Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (25 page)

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING the two gentlemen left Rosings. Though Darcy knew it would be torture to take his leave of Elizabeth after her refusal of him, he could not help but wonder at her reaction to his letter. It pained him to think she might not believe him, but he contented himself in knowing he had done all he could to relay the truth of passing events, and hope that any future meetings between them would be pleasant ones, without reproach or suspicion.

Beyond the two offenses which he had explained at length in his letter — for he always seemed to do better expressing himself in the written word than in the conversation of the moment — he felt the sting of a rejection so acute he could scarcely put a name to it. Not once, in all his apprehensions about asking for Elizabeth’s hand, did he consider she would not have
him
. The match, which caused him so much grief, should have caused within her a matching amount — if not more — joy. He was not insensible to the luxury of his position and fortune. That she should reject him, even with the reasons she so laid out, took much reconciliation of mind on his part.

There could only be one reason for it. Her dislike of him must be great indeed for his fortune and power not to prove an inducement. No, she had not even hesitated in her refusal of him. His internal struggle had not allowed for the possibility of her not wanting him and the sudden knowledge left a hollow emptiness in his chest and a rock in his stomach. He had known his whole life the reason why a woman would want to marry him was for what he had, and not who he was. By rights, he could have any pick of female, from any family, and they would eagerly agree to his hand with little more inducement than his name. It was a fact of wealth that he had long ago resigned himself to.

She did not care for him and her abhorrence must be deep indeed for her to reject all he had to offer. And, yet, if she took him for his wealth or position, she would not be the woman he had fallen for. The look in her eyes as she declared she would not have him, that she could never be induced to have him, burned into his soul. He had never felt so dejected, so alone, so heartbroken. The pain only seemed to grow worse with each passing second. He would never have her, never possess her, never lie next to her, never wake her with his kisses, or fall asleep with the scent of her lingering around him, or discuss books and music, or travel, or argue with her about any number of mundane things. He felt the acute loss of the life he would not have. The urge to scream filled him, but he swallowed the emotion, hiding behind the only comforts he had left — propriety and pride.

With Elizabeth, he had wanted to be with her, wanted to speak to her though the words did not always come out the way he wished them to. Often, after walking with her in the park, he would think of things he should have said and would always determine to do better upon their next meeting. However, Elizabeth never seemed to mind his silence and allowed him time to gather his thoughts before expressing them. He had so convinced himself that she understood him and accepted him, for more than his wealth. She did not put herself forward as other women had in search of a husband, and thus he had concluded her attention to him came from her own enjoyment of his company and nothing else.

How he had been wrong!

“We can stop the carriage,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam as they passed the Parsonage. “I can make some excuse if you would like to go in. A lost handkerchief perhaps?”

Seeing Mr. Collins waiting near the lodges to make them his parting obeisance, Darcy shook his head in denial. “No. I have nothing left to attend to at the Parsonage. I took my leave, I will not do it again.”

“I do not know all that happened, and I will not ask you for the details, but Miss Elizabeth is a reasonable young lady. I am sure whatever you imagined she might need to have clarified from me has already been determined to your satisfaction.”

“Indeed,” he agreed simply to end the conversation. He leaned back his head, closed his eyes, and refused to say anything more.

Mr. Collins brought home news of the gentlemen’s departure, particularly noting their appearance of good health. No sooner had he relayed his intelligence, did he hasten to Rosings to console Lady Catherine and her daughter.

While he was away, Elizabeth was happy to be alone with her friend. Charlotte was as close to her as her own sisters, though perhaps not so close as Jane, and she found the familiar ease with which they could converse to be a comfort.

“I remember, some days back, you were going to give me your mother’s advice on how to keep your husband quiet,” Elizabeth said. The thought had passed through her mind on more than one occasion, but until this moment she had not had the privacy to ask.

Charlotte laughed. “It is how she told me to fix Mr. Collins’s interest, and is what gives me a few hours quiet when I should wish it.”

Thoroughly interested, and in need of a good distraction, Elizabeth implored her to go on.

Charlotte, with whispering secrecy, though there was no one to overhear, said, “A man is not unlike an animal during its season — aggressive, distracted, and inclined to run about here and there. But, it is within a lady’s power to control those habits, and make them more agreeable, not to mention the ability to settle things as they wish. Simply put, you must milk the energy from them.”

“My dear Charlotte, your mother gives advice as obscurely as mine. Mine speaks of visiting parlors, your mother speaks of milking.” Elizabeth laughed. “It is a wonder the world gets populated at all.”

“You are not getting my meaning,” said Charlotte. Then giving a slight, inappropriate gesture of her hands and a glance downward to the floor, she said, “You milk him. Down there. Though, it is not really milk, I daresay it works. It turns a man instantly docile and completely controllable, and what is the little chore when it assures I will have my way.”

Elizabeth was not sure how to answer, and was prevented from even forming a gasp of shock by the return of Mr. Collins. She tried, unsuccessfully not to think of what Charlotte said and the picture that formed was so disagreeable she could hardly respond to his news that they had an invitation from her ladyship to dine.

Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that, had she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her as her future niece. Nor could she think, without a mischievous smile, of what her ladyship’s indignation would have been. The idea was one of the few that brought her any amusement. Most of the time, she had to make a conscious effort not to think of Mr. Darcy and his letter.

Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. “I assure you, I feel it exceedingly,” said Lady Catherine. “I believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do. I am particularly attached to these young men, and know them to be much attached to me. They were excessively sorry to go.”

Mr. Collins had one of his longwinded compliments to offer, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.

Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of spirits, and immediately accounted for it by supposing that she did not like to go home again so soon. “But if that is the case, you must write to your mother and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure.”

“I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation,” replied Elizabeth, “but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town next Saturday.”

“Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly spare you for another fortnight.”

“But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return.”

“Oh, your father may spare you, if your mother can. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. If you will stay it will be in my power to take one of you as far as London, for I am going there for a week early in June. Indeed, if the weather should happen to be cool, I should not object to taking you both, as you are neither of you large.”

“You are all kindness, madam, but I believe we must abide by our original plan.”

Lady Catherine seemed resigned, and had many other questions to ask respecting their journey. As she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary, which Elizabeth believed to be lucky for her. With a mind so occupied, she might have forgotten where she was. Reflection must be reserved for solitary hours. Whenever she was alone, she gave way to it as the greatest relief, and not a day went by without a solitary walk, in which she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant recollections.

Mr. Darcy’s letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She studied every sentence and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different. When she remembered the style of his address, she was still full of indignation; but when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself; and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. His attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect. However, she could not for a moment repent her refusal, or allow herself the slightest inclination ever to see him again. Her mind was too unsteady when it came to him and she had to err on the side of caution — not that he would renew his offer.

In these solitary moments, she could not help wondering how things would be between them had she accepted him. There was a natural progression between a couple after the announcement of an engagement. He had held her hands to his chest as he had made his sentiments known. What would he have done, had she exclaimed, “Yes! Yes, I will have you!”

Would those lips have brushed over her fingers as he lifted her hands to receive his mouth? Would he have taken it farther still, drawing her close? She knew him to be a man of honor, but would the certainty of their engagement have allowed him to kiss her? He would not back away from his word once it was given. If he had struggled to the point he had claimed, and at this point she did not doubt he believed all he said, then would he have felt propelled to end his own suffering as soon as she allowed? With the empty house and quiet evening, they would not have been disturbed.

Her thoughts traveled in such a way as to awaken all of her senses. She closed her eyes, aware that it was the middle of the day. She lay on her bed, having begged to be excused for a nap. No one would disturb her for hours.

Lifting the last page of the letter, she looked at his bold signature and whispered, “Fitzwilliam Darcy.” As she traced the lines of it, she felt closer to him, and the sensation brought back all those small moment when he had touched her — her cheek, her hand, her arm.

She let the letter drop against her chest. The light weight of it felt heavy against her breasts. Without moving it, she bit her lip. Each breath became measured. Her legs moved over the coverlet in such a way that they became exposed from beneath her dress. As if possessed, her hips moved, rocking side to side. She pressed her thighs tightly together, aware of the ache building there.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy.” What pleasure the words invoked. Elizabeth gave way to her longings, letting her mind play out what might have happened had she said yes. She licked her lips. What if all that anger he had shown in yelling at her had instead been passion? Would his lips have met hers, hard and sure? Or soft and probing?

He had strong hands, warm and capable. Elizabeth placed her hand on her exposed knee, pulling at her skirt to slide it up her thighs. What would such a moment feel like? To be claimed by a man in the most intimate of ways? She pictured those blue eyes watching her as he kissed her cheeks, trailing the warm caresses over her chin and neck. Letting her fingers play the part of his mouth, she touched her face before sliding them down to the front of her bodice. It did not take much to free the laces that would expose her chest.

Experience did not let her imagine the full effect of his love-making, but she was not so innocent as to not understand what would happen, and that men were not only of a nature, but of a shape to conquer women. Touching a breast, she massaged it in her palm as the nipple hardened. The pleasure of it shot through her, causing her toes to curl and her knees to lift.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy.” The letter brushed her flesh, his signature to her naked chest. It was as if he touched her.

A harsh, ragged breath escaped her and she found her hand reaching to press against the ache of her sex. Rapturous delights greeted her fingers. Everywhere she looked she imagined him to be — watching her, touching her, taking her. By all that is blessed, he had the greatest eyes; and the masculine smell of him whenever he came too close was hardly forgotten. She guessed his scent would only be stronger if she peeled the jacket from his shoulders and the shirt from his chest. She wondered at the muscles she would find there — would they be tanned like his face from exposure to the sun? For a gentleman, he was not unaccustomed to vigorous exercise and pursuits. Surely his activities would translate themselves in the hidden length of his body. How hard he must feel compared to her softness, so much warmer than her cooler skin! The naughtiness of such thoughts caused her to blush, but the pleasure of them did not stay her fingers.