“Elizabeth, are you well?” She glanced up to see the dark shadow of her husband peering over the edge of the bed.
Her voice was dazed and shaky, and she grimaced as she attempted to move from her side to her back. “That was not a pleasant way to be awakened.”
The bedclothes rustled followed by the sound of the drapes opening before he appeared before her. “I am not surprised you fell. I have oft times wondered how you remain balanced on the edge of the bed in that manner.” He aided her to stand, and she leaned against one of his arms and massaged her bad leg. “You did not reinjure it, did you?”
“I do not believe so, but I did land on that hip.”
Her head was bowed, and she caught sight of his long legs in the light of the moon filtering in from the window. Elizabeth could discern that they were covered in hair as her eyes followed them down to a pair of rather large feet. How had she never noticed how enormous his feet were compared to hers? He was a tall man, at over six feet, with broad shoulders, so they were in proportion to the rest of his body, but she hoped he would never tread on her toes while they danced.
A knock sounded on the door to the hallway. “Mrs. Darcy?” The voice of the footman stationed outside carried through the heavy wood. “Are you well? It sounded like someone may have fallen.”
Her head down, in conjunction with the dark, was a blessing as her husband had likely not caught her as she blushed or as she stared at his toes.
“Yes,” she called. “I am well, thank you.”
“Are you sure I cannot awaken someone for you?”
“That will not be necessary, Matthew,” Fitzwilliam called. “I am helping Mrs. Darcy.”
There was a long pause, and she glanced up and arched her eyebrow at her husband, who grinned at the humour in the situation.
“Oh… very well, sir.”
The footman’s footsteps retreated along the corridor as she breathed a sigh of relief. “I was worried he would enter.”
“I imagine he would hasten to fetch me or the housekeeper. I do not think he would enter without permission.”
Relief coursed through her, and she nodded. Her hip no longer ached, so she put her full weight on her injured leg. There was a bit of a twinge, but there did not appear to be any further injury.
“Is it still painful?” He took her free hand and placed it on his shoulder.
“I think it will bruise, but I do not believe I have reinjured anything. I expect I will be sore for a day or so.”
“I would imagine it is much like falling from a horse.”
Their eyes locked and her stomach fluttered. “Yes, precisely. I have always been sore for a few days after a good tumble from horseback.”
“You like to ride then?”
“I do! My father kept a mare, so I could accompany him as he rode the property at Longbourn.”
“I have several horses at Sagemore. We could see if one would suit, and you could go out with me some mornings… If you would care to, that is?”
The last was said with such a boyish expression and hope for approval that she grinned. “I believe I would enjoy riding your estate with you.”
She yawned, and he started as if all of a sudden, he remembered his surroundings. “I almost forgot that it is still the middle of the night.”
“Despite the fact it is still dark?”
He chuckled, and she closed her eyes at the deep rumble she had come to enjoy. One of her favourite occupations since becoming Mrs. Darcy had been eliciting a laugh or chuckle from her husband.
He had been nothing but solicitous since they were wed, and tonight was no different. He pulled the bedclothes back and insisted on holding her hands while she took a seat on the mattress. When she was comfortable, he climbed in on his side and turned towards her.
“You cannot keep sleeping on the edge or you will fall again,” he chided softly. He reached a hand over and trailed his knuckles down from her temple to her chin.
How was she breathless from the mere touch of his fingers to her face? The sensation radiated through her body, and she shivered.
“You are captivating, did you know that?”
If there had been enough light, her face would appear the colour of a beetroot as she shook her head. She was spellbound as her husband rose on his elbow and wrapped his other arm around her waist, gently pulling her towards him.
“I promise I will not bite.”
An anxious laugh escaped her lips as she held her body stiff. He did not remove his hand; instead, he began to caress her side with his thumb, which brushed along the underside of her breast.
Her eyes did not leave his. They could not. She was both entranced and anxious about what she saw in their depths.
Darcy had allowed Elizabeth to set the pace of their relationship in the fortnight since their marriage, but whatever progress was made during the day evaporated at night when she curled as far from him in the bed as she could. Their amiable conversation was satisfying, it was evident his wife enjoyed holding his hand, but she appeared to waver between contentment and discomfort in his presence. He wanted more between them.
There was not much light in the room, but she had physically responded to him: her chest rose and fell with an increased tempo, and her tongue peeked from between her lips to moisten them.
He dipped down and brushed a kiss as soft as a whisper against her crown. She made a swift inhalation, and he smiled as he bestowed kisses to each of her closed eyelids. Her eyes fluttered open, and she bit her lower lip in a hesitant expression. He pressed forward and claimed her lips with his own.
When he drew back, she licked her top lip just before he lowered to kiss her again, this time her lips attempted to move with his.
Fear prevented him from an attempt at more; he could not push her beyond the pale. That would make them both uneasy; her because he ventured too far and him because he waited too long to stop. She made a small high-pitched noise and he pulled back.
“Are you well?”
“Yes,” she replied.
He lifted his hand and again, ran his knuckles along the side of her face. She closed her eyes, which was understood as a silent permission to trace his fingers across her forehead, down her temple, against her lips. Her skin was so soft and her mouth opened a bit with his touch, but he stopped and lay back against the pillow.
“We should get some rest. I had thought to go book shopping on the morrow.”
She curled onto her side, a slight smile upon her countenance. “You think you have found the way to my heart, Mr. Darcy?”
He chuckled. “I am fairly positive, my wife.” He lay his arm across the pillow and gestured her to move closer. “I believe I should hold you close to me, so you do not take another tumble from the bed.”
“I will have you know that I have not fallen from bed since I was a little girl.” Her voice held a note of humour at his tease, an almost mock affront.
She hesitated with a wary expression, so he rolled onto his back and pulled her the remaining distance. Her head found a place to rest upon his upper chest as his arm wrapped around her back and his hand cupped her shoulder.
He inhaled deeply in an attempt to remain calm. Her pliant body pressed against his own was much too pleasurable, and his body’s urges were not the priority—her comfort and ability to trust him were too important.
“Goodnight, Elizabeth.”
“Goodnight,” she whispered, as she placed her small hand on his stomach.
To help himself sleep, he closed his eyes and attempted to block out the sensation of her against his side, but the remnants of her orange blossom scent teased him. Her breast was pressed to his ribs, and she lifted her knee so it lay on his hip. God help him!
His every muscle and nerve fibre was attuned to the sound of her breathing; her chest expanded and contracted as her small exhalations warmed his chest. The awareness of her unnerved him, but it allowed him to determine when she slumbered once more.
If she was at ease enou
gh to find sleep within his arms, perhaps, she had begun to feel something for him. He dare not label the emotion, but he smiled in contentment just before he dozed off.
“It was most deceitful of you to promise book shopping when you intended a trip to the modiste, Mr. Darcy.” Darcy laughed in delight as Elizabeth regarded him with teasing eyes. Unable to resist touching her, he covered her hand with his while continued their walk to the booksellers, the earlier part of their morning spent at the local seamstress.
“Grandmamma mentioned you were not fond of shopping for gowns, but you did not purchase many in London. You will no longer be wearing half-mourning in another few months.”
“I have gowns from before the accident, and also Jane’s. They will require a few minor alterations, but they are still quite serviceable. My mourning gowns can be re-trimmed with white or perhaps a pretty ribbon, and continue to be worn.”
With a broad grin, he shook his head. How had he become so lucky as to marry a woman who would not spend all her pin money at the modiste? “You will also require a new gown for the gala.”
“I had thought to wear my wedding gown. I will have it embroidered the way I had hoped by then.”
He attempted to catch her eye, but she took in their surroundings with great interest. “You may, of course, but I would take great pleasure in seeing you wear the pattern I selected.”
“You selected all my gowns, sir. I must inquire of other wives to see if their husbands take such a prodigious interest in their wardrobes!”
He paused and angled his body towards hers. “I was in earnest when I said you could change any of the patterns you wished. I would not have you purchase something you dislike.”
She shook her head and placed her hand upon his chest. “I was teasing! I did not mean to imply that I was unhappy with your selections. They were all very fine.”
“You are quite certain?” He searched her eyes for any hint of displeasure, and was relieved to find none.
“I assure you. I am delighted with your choices. They are exquisite, and I am certain they will suit me admirably.”
He continued on in his previous direction, with Elizabeth on his arm. “I do not wish to overstep. I hope you are aware that my sole desire is your happiness.”
She tugged on his elbow, so he allowed her to pull him out of the path of the people on the pavement.
“I am happy, Fitzwilliam—truly. I have no cause to repine.”
“Truly?” Until that moment, he had been unaware how much he needed to hear those words from her.
With one arched eyebrow, she grinned mischievously. “Well, we have not yet been wed a fortnight, so you could one day give me reason, but yes, truly.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he released the breath he held.
“Perhaps we should have this conversation later, when we are not on a busy street.”
He glanced around and chuckled. “You are correct, of course.”
They had not taken many steps along the pavement, when they almost collided with none other than Charles Bingley.
“Darcy!” he exclaimed, his jovial countenance brightening. “It is good to see you, man. I knew you were in Bath, but I was unaware of the direction to your lodgings.”
There had been a specific reason for withholding the information, but regardless, he smiled out of politeness, and gestured towards Elizabeth.
“Bingley, may I present my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. Mrs. Darcy this is Charles Bingley. We have been friends since we became reacquainted in London several years ago.”
Elizabeth curtsied and Bingley gave a bow.
“I have heard much of you, Mrs. Darcy; I am glad to meet you at last.”
Darcy had to bite his lip to prevent himself from guffawing as Elizabeth lifted that one eyebrow. She may not have laughed aloud, but she most certainly laughed.
“I have heard much of you as well, Mr. Bingley.”
“Really?”
She nodded and squeezed Darcy’s arm. He could not fathom why until she began to speak again. “Yes, Mr. Darcy’s grandmother mentioned you on multiple occasions as we prepared for the wedding. Then, from your sisters, when we met in London, as well as when we happened upon them here.”
“I was unaware you had met my sisters.” Bingley's tone was wary, but he could not be blamed with sisters such as his. “They have not mentioned such an encounter.”
Bingley’s brow creased in deep concentration. He was probably thinking in detail as to when they could have come across Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst since their arrival in Bath.
“I believe you first made their acquaintance in a tea shop,” Darcy interjected.
Elizabeth desired Bingley to be made aware of his sister’s activities, and while Darcy had planned a more private locale, he saw no reason to delay if it could be done without causing affront. Bingley despised confrontation, so it was doubtful he would cause a scene.
“Yes, Grandmamma and I had a nice discussion with them that morning. My husband and I also caught a glimpse of them in the pump room.”
Bingley had an apprehensive expression as he nodded. “They have never mentioned that they were introduced.”
“I do not believe they were aware of our presence,” added Darcy.
Bingley cocked his head to the side, and Darcy sighed. The poor fellow was like a lost puppy. It was no wonder his sisters could manipulate him as they did.
“We were visiting the pump room a week ago when we became aware of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst whilst they gossiped behind us.”
Bingley’s face blanched. There was a certain satisfaction derived as they informed him but allowed him to discern the remainder on his own.
“Do I dare ask what they said?” Bingley’s voice echoed the trepidation on his face. One had to pity him. His friend had not chosen his sisters, and he had always tried to be the best of brothers. His sisters did not share a similar obligation, which was unfortunate.
Darcy extended his hand as if they had just approached one another and Bingley took it, shaking hands while he prepared himself for what had been long overdue.
“Bingley, you will always be welcome to visit Sagemore, but your sisters will never again be welcome into one of my homes.”
Bingley nodded. He accepted the news better than Darcy had expected, so he took a deep breath and steeled himself again. “If you ever betray my trust again, our friendship will be at an end. Do you understand?” Darcy’s voice was low so no one nearby could hear.
“But I did not!” cried Bingley. A few passers-by glanced in their direction and Bingley started and shut his mouth.
Leaning forward, Darcy continued in the same low voice, “Miss Bingley informed Mrs. Hurst that you mentioned Bath during a discussion of my wedding announcement. She insisted you bring her here because she understood this to be where we are staying.”
Bingley’s eyes widened. “I did not realise.”
“That is part of the problem, Bingley, you never do.” Darcy placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You would do best to find Miss Bingley a husband as you did Mrs. Hurst. Otherwise, she will continue unchecked as she has for the last few years.”
“She cannot be so terrible.” His friend’s voice was laced with desperation.
Darcy shook his head, willing him to understand. “Miss Bingley is disliked amongst most members of the Ton. Some receive her calls for the gossip she manages to bring, but they would not seek her out should she lack the information they desire.
“She has also set her cap too high and will make a fool of herself attempting to obtain her goal. She will ruin you in society before you can even purchase an estate.”
A shrill voice sounded behind them, where Miss Bingley threatened to bear down upon the three of them.
“We will not associate with her, Bingley. I will write to you when we return to Sagemore.”
“Good day to you, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said with a curt nod, as Darcy propelled her forward and around the corner with him. S
he had to work hard to keep up, but in this instance, likely did not mind. Soon, they arrived at the next corner and their destination.
A bell sounded upon his opening the door, and a portly man looked up from behind the counter. “Good day to you sir, madam.”
They wished the man good day as they stopped, and surveyed the room of shelves before them. “Did you wish to find anything in particular?” he asked. The poetry section was straight ahead with the novels further down the row.
“I am unaware of which books you have at Sagemore. I would not wish to purchase what you already own.”
“We own,” he corrected, “and do not worry; if I remember we have a copy, I will let you know. You may also buy your own copy for the shelves of our sitting room. I keep many of my favourites there and would be happy to share the space with you.”
“Do you have any of Mrs. Radcliffe’s books? The Romance of the Forest, perhaps?”
He groaned and she giggled. “You are going to fill my library with novels?”
“I was under the impression it was our library, sir, and I can always keep them in our sitting room.”
He feigned disappointment. “And here I thought we had similar tastes in books.”
He led her to the poetry section, where she stepped down the aisle from him. He spotted the sign that designated novels, and he quirked a side of his lips upward. She, no doubt, searched for novels by Mrs. Radcliffe, so he pulled a volume from the shelf, perusing its pages until she drew him from his musings.
“For the most part, I believe we do read similar subjects, but on occasion, I dearly love to read a novel.” She beamed in his direction, and he had no wish to refuse her anything when she was so happy.
“You may buy every edition in the section if it pleases you.”
She pulled out a volume of poetry. “Perhaps not every one but maybe just one or two by Mrs. Radcliffe.”
“Have you never read them?”
“No, I have, but I enjoyed them so much; they are like an old friend. I like to go back and visit with them from time to time.” She traced the front of the cover with her fingertips while she spoke, and he stared at the movement. If only she would touch him in such a fashion!
An Unwavering Trust Page 17
