Everything Will Change, page 17
Elizabeth wondered if what the gentleman truly was asking was whether she intended to renounce her standing as an heiress. Then again, perhaps she was being a bit too sensitive. Her fortune, or lack thereof, did not factor into his question at all, and why should it? He had no fortune of his own to speak of, so surely he would not judge her or look upon her with disfavor.
Her silence encouraged him to say more. “Life has a way of defying our expectations. I was meant to have the living in Kympton when it became available.”
Here Wickham paused but a second. “You will recall my telling you that the elder Mr. Darcy was my godfather?”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement and, thus, he continued his speech. “It was my godfather’s dying wish, and though I did not always feel this way, it became my favorite wish as well. I was never meant to be a mere foot soldier. The living would have satisfied my every notion of what I ought to be doing with my life. Alas, Darcy did not agree and when the living became available he gave it to another.”
Slightly taken aback, Elizabeth said, “I find it difficult to imagine that Mr. Darcy would have defied his own father’s wishes if he did not suppose he had sufficient cause.”
“Darcy is capable of far more egregious conduct. I better than anyone ought to know.”
“Sir, if you will recall the last time we spoke, I mentioned that I am not in the habit of entertaining any manner of discussion that disparages Mr. Darcy.”
“I suppose that makes him a fortunate man.”
“I assure you, sir, I extend the same courtesy to you.”
“I am pleased to hear you say that. Indeed, it is a comfort to me to know that you and I have always enjoyed each other’s company and we always shall.”
Smiling, Elizabeth did not attempt to mask her pleasure that they were of the same mind. This was sufficient encouragement for the gentleman.
“May I see you back to your father’s home?”
“Why, sir, I would be delighted.”
Chapter 6 ~ But a Dream
Darcy was lying in his bed, helpless to the world and barely conscious of what was happening to him. The last thing he recalled was making up his mind to travel to Hertfordshire to be near Elizabeth. His carriage had run into a terrible storm, and his driver advised him that it would be best to wait it out on the roadside just ahead. That was the last thing he remembered.
It turned out that the side of the road was not equal to the weight of the carriage. His driver should have known better, but he was a relatively new hire who was not so very experienced. The carriage tumbled down the hillside. Darcy was lucky to be alive.
In and out of states of laudanum-induced unconsciousness, he had a feeling of being cared for by his cousin Lady Victoria. It had to be her. He would recognize her scent, that of rose petals, from among a thousand women. No one wore the fragrance quite like her. If not for the fact that he had given his heart to Elizabeth, he supposed he might be in some danger from his cousin.
Being the mistress of Pemberley was all Lady Victoria wanted for as long as she could recall. She wanted it not for the prestige of being the mistress of such a grand estate, or for all the wealth and privilege it afforded. Being the daughter of an earl, she was already wealthy and she had a generous dowry of fifty thousand pounds. That alone was enough to help her attract the attention of the most eligible gentlemen from both near and far. She did not want just any gentleman.
For that matter, Lady Victoria did not even desire to be married to a peer. For as long as she could recall she was in love with her cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy. Oh, how she loved this man. It vexed her exceedingly that her obnoxious aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was bent on establishing the general expectation among family and friends that her daughter, Anne, and Darcy were to be married. Anne was not Lady Victoria’s equal in beauty or in accomplishments, and yet Victoria’s own family entertained the notion that Anne was destined to marry Darcy according to the favorite wish of Lady Catherine and her sister, Darcy’s mother, the late Lady Anne Darcy.
How utterly ridiculous to think that Darcy would ever consider such a fragile, sickly waif of a person. Lady Victoria always laughed to herself whenever her family discussed the would-be alliance. She knew better, or at least she thought she did. She was so confident that she would one day be Darcy’s wife that she did not even attempt to disabuse any one of her family members of the preposterous idea.
What was more, she and her cousin Darcy were as close as two cousins could be—that is, two cousins of the opposite sex. Darcy rarely looked at any other woman. Lady Victoria had even gotten him to make a deal with her that, should they both remain single on the third day of the third month of the year of his thirtieth year, then they would have no choice but to procure a special license and embark upon a union in holy matrimony that would put both of them out of their misery. Said misery was that of being two single people on the marriage market—he the target of every eager mamma in the ton with a single daughter and she the target of every single man in need of a wealthy wife. It was almost a game to the two of them.
This they often discussed in jest solely between themselves when they had nothing better to contemplate. Of course, all that changed when he began to notice ‘Lady’ Elizabeth and her amazingly fine eyes, Lady Victoria silently lamented.
Even though Darcy had set off to Hertfordshire, her ladyship had decided to remain at Pemberley for another day before returning to Matlock. Being the one who was at Pemberley when Darcy was carried inside on a stretcher, Lady Victoria had remained by his side ever since. With his sister residing at her establishment in London, Lady Victoria was effectively the mistress of Pemberley—managing things and attending to his affairs as though she were his wife while he gradually recuperated. During that time, she had many opportunities to appreciate nearly everything about the man who held her heart, including the most personal things that only a wife or a lover ought to know.
When they were alone, she would sit by his bedside and read to him. Soon, she began to notice what it meant when someone of the male persuasion was referred to as being a healthy young man.
On one particular evening, after she had dismissed Darcy’s man for the night amid the dutiful valet’s strong protest, she sat by her cousin’s bedside. She could not help but discern his aroused state even though she knew he was sound asleep.
Her desire to pull back the covers and have a peep increasingly outweighed her concerns for what it would mean for their amiable accord should he ever find out. What would be the harm? She was curious after all. What better way was there to satisfy her curiosity than in the privacy of his bedroom where they were utterly and completely alone and no one ever need know?
Cognizant of what a scandal it would be if someone were to walk in and catch her gazing at her cousin in such a state, she crept over to the door and turned the lock. She then walked back to his bedside. Even her maidenly sensibilities were insufficient to quell her curiosity about this man whom she had been in love with for so long as she could recall.
She pulled back the covers and slowly lifted his nightshirt. What she saw was such that she dared not look away. She had seen marble statues and pictures in the gallery at Pemberley, in her family’s home, and everywhere else where there were such prospects to behold, but nothing had prepared her for the sight she now feasted her eyes on—how beautiful.
Looking and seeing suddenly was not enough. She needed to touch him. At length, she commenced a lingering, trailing exploration that encouraged his ardor. She soon became entranced, which merely served to embolden her until the spell in which she found herself immersed gave way to a bit of reality when she heard him moan. She panicked. Jerking her hand away, she lowered his bedcovers. He did not awaken, which encouraged her to pick up where she left off, not only out of curiosity, but also for the fact that she was beginning to feel a pooling moisture—a moistness that she associated with him.
She drew the covers back once more. His ardor had not waned an inch. A thorough study of books that she should not have been reading had taught her that it was possible for a woman to engage in any manner of doings that required no participation at all from her partner. At such times as those, she even imagined what it would be like and when she did give over to such fantasies, there was only one man at the forefront of her mind.
Easing herself into bed next to him, she gave serious contemplation to doing those things to him that she recalled from the pictures. Her maidenly sensibilities aside, she longed for him. She needed to feel his hardness against her softness. Were he to awaken from his laudanum induced sleep and find her in his bed, she would convince him that he had been the instigator. She would be mistress of Pemberley in no time at all. Finally, she was on the cusp of having her fondest dreams come true. Lady Victoria was in heaven and she knew it.
Darcy’s deepest slumber always promised the cessation of pain from his injuries, the riddance of tight bandages protecting his wounds, and the gratification of being once again with Elizabeth. This dream, while along the same vein of all the others of late, gave Darcy a sense of not being alone. But, of course, he was alone. He was merely dreaming ... Yes, dreaming of what it would be like when he and his lady love, Elizabeth, were united as man and wife. He often dreamed of her—of making love to her. Even though it was a dream he was determined it would last and last.
Amid the prospect of such intoxicatingly warm moistness, all he desired was to push and push into the utter blissfulness of the woman he loved, but he would not make her his, not fully. He would tease her there instead all with the intention of pleasing her.
A healthy young man, he not only wanted completion, he desperately needed it. How frustrating this dream was for Darcy, but he dared not awaken and find it all over.
She was beginning to move—to press her body against his with more ardent yet pleasing insistence. Was she ready? Was he ready? He and Elizabeth were not yet married, but what did it matter for this was but a dream—an intensely vivid and passionate dream, but a dream all the same. What else can this be? Elizabeth is hundreds of miles away.
It being a dream, he gave in to both their bodies’ demands and commenced making her his. Her moans were intoxicating. What a cruel punishment it would be to awaken and not find Elizabeth by his side. Savor this, his dream state beckoned—savor this.
At length, he wanted to ease her from his body and slow things down, for he and Elizabeth had all night. Why was he unable to accomplish a small little thing like easing her away from his body? It was as if he were completely within her power. What a strange feeling for a man like him who was always arranging things for his own convenience.
She would not stay still, and with her lips pressed against his, he was powerless to beseech her to stop—to lie still. Elizabeth and I are not yet married. We should not even be doing this. Then again, it was just a dream. All too soon, he would awaken. What would be the harm in finding his release deep inside of her if it were just a dream?
It is but a dream.
Chapter 7 ~ The Most Deserving
The Bennet family would have been fools to fail to receive the young Duke of Dunsmore with the utmost deference inherent in his status. The Bennets were nobody’s fools. Awe and wonder replaced hidden animosities upon his arrival. A true to life duke had come to call on them at Longbourn. Even the younger girls regarded him as though he were a handsome prince straight from the pages of an enchanted storybook.
Out of respect for the master of Longbourn, Avery’s first order of business during his surprise visit was garnering a private audience with Mr. Bennet. He apologized for the pain rendered to the Bennet family. His grandfather’s misdeed had been the means of a great scandal and there was no changing that fact. Nevertheless, as horrific as it had been for the Bennets, the same could not be said of himself. He told Mr. Bennet as much.
“Sir, pray you will understand that I mean no disrespect when I say that my life is richer because of my having Elizabeth as my sister. No manner of scandal will alter my great love for her. As I shall forever regard her as my only sister, any measures my grandfather undertook to guarantee her future happiness, I shall abide by. Please be assured that Elizabeth’s dowry of fifty thousand pounds remains intact.”
Having made no arrangements of his own for his daughters, whose prospects were severely diminished, Mr. Bennet was not of a mind to reject the young duke’s benevolence. Having engaged in correspondence with the young man soon after Elizabeth’s arrival at Longbourn, Mr. Bennet knew that the Duke of Dunsmore could be just as determined as Mr. Bennet was proud. The older man’s pride did indeed balk at the notion of accepting any manner of charity that was the fruit of the late duke’s coffers, but his lingering resentment would not be allowed to impede his better judgment. Elizabeth still considered these people her family. Hence, her dowry of fifty thousand pounds was her due.
A quarter hour later, when Avery and Mr. Bennet had joined the others, Lt. George Wickham was soon shown into the room along with his friend, Mr. Denny. Elizabeth immediately bore witness to the disgusted turn in her brother’s countenance. Knowing him as well as she did, his subsequent reaction came as no surprise to her.
Standing tall and proud, the aggrieved young duke said, “What is he doing here?”
Mrs. Bennet, concerned that her honored guest might be displeased, said, “Do you and the lieutenant know each other, Your Grace?”
George Wickham smiled and sauntered over to Avery with his hand outstretched. “Indeed, the duke and I are acquaintances of long standing.”
Avery ignored Wickham’s gesture. “On the contrary, this man is not an acquaintance of mine. Again, I ask what he is doing here, Elizabeth.”
“Lt. Wickham is, of course, a guest, Your Grace, as are you, unless I am mistaken,” she replied in a tone that only the sister of a duke would deign to use while speaking to him in the company of others who were so decidedly beneath him in consequence.
Changing his manner to be rather less severe, Avery said, “There is an excellent prospect that I saw on my way here that I should like to explore further. Join me, Elizabeth.”
She knew that tone. Now was not the time to afford him any opposition. “If that is your wish,” she said deferentially.
“Indeed,” said Avery.
Mrs. Bennet, again desiring to bestow upon him her most ardent approbation said, “I suppose you speak of Oakham Mount—it is a beautiful prospect indeed. Jane, perhaps you will wish to join your sister and His Grace.” The fact that she intended Jane for the duke could not have escaped anyone’s notice.
Avery said, “That is a very kind offer, Mrs. Bennet, and I should like very much to accommodate your request, but I need time alone with my sister—with Elizabeth.”
Not long thereafter, the two walked along in silence for a while, one displeased and the other vexed. Elizabeth was the first to speak. “That was incredibly rude of you just then.”
“Did you honestly expect me to remain in company with that vile man?”
“No doubt you are referring to Mr. Wickham. Why do you hate him so much?”
“I have my reasons. I take it he is part of the local militia. How long has he been here, and does he make it a habit of calling on you?”
“I fail to see what business any of this is of yours.”
“So, is that how it is, little Sister?”
“Indeed, my dear big brother.”
“I see you are as stubborn as ever. You ought to know that as I have been protecting you for as long as I can remember, I do not intend to stop now. Like it or not, you will always be my little sister.”
“I dare say you will not have me behave any other way.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I never wish to see you changed. Now, as you are determined not to answer my questions in a manner that I deem acceptable, perhaps you and I shall discuss other, more important, matters.”
Avery calling her sister and admonishing her, Elizabeth calling him brother and challenging him—it was as natural as night and day. Elizabeth dearly missed him. She laced her arm through his and rested her head on Avery’s arm as they walked along, side by side. “This is truly wonderful. I like having my brother here with me.”
“I don’t know how long you will feel that way once you hear what I have to say.”
“Pray you are not about to remind me of my duty to find a husband?”
“I shall never relinquish my responsibility to see that you are well settled, young lady.”
“Well, it seems that you and Mama have a lot in common,” said Elizabeth referring to Mrs. Bennet. With two women contending for her heart in that regard, in her mind she thought of one as Mama and the other as Mother. It was simpler that way.
Avery said, “A wise woman indeed.”
“You may not agree when you find out her plans for you, Your Grace.”
“Me?”
“You must have discerned that she has targeted you as a future son-in-law.”
Avery chuckled. “Pray which of your lovely sisters does Mrs. Bennet have in mind as the next Duchess of Dunsmore?”
“I do not believe Mama cares which of my sisters you decide on as long as you choose one of them; though I suppose if left completely up to her, I think she would pick Jane, for she is the oldest and the most beautiful, and, if I do say so myself, Jane is the most deserving.”
“I confess that I would be most fortunate to have her indeed. However, as you well know, my heart belongs to another.”
Elizabeth chose to say nothing in response to Avery’s pronouncement.
“You should also know that I have every intention of declaring myself to Miss Hamilton when the time is right.”
While the duke was alive, he was determined that his only grandson would never marry Miss Margaret Hamilton owing to her low connections. Although her father was a gentleman, he had married a woman whose family’s wealth was earned in trade. Heaven forbid that the future Duke of Dunsmore should tarnish the Montlake name in such a disgraceful manner by marrying so far beneath him. With the late duke’s passing, Elizabeth could think of but one thing that must be preventing her brother from acting right away, that being the Montlake family scandal.
