by Wendi Sotis
“Careful? Did you take too many risks and suffer broken limbs?”
“I do not think one would be able do well climbing trees without taking some risks, but generally safety comes first. I did learn a great deal about tending to one’s own sprained ankles and wrists, but have never suffered a broken bone.”
Darcy had to bite back a smile at her display of superstition when she reached out and touched the wood of the shelving.
Elizabeth continued, “Because some of my companions were not as cautious as I, I became quite good at finding the apothecary when he was not at home. But when I said I became more careful, I meant careful of my gowns, sir. Out of necessity, I learned to sew earlier in life than most young ladies would acquire that skill so that the servants had no reason to report to my mother any tears in my skirts. Since then, I have also found that embroidery of a vine will cover the tell-tale signs of mending remarkably well.”
His rich laughter filled the small study. “Please, promise me not to tell Georgiana that you continue to participate in this activity, or she may begin to climb trees again, too!”
“Again? Was she good at it?” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Darcy noticed that she had promised nothing. He nodded. “At times, when she was not engaged in her lessons, she would follow me and my cousins about the grounds of Pemberley and try to keep up with us. I am more than ten years her senior, and my cousins are older than I, so most of our activities were well beyond her abilities. She always seemed to compensate somehow; I guess she had good models in us... except for running—her legs were much shorter than our own.”
“She sounds very much like me, then. I have no brothers, but I did tag along with the neighbourhood boys on occasion. They thought by engaging in activities beyond my skills, they would lose me, but I learned quickly and would often end up outdoing them at their own games—which, I am sure, made my trailing along after them even less appealing than before!”
Darcy chuckled. “In our case, we would slow our pace so Georgiana could keep up. Now that I think of it, the only one who continued to insist that she go home was Wickham.”
His smile faded quickly, as did hers.
Elizabeth asked, “Mr. Wickham spent a great deal of his time with the sons of gentlemen, then?”
“Yes. One would think the sons of an earl would have insisted the son of a steward be left behind, but they never did. That is not to say they liked one another. My cousin Richard—Colonel Fitzwilliam—and Wickham never got along. They spent more time arguing than doing anything else, but I always felt that deep within, they both enjoyed their scraps.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow during his speech. She had no idea that the Darcys’ uncle was an earl. She supposed one of his cousins was the viscount. “And since Georgiana habitually followed you, she was often with Mr. Wickham?”
Darcy nodded. “He did not treat her well at all, Miss Elizabeth, and we clashed over it quite often. I never thought she would need to be warned against him, because I did not expect she could have any positive feelings for the man at all.” He hesitated, contemplating whether he should go on. She probably already knew, and besides, being female, Elizabeth might understand his sister better than he ever could. He continued, “What puzzles me the most is that she said she had always loved him.”
She tilted her head and nodded. “Unfortunately, logic does not dictate the yearnings of the heart.”
Darcy’s own logic was telling him to discontinue this interview now and keep Elizabeth at a distance from now on, but his heart desired much more than conversation with her. Her voice interrupted his musings.
“Mr. Wickham’s conduct towards her when she was young explains several comments she has made to me. Thank you for confiding in me, Mr. Darcy. It will help me to understand the situation from a different perspective.”
“May I ask a question?”
Fascinated by his hesitant tone, she answered, “Certainly.”
“What did you mean when you called yourself a ‘champion’ at tree climbing?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I told you I outdid the boys at times, but I also must admit that I had not been particularly modest about it. They were resentful, and, to teach me a lesson, they thought up a contest including several activities, including tree climbing. Unbeknownst to me at the time, since they were careful about which challenges they included—each being an area that only one person excelled—by the end of the challenge, each person had the right to be proud of an accomplishment. I was declared the champion of the tree-climbing portion of the challenge. Once they admitted that I was good at something, my vanity was satisfied, and our acquaintance went along much more smoothly.”
He smiled widely. Conversation with Elizabeth is refreshing—unlike that with any other young lady of my acquaintance.
Elizabeth’s expression changed quickly to one that he did not understand, and she looked away from him, linking her hands behind her back.
I did not say that aloud, did I? “Is something wrong, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked.
“I am quite tired, sir.” Schooling her features, her gaze returned to his face. “All this discussion leaves us where we started. Will you get the book, or shall you force me to call a servant?” As an afterthought, she added, “Or you can turn your back, and I will get it myself.”
Darcy had to hide his disappointment at her voicing a wish to leave him, but he, too, realized this meeting had best end—his being alone with her had already been far from proper. “I apologize for keeping you so long.”
He stepped closer once again and retrieved Twelfth Night. Their fingers touched as he handed her the book, and she flushed and swayed slightly. He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
She shook her head slightly and said, “I am well, thank you.”
Knowing that was his cue to release her, Darcy found that he could not. Inadvertently, the thumb of his right hand had settled against her collarbone, and it was taking all his strength to keep himself from caressing the silkiness of her skin there.
Elizabeth is under your protection—end this now!
After filling himself with her scent, he stepped away, bowed and fled the room before the power of his will could fail him—and her.
~
The moment Darcy left the room, Elizabeth took a few shaky steps around the sofa that had blocked her from moving away when he had moved closer to her and sank into the cushions, breathing a sigh of relief.
Forewarning of that event would have been useful!
His brilliant smile, displayed so often during this encounter, caused a great struggle within her—and what disobedient hands she owned! The only way she could be sure of keeping them from touching the unruly lock of hair that was always falling across his forehead had been to lock them behind her back.
Elizabeth knew she had not received a drawing of the scene that had just played out in this room, but the moment their fingers touched on the underside of the book, the effect was similar—time seemed to stand still. She wondered if he would have noticed had she given in and done something that would be improper whilst time played its trick. She must test the theory by doing something unusual for her during the next interruption of time to see if anyone commented on it.
When he had bowed and turned to leave, she had wished to tell him to stay with her all night so that they might continue their private conversation, but she knew saying so would be extremely improper.
Oh, whom am I trying to fool? Knowing that we would be happy together has influenced my reactions to Mr. Darcy, and most of my thoughts about him are improper! Would I have thought of him in such a way had I never received the gypsy’s blessing?
Trying to distract herself from these thoughts, she wondered if time had slowed at the moment their hands touched because one of the drawings would have occurred had she not acted to prevent it from happening. She had experienced a similar sensation at dawn the morning before, when she knew the duel would have taken place
if circumstances had been different. She looked at the clock and shook her head. She could not imagine that any of the other drawings would have taken place in the middle of the night, as it was now.
She shook her head to rid herself of these musings and rose from the chair to return to her rooms.
~
His blood boiling, Darcy walked directly to his chamber and locked the door behind him. He threw himself into a chair by the fire.
Bittersweet—yes, that was the word he had been looking for, which proved that his mind had begun to function once again after ceasing to serve him altogether when he had touched her skin and she had looked at him with those expressive, fine eyes, sparkling in that particular way that made his heart lurch.
Elizabeth has never even hinted towards an attraction to me before tonight, and yet right from the very beginning, she has tempted me beyond measure. I have resisted women with far more beauty, grace, and sophistication—some well skilled in the art of seduction—with less difficulty than I have in simply tearing my gaze away from this country miss. Yes, I have always been proud of behaving in a gentleman-like manner under any circumstance, yet when I am near her, I suddenly wish to behave like a rake! I must resist and rein in this insane attraction for my sister’s friend.
Elizabeth’s protection was entrusted to him, after all, which was the only thought that kept him from making advances just now. For Georgiana’s sake, for his own—for Elizabeth’s—he would stamp out the almost overwhelming longing to taste the lips that moved so enticingly when she spoke, when she smiled. He would steadily defy the demanding urge to sample the creamy softness of her skin and to trace the delicate arch of her neck—which had almost driven him mad this evening whilst she had leaned over the pianoforte, searching for a song to perform. Somehow, he would douse the persistent desire to gather her in his arms and press her against him, as he had experienced briefly at their first meeting.
Launching himself from the chair, he brought a candle close to a mirror. Whilst staring himself in the eyes, he vowed, “Elizabeth’s trust in me will not be in vain!”
Chapter 9
August 14, 1811
Mrs. Younge splashed her face with cool water, rinsing the tears from her cheeks. Looking up at her reflection, she could not help but notice her swollen eyes and raw nose, which were the result of her numerous fits of despair over the past few days.
Although she did not have the cold that she had used as an excuse for her absence from company, her deep melancholy had actually caused her to become ill. On the rare occasions that she had tried to venture out of her rooms, she could not maintain control over her emotions for any length of time and had to excuse herself. Consequently, she had spent much of her time in her room, mourning all that she had lost the moment that Wickham learned of the condition on Miss Darcy’s dowry.
Mrs. Younge tried to blink away the tears pricking at her eyelids as she thought back to the time when, several months ago, Wickham had come to her to share some interesting news: Mr. Darcy was looking for a companion for his young sister. He then laid out the general idea of his scheme—with her help, he would elope with Miss Darcy and gain control of the girl’s fortune of thirty thousand pounds.
Before agreeing to his plan, she had added her own conditions. After consummating the marriage, the heiress, at her insistence, would be his wife in name only. Mrs. Younge would be his lover and his friend.
She would not be the one to take his name, but their relationship would entail much more than his stopping by her house between other assignations. In return for her cooperation with the plan, Wickham had promised to remain with her and take care of her “in the style that she had always deserved.” And so, Mrs. Younge had hardened herself to the task so she could achieve her reward—what she looked forward to as being her own piece of heaven on earth.
Mrs. Younge had found no trouble in being chosen for the position after Wickham instructed her on exactly how to behave to gain favour in Mr. Darcy’s eyes. Things were going on splendidly; never had either of the Darcys suspected anything malevolent was afoot. In the end, despite all her hard work, deceits, and play-acting, everything had gone sour.
When Mr. Darcy had appeared in Ramsgate, it had crushed any hope to which Mrs. Younge so desperately clung. Thinking she would escape from Ramsgate with Wickham during the night, she had excused herself from company, packed a small bag, and slipped out of the house. But when she had arrived at the inn where Wickham had been staying, she found he had already abandoned her. This behaviour was so unlike what he had done in the past that she felt no hope of ever seeing her lover again.
With nowhere else to go, she had returned to the Darcys’ house.
Her throat tightened with sorrow, returning her awareness to the present. After several moments of staring at her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror, a spark of hope lit within. She still had her position—at least that was something. She should be relieved that nobody suspected the part she had played in Wickham’s scheme.
Mr. Darcy was an honourable man—the only guardian of any of her charges who had not made advances, expecting more from her than she was willing to give. The position paid well, and she was given time to herself whenever Miss Darcy was otherwise occupied with her brother. When Miss Darcy visited with her aunt, Mrs. Younge was permitted several days on her own.
Truly, she could not find a better position. Her life would be better if she did not seek new employment upon arriving at London.
“This is the only option; I must move on and survive without Wickham!”
~%~
August 16, 1811
“Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?”
Darcy’s gaze darted from the volume of Hero and Leander on his lap to the lady sitting across from him. With Elizabeth absorbed in her book and Georgiana sleeping, he deemed discovery of his inspection unlikely and took full advantage.
Elizabeth held her book angled to catch the light from the window of his coach, and her head was tilted in a way that displayed a good portion of her elegant neck most invitingly. His pulse increased its pace.
Since Elizabeth had been staying with them at Ramsgate, he had truly enjoyed spending time with her, conversing and learning her ways, but observing her as she perused a book gave him the most pleasure. Unlike her time spent in any form of society where she was careful to mask her innermost feelings, as she read a book, Elizabeth unwittingly permitted her countenance to register every emotion she felt.
Just now, her expression was at first serious, but then one eyebrow daintily arched before the skin around her eyes and mouth crinkled with mirth, and her shoulders shook slightly with a silent chuckle as she turned the page. Although he had no inkling as to the cause of her delight, warmth spread through him. He smiled with her. His smile widened when he realized that among all the other scents he could detect in the carriage, he could discriminate Elizabeth’s fragrance among them. Closing his eyes, he thought back over the past week.
After some slight discomfort the morning following their meeting in the study, the remainder of their stay at Ramsgate had been practically flawless. Elizabeth had been the perfect companion for Georgiana—any time his sister had begun to fall into melancholy thinking of Wickham, Elizabeth had teased her out of it. As Elizabeth had been in residence at Ramsgate for several weeks, she was able to suggest a number of places to visit that Darcy would never have taken his sister without Elizabeth’s guidance. Not surprising to him, these outings proved her tastes ran similar to his own.
The first stage of their trip to London had amazed Georgiana even more than himself. Having Elizabeth along had even lessened his aversion to travelling—at least for this journey.
Elizabeth was good for both of them. It was delightful to spend some time thinking of things other than business and worries. Neither he nor Georgiana had smiled, let alone laughed, so much for years. In fact, portions of his being that had felt empty since the loss of his mother finally came alive again. Forgotte
n segments of his nature, drowned by the sudden onslaught of crushing responsibilities beginning the day his father had died, returned to the foreground. He felt almost complete... almost. Every time Elizabeth’s eyes flashed in his direction, his need to have her nearby grew, as did his conviction to conceal his feelings for her.
Much like Hero’s duty to make every sacrifice for Venus in Christopher Marlowe’s interpretation of the Greek myth he had been reading, Darcy had an obligation to sacrifice his happiness in order to add to his family’s wealth and consequence with any match he made. His parents had been fortunate in their choice, learning to care for each other deeply over time, but after years of searching the ton, he had already resigned his expectations of the same for himself. Rarely had he met a woman among them with whom he could willingly spend any amount of time, let alone one that he longed to be near.
Although Elizabeth met all of his own requirements for his wife, she met none of society’s expectations. Over the past week, he would not listen to his logical mind, pressuring him to stay away from her, for he knew that once they returned to London, he would have to avoid her and attempt never to see her again. To shun her presence even for one moment in Ramsgate would have robbed his heart of memories he was sure to cherish forever.
Darcy heard a noise and opened his eyes, feasting on the sight of Elizabeth laughing quietly.
Even I fell in love at first sight.
~%~
August 19, 1811
The sound of the door opening caused Darcy to look up from his newspaper. The wave of disappointment that came over him at seeing his sister enter the room without her friend startled him with its strength. He folded his newspaper and stood in greeting. “Good morning, Georgie.”
Georgiana crossed the room to her usual seat at his right as she answered, “Good morning, Fitzwilliam.”
