by P. O. Dixon
“All this she must possess,” Mr. Darcy had added, “and to all this, she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.” All this he had said while directing his gaze at her.
A closer perusal of the book’s cover revealed its title. It was a copy of the book she was reading one evening at Netherfield.
He remembered.
Her book in one hand and her fresh flowers in the other, Elizabeth resumed her journey, secure in the knowledge that whatever awaited her, she would have no cause to repine for if nothing else she would have the pleasure of a good book to divert her.
Fate was on Elizabeth’s side, for not very long afterward, she saw him.
“You are a quick study, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, arising from the blanket spread out on the grass.
She showed him the book. “No doubt, you know me very well, Mr. Darcy.”
“I would like to think so, and all that I do not know about you, I am eager to learn.” Allowing a second or two to pass during which he gazed at her, he said, “Come, Miss Elizabeth. Sit with me.”
Accepting his invitation, Elizabeth admired everything she saw: a light repast consisting of fresh fruit—strawberries, sliced apples, berries—an assortment of bread, cheese, and wine.
“This is lovely, sir. I thank you for going through the trouble of preparing a small feast for the two of us, but we might easily have dined with the others.”
“I want you all to myself,” he said, having taken his place close beside her. After pouring a glass of wine, he raised it to her lips. “Have a sip.”
She meant to seize hold of the glass when her fingers brushed against his—sending waves of pleasurable sensations all through her body. She trembled inside. “It is utterly divine,” savoring the lingering taste on her lips, her fingers still touching his.
“I thought you would enjoy it.” He then drank from the same glass—her glass—the glass she was still holding on to.
How intoxicated she felt in so doing for it was as though she was nourishing him—coaxing him to accept her offering. Never had she enjoyed such intimacy with a man. Soon, his hands covered hers completely. They took turns imbibing from the same glass while peering into each other’s eyes.
When at length they commenced partaking of the food Mr. Darcy had instructed by his aunt’s cook to prepare, the give and take of feeding each other grew ever increasingly satiating.
Elizabeth might have been embarrassed by what was happening between them were it not for the fact that she was enjoying the most gratifying meal of her lifetime.
When they were done, Darcy picked up a linen napkin and dabbed either corner of Elizabeth’s mouth ever so gently, slowly, and reverently.
“You really do care for me.”
“I more than care for you—I love you. Why do you doubt me?”
“It is just that you hardly had a kind word to say to me when we were in Hertfordshire. Months later when you and I met again, purely by chance, here in Kent, you profess your love for me.”
“Elizabeth, I dare not repeat those ill-considered words spoken at the parsonage. Saying that, you know why I behaved as I did. Perchance if I loved you less, I might have comported myself differently. Who is to say? All I know is I have loved you in the past. I love you now, and I will love you all the days…”
Taking her hand in his, Darcy brushed his lips on the back of her hand. “The weeks…” He kissed her again, this time with the brush of his lips on her chin. “The months…”
Placing his hand underneath her chin, he gently persuaded her to look into his eyes. Leaning ever so closer, he brushed his lips on her opposite cheek. Easing slightly away to behold her dark, bewitching eyes once more, he allowed his gaze to fall to her lips… her moist, slightly parted lips. She closed her eyes. So did he, leaning closer once more.
How he wanted to kiss her and even wished it might lead to something more—much more. Something akin to the pleasures they enjoyed night after night in the privacy of his dreams for so long as he could remember. Soon, he considered.
“And all the years to come,” he whispered and then sealed his promise with a lingering brush of his lips against the corner of her mouth.
He had no wish to stop but stop he must. Standing, he reached out his hand to her. “Come. Let us return to the rest of the party.
Chapter 13
Peculiar Engagement
Some days later, no doubt in want of diversion, Lady Catherine invited the Hunsford party to Rosings for tea. This was Jane’s second visit to the grand establishment—the first having proceeded much along the same lines as Elizabeth’s first visit to Rosings. A similar litany of questions about Jane’s accomplishments, her social acumen, her mother’s tutelage in lieu of a governess, and the same feigned outrage and unmasked disgust followed as though Jane’s story might somehow be different from Elizabeth’s.
Elizabeth was much relieved that neither she nor her sister were meant to be the objects of Lady Catherine’s fascination on that particular day. Indeed, that honor was reserved for her nephews.
“I cannot tell you what it means to be the recipient of your company, Nephew,” said Lady Catherine after the tea things were set. Turning to her other nephew, she said, “I enjoy having your company as well, Fitzwilliam.”
“As pleased as I am to hear you say so, I believe Darcy deserves all the credit. In such cases as this, I, too, am the happy recipient of his benevolence.”
“Yes, Darcy always arranges his business however he pleases. No doubt it is the reason for his having invited Mr. Bingley down—not that I object, mind you, young man,” Lady Catherine opined almost as an afterthought.
“It is a pleasure being here your ladyship. I thank you again for having me.”
“No doubt. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes, my nephew likely invited you here chiefly for the sake of having two people at his disposal. It is a shame he has not seen fit to marry my Anne and, in so doing, secure a lasting convenience of that kind.”
Suddenly the idea of having tea at Rosings did not appeal to Elizabeth at all. Being so close to Mr. Darcy, remembering the touch of his lips on her skin, yearning for a repetition, wondering where it would lead—all while hearing his relation boast of his attachment to another.
It is too much.
Her ladyship said, “From their infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was the favorite wish of his mother as well as my own. While in their cradles, we planned the union. Who among us has not heard me say so time and again?”
Who indeed? Elizabeth silently screamed. If forced to hear it again, I shall not be responsible for my actions!
Thus resolved, Elizabeth turned a deaf ear to Lady Catherine’s well-honed soliloquy. Before she even knew what she was about, she had drifted to the other part of her ladyship’s opulent parlor.
Not too long after that, when he could safely do so without drawing unwanted attention to himself, Darcy casually strode over to where Elizabeth stood admiring Lady Catherine’s collection of marbled eggs in a far corner of the room. She could not say she was disappointed by this turn of events. On the contrary, for a private moment with the gentleman was precisely what she had been wishing for. Though she was loath to admit it, even to herself, since their outing, her head was full of Mr. Darcy.
When she was certain no one in the room was paying any attention to the two of them, she said, “Forgive me if what I am about to say sounds rather untoward, but I feel I would be entirely remiss if I did not tell you how uncomfortable I am with your aunt’s tireless and oh so unrelenting professions of your peculiar engagement to Miss de Bourgh.”
“Pardon?” Darcy asked, his voice as well as his demeanor laced with a hint of confusion as though taken aback by Elizabeth’s frankness.
“Unless something has changed that I am unaware of, Lady Catherine’s assertions of your peculiar engagement to her daughter are completely ridiculous and quite frankly somewhat embarrassing.” She folded
one arm over the other and looked at him directly in his eyes. “Has anything changed that I ought to be aware of, sir?”
He folded his arms in kind. “I think you know the answer to your question, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Then, would it trouble you too much to disabuse your aunt of her unwarranted expectation once and for all?”
“Are you suggesting that I tell Lady Catherine that I have no intention of marrying her daughter because I have already pledged my heart as well as offered my hand in marriage to another—to you?”
As though suddenly aware of how close the two of them were now standing to each other, Elizabeth eased away a little. “I do not know that all the particulars have to be discussed, but do you not think it is only fair to your aunt to hear of your intentions or rather lack thereof, and if not to her, then certainly to your cousin?”
“So, if I am hearing you correctly, you want me to tell them only part of the truth with no explanation whatsoever.”
“You make it sound as though I am the reason you do not intend to marry Miss de Bourgh.”
“Who is to say that you are not? Truth be told, I never really gave the matter any serious thought beyond the fact that it was the favorite wish of my mother and her sister, just as Lady Catherine said. Certainly, meeting and falling in love with you put the idea of such an arranged matrimonial alliance in its proper context.”
Elizabeth looked around the room to make sure their increasingly heated intercourse had not attracted the notice of the other occupants in the room. “Sir, I do not think this is the proper time or place to speak of such things.”
“I believe you are the one who broached the subject, did you not?”
“What is it that the two of you are speaking of, Darcy?” Lady Catherine cried from across the room.
Though he detested disguise of any sort, Darcy made some excuse of discussing the prognosis of the weather for the rest of the week, which was sufficient to satisfy his aunt’s curiosity.
Returning to the matter at hand, Darcy said, “You may or may not believe me, but in truth, she already knows. I have told her, and on more than one occasion, I might add.”
“But, mere moments ago, she spoke with such assuredness.”
“That is my aunt’s way. She only chooses to hear and believe that which suits her own purposes. Indeed, I am given to believe there is but one way to convince her and that is seeing another woman wearing my ring.” Daringly, he leaned a little closer. “You could help me with that, you know.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “You are very mischievous this afternoon.”
“On the contrary. I am merely a man in love.”
“Darcy, what is it that you and Miss Elizabeth are discussing? And none of your foolishness about talk of the weather, for I suspect whatever you two are saying to each other is far more consequential. Tell me at once, for I insist on having my share in the conversation as well.”
“I daresay I know precisely the nature of Darcy’s conversation with Miss Elizabeth. However, as it is not my place to say more, I shall say no more,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, who clearly had imbibed more than tea throughout the course of the day.
Her ladyship tore her eyes away from Darcy and glared at the colonel. “What in heaven’s name is that supposed to mean, Fitzwilliam? If there is something that you know that I ought to know, then I demand you tell me what it is this instant.”
“Fitzwilliam!” Darcy shouted. “Hold your tongue.”
Lady Catherine bolted from her seat. “What is the meaning of this subterfuge, Nephews? What is it that you two are hiding from me?”
The colonel shrugged. “Heavens, Darcy! I do declare that it is plain to see what is happening between you and your lady love. Whatever are you waiting for to share your happy news? I, for one, am on the edge of my seat in eager anticipation of wishing you joy.”
Lady Catherine looked at her older nephew—her countenance tarnished by utter mortification. She turned to look at her younger nephew and then at the young woman standing beside him—much too close beside him. She marched to where the young couple stood. “What on earth have you done? Have you somehow persuaded my nephew to make you an offer of marriage?”
Darcy glared at his cousin as a result of the havoc unfolding before them. The colonel waved his hand at his cousin rather dismissively, considering the circumstances. “No bother,” he said. “You may thank me later.”
“Enough, Fitzwilliam or I shall be forced to demand you leave the room.” She moved closer to Elizabeth. “Young lady,” said her ladyship, in an angry tone, “As you are more than aware of my sentiments as regards my nephew’s engagement to my Anne as well as its peculiar nature, I am certain that Fitzwilliam is mistaken. I know it is impossible that Darcy would ever align himself with someone who is so far beneath him in consequence as to be deemed laughable. Nevertheless, I must hear confirmation from you of that which I already know, so that this matter may be settled for once and for all. Mind you, young woman, you ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. Is what Fitzwilliam is alleging true regarding you and Darcy?”
“Your ladyship declared it to be impossible, did you not?”
“By all that is right and just in the world, it is indeed impossible. My nephew is one of the wealthiest gentlemen in all of Derbyshire—born of noble blood. He would never dream of forfeiting his rightful place among the most prominent families in Society by aligning himself with the likes of you.”
“That is enough, Lady Catherine!” Darcy declared.
Elizabeth gave Mr. Darcy a look which was meant to inform him that she was more than able to withstand Lady Catherine’s tirade.
“I will be the one to say what is enough. This young woman ought to know that such an alliance as Fitzwilliam has espoused would expose both of you to censure of the worse kind. Both of you would be snubbed and despised by everyone who is anyone. Doors that are now opened to my nephew would be slammed in his face, accompanied by disdain.”
Charlotte, not wishing to see her friend being so unjustly attacked said, “Those might very well be grave misfortunes indeed. But surely as the wife of Mrs. Darcy, my friend would have no cause to repine.”
Hearing her friend come to her defense, Elizabeth threw Charlotte a look which signified that such aid was neither desired nor helpful. The last thing she wanted was to be a party in her friend’s fall from her ladyship’s good graces. Charlotte paid her friend no mind.
“Surely you will agree, Eliza,” Charlotte added.
Lady Catherine looked at her vicar’s wife as though the younger woman had taken complete leave of her senses to be speaking to her in such an impudent manner.
“Mind your tongue, Mrs. Collins,” Lady Catherine demanded. “Else I shall suspect your hand in all of this.”
Mr. Collins, who, by now, was sweating profusely, beckoned his wife to his side. Playing the part of the good wife, Charlotte took her place beside her husband, albeit in a manner which bore none of the contrition that some people in their party might have expected.
“Pray you will forgive my wife’s ill-timed speech, your ladyship, and accept my humble assurances that she is in no way involved in the travesty that is unfolding before our very eyes.”
He threw Mr. Darcy an apologetic look, and in the very next breath, he said, “Begging your pardon, Mr. Darcy.”
No one in the room could honestly claim to be surprised by the parson’s conflicting loyalties, for he would have to be a fool to be ignorant of the importance of such a man with whom he might one day claim a familial connection.
Though hardly impressed by her own vicar’s duplicity, Lady Catherine was not to be deterred.
“Tell me at once, young lady. Are you engaged to my nephew?”
Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she believed she had no choice. She looked at Darcy, and after a moment’s deliberation, she replied, “No, your ladyship, I am not.”
“Miss E
lizabeth—”
“Silence, Nephew! Let the young woman speak freely.” She drew even closer to Elizabeth. “And do you promise, here and now, before all the people gathered in this room that should my nephew make such an offer, you will remember your place and refuse him?”
“No, your ladyship,” Elizabeth said softly.
“Speak up so that everyone here shall bear witness to what you have to say.”
She did. “I said no, your ladyship. I cannot, and I shall not make such a promise.”
A mixture of bewilderment, excitement, and hopefulness overspread Darcy’s countenance. “Miss Elizabeth, does that mean what I think it means?”
She nodded. “If you will still have me, sir, then yes. Yes, it does.”
Darcy’s joy in hearing this could not be contained, and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do.
Soon the other people in the room who were inclined to express their joy as freely as such circumstances warranted joined in on the happy occasion. However, they were still at Rosings, and Lady Catherine being the final arbiter of what did or did not dictate happiness put an end to all the gaiety. It was not long before a measure of reserve overtook the room.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose you are quite satisfied with yourself, Fitzwilliam.”
“Indeed. I believe I am. Darcy has finally found his true equal in Miss Elizabeth, whether you think so or not. And I for one could not be happier for the years of marital felicity that are certain to come their way.”
“How dare you? Have you no consideration for your cousin Anne?”
