Longbourn's Songbird

by Beau North

  “Can I offer you a drink, Miss Bingley?”

  “Why, nothing would please me more.”

  ***

  Elizabeth opened the door slowly, peering into the room before stepping inside. As expected, Darcy stood at the window, the afternoon sunlight turning him to gold. She shut the door behind her. His fingers curling and uncurling were the only indication that he was as nervous.

  “Well,” she said quietly.

  “Well.” His eyes bored into hers.

  She strode forward, stopping just in front of him. His eyebrows shot up as she lifted the hem of her dress, removing the deed from the pocket she’d sewn into her slip. She held the papers out to him with a shaking hand.

  “Take it,” she said. He didn’t move.

  “You signed it.” His voice was like a stone hitting the floor.

  Her dark eyes flicked up to his. “No. I didn’t.”

  All the air seemed to leave him at once. He reeled, putting a steadying hand on the windowpane.

  “I—I…I don’t want it anymore,” she said, still holding the papers out to him. “There was a time when I thought it was all I’d ever want, and then I fell in love with you.” Still he made no move to take the papers from her. He waited to hear the rest.

  “I love Longbourn,” she said. “But in the end, it’s just a place…just like Pemberley is just a place. I want to be home to you because you’ve become home to me. I’d rather let go of Longbourn than let go of you.”

  She barely even saw him take the final step forward, ripping the deed out of her hand and throwing it to the floor. In the next instant, he scooped her up in his arms, his fingers buried in her curls. He kissed her hungrily, his mouth hard against her own. She’d never been kissed so forcefully in her life and found that she loved the feeling. This man, who was so careful with all else, could not hold himself back enough to be careful with her. He never had. She hoped he never would.

  “Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie,” he whispered in her ear. Her arms wound around his neck, holding him tightly, tenderly pressing her soft, swollen lips to his temple.

  “Will. My William.”

  His voice was low in her ear as his hands roamed up and down the length of her body. “I can tell you now…all the things I’ve wanted to tell you for months,” he murmured, punctuating his words with small, heartfelt kisses on her face and neck. “How much I love you, how brave you are, how brilliant.”

  She laughed against him, afraid her joy would pull her apart. She understood what Jane meant when she’d asked if you could die from happiness. She held him tighter. “Haven’t we done enough talking? I feel like all we ever do is talk.”

  “Perhaps, but if you’ll bear with me one second longer, I think I have just one more thing to say.”

  He reached into his jacket, slipping something into the palm of her hand. She opened her fingers to see a delicate ring, a square-cut emerald, nestled there. She loved it immediately. It made her think of the light at Pemberley, all gold and green. She realized it was the exact color of his eyes.

  “Be my wife, Elizabeth. Live with me, love me…I have everything in the world, but the only thing I want is a life with you.”

  She blinked up at him, loving him more in his apprehensive state than she’d ever thought possible. He had never been more beautiful to her.

  “What do you say?” He poked her arm with his finger.

  “I want to keep singing. And touring with the band.”

  “Your life is your life,” he said seriously. “I’m just asking that you share it with me.”

  “Then I say sure. I mean, yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Anything she was about to say was lost when he kissed her again. And she was correct. They had talked quite enough.

  ***

  “I hate this song,” Caroline said as Richard put his arm around her waist. Richard cocked his head, listening. “Embraceable You” seemed pretty harmless, but he suspected that trying to fathom Caroline Bingley’s mind was a fool’s errand.

  He was already regretting this course of action. When he saw Darcy sneak away, he knew that Elizabeth would soon follow. He felt foolish, sitting there drinking with Caroline Bingley in sullen silence. He was glad the drink was wearing off even if it made his head feel like it weighed forty pounds. Dealing with this woman meant keeping a clear head.

  He made himself look at her and smile. He put his cheek to hers as they danced. She shivered slightly as he brushed her hair away from her neck, his clever fingers finding the catch of the necklace around her neck easily. She gasped and pulled away, her hand fluttering to her neck a second too late.

  “This doesn’t belong to you,” he said, pocketing the necklace. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Darcy emerging from the house, a mussed Elizabeth on his arm.

  It was time to leave, he decided—well past time.

  ***

  Darcy tossed aside the book he had been trying to read for the past hour with little success. He was too full of what had happened today, too full of Elizabeth to be able to think of anything else.

  He stood and walked over to the drink cart, pouring himself one neat whiskey. Fire bloomed in his throat, warming him down to his navel. He unbuttoned his shirt, unconcerned about being dressed for anyone else. With Georgiana asleep down the hall, Caroline staying with the Hursts, and Bingley and Jane on their honeymoon, Darcy had Netherfield all to himself.

  He stood to go, pausing at the door when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, his heart jumping at the sight of a pale hand at the window, fingernails scratching against the glass.

  “Jesus!” he shouted, startled. A moment later, Elizabeth’s laugh could be heard from outside.

  “Open the door. I’m freezing out here!”

  Darcy frowned, throwing open the door that led from Bingley’s office onto the porch. Elizabeth stood there in her white nightgown and one of her long coats. Propped up on a pillar behind her was her bicycle.

  “Finally,” she said, ducking under his arm to come into the room and toeing off her shoes. Darcy shut and locked the door without a word, his gestures abrupt. “Oh dear,” she said from behind him. “I’ve made you angry.”

  “What could you be thinking?” he hissed. “Coming all that way in the middle of the night? Alone?”

  Rather than look abashed or repentant, she smirked at him, making him even angrier.

  “When I tell you what I was thinking, you’ll see why I didn’t procure a chaperone.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. In three long strides, he was across the room and standing right in front of her, so close she had to tilt her head back, craning her neck to see him.

  “So tell me then, Elizabeth.”

  “Is that whiskey?”

  She took the glass from his hand and emptied it, putting the tumbler down when she was done. Color flooded her face as she turned back to him. She unbuttoned her coat, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap. Her hands shook slightly as she began to unbutton her nightgown. Suddenly understanding, he grabbed them in his own, stopping her.

  “Wait.” His voice quavered, his anger forgotten. “Lizzie, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Don’t you want to?”

  “Yes. God, yes.”

  “So why not?”

  “Because I’d understand if you wanted to wait until we’re married. I don’t want to…press you.”

  The next thing he felt were her hands, touching the bare skin of his chest under his shirt. Her fingers curled in his chest hair, tugging gently.

  “Maybe I want to be pressed,” she whispered.

  Darcy’s mind reeled. “What brought this on?” he asked her, searching her eyes.

  “I know,” she said, her eyes soft and adoring. “I’ve known for days now what you did for my poor sister. Lydia never could keep a secret from me.”

  His mouth turned down in displeasure. “And you think I expect this in exchange?”

&nb
sp; She laughed softly. “I know for a fact you don’t simply because you didn’t want me to know. William, the truth is—you’re the best man I know, and I trust you. I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

  He traced the shape of her lips with his fingers. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure. In fact, if you make me wait much longer, I may just combust, and you’ll be marrying a pile of ashes.”

  His breath caught in his throat. “Come with me then.”

  He took her hand in his, pulling her along beside him. They left the study, making their way up to his guest room silently. The sound of the dead bolt tumbling into place seemed very loud to both of them. He waited there a moment, his hand flat on the door, trying to calm himself before turning around.

  She stood in the middle of the room, her eyes avoiding the bed. He pushed himself away from the door and came to stand beside her. His fingers plucked at her dark braid, sliding the ribbon free. When her curls were loose and spilled across her shoulders, he plunged his hands into her curls, burying his face in the space where her neck met her shoulder.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

  Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her lips lingered soft and heavy over his, and in that moment he realized this was Elizabeth. No longer a remote hope or an agonizing memory with no vision of the future together. He had barely begun to grasp that she said yes to his proposal. After everything that had happened between them, the acknowledgement of their love still felt dreamlike. But this, this felt real, to have her warm in his arms and kissing him. His uncertainty vanished as he opened his mouth under her lips.

  His hands and mouth were eager to touch, to taste every part of her they could reach. He felt a surge of joy to feel her responding in kind, her small hands roaming his chest and shoulders, the broad plane of his back. His shirt fell to the floor, forgotten. He stepped away, eliciting a small, startled gasp from Elizabeth.

  “Raise your arms.”

  She did as he asked. He gathered the soft, cottony fabric of her nightgown in his hands, raising it slowly over her head. He threw it aside without looking where it fell. She quickly stepped out of her shiny blue panties and tossed them aside as well. Her color rose as he stepped back to look at her, bare as the first time he’d seen her. She half-raised her arms as if to cover herself, but something in his face must have made her lower them again. That little wry smile he loved so well twisted her lips as color flooded her face.

  It was that little smile that brought him forward, molding his body against hers.

  “William…” She said his name plaintively.

  “Do you want to stop?”

  She shook her head. “No. I was only going to tell you that I love you.”

  He craned his head back to look at her. “Tell me again.”

  “I love you.”

  And he could see that she did. He couldn’t wait any longer; his mouth captured hers with a passion that was too much to bear. His mouth trailed a burning path down her body, his hands touching every part of her he could reach. He kissed her in mad desperation—a primal mandate that he had no choice but to obey.

  “Lizzie.” He breathed her in. “Lizzie, I love you.”

  “Will, I—oh!” she cried out as his wandering hand reached the juncture of her thighs, his touch light and tender, making her slump against him, gasping. He rose, taking his hand away from her long enough to unbutton his pants, gasping in relief as he freed himself, aching and swollen. A moment later, he felt her hand, touching him tentatively at first then with more boldness. His whole body shuddered at her touch.

  “Is this all right?” she whispered.

  “Dear God, yes,” he said groaning, his face buried in the cascade of her hair. She turned her head just enough to kiss him again.

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off her feet and carried her over to the bed. Her hair spilled out in a chestnut river across the pillow. His mind let go of all but her. They built a visceral little world of touch and taste that was all their own. Thought vanished, their bodies’ innate wisdom guiding them as he fit himself to her. She pulled away from his mouth and looked up at him, her dark eyes heavy-lidded and clouded with want.

  “You are a beast,” she whispered, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as he entered her. “You’re my beast.”

  His entire body shook at her words, nerve-endings firing faster than his mind could process the sensation. She was claiming him now, but it hardly mattered. He belonged to her all along.

  “Sweet Jesus,” she whispered as he drew himself out, unleashing the animal inside of him at last. He thrust into her again, becoming a mindless creature that existed for her alone. He lived or died by the rhythm of her gasping breath. The wet heat of her became survival itself.

  She had named him her Beast, and he claimed the title with joy.

  ***

  They lay uncovered after touching, discovering, and marveling each other the way new lovers did. Darcy’s hands memorized the texture of her skin; his lips would not be satisfied until he’d kissed all of her small, secret places: the inside of her elbow, the scar on her knee, the dip in the base of her throat.

  “Tell me when you fell in love with me,” she said, reclining against the pillows. He looked up at her face, her cheeks still feverish and flushed from their lovemaking. He came closer, kissing her softly before answering.

  “To tell you the truth, I couldn’t say when it was exactly that I fell in love with you. By the time I realized it, I was already there.”

  “And when was that?” she asked, smiling as she ran her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, brushing it away from his face.

  “About twenty seconds after the car accident when I saw you running in your bare feet. You have no idea the way you affected me that day.” He kissed the small birthmark on her arm.

  “And you?” he asked. “When did Elizabeth realize she might have been wrong about me?”

  “Wrong about you is one thing, William. Falling in love with you was something else entirely.”

  She stroked his arm, holding her own against it, loving their contrast of light and dark, of rough and smooth.

  “I started to suspect the night you came to Longbourn,” she said. “The night you threw acorns at my window.”

  “I remember it well. I’ve treasured that night.”

  “As have I. I suppose I didn’t know for sure until the Fourth of July.” She giggled and pulled her foot away as his fingers caressed her high arch, tickling her.

  He grinned and gently kneaded her calves. “Ah. Your big debut at the Ryman… I wasn’t even there.”

  “Yes, and your absence was noted. Standing up there I…I just thought of the way you would look at me every time I sang.”

  He looked back up at her, surprised. “How would I look at you?”

  She laughed, tugging at his hair. “And you thought you were so careful.” He laughed too—laughed at his own silliness in trying to hide himself from her.

  “You looked at me like I was the only thing you could hear,” she said. “It was the only time I ever felt like you gave me your undivided attention. And when you weren’t there anymore, I realized the reason behind it. You had faith in me even when I had none in myself.”

  He smiled against her skin, thinking of the pond. Perhaps someday he might tell her about the day he stumbled upon the nymph of the Netherfield pond and the weeks of torment for wanting her that followed. “That wasn’t the entire reason I looked at you like that. Tell me more,” he insisted eagerly.

  Elizabeth tugged his hair once more before sitting up. “More will have to wait. I’ve got to get back before my father gets up for the day.”

  “A regular Scheherazade, you are,” he said, kissing the top of her shoulder.

  “You might recall that the king was going to kill her. Knowing when to put a cork in it will keep a girl’s head on her shoulders.”

  “I like your head exac
tly where it is,” he said. “If you get dressed, I’ll give you a ride to the top of Longbourn’s drive.”

  He stood up, walking across the room to pick up his discarded pants. When he turned around she was already back in her white nightgown.

  “Will I see you today, William?”

  “Don’t you want me there when you give your family the good news?”

  “Oh. Right.” Her brow creased. “I think it might be best if I tell my mother myself…alone. As for my father, I’m not sure how it’s going to go over.”

  “He’s expecting it.”

  “He’s what?”

  Darcy laughed, pulling a clean shirt over his head.

  “The other day when he walked into the office. After you left, he had some…strong words for me.” Darcy frowned, remembering the cool, threatening look in the older man’s eyes. “I told him my intentions, and he told me I was to make them known to you as soon as possible. I almost think he expected you to say no.”

  “Papa can be a handful.” Elizabeth laughed nervously. He took her face in her hands, looking deeply into her eyes.

  “Don’t worry, little madman. It would take far more than that to scare me away from you.”

  “Keep heart, William, there’s still my mother.”

  He chuckled and pulled her close, holding her tightly. There was no better feeling, he decided, than what he felt in that moment.

  “Will.”

  He pulled back and looked down at her. She chewed her bottom lip.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Lizzie commands and I obey,” he said with a smile.

  “It’s about Charlotte.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mary watched her sister pace the length of the family room for several minutes before giving up on her book. It wasn’t difficult to guess the reason behind Elizabeth’s pacing. Mr. Darcy had shown up just after breakfast with two handfuls of flowers. One he handed to their mother: large pink peonies they’d all exclaimed over, as they weren’t a common flower in those parts. To Elizabeth, he’d handed a small bouquet of wildflowers, all irregular. Mary understood the significance of the gift; he’d clearly picked them for her himself.