It wasn’t long before the maid came in with the wine. She noticed that there were two glasses and she poured herself a glass. Her heart began to pound inside her chest once again. The longing she felt to hold him and know that he was safe was unbearable. He had grown to mean so much to her. She thought of her conversation with Serafina a few days ago about her feelings for him. She had admitted her attraction to him then but didn’t know what to call the feelings she felt. Was it love? She took a drink of her wine. She cared deeply for him, respected him, admired him, and trusted him. She appreciated him, was grateful for him, and she was . . . she was attached to him in a way that she could not describe. Her heart had grown so close to his that the thought of losing him tore it apart. Her body ached to be held by him, to smell him, and to finally kiss him. She wanted to spend every moment she could with him, and wanted every conversation she had with him to be permanently etched into her brain.
She relished the time she had with him. Meeting with him had quickly proved to be the highlight of her day, no matter what they did together. They shared moments of companionable silence, and happy moments where she saw the now-familiar smile touch his eyes. They had moments where they flirted with each other. They had moments where all the social rules seemed to fly out the window and they were simply themselves. She realized then where her thoughts were leading her. She felt like herself when she was around him; he was family to her. But he was more than just family. He was her friend, her companion, her husband, and she loved him.
The realization was both comforting and painful. “I love him,” she said out loud. She drew in a deep breath and said it again. “I love him!” Why did she have to realize this now when he was out in so much danger! Perhaps it was the idea of losing him that made her confront how dear he was to her. She poured herself more wine. This was going to be a very long night. She curled her feet underneath her and reopened her book. She was determined to stay awake until he came home. She had to see he was safe.
She drank a little more wine. She couldn’t tell if this new realization or the wine was relaxing her. It wasn’t helping the throbbing in her head much. The warm fire filled the room and soon she found her eyes were growing heavy. She closed her book and placed it on the table with all the other books. It will not hurt to close my eyes a little. After all, Reynolds promised to send him in. She allowed herself to stretch out a little on the chaise, and in no time at all, her weary body and mind were fast asleep.
*****
Darcy’s body ached from all the exertion of first the walk and now the fire. He shook Richard’s hand, “Thank you Richard, you were a real asset tonight.” He met his cousin’s gaze and smiled ruefully. “I do think you will have to throw away those clothes though, not only are they full of smoke but it looks like you got singed a few times.”
They entered the vestibule. He saw Reynolds was in a chair, half-dozing, although he immediately stood, stretching. “Reynolds, what are you doing still awake? It is nearly two in the morning! There was no need for you to wait up for me!”
“Yes sir, there was, Mrs. Darcy is waiting for you in the library. Now that I have told you so, my old body is free to retire.”
“Thank you, Reynolds. It will probably be a late morning for the household, so please take the morning off.” Then, turning to Richard, he said, “I had best see to my wife. Thank you again.”
He took a candle from the hallway sconce and made his way to the library. He opened the door and was greeted with the beauty of his sleeping wife. Her curls had come undone and were draped over the chaise edge, while her delicate feet peeked out from underneath her blanket. He reached carefully over, adjusting the blanket so all of her was covered. He put down the candle and carefully lifted her head and shoulders before he sat down, allowing her to rest against him. He wished he could smell her toilette water, but anything like that was overwhelmed by the thick, sooty scent of the fire. He gazed at the shimmer of her profile, and for the first time really noticed the shape of her ears, which were small and shell-like. He brushed the back of his fingers gently against her face. He traced her brow and her cheekbones, down her jaw and back up to her lips. His hands were still filthy from the smoke and soot, and he told himself he should not touch her until he was completely clean, but could not bring himself to stop caressing her features. He took a deep breath and let it out. Perhaps I should not have let myself think on the moment in the stream like I did. He ached to hold her and tell her how much he loved her. His fingers touched her lips again and he groaned. I definitely should not have allowed my thoughts to get carried away. He saw her squirm and he removed his hand from her face and placed it on her shoulder.
Elizabeth could smell smoke. She opened her eyes and realized she had slept much longer than she intended to. The room was cold, and the fire had died down, leaving just the faintest gleam of embers.
“I did not mean to wake you, but I was told you wanted to see me?” Darcy said quietly.
Elizabeth sat bolt upright at the sound of his voice. He was here, and blessedly safe! She threw off the blanket, shifting immediately to a kneeling position so she could throw her arms around his neck. She felt his arms reach around her body in return. “William! Oh, William!” When she lost her balance, he caught her waist and held her close. “Are you all right?” she cried.
Now that she was wrapped up in his arms he was more than all right, Darcy reflected. “Perfect, I would say.” He smiled.
She pulled away from his neck a few inches and looked intently at his face. His eyes were dark, especially in the dim light, but she could tell from the faint creases that he was smiling. He was extremely handsome when his eyes smiled. She began to feel just how intimate it was to be sitting on his lap, but she couldn’t move. It felt right to be in his arms. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw his eyes move down to her lips and back up to her eyes. The moment was golden. She would try to be as direct as possible. She tilted her head to the side, closed her eyes and leaned closer to his face.
Oh, Elizabeth! He met her halfway and touched her lips with his, moving ever so gently. She responded with moving her hands up to his hair and grasping handfuls of it. He kissed her again and again, allowing each kiss to linger a little longer, and to explore her lips with greater fervor until he found himself needing to catch his breath. He had waited for so long for this moment, but it was more than he had dared let himself imagine. A soft moan escaped her mouth, but she did not release her hold on him. Her response to the kiss was invigorating. He let his hands reach around to her back and her neck and caressed her, his embrace pressing her body against his. He could feel the rapidity of her breath, the heat of her body, and pulled her even closer to continue kissing her.
Elizabeth had never known such pleasure. She wanted every part of him, to hold him close and feel him next to her. This new, strange heat that she felt spread throughout her body like wildfire. Their kisses deepened, and she then tasted him on her lips. Her heart beat fiercely. Sooner than she was ready, he slowed the kissing and she felt him release his grip on her. She opened her eyes as he spoke.
“Dearest Elizabeth . . .” He felt her lay her head on his chest, her cheeks pressed against his shirt. He kept his arms wrapped around her and said, “I lied to you a moment ago.” He could feel her stiffen slightly.
“What do you mean?”
“I said I was perfect, but now I know what perfect really feels like.” She relaxed back into his embrace.
They sat there with her on his lap for a long time. The clock chimed three times, indicating an hour had passed. She had her arms around his neck, her face nestled against it, and he had one hand on her waist. The other moved in mindless circles against her back and shoulders. The silence between them was surely priceless. There was so much to say between them, but for the moment he needed nothing but to hold her, although he knew it could not last. He had just experienced a moment that only begged for more. He wanted only to tilt her head back up and kiss her again and again. But,
he reminded himself sternly, a single moment of bliss with her was still not an offer to him to take her to his room. As much as he wanted nothing but to love her further, at some point he would have to part with her for the night. He gathered all the strength he had and said, “Elizabeth, you should probably go to bed.”
She sat up and looked at him once again. The moment had been perfect. He was smiling back at her, but his eyes were dark and intense. She gathered that if she stayed it would be quite acceptable to him, but it was late, and she knew it. She might have gotten a chance to sleep, but she knew he had not. She leaned against him and kissed him one more time.
“Goodnight, William. I was so worried about you,” she murmured, hoping that her tone would communicate the depth of her newly realized feelings for him. She wanted to stop and confess everything, but was halted by the clock chiming its quarter hour.
“You gave me quite a scare today as well,” Mr. Darcy said quietly, but smiled. “I suppose it was now yesterday. How is your head?”
She laughed quietly. Her injury was not what was making her head spin, but rather it was every kiss and embrace they shared that night. “I would say I am quite recovered from that episode, but do not think that a kiss will earn you the forgiveness you need! I believe, Mr. Darcy, that you have not only thrown me in the mud, but in the water as well!” She jumped off his lap and gave him a saucy look. “Good night.” Her step was lively as she left the room, leaping from step to step. Things were about to change, she knew, and she could not help but delight entirely in the prospect.
Chapter 9
M
r. Darcy watched Elizabeth saunter out of the library with a flirtatious skip in her step. He let out the biggest sigh. Good Lord! How will I ever be able to sleep after a moment like that! His body felt more alive than it had in some time, every bit of him tingling with sensation. Each embrace and each kiss replayed themselves over and over again in his mind. He almost stepped up, wanting to follow her to her room, but forced himself to remain in the doorway before he turned back. Perhaps everything he longed for would come true.
He glanced back towards the door, his fingers tapping impatiently against his thigh. A distraction, that was precisely what he needed. Anything would do. He picked up the book nearest him, hardly caring whether it was a pamphlet on farming or an old encyclopedia. After opening it to a page in the middle, he realized it was Elizabeth’s book, Sense and Sensibility. Perhaps not a romance novel, he reflected ruefully, as it was hardly something that would help distract him.
Perhaps ADictionary of the English Language,he thought, searching for Samuel Johnson, or even a treatise on biological sciences that he had studied at Cambridge. That was guaranteed to put him to sleep! He tossed Elizabeth’s book back into its place, but it bounced off the edge of the table and fell open upon the floor. A letter had fallen out of the book and he reached over to replace it between the pages. He assumed that it was either from Jane or her father, but the familiar dark, slanted handwriting made him pause. Something else caught his eye after a moment. A name, a name he hadn’t thought of for some time . . . Wickham!
Without thinking of the intrusion, he unfolding the letter and stood, walking to the candle for better light. What was a letter from Wickham doing in Elizabeth’s book? Had they been corresponding? For how long? A wave of nausea came over him, but his hands moved steadily, opening the letter fully before his eyes fixed on the words. He should not be reading this letter, he knew, but he could no sooner stop than he could dismiss any mention of Wickham.
I find myself thinking about our time together not too long ago. Your eyes that last night together told me you think about me too. I must say that your body language that night spoke volumes. You need to know that I do not give up easily. You may be with Darcy now, but eventually I will come claim what should have been mine all along. I am sure you can find a way to stay my hand. If I remember correctly you have an active and creative mind. I look forward to hearing from you and seeing how much your heart can give. For now, you can send any correspondence through Mrs. Forester. She is a favorite of mine, and owes me a great deal. Do not fret too much on the issue; just do what comes naturally in your blood.
Until I hear from you, sincerely,
Your dear Mr. Wickham
Mr. Darcy’s hands tightened around the letter before he returned to it, lingering over each word. There could be no other interpretation other than that they had been corresponding. Wickham was obviously referring to their kiss the night of the Netherfield ball! He had long wished to believe that Wickham’s advances were unwanted, but had never been able to fully convince himself. This letter proved that Elizabeth was an active participant. Darcy closed his eyes. Your body language spoke volumes . . .
How was it possible? After all of her softening towards him, all their gentle flirtations and time spent together–– and especially after their kiss— how could she still harbor such feelings for Wickham? He could not for a moment think of any other reason that she would carry such a deeply intimate letter with her. The edges were frayed by constant folding and unfolding, and he could even see the faintest hint of where tears had smudged the ink. Clearly this was a letter she treasured. He pressed his hand to his mouth.
He was disappointed. Hurt, yes, but perhaps disappointed most of all. His heart ached and felt like it had been torn in half. He had done everything in his power to change her opinion of him, and yet her heart was still not his to claim. He had spent every minute possible with her, granting her whatever desire she expressed, asking only for whatever she would give him, and nothing more.
A voice of hope and practicality spoke up. But she just kissed you of her own will! That has to count for something! You know her feelings for you have changed! Do not dismiss all that has happened because of that blackguard Wickham! The voice of reason, though, was easily drowned out by the fury and heartache caused by the letter. It was no use. He had done everything to win her, but her heart had never considered coming home to Pemberley–– to reside with him.
He saw a bottle of wine and two glasses on the floor. He needed more than a little wine. There was a bottle of brandy he kept in his study for occasions like these. He folded the letter up into a tight, neat square, and then stood up. He would drink himself into oblivion with his brandy this evening. The morning would have to answer for itself.
*****
Elizabeth slept peacefully that night. She experienced all her now-familiar dreams again. William pushed her on the swing under the cedar tree. This time he not only reached around for her swollen abdomen but came around and kissed her protuberant belly. When he did so the baby fluttered inside her, as if saying it loved him too. He then put a hand to her face and pulled it to his own and kissed her lips ever so gently. She had never known such peace. When she woke from the dream, she lay in bed for a few minutes, luxuriating in the feel of it.
The slant of the sunlight through her windows told her that it was later than the hour she normally awoke. She usually was an early riser, and often found William was too. They had shared a walk nearly every day, weather permitting, since they had arrived at Pemberley–– sometimes before breakfast, and sometimes afterwards. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and sat upright. She knew he had a late night and did not want to miss another opportunity to be with William in case he was already awake. She selected one of her morning gowns, a pale rose muslin, and began to dress. She didn’t even ring for Serafina although she was eager to tell her that although they didn’t verbally express their feelings for each other, their lips had communicated quite nicely last night. Her heart started to beat faster, and she felt her cheeks flush. Those sweet kisses had led to something much more passionate and invigorating. She brushed her fingertips against her lips. Yes, last night had been absolutely lovely, and it was the first time in waking that she had felt some of the peace from her dream linger.
She finished dressing, not bothering to dress her hair beyond a simple braid, and went downstairs.
She stopped Martin in the staircase. “Martin, is my husband awake yet?”
“Yes, madam. He breakfasted early and I believe is in his study.”
Her forehead creased up at that, but she didn’t want to reveal her disappointment. Especially not to William’s valet, who seemed to know him so well, and who Elizabeth sensed was protective of his master. Martin seemed to have an interesting relationship with both Mr. Darcy and the other servants. He was one of those people, she decided, who knew more than he let on. She liked him, certainly, but he had to be privy to the secrets of their marriage. It didn’t bother her that Serafina knew, and she couldn’t quite place her finger on why. Perhaps because she knew the secrets she revealed to Serafina, but she did not know the secrets Mr. Darcy revealed to his valet. He knew things about her husband that she did not. It was jealousy, she supposed. She wanted to know her husband and his secrets better than anyone else, and after last night, more than ever.
She shook the thoughts away. “Thank you, Martin,” she said simply, and decided to see him in his study. She felt a tingle of excitement. Perhaps they might share a kiss this morning. For the first time, she felt as if she was truly married. The clock chimed in the hallway, sounding nine times. He must have risen early, then, if he had already dressed, eaten, and was working for the day. She knocked on the door. She probably could have just walked in, but she felt his study was his sanctuary, and she never knew if he had important business he was working on. She waited for a little while, but no answer came. She frowned, raising her hand to knock again, when the door opened. Mr. Darcy was looking at her intensely and it seemed, somewhat impatiently.
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