Christmas at Darcy House

by Victoria Kincaid

  What courage he must possess to kiss her without knowing her feelings! To kiss her knowing that mortification was the inevitable result! And he was such a proper man, so aware of everyone’s judgment.

  Elizabeth felt as if she had just opened her eyes and that previously unnoticed vistas had suddenly appeared before her.

  But did she really want to explore this new territory?

  The answer would have been no if Mr. Darcy had been the man she thought he was, but this other Mr. Darcy…

  Oh. Elizabeth realized she was staring at him as they stood in the middle of the pathway. Their faces were only a foot apart, raising uncomfortable memories of their kiss yesterday. How had they managed to move so close to each other? Elizabeth colored and shuffled backward a few steps. In all her previous encounters with the man, Elizabeth had been certain how she should respond to him, but this new Mr. Darcy confused and vexed her.

  “Can you find it in your heart to forgive my most grievous error?” His voice was quite plaintive.

  Elizabeth considered as Mr. Darcy squirmed under the scrutiny of her gaze. Although she could not approve of the method he had used to separate her from Mr. Wickham, she understood it. He had been acting from the best intentions. He was penitent and desirous of her forgiveness. “Yes, of course, I forgive you.”

  Immediately his body loosened, and he stood a little taller. Still, anxiety etched lines into his face, and she found herself wishing to give him some reassurance—some token that she might someday be favorably disposed toward him. “I am not…” Unable to bear the weight of his stare, Elizabeth turned her eyes to the park, staring at brown grass and bare tree limbs. She swallowed. “I am not lost to you.” His breath caught. “I…sent Mr. Wickham a note this morning informing him that I do not believe we may continue the engagement.”

  Mr. Darcy sighed, and his body relaxed even more. “I am…relieved to hear that.” The tentative expression on his face suggested he wanted to discuss the state of their courtship, but Elizabeth was not equal to that conversation. She swung back toward the pathway and resumed walking.

  Mr. Darcy fell into step beside her. Several minutes passed in which the silence between them grew uncomfortable. He had not offered Elizabeth his arm, and she was acutely aware that the pace between them was disjointed and uneven.

  She glanced at his profile, stern and unforgiving. He was staring at the park as if it had somehow offended him. Was he angry that she had not immediately accepted his offer?

  Finally, she could bear the silence no longer. “It is pleasant to have such mild weather this time of year,” she said with a sportive grin.

  He was startled out of his reverie. “Hmm? Oh yes.”

  Another silence stretched between them.

  “Do you believe we shall have rain?”

  He glanced at the faded blue winter sky. “I do not imagine so.”

  “Snow then?”

  He blinked. “No.”

  “Hail?”

  His lips twitched.

  “No.”

  “A blizzard perhaps?”

  He huffed a laugh. “I do not believe that is likely.”

  “Perhaps a plague of locusts?”

  He slid her a sidelong glance. “I do not believe that could properly be considered a weather event.”

  She shrugged. “Well, Mama always says I should discuss the weather when all else fails, but it appears I have no more weather to discuss.”

  He snorted, then drew a deep breath. “I hope your willingness to discuss the weather is an indication that you are not too terribly angry at my presumption.”

  There was another long silence. The path curved, taking them along the bank of a pond.

  “Not terribly angry, but still somewhat angry,” she replied. He nodded his understanding. “So how did you come to be outside my uncle’s house just as I was departing? I find that a happy coincidence.

  “Er…” He licked his lips, glancing around the park before answering. “I…ah…was lingering outside…on the street…hoping you would leave the house.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Your uncle’s neighbors gave me some puzzled looks.”

  He must have wanted to speak with her quite desperately. “For how long?”

  Was he blushing? “Not so long. I arrived this morning.”

  “At what time?”

  He was suddenly, intensely interested in a duck paddling in the pond. “At about seven or so.”

  “Seven?” It was now close to noon! And Mr. Darcy was a busy man.

  He shrugged. “I did not want to miss an opportunity to talk with you.”

  She could not prevent a smile. “It is customary if one wishes to speak with a person to knock on the door. It does offer a certain efficiency.”

  “I did not know if you would receive me.” His face was stony.

  There was that. Elizabeth might not have spoken with him before Miss Darcy’s visit, but now…

  She took some time before replying. “After your sister’s visit, I realized that our acquaintance has been one long comedy of errors. I have not acquired a good understanding of your character or conduct, and I daresay you have not received a complete picture of mine.”

  “No. I—” He spoke as if each word rubbed his throat raw. “Before…In the garden….I believed you…recognized my attentions for what they were, and you welcomed them.”

  This admission must have been difficult to make. Elizabeth fought a most ridiculous and inappropriate impulse to hug him. How her reaction yesterday must have hurt him! She had stabbed him and twisted the knife without realizing it.

  And the fault was hers. She had allowed her own prejudice toward the man to cloud her normally good insight into people. “Apparently, I am too obtuse for a subtle approach, Mr. Darcy. You would have done better to hit me over the head.”

  He smiled. “I would not wish to injure you.”

  She found herself smiling in return. “You could use a bouquet of flowers.”

  His lips were pressed together, suppressing a laugh. “That would be quite messy and a waste of perfectly good flowers.”

  “And I suppose it would be rather confusing without any kind of explanation. Very well, forget that idea. I shall remain a hopeless case.”

  “Do not say that,” he murmured in a tone so strangled that Elizabeth glanced at him in alarm. He took a step toward her. “I alone created this catastrophe. I alone should suffer for it.”

  She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “You are not alone, and I am not blameless. I misjudged you badly.”

  He lifted his head and stared into her eyes, his lips parted slightly. “I pray you, tell me I am not too late. That I can unwind the damage I have done to your estimation of me.”

  This poignant plea struck a chord deep within Elizabeth’s chest. No woman could fail to be moved by such a request. However, her feelings for Mr. Darcy were hopelessly tangled by now. Freed of obligations to Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth could finally admit her attraction to Mr. Darcy, but he had mortified her in the garden the previous day. Would he always be so high-handed? Was it really possible that such a man could be violently in love with her? It seemed inconceivable. But he was behaving much as a suitor would, and there could be no possible motive for him to pretend an admiration for her that he did not feel.

  Nor could she imagine another motive to kiss her the way he had. He did have a feud with Wickham, but surely he would not sacrifice his own marital happiness for its sake.

  “You are not too late,” she assured him. He breathed out a sigh of relief. “But I am confused, Mr. Darcy. My aunt and uncle insist that I have no choice other than to marry you after your actions yesterday.” He had the grace to blush. “Do you believe differently?”

  He looked out over the pond, his expression pensive. “At the time of the kiss, I believed you would welcome the opportunity to become my wife, and that would persuade you to overlook the…unusual circumstances of my proposal. I am hoping to persuade you to marry me, which wo
uld avert any scandal. But if not…Perhaps I could pay off the servants…” He did not seem happy at that prospect.

  “I told my aunt I would consider a convent.”

  A side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I hope I can persuade you that life with me would be preferable.” He took a step closer to her. An errant breeze wafted his sandalwood scent toward her, a scent she had always enjoyed. “I hope I can persuade you that life with me could be very good indeed.” His voice had grown husky and deep, setting something humming inside Elizabeth.

  His eyes, darkened with desire, locked on hers, mesmerizing her. She could not pull her gaze from his. At that moment she had no difficulty imagining how good life with him could be.

  The tip of his tongue moistened his lips, prompting memories of the kiss in the garden. It had been…transcendent.

  Her fingers itched to touch him…to stroke the softness of his hair…to feel the hard planes of his chest and measure the width of his shoulders with her hands. These desires took her off guard. She had never experienced this heady rush of sensations with any other man. Even Mr. Wickham—who had been pleasant and good company—had never required her to restrain herself from reaching out to touch him. However, there was far more to a marriage than desire. Could she be happy with such a proud, difficult man? A man who expected the world to bend to his will?

  Mr. Darcy’s handsome features were distracting, impeding Elizabeth’s rational thoughts. She averted her eyes to the tips of her shoes peeking out from the hem of her dress.

  “Elizabeth?” His question had a tinge of anxiety in it.

  “Your sister”—her throat closed up, and she needed to start again—“your sister is under the impression that you are a little in love with me.”

  He shook his head. “No, Miss Bennet, I am not a little in love with you.” For some reason she did not want to examine, Elizabeth’s heart sank at this news. It should come as a relief, but instead she was irrationally disappointed—as if she had, in a short time, come to rely upon the idea that he loved her.

  Mr. Darcy continued, “I am violently, irrevocably, passionately in love with you and have been since before my party quitted Netherfield.”

  Oh. Her breath caught. Well, that declaration left little room for doubt.

  Still, he could be deceiving himself. His passion could be transitory and easily lost. Could she tie her future to a hope?

  She had been grievously mistaken about Mr. Wickham’s character and was now doubly uncertain about her own judgment. On the other hand, he could be of enormous help to her family. Could she afford to decline his offer?

  “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, but I”—she swallowed—“I do not understand why you have singled me out for the honor of your attention when there are undoubtedly many other women who have been vying for your favor.”

  He gasped. “Do you not see yourself?” he asked in wonder. “From the first moment I saw you in the assembly hall, your light shone so brightly that it eclipsed every other woman—every other person—present.”

  Elizabeth’s heart swelled at his words, and yet… “There are many pretty women in the world. Why do you single me out?”

  His hand raised, and his fingers skimmed lightly over her cheek. She held her breath. “I do not simply crave your beauty. I crave the power of your mind. Your wit. Your conversation. When I speak with other women about moral failings, they say, ‘Ah yes, sir, you have the right of it.’ But when I speak to Elizabeth Bennet, you say, ‘Do you consider vanity and pride to be failings?’ and then you argue with me.” His hand cupped her cheek, and his thumb gently brushed over her lips.

  Her breathing was becoming more ragged. “You like that I argue with you?”

  His smile was gentle. “I do. It is something that I did not know I needed. But I need it, desperately.”

  Elizabeth gasped, struggling to keep her eyes fixed on his. Such ardor threatened to overwhelm her senses.

  “I want to enjoy the power of that mind, that wit, and that conversation for the rest of my life,” he continued. “It is the missing piece of my life that I did not know was missing. It is the thing that I did not know I was searching for. All these years I have been dissatisfied with my marital choices and despaired of ever finding a woman who made my heart race and my soul sing.”

  Elizabeth was speechless for perhaps the first time in her life. But how could she possibly respond to such eloquence, such intensity? He had effectively obliterated any doubts she had that he loved her, but they had been replaced with reservations about whether she could live up to such lofty standards—and whether he saw her clearly.

  His fingers continued to caress her face. “Is it any wonder that I panicked when I learned you had accepted Wickham’s offer?”

  No man could have conjured that speech on the spot. “Um…I…did not know,” she stuttered out the words.

  “I hid it from you and from myself,” he murmured, bending his head toward hers. His intention was clear, and Elizabeth made no effort to pull away. Her feet were rooted to the path. This kiss was sweet, without the raging passion of the previous day. It started with a mere brushing of their lips and grew steadily more insistent until they both needed to catch their breath.

  When they finally pulled apart, she nervously surveyed the surrounding area. Fortunately, that part of the park was sparsely populated, but still… “Mr. Darcy, we are in public.”

  He smiled gently at her, apparently unconcerned. “Perhaps I can remedy that difficulty.” Taking her hand, he led her to a copse of fir trees. He pushed through the branches and guided her into a small empty space in the middle. They were mostly shielded from prying eyes but still within the confines of the park.

  Elizabeth shivered. What did he intend to do?

  Her reaction caught his attention; he regarded her solemnly. “Elizabeth, if I do anything you dislike, tell me immediately, I pray you.” He waited until she had nodded. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

  The next kiss contained all the passion the previous one had lacked. He kissed her as if she supplied the air he needed to survive. Each stroke of his tongue, each caress of his lips, told her how desperately he wanted her to believe in his passion for her. It was overwhelming, an assault on her senses she had not anticipated. Mr. Darcy’s arms held her tightly against his body as if he could never let her go.

  As they parted, her head was spinning, and she needed to grip his arm to maintain her balance. After a moment, Mr. Darcy released her and stepped backward. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet.”

  Her eyebrows knit together. For what was he apologizing? All she could think was that she hoped he would do it again.

  He stared at the ground, cheeks red. “I wished you to believe the sincerity of my words, and instead I assault you as I did yesterday.”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. It was difficult to admit to her own wantonness, but she would not allow him to labor under a delusion. “Sir, had I found the kiss less than desirable, you would know it.”

  As he smiled, his fingers touched his swollen lip gingerly. “I suppose I would.” She would not apologize for striking him yesterday; he deserved it. “May I hope, then, that you found my kisses acceptable?”

  She shivered; something in his humble, almost plaintive, tone touched her deeply. But still she was not at all prepared to give her unqualified approval. She did not want to give him the impression that she was prepared to accept his offer. “Yes…they were quite…pleasant.” It was a ridiculously inadequate word to describe the effect they had had on her, but he gave her a slow smile, seemingly encouraged by the vague compliment.

  A drop of water hit her sleeve. When Elizabeth glanced up, another drop hit her cheek. “Oh no! It is raining.”

  “That is a shame,” Mr. Darcy said with an expression of disappointment. No doubt he had planned for additional kisses. “Will you allow me to accompany you back to Gracechurch Street? I do not want you to get caught in a downpour.”

  Why did the thought of m
ore time—even ten more minutes—with Mr. Darcy give her such an illicit thrill? Truth be told, the thrill had always been there, but only now did she allow herself to acknowledge and indulge it. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  “Might I wait upon you tomorrow and join you for another walk?”

  “Yes, and if you are very fortunate, I may even tell you what time I plan to venture out, so you need not lurk on my uncle’s doorstep.”

  He laughed.

  The downpour held off as they hurried back to Gracechurch Street. They spoke of inconsequential topics, but Elizabeth was struck by how unexpectedly pleasant she had found the entire walk to be. The taste of his kisses lingered on her lips. She should not have allowed such liberties, but he was proving difficult to resist. Now that she knew of his interest in her—and his love—it was doubly hard to resist the urge to touch and be touched.

  She was well aware that he had offered her marriage, and she had not yet responded. Earlier in the day she had been tempted to throw the offer back in his face no matter the consequences, but now she was pleased she had not announced an irrevocable decision. She was grateful he had not pressed her for an answer today; she was vacillating more than ever before. She had received his words and his kisses with great pleasure but knew she should not make the mistake of deciding her entire future based on a pleasant walk.

  If there were a chance she might accept Mr. Darcy, then perhaps she should give her aunt and uncle an opportunity to know him better. Improved acquaintance might soften their opinion of him, and they might give her the benefit of their advice.

  They arrived at the Gardiners’ house, huddled under a little portico outside the door. This was the point at which he should bid her adieu, but he had made no move to disengage her arm from his and peered down at her with something resembling tenderness.

  She swallowed hard. “M-Mr. Darcy, would you perhaps like to come in for a while and enjoy a cup of tea before you must venture out in the rain once more?”

  He froze for a moment, evidently surprised by the invitation. “Certainly. I thank you.”

  They were greeted by Shaw, whose eyes widened slightly at the sight of Mr. Darcy in Elizabeth’s company, but she took their outer garments without comment. Elizabeth led the way to the drawing room, surprised to hear more than one male voice. Her aunt and uncle must have visitors. Only right before she opened the drawing room door did she recognize the second, unexpected male voice, but by then it was too late; she had already turned the knob.