Most Ardently

by Sheena Austin et al.

  It was too much. He felt like the world was shrinking around him. Oh Lord, he’d have to go back to the club tonight. Already he could feel his head pounding, could feel the restlessness in his limbs. He’d have to bandage up his hands and head out. He was exhausted and drained and no doubt he would take a pummeling in this state, but there was no one to talk to about it. No one at all.

  Chapter 2

  ELIZABETH’S EYES GREW wide, and a gasp caught in her throat. “Yes,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Yes.” Her hands gripped her skirts. She thought she might swoon. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. Just like this.”

  “Uh, very well, Mrs. Darcy,” the modiste said, dislodging Lizzy’s clutched hands from the silk. “We will add to this your order.”

  Elizabeth sighed, “Yes, but is it very Pemberley? I think it will do! Put it on my husband’s account, please.”

  “Well, it’s always a joy to watch you shop,” Jane, Lizzy’s older sister said, shaking her head. “Come drink this tea before it grows cold. Again.” It had been five hours in the dressmaker’s shop.

  Lizzy slumped down in her chair, the cold tea not any help.

  “What’s the occasion for this gown?” Jane asked, pointing to the red silk Lizzy had been fondling. Not to be confused with the dozen others Lizzy was having made up.

  “This,” she said, picking up a swatch of the silk, “will be for our Christmas party. I’ve been planning this night for months. We are hosting 7 families in all and we will have music and dancing. Real music,” she clarified. “Not just Georgiana.”

  “And,” she added conspiratorially, “we will have snow inside the portrait gallery.”

  “Inside it?” Jane asked.

  Lizzy smiled and nodded her head. She had been paying a group of village girls to pull off this secret stunt, cutting dozens of paper snowflakes that would be hung across the gallery in Pemberley, from the paintings on one side to the large windows on the other. If all went according to plan, there would be real snow outside as well so her party guests would feel as though they were surrounded by it, inside and out.

  “It will all be very Pemberley,” Elizabeth insisted. Since taking over her duties as mistress of Pemberley, Lizzy had developed a new appreciation for hosting. Their first dinner party included several guests who were old family friends, people who remembered Darcy’s parents fondly. To say they were a bit disappointed in Lizzy was an understatement. The previous Mrs. Darcy, Lady Anne, had a touch of an artist about her. She would arrange her own flowers, great big vases full of exotic hothouse blooms. She was known for the opulent décor of Pemberley and enjoyed advising her friends and family on house arrangements, a similar skill shared by her sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. And her house parties were legendary. She was a dutiful hostess with impeccable tastes in wine and food.

  All things Lizzy found out she was not. She had never imagined running a household so large. Her tastes weren’t particularly extravagant, and she often found herself startled by the amount of money it took to keep Pemberley running and fashionable. But she had tried, and was still trying, hence today’s trip to the modiste. But the damage was already done. Her reputation was muddied. And then there was the debacle of Georgiana’s debut last year. Lizzy pushed the thought down in the pit of her stomach. She had things to buy.

  “If all plans go well, Georgiana will be married soon enough, we will have a ball, and I will restore Pemberley to rights,” Lizzy added. What she didn’t say as she sipped her cold tea was that this was it. So much was riding on it. Christmastide and Georgiana’s engagement ball to whoever it was Darcy had chosen, would secure Pemberley’s role as a grand estate, as well as her own role as premier hostess.

  So much depended on this little red dress.

  Jane smiled, her default look. Some women looked dour or stern when in repose, but Jane’s face was one of smiling simpleton. “I’m excited to see Georgiana married, but she seems awfully young.”

  “Only a few years younger than you or I were.”

  “Not young in age perhaps, but she feels very young.”

  “True. Darcy does coddler her,” Lizzy agreed. In fact, Georgiana was hardly out of his sight since she debuted. He feared another scandal, but Georgiana showed no such interest. In fact, it was the opposite. She was almost fearful around men. She distrusted them, and who could blame her? Yet another reason her marrying soon would be a boon; an easy, convenient arrangement. Most officious.

  “Who else will join your party?” Jane asked.

  Lizzy let out a long breath, then listed all the families who would be visiting Derbyshire during Christmastide. Surprisingly, Darcy had helped her make the list. She suspected it was only to make sure an available list of suitors for Georgiana were present.

  “And you and Bingley, of course. And Caroline if she will accept. And the Colonel is invited, but who knows if he’ll come?”

  “I hope the Colonel does come. He’s always so gentlemanly when we see him, so kind and generous and attentive when he visits”

  Lizzy snorted. “Well, he is kind and generous and attentive to lots of ladies apparently.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “Lizzy! The way you talk!”

  “Jane, we are married ladies. If we cannot talk about such things now amongst ourselves, when can we ever?” A few months ago, the two of them had entered the retiring room at Almack’s and had overheard three ladies, one a young widow, talking about a man and his...prowess in the bedroom. The two of them giggled as they listened in on the ribald conversation, about this gentleman charming his way through the available ladies of the ton and the ladies all too eager for his attentions. Soon, though, they realized that the man they gossiped about was no other than Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy’s cousin and a dear friend to both of them.

  Jane had gasped at this revelation and ushered Lizzy out of the room. But Lizzy had been floored. It was as if a door had been opened a small crack on the Colonel and she couldn’t quite make out what was on the other side. In that moment, she would have pushed the door wide, wide open.

  It wasn’t that Lizzy disliked the marital act itself, but she didn’t quite understand what these merry widows were gossiping about. What she enjoyed most about marriage was the closeness. The casual caresses, touching her husband’s arm in the morning to say hello at breakfast while he drank his tea. These little intimacies, like secrets between them.

  Even at his most distant, when she and Georgie had surprised him by coming to London a few days early and he came home late, far too late, and smelled like a lady’s perfume— lavender and lemony. He made love to a woman who smelled of lemons, Lizzy thought. It was almost funny, and she tried to picture a beautiful woman trying on scents and deciding that lemon drops would be her signature. Even then she yearned for this closeness, clung to him the same way that lemon woman must have. She had held on tight to his shoulders, tucked her head into the crook of his neck, and inhaled, imagining herself in a citrus grove.

  “Very well,” Jane smiled shyly. “As an old married lady, I say that it’s so odd to hear about him in that way. I realize the Colonel has a reputation with ladies but pay them no heed.”

  “A reputation? Is that what you call it? If they are to be believed he’s had every young widow in Mayfair.”

  Jane laughed heartily at this. Lizzy always loved when she could make her sister laugh. She reached over and grasped her hand, squeezed her fingers to feel her sister’s warmth. She reached over to pour more cold tea into her cup.

  “Still, that’s just idle gossip. He is truly a gentleman. And a hero. He’s never brought any shame to any woman.”

  “No,” Lizzy said. Her fingers fidgeted with the bit of silk. It was cool against her fingers, one of the reasons she chose it for the holiday. She thought it might feel soothing against her skin as she ran around the house playing hostess. It would feel comforting like a caress.

  “You know, there are rumors about other men we know,” Lizzy whispered.


  Jane stopped her. “I’m sure there are and just as I said about The Colonel, you should pay them no mind.”

  Lizzy balled the scrap of silk in her hand.

  “Lizzy, I know the rumors of which you speak, and you must kn—"

  “Could you ask Bingley if they are true?” Lizzy blurted out. The words tumbled out of her mouth. “He’s Darcy’s closest friend. Surely he would know if Darcy—”

  Jane sighed, “I have. And he said it is neither of our affairs to question Darcy’s private life.”

  “His private life? It’s my private life as well.” Lizzy let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Ah! Sweet, loyal Bingley. What a good friend to Darcy.”

  “Lizzy, what you must remember is that a man in possession of good fortune is—”

  “A man in possession of good fortune? So, you’re saying it is Darcy’s right to keep mistresses and lovers? As a man of good fortune?”

  “No, of course not. I’m saying he’s been surrounded by such rumors since he was old enough to shave. Women who would try to force his hand by innuendo or—well, there are some things even old married ladies do not speak of, and besides, you have no actual proof that’s he’s been anything but loyal to you.”

  Lizzy knew this was true. Yet, she knew something had changed, something had shifted between them. He was a good man who had done her a good turn when he saved his sisters’ reputations. She had a good home and a good life. She had no room for complaints even if the rumors about her husband were true.

  But, she had no room for herself either. The vast halls of Pemberley couldn’t contain her.

  “We need to stop at the draper’s,” Lizzy said. She threw the now crumpled piece of silk on the small tea table. The trip to the modiste didn’t make her feel as well as she thought it might.

  Chapter 3

  LIZZY SPIED HIM HASTILY exiting the house as her carriage arrived. Colonel Fitzwilliam was taller than her husband, a few years older, and she, like most of society, couldn’t help but compare the two. A set of opposites. Whereas her husband was quiet in unfamiliar company, the Colonel was sociable. It’s been said that the Colonel wasn’t as handsome as Darcy, but Lizzy always thought that unfair. Whereas Darcy’s features may be called classic, something like a bit of statuary to gawk at in a summer garden, Fitzwilliam’s were, well, human. When he laughed, little creases formed around his eyes. His smile was lopsided, but that just made him seem welcoming, inviting. And though he was a gentleman dressed in every bit of finery London had to offer, one could easily picture him on the battlefield. His slender frame bracketed by wide shoulders gave off a sense of determination and command. And perhaps a slight hint of menace. Other gentleman, her husband included, didn’t look like they would stand a chance at Badajoz or Waterloo.

  Lizzy left the packages in the care of servants, handed off her coat and bonnet, and knocked on the open door of Darcy’s study.

  “Was that Colonel Fitzwilliam leaving just now?” Lizzy asked her husband.

  He looked up from his desk, but then beyond her, into the hallway where he saw several footmen and maids assembling an array of packages.

  “Buy half of London again, Lizzy?” He asked her, a haughty eyebrow arched in the air.

  “I suppose so,” she said without humor. Buying these things always felt so good at the time, but the feeling never lasted. “I also bought a new writing desk,” she said dumbly. “But I’m having it sent directly to Pemberley.”

  “A writing desk?” This caught his attention, as she knew it would. “Pemberley already has a writing desk.”

  “I know,” she said. “But it’s really lovely. Very Pemberley”

  “Pemberley already has a writing desk,” he said again. “It was my mother’s.”

  Yes, of course it was. Lizzy was given all the rooms of the former mistress of Pemberley but was apparently not allowed to change a thing. So, she had to sit in the same room where his mother sat, using the same writing desk where she sat writing letters to all of her lovely friends and invited them to her lovely parties.

  “Leave it here, Elizabeth” he said. She was always “Elizabeth” in that tone of voice. In moments of intimacy, she was love, sometimes Eliza, and, a few times, even ma petite chou. She was proud of that last title, though she admittedly hadn’t been called by that endearment in a long while. Still these little names were earned. It was how he expressed affection, she realized, but she always seemed to have to work for his affection. She remembered him saying once, “My good opinion once lost is lost forever,” and when those dear names dried up, she feared the worst.

  “Was that Colonel Fitzwilliam leaving just now?” she asked again.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Well, what news?” She asked. She was hoping he might have mentioned the holiday party to find out if the Colonel was to attend. That way she could concoct a plan to avoid him.

  He smiled and came around the desk. “I do indeed have some news. I made a proposal to him.”

  “Did you now?” She couldn’t help but tease him. Even after everything. “Did he accept you?”

  He laughed at that and she squeezed his arm. His laugh made he smile, even now. “Well, I proposed that he might consider proposing to Georgiana.”

  Lizzy could feel her mouth falling open of its own volition. In fact, her whole body felt like it was falling from a great height.

  “Georgiana? I thought you said you had someone in mind for Georgiana.”

  “I did have someone in mind,” Darcy said. “And it was the Colonel.”

  Lizzy took a step back from him. “I assumed you meant cousin Mortimer.”

  “Mortimer?! Georgiana would murder me.”

  “Wait,” Lizzy said. “Why are you trying to marry the Colonel off at all? Surely, he could find someone on his own.” He began to interrupt, but she just kept going. “What about Lady Sefton’s daughter? Or even Caroline Bingley?” She was just spitting out names now, thinking perhaps Bingley would allow them to live on one of the estates in the north.

  “Caroline? Have you gone mad?” Darcy looked puzzled and let out a breath. “Is there something I don’t know? Why do the two of you dislike this pairing so much?”

  “He doesn’t like it either?”

  “Lord, he looked as him he was on the way to the gaoler.”

  “She’s so, uh, young,” she spit out pitifully.

  “Well, that didn’t stop her before, did it?” he asked, a bit of old resentment leaking out with the words. He never talked about the Wickham scandal, the time Georgiana nearly ruined herself, but it seeped out from time to time, making both Lizzy and Georgiana wince when it did. The sooner she married the better for all concerned, but not to the Colonel.

  She was desperate and the words continued to tumble out.

  “There are rumors about him. Certain women. Well, widows,” she said, whispering the word “widows” as if the word was too salacious. “They tell stories about him in the retiring rooms. About his dalliances—”

  Darcy sighed and shook his head. “Egads, Lizzy. I’ll leave instructing Georgiana on such matters in your capable hands then. Let her know what to expect.”

  And he kissed her on the forehead. For a moment, she forgot about the Colonel’s marriage as she realized this was the first time Darcy had kissed her in months. He’d been so busy, back and forth to London on business when she was at Pemberley. Even when she was here in the Mayfair residence, he sometimes stayed at his club. He would stay late into the night chatting with various businessmen. Who these men were, Lizzy didn’t know. He certainly never invited them over or asked her to entertain them, even though she asked if she could.

  “There’s no need, Lizzy. No need to trouble yourself. No need to worry,” he had told her when she offered to host a dinner for these men of business. But there is a need, Lizzy had thought at the time. I have needs. But unlike her frank discussion with Jane, Lizzy did not talk of such things with her husband.

  “Well, we�
��ll give them some time over the next few days,” Darcy said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’ll send for him and he can stay here and then travel with us to Pemberley for the Christmastide festivities. I’ll see that he stays the whole holiday. And have a care with Georgiana. Have her maid make her up. And make sure she leaves him a few dances at your party.”

  That won’t be a problem, Lizzy almost said aloud, for Georgiana hated dancing.

  “You would marry her off so soon though?”

  “Strike now before he knows what hits him,” Darcy said. At Lizzy’s exasperated look he added, “Lizzy, not every man is like me. Love doesn’t come easy to every man.”

  This is easy?! she thought, but she bit her tongue, a talent which was new to her as she always spoke her mind before marriage. By the time she was an old woman her tongue will have been split in two.

  “There are some men that need to be pinned down and shackled in marriage or else they’ll never settle down. You’ve seen how he’s been since Waterloo. The war has taken its toll on the man. Marriage could do him a whole lot of good.”

  Lizzy opened her mouth, but no words came out. She knew the Colonel was suffering, and knew she couldn’t provide any aid. She felt a pang of shame that she would disallow a balm that could soothe him because she was selfish. Because she had that moment in the retiring room. Because she wanted to push open that door. A troubling thought hit her: Had she ever seen what these widows saw? The long walks at Rosings, the dances they shared in London ballrooms, the way he teased her over long, dull dinners. She always seated him near her at her awful parties. He always had a smile and a joke and even a wink when she felt like the party was falling apart.

  “The marriage would do him good,” Darcy added. “And so could Georgiana’s dowry. I’d rather see Fitzwilliam get it then any of these rakehells that keep getting thrown her way.”

  “Oh,” she said, a little stunned. “Very well.” He kissed her once more, this one landing somewhere about her hair, turned her and with a pat on the back, sent her out the door, away.