A Night with Mr Darcy to Remember

by P. O. Dixon

  One can surely dream.

  If not for the fact that Elizabeth was experiencing feelings that she never even knew she could feel—indeed, never even thought she would feel, she surely would suffer misgivings about the manner in which she had spent the past hours in the arms of this incredibly wonderful and understanding man.

  She wanted to pinch herself just to make sure she was not dreaming, and only the thought that she possibly was dreaming prevented her from doing so, for if what she was experiencing was but a dream, she surely did not want to wake up anytime soon. Not when she had so little to look forward to in her day-to-day life.

  Just the thought of Mr. Collins’ duplicity aroused in her an odd mixture of feelings. Yes, she was happy that she would never have to submit to him as his wife, but Elizabeth was unhappy—nay disappointed and heartbroken that she would never know what it would be like to be a mother. Add to all that, she felt betrayed—not so much by his particular circumstance but by his duplicitous attempt to hide it. It was all too much to contemplate.

  She pursed her lip. I shall not think of any of that now. There will be time enough for such thoughts in the days to come. For now, I shall lie here and simply enjoy being adored by this man. Even if I never see him again after tonight.

  But I will. I shall see him tomorrow. When we meet, I must content myself with the two of us meeting as mere strangers, indifferent acquaintances, at best, by way of our common connection with my brother, Bingley—his best friend.

  Tomorrow.

  She cuddled closer, careful not to disturb his slumber. The natural manner in which he accepted her into his arms gave her to know this was a man with whom she could entrust everything: her secrets, her body, and perhaps even her heart.

  Chapter 7

  A while later, Darcy, too, awakened and the two of them relished in the comfort of each other’s arms.

  Soon enough, Darcy’s unbridled passion for this captivating woman arose again. Allowing absolutely no part of her porcelain skin to touch the bed without his hands beneath her, he adored her. Her wonderful body which spoke to him in a language he had never before heard. Oh, to spend the rest of his nights communicating only with her in such a fashion.

  This feels so perfect—so natural … so right.

  Let us fall in love, he wanted to say. How could he when they really did not know each other?

  “Tell me this is not a dream,” he whispered, kissing her on her forehead.

  “I assure you it is not.”

  Whether he was bewitched or suffering the most vivid dream in his lifetime, he needed to be certain beyond a shadow of doubt of what they were sharing.

  “You likely have surmised that I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, Bingley’s friend. When next we meet, you must find a way to call me William. Then and only then, I shall know tonight was not merely a dream, but rather the best night of my life.”

  “The best night, sir?” Elizabeth asked.

  Darcy assured her that indeed it was.

  “The two of us are so very much alike,” he later said. “We both value family above all else, and as a consequence, we likely would do anything for them. As it pertains to your current circumstances, no one who truly knows you would judge you harshly for marrying a man whom you do not love for the sake of your family. I say this not to advise you on how you ought to act in light of your recent discovery. I only mean to say that honorable men and women of all stations in life marry out of obligation every day.”

  “Honorable, you say. So, you think you know me, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Yes—I think I know you very well, Mrs. Tilman.”

  “Pray, sir, in light of all that has unfolded between us, I would have you call me anything but that.”

  “What precisely shall I call you—that is to say, outside of my bed?”

  “What else would you like to call me?” she asked, her spirits rising to playfulness. How good it felt to be able to show this side of her, if only for one night.

  “I think I would like to call you my love,” he replied. His eyes said even more.

  She could feel her heartbeat speeding its pace.

  “My love? Sir, I must object to such an appellation. You cannot possibly love me. Our acquaintance is far too short a duration to warrant the sentiment.”

  “On the contrary, my love, I feel as though I have known you all my life. I have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. Surely you believe in destiny.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot say that I do.”

  “Destiny is when two people who are meant to be together find their way to each other against all odds.”

  “You and I made love tonight, sir, time and time again, but I fear that is a far cry from our having found our way to each other.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, my love, the path is clear, and if you will but trust me, I will show you the way.”

  * * *

  The two lovers awakened at early dawn and prepared, albeit reluctantly, to part each other’s company. Having donned his shirt and breeches, Darcy began helping Elizabeth fasten her gown. He kissed the back of her neck. “I suppose I ought to leave this room as well. Your sister will expect to find you here this morning, will she not?”

  “No—I decided this room was more suitable, which is why the servant believed it was unoccupied. I usually occupy an apartment on the same corridor as the mistress’s apartment when I spend the night here.

  “Only, last night I dared not chance my sister discovering me in such a wretched state, especially in the wake of her happy news.”

  “There, you see. It was destiny that drew you to this particular room last night,” Darcy said.

  She smiled in acknowledgment of the veracity of his declaration.

  No doubt, she silently considered.

  “You must stay here, sir. The servant will surely inform Charles that he escorted you to this apartment. As for my own situation, there is no cause for concern. You see, I am very fond of early morning walks. No one will be surprised that I am up and about at this hour as opposed to being in my usual apartment.”

  Guiding her around to face him, he lifted her chin and kissed her lips. At length, he said, “Until we meet again — properly.”

  Chapter 8

  Darcy stared out the window, seemingly admiring the picturesque country landscape, but in truth, reflecting upon his incredible nocturnal activities. He could not help it. He had sought in vain to push the sweet memories of having spent the night in utter bliss from his head completely else he would not be able to rise from his seat when or if his beguiling secret lover finally entered the room.

  With that thought in mind, he gave a quick glance at the young lady who sat opposite him at the breakfast table—his friend’s younger sister, Miss Caroline Bingley.

  Sipping his steamy, hot coffee, Darcy silently questioned her presence at Netherfield. Knowing his friend’s aversion to his sister’s company, Bingley had promised in his last letter that Miss Bingley would be in town for the duration of Darcy’s visit.

  Educated in one of the first private seminaries in town and always in keeping with all that was fashionable among their society, Miss Bingley made no pretense of her desire to garner Darcy’s affections. Women of her ilk—those who were always speaking and looking and thinking for a gentleman’s approbation alone, might well have been invisible so far as Darcy was concerned. Darcy was thankful that at least Bingley’s elder sister and her husband, a Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, were not at Netherfield.

  Miss Bingley will not be nearly so unpleasant in the absence of her sister to encourage all of her worse instincts. The very thought of Miss Bingley and her annoying antics sufficiently doused his ardor.

  For the next quarter hour or so, Darcy kept his eyes trained on the door. Miss Bingley was doing her best to garner his attention but to no avail. Patience and reserve turned increasingly into impatience and anticipation. Darcy needed ‘her’ to walk through the door.

  My dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth.


  The wait was driving him to distraction. Disturbance soon gave way to clarity.

  What we shared could not possibly have been a dream.

  The evidence of her past innocence had been there for him to see. Had he not directed his man to attend the room himself, thus eschewing the household servant’s morning duties?

  The thought that Elizabeth may have returned to her home crossed his mind. He would surely regret it were that the case. Their night together had been the spark to pique his interest, and now he wanted to satisfy his curiosity to know everything about her. He wanted to look upon her face during the day, take long walks with her about the countryside, and spend leisurely hours talking to her.

  To see her and to gaze into her amazing eyes and hear her speak the word they had promised between them so that he would know with certitude that the night spent making love to her was not merely a product of an overeager imagination fueled by lust and compounded by loneliness.

  If it were but a dream, I shall still cherish the memory of it all for a long, long time to come—perhaps forever.

  While Darcy daydreamed, and Miss Bingley cooed, Charles Bingley talked enthusiastically about his friend’s safe arrival and all the plans he had made for Darcy’s amusement.

  “My dearest Jane remains upstairs, but you shall meet her in due time.”

  “I look forward to making your wife’s acquaintance. No doubt she is lovely.”

  Darcy could well imagine just how lovely Mrs. Jane Bingley must be. That his friend had arrived in Hertfordshire a year or so earlier at Michaelmas and taken a wife a few short months later had met with his heartiest disapprobation, but what was done was done. Perhaps had he not been away at Scotland for so long as he had been, he might have prevented his friend from behaving so unadvisedly, Darcy had often considered since his recent return to England.

  He recalled what he had said to Elizabeth about destiny and fate. Everything happens for a reason.

  “She is lovely indeed. She is an—” Darcy heard his friend say.

  “—an angel,” cried Miss Bingley derisively.

  “My Jane is beyond compare the most kind-hearted, most compassionate woman you will ever meet,” Bingley declared. “So much so that she does not object in the least bit to my sister’s frequent visits.”

  Miss Bingley scoffed. “I suppose that depends upon which sister to whom you are referring.”

  Bingley was on the verge of responding to his sister’s retort when the door of the breakfast room was opened and in walked the woman of Darcy’s dreams. The sight of her compelled Darcy to his feet.

  Her eyes were even brighter now than when they parted earlier, giving him to wonder if it was due to the exertion of her early morning walk or their night of passion. Whatever the cause, seeing her thus took his breath away.

  And this is the stunning creature with whom I spent the best night of my life.

  As telling as Darcy’s reaction was in seeing her, apparently, Bingley had not noticed. He, too, stood and went directly to Elizabeth’s side. Darcy was not far behind.

  “I am delighted that you chose to join us for breakfast this morning. Come, my friend Darcy arrived late last night after the household had retired for the evening. I am anxious for the two of you to make each other’s acquaintance.”

  “Darcy,” Bingley said, “allow me to introduce you to my sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Tilman. She is my dear wife’s younger sister.” Bingley shook his head. “What I mean to say is she is my wife’s eldest sister, well actually, the eldest of four younger sisters.

  “Dearest sister,” he said after catching his breath, “this is my friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, whom you have heard me mention of late.”

  Ignoring his friend’s eager, albeit awkward, attempts in making a proper introduction, Darcy stepped forward and took Elizabeth by her hand. Bowing slightly, he raised it to his lips and kissed her bare knuckles. Standing upright, he did not relinquish her hand.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lo—” His voice trailed off.

  Of course, he wanted to refer to the amazing creature standing before him as my love. He no more wished to refer to her by her proper name - Mrs. Tilman – than she wished to be referred to as such, not after the unspoken promises they had made. Moistening his lips, he said, “My lady.”

  If anyone noticed that both of his hands now clutched hers, the tender way he held them in his, or the gentle brushing of his fingers against her skin, they did not say anything.

  “I assure you, Mr. William—” Elizabeth colored a little, but there was a hint of playfulness in her eyes. “I beg your pardon—Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the pleasure is all mine.”

  Darcy’s heart slammed against his chest!

  William. She called me William.

  Never had the sound of a single word filled him with so much joy, so much pleasure, and most of all, so much hope that the night they had shared together was but the promise of so many more such nights like that to come.

  Doing everything in his power not to belie the notion of this being their first introduction, Darcy fought back the happiness that threatened to overtake his countenance. His busy mind, however, would not be so easily subdued.

  This incredibly bewitching woman will be mine from now until the end of time. I promise to do everything in my power to make it so.

  Everything.

  ♥♥♥

  Featured Book Excerpt

  If you enjoyed A Night with Mr. Darcy to Remember, you’ll enjoy Designed for Each Other, too. Here’s a sneak peek!

  Chapter 1 – To Reconsider Her Refusal

  For the second time in as many hours, Elizabeth retraced her steps along the path leading from the park right up to the gate of the parsonage house.

  I absolutely must find Mr. Darcy’s letter.

  Indeed. Were it to be discovered by another would mean life-changing consequences for both Elizabeth and the gentleman, to say nothing of the devastating harm to his young sister’s reputation.

  With its bountiful white clouds floating overhead on what otherwise was a perfect day, the picturesque blue sky above presented a stark contrast to the muddled mixture of conflicting emotions warring inside her. Amid the turmoil in her mind from reading Mr. Darcy’s letter, folding it, tucking it into her pocket, retrieving it, and rereading it in frequent repetition, Elizabeth misplaced it somewhere along the way.

  How could I have been so careless with something so delicate as a letter from a gentleman so wholly unconnected to me as Mr. Darcy—a letter revealing his family’s most closely guarded secrets no less? Such had been Elizabeth’s silent self-interrogation over and again.

  For her own part, her rejection of yet another man’s proposal of marriage would be discovered. And not just any man, but a man of consequence. Even those closest to her would consider her a laughing stock for refusing the hand of one of the most eligible bachelors in all of England.

  Many would also argue one of the most desirable, she silently reminded herself. Being the second eldest of five daughters living at an estate that was entailed to the male line of the family, she had spent the better part of her twenty years listening to her mother’s favorite complaints of the importance of finding a husband.

  Indeed, a marriage to such a man might have been something wonderful for her family’s prospects, and most importantly, her sister Jane’s chances for felicity with the gentleman’s best friend, a Mr. Charles Bingley. Making matters worse was the opening of the letter where he vowed there would be no repetition of the sentiment he had espoused the previous evening, which meant that even if she had been tempted by the eloquence of his letter to reconsider her refusal, it was too late.

  Elizabeth had made an enemy of the one man who could right the wrong to her beloved sister. But was he indeed an enemy, she wondered, for he had also confided in her a great secret about his own sister’s brush with scandal, the general knowledge of which might have severe consequences even now. What better
evidence that he trusted her.

  All that will change if I do not manage to secure and destroy the tell-all letter before it falls into the wrong hands.

  How miserable her life would be should the letter be seen by Mr. Darcy’s haughty aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who credited her own generosity of spirits as the reason for Elizabeth’s being in Kent. How wretched if her cousin, Mr. Collins, should stumble across the letter. Having been spurned by Elizabeth, he would no doubt relish in the opportunity to expose her before his noble patroness for censure.

  Either would result in my being forced to return to Longbourn, my father’s home, in shame. Such a prospect would contribute greatly to the detriment of her sisters as well. Her elder sister, Jane, whom Mr. Darcy had mentioned by name would surely be ridiculed. Indeed, no one in her family would escape condemnation, she considered as a most disparaging account of their behavior in Hertfordshire was cited: “The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father.”

  So much as she was concerned about how the contents of the letter reflected on her family, the more serious potential harm would befall his very own sister. Mr. Darcy had explained at length how he had arrived in Ramsgate just in time to prevent her from eloping with his worst enemy, George Wickham. All this he had disclosed with the expectation of secrecy, Elizabeth considered in reflection of his heart-wrenching written words:

  “I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London. Last summer she went with the lady who presided over it to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived.