Truth about Mr. Darcy (10 page)

“Except for what, my love?” she entreated, her voice soft and filled with tenderness.

Darcy raised his head, brushing her cheek with his. Their eyes met and then closed as he rested his forehead against hers. “More than anything, you know I wish to have you for my wife, yet I dare not ask again for fear of your rejection.”

Elizabeth stroked his cheek as she feathered her lips against his. Darcy inhaled sharply when he heard her whisper, “I assure you, Fitzwilliam, your fears are entirely unfounded.”

A burning hope suddenly flowed unchecked through Darcy’s veins. He forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths before saying, “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears of love and emotion burned in her eyes as she drew her head just far enough away to look into his eyes once more. He loved her almost beyond reason, and only now did she truly understand what it was to be able to return such a love. “Fitzwilliam, I love you now so very dearly. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you for my husband. I am only sorry it has taken me so long to commit myself to you. You are truly the best man I have ever known. It will be an honor for me to become your wife.”

***

The remainder of the day passed without further incident, aside from Darcy’s joyful application to Mr. Bennet for Elizabeth’s hand, which he was not denied. The happy couple spent the last hour or so of the waning afternoon pleasantly with Bingley and Jane, much to the consternation of Mr. Collins, who had stubbornly declined an invitation to dine with Charlotte at Lucas Lodge. After witnessing Darcy’s denial of familial duty to Miss de Bourgh, the clergyman was convinced, more than ever, that the master of Pemberley had been infamously drawn in.

Chagrined by his cousin’s unwarranted accusation toward his future son-in-law, and his own recently inflicted injustice in the same quarter, Mr. Bennet was resolved to give the lovers one more day of peace by delaying the announcement of Elizabeth’s engagement until the following evening, thus insulating Darcy against further insult from having to bear witness to the endless raptures of his future mother-in-law.

Just before dinner, in an effort to defuse some of his mounting anger toward Mr. Collins’s persistent and offensive scrutiny, Darcy asked Elizabeth to take a turn with him in the garden. The night was clear, the moon was full, and stars twinkled in the heavens. As they made their way toward a little copse on the far side of the garden, Elizabeth shivered from the chill of the night air.

The spot was a pleasant one and had become a favorite of theirs, as it afforded them some degree of privacy from several sets of prying eyes that might be observing them surreptitiously from the house. Settling himself upon an intricately carved bench, Darcy pulled the woman he loved into an embrace upon his lap.

“How I have longed these past hours to kiss those tempting lips of yours, my lovely Elizabeth!” His voice was soft and filled with urgency, and before she could respond, Darcy had captured her mouth with his in a gentle yet thorough kiss that bespoke all the emotion of the day. When his lips finally released hers, both lovers were breathless.

Darcy gazed with love upon the woman before him. He wanted to touch her, to feel her, to know every inch of her, and impatiently tugged his gloves from his hands so he could delight in the softness of her skin. With a contented sigh, Elizabeth leaned into his caress and, tilting her head, placed her lips slowly and firmly upon his warm palm.

Darcy was mesmerized as she cradled his hand in her own and proceeded to dust kisses from the tips of his fingers to the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. Her eyes were closed, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with each breath. His own breath was beginning to come faster, and he hardly knew how he had willed himself to remain so still when such a lovely sight was before him, tantalizing him with her sweet lips.

No longer able to remain passive, Darcy nuzzled her neck, then feathered his lips slowly, seductively along the contour of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat, and back again to reclaim her mouth in an ardent kiss.

To Elizabeth, his ministrations were heavenly, and this time, when his hands wandered ever so sensuously past her waist to caress her hips, she arched herself against him in an unspoken invitation.

With measured deliberation, Darcy dared his hands to move upward to her full breasts, where he stroked her with his fingertips, eliciting from Elizabeth a soft moan. It was almost more than he could stand, and he pulled his head just far enough away to look upon her beauty illuminated by the moonlight.

“My love, does this please you?” he asked, still caressing her through the velvety fabric of her spencer.

Elizabeth was almost beyond herself with desire. “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible, her breathing ragged as she leaned into his touch.

“Good.” Darcy worked several buttons on her spencer free and slipped his hand inside. Her body was warm, welcoming, and unbelievably responsive as his fingers grazed the flesh at the neckline of her gown, his thumb applying the slightest circular pressure to her nipple through the soft fabric. Again, Elizabeth moaned as though with delighted ecstasy, and with a surge of burning desire, Darcy parted her lips and drank from her mouth.

Elizabeth was lost to everything around her except Darcy and the exquisite heat his caresses ignited deep within her body. She could feel the tension of the morning melting further away with every teasing stroke of his fingers and every embrace from his lips. She was desirous of more; every fiber of her being cried out for him.

It was Darcy who, through the haze of his own passion, finally realized the danger of their situation. Her passionate responsiveness to him, her unprecedented generosity in permitting him such liberties with her body, her obvious desire, all brought an acute pang of warning that finally forced him to rein in his passion. Gradually, he lightened his kisses and withdrew his hands, which shook as he refastened the buttons of Elizabeth’s spencer. He drew her head down to rest upon his shoulder, unbuttoning his greatcoat and wrapping it around them to further warm her trembling body with the heat of his own.

There they sat in the middle of her father’s garden, in the dark and most likely facing an engagement of at least three or four months. Their actions were more than unwise—they were dangerous.
How on earth am I ever to survive months of this blissful torture before I can make her truly mine in every way?

Elizabeth’s thoughts, unsurprisingly, were very much along the same lines.

They remained thus for a long while, holding one another in the crisp silence of the evening, lost to all else. Then there was a sound just behind them—the snapping of a twig beneath stumbling feet—and Darcy stiffened. Elizabeth raised her head and, scanning the darkness, suggested they return to the house. It was just as well, as they espied, not half a minute later, the meddling Mr. Collins, who, judging by the appalled look upon his portly face, had very likely observed Darcy brushing Elizabeth’s lips with a lingering kiss as she secured the last several buttons on his greatcoat, her fingers dancing over his chest while he proceeded to pull on his discarded gloves.

***

Dinner that night at Longbourn was an interesting, strained affair, to say the least. Elizabeth was mortified and angry that Mr. Collins had witnessed the intimate exchange between her and Darcy. Darcy was furious that his aunt’s insufferable clergyman had the audacity to forget himself so far as to dare to meddle in his personal affairs. Mr. Collins was absolutely indignant on behalf of himself and her ladyship for the unscrupulous and scandalous behavior of Darcy and his Cousin Elizabeth.

Jane felt for Elizabeth; Bingley felt for Darcy; Mary felt for Mr. Collins and busied herself by wracking her memory for a few appropriate words of reflection from
Fordyce’s Sermons
; Kitty and Lydia bickered for the duration of the first course; and Mrs. Bennet could be heard above it all, talking away in her shrill voice about trousseaux, new carriages, and frippery for Jane’s upcoming nuptials. Mr. Bennet observed them all with amusement.

By the time the gentlemen retired to Mr. Bennet’s library after the meal, there was an almost tangible air of tension. As could be expected, a healthier amount of port than was usually offered seemed to be in order. Aside from Mr. Collins’s sermon on morality and familial duty, there was little conversation to be had. It was all Darcy could do to keep his temper in check, especially after struggling against the uncharacteristic inclination he felt to lay claim to a substantial portion of the decanter.

As they rejoined the ladies, Mr. Collins succeeded in further astonishing those around him by approaching Darcy and requesting a private conference with him.

“You cannot be serious, Mr. Collins. I have nothing further to say to you tonight on any subject.” His reply was barely civil and his features filled with a cold disdain that would have easily deterred a more discerning man. Darcy quickly turned his attention back to Elizabeth, but Mr. Collins stood his ground and continued his assault.

“But my dear Mr. Darcy,” he continued in an urgent, slightly amplified voice, “as a clergyman, and particularly one who has pledged my undying bond of allegiance to your own, most respectable aunt, I feel it is my holy duty to point out to you the particular evils of such lustful pursuits as you have so recently engaged in, for it has been my keen observation that you, sir, have not been the first illustrious gentleman to have been led astray by the wiles of a woman. My heart, in any case, goes out to you, for your lamentable weakness in succumbing, and most unconsciously I might add, to the forbidden lures of the flesh.”

There were horrified gasps, and then the entire room fell into uncomfortable silence. The void was filled again, and quickly, by Mr. Collins. “Furthermore,” he continued, “though my fair cousin does have innumerable temptations at her disposal, which have, undoubtedly, served to benefit her most advantageously in this nefarious ensnarement, I feel, and am certain, beyond any doubt, my most generous and condescending patroness will agree with me when I say that, as an unsuspecting victim of this cruel and artful ploy to capture your favor, not only, Mr. Darcy, are you truly not at fault for indulging in such a natural indiscretion such as this, but you are most certainly to be pitied and prayed for to our merciful God in Heaven and not to be held accountable in the least for any breach of faith in your otherwise honorable and dutiful intentions toward your cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park.” He finished this speech with what he apparently believed to be a subservient smile before bowing.

It was, by far, too much. “You forget yourself, sir!” Darcy’s furious voice filled the quiet drawing room, resonating off the walls and causing Mr. Collins to cringe. Raising himself to his full height, he took several threatening steps toward the clergyman, who, it appeared, had finally acquired sense enough to retreat several faltering steps in the opposite direction.

“Until now,” Darcy said in a dangerous voice, “I have endured your preposterous impositions, your tiresome meddling, your baseless slander, and your outrageous insults! You flatter yourself, Mr. Collins, with your gross assumptions, not only in presuming yourself superior enough in situation and rank to dare to speak on behalf of my aunt and my cousin, but by your insufferable presumption that you could possibly have any knowledge of my heart, my mind, and my desires. There is but one other person aside from myself, and one person only, who is privy to such information, sir, and you have unjustly insulted her at every turn and in a most offensive manner in her own father’s home. You will take the opportunity now to apologize to my future
wife
, and if I ever learn of your leveling another insult at her for any reason, make no mistake, Mr. Collins, it will become my mission in life to see you live to regret it.”

Mr. Collins was not remiss in his apology to Elizabeth, making use of all the eloquence in his possession as he groveled before her, begging her forgiveness for his crimes. Whether he truly meant it was another matter entirely.

By this time Darcy had long since had enough, and making his apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for losing his temper in their drawing room, he took his leave, but not before exchanging a private, lengthy, and somewhat emotional good-night talk with Elizabeth.

It was not until Darcy was safely removed from Longbourn that Mrs. Bennet happened to recall several words from the heated exchange with Mr. Collins in which Darcy had referred, most definitely, to Elizabeth as his future wife. Upon receiving confirmation of this, both from her husband and her daughter, she reacted in very much the only way she was accustomed to responding to such happy news. Her raptures were so effusive that none in attendance were in any doubt of her joy of the impending event, which could be heard all the way to Meryton and, very likely, well beyond.

After receiving such a set-down from Darcy, and after indulging in a fair amount of reflection, Mr. Collins was finally forced to concede what had become painfully obvious to everyone else in the house—he could no longer expect to receive the proper distinction and respect he believed his due by remaining any longer at Longbourn; thus, he quitted his cousin’s house at first light the following morning and hastened to Lucas Lodge, where he would remain until his departure for Hunsford several days hence.

Rather than riding over to Longbourn and braving the effusions of Mrs. Bennet after spending what he had deemed to be an exceptionally trying day in that house not twelve hours earlier, Darcy suggested to Bingley that they extend an invitation to the two eldest Miss Bennets, entreating them to spend the afternoon and evening at Netherfield instead. Declaring it an excellent idea, and quite wishing they had thought of it a good deal sooner, Bingley wasted no time dispatching a footman with his carriage and a note to Jane.

Just as the ladies were making ready to leave, Charlotte arrived. “Lizzy!” she called out as she hurried toward them.

“Charlotte! It is good to see you,” she said with a smile and an affectionate embrace. “We are to dine today at Netherfield and were just about to depart.”

Charlotte’s expression, which her friend had thought appeared somewhat troubled, became even more so. “I am glad, then, to have caught you, Elizabeth. I am afraid I have some rather distressing news to relate that I would not wish you to hear from another source. Indeed, it cannot wait.”

Elizabeth and Jane looked at her quizzically. Taking Elizabeth’s hands, Charlotte revealed that it concerned Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

“Me and Mr. Darcy? Charlotte, I cannot possibly imagine what could be so distressing about any news concerning us.”

“I am sure you are aware of Mr. Collins’s hasty removal this morning to Lucas Lodge?”

Elizabeth and Jane nodded their assent.

“You must also be well acquainted, then, with his immense displeasure on the subject of Mr. Darcy and the strength of that gentleman’s attachment to you.”

Again, both sisters nodded.

“Elizabeth, Mr. Collins is extremely indignant. He has claimed Mr. Darcy has gone against the express wishes of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh—and, perhaps—his entire family by entering into an engagement with you. From what I have been told, Mr. Darcy has a prior understanding with Lady Catherine’s daughter.”

Jane gasped, and though she felt a moment of panic at the mention of Darcy’s family, Elizabeth only scowled and said in a bitter voice, “Yes, that is what Mr. Collins has
accused
him of, Charlotte, but I can assure you any claim of that sort is untrue. There was
never
any understanding between Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. Mr. Darcy informed me himself that it was merely the fanciful whim of Lady Catherine and nothing more.”

“I confess I am relieved to hear it. Please understand I do not doubt you, Elizabeth, nor do I doubt Mr. Darcy’s integrity as a gentleman, but Mr. Collins has taken the liberty of relating all the particulars as he is acquainted with them, not only to myself, but to my father, my mother, and my entire family—and all within earshot of the servants. Tomorrow morning he means to leave for Kent to inform Lady Catherine of Mr. Darcy’s engagement, and that is not all, I fear. I hesitate to mention the rest.”

“Charlotte, please,” she entreated, “did you not just say you would not wish for me to learn of anything from idle gossips?”

By now, all three ladies had grown decidedly agitated.

Charlotte drew a deep breath and exhaled fully before she next spoke. “Very well, Elizabeth, I will tell you all, but please know it gives me great pain to do so.” She tightened her grip on her friend’s hands and continued, “Mr. Collins has spoken quite explicitly of a moment of shocking intimacy he claims to have witnessed between you and Mr. Darcy last night in your father’s garden. I believe it is his intention to inform Mr. Darcy’s aunt you have somehow drawn him in—
seduced
him, even—thus, forcing him to offer you his hand under duress. Oh, Elizabeth, I am so very, very sorry! Mr. Collins seems quite confident Lady Catherine will insist upon Mr. Darcy breaking his engagement to you, and, as he has told me Lady Catherine is one of Mr. Darcy’s few living relations and very nearly the head of his family, he is certain her wishes shall be carried out.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to gasp as she felt the blood drain from her face and swayed.

Jane, though feeling rather unwell herself, moved to help Charlotte support her. There was concern written plainly on the faces of both.

“Lizzy,” said Jane urgently, “you must come into the house, and we will inform our father at once of all we have just learnt. Certainly, he will know what is best to be done.”

For several moments, Elizabeth was capable of nothing beyond a blank look of incomprehension and, when she had finally recovered her voice enough to speak, sounded so very much unlike herself—so faint and distressed—that Jane and Charlotte found themselves fearing for her. “No. I must go to Netherfield. I must speak to Mr. Darcy at once.”

Jane attempted to dissuade her, but on this, Elizabeth was adamant: she would speak with Darcy. Seeing her sister’s distress only continue to increase, she finally consented, though with great reluctance, and all three ladies soon found themselves settled in Bingley’s carriage and on their way to Netherfield. Charlotte accompanied them only as far as the lane to Lucas Lodge.

When the carriage arrived at its destination, both gentlemen were waiting to greet the ladies from Longbourn. Bingley hurried forward and handed Jane down with a smile, which faltered upon seeing her troubled expression. When Darcy stepped forward to extend his hand to assist Elizabeth, she remained in the far corner of the carriage, her naturally rosy complexion decidedly pale, and looking as though she would burst into tears at any moment.

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter? Truly, Elizabeth, you look extremely ill!” Unable to elicit from her any response beyond a look of utter despair and complete wretchedness, he turned toward Jane with no small amount of concern.

“I am afraid, sir,” she began unsteadily, “we have just had a visit from the future Mrs. Collins, in which she has imparted to us some most distressing news. I am afraid it concerns Lizzy and you, and, I am sorry to say, is of a most disturbing nature.”

“What news? What in God’s name has that odious man to accuse me of now?” he demanded indignantly.

Eying the driver and footman, Jane quietly addressed Bingley. “Cannot we all go into the house, Charles? I believe we should discuss this unfortunate development with Mr. Darcy in private.”

Bingley understood her perfectly. “Yes. Yes, of course. Darcy, I am certain Miss Elizabeth would benefit from a few moments in which to collect herself. Perhaps you can join us in my study when she is feeling better?”

Darcy nodded distractedly, and after Bingley had dismissed the driver and footman and escorted Jane into the house, he took a seat in the carriage beside Elizabeth and closed the door. No words were uttered, but Darcy was able to read her anguish as clearly as if she had spoken it aloud. Suddenly, Elizabeth reached for him, burying her face in his lapel. He enfolded her in his embrace, one arm wrapping around her shoulders while his other hand moved to cradle the back of her head. He held her while she wept.

It seemed as though an eternity had passed before Elizabeth was once again in control of herself. Darcy produced his handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped her tears with unexampled affection. When he had done, he drew her back against his chest, his tone soft and filled with concern. “Elizabeth, dearest, please. Will you not speak to me of it?”

Her head was pounding, and at first, she was unequal to saying anything, but after several moments she managed to speak in a low, angry voice, the words nearly choking her. “He
saw
us, Fitzwilliam. My
hateful
cousin. He actually watched us last night for some time when we were together in the garden… while you and I… when you were…
touching me
. He saw it all! I am disgraced! My reputation, my family, all my sisters! We are all sullied because of this! He means to tell your aunt and put an end to our engagement!” Elizabeth fought to control her agony, to prevent more tears of anguish from falling, but it proved a hopeless business.

Darcy continued to hold her close, kissing her hair and stroking her back. He could not stop himself from shaking with the rage rising within his breast at the persistent, unwarranted, and malicious interference of Mr. Collins. Try as he would, Darcy’s anger did not abate. At long last, Elizabeth quieted, giving way almost completely to exhaustion.

When she finally felt well enough to leave the carriage and enter the house, it was to discover her sister had already apprised Bingley of their conversation with Charlotte. After repeating the particulars for Darcy and watching his anger continue to swell to a quiet fury as he paced the length of the room, Bingley rang for a servant to prepare a room for Elizabeth, so she might rest for a few hours. Pausing to take a long, thoughtful look at the woman he had long since given his heart to, Darcy excused himself and strode stiffly from the room.

***

It was many hours later that Elizabeth opened her eyes to vaguely familiar surroundings. Casting her gaze about her, she was startled to find herself still occupying the elegant bedchamber that Mr. Bingley’s housekeeper, Mrs. Blakely, prepared for her that afternoon, along with a strong cup of medicinal tea the elderly woman insisted would ease the throbbing in her head and allow her to sleep. As her headache now appeared to have gone, and the delicate floral pattern upon the walls was bathed in nothing but the soft glow of a low-burning fire, she could only assume the tea must have worked its magic. She yawned and attempted to pull herself to a sitting position, only to discover she appeared to be restrained by something warm and heavy pressing upon her body.

Panic flowed through her, and she began to struggle against the weight that seemed to be pinning her. Then she heard a muffled voice and felt a warm breath upon her neck, which made her freeze. “Shh, Elizabeth, it is late. Go back to sleep, my love.”

“Fitzwilliam!” she gasped. “What are you doing here? Why are we sleeping in the same bed?” She could not begin to account for his presence there, for such a complete breach of propriety—and under his friend’s own roof!

Darcy tightened his hold on her and, nuzzling her neck, replied in a sleepy voice, “You have nothing to fear from me, dearest. Go back to sleep, or you will surely wake the house.”

Despite Darcy’s reassurance, Elizabeth could not help but worry. “But why has no one bothered to wake me? Where are the Bingleys and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst? And where is Jane? She must be terribly worried about me.” She stopped then, placed her hand over her eyes, and groaned. “Fitzwilliam, please tell me I have not slept all afternoon. Poor Mr. Bingley must think me unpardonably rude.”

At this, Darcy released her and, raising himself upon one elbow, fixed her with a steady gaze full of love and longing. He was lying beneath the counterpane, clad only in his fine linen shirt and, Elizabeth fervently hoped, his breeches. Her gaze traveled over his handsome features, and she inhaled sharply as she beheld the beauty of his neck for the first time, completely unencumbered by a cravat.

Darcy chuckled at her reaction and took pity on her. “As I said, you need not have any fear of me, Elizabeth. Your sister is sleeping just down the hall, and a note has long since been dispatched to Longbourn, informing your family you had taken ill upon your arrival. I am sorry to inform you, however, you have indeed slept, not only through luncheon, but through supper, as well. By the time your sister and Bingley became aware of the lateness of the hour, the weather had taken such a turn as to make it necessary for both of you to spend the night. You are now, and quite to my satisfaction, I might add, stranded by a rather unrelenting storm.”

More than a little mortified by his account of her current circumstances, not to mention most reluctant to credit it, Elizabeth threw back the counterpane and made her way toward the window, muttering irritated words under her breath about Mrs. Blakely and the strength of her tea. Sure enough, upon peering through the curtains, her sight was instantly assailed by a blinding torrent of thick snow.

Turning back to Darcy in astonishment, she found his eyes lingering on her form with a look she had come to know well. It was at that moment she recalled she was wearing only a low-cut night shift she had borrowed from Mrs. Hurst, which clung to her body. Judging from his passionate gaze, he had noticed as well.

“Are you going to continue there all night in the cold, or will you come back to me where I can resume keeping you warm?” Darcy patted the empty space beside him on the bed.

Elizabeth moved to cover herself, but finding nothing near at hand to suit her purpose, she was forced to settle for wrapping her arms securely about her chest. This only served to make Darcy erupt in silent laughter. Elizabeth failed to see the humor in her situation. “I… well… exactly
what
, pray, are you doing in my bed, Mr. Darcy? I
am
correct in my assumption this is, indeed,
my
bed, sir, am I not?” She finished with a raised brow and an arch look.

“Indeed, it is,
Miss Bennet
,” he said in a voice full of mirth as he rose from the bed to join her by the window. “But I far prefer to think of it as
our
bed.”

“
Our bed?
Really, Mr. Darcy.” She was taken aback by his boldness, but not wholly intimidated. “And are you not afraid someone will discover you here, sir, in
our
bed?” she asked rather impudently.

Darcy was standing directly before her, his body so close Elizabeth could feel the heat radiating from him. “Not at all,” he said in a low voice. “I have taken the liberty of locking the doors.”