In truth, she was certain of no such thing. Best to be positive at this juncture, however. Not that it appeared to work.
Georgiana’s expression was equal parts hopeful and alarmed by the prospect. Probably not wanting to dig further into the subject, she rapidly changed the subject. “How was your tour of Mr. Bingley’s townhouse at Berkeley Square, Miss Bennet?”
“Delightful, thank you. It is an excellent house with generous proportions to the rooms, tall windows, a pleasant garden, and a parlor on the uppermost floor with a superb view of the square. The location is fortuitous as well.”
“It is within blocks from Darcy House, which will surely be advantageous. How did you find the decor?” Georgiana’s seemingly innocent query and serene gaze at Jane were almost convincing—if not for the lips twitching as they fought a smile.
Lizzy hid her smirk by sipping slowly on the hot tea.
“The decor is…unique,” Jane stammered. “There are plenty of furnishings, no doubt of that. Some are not quite my taste.”
Lizzy burst out laughing. “Some? What my sister is too polite to say, Miss Darcy, is that aside from Mr. Bingley’s specific rooms, it was garish and cluttered. Miss Bingley has been mistress of the house for some time now, has she not?” Georgiana affirmed with a single nod. “Oh, my dear Jane! I foresee endless fun and challenges ahead! Do not fret over my sister managing, Miss Darcy. We are quite familiar with Miss Bingley’s peculiar personality.”
Lizzy went on to amusedly describe the Bingley townhouse decor as Jane had revealed to her in shocked dismay. Jane added the random comment, always with a tone of kindness even when reporting something ghastly, and soon all three of the women were laughing.
“I must beseech you to change the subject or I shall surely say something unkind, earning more scolding from my brother! Tell me about the wedding plans. That should be a safe topic, yes?”
“You would think so, yes.” Lizzy wiped at the tears pooling in her eyes. “Then again, you have yet to meet our mother.”
“Now, Lizzy,” Jane began, but Lizzy forestalled her by clasping her hand.
“I am teasing. Mama has been surprisingly reserved, once she finally accepted that neither Mr. Bingley nor Mr. Darcy intended to apply for a special license or insist on being married in Winchester Cathedral.”
“There was no need for the expense of a special license, of course,” Jane added, ignoring the Winchester Cathedral nonsense. “Plenty of time to announce the banns. In fact, the first call was this past Sunday in Meryton, as I presume it was at Saint George’s for Mr. Bingley.”
“I cannot say on that, but the first banns were called by Reverend Bertram two Sundays past.” Georgiana pressed her palms against her chest, smiling radiantly at Lizzy. “Oh! I cannot begin to express my joy at hearing them read. ‘I publish the banns of marriage between Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Lambton Parish, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Meryton Parish. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.’ And of course, no one had a word of objection, only delight. I was overwhelmed with congratulations and thankful Cousin Richard was at my side to assist.”
“Well,” Lizzy murmured, feeling fairly overwhelmed herself, even hearing of it second hand. “I am pleased to learn that the local citizens enthusiastically greeted the news of Mr. Darcy’s betrothal.”
“Indeed so! Stability and continuity of the Darcy family are essential for so many who depend on us. Granted, they are probably not as concerned about my brother’s personal happiness as they are the technicalities.” Georgiana reddened, belatedly remembering certain aspects of the “technicalities” involved with family continuity, then rushed on. “You will adore living at Pemberley, Miss Elizabeth, I know you will. Now you must describe your wedding gowns. Is the train four feet and of the spun silk you wanted?”
Lizzy snorted a laugh, nearly spewing a gulp of tea. “Mr. Darcy told you about that? Oh my!”
“He was utterly amused, of course. As he is with everything you say.”
Lizzy blushed and, once she caught her breath, went on to describe her gown. Jane did as well, Georgiana as interested in her details as she was with Lizzy’s. This surprised Jane, and when she obliquely remarked as such, Georgiana was swift to reassure.
“Indeed, I am very interested, Miss Bennet. Mr. Bingley has been our friend for over five years now. More a friend to my brother, naturally, but I defy anyone not to like him immediately.”
Georgiana proceeded to recount her first meeting of Mr. Bingley. The high-spirited, gawky nineteen-year-old university student from a family one generation past actively engaging in trade had astonishingly gained favor from the stern, humorless Mr. Darcy, already Master of Pemberley at twenty-three. Not too long after their fledgling friendship began, Darcy had invited Mr. Bingley to dinner at Darcy House, and it was then that Georgiana met him. She vividly described the initial introduction and her impressions with a hitherto unknown wittiness and dramatic skill that had Jane and Lizzy breathless with laughter.
Into this near hysteria, Mr. Darcy returned from his visitation with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Attempts were made to halt the laughter long enough to listen attentively to his formal welcome, but mirth had taken root. He finally bowed and, with a shake of his head and resonant chuckle, left them to their madness.
For over an hour more they chatted as only females who are wholly at ease with each other can. Topics ranged widely, serious at times but mostly gay and trivial. Lizzy was impressed by the intelligence Miss Darcy hid behind her shy exterior, and with each passing minute, her delight in acquiring such a sweet young lady as her new sister grew stronger.
Amid the casual conversation, she and Jane learned innumerable tidbits about the men soon to become their husbands. Innocent comments about Georgiana’s brother revealed a wealth of information Lizzy tucked away.
Georgiana’s suggestion to leave the stuffy parlor for a stroll about the rear yard was latched onto enthusiastically. Crossing the broad foyer toward the wide corridor leading to the terrace doors, the trio encountered the butler Mr. Travers carrying a tray upon which sat a silver pot and lone cup.
“Ladies,” he greeted, managing to perform a stately incline of his head while holding the tray steady. “A walk in the garden appears to be on the agenda?”
“It is a fine day for it,” Georgiana acknowledged.
“Indeed, it is, Miss Darcy. Carry on, and call if you wish for a cool beverage after ingesting pots of hot tea.” After another polite nod toward each of them, he resumed his careful trek toward the side of the house where the library was located.
“My brother has tea in the afternoon if he is at home. He is such a creature of habit.”
Lizzy glanced away from the retreating butler, the placid smile on her lips slipping upon encountering the surprisingly calculating expression Miss Darcy wore.
“I think you should deliver his tea, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Oh no! I could not impose upon him uninvited.” Even as she spluttered the negation, her eyes swung back to the butler.
“He will welcome the interruption from you, trust me.”
Jane’s subtle shrug decided the matter. Dwelling on the idea no further, Lizzy scurried after the butler and ignored the giggles floating behind her.
“Mr. Travers?”
“Yes, Miss Bennet?”
Suddenly feeling utterly ridiculous, even with his calm face and the faint smile, she pointed to the tray and stuttered, “Is this…I understand this is for Mr. Darcy? In his office?”
“Indeed, Miss Bennet. He always has tea this time of the day. And I am always the one to deliver it. An expectation he has undoubtedly grown weary of. Might I impose upon you to tend to the task for me? Just this once, of course.”
His expression had not changed one iota. Releasing held breath, Lizzy bobbed a curtsy. “It would be my pleasure to relieve you of this duty, Mr. Travers. Just t
his once.”
“One knock,” he instructed, transferring the tray carefully into her hands, “then wait for his permission to enter. Mr. Darcy prefers to serve himself, although in this case, he may make an exception to that rule.”
She swore he winked as he turned away. What a nice man. I believe we shall get on fine. As for Mrs. Smyth, I am not so sure.
Leaving musings of future servant relationships aside, she concentrated on the heavy tray and approached the door. Pausing to take a deep breath, she knocked one hard rap.
“Enter,” came his voice, muffled through the solid wood.
The stout door swung open easily on well-oiled hinges, Lizzy crossing the threshold with words of welcome tingling her lips.
“Sit it on my desk, Mr. Travers. I will manage myself. That will be all.”
Mr. Darcy sat beside his desk, the tall back of the leather-and-wood chair ending exactly along the line of his shoulders so that all she could easily see was the back of his head. One hand waved over his shoulder, vaguely in the direction of the desk, and his tone was distracted more than harsh, but the dismissal was obvious.
Whatever sunny greeting she might have extended was forgotten, and for several seconds Lizzy stood frozen in the doorway. The weight of the tray restored enough clarity for her to gingerly enter the room, each step closer to the sleek surface of his desk bizarrely mixing her emotions.
Darcy’s head was bent slightly, and Lizzy suspected he was listening to the murmuring voices of Jane and Georgiana drifting through the open window he faced. Fleetingly wondering if he listened for her voice, she soon realized all his focus was on a thick book propped in his lap. It was a ledger of some kind, and he traced one finger down a line of sums written in penmanship Lizzy knew not to be his. He had removed his jacket—a glance noted it on a coat rack in the corner—loosened his cravat, and sat with booted feet propped onto a large ottoman. It was the most relaxed pose she had ever seen him in, despite the fact he was attending to business.
Abruptly, all traces of enthusiasm for her surprise interruption vanished. The sense of imposition compounded. For a panicked moment, she almost dashed from the room, tea tray still in her clutches. Mastering the impulse, she placed the tray quietly on the corner of his desk—praying he did not choose that instant to turn around—and took one step backward before freezing once again.
Mr. Darcy had blindly reached with his free hand to nudge a sovereign-sized wooden ball on his desk. The ball rolled across the flat surface some four inches, smacked into the base of the unlit lamp, ricocheted, and rolled back into his waiting hand. Never glancing away from the ledger in his lap, he repeated the maneuver several times in rapid succession.
It was astounding! Lizzy stood mesmerized for six or seven precision rolls before the realization that she was engaged in active voyeurism woke her out of the daydream.
A decision was required. Her options were to either slink out the cracked open door or speak up. The urge to do the former remained, yet felt a cowardly move now that she had mastered her initial panic. Elizabeth Bennet was rarely intimidated. After all, she had boldly accosted Mr. Travers with the intent to enter her fiancé’s sanctuary unbidden. If she backed away now, how would she explain it to Miss Darcy and Jane? Or Mr. Travers? The butler was unlikely to inquire directly, but if he saw her scurry away, then he would assume the future Mrs. Darcy was a milksop. That was unacceptable!
The speaking-up option would, of course, prove that she had been spying on him. Being a private, reserved man, Lizzy was honestly unsure how he would react to such an intrusion, even from her. At the end of the mere seconds it took for these thoughts to race through her mind, she observed him in unguarded repose, and it was the returned yearning to be alone with him that impelled her to action.
Dwelling on the possible outcomes no longer, she slipped behind him, squeezed both shoulders, and whispered close to his left ear, “Any guess who this is?”
Perhaps she should have given the matter a tad more thought, she later confessed.
Mr. Darcy jerked violently, the book tumbling to the carpeted floor with a dull thunk and the wooden ball shooting off the desk. She was fairly sure he swore too, but the precise curse was lost amid her instant laughter and gasping attempts to apologize.
Adding to the ridiculousness, he precipitously swiveled around. Lizzy emitted a squeal along with the gasping giggles, caught utterly off guard by a chair that moved. Still in a bent posture, her jolt of surprise pitched her forward until their noses bumped together, falling into his lap prevented when she locked her elbows and splayed her hands on his chest.
A dozen exclamations, curious questions, and justifications for her behavior skipped across her tongue. None of them were uttered or involved what she impulsively did instead.
She kissed him. Hard.
As her eyes slid shut, she saw his flare wide open. Caught up in the throes of an unexplainable impulse, Lizzy grabbed ahold of the slim lapels on his waistcoat and tugged with astonishing vigor. As insistent and strong as she was, Lizzy could not have propelled a man Darcy’s size out of his chair alone, however.
His compliance to her entreaty to rise was voluntary, but he lurched upward unsteadily. Off balance, and locked at the lips, he clasped onto her waist with both hands in, perhaps, a vain attempt to gain control.
Lizzy’s back contacted the firm surface—the edge of a picture frame digging into her left shoulder blade—and her front collided with his solid torso when he stumbled and squashed her against the wall. Air whooshed from both their lungs, but their mouths miraculously stayed connected in a kiss that was growing remarkably tender considering the circumstances.
Darcy pressed his palms into the wall on either side of Lizzy’s waist, restoring stability, and then eased his weight off her body. She rather missed the feel of his muscled chest but did appreciate the ability to breathe freely, especially when he took advantage of the space to part her lips with his tongue. Sighing, she slipped her arms over his shoulders and welcomed him in.
Within seconds Lizzy sensed an incredible difference in this kiss compared to the others they had shared.
Darcy’s mouth was relaxed, his lips nuzzling hers with soft, sweet pressure. The tip of his tongue teased, gentle touches applied playfully. There was a purpose, control, and no hesitation. He was clearly enjoying himself and willing to do so without fear of overstepping a line or distressing her.
Liberation was the word that popped into her head, and seconds later she knew it an accurate term when he withdrew a scant hairbreadth and spoke in a steady whisper.
“I believe you frightened a year of life out of me.”
Lizzy smiled but did not open her eyes or move. “I do apologize.”
“There is no need to apologize. This makes up for it. Trust me.”
“Does it make up for disturbing your work and bending the pages of your ledger?”
“Bent pages can be unbent,” he murmured between featherlight kisses across her jaw. “The work will wait. It was not a vital task anyway,” he assured from the slope of her neck.
“My distraction has kept you from your tea. It is now probably cooled.”
“Cooled tea is easier to drink. Besides, after the quantity of coffee I consumed today, and more importantly the current alternative, I am not interested in tea.”
Lizzy could think of nothing more to say—she could barely think period. Darcy’s kisses had reached her right shoulder and were beginning a lazy descent along the lacy edge of her décolletage. Her dress was modestly designed but the bodice dipped low enough for each stroke of his lips to spread fire through her bosom. Every shallow pant lifted the swell of flesh closer to his mouth, her back reflexively arching as if to force the desired contact. And then there was the startling hardening of her nipples and the exquisite pleasure when he inadvertently rubbed against them. She truly wondered if it was possible to faint from nothing more than scattered kisses.
Perhaps he wondered the same because he co
mpleted his circuit, engaged her mouth in another delicate exchange, again clasped onto her waist with both hands, and in a smooth maneuver unlike the tottering steps that got them to the wall, drew her against his body and walked backward toward a nearby sofa.
The graceful, calculated relocation to the comfortable, solidly supportive sofa probably would have ended with them sitting on the cushions with finesse—if either of them had done something similar before. Instead, the edge connected with Darcy’s legs sooner than his desire-hazed brain expected, and Lizzy missed his tactile cue to rotate her body to sit down beside him. The result was Darcy dropping onto the sofa rather abruptly, with Lizzy falling into an odd straddle over his lap, skirts bunched and legs bent awkwardly. The absurd humor of the situation overcame any embarrassment, both laughing helplessly.
“Stand up, Elizabeth, and let us try this again,” Darcy directed, once he’d regained a modicum of control. “Now, sit on the sofa next to me, close,” he hastily insisted, patting the space next to his right thigh. Lizzy complied. “There, is that not better? Comfortable, and without the shattered dignity of being sprawled across my lap, as pleasant as it was.”
“Better…yes,” she concurred between giggles further instigated by his comment and his awkward assistance in smoothing her skirt over her legs. “You really are terrible at this, you know.”
“If by ‘this’ you mean being scared out of my wits by skulking women who then manhandle me into a kissing dance across the room, I admit you are correct. I guess I should have practiced previously.”
Lizzy grunted and gave a hard tug on the dangling end of his cravat. “I was referring to your lack of skill in rearranging fabric. It is muslin, for heaven’s sake! Imagine the consequences if I were wearing silk.”
“Either would be attached to your body, my dear, and likely to have lacy layers or sashes or some other adornment I am unsure of the proper placement for.”
Turning to gaze upon him full in the face for the first time since entering the room some fifteen minutes prior, Lizzy instantly understood what he meant. She absorbed the picture of her handsome betrothed in his shirtsleeves with neckcloth untied just enough to expose the hollow at his throat and several dark hairs. Merely imagining her hands coming into close contact with his body to retie his cravat or slip on his jacket made joyful flutters dance in her belly. Noting how his hair was delightfully disarrayed, and that his facial expression was one of amusement and simmering desire increased the tingling sensations.
Darcy & Elizabeth: Hope of the Future: Darcy Saga Prequel Duo Book 2 Page 7
