Longbourn's Songbird

by Beau North

  Lydia tossed her bag on the ground before climbing out of the bedroom window.

  “He’s already waiting for me,” she whispered to Kitty, checking her hair in the mirror one more time.

  “Lydia…” Kitty couldn’t keep the pleading tone from her voice. “Think about what you’re fixing to do! You’re gonna kill Mama!”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Kitty.” She bent and kissed her sister on the cheek, pulling her into a firm embrace.

  “The next time you see me, I’ll be a married woman. And we’ll look back at this and laugh.”

  Kitty doubted anyone was going to come out of this decision laughing but hugged her sister anyway.

  “Daddy’s gonna ground me for life if he finds out I knew about this,” she said. Lydia laughed quietly as if this was the funniest thing she ever heard.

  “Well you can at least give us a head start. Tell Mama I’ve got cramps or something when you come down for breakfast.”

  Kitty nodded reluctantly. Lydia was halfway out the window, pulling herself up onto the roof when she looked back inside. She smiled at her sister.

  “Wish me luck,” she whispered before climbing all the way out, disappearing into the night.

  “Good luck,” Kitty said to the empty room. She thought Lydia was going to need it.

  ***

  It wasn’t long before Maddie could confirm what she’d already suspected, that young Mr. Darcy was very much in love with her niece. She smiled knowingly as she attempted to keep up a conversation that had become one-sided. Mr. Darcy only had eyes for Elizabeth and Georgiana, who sat together at the piano laughing and whispering like old conspirators.

  There had been a good deal of back-and-forth between the two on who was a better musician, based on their level of secondhand praise. Georgiana insisted that her brother swore there was nothing he liked more than hearing Elizabeth sing, causing Elizabeth to flush all the way to the roots of her hair.

  “You seem pleased, Mr. Darcy, to see those two getting on so well,” Maddie said, not expecting much by way of a reply.

  “More than you know, Mrs. Gardiner.” He offered an apologetic smile for his inattentiveness. “I know that living here makes my sister’s life rather isolated, especially with no family save an absentee older brother, and a bad-humored one at that. It does me good to see her smiling and laughing.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mr. Darcy. You have many responsibilities.”

  Darcy frowned for a moment, thinking how badly he’d neglected his sister when he first returned to Pemberley. The sound of Elizabeth’s low, rich laugh from across the room tore his attention away yet again. She had her head bent slightly so that Georgiana could speak quietly, no doubt sharing something that would embarrass him later. Her eyes flicked to his own, dancing with amusement.

  If I could preserve this moment, he thought, now frustrated at his own inability to stop time itself.

  As if on cue, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. He wanted to smash the clock against the stone fireplace in defiance. Soon, all too soon, they would be on their way.

  He couldn’t make her stay but wondered how he could possibly let her go.

  ***

  Charlotte was surprised to see her husband waiting for her when she got home. She knew he was supposed to be meeting with the boys that would drive the trucks from town to town for the revival.

  “Goodness, you gave me a fright,” she said as she walked into the kitchen, finding him seated at the table. He sat motionless, staring down at his hands; they were clasped together as if she had interrupted him in prayer. His lank hair fell in his eyes, obscuring his face.

  His voice was dangerously calm. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

  Charlotte opened her mouth, tempted to be honest even knowing the severity of the consequences.

  He continued speaking before she could make a response. “Do you think I’m foolish? A drooling idiot?”

  “What is this about?”

  He looked up at her with an eager satisfaction in his eyes that made her quail. “You’ve shamed me, Charlotte.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said briskly. She set about pouring herself a glass of iced tea so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Her heart pounded in terror, wondering how he possibly could have found out about Anne. She burrowed under her fear, surprised to find another sensation hiding underneath it. She was euphoric.

  The silence in the room grew like something malignant, suffocating her. Charlotte kept her back turned to her husband, raising her drink to her lips with a trembling hand. She held on to a memory of Anne to mitigate her mounting apprehension—a small, insignificant moment—the day they’d startled the birds in the holly bushes that grew behind Rosings House. Anne’s astonished yelp turned to a joyful laugh as a dozen or more cedar waxwings burst from the hedge. The moment passed quickly, and they resumed their walk, but it stayed with Charlotte long after. She brandished it now as if it could pick her up and carry her away like those birds exploding out of the holly. Fight or flight, she wondered as she heard the sound of his chair scraping away from the table.

  ***

  The day was dwindling into evening, and Darcy found himself pacing the length of his garage, trying to decide what to do. He had been out of sorts—restless since Elizabeth’s visit. He tried to keep company with Georgie, but she quickly lost patience with his inability to sit still for more than a few seconds.

  He was almost to the door of the garage when he saw Richard’s motorcycle in the far corner of the room, gleaming black and expectant. He considered it for a moment. Elizabeth’s visit had started so promising, only to end in brooding uncertainty on his part. They had not had a chance to be alone—to say the things that needed to be said about Caroline, about Richard. She seemed genuinely fond of Georgiana, and she had almost been herself around him. He took it as a promising sign but was not entirely satisfied. He wanted what they had in the weeks before Bingley’s birthday party.

  His nerves were live wires under his skin, and no matter where he went in the house and on the grounds, the space did not feel big enough to contain all he was feeling. What he needed, he decided as he kick-started the bike, was a distraction. He would drive down to the Matlock Blues Hall just over the county line.

  It was one of his favorite places, where he was not Will Darcy but just another drinker. No one cared who he was there; they were there for the same reasons. He could have a few beers, shoot some pool, and put his anxiety over Elizabeth out of his head for a few blessed hours.

  The motorcycle roared under him as he took the winding switchback road down the mountainside. The music greeted him before he even pulled into the scrubby dirt patch that served as the parking lot.

  Well you always say you’re tired of being alone,

  when I look around you’re almost gone.

  She’s my little gal,

  I declare she’s mine all mine.

  It was loud, raucous, and exactly what he was in the mood for. Darcy grinned at the thought as he pushed open the door and entered the dark, humid bar.

  It was teeming with people that night. Many were strangers to him though a few looked somewhat familiar. He looked around for a moment to see if anyone he knew was there before turning to walk to the bar, only to halt in his tracks, the smile slowly dying on his face.

  His heart sank down to the pit of his stomach. Of course, he would have no peace that day. It was as if the universe was demanding that they come to the point already.

  She stood near the stage with a few people he recognized from her band, clapping her hands and dancing along to the music. She had changed from the fine dress she wore to Pemberley that morning into a faded sundress that left her arms and shoulders nearly bare. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, and it swayed as she rocked with the music. He was mesmerized by the motion of her hips, the way wisps of her hair clung to her neck in sweat-dampened strands, and the blissfully unaware look on her fac
e. He looked around the room, noticing that he was not the only man watching her.

  Oh, to hell with this. He marched over to where she stood, surprising her. He would be damned if he was going to hide anymore.

  Without speaking a word, he put a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her close to him. Her skin was slick with sweat. His other arm went around her waist, pressing their bodies together, letting her feel for herself what she did to him. There were catcalls from the people around them. The careful, polite face he had worn throughout her visit at Pemberley fell away, letting her see the rawness beneath. She gasped but did not pull away.

  “Dance with me,” he said.

  “Mr. Darcy…” she said, sparking his emotions. He was sick of Mr. Darcy. He released her only long enough to clamp his hand around her upper arm, pulling her unceremoniously towards the door.

  “Outside. Now,” he said growling. One of the men she was standing with frowned at them.

  “Lizzie?”

  “It’s okay, Marty,” she called breathlessly as Darcy marched her towards the door. “I know him!”

  Darcy did not stop until they were safely hidden behind the old brick building. He spun her around to face him.

  “Look at me,” he said hoarsely.

  She turned dark eyes up to him. For the first time since he had known her, he did not have to wonder what she was hiding in those eyes as he could see it plainly enough. She wanted him, too. And it hit him like a load of bricks.

  He slowly lowered his face, pressing his lips to hers in a surprisingly gentle kiss. He sighed to feel her lips moving against his, welcoming his kiss. Taking this as encouragement, he became more demanding, parting her lips with his tongue and tasting the rich sweetness of her mouth.

  It was so different from that first defiant kiss on Netherfield’s porch. It was infinitely better knowing she wanted this kiss. Her arms wound around him, her breasts pressed against his chest.

  His mouth became more eager, exploring her face, jaw, the tender skin of her neck. When his teeth grazed the delicate spot just under her ear, she shuddered and moaned the softest “oh” he had ever heard, making him groan against her.

  He was painfully aroused and past the point of all reason. In the back of his mind, he recalled the words from the poem, “You fill everything.” He thought he knew what it meant then, but this moment had brought him to a deeper understanding. She filled all his senses, and still he needed more.

  “Wait,” she breathed against him. He pulled back, trapping her face with his hands so she could not look away.

  “Haven’t we waited long enough? How long are you going to evade me?” Every ounce of his frustration carried in his voice. He saw something shift behind her eyes, and she pulled away with a jerk.

  “After Caroline Bingley,” she said. “Do you really believe I think so little of myself, that I would let you use me the way you used her?”

  “Is that what you really think of me?” His raised voice made her jump. “That I could just use you like that? Do you think I’m completely heartless?”

  “Can you honestly tell me it’s something you’ve never done before?”

  “I never claimed to be innocent. Can you say the same?” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back.

  “Yes, damn you. I can say the same. You thought what you wanted to think, and the second you learned otherwise, what did you do? Richard, and Caroline…and then you turned tail and ran! Forgive me if I’m hesitant to give in to another man who has proven he’s perfectly capable of forgetting me!”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” He spat out the next words. “Why do you think I did those things? Do you think I could stand watching you with Richard, knowing what I know?”

  “Then it’s my fault? I pushed Caroline’s hand down your trousers? And this may have escaped your keen notice, but Richard isn’t here, William! It’s just you and me! It was always just you and me!”

  She shouted the last, her hands balled up in fists, daggers flying from her eyes.

  He covered the distance between them in the space of a heartbeat, closing in on her until her back was against the building. He put a hand against the wall on either side of her, trapping her between the wall and his body. His voice shook slightly as he spoke.

  “There’s something here. I know you feel it too.” He buried his face in the fall of her hair, nudging her thighs apart with his leg. The heat of her scorched him. His teeth grazed the delicate skin of her neck, making her shudder against him.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t want this. Don’t lie. Not to me.”

  “Will…” she said breathlessly. “Please, not yet.” While her words pushed him away, her arms tried to pull him closer as he took several steps back, his eyes never leaving hers. He ran a hand through his hair. What was he thinking, imposing himself on her behind a derelict juke joint in the middle of nowhere?

  “I can’t help myself with you. I’ve never felt—” He shook his head and looked at her, still wide-eyed with her back against the wall. Her eyes shone darkly, her desire plain to see. Two spots of color rode high on her cheekbones; her lips were red and swollen.

  “I’d never hurt you, Lizzie,” he said shakily.

  “William, I—” She started forward.

  “Let’s just…call it a night.” He gave her a rueful smile and held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll take you back in.”

  No, he would have no peace that night. He could still taste her on his lips: salt and sweet summer blackberries.

  Chapter Seventeen

  September 1949

  Rosings House

  Camden, South Carolina

  Catherine DeBourgh strolled through the family portrait gallery, silently admiring the past two hundred years of DeBourgh heritage. They had come from Leeds. The de Bourghs were a very old family whose roots could be traced back to the time of William the Conqueror.

  The American scion branched from the second son of the famed Lord Henry de Bourgh that had been one of the leaders of the charge of the Battle of Culloden. Edward de Bourgh was a lieutenant in Her Majesty’s navy and accompanied Sir Charles Ogle to the colonies just as the War of Independence was breaking out. Falling in love with a patriot planter’s daughter, Edward stayed in the colonies and fought against England.

  At least, that was the public story. Her husband told her once that the truth was Edward de Bourgh was a smuggler, bringing criminals and nobles hoping to avoid debtors’ prison over to the colonies. His choice of career earned him a fortune, and he settled in the Carolinas to grow cotton and tobacco. Her horror at this fabrication only made the story funnier to Michail, who was no stranger to putting a public face on a family secret. His own mother had been a Russian immigrant who came to America without a penny to her name. “White,” he assured his wife. “Not Red.”

  Catherine’s own daughter was the one who stood to inherit the DeBourgh holdings, but those became more inconsequential every year. Catherine had long been scheming for a way to revitalize her properties. Her husband had been well aware of the family’s declining worth but preferred philosophy to practicality, insisting there was more than enough for Anne to live a comfortable life.

  When Catherine’s younger sister Anne had a son with John Darcy, arguably one of the three richest men in the United States, it seemed the answer to all their problems.

  Of course, her brother had two fine sons with substantial inheritances of their own, but their worth was a pebble in a bucket compared to the Darcy fortune.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy was a godsend, and for the life of her, Catherine could not understand how Anne continued to be so insensible not only of the smartness of the union but also of Darcy’s appeal. Certainly, the man was serious. But when was Anne ever so chipper? Catherine’s other surviving nephew no doubt held the greater personal charm, but Anne never seemed impressed by appearances. Catherine had long taken pride in Richard’s robu
st handsomeness as stemming from her line rather than his mother’s. If only he’d been the millionaire…

  But Anne had seemed livelier of late. God only knew why; that insufferable Collins was forever knocking upon the door. He was expected to visit that afternoon, which is why Catherine was taking preemptive solace in her family’s history. Collins’s new wife, Charlotte, was tolerable, and she and Anne seemed to have forged a close alliance over the months since Collins had presented her to his patron.

  The young women visited frequently, with Charlotte spending most of her time in Anne’s company rather than her husband’s. Catherine could easily see the appeal there but wondered at how Mrs. Collins could expect to have a family and household while still playing the role of an unmarried girl.

  Catherine heard Anne bounding down the stairs and knew the Collinses must be arriving. She entered the parlor just as Collins held out a letter to Anne. Whatever the letter contained, her daughter didn’t care for it. Anne stood five paces away from him with her jaw and fists clenched. Tears shone in her eyes. Catherine stepped around Collins and saw the cruel smirk twisting his lips and the superior, judging gleam in his eyes. He was so intent on Anne’s reaction that he did not notice Catherine until she reached out and snatched the letter from his hand.

  “Oh! Mrs. DeBourgh. My wife has sent that letter for Anne. I really think—” Collins said blustering. He reached for the letter, obviously discomfited by Catherine’s sudden appearance.

  Catherine glared at the sweaty man in her parlor, briskly unfolding the paper. “Do you suggest this correspondence is unfit for my eyes? Or do you question my authority to monitor my daughter’s activities?”

  “Of course not, ma’am.” Collins recovered himself and cleared his throat. “And maybe it is best you are aware of her…activities.”

  Catherine raised an eyebrow at the smug preacher and looked down at the letter in her hands. “Mother, honestly—” Anne said then crumpled onto the sofa, clutching her chest. Catherine finished reading the letter and glanced back up at Collins who preened with self-importance, assured of his patron’s approval.