Before her courage failed her, Elizabeth took a small step forward and placed her hand on Darcy’s arm.
Looking up into his dark eyes, her resolve almost faltered, but she looked away from his piercing gaze, and said,
“Mr Darcy; so much has changed since you asked me to be your wife, and very little for the better. I now understand how difficult my former friendship with Mr Wickham must have been for you, and…” she continued, giving Darcy no chance to say whatever he was about to say. “My only defence is that I was ignorant of the facts. However, considering recent events, I think it only right that I now release you from that promise you made to me at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth knew Darcy was itching to interrupt, but his manners and the rapidity of her speech, would not let him.
“I cannot expect you to look on a wife who is a constant reminder of the past. The past should only be remembered with fondness and affection, not pain and disgust.” Elizabeth paused just long enough to catch her breath, then continued.
“Now, tomorrow, once Lydia is safely in our care again, we will all remove to my Uncle Gardiner’s house in Cheapside. From there, my father will make arrangements for us to return home, to Longbourn. I am sure this will be acceptable to all concerned, even you, Mr Darcy when you think about it.” Elizabeth, her speech finished and her engagement dissolved, could not meet Darcy’s stare. She feared he would see the tears she was fighting to restrain and know her heart was breaking.
Darcy looked down at Elizabeth and smiled. She did not know it, but she had just filled him with a mixture of emotions, all but one of them pleasant.
Her offer to release him had been an unpleasant shock, but her reasons were not strong enough to convince him it was what she truly desired. Coupled with her gentle touch, Darcy knew Elizabeth was only doing what she assumed, incorrectly, it was what he wanted.
Darcy raised his arms and ran his hands slowly up Elizabeth’s bare arms, welcoming the tremble his warm touch produced in her. Then, with one finger, he tilted her chin and waited until she lifted her eyes and met his.
“I do not release you, Elizabeth. You are mine, we belong together. If you do not love me now, I have enough love for both of us. And not just for this lifetime, but for eternity. I love you, Elizabeth, I loved you yesterday, I love you today, and I will love you tomorrow. I always will.” His voice was like a caress, warm and soft and reassuring, though his words were masterfully delivered.
The movement of Elizabeth’s head was almost undetectable, but it was enough to confirm her understanding and grateful acceptance of his speech.
Her eyes sparkled with the unshed tears, and her lips were slightly parted in an inviting pose. Darcy, overwhelmed with his love and longing for Elizabeth, could resist no longer.
Moving her into the full circle of his embrace, Darcy lowering his head, and took possession of Elizabeth’s lips.
He had meant it to be a gentle kiss, a kiss borne from his love for her, but as Elizabeth had curled her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with her newly awakened passion, he found himself deepening their embrace until they were both breathless.
His hands caressed her everywhere, across her back, over her shoulders, up her neck, until finally, they cupped her face.
Now, his kisses became more urgent, more ardent, more probing. Driving and demanding and determined, and even a little desperate. Seeking from Elizabeth a satisfaction that only she could supply.
Elizabeth felt a surging tide of warmth and helplessness rush over her as Darcy took her in his arms. The graduation and intensity of his kisses made her cling to him as if her life depended on it. A swimming giddiness engulfed her, and she returned his caress with equal enthusiasm.
Her whole body shivered and tingled and pulsed with the pleasure of his kiss, and she knew she was kissing him back, participating, enjoying and prolonging it. But deep inside her, there was a yearning for more, growing stronger with every embrace, every caress that Darcy bestowed upon her.
Reluctantly, Darcy broke their kiss, knowing he was almost at the point of no return.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered softly against her temple, “Tell me to stop. If you want me to stop, tell me now?”
When Elizabeth said nothing, he kissed her cheek, her eyelids, her brow.
“Or now?” he said before brushing her nose, her chin, her lips with his mouth.
“Or now?” he slipped his tongue into her mouth, gently probing between her parted lips, soft, yet demanding.
Elizabeth’s silence spoke volumes. She pulled him tighter into her embrace, pressing her body against his, longing for him to satisfy this hunger that had set the very blood in her veins on fire.
Without releasing her mouth, Darcy swept Elizabeth up into his arms and carried her swiftly to her room.
Gently, he laid her on the bed and then covered her body with his own. Lifting his face, he looked down at her, her face glowing with adoration and longing.
He brushed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek.
“Are you sure, my love?” he asked one last time, his voice rasping with desire.
The time for hesitation was over. Elizabeth had made up her mind. Her senses had been thrown into confusion, and she felt as if she was intoxicated, drunk on love. Yes, love. She loved Fitzwilliam Darcy, and she yearned to consummate their love with every fibre of her being.
Letting her lips curl into a provocative smile, she reached up and pulled on his shirt, bringing him back down to cover her mouth with his own.
Darcy might still have been able to pull himself back from the brink, but the three words Elizabeth whispered against his lips, would either condemn him to damnation, or give him the gift of ecstasy.
“Fitzwilliam, my love…”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Darcy waited until Elizabeth fell asleep in his arms, before returning to his own room.
Their lovemaking had been urgent and thrilling the first time, with Darcy taking care to ensure Elizabeth’s readiness before piercing her maidenhead, but the second time they made love, it was meaningful and tender and fulfilling for them both.
He had cradled Elizabeth in his arms and stroked her hair until she had fallen into an exhausted, but content sleep. Gazing down at her, he marvelled that a woman as wonderful as Elizabeth, now his Elizabeth, should find it in her heart to return his sentiment. He had doubted he could win her heart after Wickham had planted the seeds of lies in her mind. But Elizabeth had proved to be a mindful and determined woman, capable of making her own decisions and judgements.
As she stirred in his embrace, and then cuddled in closer to him, he felt his chest tighten and swell with love and pride all at the same time.
He had no regrets for coupling with Elizabeth before they were officially wed. Although no preacher had said the proper words required nor given them the Lords blessing, Darcy felt more bound to Elizabeth than any mortal oaths could bind him.
They were fated to be together; destiny had their future marked out long before they had even met.
No, he had no regrets. He only hoped Elizabeth didn’t either.
Like a lovesick schoolboy, Darcy waited outside Elizabeth’s bedroom door, hoping to speak to her before her father joined them. Every time a maid walked by, Darcy had darted into the empty room next to Elizabeth’s apartments, desperate to protect her reputation until after the ceremony.
Though Elizabeth could not hide her surprise at seeing Darcy pacing up and down the corridor as she emerged from her room, she did try to hide her blushes.
Looking her square in the face, Darcy checked for signs of regret. Instead, he was rewarded with a brilliant smile and a slight rosy hue that crept up to colour her cheeks.
Scanning the corridor to check no servants were dawdling about their duties, Darcy pulled Elizabeth into his arms and proceeded to kiss her soundly.
“My darling, you are well this morning?” he asked with concern.
Elizabeth had the good grace to blush an e
ven deeper crimson at his enquiry, knowing full well to what he alluded.
Smiling coyly, she said,
“I am a little tired, and a little…bruised, but nothing more.”
Linking arms, like a displaying peacock, Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the breakfast room, where they were joined by her father only a few minutes later.
Elizabeth could not help herself. She could not stop smiling, and she knew Darcy knew why. They shared the odd glance over the breakfast table, but other than that, they both spoke solely to Mr Bennet.
Their attempts to act as though nothing had altered in their relationship, although admirable, were lacking. Mr Bennet, for the first time in his life, felt like he was playing gooseberry. Deciding ignorance was bliss, he did as he always did when he did not want to be involved. He hid behind the newspaper.
Last night, she had gone to release Darcy from his promise, to free him from the disgrace that was about to befall her family and relations. Instead of taking her up on her offer, Darcy had made her his own. Taking her heart, her love, and then her body.
Lydia aside, Elizabeth had never been happier.
The remainder of the day was spent preparing for the afternoon's exchange. Darcy recounted the money Miller had collected for him. Half was in gold coin, and the other half was in notes. Then he re-read the letter that had arrived for him early this morning.
It was brief and to the point.
I have arranged for the goods
to go on a long journey
RF
Darcy did not want to know the details, as long as Richard kept his promise.
Next, Darcy asked Miss Elizabeth and her father to join him in his study. There, they began to go over the plans.
Having acquired a map of the docks, Darcy worked out their route to, and from the exchange point. Then, for his own peace of mind, he memorised several alternative escape routes, should the need for one arise.
Elizabeth had brought a large blanket to wrap her sister in, while Mr Bennet had slipped a small hip flask of brandy into his pocket, just in case Lydia needed to be revived.
All was ready; all was prepared.
As the hand on his pocket watch struck half past the hour of three, Mr Bennet, Elizabeth and Darcy climbed into his carriage and began the journey to the docks. Only the burly looking coachman accompanied them.
Arriving early, Darcy had the carriage positioned to face the return route, in case they needed to make a hasty retreat.
Now, there was nothing more to do but wait.
Darcy pulled out his watched and checked it for the umpteenth time. Wickham was late. Already the sun was going down, and the mist was forming. The nightlife of the docks was changing from sailors, naval officers, and port officials, to drunks, thieves and prostitutes, and he wanted Elizabeth exposed to such people as little as possible.
Darcy was more concerned that he let on. Knowing Wickham of old, he suspected a double cross.
Mr Bennet, who had declined a hot bottle for his feet, was regretting his decision, and wondering if anyone would notice if he took a sip from the hip flask.
Elizabeth was oblivious to her father’s hand occasionally dipping into his pocket, but she was very aware of Darcy checking his watch. Something was wrong. As the minutes ticked by, Elizabeth became more and more concerned for her sister’s safety.
Agitated, and in need of a release for his pent-up anger, Darcy got out of the carriage and prowled up and down the path. Several minutes of pacing later, and still, Darcy felt like a wound coil ready to spring. His head snapped at every sound, every movement. Occasionally, he swung his cane at an invisible object, until finally, he heard a man’s voice coming from in mist.
“Steady on, old man, you nearly hit me with that!”
Instantly, Darcy recognised it as Wickham.
He peered harder into the mist, and slowly, the form of two people emerged from the direction of the Inn where Wickham had lodged.
“Am I late? Oh, well, no matter. I knew you would wait.” Cocked Wickham as he goaded Darcy to reply.
“Late? No, I do not think you are late, George. Maybe we were a trifle early. You have tidied yourself up since we last met, George. One might even say, you were…presentable?” Darcy said, playing along with Wickham.
Mr Bennet and Elizabeth had been told to stay in the carriage and say nothing until Darcy told them it was safe to do so. However, Elizabeth was finding this harder as every second passed.
Just behind Mr Wickham, masked by the mist and standing in the shadows, was Lydia. Even from several feet away, Elizabeth could see her sister trembling. Was it due to the cold, or worse, fear of Wickham? Elizabeth suspected it was the latter, but for now, all she could do was to will her to be brave and to be strong.
“Mmm,” said Wickham with a false smile. “I thought I should make an effort; now I am to be a man of means. Do you like it, Darcy?” asked Wickham as he turned from side to side, parading his new suit of clothes off.
“I do hope so, I charged it to your tailor.”
Darcy curse, making a mental note to write to all his suppliers telling them to deny Wickham credit.
“Now, do you have my money?”
“I do,” Darcy said, “Just as you asked. Half in coinage and half in notes.”
Darcy waited, hoping Wickham would just ask for the money forget about Elizabeth.
A tense few seconds of silence had passed before Wickham said,
“And where is Miss Elizabeth? I will only hand over the girl to her.”
Darcy cursed under his breath, and through gritted teeth, said,
“In the carriage, waiting for her sister.”
“Does she have the money?” Wickham asked, full of conceit.
“Yes,” Darcy managed to say.
“Then step aside, my good man, Miss Elizabeth and I have business to conduct.”
Against every fibre of his being, Darcy did step aside, giving Wickham a clear path to the carriage where Elizabeth sat waiting for him.
Wickham stopped at the carriage door and waited for the coachman to open it. If he heard the gruff mumbling of the coachman as he held open the carriage door, Wickham ignore it. Climbing in, he took the seat opposite Elizabeth, and next to her father.
Turning to Mr Bennet, he barked,
“You, old man, out!” Wickham ordered.
As protesting seemed futile, Mr Bennet climbed out onto the road and walked around to the back of the carriage, where he indulged in another hearty nip from the hip flask.
With Wickham’s attention now firmly fixed on Elizabeth, and Darcy’s attention fixed on Wickham and Elizabeth, no-one seemed to notice what Mr Bennet did.
With as much stealth as his old bones and liquor bolster body would allow him, Mr Bennet crept over to Lydia, linked her arm through his, and then quietly led her through the shadows and back to the main road. Once there, he quickly flagged down a hackney carriage and return them both to Darcy House.
Neither did anyone involved in tonight shenanigans noticed the two burly men that skirted around the light and shadows to follow Mr Bennet and his daughter, ensuring their safe return to Grosvenor Square.
“Elizabeth, I hope you will not think too unkindly of me in the future.” Wickham began.
Elizabeth’s back stiffened at the use of her given name. Too often, she realised, he had been overly familiar with her.
“A man with my background and lack of fortune must make a living as best he can. Though, if old man Darcy had not shown me there were finer things in life to be had, I might have been very content to follow in my own father’s footsteps. And, if Fitz here had not shown a partiality for you, my dear Elizabeth, I would never have picked Lydia and my next…meal ticket, shall we say?”
Elizabeth remained silent, only raising a cynical eyebrow at his bold words.
Wickham tried to capture Elizabeth’s hand, but unfortunately, he was too slow, and she had anticipated his move. Just in time, she pulled her hands beneath her cloa
k.
“Of course, my feelings were never engaged where Lydia was concerned. You, on the other hand, my feisty Elizabeth, well, I found myself becoming emotionally attached to you. The thought of becoming a farmer seemed more appealing every time I saw you. I engineered all our accidental meetings, you know? I badgered your friends to invite me to their soirees and parties. I found out which shops you like to visit and when. I even ingratiated myself with your mother, a tedious woman at the best of times. Only Charles Bingley could not be swayed, which was most annoying. He has been friends with Darcy too long. Still, I like to imagine that if I had made you an offer of marriage, you would have accepted it.”
Sensing Wickham expected her to participate in the conversation, and wanting to end this interview, Elizabeth said,
“Then what turned you from your path, Mr Wickham? What made you switch your attention to my naïve, fifteen-year-old sister?”
The bitterness was only thinly disguised in Elizabeth’s voice, but if Wickham noticed it, he chose to ignore it.
“Two things, Elizabeth. Mr Collins, and Darcy. Had your father’s estate not been entailed to the Parson, I would have made you an offer. Not that I envisaged sticking around after the money had run out, but, it would have been a pleasurable few months, I’m sure. Yet, the entail is there, and so I saw no future for me as squire of Longbourn.”
“You mean no money there for you?” Elizabeth said sharply.
“Yes, I suppose you are right. The other thing was Darcy. I could not bear the thought of him being happy. In fact, I decided long ago to make Darcy’s existence as miserable as I possibly could. I only tell you this now, Elizabeth to forewarn you. Better the life of an old spinster than the one I intend for Darcy.”
Sick of listening to Wickham’s bragging and derogatory remarks,
Elizabeth brought the bag from under her cloak and thrust it towards him.
“I believe this is what you came for, don’t let me detain you any longer. Goodbye Mr Wickham. I doubt we will meet again.”
Mr Darcy's Proposal Page 19
