by J Dawn King
“Yes, Richard. My moment of uncertainty is over and calm has set in. She is and always will be ‘Elizabeth.’”
Over the past four and twenty hours, she had been his one certainty. No matter what happened with Wickham or to Georgiana’s future, he wanted Elizabeth by his side.
His uncle approached, a large smile on his face. They talked as his aunt scurried about seeing to last minute details.
“Well, boys, I never thought I would see the day when you were both dressed like dandies waiting for your ladies.” Hugh Fitzwilliam grinned. “You both look ready to jump into the parson’s trap at the first opportunity.” He clasped his beefy hands on their shoulders. “I cannot say I blame either of you. Miss Knowlton is a fine young woman, and your Miss Bennet may be the making of you, Darcy.”
“I have no doubts, sir,” Darcy readily admitted.
“Then look behind you, son.” His uncle tipped his head towards the door.
Darcy did not know where to look first. She was a vision. Her lustrous hair was pulled away from her face in soft curls held in place by Georgiana’s combs. His palms itched to pull the gemstones out of her tresses to watch her silken hair cascade down to the small of her back. He had never seen her hair loose, but he could easily imagine the ends bouncing at her waist.
The cool evening air brought a flush to her cheeks and brilliance to her emerald eyes. Georgiana had been correct. The colour of her gown was the exact match to his waistcoat. He doubted the purple changed the colour of his brown eyes like it did hers.
Only the stars in the skies could compete with her magnificence. Diamonds would not do her justice. He saw no one else in the room. She captured his attention. She commandeered his affection. She held his heart.
As Mr. Gardiner escorted his niece into the hall, Elizabeth smiled with pleasure at something her uncle had shared with her. A quip? A clever observation? Darcy could not wait for them to find him. He wanted her to look at him with love, to smile for him like she did Mr. Gardiner. Leaving Lord Matlock and Richard mid-sentence, he approached her.
“You have arrived.” Well, that was stating the obvious.
“Are you certain, Mr. Darcy?” He loved her quick humour and the saucy lift of her brow.
“Hmm! Yes, I am certain.” Greeting Mr. Gardiner, he escorted both to where Richard and his family stood to receive guests.
After a time, Mr. Gardiner wandered away to greet several acquaintances. Darcy took the opportunity to arrange matters with Elizabeth. First, he requested the final set. To his joy, she accepted. Then, he canvassed the other subject on his mind.
“Miss Elizabeth, I have made a vow to never lie to you despite bringing discomfort to myself.”
Her brow lifted in question, yet she remained silent.
“I cannot be embarrassed for my actions when they resulted in the doing of good, so I will confess.” While he gulped, she spoke.
“Am I a priest that I should offer you the right of reconciliation, Mr. Darcy?”
“No, you are positively not a member of the priesthood, Elizabeth.” He grinned, appreciating how she was making it easier for him.
He began. “I may have deliberately, by careful questions, encouraged your two younger sisters to share a secret they had promised to keep.” He observed her closely, but he knew not whether it was anger or displeasure she was feeling. Or any other emotion.
At her quick intake of breath, he continued, “I felt they had information which would aid us in our search. Your father seemed to have the same impression.”
“Their response?” Concern filled her face as her hand moved unconsciously to his sleeve.
“They shared what they knew,” he stated flatly. As a guardian of a girl their age, he would never have tolerated a man, practically a stranger, speaking to Georgiana without an adult in attendance.
“My father? Was he in attendance?”
“He was not.”
“No!” she hissed. Then she stared at him until his eyes started to blink. “Mr. Darcy, I am…I am deeply embarrassed. Daily, the foibles of the Bennets are thrust blatantly in your face. How can you…?”
“Want you? Need you? Love you?” he offered. A soothing warmth filled him.
“I.. I…Mr. Darcy!” A lovely rose hue covered her cheeks. “Clearly, you are a much more complex man than I had imagined.” Biting her bottom lip, she tilted her head to the side. “It was you…you warned the merchants, did you not?”
“Wickham has used his charm all his adult years to gain from the loss of others. He walks away without ever thinking of them again. They are nothing to him.” He put his hand over where hers rested. “These people are your neighbours. I needed to offer information, so they were protected from further harm.” He bowed his head, shame filling him. “Though, had I acted to bring Wickham to justice years ago, there would have been no threat, at least not from him.”
“Oh.” A blank expression covered her face as she dropped her eyelids and processed all he had spoken. “Oh?”
He lifted his chin, focusing on her lovely face. It was as clear as crystal when she comprehended all he had done. “You are not as I thought you were.”
He was pleased. When he finally discerned that a task, even an unsavoury one, needed doing, he set aside his own preferences and saw it to completion. She was coming to know him.
“Oh!” Her smile was genuine and his heart lightened. He had no doubts they would converse on the subject again. Her opinions would be firm as she shared her concerns. He would listen, even if it killed him. He would listen.
Time flew by and soon the musicians played a melodic tune signalling the first set was about to begin. Darcy contemplated the message their dancing the first dance would give the gossips that evening. Their presence together at the opera made a suggestion of a relationship. Tonight, they would make a statement. He was hers and she alone was his future.
“We must have conversation, Mr. Darcy, as it would be odd to not speak for the next half of an hour,” Elizabeth teased him when they came together for the first steps.
“Do you always speak while dancing?” he countered.
When she giggled, her head tipped back and her eyes almost closed. Her rich, throaty laughter floated around him, and he felt a lightness to his soul that he cherished.
“And what would the great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley speak of during the dance? Possibly books? Politics? The war?”
He shook his head with each suggestion. “I believe few ladies here would be able to speak on these subjects.”
“Humph! Then they know not what they miss.” Frown lines appeared on her brow. “Yet, you have succeeded in evading my question, sir.”
“I have.” The pattern separated them. When she moved back into proximity, he continued boldly, “I would speak of love.” He held his breath for her reaction.
“Are you being a flirt?” she suggested.
“Never! The great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley does not flirt,” he laughed back at her.
“Sir, with full disclosure, I will admit there is something about you I dearly love.”
Her comment stole his breath, his heart stopped beating, and his palms started sweating under his gloves. Dare he hope?
“There is?” He stood taller and felt lighter on his feet. “And what is it about my character you have grown to love?”
“Pardon me. Did I say anything about character?” Her gloved hand covered her mouth, her eyes dancing in the candlelight.
“Well, not exactly.” His breathing returned and his feet were planted firmly on the ground. He was grateful he was in line next to his Fitzwilliam relatives. His uncle was notoriously unskilled on the dance floor, so anyone close was used to stops and starts. No one would notice he stood in place.
She had humbled him—again. “If not my sterling character, what is it about me you love?”
The movement of the dance drew her so close he could feel the sigh of her breath as she stepped in front of him. She leaned in even closer and whispered
so only he could hear.
“Your waistcoat, Mr. Darcy.” Gleefully, she resumed the pattern of the dance.
She had noticed. He was enchanted, and he determined there and then he would have Parker shop for every piece of purple fabric he could find from one end of London to the other.
“I thank you for admiring my garment.” He smiled as they came together again. “I am wondering, however, if you observed anything unusual about my sleeve.” He turned his right shoulder so she could survey its length.
Elizabeth gave it a thorough inspection, playing along with his silliness.
“Would you enlighten me, sir, for what exactly it is I should be looking?” she asked as she moved away from him to circle the gentleman to his left.
He stopped again when she faced him, not caring whether he was disturbing the other dancers.
“My heart, Elizabeth,” he whispered. “My heart is on my sleeve.”
She sighed, stopping mid-motion. Her eyes glazed over as her pert lips drew into the shape of an “O.” She was discomposed, a feeling he knew well.
“Come, Miss Elizabeth, we need to dance.”
She shifted until she was even closer, her eyes never breaking with his. His desire to pull her into his embrace and mate his lips to hers felt like a living, breathing entity threatening to consume him. The teasing was gone. He burned for her.
She sighed, her breath a gentle puff of air on his chin. “I am undone, sir.”
Could he be happier?
“You do not play fair, Mr. Darcy.”
“Remember that, Elizabeth. All is fair in love and war, and this is…”
“Love?” she whispered, her gaze still locked with his.
Now it was he who sighed.
CHAPTER 21
Hugh Fitzwilliam danced with his wife once each year—only when she hosted the ball and only when he could not shift the duty to one of his sons. Darcy’s habit of arriving late to a function served him well, so he could avoid being pressed into standing in the place of prominence with Lady Matlock. Tonight? He relished the disorganisation his uncle caused, so he could give the young woman across from him the whole of his attention.
Lord, but she was beautiful.
“I sense a hint of self-satisfaction in the air, sir, that reeks of pride. I am unsure if the scent is pleasurable or not. Do you have an opinion you would like to share?”
Minx!
Could a heart burst from sheer joy?
“Since we are learning of each other, I suggest you share a detail about yourself that few, if anyone, knows; and I shall do the same,” Elizabeth wisely suggested.
She was clever. Never in his memory had he found a female who was interested in more than his possessions. He, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was a man like any other. He needed to feel valued as a human being, worthy of notice and respect. Her wanting to delve into his secrets hinted at a personal interest he relished. He decided to jump into her suggestion with vigour.
“I despise mutton,” he started, curious as to her response.
“Yet, your primary farm income is from…?”
“Sheep.” Her laughter followed her down the line as the dance parted them. When she returned, it was her turn to share.
“For years, I wished to have been born a boy,” she whispered.
“Now?” he had to ask.
“No, not now,” Elizabeth reassured him.
“I am pleased you are not.” He could not even force a smile. The thought of her not standing across from him was unimaginable. Taking her hand, he held it longer than necessary.
“Your turn, Mr. Darcy.” She squeezed his fingers.
His heart was in his throat. He blurted for her ears only, “I have never kissed a woman.”
“Neither have I,” was her quick response.
He smiled.
She spoke. “I like the feel of my father’s whiskers under my lips when I kiss his cheek. It tickles.”
“You want me to grow whiskers?” He would. He would have Parker hide his razor until his beard grew soft and full if she desired, though he hoped she would not. Whiskers itched.
“I have never touched a man’s face without them.” She blushed. “I have wondered if your face feels as smooth and soft as it looks.”
Now it was he who was undone. Swallowing, he struggled to continue their game.
“I secretly read Georgiana’s romance novels.” He knew he should feel embarrassed by revealing he had been sneaking behind his sister’s back to enjoy the books. He was not, and it should not have surprised him. He trusted Elizabeth implicitly and wondered at his confidence. He had only known her for a period of less than two months.
She grinned. “In a house full of noise and activity, I am lonely.”
He stopped breathing. “I am lonely, too.”
Grateful the music ended, he escorted her to the side of the room.
“Who is your next?” he enquired hastily.
“Sir, I have not had opportunity to speak with any other gentlemen since my arrival. You have quite taken up my attention.” Tilting her head to the side, she gazed at him, her small smile still present.
“I cannot ask you for three, so Richard will request the supper dance and I will do the same for Miss Knowlton. The four of us will be seated together so they will be next to each other when their engagement is announced.” He took both her hands in his, uncaring of the gossips who gaped at them behind their fluttering fans. “I cannot keep you from other partners, though I want to.” He sucked in a breath. She was the entirety of his world at that moment. Finally, he addressed her last revelation. “Elizabeth, I cannot conceive of a future with anyone other than you. We can relieve each other’s loneliness. However, with my current circumstances, I fear you may believe my motive is to lean on you, to abandon my accountability and force you to share the burdens I carry.”
“You would be wrong, sir.” Elizabeth clasped his fingers tightly. “I did consider how your situation may have influenced you to seek a closer bond with me than you would have done under normal circumstances.” Her green eyes peered directly into his own. “Nonetheless, I would imagine you rarely share the load you carry. Whether as a friend or possibly as a wife, I cannot refuse to aid you. I may have questioned your civility early in our acquaintance, but I have never questioned your honour.”
He pulled her hands to his chest, wrapping his gloved hands around her own. The weakness behind his knees threatened to drop him to the floor, while his joy held him firm.
“My honour makes me the man I am, Elizabeth. That you can clearly see me, the real me, sets you apart from the crowds and makes you extraordinarily precious to me.” His gaze bore into hers. “Know this, Elizabeth Bennet,” he said with conviction. “I will not waver nor will I falter. I will never turn aside from you. You have my heart. My soul is in your capable hands and my body is yours alone. No one will alter my love for you; not your family, not mine, not society, nor strangers we have yet to meet. I am yours.”
Her breathing was ragged and her cheeks flushed. Bravely, she held her focus on him.
“Sir, I never expected such devotion.” Her words were as soft as the light in her eyes. “You are determined on this course?”
He nodded. He was bereft of words.
Gulping, she continued, “My inclination is to readily join you at your side.” When he caught his breath, she started gently shaking her head. “I have two questions for you, Mr. Darcy, before I proceed. I cannot allow your beautiful words to sway me before I comprehend how you can have changed so quickly.”
“Ask.” It was not what he wanted. He worried her cleverness would keep her from him, and that, he could not abide.
“First—and I hate to bring up a painful past—why do you think I should overlook the hurtful words you uttered when we met and, second, how can I know your changed view of me is real?”
Dropping his chin to his chest, he inhaled through his nostrils. Her concerns were valid.
“Admittedly, I have wo
ndered the same. Therefore, I am unsurprised at your query.” He, again, looked intently at her. “I will not prevaricate, nor attempt to mislead.” Pausing, he collected his thoughts. “Humility in all its forms has power. The humiliation of being confronted by your youngest sister, Bingley, and Richard with their disapprobation of my poor conduct has forced me to acknowledge my error. Being accosted en masse has not allowed me to excuse myself or justify my conduct as anything other than abhorrent. The humiliation of having familial issues pop up unexpectedly has compelled me to reevaluate my own value as a man. In truth, I had grown accustomed to adulation by my peers and had allowed myself to believe in the false opinions of others. Upon reflection, I am mortified to have set myself high on a pedestal I have now fallen from. In retrospect, I have no desire to return to the perch. I am, like all others, a man with imperfections who has no reason to allow the privileges I have received by birth to elevate me. Finally, I despise my Aunt Catherine’s lording her elevated rank above others. That I have repeatedly done so myself has cut me to the core once I discerned the similarity.” He leaned closer. “I am now looking at myself in the clear light of day. No longer is my mirror covered in a murky haze of arrogance and pride. I am honourable, though flawed. I am honest, though deficient. I am humbled and happy to be such as I now have the hope of no longer being alone. I love you, Elizabeth.”
