"It is a relief to have an answer, at least. I know I should not feel that way, but I do. I feel relieved to at least know he is dead. The hardest part was the not knowing, the wondering."
"Yes," he said more to himself than to her.
"I think deep down I have known for some time that he was not coming back. I wanted to do the right thing, to wait, but there comes a time when you have to stop waiting and move on with your life. Which was what you advised me to do some weeks ago."
"Yes," he repeated simply, wrapping his arms around his knees in imitation of her posture. She tilted her head to the side, and he thought for an instant she would lay it against her shoulder, but she didn't.
"I am going home, Elizabeth. And I will not return. I cannot hide forever." He hesitated, watching the sun teasing them through the weathered grey boards. "I have a house, an estate to run. I have a sister who needs me. Life will go on. It will just be very different."
"I will miss you," she said without looking at him.
"I will miss you as well. Very much."
"Very much?"
"Very much. You are my friend. And Ma'am-" He inhaled, didn't think, and said it all in one breath, "Elizabeth, despite what I have said, I do think I would be happy if you were my wife."
Turning her head, she stared at him, and Darcy re-wrapped his arms around his knees and continued staring purposely at the hints of amber sunset flickering in from outside. When Elizabeth still didn't answer after epoch-like seconds, Darcy blurted, "Forgive me. I shouldn't have asked you so suddenly and I shouldn't ask you to decide so quickly. I just worry. You and Jane are all alone. I have a big house in London and a great estate in Derbyshire with no one to live in it now and I do not want to be alone. There is a housekeeper, a cook, maids and dozens of other servants. You and your daughter would never want for anything. It is very nice and I promise I am not as odd as I seem."
"Do you love me?"
He considered, trying to find the right way to say it. "I like you very much. I like being with you and talking with you. And I care for your daughter. She fills a void inside me. I care for you and I want you as my wife but want and love, for men they are not the same."
"I would settle for being wanted."
"Are you saying yes, then?"
"Yes, I am," she answered unsteadily. He hadn't swept her off her feet, but he had confused her into matrimony. He nodded as though they had just agreed on a price of a horse. "Good. Well then. That is fine, then. We can be married tomorrow in Gretna Green before we leave for Derbyshire."
"All right," she agreed, looking a little unfocused. "Mr. Darcy…"
"Yes?"
"What is your first name? I think you said it once but I don't remember."
"Fitzwilliam. After my mother's family."
"I should check on the baby," she mumbled after a bit.
"Yes, you should."
He stood, offering his hand to help her up. She kept hold of his hand as they made their way to the house, brushing her thumb lightly against his palm.
"If I had known you wanted to marry me, I would have been nicer to you," she said. "I can be a little more biddable."
"I doubt that but you are welcome to try," he answered with sarcasm, letting go of her hand. "I will see you in the morning. I want to leave early."
"I will be ready," she answered, looking up at him for a second.
"Well then," he told himself, feeling strangely calm.
*~~*~~*
He'd get up early, washed and put on clean clothes. He thought he should write to his housekeeper, he was coming home and bringing a woman and a baby. A wife. He was bringing a wife and a stepdaughter.
They could stay at an inn in Gretna Green tomorrow night and he should see if he could rent a carriage.
He laughed at himself, realising only he would plan a honeymoon with an eye toward the bride getting some sleep, and felt his face getting warm. Without bothering to undress, Darcy lay back again, folding his arms behind his head and crossing his ankles, his favourite position for contemplation. He stared up at the rafters, knowing he would never get to sleep and for the first time in months, perhaps years, was eager for morning to come
Chapter 3
“The papers say we're married
But it's the heart that writes the love story.”
- Anthony Liccione
Mr. Darcy hitched Brick to a black, two-seated open carriage with a canvas roof. He had to buy it from Teresa for a high price but he couldn't allow for Elizabeth and the baby travelling to Gretna Green on a horse.
He and Jane were conversing philosophically in the front coachman's seat while Elizabeth was sleeping in the back. They rode slowly as there was only one horse and Darcy switched the reins to one hand and offered the baby his finger to grip while he searched for the right word. He could say "regal," but that didn't quite fit the tone and these little touches were important. As he drove, he looked across the broad lawn and down the hundred-year-old rows of gnarled oak trees lining the driveway.
"Magnificent," he finally told Jane, who blinked at him sleepily. He thought a moment, pooling his editorial resources. "The magnificent stone walls rise from the burned earth, the broken-out windows dark, cold, wary eyes."
Deep in a padded basket on the seat beside him, Jane yawned. The carriage swayed gently as the wheels rolled over the muddy road to the river, soothing her to sleep.
"I'm not going to finish if you're going to be so critical of my consonance," he mumbled. The child closed eyes, not particularly interested what her papa has to say. In the back seat of the carriage, he heard Elizabeth finally shifting.
"I have her, Elizabeth," he told her from the front. "Are you thirsty?"
He heard her pat the empty space on the floor of the gig in front of her, hesitate, pat again, and then sit upright as quickly.
"I have her," he repeated, looking back over his shoulder. "She's up here with me."
The carriage tilted slightly and her silk dress rustled as she moved, looking around as she tried to get her bearings. Blinking sleepily, Elizabeth leaned over the front seat to check on the baby and stared out at the road as Brick clipped along.
"I did not mean to fall asleep. Where are we, Mr. Darcy?"
"We should be in Gretna Green by the dusk. Sit back before you fell down." Ignoring him, she rubbed her cheek and glanced at the sunlight blinking through the trees.
"Lie back down if you want."
"What am I doing in the back seat?"
"Snoring and drooling on the upholstery," he teased. "Well, only a little and only in a very feminine manner. You fell asleep against my shoulder. I put you back there so you would be comfortable. Are you thirsty?"
He reached into his bag at her feet and accidentally bumped his forearm against her breasts. They both apologise at exactly the same time, then listened to the vehicle wheels roll along for several awkward minutes.
"The baby will need to eat soon," he informed her, as though he would know better than she.
"Not yet," she answered.
"No, not yet, but soon. She is asleep right now."
He was still getting used to touching her, casually and otherwise, being acceptable, even expected. He'd held her hand and stroked her face, once even leaning over and kissing her cheek, but each move was rehearsed in his mind beforehand.
"Which type of husband are you?" Elizabeth asked after a prolonged silence.
"Which type of husband am I?" he echoed, watching the road. "You make me sound like something you'd buy in the shop. Do you mean what kind of husband am I?"
"Yes. That is what I mean."
"You know me, Elizabeth."
"No, I don't. You live far inside yourself, Mr. Darcy. I think you could walk for miles and not come across another person inside your thoughts. No, I don't know you."
He stared at the horse's backsides, trying to develop a sufficient answer - some way to convey that her faith in him wasn't misguided. She'd been loyal to Mr. Daniels,
only to discover his affections and actions had been dishonest, to say the least. Aside from their discussion the previous night, she refused to talk about it. She'd already been "fine, Mr. Darcy" several times since breakfast.
"You know me as well as anyone. Perhaps not which shirt is my favourite and how I like my tea but those are details. You have seen me furious. I have a temper but I try not to take it out on my family. I am impulsive and stubborn. I tend to want my way and want it now. I have confused opportunism with recklessness. I swear. I seldom drink and I usually curl up and go to sleep if I do. If you want to find me, I am probably in the library, in my study or with my steward. I like children; I already love Jane as my own. Did I answer your question?"
"No, you answered everything but my question. I only want to know what you want from me and you will not tell me."
He tightened the reins, stopping Brick and turning back to look at her. "Come sit up front," he said, climbing down and offering his hands to help her. She scooted to the left side of the seat when he stopped the horse. He put his hands around her waist and steadied her as she stepped down.
"Mind your dress, Miss Difficult," he reminded her out of habit. "The wheels are muddy."
There wasn't much space between the high carriage and the dirty ditch running alongside the road, so he stood close, and her body slid down the front of his as he lowered her to the ground. It was another accident but a highly erotic one that made his breath catch in his throat. Instead of shrinking back, blushing, or pulling away, she stood still, leaving her hands on his shoulders and staring up at him. In the depths of his mind, he saw a brief image of him kissing her passionately, devouring her mouth as he tangled his fingers in her curly hair. In his vision, he gathered up her cotton shift and jerked it over her head, roughly pushed her back onto a soft mattress, unrepentant about what he wanted. Then he blinked and the already half-lost fantasy was gone.
He licked his lips and said "I wish to be a husband who has the place here," he put his hand over her heart as they stood beside the carriage. The heel of the hind resting on the top of her breast was simply an accident. He even looked down at his palm, wondering how it had gotten there.
"Are you?" she whispered as if there was anyone around for miles.
"Yes," he answered automatically, barely hearing her. His body hummed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly under his palm. "Is this what you're asking?" he murmured, "What kind of husband am I?"
Her head moved almost imperceptibly, and he covered her lips with his, leaning her face upward. He'd expected a proper kiss but then he closed his eyes and the world receded except for the feel of the soft material, the scent of her skin and the taste of her mouth.
"Is this what you wanted to know?" he muttered, his face still close to hers. "If I am rough? Am I rough?"
"No," she whispered, leaning heavy against him.
"No," he replied, smoothing his mouth against hers as he spoke. "I am not. I said I wanted you not that I wanted to hurt you."
"You did say that," her sweet voice agreed from far away.
To Darcy, they were standing still, and the planet was whirling around them, a brilliant swirl of greens and blues. Closing his eyes, he urged her lips apart, needing to be inside her. Her heart beating faster as he slid his fingers down, gently pressing and exploring her breast. She gasped as he ran his thumb over her nipple, and he felt her hands tighten on his shoulders as if they were making love.
"Did you want me to be rough?"
"No," she panted out shakily.
"Are you sure?" he responded in a low, gravely voice. "You know I want you but what do you want. Politeness or passion, Elizabeth? I lived politely for eleven years. Is that what you want? Or do you want something more?"
"I don't know," she stammered, gasping as he found her nipple again with his thumb, passing over it in long, sensual strokes.
"I think you do," he whispered into her ear. "I think you do know what you want." He slid his other hand down her back and over her bottom, cupping it and pulling her pelvis against him. She didn't pull away although she must have been able to feel him hard against her abdomen. Against his neck, her breath came short little pants, feeling like sparks against his skin. "Don't you?" he urged huskily.
The carriage rolled a few inches as Brick shifted his feet, bringing reality and morality back like an explosion of light. Darcy startled, recoiled as if he'd tried to embrace fire. Staring down at Elizabeth's swollen lips, he rubbed his mouth on the back of his hand, trying to figure out what had happened. It wasn't real. He wasn't doing this. Another minute and he would have her on the wet grass like they were only the rutting animals.
She opened her eyes, looking dazed as she glanced at him. He hoped she'd faint in mortification and forget what had just happened, but Elizabeth didn't seem like the fainting type. Letting her go, he prepared himself to be slapped, but she stood there trying to catch her breath.
Taking another step back, he swallowed nervously and avoided eye contact. He couldn't have been more disgusted at himself if he'd just been caught in a road with a prostitute with his breeches around his ankles.
"Good God, Elizabeth, forgive me," he said earnestly, not sure what to do with his hands except not to put them on her again. "You aren't yet my wife. I shouldn't have touched you like that. I certainly should never have said those things to you. Not ever. I don't know what I was thinking. Really, I don't."
Another nod as she stared at the ground, smoothing her already smooth hair.
"Elizabeth?"
"I am fine." She looked up and dropped her gaze again, clearing her throat and moving away.
She didn't look fine. Her face was flushed and her fine eyes gleamed like the surface of a lake in the moonlight. She looked as drunkenly wanton and dangerous as he felt. He stared at her as she watched the muddy road and exhaled deeply. He could have emphasised his apology, but it seemed easier to just move on and save both of them the embarrassment.
"Up you go," he instructed primly as though nothing had happened and she put her hands on his shoulders again, letting him lift her carefully onto the seat. She slid the baby to the corner and scooted over, making room for him beside her.
He climbed up after her, picked up the leather reins, and told Brick to walk on. The carriage jerked and rocked from side to side as the horse trotted. As they turned a bend in the road, he looked back, wondering about that wild, shameless man who had taken control of his body. Darcy couldn't imagine what Elizabeth must think of him. He turned his heart over, examining it for signs of remorse but instead found despair. He had not been raised to treat women roughly or disrespectfully and it terrified him that it came so naturally. And she had not objected. It troubled him.
Then again, why bother to object? He'd been honest about why he wanted to marry her. Aside from being concerned for her and Jane, he desired a home, a family, and her in his bed. It was a common enough reason to take a wife but didn't seem so romantic in the prudent light of day.
"Had I met you before?" he asked needing to say something. "In Derbyshire, perhaps? You said your family settled there."
"My aunt was born there," she answered, staring out at the horizon, keeping her hands properly folded on her lap. "But I come from Hertfordshire."
"My good friend has rented a house there. Mr. Bingley, have you heard?"
"No, I am afraid I haven't" She responded. "But I haven't been there for two years."
"But your family still leaves there, am I correct."
"I think, yes," she said undecided. He felt this wasn't her favourite topic.
"Of course," he acknowledged, dropping the subject.
Darcy slapped the reins against the horse's rump, ordering him to trot faster. But the speed was too bouncy for the baby and he tightened the reins.
Searching for something to do, Elizabeth picked up sleeping Jane and held her putting the basket in the back seat.
"She looks like you," he commented, looking for a neutral topic.
&n
bsp; "I had thought she looks like her father."
"Bald?"
"No, not bald," she responded, sighing.
He grinned at her, letting her know he was teasing her. "Well, regardless, I think she looks like you and she is beautiful. Even bald," he could not resist adding to his roundabout compliment.
"You can be very difficult as well, Mr. Darcy."
Chuckling, he tugged gently at her sleeve, making physical contact again and watching to see how she'd react. "It's part of my charm."
"Did you pay money for this charm?" she responded. At first, he thought she'd misunderstood, realising that he was now the one being teased.
When they arrived at Gretna Green was almost dark. Knowing the town very well, Darcy quickly found the inn where he and his future wife and daughter could spend the night. Unfortunately, the inn was filled with guests and Darcy could pay only for one big room for him and Elizabeth. It wasn't a great problem for them whereas they would be married in the morning.
*~~*~~*
He noticed, Elizabeth had been quiet since noon and that was never a good sign. It appeared to be becoming real for her, how much her life had changed in the last thirty-six hours and she needed time inside herself to just be still. Darcy remembered what it had felt like after Anne's death. For weeks, he had lived in a separate world where colours, sounds, and tastes were muted. He understood and as much as possible he desired to give her that time.
The man stepped around to the other side of the big bed and blew out the candle so there was only the moonlight coming in through the two small windows. He heard rustling as Elizabeth unfastened her dress and folded it carefully behind the curtain.
"All right," she murmured, stepping from behind the canvas curtain in only her old chemise.
"Do you want to nurse the baby?"
"She is asleep," Elizabeth reminded him.
Mr Darcy's Second Chance Page 4
