Truth about Mr. Darcy (33 page)

Darcy’s legs gave way, and he quickly maneuvered to support his wife as he sank to his knees, his breathing rapid, his heart pounding furiously within his breast. He clasped Elizabeth to him as he struggled to regulate his breathing.

After several minutes of silence, she laughed softly. “I believe, sir, it is safe to assume we have missed the Supper Dance.”

Darcy smiled and kissed her, teasing her lips apart with his tongue. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I am sorry,” he said. “It was not my intention to forego any of my dances with you tonight.”

She raised a hand and stroked his cheek. “I know,” she said, “but you were hardly in a frame of mind fit for dancing. Please tell me you are better now.”

Darcy kissed her again, his lips a soft caress. “I am, thank you… although, I believe I owe you an apology. I never should have treated you thus, especially in the middle of a ball given in our honor. I hope I have not hurt you in any way.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I believe I am hardly complaining, Fitzwilliam.”

“No,” he said, “however, we will very likely be missed soon, and I would not wish for the truth as to why we were absent from the Supper Dance to become generally known.”

“No, I would imagine not.” Elizabeth grinned and rose, straightening her gown and checking her appearance in a mirror upon the wall while Darcy made himself presentable. When he had done, he refastened the buttons on her gown, and she ran her hands through his hair, coaxing his curls back into place. “There,” she declared. “Now you look every inch the handsome gentleman once again.”

Darcy frowned and made to run his hand through his hair to dispel some of the agitation he felt at her words. Elizabeth stopped him before he could cause any damage and gave him a questioning look. “You must think me an insecure beast to take advantage of you in such a way,” he muttered.

Elizabeth caught his face between her gloved hands and forced his eyes to meet hers. “No,” she said in a gentle voice. “I think only that my husband, whom I love more than any other on this earth, must love me to distraction. Believe it or not, Fitzwilliam, though your jealousy is not something I can condone, it is something I can,
and do
, understand. You have nothing to fear, my love. There is nothing that could ever make me turn from you.” To emphasize her point, she kissed him with no small degree of feeling. “Come,” she finally said as she laid her hand upon her waist, now slightly thickened from pregnancy, “I am hungry, and I daresay so is this little one of ours.”

Darcy gathered her in his arms, his hand caressing her stomach. “Of course, Mrs. Darcy,” he said with a small, pleased smile. “Let us find something with which to tempt you both. You must keep up your strength. I would not have you starve on my account.”

Elizabeth smiled and smoothed a curl from his forehead. “I know not of our child, Fitzwilliam, but I do believe I have quite enough to tempt me right here. I doubt I would ever starve with you to care for me.” She sighed. “I do love you so, my dearest. Never question it.”

Darcy swallowed and ran his fingers over the softness of her cheek, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “For as long as I live, Elizabeth, I never shall.”

***

The rest of the evening passed without incident. Other than an appraising look, a pointed cough, and a raised brow from Lord Matlock when Darcy and Elizabeth finally made an appearance at supper, their cheeks flushed and their skin glowing, no mention was made of their absence. It was generally noted, however, that Darcy’s sour demeanor seemed to have improved significantly. Rather than scowling at the many remaining gentlemen who were fortunate enough to partner his wife for the second half of the night, he focused his undivided attention upon her alone, his mouth turned up in the barest hint of a private smile whenever their eyes met as she went down the dance.

Elizabeth made sure their eyes met often.

Between sets, Lady Matlock took Elizabeth around to all of the notable dowagers and other esteemed guests in attendance. When questioned, Elizabeth spoke easily of her family and of her father’s estate in Hertfordshire, of her interest in books, philosophy, and music, and, to those who had the audacity to inquire, of her fondness for her husband. She happened to be speaking with Lady Sowersby and Lady Malcolm, both of whom had fast become her avid champions, when Jane and Bingley joined them and, shortly thereafter, the Gardiners. It was not long before their group was engaged in a lively discourse, to the very great satisfaction of Lady Matlock. It was obvious the two dowagers were equally as impressed by Jane as they had been by Elizabeth, and pleased, as well, by the intelligence and elegant manners of their Cheapside relations.

Through it all, Darcy stood beside Elizabeth with his hands clasped behind his back. He was itching to reach out and caress her, to feel the curve of her waist through the buttery yellow silk of her gown. He did not dare attempt it, not after the pointed look his uncle had given him at supper. Instead, he put forth a valiant effort and focused his attention upon the conversation at hand. He could not help but smile at his wife’s keen wit and easy manners while in the company of two such exalted persons as Lady Malcolm and Lady Sowersby. Darcy was extremely pleased to see Lady Malcolm, who was well known throughout the first circles for her biting sarcasm and discerning intellect, delighted to have found in the new Mrs. Darcy an equally discerning and witty companion.

His smile increased when the first strains of a waltz floated through the room, and as the conversation between the ladies did not wane, Darcy cleared his throat. “Pardon my interruption, but I do believe, Mrs. Darcy, you have promised this particular dance to me,” he said as he fought to conceal the grin that was threatening to overspread his features.

Lady Sowersby smiled indulgently. Lady Malcolm, however, gave him a wry look and said, “Upon my word, Fitzwilliam, I have never before seen you thus. This newfound eagerness for the dance is extraordinary, or perhaps it is your eagerness for the company of your pretty young wife that makes you so willing to partake of an act that has never before afforded you much pleasure?”

To Elizabeth’s delight, Darcy blushed as he answered, “What you say is quite true, your ladyship. I believe I had only to find the perfect partner to transform the act from an odious chore to an unrivalled pleasure.” Then, with a sly glance at Elizabeth and a rakish grin, he added, “Now, if you will be so kind as to excuse us, I have long desired to dance while holding my wife in my arms, and I am loath to pass up the opportunity to do so now.” Elizabeth colored and then laughed, her pleasure in her husband’s affection apparent to all.

Bingley, who had been standing beside his friend, coughed behind his hand. Then, upon seeing Darcy leading his wife to the center of the room, he offered his own arm to his beloved Jane. She accepted with a smile and a blush that became her. They were then joined by the Gardiners, Lord and Lady Matlock, and many other daring couples whose mornings had lately been employed in learning the art of the scandalous waltz for just such an occasion.

As Darcy guided his wife around the ballroom, one hand clasping hers while the other held fast to her waist, Elizabeth could not recall a time when she had ever enjoyed dancing more. She and Jane had practiced all week with their willing partners, and now, as Elizabeth admired her sister’s beauty as Bingley led her through the dance, a look of absolute bliss upon both their faces, the mistress of Pemberley could hardly contain her smile.

Her gaze then drifted to her own partner, whose eyes were alight with happiness. Never before had she seen him looking so pleased, so relaxed while in company—especially in a ballroom. In fact, as Darcy gazed upon her with a look of delight, Elizabeth wondered if he had quite forgotten they were being observed. He held her a little tighter and pulled her a bit closer than propriety would have allowed—even during such a dance—and Elizabeth gave him an arch smile, knowing full well it was because he found her irresistible. “If you hold me any closer, Mr. Darcy, I do believe there shall be a scandal!” she teased.

Darcy loosened his hold, but only slightly. “Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, a sheepish smile quirking the corners of his mouth, “but I find I am still feeling a bit possessive. Indeed, madam, you can have no idea how intoxicating you look at this moment, or how many other men are admiring you as I hold you in my arms.”

Elizabeth’s voice softened as she continued to smile upon him. “You are correct, Fitzwilliam, for my eyes are only for you, my handsome husband, and, as I am certain you have noticed, there are just as many sets of fine eyes fixed upon your stately figure.”

“Perhaps, but my admiration is for you alone, Elizabeth.” His eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer. “Do you think it is too early to make our excuses to my aunt and uncle?”

“Fitzwilliam, you are incorrigible,” she laughed, suspecting he was half serious and half in jest. “You know very well we cannot. Besides, I have not yet had my dance with your cousin Harold.”

“Hang Harold,” Darcy growled. “I am tired of sharing you. How will I be able to stand the sight of you with another man after having danced a waltz with you? Besides, my thoughts at this moment are hardly conducive to gentlemanly behavior.”

Elizabeth wisely made no reply, but when the dance ended and all the couples applauded, she allowed Darcy to lead her away to one of the balconies. The crisp air was refreshing, and as they were quite alone, Darcy took the opportunity to steal a kiss. “Are you certain I cannot convince you to retire for the night, Elizabeth?” he asked in a low voice as his fingertips lingered along the edging at her neckline.

Elizabeth slapped his hand away and smiled. “No. I am by no means tired. You forget, sir, that you made me take a nap this afternoon.”

“Yes,” he said, “and I daresay you are in need of another.” He began to drag the tip of his nose along the curve of her neck. Elizabeth closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations that coursed through her. Darcy boldly continued on, his lips moving to caress the swell of flesh just above her neckline. He dipped the tip of his tongue between her breasts, which elicited a gasp of pleasure from her.

In an effort to steady herself, Elizabeth moved her hands to Darcy’s shoulders. “Fitzwilliam,” she protested, “we cannot. Not here. Someone might see. We must stop,” she insisted, though somewhat weakly.

“Very well,” he said, his tone petulant as he gave her one last kiss and offered her his arm. “But I demand the last dance of the evening.”

Elizabeth smoothed her gown and smiled as she took his proffered arm. “I would never have it any other way, Mr. Darcy. You shall always have the last dance of the evening.”

The month of March arrived in much the same manner as that of a hungry lion—ferocious and unpredictable. The Darcys found themselves overwhelmed by countless social obligations, many of which the couple would have been perfectly content to forego. Nevertheless, at the urging of Lord and Lady Matlock, they steeled themselves and accepted the invitations with a sigh of resignation. There were still many within the exalted ranks of the
ton
who had not yet had an opportunity to make the acquaintance of the new Mrs. Darcy and, thus, were hesitant to accept the descriptions circulating about her being a witty and intelligent lady, rather than a clever fortune hunter who had used her arts and allurements to seduce the ever-vigilant master of Pemberley.

Throughout it all, Elizabeth bore with finesse the tedium of attending such events. To those who had come to know her well, it was no surprise to see her charming many of the naysayers with her easy, unaffected manners, her intelligent repartee, and her reputed beauty. Her affection for her husband—and his for her—was apparent to all who saw them together, and except for a handful of bitter mamas and their petulant daughters, who had long had their sights set on the highly coveted gentleman from Derbyshire, Elizabeth’s introduction to most of those who moved within the higher circles of London society was declared a success.

As the first day of spring approached, so did Jane’s wedding to Bingley. It was with great relief and a lightness of spirit that the inhabitants of Darcy House quitted London and headed for Hertfordshire once again. The trip was easier going than the one they had made previously. Elizabeth was now far enough along in her pregnancy to be feeling quite well all of the time. She no longer experienced bouts of nausea, fits of light-headedness, exhaustion, or much discomfort of any kind, to the immense relief of her husband.

Darcy had always admired her slender waist and inviting curves, but with the onset of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, he was surprised to find even more to admire in his wife’s figure. The knowledge that she was carrying his child in her womb was enough to send a flood of warmth through him, but the added inducement of seeing the slight bulge of Elizabeth’s increasing waist, her widening hips, and the more pronounced swell of her breasts was enough to drive him to distraction. She seemed to glow from within and, to Darcy’s very great pleasure, had an almost insatiable desire to lie with him at all hours of the day. He was always willing to oblige her.

Rather than sitting beside his wife on the carriage ride to Hertfordshire, Darcy found himself occupying the seat opposite her. Georgiana had never been able to ride backward in a coach for more than a few miles, and as Elizabeth had recently discovered that facing any direction other than forward agitated the heir of Pemberley and, thus, the contents of her stomach, Darcy was forced to endure a long, agonizing ride in which his eyes were constantly focused upon his wife’s most intoxicating attributes.

To her amusement, Elizabeth caught him staring at her bouncing breasts many times as the carriage rocked and swayed over the bumpy roads. Darcy’s lips would part, and his tongue would dart out to moisten them; his eyes would flare, and then, just as quickly, he would avert them, crossing and recrossing his legs as he stared out of the window with a heavy sigh or an occasional quiet groan, his desire for Elizabeth apparent.

Elizabeth smiled at his obvious vexation. She passed the time by chatting with Georgiana and Lydia—who remained with them still—and, to add fuel to an already blazing inferno, Elizabeth further amused herself by attempting to draw her suffering husband into whatever conversation happened to be at hand, but with little success. From the dark, penetrating looks he sent from across the coach, she was left in little doubt that he had no desire whatsoever to engage in any such act with her, but rather a different act altogether, and one that did not require words.

Indeed, once they had arrived at a small inn where they had determined to stop and water the horses, it had taken all of Elizabeth’s powers of persuasion to convince Darcy that demanding a room for a mere hour would very likely give rise to talk, to say nothing of the reactions they would receive from their impressionable, young traveling companions.

“I hardly care what anyone will say,” he whispered urgently as he leaned in close. His hot breath against her neck caused her to stumble as they followed Georgiana and Lydia while the innkeeper’s wife led them to a private parlor abovestairs. He placed his hand upon the small of her back to steady her and stroked his thumb in a lazy, circular motion. “I daresay our sisters shall think only that you need to rest. Elizabeth, I am begging you! I will never survive this torturous ride to Hertfordshire without first burying myself within you, teasing woman.”

Elizabeth blushed at his uttering such words in public and shook her head, causing the curls framing her face to bob. A slight smile of satisfaction quirked her lips. “I am afraid you will just have to wait, Mr. Darcy, but,” she murmured seductively, “I can safely promise you that the reward you will receive for your patience shall be well worth the effort of your restraint.”

They entered a modestly furnished but pleasant private dining parlor and took a seat at the table. The proximity of their two sisters restricted their continuing with such a topic, but the master and mistress of Pemberley were now seated close enough for Darcy to place his hand upon Elizabeth’s leg—quite unnoticed—and caress the length of her thigh with his fingertips. If, in the course of conversation, she happened to falter somewhat or drop her fork during the meal, wisely, no one ventured any comment.

***

True to her word, after their arrival at Netherfield Park, Elizabeth did indeed reward the master of Pemberley most handsomely for his saintly patience. After exchanging the required pleasantries with their host and hostess, Elizabeth led Darcy upstairs to what they had now come affectionately to think of as their own room in Bingley’s house. The following hour or so was spent expressing their fervent passion for each other—several times—and, though Darcy and Elizabeth tried to be discreet about their chosen activity, they found it difficult not to voice at least some of the pleasure they were giving—and receiving—from each other’s society.

After resting and bathing, the entire party dressed for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty, and Jane, who had returned from Town the previous week with the Gardiners, would be joining them that evening for a family dinner. As it seemed to be taking Elizabeth far longer to complete her toilette than it had taken Darcy to perform his ablutions, he informed her of his intention to pass a quarter of an hour or so in the billiard room with Bingley and made his way toward the main staircase. On his way, he met Lydia.

He bowed to her and said, “You look lovely, Lydia. Is that not one of the gowns Georgiana urged you to purchase? The color suits you very well.”

Lydia smiled at such a generous compliment from her brother-in-law. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I received the gown just yesterday from Bond Street. I have another for Jane’s wedding and also for the ball Mr. Bingley will hold in her honor tomorrow night.”

Darcy smiled. “I am glad to hear it. According to your mother, a lady can never have enough gowns.”

Lydia’s expression grew serious, and she said, “I have been wondering, Mr. Darcy…”

Darcy waited, then inclined his head and raised one brow.

“I have been wondering if I might speak to you of something very particular?” she asked. Seeing her brother-in-law, again, incline his head, she forged on, this time in a rush. “I have been talking to Georgiana about it, you see, and she said she thinks it a very good idea, and that I should ask you and Lizzy—especially you—but I am afraid I cannot possibly tell you unless it is in some place more private. I could not bear it if anyone else were to overhear. Especially Miss Bingley. She can be an awful, gossiping shrew, you know, and—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Lord! Forgive me. I know I should not have spoken so. And I have been doing so well, too. Lizzy would be very disappointed in me.”

A smile threatened to turn up the corners of Darcy’s mouth, and he cleared his throat to regain his composure. “No, indeed, you should not, but I do hope you know you may always speak with me of anything you like, Lydia. And, if you prefer, Elizabeth need not hear of this slip of the tongue. It can remain just between us.”

Lydia gave him a small smile, and he escorted her to a well-lit parlor, which happened to be fortuitously empty. They took a seat upon two chairs by the fire, and Darcy waited for her to begin.

“Mr. Darcy, I… I suppose I will have to return to Longbourn tonight,” she said.

“Yes, I suppose so. Was that not what you and your parents had discussed while you remained in London?”

“It was, but I was wondering if… actually, hoping that, perhaps, well… you and Lizzy might consent to keep me? At least for a little while longer, I mean. Certainly not forever.”

Though Lydia had certainly become more relaxed within his household since the first weeks of her recovery, Darcy had thought she would now be eager to return to her own home. Mrs. Bennet had been impatient for her youngest daughter’s return to Longbourn, but Darcy had taken it upon himself to speak to Mr. Bennet on the subject and had managed to persuade his father-in-law to allow Lydia to extend her period of convalescence in London, much for Elizabeth’s peace of mind, as well as to ensure Lydia did not suffer any further ill effects from her experience. He observed her closely for a few moments and tapped his finger against his lips. “Longbourn is your home. You do not wish to resume living with your parents?”

Lydia dropped her gaze to her lap. “It is not that. I am afraid to return to Longbourn, Mr. Darcy. I have not behaved very well at all. Everyone must know of my running away and how very bad I have been. I am sure Mama and Kitty have spoken of it to the entire neighborhood by now, to say nothing of Mary and her tiresome sermonizing.”

“No,” he said. “No one knows the truth of what really happened, Lydia. After we read your letter, your mother took to her room immediately, and your sisters were instructed never to speak of your absence. Colonel Fitzwilliam and his men were very discreet when making their inquiries in Town, and though, perhaps we should have done so, your father and I decided it was best not to inform Colonel Forster of what had transpired. We were all very careful, including your mother. There has been no talk of this in London, and there shall be no talk of it here. You need not worry yourself. If anyone asks, you need only say you were visiting your sister in Town. After all, it is the truth, is it not?”

Lydia nodded slowly. “It is,” she said. “I have stayed with you and Lizzy now these two months. It was far more than I deserve, I know, especially considering all the trouble I have caused you. I know Lizzy was very frightened for me, and she did not look after herself as she should. The danger to her was so very great. Wickham wanted to do terrible things to her, you know.”

“I was there to care for Elizabeth while she cared for you. I would not have allowed her to make herself ill, and I would not have allowed Wickham to harm her in any way. I am only sorry I failed to do the same for you,” he said. “You are my sister now, and I did not do enough to protect you from him.”

Lydia swallowed. “He was a very bad man. Lizzy and Jane tried to warn me, and so did you, but I did not want to listen to the truth. I know how lucky I am, Mr. Darcy. I am so very sorry I caused so much trouble, especially while Lizzy is expecting a baby. If you want, I will go home to Longbourn tonight. I have since learned many things about conducting myself as a proper lady from observing Lizzy and Georgiana. Perhaps I will never be as good as they are, or Jane, but I promise you I shall never stop trying.”

Darcy was reminded very much of how Georgiana had sounded after Ramsgate. He reached out and touched the back of Lydia’s hand. “I believe your parents would be disappointed not to have you with them while you are here, and, indeed, Kitty and Mary, as well. But I will speak with Elizabeth of your wish to stay with us, and if she agrees, and if you feel you would still prefer to remain with us for a while, you may accompany us when we leave for Pemberley after your sister’s wedding to Mr. Bingley—with your parents’ consent, of course.”

Lydia’s pleasure was evident in her smile. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy was correct—you truly are the best man in the world.”

***

Dinner was a pleasant affair. For Elizabeth, it was the first time while dining in the company of Miss Bingley and the Hursts that she found herself seated next to her husband. It was clear by observing Miss Bingley’s scowling countenance that she had no hand in the arrangement of the place cards, nor did she appear to take any pleasure in her own placement, which saw her seated between Mr. Hurst and Kitty, and across from Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.

It did not, however, stop her from eying Elizabeth with distaste each time she noticed Darcy turn toward his wife with a small smile or a private look. On several occasions, Miss Bingley was almost positive she had witnessed him slipping his hand beneath the table to caress his wife’s leg,
though surely,
she thought with abject horror,
that could not possibly be the case!

Miss Bingley’s anger only grew as the evening wore on. She knew nothing could be gained and everything lost by maintaining the contempt she harbored for the new mistress of Pemberley, but she could not seem to curb her deep resentment. She had been disgusted months ago when Darcy had shown the first signs of burgeoning interest in Elizabeth and, later, was shocked and insulted when he had actually chosen to make the reputed local beauty his wife—an upstart country miss with little breeding and no elegance, so different from herself, whose superiority as an accomplished lady and dowry of twenty thousand pounds should have been his obvious choice.

The fact that Darcy had cut Miss Bingley in Bond Street shortly after his marriage made her stiffen in indignation. He could not possibly have been moved to act in such an offensive and demeaning manner toward her without the influence and manipulation of his wife. She obviously held a great deal of sway over him, though Miss Bingley could hardly understand why, especially after noticing how Elizabeth’s fashionable gown seemed to fit her somewhat unfashionably, a clear indication she was not quite as slender as when they had all first known her. This, Miss Bingley decided, could only be to her advantage, and she would certainly use it to turn Darcy’s attention from Elizabeth and toward herself.