Most Ardently

by Sheena Austin et al.

  “Well, there’s hardly any time for pianofortes or gowns now. We leave for Pemberley tomorrow.” Lizzy leaned over to Darcy, squeezed his hand, and smiled. Darcy looked confused.

  “Tomorrow? The weeks flew by here in London. Fitzwilliam, are you traveling with us?”

  “No,” the Colonel answered too quickly. “I’m not.”

  “Nonsense,” Darcy said. “In fact, I have a favor to ask. I need you to escort Lizzy and Georgiana for me. I’m going to stay on a few more days here in London.”

  “What?” all three of them cried at the same time.

  “I have a few things I need to finish up here.” He looked pointedly at the Colonel and his finger jabbed at a letter on the table.

  “Darcy,” the Colonel whispered, shaking his head.

  Lizzy looked between them. The two stared at one another. There was a whole male conversation happening in those glances. The Colonel was warning Darcy against this. The letter. It had to be from her. The lemon lady. She could feel a stab of tears threatening. She hadn’t cried when the dragons of the ton openly snubbed her or when that nasty caricature of her appeared in the papers or when Georgiana made her debut under the watchful eyes of Lady Catherine. But this! Darcy knew how much this meant to her, how much Pemberley meant, and he was choosing a tryst with his lover over her. She had lost all those little battles, but she told herself she had already won the war. She had an enviable husband and she had Pemberley. The world could come down around their heads, but she would have those two things. It was a nasty sting to know that she might actually be wrong. While she prepped for the same visitors who would snub her, Darcy would spend a few extra nights in the citrus groves, his lover breathing in the sour victory.

  “Well, if you’re not going, I shan’t leave yet either. I’ll ride up with you,” Georgiana said.

  “Georgie, just go with them.”

  “But I already told Lady Sefton I would go to her card party tomorrow night. If you allow this then I shall play three songs at the musicale without a complaint.”

  Both Lizzy and the Colonel rolled their eyes.

  “Aww, of course, Georgie,” Darcy answered as if he had somehow struck a grand bargain.

  “Darcy, I had no plans to travel up with you—” The Colonel began.

  “Fitzwilliam, I do believe I’m doing you quite a big favor with the proposition we discussed the other morning. The least you can do is entertain my wife on her way to Pemberley.”

  Lizzy could see the Colonel’s jaw tense. His eyes narrowed. He looked more like the man she had seen last night, menacing and looming.

  Before he could speak, she answered, “Very well then. The Colonel and I will leave in the morning.” She poured another cup of tea.

  Chapter 7

  IT WAS BARELY DAWN when a servant woke the Colonel, handing him a banyan and a breakfast tray. “Mrs. Darcy wants to leave as soon as possible,” the servant informed him. “She has a schedule.”

  The Colonel stumbled over the title “Mrs. Darcy,” first picturing Darcy’s mother rather than Lizzy.

  He later found her in the hallway sending servants here and there to load the carriages with trunks, packages, additional staff for the party, and, for some reason, a writing desk. He smiled at the scene. A little commander giving off directions to an army of servants. But as he got closer he could see the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Her hair was loosely done up and already strands were falling down about her shoulders. He had the urge to brush the locks back from her face, to tell her that he’d take care of the packing. But it wasn’t his place.

  “Oh, good morning, Colonel,” she said, turning to him. “I hope you don’t mind an early start, but I want to get to Pemberley as soon as possible.”

  “I think it’s a good idea. The sky looks dreary,” he said, looking out the door where the servants rushed in and out with her trunks. “We should beat the snow.”

  “Snow? No, not yet,” she said with every confidence. “It can’t snow until everyone’s arrived at Pemberley. Then it can snow for fifteen years for all I care. But everyone will arrive safe and sound at Pemberley for the party.”

  “Of course,” he said, but the weather had been strangely wet and cold all year. They would likely see snow sooner rather than later.

  “They’re just about ready. Did you eat or should I ask Cook to pack some food for the journey?”

  “I’m ready. We’ll just wait for Georgiana and Darcy to see us off.”

  “Oh, no, you see Georgiana is a late sleeper. And is in fact too eager to see me off,” she laughed unconvincingly. “We’ll just let her sleep.”

  The Colonel noticed she left out her husband. “And Darcy?”

  She looked away. “He’s not here.”

  “Out so early? Where on earth did he go?”

  She looked at him and narrowed her eyes and the meaning hit him. “He isn’t out so early as he is out very late,” she said. He hadn’t left that morning. He had left last night and hadn’t come home. The Colonel’s stomach lurched. He couldn’t believe how brazen Darcy had become and with her of all ladies.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait? Perhaps Darcy will be home soon. Perhaps he’ll change his mind and depart with us.”

  “You heard him, Colonel. He has told us to travel ahead.” She took a deep breath, then added, “As a friend, I’m telling you I’d rather not see my husband just now. I’m very eager to leave London altogether.”

  He nodded. “Then let’s make our escape in haste.”

  It hadn’t started right away, the attraction.

  When Darcy had approached the Colonel about accompanying him to Rosings those few years ago to see this little lady he was sweet on, the Colonel thought it highly amusing. Darcy was never one for romance and wasn’t particularly marriage minded; he kept his love life firmly behind locked doors.

  “Any woman that can tie you up in knots is definitely worth the trip to see,” the Colonel told him. The Colonel had pictured a demure little wallflower. Someone sharing the same shadowy corners Darcy hid in when outside of his surroundings. But Lizzy was vibrant and loquacious, a breath of fresh air in the stuffy rooms of Rosings.

  No, it hadn’t started right away. At least that’s what Colonel Fitzwilliam told himself. He didn’t notice her fine eyes that Darcy had remarked upon. That part is very true. Because at first what he noticed was her tongue. Sharp as a blade. He thought she was wickedly witty and amusing to no end.

  Soon after that is when he noticed the tongue itself, a sliver of pink that would peek between her plump lips when she said his name. An extra “sz” hanging on to the letters as she said Fitzwilliam. Darcy sat in corners, watching the Colonel flirt with her. His job was to soften her up, rub off some of his own charm so that when Darcy finally mustered up the courage for a conversation, she would be amenable to him. But soon after that is when he noticed the mischievous tilt to her smile and her boldly uplifted chin. By the time he did notice the fine eyes Darcy spoke of, he was already lost.

  The Colonel thought it was a passing fancy, something that would dull as her wedding date drew near. But, when the Darcys returned from their honeymoon and were installed permanently at Pemberley, he could barely stand to be in the same room as her. At least not without a liberal amount of port after dinner. He foolishly thought the war was just the thing. A remedy for his ails, something to occupy his mind. He thought he’d come home to some glory and a few matchmaking mamas would set him up straight and this little infatuation would disappear.

  And now he found himself in a small carriage with that woman sleeping opposite him, her head against the window, a handful of blankets draped over her lap. Dozing and dreaming of Pemberley no doubt. It wasn’t nearly as difficult to be close to her as he thought it might be because the woman he knew was gone. This wasn’t her. That image of her, a minx with an arch smile, was the last good thing he took with him to Waterloo. And it was just an image. For when he came back, she wasn’t there.
r />   He had noticed that since becoming Mrs. Darcy, she had lost a great deal of vibrancy. And who could blame her? Not even Darcy could protect her from the dragons of the ton, women like his own aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He had overheard their nasty commentary of her with his own ears. And despite Lizzy’s sister Jane now being a Bingley, Caroline Bingley did Lizzy no favors. She did the pretty in company but would lambaste poor Lizzy whenever she had the chance. Most took this for sour grapes on Caroline’s part, but they still indulged in the rumors and innuendo Caroline spread, finding joy at their neighbor’s expense and spreading it around like so much gossipy marmalade.

  It hurt to see her fire gone. He sometimes would watch her eyes light up with a clever response over a boring dinner, but she never said them. She bit that tart tongue of hers and he himself could feel the sting.

  Lizzy plopped down in in her narrow bed at the inn, looking up at the cracked ceiling. She was exhausted even though she slept a great deal in the carriage. She could hear lively conversation and laughter downstairs in the dining hall, but it was silent in her room, lonely. She should be used to it by now, another night alone. She had heard that some husbands and wives drift apart in their marriages. But it was usually after a child. Usually after more than a handful of years.

  Lizzy hadn’t realized how sheltered she was. At Longbourn, snug in her little home, she was considered a beauty and clever to boot. She led dances, set fashion, could walk into any ballroom or dinner party and was well received by the four-and-twenty families she regularly socialized with. People looked forward to talking with her, dancing with her. Now, she was her husband’s shadow, was only welcomed when he was in the room, was sent to corners when he was not.

  “You could try,” he had once barked at her. “You could try a little, could you not? What was it you once said to me—that I did not take the bother to practice? And now I can accuse you of the same.”

  But what happens when one tries and it’s not enough?

  Downstairs, she could hear a roar of laughter, as if someone had told a joke for the entire room. She had seen a piano in the corner when she walked upstairs and wondered if there might be dancing later, a little country dance like she used to do at Lucas Lodge during card parties.

  The Colonel said he’d have her dinner sent up to her rooms, but why was she going to hide herself away? It’s what Darcy would do, not wanting to introduce himself to the people downstairs. She didn’t mind hiding away while her husband was with her. But her husband wasn’t here...

  She wasn’t going to be forced into an ill humor, not when there was music and food and a warm fire. And these were her kind of people. They were people who ate heartily and told stories to make each other smile and laugh. Not the type of people who came to Pemberley to snicker at her seating arrangements or gripe about her table settings.

  She told her maid to unpack a fresh dress, the petal pink one with beading at the bodice, and she herself gathered up her falling hair in a chignon and stuck a few pins in. She might not be a premier hostess, but she knew how to be a great guest.

  THE COLONEL WAS HAPPY to be in such lively company. The small inn doubled as the local watering hole and he was glad they stopped here rather than the stuffier, fancier inn Lizzy had previously planned. He was happy to be alone amid the laughter and conversation.

  One group of men were a few into their cups and egged on a pretty bar maid to sing a song. She stood up by the piano, a false reluctance as she smiled at the attention. She sang a bawdy little tune and everyone smiled and laughed along with her, clapping enthusiastically.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know that one,” a voice said at the Colonel’s elbow.

  He turned to see Lizzy, smiling and clapping along with the rest of the party. She had changed into a fresh pink dress, the same rosy color as her cheeks and her smirking lips. The dress dipped low in the front, revealing an eyeful of her creamy skin. He never understood how Darcy could have been babbling on about her fine eyes all those years ago when such a plump bosom had been staring him in the face.

  As if feeling his eyes on her, she turned then looked down at herself.

  “Is this dress not appropriate?” she whispered, her hand going to the fabric at her belly, as if checking to see if she were actually wearing clothing.

  “No,” he said. “I mean, yes, it’s fine. It’s lovely” He pried his eyes off of her. “Lizzy, wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your room?” Or anywhere that’s not on this chair next to me. “I can have anything you’d like sent up.”

  “Of course not. Look at this place! It’s like being back in Meryton. There’s a piano. Do you suppose someone will play?”

  “Perhaps but I suppose it’s quite different than Georgiana’s musicales at Pemberley.”

  “Quite. And a bit more fun, I should say.”

  He smiled. “You should play us something.”

  “I’d much rather dance. Is that allowed here?”

  Before he could answer, she called over to a young man with a tray. “Excuse me, but is there ever dancing here?”

  “Aye, Miss. Sometimes.”

  “Will sometimes be tonight?” she laughed. A few other guests overheard her question and laughed along with her. She smiled at them. They would soon be fast friends, no doubt. It was that easy for her here.

  “The owner’s daughter plays sometimes. I could ask her. She knows country dances mostly.”

  “Wonderful. Could you also send me one of those,” she said, pointing to a meat pie, “And one of those,” she pointed to another guest’s glass of wine.

  The server nodded and Lizzy began chatting with the guests at the next table. She asked them where they were from and where they were going.

  There she was, the Colonel thought. There was the Lizzy he remembered from Rosings. There was the “before” Lizzy, smiling and chatting with these guests. She was laughing, a full honest laugh that was all teeth; not the stifled fake giggles of a London ballroom.

  This had been exactly what Lizzy needed. Food and dancing and wine that kept getting filled into her cup from the grateful inn owner who loved her playing the role of hostess for him, keeping all the guests entertained and, more importantly, buying more food and drink.

  Feeling a little tipsy, she made her way back to the where the Colonel sat on a bar stool, watching the dancers.

  “You’re a dear friend to me, Colonel,” she said, but it came out like a question.

  He choked on his drink when she said it and then chuckled at himself. “Of course I am, Lizzy.”

  “Then...” She stopped herself. She knew she shouldn’t ask, but the drinks and music and the dancing were like a shield and she spit it out: “Who is she?”

  His eyes widened at the question, but he drew his eyebrows together, a quick gesture to feign confusion. It was so quick, but she saw it. He was pretending to not understand.

  “Who is she?” she whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Who is my husband having an affair with?”

  The Colonel looked down into his drink. “Does it matter? Would it make it any better to know?”

  Before Lizzy could answer, he took her hand and pulled her off her stool. “It’s a beautiful night, you’re a beautiful woman, and you should be dancing.”

  She laughed. “With a beautiful man?”

  “I suppose I will have to do,” he smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not the best dance partner. My shoulder—."

  “Does your shoulder still pain you?” she asked, running a hand over the top of it, as if it were a common gesture, a familiar one. She rubbed her silk glove against the wool of his coat. He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious of the caress no doubt, but she didn’t move her hand.

  “Lizzy, it’s getting late,” he said, licking his lips. “If we are going to have an early start tomorrow, we should probably get some rest.” For a moment, she looked at him, searching his face for any hint of—what? Invitation? An offer? But she saw none.

  He led her into th
e hallway leading up to the rooms. A group of merry guests pushed past them, wishing Lizzy a goodnight on their way. She was knocked into the Colonel and he pulled her closer, his hands on her waist. She felt a tingle of self-consciousness, of his warm hands on her. It felt almost indecent. But then again this wasn’t the Colonel she knew. This was the Colonel she spied under the stars whose rough hands had seen war and pleasured every young widow in Mayfair. She didn’t know this Colonel. But she would like to, she told herself. In this inn, at this moment, with her in her pink dress, she didn’t feel like the Lizzy she knew either.

  “I think it is very late, Lizzy,” he said, but he didn’t remove his hands.

  “Is it?” she asked. She had come so far to back away now. She looked down the hallway to see if anyone was lurking, then placed her hand on his chest.

  “Lizzy.” He said her name, but it wasn’t a statement or a question, or even a refusal. It was an acknowledgement. Of her. Of everything. Of this moment.

  Is it possible to be two people at once, Lizzy thought, for she had her hand on the Colonel and a piece inside her sat back and watched as if she were someone else, a player in a melodrama, a naughty one apparently. It felt both familiar and strange, as if she had turned a page in a favorite novel and found the lovers in different arms.

  She knew it was wrong but couldn’t turn back. She felt powerful, having this man’s attention. The way he looked at her, as though he could melt in her hands. Not just any man, but this one. The Colonel who escaped Waterloo unscathed, the Colonel who was only ever named in hushed tones between the most beautiful ladies of the ton. All the beautiful gowns and jewels she bought, all of the lavish parties and entertainments she planned, the woman she tried so hard to be: In this moment, she was her. She was mistress of herself, if not Pemberley.

  She leaned into him and brushed her lips against his cheek, right where the purple bruise led into his jaw. The bruise was tender, and the pressure stung. Just enough, he thought. It stung just enough. And his fingers tightened on her hips