White Lies and
Other Half Truths
By
Barbara Tiller Cole
White Lies and Other Half Truths
Copyright © 2008 Barbara Tiller Cole
All rights reserved, including the rights to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form whatsoever.
Published by Createspace. Visit them at www.createspace.com, an Amazon.com company
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and are used factiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead; is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Email address: [email protected]
Blog: http://BarbaraTillerCole.tumblr.com
Dedication and Acknowledgements:
To Nina, Casey, Linda, Aimee, Linnea, Pat, Jane, Mischa, Debra Anne, Mary Anne, Katie, and Lynne—for their help and assistance with this story.
To my Georgia Girls! You Rock!
To All Colin Firth and Matthew MacFadyen fans everywhere!
A special thanks to all those who participated in the Darcy Wars.
To all those who love the gift of books given us by Jane Austen.
To my Mom and Dad, I miss you!
To my dear friend, Shannon!
To my very special mentor, Ruth!
And especially to MY Mr. Darcy, Dick! I love you!
Prologue
What did it matter; it was just a little white lie? I never thought it would get so out of hand. It seemed simple enough, as I did not choose to have a confrontation in a ballroom.
Elizabeth continued to contemplate the events during the ball at Netherfield that had so changed her life. I thought that I hated Mr. Darcy then! He had caught me off guard. When he asked me to dance, saying no would have meant that I would have had to sit out the remainder of the evening; so I said yes.
The dance started out simply; but Elizabeth’s impertinence got the better of her. “We must have some conversation, Mr. Darcy.”
He responded with a raised eyebrow, “Do you talk as a rule while dancing?” They traded small talk when they came together in the dance.
Mr. Darcy asked, “Do you often walk to Meryton?” This led to a brief discussion of Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth was disappointed that Mr. Wickham did not attend the ball, and she was sure that Mr. Darcy had something to do with it. The more they talked, the angrier Elizabeth became. Suddenly she knew that she could not dance the second of the set with him. Her creative thoughts concocted a plan of escape, but her impulsivity did not achieve her intended outcome.
Elizabeth faked a sprained ankle in order to quit the ballroom. She never, ever, thought that Mr. Darcy would follow her as she hobbled away; yet follow he did.
As Elizabeth entered the Netherfield library, Mr. Darcy caught up with her. Guiding her to a chair near the fire, he asked, “Miss Bennet, please let me help you sit down. Can I get you anything? May I get you some ice for your ankle? Or would a glass of wine help, perhaps?”
“No, Mr. Darcy. I assure you that I am quite all right. I just need to sit quietly. Please feel free to return to the ballroom, sir.” But leave he did not. She contemplated why he did not recognize her desire to be rid of him.
“Are you sure that it is just a sprain and not a break? Let me see,” he asked. With that he picked up her foot, took off her shoe, and examined her ankle moving her foot back and forth. Remembering the event, Elizabeth was sure he did not think of the impropriety of his actions at the time. She remembered the sensation when his bare hands first touched her foot. It was like warm water soothing it. The heat began in her foot, and shot all the way up to her cheeks within seconds.
Elizabeth was an innocent; the feelings she experienced were quite confusing. Mr. Darcy obviously felt something as well, as his eyes turned to Elizabeth in that same moment, and he said, “Ah, Miss Bennet, I believe your ankle is going to be fine...”
They glanced at each other tentatively. Elizabeth’s glance more so than Mr. Darcy’s, however. Mr. Darcy looked again at Elizabeth, and this time his eyes did not leave her face. Nor did he release her foot, but began to rub it. “While you rest your ankle for a few minutes, Miss Bennet, would you allow me to speak to you of Mr. Wickham, now that we are away from the others?”
“What? Ah, you may speak Mr. Darcy,” she was distracted and breathless by his touch. Elizabeth was shocked, but could not help enjoying it; amazed that he did not seem to realize what he was doing. As he continued to rub her foot, she did not stop him. It felt too good.
Darcy told Elizabeth of his relationship with Mr. Wickham. “Miss Bennet, Mr. Wickham was the son of my late father’s steward…”
Darcy continued to tell her of the history the Darcy family had with old Mr. Wickham. Darcy’s father had trusted his steward, George’s father, and depended on him. His father had been the godfather of the younger Mr. Wickham. He had supported him through Cambridge, intent on providing him a living as the rector at Kympton. After Darcy’s father passed, George Wickham had requested and was given three thousand pounds in exchange for the living, along with the one thousand pounds designated in the will.
Darcy spoke of George Wickham’s habits and of him returning to demand the living when his funds ran low. His discourse culminated with the story of Wickham’s attempted elopement with Georgiana.
As Darcy’s story concluded, Elizabeth found that she could no longer stop her tears. She had always prided herself on her ability to judge character. Realizing how wrong she was disturbed and humbled her. Oh what must he think of me!
With her embarrassment over her mistaking the nature and quality of both men, she responded, “Oh, Mr. Darcy, I believe I never knew myself. I have always prided myself in my ability to judge character. I could not have been more wrong. What must you think of me?”
“Miss Bennet, you must not blame yourself. Mr. Wickham appears all ease and friendliness; but he has fooled a great many people, including my father. Please do not cry. Mr. Wickham is not worth your pain,” Darcy answered.
He stopped rubbing her foot long enough to pull out his handkerchief and hand it to her. She wiped her eyes, then stood and walked to the window and looked out. In her distracted state, she had forgotten her ankle was supposed to be sprained.
Mr. Darcy walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She turned around as he spoke to her in a surprised tone, “Ah, Miss Bennet your ankle seems to have healed.”
She turned around to look him in the eyes. She was mortified. Her cheeks glowed bright red as she quickly dropped her eyes to the floor. “Mr. Darcy, I am quite embarrassed; I told you a white lie, sir. I just needed to get away, and only pretended to sprain my ankle. I am very sorry, sir. I truly have misjudged your character.” With much more courage than she actually felt at the time, she turned her eyes towards him and said, “Can you ever forgive me for deceiving you?”
Mr. Darcy picked up her hand and looked deeply into her eyes. He had often noticed Elizabeth’s fine eyes, but this was the first time that Elizabeth had ever noticed how expressive his eyes were. They were rich, dark ebony pools, and they captured her. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. As Darcy’s lips touched her hand, a sensation like a lightning bolt flew through her body, and her heart began to race. Darcy did not release her hand; and as he held it tenderly, he said in a voice as soft and warm as an embrace, “Miss Bennet, I am more than willing to forgive you, if you can find it within your heart to forgive my unthinkable and absolutely untrue comment. I believe you overheard a remark I most assuredly did not mean on the first night of our acquaintance. I should have asked for your forgiveness quite some time ago.”
Her cheeks coloured ag
ain, and it was obvious to Darcy that she remembered the comment to which he referred. She found that she could not help herself. She locked eyes with him and smiled, “You are forgiven, sir.”
Darcy then smiled a rich, warm smile, so wide that Elizabeth saw dimples in his cheeks she had never imagined existed. They just stood smiling at each other. Before she knew it, he began alternating his glance between her eyes and her mouth.
Neither knew how it happened, but they were drawn together. Elizabeth felt totally under his power; and she gazed at his mouth as well. Like a moth to a flame, she inched towards him as she sensed him moving closer to her, until their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. She watched as he pulled back from her for a few seconds, to glance into her eyes for approval and then began again. This time she felt him deepen the kiss, as she lifted her arms to touch his shoulders. Elizabeth remembered the feeling of his lips, soft and firm, as well as the warm fluttery feeling that overtook her stomach. As she allowed him to pull her closer and deepen the kiss, she felt his arms wrap around her waist.
Just seconds later the door to the library opened.
“Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy! What is the meaning of this?"
Mr. Bennet entered the library and closed the door.
A white lie had just opened a rather large can of worms!!
Chapter 1
1 December 1811, Netherfield, Pre-Dawn
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at the window of his bedroom, watching the first lights of dawn. It was early, but anxious to see his fiancée, he could no longer sleep. He enjoyed celebrating the awakening of each new day. Elizabeth was to meet him for a walk before they broke their fast at Longbourn. Darcy had acquired a special license and met with his solicitor regarding the settlement before returning from London the day before. He had had no time alone with Elizabeth as he arrived just before tea with her family. They had agreed to meet for a morning walk in order to talk privately.
Darcy did his best thinking while gazing from windows or pacing back and forth. Had it really only been five days since the ball at Netherfield? It had been a whirlwind. He shook his head; remembering the events of that evening.
*~*~*~*~*
Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy! What is the meaning of this?”
Mr. Bennet entered the library and closed the door.
Elizabeth and Darcy pulled apart instantly; startled. With sheepish, embarrassed looks on their faces, they looked at Mr. Bennet.
“Ah, so Mr. Darcy I take it that you no longer think my Elizabeth is not tolerable enough to tempt you?” The expression on his face was between a smirk and a leer. Neither could determine whether he was enraged or diverted. “Quite to your advantage that it was I who entered this door instead of another, is it not? Elizabeth, can you imagine the nerves and flutterings that would have resulted had it been your mother instead of me that entered this door? This has the makings of quite a scandal, do you not think?
Then he turned to Darcy, “Mr. Darcy, I expect you at Longbourn in the morning. Can I tempt you to arrive around ten o’clock?”
“Yes, sir,” Darcy stuttered as he looked at the floor. He had not felt quite this embarrassed since his father had caught him red-handed, pleasuring himself at age fourteen. Oh, I cannot think of that now.
“Come along, Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet reached over to grab her hand. “I believe we will leave the library together. Mr. Darcy, you can leave in a few minutes. We do not want to give the gossips anything to ponder. It is possible that we may be able to avoid a scandal, is it not?”
“Mr. Bennet, would it be possible for me to speak to Miss Elizabeth for just a few more minutes?” Darcy asked.
“No, Mr. Darcy! I think that you and Elizabeth have done quite enough talking, as you say, for this one evening. Perhaps I will allow you an audience with her in the morning, after we meet. But for now, Elizabeth and I must take our leave. Come along, dear.”
*~*~*~*~*
Darcy’s recollection of that evening caused him to scratch the back of his head and stretch his neck as he recollected his cataclysm of feelings since then.
Darcy’s mother taught him that his primary duty and honour was to his family. She encouraged him to believe that going against their expectations, such as marrying for love instead of connections and monetary gain, was not something he should contemplate.
However, his father had always encouraged him to marry for love. This conflict between his parents had often bewildered and intrigued him.
Oh, he knew that Elizabeth, for he could not think of her with any other name now that he had tasted her strawberry lips, had attracted him from the first time he saw her. His admiration had fostered a desire beyond any he had experienced. He had managed to mask that desire, even to himself, until her sister was sick and she came to Netherfield to attend her.
It was at that time that he began to pleasure himself each night as he remembered her exquisite eyes, her raised brow, her impertinent grin and joyous laugh, her bounteous breasts with ripe buds he had occasionally glimpsed through her gown when she talked with him, and her hips that swayed as she walked. He had dreamed of her every night since, waking each morning erect and straining, as his body responded to the desires of his dreams. He had struggled with the belief that he could not seek his true desire, to claim Elizabeth as his own. Yet the events in the library had led him to give way to duty and honour, and to plan a future with the woman he knew that he now loved. Sitting and leaning back in the chair in his room, his mind returned to that meeting in Mr. Bennet’s library the morning after the ball.
*~*~*~*~*
“So, Mr. Darcy, do take a seat,” Mr. Bennet stated as Darcy entered the Longbourn library the morning after the ball. “Would you like some tea; or perhaps some of my fine brandy? I believe that I will have a small glass. Would you like some as well?”
“Thank you for asking, Mr. Bennet, but I do not need anything at present,” Darcy responded. Darcy stood and began pacing the room. “Mr. Bennet, I understand completely why you have invited me here this morning. My actions, and my actions alone, led to the events of last evening. Please do not blame Miss Elizabeth. I alone am responsible, and I am more than willing to remedy this situation.” Darcy stopped and returned to his chair and looked directly into Mr. Bennet’s eyes.
“You see, sir; I am in love with your daughter. I believe I began to fall in love with her the first time I saw her. I respect her, I delight in her vast knowledge of literature, rejoice in her musical skills, am thrilled each time I hear her laugh as it is as light and carefree as a crystal bell. I would ask, sir, that you grant me permission to ask Miss Elizabeth for her hand in marriage.”
Darcy was nervous and was rubbing his hands together, “I have been thinking about this all night. I know that your daughter’s feelings for me may not be as strong as my feelings for her, but we cleared up many of our misunderstandings last evening. I believe that her feelings for me will grow. It is possible that someone other than you could have seen the events of last evening, and the consequences of that are too great. I believe we should marry soon, and I hope that you will see fit to grant us your blessing.”
“You believe that my daughter would want to marry you, Mr. Darcy? I thought you found her only tolerable, and not handsome enough to tempt you,” Mr. Bennet smirked. Darcy was startled to realize where Elizabeth had gotten much of her sense of humour.
Darcy stood again and resumed his pacing, running his hand through his curly locks, “Last night, I apologized to Miss Bennet for my most unkind and untrue statement the first night of our acquaintance at the Meryton Assembly, sir. I knew that it was highly likely she had heard me, because she walked by me very shortly afterwards and smirked at me. I believe it was in that moment that I began to fall in love with her. I had not even looked at her prior to that moment. I was in an ill humour that evening, and Bingley was trying to goad me into dancing. Please allow me to apologize to you for any ill humour I have displayed toward any member of your family. As a child I was quite shy,
and over the years I fear my shyness is often misinterpreted as aloofness. I meant no slight on any member of your family, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. You might do, you might do indeed. But I cannot speak for my daughter, sir. I agree that it would most likely be best for you to marry, and marry soon to avoid any potential scandal that could affect all of my daughters. But even with the fear of scandal, I will not force my daughter to marry you if she is unwilling. I will give you time for an audience with her this morning; and if she is less than sure at this time, I will allow you to court her and speak with her about the advantages of marriage over the possibility of scandal. But you will be your own man, sir. You will have to make your own request. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, I believe we do, Mr. Bennet. If Miss Elizabeth does say yes, I would ask that we be allowed to marry within a fortnight. I will need to make a quick trip to London to procure a special license and work with my solicitor on the settlement. I need to return to Pemberley prior to Christmas, and would like a little time with my new bride before family arrive. I know that I am being presumptuous, but would the eleventh of December be enough time for you?”
Mr. Bennet chuckled, “Yes, you are a little presumptuous, but I have no problem with a wedding that soon, that is, if my daughter accepts you.”
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