Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (29 page)

“My schedule is loose, so I shall
be here at eleven. I appreciate your expeditiousness, Mr. Daniels. I do wish to
return to Hertfordshire as soon as possible.”

The solicitor merely nodded.

Once outside, Darcy entered his carriage
and sat back into the padded bench. It was a fair distance to the Royal
Exchange on Cornhill, and with traffic in London inevitably heavy during the
daylight hours, he might be in for a lengthy drive. Rather than daydream of
Elizabeth, which would be pleasant but also increase his urgency to quit Town,
he passed the time by shuffling through the papers sent by Mrs. Reynolds and
his sister. He had memorized them, but it did not hurt to check again, just in
case he missed something.

 Armed with the papers, Darcy
entered the recessed door on the west side of the massive building housing the
Royal Exchange. This entrance led to private offices on the upper floor,
bypassing the main areas where the merchants dealt with customers, so was less
congested and noisy but far from vacant or silent. Instantly greeted by
acquaintances, Darcy avoided extensive conversation by claiming an appointment,
which was true. Nevertheless, making his way to the plush offices of Mr.
Kennedy and his associates took some time. Luckily, the rotund, jolly Mr.
Kennedy was used to the ways of the Exchange, so he laughingly brushed aside
Darcy’s apologies and extended his hand to the empty chair across from his
desk.

“You have braved the streets and
then the aisles of the Exchange, Mr. Darcy, so I have tea and coffee on the
way. Or perhaps you prefer a nip of something stronger?”

“Coffee will be fine, thank you,
Mr. Kennedy. And thank you for arranging time to meet with me on short notice.”

“My pleasure. And I mean that
literally, Darcy. A man on the hunt for refurbishing and provisioning for a new
wife is my bread and butter!”

“I imagine so. And then yearly
thereafter, when redecorating occurs, am I right?”

Kennedy laughed heartily, smacking
his fleshy hand onto his desk. “For a man newly entering the married state, you
are wise in the ways of it.”

“I am learning, yes, but open for
advice.” Darcy unfolded the papers, explaining as he pushed them toward
Kennedy, “My betrothed, Miss Bennet, is the daughter of a gentleman landowner
in Hertfordshire. She is a lady, but not of London Society. If left to her own
devices, she would ask for nothing to be done for her at Pemberley.”

“But you have other ideas.”

“I do.” Darcy leaned forward,
explaining each point, room by room, as Kennedy added his notes to the ones
Darcy had jotted.

“The main focus is your wife’s
suite. I see you want the lavatory, bathing room, and dressing area modernized
and refurnished completely. This you will find interesting, Darcy, being a man
fond of modern inventions.” Mr. Kennedy launched into an extensive lecture on
the latest advancements in bathing tubs and other personal hygiene hardware,
which Darcy
was
fascinated by. Sketches to revamp Elizabeth’s toilette,
floor to ceiling and wall to wall, with nothing overlooked and everything new,
occupied a generous portion of the appointment. Once satisfied, Darcy tapped
the next page sent by Mrs. Reynolds.

“The bedchamber once belonging to
Lady Anne is in dire need of a transformation, but the decor must be as Miss
Bennet desires. She has never seen the rooms, unfortunately, and has
reservations regarding my…spending money on her at this juncture.” Kennedy’s
brows rose at that, but he said nothing. “So, I am at a loss as to the best way
to solve this dilemma.”

“I can arrange for a designer to
travel to Pemberley at a date after the new Mrs. Darcy has settled in. Or, I can
recommend Mr. Price in Derby. He does brilliant work and has an exceptional
staff. We have worked together a few times, including a job some three years ago
at Rivallain for Lady Matlock.”

“Oh yes, I do remember when Lady
Matlock redesigned several of the lower level rooms, mainly from my uncle
complaining at the cost! The interior was marvelously done, however, as his
lordship grudgingly agreed.” Darcy smiled in recollection. “Considering the
time of year and weather concerns, and in light of your trusted recommendation,
let’s arrange for Mr. Price to come to Pemberley in early December.”

“For the immediate, I can ensure
the bedchamber is properly outfitted right away with the essentials. A new
mattress, for example, with pillows, blankets, and bed linens. Mrs. Darcy must
at least have a comfortable place to sleep.”

Discussing mattresses and bed
linens was mildly uncomfortable for Darcy, even though he anticipated skirting
the edges of intimate subjects as an unavoidable consequence. It was vital to
ensure Elizabeth’s private chambers were cozy and to her taste, so despite his
unease, he joined Mr. Kennedy in serious contemplation of the colorful drawings
in the latest trade catalogs. Frankly, as he most definitely could not say to
the merchant, his fervent hope was that his wife never slept there.

Darcy could only guess the nightly
sleeping arrangement between his parents, but based on the intense love they
had shared, and many clues not comprehended until he matured, in all likelihood
they had slept together in the master bedchamber for the bulk of their marriage.
Indeed, his greatest wish was to attain the same level of intimacy with
Elizabeth. He dared not presume she would choose to stay with him in his room,
or even visit him there in the first place. Where or how they would love each
other was not a topic they could discuss beforehand.

He could dream, however, and the
thought of sleeping with her body in his arms, or close enough to touch, sent
sharp pangs of longing through his heart. With this hope in mind, he planned to
redecorate his bedchamber as well. The masculine style and furnishings were
fine for a single male inhabitant, and he could not bear to sleep in a room
garish with pink ruffles and lace, but a compromise appealing to a female
aesthetic was doable—and, perhaps, enticing.

Another two hours sped by. Darcy
looked at samples of fabrics until his eyes were crossed, and settled on three
new rugs from the rows of hanging carpets in one warehouse. A plethora of fine
bed linens, towels, washing cloths, pillows, and cases, all per Mrs. Reynolds’s
knowledgeable specifications—which Mr. Kennedy concurred with—were
purchased. A few select pieces of furniture were commissioned, Darcy examining
a thick book of drawings until satisfied with his choices.

Darcy was pleased with the
accomplishments and content that every single item purchased or ordered would
be delivered to Pemberley well before his wedding date.

Out on the street, Darcy paused
before seeking his carriage. He was done with his appointments, so considered visiting
White’s before returning to Darcy House. Between being out of Town for over a
week and living as a relative recluse for weeks before that, he was quite
behind in current events. Granted the city was in a lull, with most of the
aristocracy and gentry retired to their country manors, but there were always
people who stayed in London, and the men’s clubs were never deserted.

There was also the call of Angelo’s.
Drawing his pocket watch, he flipped the cover up, his mind quickly figuring
the drive to the fencing academy versus White’s and whether he would have
adequate time for a couple rounds. He was debating the issue when a voice called
his name.

Glancing up, Darcy instantly doffed
his hat and conducted a smooth bow. “Lady Buckleigh. Delighted to see you,
although I confess to surprise that you are in Town rather than Suffolk.”

“Only temporarily, Mr. Darcy. Lord
Buckleigh and I are soon leaving for Yorkshire. We will pass the winter months
and Christmastide with our daughter. You heard that Lady Celia wed Viscount
Wyllis this past spring?”

“I did. Congratulations. I pray she
is well in her marriage and new life up north?”

“It has been an adjustment, as you
can imagine, living in a region to the north as well. Poor Celia was not
thrilled with the idea of snow and cold, but sacrifices must be made for the
sake of domestic peace and social prosperity. You shall discover this in due
time, I daresay.”

“I am sure I shall,” Darcy nodded,
keeping his face neutral. “Then my guess is you came to London for early
Christmas shopping?”

“Quite so. Blythe Gallery is
holding an auction, and has a new exhibit of Gainsborough and Richard Wilson,
to name only two. I hope to find a summer landscape to cheer Celia. If I
recall, you are fond of Gainsborough, Mr. Darcy.”

  Indeed he was, and suddenly
the prospect of browsing through a gallery replete with beautiful art pieces
displayed for hushed observation sounded better than White’s or Angelo’s. Best
of all, Blythe was two blocks away, so easy to walk to.

Sitting beside Lady Buckleigh, the
witty baroness a distant cousin of his Aunt Madeline, the Countess of Matlock,
and thus a longtime acquaintance of his, enhanced the enjoyment of the auction.
Within half an hour, a brightly painted landscape was obtained for the homesick
Viscountess Wyllis, and Darcy bid successfully on a Gainsborough and two of
William Blake’s relief etchings. Darcy and Lady Buckleigh joined a group of
Society friends for a glass of wine, the talk casual and centered on art,
before the two fondly parted ways. Darcy was weary, but the hushed atmosphere
of the gallery with marvelous paintings thick on the walls called to him. 

Strolling leisurely around the
spacious rooms and nearly empty corridors for some twenty minutes, Darcy was
about to head for the exit when he saw it.

Hanging in a line of seascape
paintings with an unmistakably nautical theme was an enormous, ornately framed
canvas depicting a pastoral landscape. The artist was unfamiliar to him, and
the title was simply
Tranquility
without any indication of where in
England the real meadow was located, yet it stunningly resembled the scenery
surrounding Longbourn—specifically the grassy moor where Elizabeth had
accepted his marriage proposal.

Exquisitely painted in oil, the
field of knee-high green grasses almost appeared to wave in the sun-kissed air.
A small stream cut crookedly through the middle with a narrow, stone bridge
spanning one edge. In the distance stood a house of red brick obscured by
clusters of trees and the faint wisps of English mist hugging the ground. He
could easily envision their figures inserted in the scene, hands clasped as
they declared their love for each other.

Breathless and immobile, Darcy
stared, transfixed as memories sprang into his mind—vivid ones of her
warm hands encompassing his cold one, her sweet breath wafting over his cheeks,
and honeyed voice declaring her love. Fiery emotions swept through him. The powerfully
evocative sensations of her lips moving under his, her hands tangled in his
hair, and soft body pressed against his chest fanned the fire into a blaze.
Thank God no one else was in this part of the gallery because Darcy was sure he
moaned aloud. Desire electrified every nerve. Yearning for her overwhelmed, it
undoubtedly prudent she was not standing beside him.

Finally he calmed, at least enough
to take the painting off the wall. Normal procedure was to ask an attendant to
retrieve the piece, but he was not going to take a chance on anyone else
claiming it before he could find someone.

Later that night, once again alone
and relaxed in casual attire after a solitary dinner, Darcy sipped hot cocoa
and dreamily gazed at the framed painting propped on a nearby settee. Tomorrow
promised to be another busy day, beginning with meeting Mr. Daniels to sign
copies of the betrothal agreement and tend to a number of estate business
matters. After that was the appointment with his tailor, and with luck the
items requested from Pemberley would arrive as well, so he could attend to
those final tasks. Then it would be a matter of waiting for Richard’s return,
which better happen soon because Darcy had no intention of tarrying in London
indefinitely.

Pushing tomorrow’s plans aside,
Darcy closed his eyes and rested his head back onto the cushioned chair.
Envisioning Elizabeth, he freely indulged in the love and passion she roused
within him. The sensations were unique and growing daily. As he had speculated
on the day of their engagement, being separated by distance was painful in a
manner it never had been before. Yet, as he had also speculated, there was an
odd joy to the ache because it was a sign of their increasing bond, and being
reunited would be especially sweet. Is this what Roman poet Sextus Propertius
alluded to with the line, “Always toward absent lovers love’s tide stronger
flows,” in
Elegies
? Perhaps, although Darcy preferred strengthening
their “love’s tide” in her presence!

Whatever the case, if he had to be
away from her, as was bound to happen even after they married, he could use the
time to dwell upon the marvelous feelings her existence generated. Already he
could instantly conjure her face in all its myriad expressions, and hear her
protean voice and laughter as vividly as if she were sitting next to him.
Imagining her in this room was enough to warm his heart and fill the vacant
areas of his soul.

Elizabeth
Bennet.   

 Thinking of her and the love
they shared was soothing. It was also stressful and, at times, downright
physically excruciating. Wanting the release found only with a woman was not a
new phenomenon for Darcy, naturally, but never had the ache of unfulfilled
arousal affected him as acutely as it has since she kissed him in the garden at
Longbourn. The ardent longing for her, amplified each month over the past year
while dreams haunted him, had not remotely prepared him for the overpowering
sexual desire her touch awoke. It was as if a dormant beast had come to roaring
life. Not one completely unwelcome, he honestly admitted, but the wildness was
contrary to the controlled temper he prided himself on possessing.