An Unwavering Trust
Page 18
“My books were at Longbourn with my father’s, and if you remember, Mr. Collins only allowed us our clothing and personal effects.”
Darcy’s attention snapped away from her fingers as he registered the information she imparted. He stepped over and covered her hand with his.
“Buy any books you would like. I will not mind.”
Her expression became hopeful. “You will tell me if you already have a copy?”
He took her hand from the book and pulled her closer, so they were face to face. “I am unconcerned if you happen to purchase a spare, Elizabeth. As I said, if you are taken with a particular text, you are welcome to keep it in our sitting room.”
Her eyes were a bit teary as she nodded, but her expression indicated she was more touched than distressed. He turned back to study the titles before him, but not before he saw her hug the book in her arms to her chest.
After an hour, both had chosen several books, and he held out his arm to take Elizabeth’s selections as they made their way to the counter. One by one, he placed their purchases on the hard, wooden surface where he read through each of the titles. He laughed softly as he flipped through Elizabeth’s. She had chosen two of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels, as well as poetry by Wordsworth and Byron.
“We have the Wordsworth and the Byron in the library,” he mentioned softly. “We can purchase these for our sitting room if you like, or we can move the copies we already own upon our return to Sagemore.”
Her eyes were wide with concern. “What if you would like to read them?”
He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I believe I will know where to find them,”
“Oh,” she said with a start. “Of course.”
She lay the two volumes of poetry in front of her and studied them. “I have never read this particular work of Byron’s, but this collection of Wordsworth is one of my favourites. I would like to keep a copy in the sitting room at Sagemore if you do not object. I can wait until we return home to read the Byron.”
He nodded, separated the books accordingly, and paid, requesting them to be delivered rather than having to carry them while they walked about town.
As they stepped out of the shop, he leaned towards his wife. “Now, about that orange scent you wear?”
She withdrew with a concerned look upon her face. “Do you not like it? I thought it pretty, but I can find something different if you prefer.”
He shook his head and placed a finger over her lips. “I find it enchanting and hoped to ensure you would not find yourself without it in the future.” The pink that imbued her cheeks brought him immense pleasure. He loved to make her blush.
“I purchased the bottle whilst shopping in London with Grandmamma. I am certain it would not be difficult to acquire more.”
Nodding, he offered her his arm, which she took as he began to walk towards the house. “Good. I find that it suits you well—very well indeed.”
When they returned, a few hours remained until dinner, so Darcy escorted Elizabeth to their suite, where she deposited a few packages they had purchased on the way home upon the bed, giggling. “I would not have thought you liked to shop.”
He grinned. “I do not enjoy shopping unless it is for books.”
“You shopped for more than books today.”
For a moment, he appeared as though he was about to say something. His smile became soft, his eyes met hers, and they shifted to her mouth. After a moment, when not a word passed his lips, she stepped forward.
“Fitzwilliam?” He started and turned crimson at being caught wool-gathering. “What has you so preoccupied all of a sudden?”
“Nothing,” he blurted, as he unwrapped the package that had awaited them when they returned.
“It has to be something. Will you not trust me?” She attempted to decipher the expression now upon his face. He was clearly embarrassed, and she was dying to know what it was.
Her husband took a step closer, and she took a step back. He grinned, and she raised her eyebrow. “What are you doing, Mr. Darcy?”
He had turned the tables on her, and she was not certain she liked it. Another step forward by him led to another back by her, and so on until the back of her legs were pressed against the side of the bed.
Less than a half-stride more brought him directly in front of her, and her heart thumped in her chest at his proximity. She swallowed and was about to speak when his hand reached out to touch her side and slid to her lower back. He pressed her to the solid plane of his body, and his head dipped down until she closed her eyes. His warm breath fanned across her face a moment before the velvet softness of his lips caressed her own.
Her stomach fluttered madly, and she grasped his lapels in the event her knees refused to maintain her weight. After the previous night, his kisses were not as unexpected, but the sensations that accompanied his attentions were disconcerting.
She was clumsy as her lips attempted to move against his, but it did not take long before they moved in tandem, just like before. His hand at the small of her back bunched her gown, and she lifted onto her toes in an effort to reach him better. Her body urged her to be closer to him, but why?
Her own gasp startled her as much as the sensation of her feet leaving the floor as Fitzwilliam lifted her. He laid her back on the bed where he loomed over her, supported by one arm while he continued to kiss her, caressing and parting her lips to touch his soft tongue to hers. A whimper of surprise escaped from her, and he broke the kiss to gaze into her eyes in a silent question as to whether she was well.
In order to reassure him, she lifted her head and placed her hand on the back of his, the pressure of her lips giving him an unspoken message that she wished to continue. She was soundless when he deepened their kiss, but found herself amazed not so much by the action, but by her desire that he do it again.
Before her marriage, Elizabeth had entertained fantasies of the man she would marry, but they had never included feelings like these, the ones she experienced with Fitzwilliam. His hands stroked her body as his lips clung to hers, eliciting an intense awareness of his nearness and an ache for something she could not identify.
Her husband threaded his fingers into her still-styled hair and pulled her head back to expose her neck, where he pressed a warm kiss just under her ear. Gooseflesh erupted down the back of her shoulders and her arms, and she grasped his curls, her fingers tugging at his dark locks as he began to trail his lips down her neck to her chest.
His hands had not remained idle and were leaving trails of heat wherever they touched: her back, her stomach, her breasts were all grazed, while his mouth worked its way to the tops of her breasts.
He even buried his nose in her cleavage and just breathed, the damp warmth of his exhale sending a shiver throughout her body. She could not catch her breath, and closed her eyes.
But what would her husband do if she touched him? Her eyes shot open, and she studied him as he loomed over her. Until then, one of her hands had been in his hair and the other bunched the counterpane to her side. She had been too timid to try touching him any more than she already had.
Fitzwilliam glanced up, catching her eye, and she pulled his head back to her lips. She began to kiss him with abandon, letting go of the inhibitions that had held her back. Her hands made their way under his topcoat to the rigid muscles of his stomach, and she received a groan in response to the first contact of her fingers to the thin lawn separating her from his flesh.
His vocalisation was accepted as an approval of her actions, so she pushed at his topcoat in an attempt to remove it. Breaking the kiss, he lifted enough to allow her to remove both topcoat and waistcoat before he settled upon her once more.
The pressure of his body against hers was nothing short of heaven. The strong muscles of his chest flexed and moved against hers, and her leg instinctually lifted to wrap around his hip, as she pulled his shirt from his trousers.
Her hands moved under his shirt and traced through the smattering of hair
on his stomach to his ribs. His breathing was as laboured as hers and a hand to his chest confirmed his heart pounded as intensely as her own.
He grasped her thigh just above her garter and pulled her closer. A rigid and hot part of him pressed against her through his clothes, and she groaned at the intense ache growing between her thighs. Everything in her body screamed for him to touch her there—his touch alone could alleviate the want that continued to intensify.
Just as his fingers brushed against that part of her body, she moaned, masking the sound of the dressing room door as it opened; however, she could not miss Hattie’s voice as she called her name, the high-pitched gasp, or the door slamming shut.
Her husband sprang from her body as if he had been singed, and made haste to stride through the doorway to his room. His young wife remained splayed on the bed; her hair a wreck, her skirt bunched up around the tops of her legs, and with a throbbing ache between her thighs that begged for relief.
Elizabeth pulled her skirt down, rolled to her side, and curled into a ball, where she remained as she attempted to bring herself once more under regulation. Her breathing, over time, returned to normal, as did the beating of her heart, but that ache, while diminished, would not disappear altogether.
After she felt more in control of herself, she groaned and stood, smoothing her skirt as much as she could. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she gave up, since her dismal efforts would not go far to righting her appearance.
When she opened the door to the dressing room, Hattie bustled through, blushing to the roots of her hair.
“Mrs. Darcy, I beg you to forgive me.”
“Do not fret,” said Elizabeth. “I am not angry, but in the future, both of us might be spared this mortification if you knock before entering.”
“I had already determined to do so, ma’am.” Hattie nodded and gestured towards the dressing room. “The housekeeper thought you might be wanting a bath after being out all day. She has footmen bringing up the water now.”
“A bath would be lovely.” She smiled in an effort to put her maid at ease. “But perhaps we could get my hair taken down and combed out first?”
Hattie beamed as Elizabeth took a seat before the dressing table. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get your pretty curls combed out in a trice!”
Meanwhile, Darcy was sinking into a bath of his own. He deserved a solid tongue-lashing for pushing Elizabeth. Although he had meant to do no more than kiss her, her response urged him further. The little pants in his ear, her vocalisations, her removal of his coat; all indicated she had not been frightened or averse to his advances.
The problem was that he had fallen in love with her. After considering the situation, he discovered it was useless trying to figure out how it had happened. Bewitched from the beginning with her beauty, her wit and her honesty had drawn him in further. She was so unlike anyone—any woman—he had ever met before, and the emotions had simply crept up on him. He was in the middle before he had been aware he had begun.
The night before, he had taken a step towards advancing their relationship, but still denied deeper feelings than friendship for her. What a farce!
Now, he needed her to love him in return. Ever since his grandmother had knocked sense into him, he had courted her. But what if it did not work? What if she never felt more than gratitude?”
He groaned and sank further into the tub. They had not been married long; so it was far too early to concede defeat. The courtship would continue until she loved him. Hopefully, it would not take months or even, god forbid, years.
He groaned again and sank below the water. She had to care for him at least a little.
Chapter 12
Darcy was seated at his grandfather’s desk as he sorted his correspondence and the papers he had received since their arrival in Bath.
His grandmother had sent several letters, which included one with the details of the visit his father and Lady Catherine had bestowed upon her before she departed London. He had even received a similar letter from his uncle, who chronicled his confrontation with Lady Catherine. Uncle Henry had refused to argue with her and had his butler show her to the door.
The missives were gathered and set together with notes from Georgiana that had been included in his grandmother’s correspondence. She had been thrilled when she received word of his marriage and was insistent she would meet Elizabeth one day.
The last letter was from Bingley. It had been a fortnight since they happened upon his friend on the street, and Darcy had been shocked when a messenger arrived the day after their impromptu meeting to deliver the missive. He had never provided Bingley with the direction, but Bingley was more industrious than he presumed. He opened the page, and scanned it one more time.
18 May 1810
Camden Place, Bath
Darcy,
Caroline’s machinations truly astound me at times, and dear friend, I owe you an apology for not seeing through her latest scheme.
I swear to you my slip was entirely accidental. I seem to have muttered it under my breath, and she somehow heard what I said. That is beside the point now, and I can do no more than remedy the situation I have caused.
I was gobsmacked when you told me why she insisted on passing the month in Bath, but her motives were clear when you departed with such haste. She was furious at the perceived slight and blamed your wife for the public cut. You and I are both aware she is mistaken, but Caroline has always viewed matters from one perspective, and attempting to convince her otherwise has proven to be a fruitless endeavour.
Tomorrow, we depart for the north. I will be taking Louisa and Hurst to his estate in Warwickshire on my way to Scarborough. Unless Caroline wishes to remain with the Hursts, we will return home for the summer. She is angry, to say the least, and has sworn she will never forgive me. Somehow, I believe I will survive her disapprobation.
Last night, I also informed her I would accept no further excuses to reject calls from potential suitors. She must find a husband by the end of the next season, or she will be sent to serve as a companion to my great aunt in Yorkshire.
I do hope this will alleviate any concern that she might confront you in the future. I would not wish to mar the joy of your wedding trip with her antics.
I will be in touch further once I have reached Scarborough.
Regards,
Charles Bingley
Darcy sighed and threw the letter, along with a few invitations to which Elizabeth had already responded, into the grate. They had not attended many functions since their arrival in Bath and had avoided the remaining balls of the season, instead frequenting concerts and theatre performances. Their last public outing was to be the next evening at the Gala in Sydney Gardens in honour of the king’s birthday.
He took great pleasure in the look of child-like wonder that graced Elizabeth’s eyes when he mentioned fireworks. Her reaction to viewing the spectacle for the first time would, no doubt, give him great pleasure.
Thoughts of his wife brought back memories of the interrupted encounter between them only a few days prior, he had been so concerned matters would be awkward between them, yet when he ventured to her chambers to escort her to dinner that very evening, Elizabeth put him at ease with a becoming smile and her teasing manner.
“I hope I did not offend you earlier,” he began as soon as Hattie departed the room. His hands were clenched before him as he awaited her answer.
Before he finished speaking, she began shaking her head. “No, I was not…”
“I also owe you an apology for leaving so abruptly. I had not expected your maid to interrupt.”
She laughed, and his fingers relaxed their grip as his tension eased. “I had not either. I believe she was as mortified as we were.” She glanced towards the door to the dressing room and back. “She will knock before entering in the future.”
“I should have a similar conversation with James.”
“I do not think your valet will burst into my room.”
He enfolded in his embrace and his lips caressed her forehead. Darcy sighed in contentment when her small hands came to rest upon his waist.
“I was concerned things would become awkward between us after the… interruption.”
She nestled closer to him. “I had been, too; but we cannot be awkward for the remainder of our lives.”
He smiled and smoothed a loose lock of hair over her shoulder. “You are a very practical woman, Mrs. Darcy.”
She giggled and stretched up to give him a brief kiss on the lips. “Well, it is fortunate one of us can see sense.” His mouth opened in a stunned expression as she backed away towards the door, laughing. “Shall we go to dinner, Mr. Darcy?”
He admired the way her eyes sparkled and beamed in pleasure. “I believe we should.”
“Fitzwilliam?” He turned to where the object of his musings entered with a letter in her hand. “I received a note from my aunt and uncle. They have returned to Meryton.”
“How long since their arrival?”
She scanned the paper and shook her head. “He never mentions, but their house was in shambles. It seems someone searched for a clue as to their destination.”
Concern was evident in her eyes and, more than anything, he did not want her to worry. “The investigator has been unable to locate your uncle. Gardiner has not shown at any of his usual haunts, and Mr. Simms believes he is hidden somewhere in one of the poorer neighbourhoods in London. I doubt he has the money for travel to Meryton.”
“But we have no way of knowing for certain.” Her voice was soft but anxious, so he stood and closed the door for privacy, then drew her into his arms.
“No, we do not, but the man I hired is excellent. I believe his instincts to be correct.” He trailed his hand up and down her back until she relaxed and wrapped her arms about his waist. “He has seen Grayson’s men watch these places too as they wait for your uncle to appear. He wants this debt he thinks he is owed, and he wants it badly.”