by Robin Helm
A few hours after daybreak, he saddled Xanthos himself and rode to Longbourn where he tied Xanthos to a tree and knocked on the door. Mrs. Bailey greeted him cordially, receiving the sealed letter he gave her, promising to deliver it to Elizabeth at once.
He hurried around the house to stand under her window and wait, putting his hands behind his back, gripping them together to hide his agitation.
Soon, he was rewarded, for Elizabeth came to the window and opened it. “Good morning, Fitzwilliam. Whatever is the matter? Your letter quite confused me.” Her voice floated down to him, soft and sweet.
The tension in his chest eased. “I miss you, of course. I wanted to see you to assure myself that you are well.”
She put her hand to the bruise on her face. “I feel better each day, though I know I must be unsightly. Mrs. Bailey has hidden all the mirrors, so I must look terrible.”
“Not at all. You are beautiful, as always. Are you in much pain?” He tried to smile, but his feelings were too strong to overcome. As he had never been a very emotional man, dealing with such agitation was foreign to him.
Elizabeth tilted her head. “It lessens each day. I am determined to find a looking glass of some sort today, even if I have to visit my mother’s room. We shall wed in a week, and I must know how to prepare.”
He glanced at the ground. “Do you still wish to marry me?”
She raised both eyebrows. “Why would I not?”
“I failed to keep you safe.”
Her mouth fell open. “Fitzwilliam Darcy! Tell me not that you are shouldering the blame for what he did. Or have you changed your own mind about marrying me?”
He raised his face to hers. “I love you with all my heart, Elizabeth. I told you so many times in my letters, but you have not written that in response. Do you still love me? Even a little? If your affections have changed, I shall remain silent on the subject forevermore.”
Darcy thought Elizabeth’s eyes turned stormy, but he could not see her very well. He did, however, understand her words.
“I cannot write my feelings for you. My vocabulary is insufficient to describe them. This is the first day I have been allowed out of my bed, and I was most happy to see you until you started spouting nonsense. What is this really about? Why would my affections change in the course of a week when I have not so much as left my chamber? Do you think I am some foolish young girl like my fifteen-year-old sister?”
She paused, understanding dawning on her face. “Or are you perhaps worried about the company I keep while I remain confined to my room?”
“You cared for him a great deal only a short while ago. He was my rival for your hand.” Darcy blushed from his neck to the roots of his hair. “Beckett takes care of you while I am forbidden to see you. He is handsomer than I, wealthy, easy in company, and bears the title of Lord Thaddeus. Everyone who knows him, likes him. He is universally admired, and I believe he still holds you in extremely high regard.”
She quickly turned from the window and disappeared from his view.
He waited, growing increasingly anxious, until Mrs. Bailey approached him from the back of the house. “Follow me,” she said tersely, turning to walk to the servants’ entrance.
She opened the door and led him into her small office where Elizabeth sat at the desk, a frown on her face.
He heard the sound of a whisper behind him before the door closed. “Tread lightly.”
“Sit,” Elizabeth said succinctly.
“Are you angry? With me?” he asked with trepidation. What have I done?
She drew her brows together. “You can ask me that? What do you think? Sit.”
Darcy was truly puzzled, but he did as she said, sitting across from her, the desk between them. “Why are you angry?”
“You imply that I am flighty, vindictive, inconstant, silly, shallow, and materialistic, yet you ask why am I angry?”
He was appalled. “I neither said nor thought any such things. I said you are beautiful, and I love you.”
“How can you love me yet have such an ill opinion of me? And kindly remember ’twas you who sent for Thaddeus. I did not.”
Darcy did not see the swollen nose, the dark shadows on her face, the scratches on her cheeks, nor the deep bruising under her eyes. He saw his beloved, lovely, lively Elizabeth with pain in her gaze, not because of physical wounds, not caused by Wickham’s attack, but brought into being by his words.
He thought for a moment before he stood up, rounded the desk, and lowered himself until his face was even with hers.
“I am amazed every day that you love me, Elizabeth, for I do not feel worthy of your love. Can you forgive me for doubting you, even for a moment?” He leaned toward her slowly, giving her the opportunity to pull away. She did not, so he kissed her carefully, tenderly.
When he pulled back, he was relieved to the point of dizziness to see her smiling.
“Then you will still marry me in a week, fool that I am?” he asked. Please, say you will.
“If I change my mind, I promise you shall be the first to know,” she answered. “Thaddeus warned me that my face will not be back to normal by then. Under those circumstances, are you certain you still wish to marry me in a week? If we change the date now, there shall not be as much gossip. Everyone in Meryton knows Jane and I have been ill.”
“I would marry you today. Shall we call for the parson?”
She chuckled. “My mother has not yet seen my face. Do you really want to do that now?”
“I have thought of something, but I have no wish to have another misunderstanding with you. My idea comes from a desire to make your wedding day happier. I want nothing to mar it for you. This is not for me, for I think you are lovely.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “How could you improve my looks?”
“Beckett told us that you would still have significant and noticeable bruising on our wedding day. I sent you longer gloves to cover your wrists, but I think I know a way to help cover the marks on your face.”
“I wondered about the gloves. Thank you, my love. Tell me your idea. I should like to hear what you have to say.”
He took a deep breath. “I know you never use rouge or anything to enhance your skin, for you have never needed it. Your complexion is perfect, fair and unblemished.”
“Yes?” she encouraged, biting her lip as her eyes danced in merriment.
“If you are uncomfortable with the idea of people noticing your bruises, perhaps powder would help cover them. I have even heard of a powder which incorporates crushed pearls. What is your opinion?” He watched her carefully.
Elizabeth still wore a sling, but she lifted her free hand to his face. “You dear, sweet man. Your suggestion is wonderful.”
He lowered his head and looked up at her through his dark lashes. “Excellent news, for I ordered several kinds from London, and they arrived this morning, along with a lotion my aunt uses.” He stood up, reached into the pocket of his greatcoat, and produced a parcel. “I thought you might want to experiment a bit.”
She rose from the chair and accepted the package. “I appreciate this more than you know. Now I need to return to my room before I am found out. Perhaps you could go ’round to the front door and knock? Your morning visit could distract my mother and sisters while I sneak back up the stairs?”
His expression of horror made her laugh. “I know the sacrifice I am asking of you, my love,” she said, “but a quarter hour will be sufficient. Then you may go back to Netherfield and be satisfied with an hour well-spent.”
Darcy managed a smile. “I shall be pleased to assist you in any way I can.” He kissed her quickly. “Into the fray!”
Her plan worked very well. Within fifteen minutes, she was back in her room undetected, and he was riding Xanthos, leaving Longbourn for Netherfield.
Darcy continued to send his beloved gifts and letters each day and was quite pleased to receive notes bearing the three words he most desired to hear in return. He was encouraged to t
hink he might learn to navigate the treacherous waters of love very well given time.
After Bingley found him saddling Xanthos one morning, the younger man was Darcy’s constant companion, visiting Longbourn with him to wave at their fiancées from under their chamber window.
Elizabeth rose early the last day she was to bear the name “Bennet.” She looked out her window, laughing as she beheld dark skies and snow falling thick and fast.
Perhaps I shall not look so very odd after all.
Her mother and younger sisters had been allowed in the room to see her and Jane many times in the past week, but she had always managed to be in her bed, covers drawn up to her eyes, feigning sleep or a chill to hide her face.
Jane had handled them all most brilliantly, attending meals for the past few days, offering a few comments regarding Elizabeth’s slow recovery while Mr. Bennet winked at her over his newspaper, and Mrs. Bennet chattered about the wedding details.
Today, Elizabeth knew they would see her, and she hoped her plans were good enough to fool them. She had been using a mirror, practicing applying Warren’s Milk of Roses under the various powders supplied by her betrothed for several days, and she was rather pleased with the results.
Otherwise, I shall simply pretend to fall on my face, and that would not be likely to convince anyone, given that my bruises are not fresh.
Fitzwilliam will marry me either way. If people notice my fading bruises, it shall not matter. My husband and I will be gone, and the gossip will soon die down. Nothing can spoil this day for me.
Jane spoke from beside her. “The higher neckline and collar of your pelisse will seem wise rather than odd, and our choice of head coverings shall not be questioned. No one will see your shoulder, as long as you wear that lovely coat. Your bruises are nearly gone, in any case. When you wear the lotion and powder, they are barely noticeable.”
Elizabeth laughed. “If anyone braves the snow to attend the wedding, it will be a great surprise. The four of us may end up standing before the parson in his parlour.”
“And should it be in the church, ’tis so dark, no one will see your face clearly. Candles would make even more shadows. Would you like some toast to tide you over until the wedding breakfast? I think we must eat something.”
Smiling impishly, Elizabeth replied, “Toast? No, today I want a cookie. Possibly two.”
She stood beside her groom before the altar of the church, a delicate lace veil over her bonnet, concealing her face to her chin, and her coat covering her from her chin to the floor. Jane, also wearing a coat and veil, was by Darcy, and Bingley was to her left.
Only the families and a few close friends of the bridal party were in attendance, as the weather had not improved, but instead seemed to worsen by the hour.
“We shall not stay long at the breakfast, my lovely Mrs. Darcy, if that suits you. The snow is getting heavier by the minute, and I should not like for us to be stranded in the cold,” Darcy whispered to his bride at the conclusion of the ceremony. He took her arm, carefully helping her into the carriage for the short ride from the church to Longbourn.
She smiled up at him as he sat beside her, nodding in agreement. “Mrs. Darcy. How well that sounds. I quite like it. And the sooner we depart, the less need there will be for me to remove my coat and bonnet.”
“I fear we shall not make it to London today, my love,” he added. “Shall we spend our wedding night at Netherfield?”
“Will that not expose me further to Charles’s sisters?”
Darcy chuckled. “Beckett and I have made a plan. I think it shall be quite effective.”
“You and Thaddeus have agreed upon a course of action? Together? Marvelous. Do tell me of this plot.”
“You shall soon see for yourself,” he replied, smiling as he lifted her veil a bit to kiss her, carefully angling his head to avoid hitting her poor nose.
She had no further opportunity to question him, for he took full advantage of their few moments alone.
Once they had greeted everyone, Mrs. Bailey handed Darcy a basket. “I packed some of Elizabeth’s favourite foods for your trip.”
“Cookies?” he asked, eyes twinkling.
“Of course,” she answered. “Shall you still love her if she eats a few and gains a bit of weight?”
He grinned. “Rest easy, Mrs. Bailey. I shall adore Elizabeth always, through thick or thin. If she should increase, that shall simply be more for me to love.”
She patted his arm. “You might just deserve her. Get along with you then. The snow is falling harder.”
He handed the basket to a footman, instructing him to place it in his carriage, then found his bride standing with the newly married Bingleys and offered her his arm.
Elizabeth never had to deal with impertinent questions or inquiring glances as they circled the room, greeting their guests, and the reason was obvious.
Thaddeus Beckett at his most charming proved to be quite invaluable in distracting Caroline Bingley and the younger Bennet sisters at the wedding breakfast, and his aid continued once they all arrived at Netherfield.
Caroline never so much as glanced at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth quite aptly said, once she was alone with Darcy in their room, “Your plan worked brilliantly, my love, for how could she look away from Apollo at his most charming?”
“You managed to do so, so I suppose it can be done,” answered her husband, pulling her into his embrace to kiss her.
She stood on her tiptoes, whispering in his ear, “Only because even Apollo’s charm dims in the presence of Heracles, the one who surpassed all other mortal men.”
He kissed her, then leaned back a bit to look at her. “So, you prefer a half-mortal man to a god?”
“A demigod of superhuman strength, violent passions, and unmatched bravery, who is the epitome of masculinity? My own protector?” she asked. “I would be a fool, indeed, to trade the love of such a paragon for a mere god.”
Darcy smiled. “If I am very fortunate, you will always feel that way.”
“Then, consider yourself a blessed man, and kiss me again, my husband.” She put her hands behind his neck, encouraging him.
He did as she ordered, for though he had formidable might and power, he never could resist the call of his own personal siren.
The End
The sequel to More to Love: My Beloved, My Friend (Book 1)
is I Dream of You by Robin Helm, included in
A Very Austen Valentine: Austen Anthologies, Book 2. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07L6SR1RJ/
The author will also publish a standalone of
I Dream of You: My Beloved, My Friend (Book 2)
The third book in the series is Maestro, scheduled for release
in November 2019.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robin Helm's books reflect her love of music, as well as her fascination with the paranormal and science fiction.
Previously published works include The Guardian Trilogy: Guardian, SoulFire, and Legacy; the Yours by Design series: Accidentally Yours, Sincerely Yours, and Forever Yours; and Understanding Elizabeth (Regency romance).
She plans to publish Maestro, Lawfully Innocent, and A Very Austen Romance: Austen Anthologies, Book 3 in 2019.
She lives in sunny South Carolina and adores her one husband, two married daughters, and three grandchildren.
Follow her Amazon Author Page for information concerning her new releases.
https://www.amazon.com/Robin-Helm/e/B005MLFMTG/
If you liked More to Love, Robin recommends:
https://www.amazon.com/Wendi-Sotis/e/B005CSBVFS/
https://www.amazon.com/Laura-Hile/e/B003UT6VDS/
https://www.amazon.com/Mandy-Helm/e/B07KND3K8R/
https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Cornthwaite/e/B00J47TTZM/
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