A Pemberley Medley (A Pride & Prejudice Variation)

by Abigail Reynolds

  The two men were still conversing when the dance ended. Elizabeth tried to make her feet move in their direction, but they were frozen to the floor. It was not as if she had any intention of denying his suit, but now that the reality was before her, she felt such embarrassment that she could not imagine looking him in the face. In a moment of sheer cowardice, she fled the hall and hid once again in a dressing room.

  Once alone, she pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. It was not like her to be so Missish, but then again she had never before been faced with the immediate prospect of being engaged. She imagined how Darcy would look at her, now that he knew she would be his someday, and it made heat rise within her.

  But she could not hide forever. She took a deep breath before opening the door and proceeding down the long hallway to the assembly room. She was grateful it was unpopulated at present; she did not feel equal to making casual conversation.

  “Miss Elizabeth.” The deep voice of the object of her thoughts came from behind her.

  She jumped and held her hand to her chest, her heart pounding. “You startled me, sir.”

  “Indeed.” The corner of his mouth twitched wryly. He glanced up and down the hallway, then placed a firm hand on her elbow and directed her through an open door into an unoccupied room.

  Quickly he closed the door behind them, and suddenly Elizabeth could see nothing but blackness. She was all too aware of his on her arm.

  “My apologies. I had assumed there would be light from the street.”

  Her eyes, adjusting to the darkness, made out the window frame, with only the light of the stars to fill it. The clouds must have finally cleared. “I believe we are facing the rear of the inn, sir.” She could just begin to see the outlines of the room. To her dismay, she realized this was not one of the sitting rooms; instead, she was standing directly between Mr. Darcy and a large four-poster bed. She was grateful he could not see her flaming cheeks.

  She took a few quick steps toward the window, seeking to put distance between her and the bed. Not that she doubted Mr. Darcy’s honour, but if they were accidentally discovered, she did not want it to look worse than it was. But what was she thinking? If she were found alone with Mr. Darcy in a dark bedroom, it would make no difference whether he was taking advantage of her or they were discussing the weather. The damage would be done. Still, she had never before been alone in a bedroom with a gentleman, and it made her nervous.

  She took another step away, but stumbled over some unseen object on the floor. Immediately Mr. Darcy was beside her, supporting her arms.

  “Are you hurt, Miss Elizabeth?” His concern was evident.

  “Only my dignity is wounded.” Her dignity and her reputation, if they were discovered, but somehow she found herself unable to care as he stood so close to her, only an inch or two of air separating them. His hands remained above her elbows, covering the small span between her gloves and the puffed sleeve of her dress, and her eyes opened wide as his thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of her inner arms. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her?

  “My apologies.” His voice sounded unusually husky. “I did not wish to miss my dance with you.”

  She struggled to collect herself. “You are forgiven, sir. I am sure there will be another opportunity.”

  “I hope so, although sometimes I think the fates are as much against allowing me to dance with you as allowing me to be alone with you.”

  It seemed unwise to point out that they were alone now, especially when she was feeling the light touch of his thumbs throughout her body. “Mr. Darcy, my partner will be looking for me.”

  “Let him look.”

  “But what if he begins a search and we are discovered?”

  “So much the better.”

  “Mr. Darcy!”

  “If the entire world, including the weather, will insist on conspiring against finding an opportunity to speak with you alone, why should I not simply let events take their course?”

  “Surely you cannot mean….”

  His fingers crept under the ruffle of her sleeve. “I see three choices before you. One is that I ask your father for permission to court you. Or I could ask for permission to marry you. Or I could keep you here until we are discovered, and wait for him to demand that I marry you. Any of the three are agreeable to me, so you may choose.”

  “You are all kindness, Mr. Darcy,” she murmured. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, and suddenly she ached for more.

  “That does not answer my question.” His lips brushed against the corner of her jaw, so lightly it was like a butterfly’s touch. But a butterfly would not send shivers of pleasure through her.

  “I thought you had already spoken to my father.”

  “Tonight? True, but we were speaking of books. I thought I should have at least one ordinary conversation with him before demanding his daughter’s hand.”

  She almost laughed at his choice of words. “In that case, it would seem that I have in fact only two options, since you seem disinclined to unhand me. I could wait to see what transpires, or I could scream for help.”

  Now she felt the warmth of his lips on her brow. “Be warned, Miss Bennet, that should you decide to scream, I would feel obligated to stop you in the most efficient manner possible.” His caressing tone told her he did not refer to putting his hand over her mouth.

  A wave of dizziness washed over her. Surely he would not dare, yet he had already dared so much. The wisest course would be to accept him officially – he could have no real doubt at this point as to her consent – but then he might stop this sweet torment of closeness. As if aware of her thoughts, his grip on her arms loosened. But it was replaced by the lightest of touches trailing up her arm, a sense both exhilarating and irresistible.

  She drew in a ragged breath. “Perhaps you should speak to my father.”

  She could not make out his hands in the darkness, so she gasped in surprise at his touch on the sensitive skin of her neck, tracing her collarbone.

  He moved fractionally closer to her, sending the tension even higher. “Pity. I was hoping you might scream.” His hand moved again. This time his fingertips lingered on her tingling lips.

  “I still might. Perhaps you should assume the worst.” What was wrong with her? She knew better than to allow the intoxication of the moment to go any further. If she reacted this fervently already, how would she possibly manage if he kissed her?

  She could feel him leaning toward her, his breath on her cheek.

  “I have waited so long for this.” His whisper was unsteady, but the pressure of his lips on hers was tender and warm.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed. All of her being seemed to her to be concentrated at that point where their mouths met. The rest of the world vanished, and his lips were her only reality.

  But then it changed. It was a moment before she felt the teasing touch of his tongue tracing along her lips. The surprise of it made her gasp, the intimacy of it causing her to clutch his shoulders for support. Despite all the novels she had read, she had never imagined such delight in a man’s touch.

  It only grew as his arms went around her, pulling her to him until she could feel the strength of his body against hers. In a rush of happiness she knew this was where she belonged, this was what she had been seeking all her life.

  His lips pressed against her cheek, her ear, and feathered along the pulse of her neck. “Sweetest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he whispered between kisses.

  Somehow she found herself standing on her tiptoes, her hands creeping around his neck to clutch him tightly, unable to bear the thought of losing contact with him. Intoxicated by the faint scent of leather and horses that clung to him, she pressed her cheek against the starched cloth of his cravat, feeling half unable to breathe for happiness.

  Jane’s distant voice calling her name barely penetrated her dazed state, but Darcy stiffened, still holding her close. “They have missed you, my love,” he said. With clear regret he loosened
his grip on her. “You must go. I will remain here a few minutes, and then I will speak to your father.”

  Finally Bingley looked as if he was ready to depart from the assembly. It was not a moment too soon. Darcy had reached the end of his tolerance for sharing Elizabeth with the rest of the Meryton assembly. Turning to Elizabeth, he offered her his arm and said, “Miss Elizabeth, your father has agreed to allow me the honour of escorting you home this evening.”

  “You have been planning ahead, sir.” Her eyes danced as she took his arm.

  “It seems I must, if I am to have any time with you at all.”

  “I am surprised he agreed to allow me to travel alone with you.”

  “Well, I might perhaps have implied we would be riding with Bingley, your sister, and Miss Bingley.” He led her outside to the street where he paused a moment to look up at the sky. “Now it stops raining.” Just when it no longer made a difference.

  His carriage waited in line behind several others. Darcy placed his free hand over Elizabeth’s. Walking perhaps a little closer to her than propriety would dictate, he guided her to it, opened the door, and handed her in. To think he would have the opportunity to do this again and again throughout their lives! It still astonished him that after all these months, it was finally settled, and Elizabeth was to be his.

  He needed to rein his thoughts in before they could travel any further in that direction, or there would be a repeat of his uncontrolled behaviour earlier when he had been alone with Elizabeth. He stepped into the carriage and seated himself opposite her, then rapped on the wall of the carriage to signal the coachman. As the steady clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones began, he leaned forward to speak to Elizabeth.

  “I hope you do not object to my maneuvering for a little time alone with you. I wanted the opportunity to apologize for my earlier behaviour. I had been awaiting that moment so long, and I fear my emotions ran too high.”

  There was a low laugh from the dim shape that was Elizabeth. “You need not apologize. You knew I planned to accept you, and you expressed yourself as sensibly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do on such an occasion.”

  He only wished he had been certain of her acceptance, but at Hunsford he had no doubts of her, and could not have been more mistaken. The indications she had recently given him of her regard had raised his hopes, but he had not been complacent until she had spoken the words. “I thank you for your understanding, but still, I would like to think I have a little more self-control than that.”

  Elizabeth reached across the divide and took his hand. Obviously she had no conception of how slight his self-control with her actually was. “Sir, I was grateful for the reassurance of your affections. You had seemed less than pleased before that, and I was concerned as to the meaning of it.”

  “My dearest Elizabeth, you cannot expect me to enjoy the sight of you dancing with other gentlemen when I could not look forward to the same pleasure for myself.” He felt the warmth of her hand through the thin white glove she wore. It reminded him too much of the sensation of kissing her. Perhaps this carriage ride had not been such a good idea after all. Unable to resist, he ran his thumb lightly down the inside of her forefinger, thinking of the day when he would have the right to strip off her gloves, to press kisses on each fingertip and to trace with his lips the fine lines of her hands that he had so admired on the keyboard at Rosings. Then he would… but no. He could not allow his thoughts to go there. “But since our time together earlier was so brief, I did not have the opportunity to tell you how very happy you have made me, and how much I look forward to the day when I may call you my wife.” No. He should not have said that last part.

  “I confess I have been able to think of little else myself,” she said, and he could almost make out the arch smile which accompanied her words.

  Did she have any idea how much of a temptation she presented? He needed to change the subject before he gave into it. “Your father was more surprised by my petition than I had anticipated.”

  “But no doubt less surprised than he might have been a fortnight ago, before you began to call at Longbourn so regularly.”

  “Perhaps I should have waited until I could speak to him in greater privacy, but I am afraid my impatience had the better of me.”

  “Well, all’s well that ends well.” Her hand tightened on his. “My early impressions of you have been proven to be quite mistaken. To think I once thought you to have a taciturn and unsociable disposition! Now there are times when I must say that you talk altogether too much, Mr. Darcy. It will not take us long to reach Longbourn at this pace.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. No one had ever accused him of being too talkative before. What did she expect him to do, if not to talk to her? Suddenly it occurred to him precisely what she expected him to do, and a great sense of lightness pervaded his being. Not to mention other feelings for the altogether astonishing woman he was to marry.

  He shifted his weight and crossed the narrow space between them to sit at her side, his arm finding its way around her shoulders almost of its own accord. “In that case, my sweetest Elizabeth, I must find a better way to express myself.”

  The taste of her lips was sweet indeed.

  About the Author

  Abigail Reynolds is a lifelong Jane Austen enthusiast and a physician. In addition to writing, she has a part-time private practice and enjoys spending time with her family. Originally from upstate New York, she studied Russian, theater, and marine biology at Bryn Mawr College before deciding to attend medical school. She began writing Pride & Prejudice variations in 2001 to spend more time with her very favorite characters. Encouragement from fellow Austen fans convinced her to continue asking ‘What if…?’, which led to six other Pemberley Variations and her modern novel, The Man Who Loved Pride & Prejudice. She is currently at work on another Pemberley Variation and sequels to The Man Who Loved Pride & Prejudice.

  Abigail is a founding member of Austen Authors, a popular group blog comprising twenty-five authors of Austenesque fiction. Abigail is a lifetime member of JASNA and lives in Wisconsin with her husband, two children, and a menagerie of wild animals masquerading as pets. Her hobbies include beading, reading, and finding time to sleep.

  Connect with Me Online:

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/abigailreynolds

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/abigail.reynolds1

  My website: http://www.pemberleyvariations.com

  Austen Authors blog: http://www.austenauthors.com

  Acknowledgements

  This book could not have been written without the assistance of many people, first and foremost my husband David who has cheerfully supported my odd hobby for years. Special thanks to reader Arlene Brown who suggested the title, to Maria Grazia for helping me locate the cover art, and to Rebecca Young for her artistic opinions. My fellow Austen Authors have provided encouragement, enthusiasm, and lots of good reading to distract me.