Darcy Comes to Rosings, page 12
“Quite right,” the colonel said cheerfully. “Have you been outside today, Miss Bennet?”
“I could not possibly.”
“Nonsense,” Darcy declared, and before she even knew what was happening, he had scooped her up into his arms. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on for safety as he carried her through the cottage and out to the garden.
Lizzy had not been carried by a man since she was a child. As surprised as she was, she had to admit, it was exhilarating. Accustomed to the drawing room Darcy, she had not given much thought to how strong he was, showing no sign of exertion. After only a few moments, she felt utterly secure in his arms.
She could not be unaware of his masculine, woodsy scent, and it stirred something deep inside her. The womanly feelings were nothing like the infatuation of a schoolgirl. Yes, her heart fluttered with attraction, but she was drawn to him on a more profound level.
It was not love. Yet she could not deny that she would find pleasure in being his wife, in the intimacy a husband and wife shared. His nearness, the warmth of him, the sound of his breath—they all made it difficult to think of anything else. He intoxicated her.
“Good heavens!” Charlotte called when she saw them, calling Lizzy back from her musings. Lizzy understood the impropriety of the situation. Somehow, she could not find it in herself to rebuke him.
Gently, Darcy set her on a bench in the shade. He sat beside her, eyes gleaming. Then a serious expression fell over his face. His frown looked uncertain.
“That was most gallant of you, Mr. Darcy,” she said to set him at ease. “Thank you. You were right—it is a beautiful day. I would have hated to have missed it.”
He beamed like a schoolboy praised by his master.
Why, the man was utterly besotted! How had she missed that before? The idea of his disdain had grown so fixed in her mind that she had ignored every sign to the contrary.
“Miss Bennet, if I might be so bold— “
“You and Colonel Fitzwilliam both grew up in Derbyshire, I think?” It was not a very clever question, but it was the first thing she could think of to silence him from whatever else he was planning to say.
“Yes, we were nearly inseparable. Our fathers’ estates were close to one another.”
“He thinks highly of you.”
He grinned wryly. “And you think highly of him.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I should not. I have recently learned that my first impressions are not to be trusted.”
He took her hand, pressing it between both of his. “I hope you think more highly of me now than you did at first.”
She arched her brows. “Given my original impression, you could hardly have sunk in my view.”
He blinked. Then, his lips tightened into a grim line. “I see.”
“Mr. Darcy, this is a poor start indeed. I tease you, and you take my words to heart.”
“There is always truth in your teasing.”
She looked up at him, captivated by that flash of vulnerability. “In this case, I am laughing as much at myself as at you. I was determined to dislike you, and self-satisfied at every perceived fault. Everything you did, I cast in the most unflattering light. It was horribly unfair and unkind of me. I am properly ashamed. It is now evident to me that you are a good man.”
He squeezed her hand, looking at her with eyes full of hope and pain.
“I am not normally so petty,” she said. “For the first time in my life, I met a man truly worth impressing, and I fell short. It was a blow indeed.”
“But you have done more than impress me. You have my heart. I promise you, Elizabeth—”
She pulled her hand away, her whole body vibrating. She wanted his promises, his love. She could admit that much to herself. Yet the prospect of a sudden engagement overwhelmed her.
“I have stepped too far again,” he said. “My apologies.”
“Your words are not unwelcome. I find that…I am not yet ready to hear them. Can you give me time, Mr. Darcy?”
“Of course. I can only spend another fortnight at Rosings—”
“That will be enough.”
She hated to put him off. She craved his company above anything. It was madness, and it was happening far too quickly. But she wished to know everything about Fitzwilliam Darcy, and whether it was safe to give him her heart.
∞∞∞
Darcy hardly knew what had possessed him, carrying Elizabeth into the garden that way. He only knew that the sight of her in that stuffy room, when the day was so fine, was too much for him. She ought to be in the sunshine. Always.
When he got into bed that night, he could not forget the feel of her in his arms, the sweet scent of violets that had enveloped her. She inhabited every corner of his fevered brain—Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, as he had begun thinking of her. He rose, lit a candle, and took out a sheet of paper.
He wrote with no intention of giving her the letter, but only of pouring out his sentiments so he could be still and finally sleep. The words flowed from him without censor, expressing the true nature of his heart.
My dear Miss Bennet,
My every thought is of you. Your beauty in simple muslin surpasses that of the most fashionable lady in a sumptuous gown from the continent. The smiles you gave me today were as honey, your kind looks a tender balm.
I shall not be precipitous, since you have warned me against it, but the words of love on my lips ache to be spoken. When I think of how much time I wasted at Netherfield, when I should have been courting you properly! I was determined not to let a sly girl from a country town change me. Determined to go on with my life without you. But when I got to London and found how insipid the ladies had become, how they all paled next to you, I knew I was lost.
I let the difference in our situations persuade me that we were incompatible. Now I see that your lively mind is the perfect antidote to my serious nature. When I feel sullen, I need only think of you, and the world becomes a brilliant place. Your wit and intelligence hold me in your thrall.
Dearest, most beautiful Elizabeth! I long for you every moment we are apart. Over these past weeks, you have become as necessary to me as breath. I cannot sleep for thinking of you, hoping for the day when you say you shall be mine. I imagine you at Pemberley, managing the household in your kind way, acting as a friend and teacher to my sister Georgiana. She would benefit greatly from your guidance. She is a good girl, but too romantic and too easily influenced by others. With your sense and compassion, you would be the perfect companion for her.
But of course, I am running away with myself. You have not said you will be mine. I do hope that I can give you a happy life. I may be paltry company, compared to some you have known. But no man could respect or love you more. I daresay I shall become a better conversationalist once you know my character, and I am no longer under your scrutiny as you try to puzzle me out. I confess that your wit sometimes terrifies me, but it is a feeling I shall never tire of.
I fear this is a poor love letter, as dull and trite as any ever written. Mere words cannot capture what is in my heart. I hope ardently for the day when I might show you the depth of my devotion in a way words cannot. I love you, dearest Elizabeth, and I long to make you mine. You are the joy of my days, a beacon through my darkest night, my every thought of the future.
I am your humble servant to command at will.
Most sincerely and devotedly yours,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Finding his signet ring, he took out a stick of wax in red vermillion. He folded and sealed the letter, certain no one had ever written a worse one. Perhaps it would be better to toss it into the fire. Although it might be amusing to look back on it one day when—if—he and Elizabeth were married. At any rate, he was tired. He would decide on the morrow.
∞∞∞
“This came for you from Rosings, ma’am,” the housekeeper said, stepping into the small parlour early the next morning and handing Lizzy a letter. Lizzy expressed her thanks, then squinted and broke the seal as the woman curtsied and withdrew.
Lizzy first checked the signature and wondered at Darcy’s forwardness. When she perused the opening, she gasped. The more she read, the more astonished she became. He was normally so restrained, she would not have imagined he could express his feelings in such passionate terms.
She read a second time to ensure she had properly comprehended. There was no mistaking the meaning. He was declaring his intentions incontrovertibly.
Yet it was clear he had not done so with forethought. The expression was frenzied, not Darcy’s usually deliberate words. Had he overindulged in his evening brandy? Could she lay stock in his declarations?
From her seat on the daybed, she looked out the window at the birds flitting through the cherry trees, their blossoms a haze of pink. How soon could she expect him to call? When he did, could she trust her impulses toward him?
Her feelings were changing rapidly. She felt comfortable with him, happy in his presence. She could admit it to herself—she had grown to like him very much.
His actions were those of a man trying to win her, showing her only the best part of himself. Still, she could not deny that he daily grew dearer to her. His words of love undid something in her chest and made it harder to breathe.
Apprehension snaked through her stomach. Could this be love? Or was she merely gratified by his attentions?
Marrying Darcy would mean taking a leap of faith. She had heard nothing to impeach his character, apart from Wickham’s lies. She felt certain she could come to love him in time. What comfort her mother would feel! How much better her sisters’ lives would be! Could she deny them that?
The sound of hoof beats drew her attention. Her window offered no view of the road, and it was not worth the risk to her injured ankle to peek out another. It was too early for Darcy at any rate.
She turned back to her letter, telling herself there was no point letting her anxiety rise at every visitor. Mr. Collins was not unpopular amongst his parishioners, who were forever dropping by to deliver a pair of handkerchiefs they had made him, or a bit of his favourite sweet.
But when Darcy’s baritone cut through the air, she raised her eyes from her reading. A thrill rose inside her, an ache of longing in her breast. She had no time to reflect on what those sensations meant before the housekeeper let him into her room.
He bowed but did not smile. “Good morning, madam. I hope you are well.”
“Yes, the throbbing in my ankle has gone down.”
He nodded, but the apprehension in his features did not abate. “I am glad to hear it. I pray that is not my letter in your hand?”
The most awful dread washed over her. “I am sorry to say, sir, it is.”
“You must forgive me. I wrote that in a fever last night. I had no intention of sending it, but I foolishly sealed it and addressed it to you. My valet had it delivered without consulting me.”
The pain in Lizzy’s chest at his words caught her by surprise. She had hardly imagined that these simple sheets of paper could have grown so dear to her in such a short time. Ought she to give them back? Did he truly regret his words?
“I am sorry you are distressed, sir. I hope it is not on my account. Your missive was not unwelcome.”
He paced. “I was far too forward in my address, and my expression had all the sophistication of a love-struck schoolboy.”
Was that the reason for his present mood? He was worried about the quality, not the meaning? “Oh, there is no question, it is a terrible letter. You did not spend nearly enough time searching for the perfect four-syllable words. But I have grown quite attached to the letter, and would like to keep it, unless you wish to withdraw the sentiments.”
“Withdraw the sentiments!” He sat beside her on the daybed and took her hand. “Never, my dearest Miss Bennet.”
“Oh, I am Miss Bennet now?” She looked at him slyly.
He coloured. “Indeed, I have presumed more than I ought.”
“You have, and I should mind, but I do not. Does that make me very wicked, do you think?”
She expected her teasing to make him smile; instead, an intensity grew in his expression, his eyes darkening. In an instant, his lips were on hers.
Then just as quickly, before she could respond or even know what name to give the feelings that vibrated through her at that most tender touch, his lips were gone.
He continued to hold her hands, but he stared into his lap. “You must forgive me.”
“Have you wronged me, sir?”
He looked at her with a pained expression in his eyes. “I cannot tell whether you are teasing me or encouraging me.”
“I hardly know myself.”
“It is taking all my strength to contain my words. If you wish to stop me, you must stop me now.”
She gazed at him, feeling what a thing it was to be loved by a worthy man. Her heart filled, and she merely gave him a smile. He waited a moment, then rose and shut the door. An unexpected happiness flowed through her, and eager tears touched her cheeks.
Chapter 12
He let go of the knob and turned back to Elizabeth, stunned by the expression on her face. Her teasing smile was gone. The truest, clearest emotion radiated from her. And she looked happy.
He got down on one knee before her and took her hand. For a moment, he felt too much to say a word. But she laid her free hand on top of his, and his mind cleared.
“My dear Miss Bennet, I came to Rosings a man in love. I had to know whether I ought to prevail upon myself to forget you, or to make you the partner of my life. The first moment I saw you again, my apprehensions disappeared. Every argument against the match was countered by your own dear self.”
He placed a quick kiss on each of her hands. “I shall not insult you with claims of what I can offer. I know that the only inducement that matters to you is love. I can promise to be a good husband, as doting and devoted as any who has ever lived, and I shall do everything in my power to secure your happiness if you will do me the honour of becoming my wife.”
Heart in his throat, he gazed up at her, expecting her to tease him, perhaps evaluate his proposal. But she did not. Instead, she looked at him tenderly, her eyes glistening, her lips curving into a smile. In a wavering voice, she said, “Nothing could make me happier. Yes, Mr. Darcy, I shall marry you.”
The flush of joy that rushed through him stopped all rational thought. His gaze locked on hers, and he drank in her sweet expression. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes were positively luminous.
He rose and sat beside her. Taking her hands in his, he raised them to his lips, first one and then the other. His heart hammered in his chest. Engaged! At last, she would be his!
A vision of the future stretched out before him, she at his side at Pemberley, presiding over a dinner party or walking through the quiet of a spring wood. She playing at the piano whilst Georgiana accompanied her on the harp. She with a babe in her arms as he softly kissed them both.
All this he could have. It was not a mere dream. His chest filled as her fingers caressed his.
He gazed at her deeply, and a low growl escaped his throat. Before he knew he moved, his lips were on hers. This time, he did not resist her allure. She yielded to him, admitting his touch.
Nothing in his life had ever felt sweeter. Her lips were warm and soft, and the scent of violets clung to her. He longed to draw her close but dared not. His self-mastery wavered on a knife’s edge.
He released her, and an aching moan hung in the air. He could not say whether it had come from her or from him—or perhaps that soft sound of regret had emanated from both of them in unison. All he knew for sure was that she was the loveliest creature he had ever beheld.
For a long time he could not speak. Words could not capture the depth of feeling in his heart. Then, the spell broke, and he recalled the actions a man ought to take in this situation.
He sat up and cleared his throat. “Shall I ride to Longbourn to speak to your father?”
“Longbourn? Oh!” The dreamy look in her eyes cleared, her mind apparently turning to practical matters. “My family will be quite astonished. Perhaps it would be better if I told them.”
He puzzled a moment. Of course it was natural that she wanted to convey the news to her family herself, once he had secured her father’s permission.
“If you wish. I could travel alongside you when you return to Hertfordshire…two weeks hence, I believe?”
“Yes, I think that is best. If it is not inconvenient.”
He chuckled at that. “The only inconvenience is waiting before I can tell the world you are mine.”
She knitted her brows, clearly troubled. Was she having second thoughts?
He pressed her hand. “Please, my love, you seem disquieted. How may I put your mind to rest?”
“I fear Lady Catherine will not find the news of our engagement felicitous.”
He lifted his chin. “That need not be of any consequence to us.”
“It may be of one consequence. She is benefactor to my host. Despite any filial attachment my cousin might feel for me, I would not wish to see his loyalties torn between his patroness and me.”
Darcy saw her meaning. If Lady Catherine asked Mr. Collins to turn Elizabeth out, he would surely do so. Darcy would hate for Elizabeth to be forced to shorten her visit to her dear friend Mrs. Collins, all because of him.
“Yes, I see the impossibility of our announcing our engagement at the present time. Let us do this. I shall tell Colonel Fitzwilliam, and you shall tell Mrs. Collins. Then there can be no impropriety. We can rely on their discretion, I think.”
“Yes, that will be satisfactory.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Satisfactory? Is that how you find our current situation? Or perhaps tolerable would be a better word.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “Already, you are teasing me? This is not a good start at all.”
