by Delaney Jane
But, after some quiet, Jane turned to Lizzy again. “How did you find all of this out?”
Lizzy’s throat burned with the need to confide everything to her sister.
Jane would not judge her. She would comfort Lizzy, hold her and tell her that everything would be all right, and then she would sing to her or read her a story, anything to take Lizzy’s mind off of the man she wanted to hate, but could not.
Jane would never judge Lizzy for becoming the whore she had been. But Lizzy couldn’t bring the words to her lips. Some sense of self-preservation kept her from saying the damning words, even to her sweet Jane.
Instead, she said, “Mrs. Gardiner told me.”
Jane nodded, completely assured that this was the truth, and that made Lizzy feel even guiltier. Her sister swallowed her lie too easily, and she was tempted to scream at her that she was too gullible, that she had lied, that Miss Bingley had lied, that Bingley loved her, but he was being kept away. But she said none of that, and soon Jane’s deep, steady breathing told her that she had fallen asleep.
Elizabeth was left to her own thoughts, not falling asleep for hours yet.
In the morning Lydia relayed her great news that she would be travelling to Brighton with Colonel Forster and his wife for the summer. This began a whole new fight in the Bennet household, the only benefit of which was that Mrs. Bennet seemed to forget that she wasn’t speaking to Elizabeth as she begged her to speak with Mr. Bennet.
But in the end, he let his youngest go hoping this trip would knock some sense into his senseless daughter.
Chapter Fifteen
Brighton
George Wickham stood at the bar, a tall, cold glass in hand, gulping down the frothy ale. His uniform was crisp, his boots shining. He was part of the militia. It was something to be proud of.
Too bad he didn’t feel proud.
He should have been living the easy, comfortable life of a clergyman. Or better yet, he should have been living the life of a mistress.
He laughed at that. But as silly as it was, it was true. Darcy wanted him. Wickham was more than willing to give Darcy whatever he needed. He couldn’t say he loved Darcy, but he did enjoy his company. And his money.
Had he been better at hiding the others, he could have been living the comfortable life of Mr. Darcy’s lover. But Wickham enjoyed being the lover of many people. Not all were as well off, or as willing to pay for his living as Darcy had been, so when that income vanished, albeit in a raging storm that was Darcy, Wickham had been left on his ass.
To the militia he had gone, and he hated it.
When he saw him last fall, while in Meryton meeting the lovely Bennet women, Wickham had almost lost it. He would have given nearly anything to be back in Darcy’s good graces, but having tried to seduce his young sister into marriage seemed to have set him in his hatred.
But seeing him in Meryton, Wickham was reminded of why he had allowed Darcy to bring him into his bed in the first place all those years ago.
And then Darcy had stormed away.
Thankfully, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a well of information, as long as he fed her some lies about his past, he could find out that Darcy was staying in town with Bingley.
That was also the reason he skipped the Netherfield ball. Better not to appear too needy and show up at the ball of his best friend.
He’d had it in his head that he would slowly build up his trust with Darcy again, edge his way back into his life. But then he had spent more time with Elizabeth, not as a love interest, for she had so many sisters and their house and property would fall to their stupid cousin, but was a friend. It was when he saw her and her sister when they visited Meryton that he could not believe what he was hearing.
It wasn’t what she said so much as how she said it. She no longer asked after her relationship with Darcy, but she did ask about him as a young man. She asked about the both of them, but her questions always became more and more centered on Darcy.
He figured it out soon enough. She was in love with him. He had thought it was adorable.
And then she left for Hunsford and he for Miss King’s dowry.
That did not work out.
Which brought him here, to this bar in Brighton.
He finished his ale and slammed the glass down on the bar. It was a rowdy place, and he wanted quiet. Outside it was warm and smelling of ocean and ale.
He was just thinking about visiting one of his former lovers, when a young woman bounded over to him. He stepped back to avoid being crashed into, and then saw the smiling face of Lydia Bennet looking up at him.
“My, Mr. Wickham,” she breathed. “What a surprise.”
“Indeed.” He smiled. “Where is your family?”
She waved a hand. “I am here with Colonel Forster and his wife, but they are boring fuddy-duddies and have already gone to bed.”
“You snuck out?”
She beamed. “I did not!” But she winked at him.
“Miss Bennet, I would be a disgrace to my uniform if I let you wander around alone.” He offered her his arm, and she took it, leaning into him. She smelled like chocolate and sunshine.
They walked for a long while along the water. He asked after her family and she told him that they were all well. He wondered aloud if Elizabeth had told her how she found Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
“She did not tell me much of anything. Though I did hear her telling Jane that while she was there, Mr. Darcy and his cousin Fitzwilliam had stayed at Rosings.”
Wickham slowed his pace. “Darcy was at Rosings with Elizabeth?”
Lydia nodded. “I think she actually likes that brooding man, can you imagine?”
He could not bring himself to laugh with her. “What makes you think so?”
“Well, I never did tell anyone this… No, I don’t think I can.” She covered her cheek with a gloved hand.
He had no desire to play her games. But he must, if he wanted to know more. Reaching for her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles.
Her eyes went round. “Well, I supposed I could tell you.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “When I was at the Netherfield ball, I saw Lizzy go upstairs with a man dressed as a wolf. I didn’t realize who it was until much later, when my sister mentioned his costume.” She tutted. “Lizzy likes to act like a woman who doesn’t give a damn about having a man in her life, but there she was, sneaking off to be with a man.”
“Was she with him then?”
“Oh I don’t know. I don’t really care, either. What she does with her life is none of my concern.”
So, Darcy had taken a new lover. Elizabeth Bennet no less.
Rage like he had never known before coursed through him. He was not so conceited to think that Darcy had never taken another lover after him, but for it to be Elizabeth, a woman he had seriously considered marrying, a woman Darcy had seen him with in Meryton that day.
That had to be the reason. Why else would Darcy take on a lover like her? He could ruin her name if anyone ever found out. He was cruel, but would he really risk the lady’s reputation?
Yes, perhaps, if it would hurt Wickham. But he had to know that he no longer cared for the lady. Had he truly fallen for her then? Could the cold-hearted Mr. Darcy have fallen in love?
But no, he was not always cold-hearted. He was warm and hot and passionate. This Wickham knew to be true. And then he imagined all of the things he had done with Darcy, and his now doing those things with Elizabeth.
Why should Darcy get someone as pretty as Elizabeth? He had money and reach. Why did he get the woman as well?
Well, he would not have it. Something had to be done, something to show Darcy that he was not so untouchable as he seemed to think.
“Wickham,” whined Lydia. “Why have you stopped?”
He glanced down at the young woman on his arm. Elizabeth Bennet’s young sister.
And he smiled.
Chapter Sixteen
In the Quiet of Pemberley
And of this place
, I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. – But no, - that could never be: my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me: I should not have been allowed to invite them.
The letter was soft and curved with the cupped palm of her hand, the folded edges fraying from the number of times she had run her fingers over them. In the months since she had last seen Darcy, Elizabeth had read his letter no less than a hundred times.
Time can do funny things to a person’s opinion of another, and in Elizabeth’s case, time, and the letter, had turned her anger and displeasure toward Darcy for breaking her sister’s heart and taking Mr. Wickham’s inheritance from him, to understanding of what really happened, and sympathy for the man she had so quickly judged.
She had told him she would rather be his whore than his wife.
Just thinking about it now made Lizzy cringe. She sat in the carriage with her aunt and uncle, the Gardiners, as they traveled the countryside. It was warm out, the sun hot and buttery in the blue summer sky. Pollen floated over fields where horses and cows grazed. Elizabeth sweated slightly and leaned toward the window so that the warm wind might cool her.
Her uncle was going on about something, but Elizabeth had been replaying Darcy’s letter over in her head for the last hour, so had not heard anything he’d said. She turned now, and heard what he was saying.
“And I’ve heard there’s a great room filled with artwork from centuries ago. Can you imagine such a place?” He chortled.
“I can’t,” said Elizabeth.
Her uncle winked. “Well you just wait. Once we’ve arrived, you’ll see that Pemberley is one of the grandest estates you ever did see. So I’ve heard anyway.”
Elizabeth’s stomach knotted. “Are you sure you want to go to Pemberley? Is it not far out of our way?”
Her aunt shook her gray hair. “Not at all, dear. Have a look outside. We’re not but a day from Pemberley, and there’s a sweet little inn nearby I’d like to stay at.”
“Besides,” said her uncle. “I’ve heard from Lydia that you know the master of Pemberley. I’d like to meet Mr. Darcy myself.”
“Quite a looker,” Mrs. Gardiner laughed. “What do you say, Lizzy, is he as handsome as I’ve heard?”
Lizzy fought through the knots in her stomach. “He is handsome, yes. But, I mean to say, he’s so cold and quite unlikable. Honestly, we could go a bit farther along and explore another estate. I’m sure there are others more grand.” She hoped so.
Her uncle shook his head and cast his eyes out the window. “Don’t worry about us running into your Mr. Darcy. He’s away from home at the moment.”
Elizabeth sighed, relieved, but frowned at her uncle. “He isn’t mine,” she said, her face warming, remembering some of his last words to her.
Mr. Gardiner winked at his wife. “No, I’m sure he isn’t.”
The pair smiled at each other, giving Elizabeth a look she did not like.
They arrived at Pemberley as the sun had begun to set. The sky was alive with red and pink and gold, reflecting off the manor and the stream that cut in front of it. Elizabeth gazed up at the striking estate, unsurprised that this was Darcy’s home.
They were met by Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, and so began their tour of Pemberley. Elizabeth half-listened as the woman described the various paintings and sculptures, all the while imagining a world in which she was the mistress of Pemberley, and then feeling guilty for having told its master that she would never be such a thing.
It wouldn’t be so terrible, she thought. It would only cost her the freedom she would surely lose once she became a wife, especially to a man like Darcy, and her dignity. She had already turned down a marriage to Mr. Collins, one that would have been happily accepted by her family. It would have made her miserable, but her turning it down had turned her mother even more against her, if that were possible.
But as she passed through the halls of Pemberley Elizabeth couldn’t help but wonder…
While her relations were being regaled with tales of Darcy and Wickham as children, something she had decided she would rather not hear, Lizzy slipped out of the grand art room and into the main hall.
Walking along, she wandered down hallways, through doors, past large windows, their light curtains fluttering in the warm breeze. After several minutes, she turned around and tried to retrace her steps. It did not take long before she realized she was hopelessly lost. Panic woke in her chest, tightening it, but she moved on. She found a small hallway lined by paneled walls, with blue carpet muffling her footsteps that she thought looked familiar.
The rooms became decidedly masculine the further along she went on her own. She passed a room with instruments made of dark wood and large windows, one with a small table and sidebar, and a small drawing room decorated in onyx and steel gray. Finally she came to a narrow door tucked into the dead end of a hallway.
Turning the knob she felt the hairs on her neck stand. Warm air tickled her arm as the door swung inward.
Elizabeth stood on the threshold, her breath caught, as the hush of a thousand books surrounded her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.
She stepped into a room with deep red carpet and walls made entirely of dark wood shelves, each one holding numerous books and reaching to the ceiling. There were windows in the ceiling, dark with night now, but none on the walls, only candles in scones and paintings hung in ornate frames.
It was then that Elizabeth noticed the paintings, and she blushed. Men and women, couples or groups, swirled together in ecstasy, the paint vivid and quite detailed.
Tearing her eyes from the erotic paintings, Elizabeth inspected the books, breathing in their scent. She read a few titles, knowing none, and pulled one from the shelf. She scanned the pages and laughed aloud. They were erotic novels. The entire room was filled with books about sex, decorated with paintings of people in the midst of lustful abandon.
With a racing heart, she suddenly knew where she was. The energy in the room changed. Elizabeth turned, meaning to escape, but she stopped quickly at the sight of the man in the doorway.
Mr. Darcy filled the space, towering above her, his dark eyes moving from the book still clutched in her hand to her own eyes. He seemed as surprised to see her, as she was to see him.
“Elizabeth—I mean, Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said and tucked the book behind her back. They stood for a moment in stunned silence. Elizabeth mentally shook herself and broke it. “I was just wandering about, silly really. I’m here with my aunt and uncle, well they’re somewhere with Mrs. Reynolds, but I seem to have lost them. We were touring the grounds, and I got turned around. I’m not really sure where I am actually…” Her face burned, and she forced her mouth closed.
“These rooms, this library—this is my private wing.”
“Oh… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. We thought you were not home. We would never have come had we known you would be here. I’m sure, once my relations know, they will want to leave immediately—“
She moved toward the door, meaning to step around him, but he turned, blocking her way out, their bodies far too close for Lizzy’s comfort.
His hands fluttered nervously in front of him, and then he tucked them behind his back. He cleared his throat. “Miss Bennet, please do not feel you have to leave on my account. The grounds are always welcome to anyone who wishes to tour them.”
His gentle and civil demeanor threw off Lizzy. She relaxed slightly, breathing in the scent of him and wishing she hadn’t.
“Actually,” said he. “I was not supposed to be home for another week, but as it happens, I am back early to set up for some guests.”
“Oh?”
“The Bingleys, and my sister, Georgiana, will be here tomorrow.”
“That’s lovely.” Elizabeth thought of Miss Bin
gley with nothing short of contempt. She was a silly woman, really, but her sights had been very obviously set on Mr. Darcy, and should anyone have a chance with him, it was she, and why should Lizzy care?
Not only that, but, as far as Lizzy had heard, Darcy’s sister was the supposed perfect match for Mr. Bingley, Jane’s true love. So, she felt nothing warm there either.
“Perhaps,” said Darcy, “You would meet my sister? If you—if you have read my letter, then perhaps you will remember how protective I am of her? I think meeting a strong woman like yourself would be very good for her.” His cheeks had gone a little pink, his dark eyes flicking to meet hers.
Elizabeth did remember his mentioning Georgiana in the letter—which was currently tucked in her dress, snug against her breast. According to Mr. Darcy, after Wickham and Darcy’s affair ended, Wickham had tried to elope with the young Georgiana in hopes of getting her fortune.
Remembering this, Elizabeth felt less hostile toward the young girl.
She nodded. “I would be honored to meet her. I am staying at a nearby inn with my aunt and uncle, the Gardiners. Perhaps you and your sister would come and have dinner with us?”
His mouth quirked up at the corner. “We shall see you tomorrow night then.”
Elizabeth’s breath held in her chest. “Tomorrow night.” She moved toward him, partly hoping he would stop her, but he moved aside, letting her go without so much as a sigh.
It felt strange, this formality between them, yet she knew his body better than she knew her own. She had felt him inside her, came with his seed in her womb. Yet, here they stood like acquaintances. It left her feeling empty.
She stepped out of the library, out of the warmth and scent of books and Darcy.
“Elizabeth,” said Darcy, his voice quiet. She turned and found him looking at the carpet. He was quite tall, large and imposing, even standing there surrounded by books and shadows.
“Yes?”
“You are quite fond of books. I could lend you a few if you like.”
