Longbourn to London (26 page)

She snorted softly, dismissive of his words. “And wounding me, reminding me of my darkest days, is how you choose to express this longing? I do not believe you.” She struggled in his arms, but this time he held firm.

“It appears I should try arts and allurements other than those I have employed thus far.”

For the past six weeks, any reference to Lady Catherine de Bourgh always made her smile when nothing else would. While still vexed, Elizabeth felt the contours of her face soften, but she did not allow herself anything further.
I will not smile at him.

The blanket had slipped, and Darcy took her hand, kissing the back of her glove. She raised an eyebrow. “I gave you no leave to kiss me.”

“I am attempting to earn a smile.”

“Silly man. I smile rather constantly, or I did until entering this carriage.”

“
Silly man?
I wonder no one warned you, Mrs. Darcy, that you have married a complete fool.” He squeezed her hand. “Whatever do you see in him?”

She looked down, and a smile just started to lift the corner of her mouth. Without meeting his earnest gaze, she replied conversationally, “He has quite an astonishing smile, if you must know. It renders his entire countenance irresistibly handsome. When he smiles, I can deny him nothing, but fortunately for me, he is not aware of this great advantage. I have known him a little upwards of fourteen months, and have seen him smile six times, mainly while at Pemberley—
never
in Hertfordshire— though several more came earlier today, and one or two were even directed at me. I firmly believe that, should he and I take particular care of our health and live to be married fifty years, I may reasonably expect to see perhaps twenty more such smiles, principally when I present him with children, or so I imagine.”

She succeeded in making him smile and felt an attendant sense of victory. How was it that he so constantly provoked her competitive nature? Why was the destruction of his apparently hard-won sangfroid so devoutly to be wished? She glanced around the interior of the carriage, marvelling at his largeness within it. That he was a tall, well-made man had never intimidated her, but he seemed suddenly a giant confined in an insufficient cage.
I ought to be grateful he is not a different sort of man.
Her considerations made her sober.
Yet, he concedes some power to me that I do not recognise. He protects me from something I would rather embrace than fear.
With quiet conviction, she determined to succeed in making him do something more than hold her hand.

“I
am
sorry, Elizabeth.” Darcy lifted their hands from under the robe, removed his gloves, and then, more slowly, her left glove. He leaned over her bare hand, meeting her eyes from under his brows, silently requesting permission. She nodded and he kissed the back of her hand reverentially. With fingers entwined, he placed their hands back upon his leg and covered them.

Rather than disturb the warm intimacy of their joined hands, Elizabeth drew off her right glove with her teeth and tossed it aside while Darcy watched intently. She had often caught him looking at her mouth and knew her actions drew his concentration. She pulled the shared coverlet to her shoulders and, having turned slightly towards him, let her hand remain atop his frock coat.
And waistcoat, and fine linen shirt,
and I know not how many more layers. Perhaps he wears more layers than I do. Why do I not know this? Why did I not ask Aunt Gardiner what men wear?
But she was happy with their present level of familiarity, happier still to be warmed by him and no longer competing for who could tolerate more cold; shivers were, she now knew, exceedingly hard to suppress. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Do I endanger your equanimity if we ride thus?” The innocence in her voice was feigned.

Darcy covered the beguiling hand on his chest with his and sighed contentedly by way of answer.
I might have denied myself this?
He kissed the top of her head, once again appreciating the pearl-headed hairpins he had known would look becoming in her dark hair. His eyes travelled around the carriage absently until he noticed that a garment he expected to see was missing. “What has happened to your wedding bonnet?”

“When I went upstairs at Longbourn, I placed it on my mother’s bed, upon her pillow.”

“Elizabeth!” He was surprised and delighted. “Well done!”
And about damn time!

“Hateful thing… I have never worn a more uncomfortable or ill-suited object in the whole of my life. I hope you know I never wanted it. My bonnet was to be made from the remaining fabric from my gown. Two white bonnets were sent for Jane to choose between. They arrived the same day as your hairpins.”

“
Your
hairpins, Elizabeth,” he corrected her.

“Mama was jealous of
our
lovely hairpins on Jane’s behalf. Jane was not jealous; she does not know what it is to be jealous. But Mama was worried I would outshine Jane if I dressed my hair as you wanted. Me, outshine Jane?”

Of course, you would. You always will, and this morning you did
. During their engagement, he learned he could not convince her of her superior beauty, at least not yet. His kissed her hair again. “And it was Jane’s cast-off, too? That tops it all. I do wish I had known.”

Elizabeth had been wonderful. “Today you were far lovelier than your sister. Jane always looks the same—an ornament from the Parthenon— no matter the occasion.” He looked down at her with amusement and found her eyes were merry, yet she did not smile. “I have been told by men who know such things that no wedding ever runs smoothly. This will be the story we tell our granddaughters, Elizabeth. Why did you not tell me my gift had launched a battle of wills?”

“You think ill enough of Mama already. Up until the last possible moment, I thought surely she would relent. How could she risk demeaning a gift from her loftiest son-in-law? But her purpose was to ensure that I knew, to the end, that I am her least favourite daughter and must never think anything special of myself simply because I accidentally married well. Dear Papa saved me.”

“A tempest in a teapot.”

“A hurricane in a hatbox!” Elizabeth laughed.

“Ah! At last, you are smiling. Everything you said of my smile could as easily be applied to yours, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. I live for your smiles.”

She parted her lips, turned up her face, and closed her eyes. He leaned in to kiss her. As she wriggled more upright to deepen the kiss, he pulled back, ending it. Elizabeth sat motionless, ready for him to continue.
Let him see me after we kiss.

“Elizabeth…” he whispered with a note of warning.

She could feel the hiss of her name near her lips, and parted them further, just managing a slight pouting noise. His mouth was on hers instantly. She made a low moan of approbation and traced his lips with the tip of her tongue. When he made a choked sound in his throat, she pulled away, opened her eyes, and beamed at him.

He narrowed his eyes as if aware of her scheming, and deepened his dimples. “Oh, is that the way of it?” He chuckled.

Satisfied with herself, she nestled against him again.

They had reached a state of cosy and amiable good cheer.

After a few more miles, Darcy needed to stretch his arms, and just as he stirred, so did Elizabeth.

“Now I fear I am too warm,” she said.

She unhooked the blue pelisse given her by Georgiana. As she leaned forward to shrug out of its sleeves, the back of her head revealed, exactly as he requested, those three loose ringlets that captivated him at the Netherfield ball almost exactly a year before and again at their wedding breakfast—a little mussed to be sure, but bobbing against her smooth nape all the same
. There are my tormentors.
He grinned to himself.

Without allowing any reconsideration, Darcy murmured, “Do not move.” He quickly drew down the shades on the coach windows, plunging them into near darkness. He bent to kiss the saucy curls into submission against her skin. He inhaled the warm scent of lavender and slowly nuzzled his face against her hair, at last indulging in the impulse that had haunted him for much of their acquaintance.

Elizabeth closed her eyes as she felt his breath on her neck. His nearness produced a warm tremble down her spine.
A frisson?
she wondered. “You know, Fitzwilliam, I suspected this of you when I first read your note that accompanied the hairpins.”

“How is it that she knows me so well, and I know her so little?” Darcy was surprised to hear his voice murmuring his private thoughts into her ringlets.

She smiled but withheld speaking her own musings.
Yes, this is how I thought happiness would feel
.

He closed his eyes and slowly kissed the curls again, then sat upright against the back of the seat. “Dearest Elizabeth, I thank you. Perhaps our granddaughters do not to need to know about your impertinent curls and how they have tortured me.”

Shaking her head with a laugh, Elizabeth settled back with Darcy’s arm about her shoulders. “Did you not see them as part of my arsenal of ‘arts and allurements,’ Fitzwilliam?”
Who could resist such a sentimental man?

He grinned and nodded against her head, then looked down and took an intimate notice of her wedding ensemble. Little shafts of light crept into the carriage from the edges of the shades.
If I unbutton those seven buttons on her bodice, what shall I find?
He did not resist looking at the top of her bosom, still inhaling her scent. It appeared as if the sun did occasionally reach her upper chest as the skin there was rosy and a little tanned. At the neckline of her gown, however, the skin was creamy, and the full curves hinted at further ampleness upheld by…
Hmm, short stays?
he wondered. He could see no evidence of a divorce keeping her breasts apart
. Arts and allurements she says…

While he and Bingley tried not to lower their jovial debate of the relative merits of the two eldest Bennet sisters to an intimate level, Darcy did believe that his Elizabeth had the more generous bosom. Some men at his club held that, as regards a woman’s endowments, anything more than a handful was a waste, and even though Darcy’s experience was from long ago, he tended to agree. Of course, it was easy to concur when he knew himself to have larger than average hands, the palms of which were now vaguely itching with the stifled impulse to cup her breast.

Darcy had managed to kiss her ringlets and brush his lips over the back of her neck without unduly arousing himself—those actions were an expression of veneration— but now the view of her rising and falling chest in the flickering sunlight was arresting all thought. Elizabeth appeared to be sleepy. Her steady breathing held him spellbound. And so they rode, with Darcy’s universe of awareness reduced to his virgin bride’s bosom.

She was lulled to drowsiness from the swaying of the carriage and the contentment of their easiness together. She knew where his eyes were roving. The path on her chest, where Darcy’s fingers had lingered briefly a fortnight ago, seemed to animate under his scrutiny. The nearness of his hand currently warming her shoulder heightened her memory of that first stroke. Since then, it took very little for Elizabeth to become distracted by acute remembrance. The thought of that touch, at once teasing and sincere, now created the necessity for more. There was an ague inside her ribs at the notion of further attention being paid to that portion of her person. If he could be lured to finish what was begun that night, if he would caress her bosom, she felt certain her desire would be alleviated. Why he would resist her in this, she could not imagine.

After a time, she felt her courage rise and shifted her position, turning slightly to face the windows. Her back was now against his chest, and she lowered and shrugged her shoulder, which caused the coverlet to slip, and his hand to drop from her shoulder onto her breast. She tried not to alter her breathing.

Darcy’s, however, stopped—
can she read my mind?

Elizabeth feared she had over-stepped what might be expected or allowed of a new wife. He was obviously attempting by every means at his disposal to ignore the temptation she presented without giving further offense. Perhaps if she could somehow convince him that her movements were guided by sleep, he would not say anything or attempt to remove his hand. Almost instantly, his warmth was pleasantly transmitted through the satin.
He does not know how little separates him from my skin. Oh, what have I done? Reckless girl! He will be nettled again.

The joined sensations of pleasure and alarm coursed through Darcy with a speed that made his head swim.
Is she asleep? Should I remove my hand? This is astonishing. If I do remove my hand, will she awaken and know where it has been? I do not want to move my hand. She is my wife; we are alone in a carriage, why should I remove my hand? She certainly implied she would have allowed this before, had I but tried.
Darcy was desperate not to startle and reveal his surprise.