“Ah! Monsieur Wickham,” she exclaimed, all innocence, as she pulled on her gloves. A purple bonnet was tied in a jaunty bow beneath her chin. “What a pleasant surprise! Will you not join me for a walk? Or had you plans to go riding with Lieutenant Fitzwilliam?”
“I did. But I can hardly allow you to walk alone. And although Darcy’s cousin is too polite to admit it, I have no doubt he prefers to ride alone.” I shrugged. “At any rate, he is a much more accomplished rider than myself. I should never have managed to keep up.”
“Then I am glad you are such a poor horseman,” she replied. “It means I shall have you to myself for the duration of our walk.”
All traces of my previous ill humor vanished and my pulse quickened at the thought of being alone with her, if only for a short time. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my lady.”
She smiled demurely and took my arm, and together we made our way down the steps and across the grassy lawn, to freedom.
* * *
We walked for some time without conversation and made our way towards the Pemberley woods. The ground was damp and water jeweled the grass, but the path was dry. Birds called from the branches overhead. The scent of summer flowers, newly washed by the rain, drifted on the air. A sparrow erupted from the hedgerows as we passed and elicited a cry of alarm from Lady Harlow. Her fingers tightened on my arm.
“Pardon me.” She laughed. “I fear I startle very easily.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Nor anything to fear from a sparrow,” I added and smiled.
“You must think me a very silly woman.”
“Not at all. Clever, perhaps. But silly? Never.”
“Ah. You find me clever? In what way, m’sieu?”
I considered her question and chose my words with care. “You know none of us well, and yet, somehow, you arranged for us to walk alone together, almost as if you knew the others would decline your invitation to join us.”
She lifted one shawl-clad shoulder. “Most people are very predictable, I find.”
I stopped and turned to face her. “And what of me? Am I predictable?”
“You? Non!” She regarded me in pink-cheeked surprise. “You are nothing like the others. Lieutenant Fitzwilliam is amiable enough, and possessed of impeccable manners and a facility for conversation, but he talks of nothing but war; while young Mr. Darcy says little and concerns himself overmuch with the proprieties. But you”—she paused to consider me—“you are singular. You care little for such trivialities.”
Although I did not like to say it, I found her assessment of Darcy and his cousin both dismissive and unkind. “I think perhaps we should return.” We had ventured some way into the thick, green darkness of the woods, and trees had long since blocked out the great house on the hill behind us.
She lifted her face to mine in dismay. “Have I offended you, Monsieur Wickham? Oh, la! I am most sorry. I meant no insult.”
“I take no offense,” I assured her. “But nor do I wish us to become the subject of idle gossip if we remain gone too long. Your reputation…”
She made a dismissive gesture. “There is no great hurry,” she said in lilting tones and reached out to touch my cheek with the tip of her gloved finger. “No hurry at all.”
I closed my eyes. Her touch inflamed me, and she stood so close I could smell the scent of her perfume. Still, I hesitated. Flirting with a housemaid or exchanging pleasantries with a shop girl was one thing, but this was quite another. “We… I think we should go back.”
“Do you not want to kiss me, m’sieu?”
I caught her gloved hand in mine and raised it fervently to my cheek. “You know I do! I have been able to think of nothing else since last night,” I admitted. “I scarcely slept for thoughts of you. But… What if someone should see us?”
“No one will see us here. Pemberley is quite lost to view, and so there is no one to object if I allow you to steal a kiss or two.”
Thus, she persuaded me, and I pulled her into my arms. My mouth found hers, and she sighed softly against my lips, and thus emboldened, I tightened my embrace.
The heat of her mouth and body made me dizzy and hungry for more. She deepened the kiss, her tongue dallying with mine, and I groaned.
“Dearest Clémence,” I whispered hoarsely. My hands rose up her back, and her nearness, along with the scent of her skin, overwhelmed me. “I want more of you. I want all of you.”
She laughed and pushed me playfully away. “La, Monsieur Wickham, you flatter me, even as your… enthusiasm overwhelms me. Please, I must beg you to stop. I need to catch my breath and compose myself before we return.”
I flushed and dropped my arms to my sides as embarrassment swept over me. Had I misread her intentions so completely? “Forgive me if I cause offense. Such was never my intention.”
She waved my words away with a gesture of impatience. “Please do not trouble me with apologies. I allow only those liberties I wish to allow.”
“I do not understand.” And truly, I did not. I was far out of my depth.
“My husband, Lord Harlow, was much older than you. I had forgotten how... passionate a young man can be.” She lowered her eyes and smoothed her gown. “But you are right. We should return. The others will notice if we linger too long.”
“I do not care if they notice, or indeed, what they think.”
“You cared a moment ago. As well you should.” Her face shuttered. “You are under your godfather’s guardianship. Your behavior—indeed, even mine—must be above reproach, lest your actions reflect poorly on him.”
“None of that signifies if we cannot be together.” I caught her hands up in mine. “When can I be alone with you again? Tell me.”
“I do not know, m’sieu. Perhaps never.”
“No. Promise me I might see you again. Please. There must be some way.”
“You must be patient, and perhaps an opportunity will present itself.” She let go of my hands and retrieved something from her pocket then pressed it gently into my hand.
“Your handkerchief.” I recognized the lace-trimmed square of cloth from that morning in the churchyard when I first met her. It was small, and soft, and snowy white.
“Keep it. It will remind you of me when we are parted.”
I lifted my eyes to hers. “Thank you. I will treasure it always.”
“What a silly, romantic boy you are,” she said, even as her teasing smile removed any sting her words might have caused.
I tucked the lace-trimmed square away in my pocket and held out my arm with a sigh. “Let us return, then, if we must.”
She cocked her head to one side. “You are young and eager to seize all that life has to offer. But you must have patience. It makes attaining whatever it is you seek all the more satisfying when at last you succeed in acquiring it.”
“And will I?” I asked, my attention momentarily distracted by the temptation of her lips. “Acquire it?”
“That, mon chérie, remains to be seen.” She laid her hand lightly on my outstretched arm and smiled up at me, her eyes full of promise, and together we returned to Pemberley.
* * *
“There is to be a ball at Matlock House,” my godfather informed me two days later as I entered his study. “We are all invited.”
Immediately, my pulse quickened and my thoughts turned to Lady Harlow. I could only hope that she and the Fanshaws would be included in the invitation. “Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s family home? When is this ball to take place?”
“In three weeks’ time.” He beetled his brows together and studied the card in his hand. “It seems the earl’s eldest son has got himself engaged.”
“But that’s excellent news,” I said. “Tell me, sir, why so Friday-faced? Why are you not as excited as I to go to the ball?”
He sighed. “You young people, always so excited at the possibility of dancing! I once shared your enthusiasm, but I fear my dancing days are behind me.” He paused. “I need to travel to London on a mat
ter of business soon. I am not sure when I will return, or if I will be back in time for the ball.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“It cannot be helped.” He laid the invitation aside and looked up from his desk as the nanny arrived with little Georgiana in tow, and a smile lit his face. “My darling girl,” he said and held out his arms to his daughter. She ran forward and clambered onto his lap.
“She wanted you to read her a story before her bedtime, sir,” the nanny said in apology. “She was that insistent. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, no indeed.” He took the picture book she offered and settled the child in the crook of his arm. “Let us begin, then, shall we?”
“If I may speak first, sir,” I said as he opened the book, “Darcy and I can go to the ball...though he dislikes amusement in general, surely, he can have no objection.” At his hesitation, I paused. “Unless you prefer I remain at Pemberley.”
“Of course, I have no objection. Kindly do not tell me what I mean to say.” Mr. Darcy scowled. “At any rate,” he muttered, “it is not your integrity I question.”
“Whose then?” I asked, bewildered. “I do not understand.”
“Let me read to Georgiana,” he replied, “and then we shall talk.”
I nodded and withdrew. Like the nanny, who stood quietly by the door, I waited, but I was not nearly so patient as she. I sat down by the fire and picked up a book, riffled restlessly through the pages, and attempted to concentrate on the words. What could Darcy’s father mean? Certainly, there could be no question of his son’s integrity; the very idea was laughable.
Whose, then? If not myself, or Darcy, to whom did he refer?
At last he closed the book and caught the nanny’s eye. “Off you go, my lamb,” he said to Georgiana as he set her gently down and kissed the top of her head. “Sleep well.”
“Good night, Papa,” she said as the nursemaid took her hand.
“Good night, Georgiana,” I called after her as I rose from my chair.
Their footsteps had scarcely faded when I turned to him. “What troubles you, sir? Ever since our guests left you have been distant and preoccupied.”
“Running the estate requires much of my time,” he said. “It is nothing to concern you.”
“If there is anything I can do to help—”
“There is not.”
“But what of the ball, sir?” I persisted. “I am sorry to press you, but what misgivings can you have? Whose integrity do you hold in such low regard, if not my own?”
“Leave it, George.” His words were unaccountably sharp. After a moment, he sighed.
“Forgive me. I promised you an answer, and an answer you shall have.” His words were measured and carefully chosen. “There is much of the world you do not understand. You have lived a sheltered life here at Pemberley, as your father wished. And it has been a good life, I hope.”
“Yes. It has. And that is due in no small measure to your kindness and generosity.”
“Nonsense. There is no need for gratitude. You are like a son to me, George. There is nothing I would not do for you. But you are young, and although you consider yourself a man fully grown, you are not. Not yet.”
“I am young, yes,” I conceded. “But I am no child.”
“No.” His voice tightened. “Yet at times you behave like a wild, unprincipled boy, casting caution to the wind, along with your good sense. I see it happening even now, and it fills me with disquiet.”
“You speak of my attraction to Lady Harlow, I presume?”
“Your attraction, as you call it,” he said testily, “is nothing but calf-love, a passing infatuation that all young men experience at one time or another.”
“You are wrong, sir. My feelings for her are deep, and strong, and true.”
“You barely know the woman.”
“Nor do you!” Anger boiled over in me. “You have no right to cast aspersions on her.”
Mr. Darcy pressed his lips together, and I knew at once that I had gone too far.
“Forgive me,” I said and let out a short breath. “It is I who have no right to speak to you in such a manner. You, who have done so much for me. You have been my champion in all things. I apologize, sir. But you must understand that I care for her a great deal—”
“I will not argue the matter further, George. I can see you have already made up your mind about Lady Harlow and will listen to nothing I say. But I strongly suggest you think carefully before you make choices that you cannot take back.”
He went to stand before the fire and clasped his hands behind his back. “Soon you’ll embark on a new life in Cambridge, a life of your own. You shall meet new people and make your own decisions. I trust that the lessons you have learned, the examples your father and I have tried to set, will guide you through life’s challenges, for I will be unable to do so for much longer.”
My throat thickened. I had lost one father; I could not bear the thought of losing another. Nor did I wish to disappoint him. “I know you want only the best for me and for Darcy, sir, and I thank you for it. I will not let you down, I promise.” I lifted a determined chin to his. “I am sorry for challenging you and questioning your guidance. I pray you will overlook it, just this once, and forgive me.”
He reached out and clapped a hand upon my shoulder. “You are a good lad, George. Just endeavor not to let your passions overtake your good sense.”
“Thank you, sir. I mean to do my best to make you proud.”
“I have no doubt you will. Go, now. I will see you in the morning.”
Warmed by his words, I left the study and crossed the entrance hall to the stairs.
“Have you a moment, George?”
I looked back as Darcy, dressed in riding attire, came in the front door and closed it behind him. “Of course.”
He removed his hat and set it along with his riding crop on the hallway table and turned to me. His expression was forbidding. “Join me in the library, please.”
I turned away from the stairs and followed him down the hall. I was in Darcy’s black books, that was plain enough. Very well. I would face him and deal with whatever charges he brought and be done with it.
As I entered the library, he shut the doors behind us and turned to face me. “What are your intentions towards Lady Harlow? The truth.”
Astonished, I stared at him. “Why do you ask me such a thing? What has Lady Harlow to do with me?”
“Nothing, I hope.” Darcy’s face was set in hard lines. “But I have heard things. Rumors.”
“What rumors?” I demanded. “What exactly are people saying about her? Tell me!”
“I will not repeat idle gossip. Suffice it to say that she is older than you and far more adept in the ways of the world. I only warn you to have a care in your dealings with her.”
“You misjudge her. She has done nothing to deserve your disfavor. Nothing! You have taken an irrational and prejudicial dislike to her because... because she is French,” I said wildly.
“Do not be absurd.” His words were dismissive.
“And there it is,” I snapped. I stood and began to pace the confines of the room. “Your disdain for me, your dismissal of my opinions and feelings. You dictate every aspect of my life, Darcy, from what I wear, to whom I see, and I have borne it for all these years without a single complaint. Indeed, I am indebted to you and your father for all you have done for me and will never cease to be grateful. Eternally grateful. Resoundingly grateful.”
“George—”
“But I will not be told who I may or may not associate with. First, you warn me away from my good friend John, and now, Lady Harlow. I refuse to be treated like a boy. Soon I will be at Cambridge, and my choices—my friends, my amusements, even the very books I read—will be my own. Not yours any longer. Mine.”
Instead of the anger I expected following my outburst, Darcy said not a word. He rested one hand on the mantel and stared into the fire, much as his father had done moment
s earlier in his study. For the first time, I saw defeat etched on his face, and despite my small victory in our verbal skirmish, I felt shame at my behavior.
“Forgive me,” I muttered after a moment and shifted on my feet. “I spoke out of turn.”
“No. You have the right of it.” He lifted his head. “You must learn to make your own decisions and your own mistakes once you are gone from Pemberley. Until that time, however, I feel it my duty to caution you regarding Lady Harlow. That is my only intent. I know I do not often show it, George, but you… you are like a brother to me. And I do not”—he cleared his throat—“I do not wish to see you injured.”
As quickly as my anger flared, it departed. Darcy meant no insult, nor did he mistrust me; he wished only to protect me.
I went to him and clasped his hand firmly in mine. “I thank you for your concern. I will exercise caution, I promise.” I met his eyes and managed a small smile. “And I will guard my heart most assiduously.”
But even as I said the words, my thoughts strayed to the upcoming ball at Matlock, and already I longed for the moment when I would be alone with Lady Harlow once again.
* * *
Torches lined the drive as the Darcy carriage approached Matlock House. I leaned forward in anticipation. Every window in the house blazed with candlelight, and carriages crowded our approach.
I spied Mr. and Mrs. Fanshaw and their daughter, Miss Celia, alighting from their landau some way ahead of us, and watched as the postilion handed down a fourth occupant, a vision gowned in shimmering gold-threaded silk. She held a cashmere shawl draped low around her shoulders.
Lady Harlow.
Despite my best efforts, I had no success in speaking with her. The ballroom was crowded and the refreshment room as well, and Darcy kept a watchful eye on me. I waited and watched in a fever of impatience as she danced every dance. Evidently, her half-mourning had ended tonight. At last, halfway through the evening, I managed to slip away and sought her out to request a dance with her, and she accepted. As we took our places in the quadrille, I could scarcely keep the smile from my face.
Dangerous to Know Page 7
