Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo)

by Sharon Lathan

  Breathless and immobile, Darcy stared, transfixed as memories sprang into his mind—vivid ones of her warm hands encompassing his cold one, her sweet breath wafting over his cheeks, and honeyed voice declaring her love. Fiery emotions swept through him. The powerfully evocative sensations of her lips moving under his, her hands tangled in his hair, and soft body pressed against his chest fanned the fire into a blaze. Thank God no one else was in this part of the gallery because Darcy was sure he moaned aloud. Desire electrified every nerve. Yearning for her overwhelmed, it undoubtedly prudent she was not standing beside him.

  Finally he calmed, at least enough to take the painting off the wall. Normal procedure was to ask an attendant to retrieve the piece, but he was not going to take a chance on anyone else claiming it before he could find someone.

  Later that night, once again alone and relaxed in casual attire after a solitary dinner, Darcy sipped hot cocoa and dreamily gazed at the framed painting propped on a nearby settee. Tomorrow promised to be another busy day, beginning with meeting Mr. Daniels to sign copies of the betrothal agreement and tend to a number of estate business matters. After that was the appointment with his tailor, and with luck the items requested from Pemberley would arrive as well, so he could attend to those final tasks. Then it would be a matter of waiting for Richard’s return, which better happen soon because Darcy had no intention of tarrying in London indefinitely.

  Pushing tomorrow’s plans aside, Darcy closed his eyes and rested his head back onto the cushioned chair. Envisioning Elizabeth, he freely indulged in the love and passion she roused within him. The sensations were unique and growing daily. As he had speculated on the day of their engagement, being separated by distance was painful in a manner it never had been before. Yet, as he had also speculated, there was an odd joy to the ache because it was a sign of their increasing bond, and being reunited would be especially sweet. Is this what Roman poet Sextus Propertius alluded to with the line, “Always toward absent lovers love’s tide stronger flows,” in Elegies? Perhaps, although Darcy preferred strengthening their “love’s tide” in her presence!

  Whatever the case, if he had to be away from her, as was bound to happen even after they married, he could use the time to dwell upon the marvelous feelings her existence generated. Already he could instantly conjure her face in all its myriad expressions, and hear her protean voice and laughter as vividly as if she were sitting next to him. Imagining her in this room was enough to warm his heart and fill the vacant areas of his soul.

  Elizabeth Bennet.

  Thinking of her and the love they shared was soothing. It was also stressful and, at times, downright physically excruciating. Wanting the release found only with a woman was not a new phenomenon for Darcy, naturally, but never had the ache of unfulfilled arousal affected him as acutely as it has since she kissed him in the garden at Longbourn. The ardent longing for her, amplified each month over the past year while dreams haunted him, had not remotely prepared him for the overpowering sexual desire her touch awoke. It was as if a dormant beast had come to roaring life. Not one completely unwelcome, he honestly admitted, but the wildness was contrary to the controlled temper he prided himself on possessing.

  And then there were the inevitable questions he struggled to answer. Was allowing free rein to his passionate musing while alone a wise move? Was self-gratification while dreaming of her proper and enough to appease? Would it then be easier to regulate the limited intimate exchanges with Elizabeth? Or was he only baiting the beast with partial satisfaction and tasty samplings? Was he capable of restraint for another six weeks and then, a horrid scenario to contemplate, fail to be gentle on their wedding night?

  If there was one thing Darcy hated above all else, it was not being able to intellectually and rationally work through a problem and come to a sensible plan. Methodical and confident in the extreme, being at a loss as to how best to proceed with Elizabeth was galling. Of course, as he had to concede, even if it did conflict with his need for disciplined logic, love was, by its nature, fluid and variable. As an emotion, love did not follow set rules, could not be forced to behave a certain way, would refuse to be contained, and gave no guarantees it would flourish.

  At the end of the day—as the chiming clock alerted him it literally was—Darcy trusted that somehow, like every man down the corridors of time who waited to wed the woman he loved, he would survive, rejoice in their happy after, and laugh at his current anxieties.

  At least that is what his intellectual, rational mind grasped on to.

  * * *

  The lower edge of the sun had dipped behind the roofs of neighboring townhouses when Darcy’s carriage halted before the polished white stones of Darcy House on Grosvenor Square. Waiting for the footman to open the door, Darcy exited with the bundle of signed papers from Mr. Daniels tucked under one arm. Gesturing to the bags and boxes arranged neatly on the bench opposite where he had sat, Darcy said, “Peters, please see that these are placed in my chambers. Thank you.”

  The footman acknowledged his employer’s orders, but Darcy was already heading toward the entrance. It had been a long day, and while satisfying in that he had accomplished much, he was more than ready to relax.

  Mr. Travers took his coat, welcoming the master home as he did, and added, “A package arrived by private courier from Mrs. Reynolds at Pemberley, sir. I placed it on your desk.”

  Darcy inclined his head and thanked the butler. Heading straight to his office, which served as the townhouse’s library as well, he opened the door and crossed the dimly illuminated room to the large desk. Plopping the tied bundle of documents on the surface, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a deep tenor spoke from behind him.

  “About time you finished gallivanting about Town and wandered back to the house. I was beginning to think I would be dining alone tonight.”

  Darcy whirled around, a delighted smile already forming as he exclaimed, “Richard!”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was sprawled on the sofa, his booted feet crossed at the ankles on a pillow laying over the armrest. He was grinning smugly, an anticipatory gleam in his eyes even as he raised one brow quizzically.

  “Richard? That’s it? And why are you smiling like that? Where’s the tongue lashing about my boots on the cushion?”

  Darcy leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, his smile widening. “My humor is too high to chastise about a piece of furniture.”

  “Are you sure it’s not a fever? There is a frightening radiance about you, and that smile is suspicious. Plus, you may well be delirious because you have yet to notice the tumbler in my hand filled with your private stash of Scotch moonshine. The second helping, I should add.”

  “Oh, I noticed, rest assured. I simply do not have a problem with your unwholesome proclivity for pilfering…this time. In fact, I intend to have a glass with you.”

  Richard frowned, only partly feigned, as he asked, “Who are you, and what have you done with my fussy cousin?”

  Darcy laughed. Grabbing one of the empty tumblers, he snatched the open bottle from Richard’s hand, pouring a healthy shot of the whiskey while answering, “Oh, never fear. I am still ‘fussy,’ as you put it, with admirable restraint considering the adjectives you could have chosen—”

  “Uptight? Persnickety? Fastidious? Punctilious?”

  “I have always preferred meticulous or proper, but I know those are words you do not comprehend the definition of.”

  “Aha! There it is! The bite I was waiting for. Thank God. I was beginning to think you had suffered a head injury while I was gone. And here I thought I was the one with the life-threatening occupation.”

  “Please!” Darcy snorted. “You sit in a tent and bark orders to your soldiers. Hardly life threatening.”

  “Now that hurts, Cousin. Truly. I’ll have you know I stay in my tent only if I have to. I prefer to be on my horse giving those orders.”

  “On a bluff well away from the intense action.”

  R
ichard shrugged, ignoring Darcy’s grin while swallowing a mouthful of the illegal liquor, and then adding airily, “It is called the burden of command. Someone has to make sure they do the job correctly. So what have you been up to, besides pining away from missing my charming personality? I was surprised to have a note from you at my house. I thought by now you would be holed up at Pemberley, ready to hibernate like a bear.”

  “I would be, and shall be by the end of November, but other concerns diverted my usual agenda.”

  “Sounds messy, especially knowing how you abhor anything upsetting your regulated agenda. What drama has addled your brains this time?”

  “Stand up so we can toast, and then I shall tell you.”

  Darcy waited silently as Richard complied, grousing all the while and shooting strange glances his way. Rarely did Darcy ever do anything that was overly unusual, so startling his cousin when he had the opportunity was a treasured event. This promised to be one for the record books.

  “So what are we toasting to? Did Anne finally have enough of the old battle-axe and lock Aunt C in the cellar?”

  “Even better.” Darcy lifted his glass. “Congratulations are in order, Cousin. Standing before you is a newly engaged man.”

  “Engaged!” Richard spluttered, so surprised he nearly dropped the whiskey. “You must be joking?”

  “I would not joke about a serious matter such as this. I am betrothed and will be a married man come the twenty-eighth of November.”

  “How long was I gone? Did I suffer a head injury and no one told me a couple years went by? How did you…When…Who…?”

  “How is a lengthy story. When was last week. And who is a woman I have admired and adored for a long while now—”

  “You never showed interest in any lady! Lord knows Mother has shoved innumerable Society debutantes your way, and of course there is…Oh God! Please do not tell me you caved and are marrying Anne! I will not allow it, Darcy—”

  “Rest easy. It is not Anne. She is safe from me forever, much to Aunt Catherine’s chagrin. But that is another story for later.”

  “Thank goodness. Guess I should have known, since I doubt the prospect of marriage to Anne, dear as she is, would cause you to grin like a deuced idiot.”

  “I am grinning because I am supremely happy. You are incorrect that I never showed interest in a lady, as I am sure you would recall if you thought about it long enough.”

  Richard frowned, Darcy observing as he mentally filtered through the women they were acquainted with. Darcy suspected Richard had perceived his attraction toward Elizabeth Bennet while at Rosings Park in the spring, and so would eventually recall her.

  However, before he started blurting out the names of any woman Darcy had ever spoken to or danced with, Darcy announced, “The woman who has made me the happiest man in England is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”

  An indecipherable series of expressions crossed the colonel’s face, and for a handful of seconds, Darcy wondered if his cousin held romantic feelings for Elizabeth. During the spring interlude at Rosings, Richard and Elizabeth had established a friendly relationship, their easy natures and witty humors similar. At the time, Darcy was caught up in his own confused emotions and so sure that Elizabeth would rush to accept his marriage proposal, he had spared scant thought as to whether there was something more happening between the two. Another symptom of his towering arrogance, perhaps in part, but Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was confirmed in his bachelorhood and wildly adverse to the prospect of marriage. Darcy was a romantic at heart, but convinced nevertheless that his cousin was the last man on earth to swiftly succumb to love, even with a woman as beautiful and charming as Elizabeth, so any stabs of jealousy had been brief and faint.

  Thus it shocked him how rapidly and intensely the present blaze of jealousy fogged his vision and choked his airway. Colliding with the jealousy were sharp pangs of regret for causing Richard any sadness, however unlikely or unpreventable.

  “I knew it!” Richard’s loud whoop jolted Darcy out of his tumultuous rumination, and he was further caught off guard when Richard clapped him hard on the shoulder. Darcy staggered, but the negative sentiments evaporated instantly by the combination of his cousin’s jubilant grin and next words.

  “I was right! I could tell you were attracted to her, maybe even in love.” The last was spoken gaily and without his typical dramatic shudder or feigned retch. “But then figured I was wrong when you did nothing about it. I’ll be damned! Congratulations are indeed in order, Cousin. Miss Bennet is a fine woman, probably better than you deserve,” he laughed gaily, “so I am pleased you got over your insane struggles to accept your feelings for her. Would have saved you months of self-imposed torment if you had been less dense.”

  “As much as I want to argue your assessment of my intellect, I cannot. I did struggle, for a long while, as stupidly as you intimate. Where you are wrong is in the when and why of my struggles and torment.”

  “Come again?”

  Darcy chuckled, holding up his glass once more. “Before story time, toast to my superb fortune in winning the hand and heart of the most incredible woman I have ever been privileged to know—my intended, the beautiful Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  Richard held up his drink, adding before he clinked Darcy’s, “To Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy. May they love each other eternally, beating the odds by having that rarest of treasures: a happy marriage.”

  They knocked their glasses, each drinking deeply before Darcy responded. “That was an uncommonly saccharine speech coming from you, Cousin. Downright poetic. I do thank you for it.”

  “The benefits of a classical education and noble birth do show through from time to time. I shan’t make a habit of it.” He winked, smiling sunnily, and then shook his head. “You and Elizabeth Bennet. Truly the best of news, Darcy, my opinions of marriage notwithstanding. Aware of your longing for matrimony, I frankly expected you to tie the knot years ago.”

  “It was not being married that I wanted, Richard. If it were that simple, I would have ‘tied the knot years ago,’ as you eloquently stated it.”

  “True. I feared it, actually, that you would grow desperate enough to marry Anne or, worse yet, Miss Bingley.” Both men shivered at the latter vision, gulping more whiskey to wash away the bitter taste left behind.

  “I doubt I would have ever been that desperate, as much as it pains me to be unkind about Bingley’s sister.”

  “How is she taking the news?”

  “Not well, but that too is another story.”

  “With all these stories, it’s fortunate I planned to impose upon your hospitality for tonight. Might be wise to get some food into my belly before drinking further, so I can remain coherent for the whole saga. Besides, knowing you as I do, and judging by the drippy expression, I am in for a nauseating recounting. I better eat before my appetite is ruined.”

  “Trust me, there are portions sufficiently riveting to stave off nausea or incoherency. As for the rest, I promise restraint.”

  “Normally restraint and Darcy go hand in hand. Now?” Richard shook his head. “Challenging with a belt of whiskey each time you blurt a romantic word is tempting, except I doubt even my famed resistance to inebriation would persist beyond the first chapter or two.”

  Darcy rubbed his chin and furrowed his brow. “Perhaps you have a point. Sonnets have spontaneously burst forth while in public, and today I was nearly trampled by a coach and six while crossing the lane to pet a lady’s puppy.”

  “Good God! Seriously?”

  Rolling his eyes at Richard’s appalled expression, Darcy snatched the empty tumbler from his hand. “Of course not, you ninny! I am in love, not a brainless idiot.”

  “I have always been of the opinion they are one and the same.”

  “Someday, cousin. Someday. Now,” he boomed crisply, ignoring Richard’s grimace, “let us hustle the staff to serve our dinner. I am famished.”

  Luckily for them, no hustling was r
equired. The unembellished, informal-style meal Darcy preferred when alone or with the colonel was ready to be served. Not bothering to change clothing for dinner, they sat at one end of the enormous table and within minutes commenced dining. Between sips of wine and feasting on the simple but delicious fare, Darcy chronicled the past months to his spellbound friend.

  Segments were glossed over, or deleted from the narrative entirely, and as a man uncomfortable with baring personal sentiments or discussing private topics, he was characteristically succinct. Nevertheless, in light of the tumultuous course trod and his intense happiness at the outcome, Darcy’s temperate delivery was remarkable. Richard made a point to comment on his impressive scarcity of melodramatics, adding with a wink that he was keeping a mental tally of how often Darcy dropped the word love into the accounting! Twelve utterances were noted by the time the meat course was carried in, and it was then that Darcy reached the scenes involving Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  “I suppose it should not shock me that our aunt barged in on the Bennets and attacked Miss Elizabeth,” Richard said near the end of that part of the tale. “I am shocked though. Not because it is especially out of character, mind you. It’s the extremity involved that amazes. The desperation and…absurdity, really. Anne is sickly and nearing thirty, for heaven’s sake! How could a woman as intelligent as Lady Catherine cling to the irrational idea that you, of all people, would marry Anne now when you have refused for the past ten years?”

  Darcy shrugged. “Indeed I asked the same question. Hundreds of times. Obviously I underestimated her resolve, and erroneously believed she knew me better.”

  “Yes,” Richard drawled, staring into the wine as he gently swirled the glass, “I think you have hit the nail’s head. Do not take it personally, Darcy. I doubt she knows anything about me outside of my rank and surname.”