by P. O. Dixon
The journey she had embarked upon was such that she had never imagined for herself, but she was sure that if her beloved father had lived to see how her life had unfolded, he would smile and say, it was exactly the way her life was meant to be.
One evening, long after the sun had set over Pemberley, Darcy and Elizabeth sat on the balcony enjoying the cool night’s air. As much as she was enjoying the moment, Elizabeth tried to slip away from her husband’s tender embrace.
“Where are you going, my love? I thought you intended for the two of us to act out the dream you were having when I came across you at the temple all those months ago. Heaven knows I have waited long enough,” he murmured, combing his fingers through her long, dark hair.
Ah, Elizabeth’s dream. Unbeknown to her lover, she often recalled that very dream. Their frequent interludes as man and wife exceeded her every expectation. Her earliest dream of Mr. Darcy lingered still.
Her stepping out of the bath just as he entered her room. Her bathing gown clinging to every inch of her body. His coming to her in all his magnificent glory. His lifting her into his arms. His carrying her off to bed.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, “I have every intention of our acting out that particular dream, my love. In doing so, my first order of business is to draw a steamy, hot bath.”
* * *
♥♥♥
Featured Book Excerpt!
Looking for another captivating escape with Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in which their first meeting occurs somewhere other than Hertfordshire? If yes, you won’t want to miss Gravity. Here’s a sneak peek:
Chapter 1
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London, England - April, 1812
* * *
Marry your cousin Anne.
His father’s dying wish was etched in Fitzwilliam Darcy’s memory.
Not a day went by that he did not think of his excellent father and the exemplary life the gentleman had lived.
How I miss him.
Sitting tall and upright, Darcy’s pensive gaze lingered all about the richly appointed study. He often imagined his late father, as well as his father’s father, doing the same.
Indeed, he was the product of a long line of Darcy men. Proud men whose solemnity of character was evidenced in every aspect of their lives.
His great grandfather’s likeness hanging on the wall, in fact, all that he observed throughout the room, served as a stark reminder of the gentleman who he was always meant to be: the best landlord and the best master, a devoted brother and the most steadfast of friends, and one day, a faithful husband and caring father. One day.
Even while in London during the height of the Season, Darcy could not escape the gravity of his situation in life: that being the preservation and, most importantly, augmentation of his family’s legacy for the next generation upon generations to come.
Having sat in the same attitude for some time, Darcy rose from his rich burgundy leather armchair to stretch his long legs. Moments later, he wandered across the room to command a closer look at the imposing portrait of his ancestor. At length, he rubbed his hand against his chin. Each ensuing generation saw a further tapering of the branches of the Darcy family tree.
While the death of his beloved mother, Lady Anne Darcy, had been the catalyst in Darcy’s growing up much too soon, it was the loss of his excellent father that had proved to be the most heart-wrenchingly painful.
The senior Mr. Darcy had died nearly four years prior, leaving Darcy with not only all the responsibility that being the master of Pemberley, one of the grandest estates in Derbyshire, entailed, but also the guardianship of a sister nearly a decade his junior: Miss Georgiana Darcy, a favorite niece of the Earl of Matlock, Lord Edward Fitzwilliam.
No doubt as a means of keeping the elder members of the aristocratic Fitzwilliam family at bay, the senior Mr. Darcy also thought to appoint someone as young Miss Darcy’s co-guardian: Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the earl’s second son.
Not that young Darcy had objected. Even with the colonel’s help, Darcy felt he had failed his sister miserably: a mistake he would no doubt remember for the rest of his life and one he surely would never make again. At present, his sister was residing at Matlock House under the supervision of his aunt Lady Ellen Fitzwilliam, the earl’s wife. Indeed, one of the daunting tasks which occupied his busy mind was hiring a suitable companion for Georgiana in preparation for their eventual return to Pemberley.
What a comfort it was knowing that, in the interim, his sister was safe and surrounded by family who cared for her, thus allowing Darcy the much-needed time to vet his next hire more thoroughly.
The sound of the clock striking four aroused Darcy from his wool-gathering.
“I was supposed to meet the colonel at White’s hours ago.”
As this was not the first time he had uttered those particular words out loud, Darcy returned to his desk and resumed reading where he had left off before he allowed his mind to drift off.
No doubt, Richard will understand the call of duty must not go unanswered—at least not so far as I am concerned.
Being one of the wealthiest gentlemen in Derbyshire is something indeed, but there is always room for more.
A quarter-hour later, Darcy’s cousin and closest friend strolled into the room. “I thought I might find you tucked away in your study, poring over tedious ledgers. I do not know how you do it. I, for one, can hardly imagine a more dreadful means of passing the time away.”
“It is a pleasure to see you, too, Richard,” said Darcy without tearing his eyes away from the task at hand.
“Except that you have not bothered to look up even once since I entered the room.”
A tall, amiable gentleman, who fell readily into conversation with everyone whom he met, the colonel was as different from his cousin in that regard as night from day. Whereas Darcy would willingly confess that he found it awkward, at best, trying to catch the thread of conversation with people with whom he had nothing in common, the colonel would surely counter, saying his cousin would simply never give himself the trouble of even trying. Whatever the reason, the end result suited Darcy perfectly fine.
Time spent not pursuing his ambitions of increased wealth and power was time wasted so far as Darcy was concerned. It was not that he did not occasionally enjoy the company of close family and friends, but thoughts of more consequential matters that needed attending were never far from his mind.
Colonel Fitzwilliam threw himself down into the large leather chair in front of Darcy’s desk. Leaning forward, he reached for an opened ledger, casually perused a line or two, and just as quickly slammed the book closed.
Tossing the ledger aside, he said, “I do not know how you do it. I, for one, would find such endeavors exceedingly tiresome. This is certainly no way for a fellow to be spending such a fine day as this.”
Here, Darcy looked up, and seeing the ledger out of place, he retrieved it and placed it where it ought to be. “It is fortunate, then, that such matters fall to my lot instead of yours.”
As his cousin was the second son of the Earl of Matlock, Darcy knew he would get no argument from the other man on that score. He knew his cousin to be a good man, indeed, one of the best men of his acquaintance, but in matters of finance and business, the colonel could scarcely be bothered.
The older man shrugged. “I should only imagine what a dreary old fellow you shall be once the favorite wish of all our Fitzwilliam relations unfolds.”
“Why do you suppose that?” Darcy asked.
“When I consider the amount of time you spend managing your current business affairs, I cannot help but think it will double once Rosings Park and all the vast holdings that estate entails,” here the colonel cleared his throat, “falls to your lot.”
The colonel had spoken nothing but the truth. Rosings Park was renowned as the finest estate in Kent, which was really saying something. And Darcy stood to own it all, if and when he chose to embark upon the path to which his cousin had alluded.
>
The favorite wish of all our Fitzwilliam relations, indeed.
Darcy had heard the story of how his late mother and his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh had planned the union between his cousin Anne and him for so long as he could remember. From their cradles, it had been decided that the two of them were meant for each other. As her daughter, Anne, was Lady Catherine’s only child and thus the heiress of extensive properties, including Rosings Park, it was considered vitally important that Darcy never forgot what was expected of him. To add to the gravity of this proclamation was not only Darcy’s late mother’s reaffirmation but his dear father’s dying entreaty as well: “My son, you were meant for greatness. Marry your cousin Anne and assume your rightful place among society’s elite—the hallowed echelon of Lords and Dukes.”
“A man would have to be a fool to forgo such an advantageous prospect as the combining of the two great estates entails,” Darcy declared.
The colonel leaned back in his seat. Crossing one long leg over the other, he said, “It sounds as though you have finally made up your mind. Shall I be the first to wish you joy?”
“Not so hastily, if you please. I have not said I will marry Anne.” Indeed, he had not said as much explicitly. Owing to the peculiar nature of the arrangement, he had no reason to do so.
Undoubtedly, Lady Catherine will begin ordering wedding clothes for her daughter the instant I speak the words aloud.
“And yet, you have not exactly said you will not,” the colonel responded.
Darcy scoffed. “I say only this: I like to suppose I am nobody’s fool.”
* * *
Chapter 2
When she woke that morning, Miss Elizabeth Bennet never imagined she would have tea with Lady Ellen Fitzwilliam, the Countess of Matlock, and her young niece, Miss Georgiana Darcy. Yet, there Elizabeth sat, amid the richly decorated surroundings which spoke of generations of wealth, in particular awe of all she observed.
The second eldest of five daughters, Elizabeth was enjoying a much-needed holiday in London with her aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. The opportunity to be away from her immediate family could not have come soon enough.
Late last autumn, Elizabeth had committed the ultimate sin, as far as her mother, Mrs. Fanny Bennet, was concerned. She had refused the hand of a so-called respectable, albeit utterly ridiculous, man: Mr. William Collins. Adding insult to her mother’s injury, the gentleman stood to inherit Longbourn, the Bennets’ home. Such an alliance would have secured her family’s future in case of her father’s death.
“Mr. Collins shall toss us all into the hedgerows the minute Mr. Bennet dies, and it will be all your fault, you headstrong, obstinate girl,” was now Elizabeth’s mother’s favorite complaint.
A woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper, who fancied herself nervous when she was discontented, Mrs. Bennet vowed never to speak to Elizabeth again, as a result. Amid the former’s constant complaints ever since that fateful day, Elizabeth almost wished her mother had kept her promise.
What a delightful reprieve from all the mayhem in Hertfordshire.
Elizabeth raised her delicate gold-rimmed porcelain cup to her lips. She breathed in the hot tea’s sweet, floral aroma. The steam tickled her nose as she took a sip.
How soothing. The last thing I should dwell upon at such a time as this is the goings-on at Longbourn. London is so diverting.
As for her being at the countess’s palatial Grosvenor Square home having tea that day, Elizabeth owed it to her aunt Mrs. Madeline Gardiner. While her dearest uncle, Mr. Edward Gardiner, lived in Cheapside near his warehouses, he and his wife had escaped the censure inherent in their situation in life. An elegant lady of sense and education, Mrs. Gardiner could readily boast of having friends and acquaintances beyond her sphere.
As a courtesy to her aunt, Elizabeth had agreed to spend time in company with Mrs. Gardiner’s dear friend, Mrs. Alice Hamilton, whose husband had passed several years prior. A very wealthy woman in her own right, Mrs. Hamilton rounded out Lady Matlock’s soiree that afternoon.
Having followed the thread of the conversation between Lady Matlock and Mrs. Hamilton most attentively, Elizabeth grew more and more aware that her ladyship’s niece seldom spoke anything beyond a monosyllable.
Sensibly adorned in a cream-colored muslin gown with a light blue ribbon sash, young Miss Darcy reminded Elizabeth of her dearest sister, Jane, the eldest of the Bennet daughters. Both ladies had angelic countenances, fair complexions, and long blonde locks.
Mrs. Hamilton had informed Elizabeth while on the way to Matlock House that young Miss Darcy was but sixteen. Hence, Elizabeth was quite surprised upon being introduced to one whose fully formed womanly features belied her youth.
Elizabeth had first perceived the young lady’s reserve as haughtiness. She was, after all, the niece of an earl: his favorite by Mrs. Hamilton’s account. Close observation persuaded Elizabeth that the young lady was merely shy.
She soon took it upon herself to draw the young lady out.
“Do you play, Miss Darcy?”
After glancing at her ladyship as though awaiting her cue and not catching her aunt’s eye, Miss Darcy nodded. “I do.”
The rather curt reply aside, Elizabeth persisted. “I suppose you play remarkably well. Do you enjoy exhibiting?”
“It depends,” the young lady replied.
By now, the countess’s attention was drawn. A regal woman who had kept more than her fair share of youthful beauty, her ladyship exclaimed, “My niece is quite modest, Miss Bennet. Let me assure you that her mastery of the pianoforte is exemplary.”
The young woman silently demurred in the wake of such high praise. As if finding her voice, she asked, “Do you play, Miss Bennet?”
“A little,” Elizabeth began, “although I fear my own mastery of the instrument is severely wanting. I have no one to blame but myself, for I rarely practice.”
“I practice copiously, especially when I am at Pemberley: my brother’s home. He recently had the most exquisite instrument sent up there for me. I can barely wait to play it.”
“It sounds as though your brother is very thoughtful.”
“Oh! He is indeed,” the young lady exclaimed with some energy. “He is the best man I know.”
The countess said, “Georgiana, perhaps Miss Bennet would like to see the pianoforte in the blue salon. Granted, it is not so grand as the one your brother gave you, but it is a fine instrument, none the less.”
Now rather animated, Miss Darcy turned to Elizabeth, “Shall we proceed to the salon, Miss Bennet? I must have you play for me, for I suspect you are modest as regards your musical acumen.”
Elizabeth looked at Mrs. Hamilton. Seeing in the older woman’s face tacit agreement with the scheme, she smiled heartily. “I accept your invitation with pleasure, Miss Darcy. And as for my modesty, it is incumbent upon me to say I have warned you.”
* * *
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Bestselling stories included in this collection:
Love Will Grow
Still a Young Man
Only a Heartbeat Away
Bewitched, Body and Soul
A Lasting Love Affair
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Books by P. O. Dixon
Standalone
Gravity
Christmas Sealed with a Kiss
Expecting His Wife
The Means of Uniting Them
Together in Perfect Felicity
&nb
sp; Which that Season Brings
A Night with Mr. Darcy to Remember
Designed for Each Other
By Reason, by Reflection, by Everything
Irrevocably Gone
Impertinent Strangers
Bewitched, Body and Soul
To Refuse Such a Man
Miss Elizabeth Bennet
Still a Young Man
Love Will Grow
Only a Heartbeat Away
As Good as a Lord
Matter of Trust
Expecting His Proposal
Pride and Sensuality
A Tender Moment
Almost Persuaded
A Darcy and Elizabeth Love Affair Series
A Lasting Love Affair
‘Tis the Season for Matchmaking
Pride and Prejudice Untold Series
To Have His Cake (and Eat it Too)
What He Would Not Do
Lady Harriette
Darcy and the Young Knight’s Quest Series
He Taught Me to Hope
The Mission
Hope and Sensibility
Everything Will Change Series
Lady Elizabeth
So Far Away
Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth Series
Dearest Elizabeth
Loveliest Elizabeth
Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth
Discover More About Dixon’s Books
Also Available as Audiobooks
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt gratitude is bestowed to Miss Jane Austen for her timeless classic, Pride and Prejudice, which makes all this possible.
