingly grateful when you came to Georgiana’s defence against Miss Bingley’s inadvertent disparagement at Pemberley when she thought to be harming you and instead injured my sister.” Darcy placed his thumb under her chin. “I do not know that I ever thanked you.”
Miss Caroline Bingley. Charles Bingley’s younger of two sisters. How she loved to remind Elizabeth that George Wickham had been such a favourite of the Bennet daughters. At one time, Elizabeth had considered Mr. Wickham a better man than Mr. Darcy, despite Miss Bingley’s half-informed admonitions. Caroline was wholly unaware that the nefarious Wickham had attempted to elope with Miss Darcy, and he would have succeeded had Mr. Darcy not intervened and thus spared his sister from censure and despair.
To suggest that Caroline and Elizabeth did not care for each other was hardly an exaggeration, for the former had deemed the latter an adversary from the start—a competitor for Mr. Darcy’s affections. Elizabeth, having never suffered similar sentiments, did not appreciate Caroline’s puffed up pretentions and superior airs, especially her condescension towards Jane, whom Elizabeth considered the kindest, most generous person in the world.
Returning her attention to the handsome man before her, Elizabeth said, “Of course you did, sir. What better means of expressing your gratitude than the manner in which you behaved upon learning of my sister’s foolishness when we were together in Derbyshire.”
Memories of that time haunted her still. Elizabeth’s distress had been palpable, and although shocked and grieved himself, he set aside all his indignation and thought only of her comfort. His subsequent departure had rendered her pensive and regretful that she might never lay eyes on him again, but the following weeks would shed light on his motives, revealing an even better man than the one she thought she was finally beginning to understand.
“I suppose I had a proper thank-you in mind,” said Darcy.
“And what, pray tell, do you consider a more fitting expression of gratitude than all that you did on behalf of my family, which includes reuniting Jane and Mr. Bingley?”
Darcy trailed his eyes along an arousing path from Elizabeth’s slightly parted lips to her amazingly fine eyes and to her lips once more. He leaned forward and bestowed a light kiss along the corner of her mouth. Both lovers wetted their lips in anticipation.
A faint cough drew both of their eyes towards the door. Elizabeth’s second eldest sister, Mary, sauntered into the room, saying and doing nothing that would give one the impression of her having witnessed anything untoward. Darcy, whose annoyance was barely concealed, and Elizabeth, whose embarrassment was evident, drew apart from each other.
Mary said, “Aunt Philips has gone home, and Jane and Mr. Bingley remain in the parlour.” Mary pressed her spectacles to her face. “I thought I might resume practising the pieces I have selected for the wedding breakfast.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Pray, Mary, must you practise at this very moment?”
“Indeed I must, Lizzy. I shall never forget my embarrassment at the hands of those whom I considered my closest family and friends during my exhibit at the Netherfield ball. I do not mean to suffer such a harrowing trial again for as long as I live.”
How could Elizabeth argue with her sister? For indeed, Mary had practised all week and still her performance had been deemed lacking, rendering her a laughing stock to most of the people who had the misfortune of witnessing it. It concerned Elizabeth, though, that Mary spoke of her pain as poignantly as if it had happened recently, when in fact it had been a year ago.
After an awkward moment tinged with timidity, Mary ambled to the pianoforte and commenced practising. Darcy and Elizabeth took their places on the sofa.
To Darcy’s chagrin, Mary started with the same piece she had been practising for weeks. It would not do. Wondering if he might ever enjoy a moment alone with Elizabeth before they exchanged wedding vows, Darcy reflected on his own family’s pending arrival the next day. His cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam had agreed to escort Georgiana and her companion to Hertfordshire.
Mere months ago, the thought of exposing my young sister to people who earned their living in trade would have been unconscionable. How things had changed. He owed his newly established appreciation of those in life whose circumstances were decidedly beneath his own to the affection that had grown between the Gardiners and him. They, too, would arrive the next day. In truth, his regard for Elizabeth’s father also had increased. Mr. Bennet’s determined stance that his daughter Kitty would never be tempted to make the same mistakes as young Lydia was proof of his goodness as a father and his worthiness of Darcy’s esteem.
Footsteps clawing across the hardwood floor startled him from his musings. Darcy looked at Elizabeth. She, in turn, looked at him as a pack of four-legged creatures wandered into the room and settled by the pianoforte. Moments later, a chorus of chanters not even suited to Mary’s musical talents commenced crooning a melancholy tune.
Without exchanging a single word, Elizabeth understood what must be done, not only for Mr. Darcy’s sake, but for her own as well. He had incited in her busy mind questions brought on by his longing looks and by the lingering imprint of his hands, his fingers. Her curiosity she would no longer repress, for she meant to have the answers before the evening was over. The young lovers stood, each seized the other’s hand, and abandoned the room.
Moments later, having reached their destination, Darcy took a second to appreciate his change in fortune. This is a charming room. Why has Elizabeth never thought to bring me here before? The well-tended fire provided the only light, for no candles were lit, giving Darcy to suspect the room was rarely used. Perhaps it was the time of the year. The aspect that heightened the room’s appeal most of all was its distance from the main rooms. If not for the Scottish tune flooding the air, he could easily suppose that he and Elizabeth were alone in their own little sanctuary.
“This is more to my liking.”
“I thought you would fancy this room, sir. However, now that we are here and with some assurance of our privacy, I might add, whatever shall we do?”
“What say you to a dance?”
“Why, Mr. Darcy, do you feel a great inclination to seize an opportunity of dancing a reel?”
Remembering the time at Netherfield Park when he had taunted her with words of a similar vein, he smiled apologetically. Besides, a reel was the furthest thing from his mind. “Do you suppose your sister might be persuaded to practise another piece?”
“I suppose she might. What do you have in mind?”
“Actually, I was considering something more suited to a waltz.”
Elizabeth placed her hand to her bosom. “I am afraid you do not know my sister very well if you suppose for one moment that she would consent to such a scandalous proposal.”
He extended his hand to her. “Then, I suppose we shall have to make do with this.”
Darcy placed his free hand on Elizabeth’s waist and drew her much closer than any ballroom would have allowed, sending a surge of heat all over her body. She endeavoured not to think of what anyone who came upon them at that moment would think and instead placed her hand on his shoulder and commenced following his lead. They were well into the dance when the music had stopped, but that did not deter them. Their bodies swaying in the same rhythmic motion, Darcy said, “You cannot imagine how much I longed to hold you like this during our first dance.”
“Of course, it might have been our second dance had you deemed me tolerable enough to tempt you during the Meryton assembly.”
“I did not mean for you to hear me.”
“I suppose that is your idea of an apology.”
“Must I remind you that you subsequently spurned my request for a dance at Lucas Lodge and, in so doing, wounded me deeply?”
“Sir, I rather doubt that I wounded you, for you surely would never have asked had Sir Lucas not prodded you.”
“Elizabeth, do you suppose that I do not bleed when cut?”
“Well, if you insist, then I suppose that makes us even.”
Halting the dance, Darcy bent towards Elizabeth and peered into her eyes. “May you and I never do or say anything that would cause us to wound each other again.”
Moving his hand to her face, Darcy brushed his thumb along her lips. How he adored her. The thought that he might ever again utter a single word that might cause her displeasure was unfathomable. He pressed his lips to her forehead, her eyebrows, her cheekbones, the corners of her mouth, affording scintillating chills in his wake. Pausing between each kiss, he looked at her beautiful face. At length, he brushed his lips against hers. His eyes closed, he proceeded gently, slowly urging her lips apart. Her response was everything he wished it would be. Their tongues commenced a swirling, teasing dance, and soon their desire for each other took on a violent, titillating urgency.
Breathless, Elizabeth placed her hands on his chest and gently eased herself away from his kiss. “We must not.”
“We must not what, Elizabeth?”
“I do not think now is the time, and I most certainly do not think this is the place to succumb to our bodies’ screams.”
He brushed his thumb across her slightly swollen lips. “As much as I would like to answer the call, the truth is, my love, I am not that selfish.”
She tilted her head to one side and studied his face. “Selfish, sir?”
“Indeed, for it would be the epitome of selfishness for me to exercise such liberties at this particular time and place. While I would no doubt find it pleasurable and immensely satisfying, I do not know that you would do the same. In fact, in light of your innocence, I am rather certain you would not. I want our first time to be special—the two of us together as man and wife in our wedding bed.”
“Sir, I insist you elaborate on the basis of such a presumptuous assertion that what is deemed pleasurable for you would not be equally pleasurable for me.”
“Presumptuous? I merely speak the truth.”
“How do you suppose?”
“I am a man of eight and twenty. How do you think I am privy to certain truths?”
“I imagine as a man of sense and education, who has knowledge of the world, you might have seen and done things I can scarcely conceive.”
Darcy said nothing. He threaded his fingers through his hair, and then walked to the sofa and sat.
Elizabeth joined him. “Perhaps you might tell me about it as we are to be husband and wife, and I suppose I ought to know.”
“I think not. What is more, I have no intention of discussing such matters.”
“But what if our situations were reversed?”
Darcy swallowed hard. “Then, I would have every right to know. However, as the situations are not reversed, this discussion is completely beyond the pale.”
Bending her knee and tucking her foot beneath her, Elizabeth shifted her body and faced him head on. “Pray, Mr. Darcy, you will not be the sort of husband who believes a spouse’s rights are principally inherent in one’s gender, for if that is indeed the case, tell me now, and I shall know how to act.”
Darcy assumed the same attitude as his betrothed. “What manner of retribution might I endure if, in fact, that is the case?”
“Well, sir, for one, I might be rather less welcoming than a husband expects of his bride.”
“You would not dare!”
“Do not tempt me.”
“Should you do as you suggest, then I would have no choice other than to resort to any measure of stratagems and schemes to achieve my purposes. However, I do not imagine it ever coming to that. Once I have made you mine, no doubt you will become hopelessly addicted. Fear not, however, for having attested to my generosity, you can be assured that I will indulge your avid appetite with ardent alacrity.”
“You seem rather certain of yourself, sir.” By now, Elizabeth’s face was within an inch of his. “Which brings me to my original question: what is the basis for your assertions?”