by Glenna Mason
Elizabeth had the distinct impression that Darcy too had all but given up the hope of meeting someone special, that he too had gotten progressively mired in the day to day routine of a satisfactory life—the constant traveling, the running the family farm, the managing his estate's business, the new dynamics of his recently established charity. Like Elizabeth, until now Darcy had not had the incentive to change the pattern.
And Elizabeth knew that tonight she must bring up Sir William, Tish and the trip to Corbin. She didn't want someone else to tell him of her close association with the entire affair. But for now she was just content to ride by his side.
Elizabeth dressed carefully in the black linen sheath, split on the left side all the way to mid-thigh. At the low V of the neckline she pinned the simple, yet stunning pin of diamonds and pearls, added delicate pair of pearls to her ears and placed two pearl bracelets on one arm and the diamond bracelet on the other. She recognized the effect to be dramatic. She was pleased.
Once again Darcy was waiting for her, Rhett Butler style, at the foot of the winding staircase. Her left leg slipped though the slit on every step. She believed this time, as Scarlet did in Gone with the Wind, that he knew what she looked like without her chemise. By the time Elizabeth got to the bottom of the stairs and Darcy reached out his hand to escort her, Elizabeth sensed that the leg had made a triumphant impression, for Darcy continued to watch it all the way to the dining room table.
“It is late and so we will have dinner and then have drinks after dinner, if that is satisfactory to you,” Darcy said, as he seated Elizabeth near him at the long, elegant table.
The dining room had spectacular beauty with grand almost floor length windows draped in heavy ornate gold silk, with gold striped, decades old silk wallpaper and a plantation style chandelier, obviously switched from candles to electric in the last century.
Massive gold framed mirrors reflected the light of the chandelier and the candelabra. The fire glowed under a marble fireplace, over which hung the portrait of a lady whose looks were strikingly similar to the lady over the mantel at Twin Spirals. Other portraits decorated the walls, all framed in gilt. An antique oriental covered much of the hardwood floor.
Elizabeth gazed awestruck by the extreme opulence of her surroundings.
“It's the gold,” Darcy said, guessing her amazement.
“Yes, you are right,” Elizabeth agreed.
Elizabeth saw an opening after Darcy's man had served the soup, salad and main courses and retired.
“The lady over the fireplace is very reminiscent of the lady in the portrait at Twin Spirals,” she remarked.
Darcy, although surprised, said, “My mother and my grandmother.”
Elizabeth then proceeded to explain how her dear friends, Tish Pope and Minerva Castle, had inadvertently learned of his charity while antiquing in Lancaster. She continued with the full story of how Tish, wanting to start a similar enterprise at her farm in Claysmount, had been intrigued and gotten Elizabeth to accompany her to Corbin to learn the details. Finally Tish, a close friend of Sir William Lucas, had gotten him on board, and Sir William had in turn interested Marquis De Pres and some of their French associates.
“It just snowballed, and all in the matter of a week's time,” Elizabeth concluded.
“I’m not as astonished as I would have been if Sir William Lucas hadn’t called today and invited me to dine with him and Tish Pope at Stantonfield on Monday night,” Darcy said.
“We all want a safe environment for the horses who serve us so well, and the people dedicated to their care of course,” Elizabeth said.
“Mr. Smithson sends me a report once a month, but I will not receive the one for March for a few more days. He will no doubt be ecstatic at all he has to report.”
“No doubt,” she replied, remembering Mr. Smithson's enthusiastic welcome.
“I compliment you on your philanthropy. I understand from Mr. Smithson that you are establishing the beautiful farm as a charity,” Elizabeth said.
“I have a farm here. I am a single man. I have no need of two farms, but the horses and the men who work with them do need one. It is simple math, Elizabeth. My sister, who received a separate inheritance from our father’s side, agrees. She and I own Twin Spirals, a legacy from our mother’s parents. We both love horses; it was a joint decision to provide Twin Spirals, as a place for their safety and well-being.”
“It is a noble venture. Tish has the same plan. I hope that you can arrange to work together; she is an incredible woman.”
“I hope that you will be at Stantonfield on Monday.”
“No, Sir William has not invited me, but my sister, who is Sir William's accountant, will doubtless be around. Perhaps you two will meet.” She was so grateful that she would not be there. “Go, enjoy yourself. Sir William has a grand house and a world class chef.”
That duty behind her, Elizabeth was determined to enjoy the rest of the evening. Dinner proceeded with toasts, laughter and general good cheer. Then the two retired to the library for coffee, chocolate cake and brandy in front of a warm fire. As Elizabeth sipped her second snifter of brandy, Darcy invited her to bring her glass with her to the upstairs den.
“I have something to show you,” he said.
Elizabeth followed Darcy to the den/office she had already surreptitiously invaded. The memory of that infraction and the upset it had caused brought a bright blush to Elizabeth's cheeks, guilt apparently effusing from her in point blank pink.
The flush was suddenly evident to Darcy, who said, “Elizabeth, you sat too long by the fire.”
Elizabeth now turned bright scarlet. She tried to alter the subject with a compliment. “Fitzwilliam, how charming and cozy.”
Darcy pushed a button hidden behind a volume of Shakespeare in his built-in bookcase and an entire section moved aside, revealing a large safe style door. Darcy twisted the dial to the right, back to the left and right again. Then he pulled the heavy door open.
“I am gone so much. I have an excellent, reliable staff, but none of them live in the house proper. And in any case, it is not their responsibility to protect my family silver and jewelry. So after my parents died, I had this installed by a good friend.
“My grandfather's violin is a Guarneri; I keep it here, along with the family jewelry. It is mostly my mother’s and my grandmothers’ and so never gets worn now anyway.
“But most significantly, I have special volumes here that I sometimes want at my fingertips. I do not know why I keep them in the safe. No thief would guess their value, but I do just the same.”
“Good idea, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said. “There might be a literate thief out there.”
“I have one in here I would like you to have.”
“But . . .”
“No, buts,” Darcy said. He started searching through select labeled boxes.
Elizabeth could not but notice the endless organized shelves of boxes. She was sure the money was in there, but she had no intention of doing anything about it.
“Here it is,” Darcy said. He produced a slim volume, beautifully bound and lettered in gilt; it was Lady Geraldine's Courtship.
“This is a first edition of a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I bought it years ago for my mother on a trip to London. My mother's name was Geraldine. She adored it. Please accept it.” Darcy handed the volume toward Elizabeth.
“Fitz, I cannot.”
“It is really quite charming. The rumor is that it so appealed to Robert Browning that he began their courtship because of it. Now that may be an exaggeration, but still—” Darcy hesitated. “Please, Elizabeth, accept it as a token of my regard for you.”
“No, Fitzwilliam, it is too much.”
Elizabeth was truly chagrined, feeling the role of the pure traitor personified in her very body.
“Oh, I'm sorry, Elizabeth, I have been too presumptuous. Forgive me.” He was stricken.
“No, Fitzwilliam, you have not—it is just too—” Eliza
beth could not bring herself to say “undeserved.”
“Too—?”
“I tell you what. Let's see what happens. If you still want to give it to me the Sunday after Derby, I accept. If not, no hard feelings.”
It was all that Elizabeth could manage—except for unbidden tears.
Darcy was taken aback. He had so little experience with dating. He had no idea what to say to an Elizabeth in tears.
Elizabeth rallied, recognizing Darcy’s perplexity. She hastily wiped some of her tears away. Rising from the settee, where she had been perched on the edge, Elizabeth hastened to Darcy and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder.
That evening the two made love with abandon, passionate, yet tender, enjoying each other as basically only two young lovers could. They were, after all, in reality young in love, even if they were now thirty and thirty-five.
Time and again they embraced with the fervor of two people who might never make love again. For Elizabeth, it was with the certain knowledge that her life would never be the same, but it might also never be like this again.
She agonized over the embarrassment the unsuspecting Darcy would face on Monday night. She bewailed her own fate as well. After Monday, Darcy might never want to hear the words Claysmount and Elizabeth again. She'd read enough about love to know that this was truly it. The ironies of life and fate could chill the bones.
As she prepared to leave the next day, Elizabeth held Darcy tight, not wanting to release him. There was something in Darcy also, which revealed a like urgency.
“I'll see you soon,” he reminded her, holding her hand as she sat in her car, obviously loath to let it go. “But not on Monday. Sir William and I may be late, and you and I have early days on Tuesday.”
“Shall we say Friday, my darling?” Elizabeth suggested.
“Please. Friday it is,” Darcy agreed. “If we cannot manage it sooner.”
“We can discuss where later.”
“I will call you on Tuesday, Elizabeth,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth drove off, watching him, handsome in his suit ready to go to sing in the choir at church, all the way down the drive in her rear view mirror, as he stood so alone, the tears making a clear vision nearly impossible.
*****
That Sunday evening at Sir William's, Elizabeth bared her feelings for Darcy to all present. Tish was the only one forewarned; the others were stunned.
“He is so exceptional, so gentle and caring,” Elizabeth said. “I assure you that he is no ordinary thief and blackmailer.”
“My dear,” Sir William said, “we already know that. It is why we’re having him over here tomorrow.”
Elizabeth had not dared to warn Darcy because she knew that if he tried to dissemble in some clever way or get rid of the evidence it could go much worse for him. Sir William was just going to trade out, but with no deal and the insurance companies set to lose millions, the owners would have no recourse except to take their suspicions to the police.
Darcy would end up in jail, almost assuredly. He would never give evidence against anyone else and why should he? He masterminded the plan; the others just implemented it. Darcy would have to return the money anyway, and his sterling reputation would be shattered. And the farm still would have no financing, and its owner would be in prison unable to assist in the raising of future funds. No, she had to let him go unsuspecting into the surprise negotiations.
So her recourse was to fall on the mercy of her family and friends. Elizabeth pled with them to be kind to him; they reassured her of their felicity towards her and Darcy. Elizabeth understood that the family was still in a state of disbelief over her revelation, but she concluded that it was a good thing that she had confessed to them, since her admiration and love for Darcy would certainly strengthen his position with them on Monday night.
She was confident of every single one of their good intentions. They loved her. If she had her way, some day they would grow to love Darcy too. Monday night supper was quite naturally canceled. Tish, Sir William and Kitty would be with Darcy. Elizabeth recognized she would not want to see anyone. In the end no one felt like it after tonight's expose'.
Back at home, Elizabeth decided she must get her mind in gear so she could face Monday with some semblance of sanity. Her barn crew and her students deserved her attention to their needs.
An idea surfaced. She stopped by the study, retrieved Claire's manuscript from her desk and took it upstairs to read in bed. She truly believed that she was in the appropriate frame of mind to tackle the “damn thing.” However, the chapters only got as far as the bedside table. When it came down to picking them up and actually reading the chapters, Elizabeth did not have the heart nor the energy to look at a single word of Claire's writings tonight. “Was it only three days ago Claire brought this by?” Elizabeth wondered in amazement. “It seems a century, at least from an emotional perspective.”
So instead of the dreaded chapters, Elizabeth picked the one thing she was sure would put her to sleep, the term papers on “Who Really Wrote Shakespeare?” The second plan worked really well. Within a half hour, Elizabeth, Shakespeare embedded subconsciously in her mind, lay in sweaty and exhausted slumber. Elizabeth dreamed of Macbeth murdering sleep, that sleep which “knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care” and of Lady Macbeth sleepwalking. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
By ten-thirty Monday night, Elizabeth was again in her bed. This time she was in a pair of cotton pajamas, propped up against a plumped up feather pillow, surrounded by Claire's manuscript and notes, but once again she was not reading the chapters. In a state of utter lethargy, she watched the second hand inch around the circle of her clock, moment after tedious moment.
Tish had promised to call as soon as she returned home from Sir William's to give Elizabeth an accounting of the evening. Elizabeth anticipated that the phone would ring any second now; she was anxious about its message, but eager to hear its sound.
Instead Elizabeth suddenly heard the sound of a car stopping outside. “Oh, no, she's come instead. That means the news must be something she doesn't want to tell me over the phone.”
Elizabeth crawled on her knees across her bed to where she had flung her terry cloth bathrobe. “Oh, no-o,” she repeated.
But then Elizabeth heard the car door slam. “That would hardly be Tish,” she worried. Elizabeth slid off the bed into a pair of waiting bedroom slippers; she raced to the French doors of her bedroom which led onto the veranda. What she saw dizzied her. Darcy was standing in the driveway next to his car, looking lost.
Heading for the staircase, Elizabeth searched her mind for a scenario that might bring him here, unexpected at this hour tonight. The front door chimed, just as Elizabeth, hurrying, reached the top landing of the staircase. She held tight to the banister, starting down. The door flung open. Elizabeth seldom locked the door until bedtime, and tonight she had not even thought of it. Obviously Peter hadn't checked. And there, standing in the open doorway, obviously surprised it was open, filling the space as he leaned against the frame was Darcy—Darcy, magnificent in a blue Armani suit, white shirt and blue tie, but with a face that was a torn with emotion.
“Oh, dear God, what has happened?”
Darcy glanced up at the stairway and saw Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth Francine Bennet,” Darcy said, “please come down.”
Elizabeth's knees were about to give way. She grasped the banister, and slowly, one hand over the other, made her way down the stairs, concentrating all her attention on descending, hoping that her legs would not buckle and send her headlong down the staircase. She watched each footfall on each step, as her bedroom slippers flip flopped loudly all the way down.
When she reached the floor of the entry hall, she gazed up again. Darcy was on one knee in the center of the hallway. He said simply, “Elizabeth, please say that you will marry me.” Darcy's voice was slightly tremulous. His face reflected his trepidation.
Eliz
abeth centered immediately on Darcy. She knew how traumatic his evening had been, with the pain of disclosure and the suffering of shame. She also knew that he must be worried about her response to his request. She rushed to him, lowered herself onto both knees and embraced him. With tears streaming down her face, she cradled his face between her hands and kissed his mouth, all the pent up emotion of the past week flowing forth in that kiss.
“Yes, my darling Fitzwilliam, yes.” she said, finally stopping long enough to accept his welcome proposal. “A thousand times, yes.”
“What have I done to deserve such fortune?” He then returned her kiss with equal emotion.
They sat there in the middle of the hall for some time, swaying in each other's arms, as if there were music playing, and content just to be together. After a few minutes, Darcy, the tension of a long week relieved, looked into Elizabeth's eyes, held her at arm's length and whispered lightly, “Elizabeth, I believe you are ready for bed.”
Elizabeth gazed at Darcy, answered with a flirtatious glint in her eyes, “Yes, Fitzwilliam, I certainly am.”
Darcy rose and lifted Elizabeth to join him. He picked her up in his arms and carried her up the broad stairway two steps at a time, entering the bedroom and closing the door.
About twelve-thirty, Darcy got up, went to the fireplace and lit a fire to staunch the chill in the air. He turned out all the lights and the couple relaxed, entwined, breathing in quiet unison, each aware of every nuance of the other's movements.
“I went to Sir William's tonight to confess my crime, Elizabeth. I had with me two suitcases of money.”
“You did!”
“I've loved you from the first night. I can tell you the second I knew. You went upstairs. I lit the fire in the grill. You were gone awhile so, playing the Clark Gable role, I stationed myself at the newel post at the bottom of the stairs.
“I was smitten for sure. You are so perky and beautiful. You are a great horsewoman, and, I could tell, clever and fun. So I was going to pour on the old Gable charm to see if I couldn't squire you around during the racing season and its parties.
