Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (20 page)
Read Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) Online
Authors: Sharon Lathan
Bingley was shaking his head. “Indeed
not! If Caroline interpreted thusly, it was her own misguided purposes, and not
in any way your fault. In fact, you are masterful at deflecting undesirable
advances from women, having been subjected to it for so long.”
Bingley freshened his brandy and
then leaned to pour more for Darcy. “Whatever craziness is going on in my
sister’s head, we both know it will lead to nothing. Two questions remain: How
far she will go? And how long I can be patient with her nonsense?”
Honestly, Darcy did not know how to
answer either question. Until seeing her in that dress tonight, and then her
shameless display with Sir Giles, Darcy had not been worried. Annoyed, yes. But
it had never entered his mind that the controlled, cool Caroline Bingley would
cross a serious line. Just how desperate was she to have him? His mind cringed
at the possibilities.
As for Bingley dealing with
Caroline, that opened up a host of variables.
“I can take care of myself,
Charles, and can handle Caroline. She is not the first woman of my acquaintance
to overstep,” he asserted, the claim true. “She is your family, so naturally
you desire accord for the future. This is proper and justified—to a
degree.”
Bingley frowned, his eyes
questioning. Darcy did not move from his relaxed repose in the chair, but he
turned the full force of his penetrating stare and commanding demeanor toward
his young friend. “Never forget, not for a second, that your first and primary
responsibility is to your wife. A formal betrothal is as binding as the final
vows. Miss Bennet is the only one you completely owe your allegiance to. We
pray our choices will never come to a disagreement or separation, but just as I
had to take a stand with Lady Catherine, so too must you—if it comes to
that.”
They stared at each other in
silence, Bingley finally nodding once. “Thank you, Darcy. You have given me
much to meditate upon.”
Darcy’s reply was to swallow the
last of his brandy, setting the glass onto the table with a clink, and then
standing. “Now, I am off to bed. Pleasant dreams of my Elizabeth await.” He
clapped Bingley on the shoulder, exiting the room whistling softly.
Warmth of Autumn
A good number of those dreams were
erotic, and while left with the physical ache of unfulfilled sexual desire, his
heart and soul were buoyed. In a few weeks, they would be husband and wife, no
longer with any barriers between them. The yearning to be with Elizabeth was
overwhelming at times, and there were moments when the weeks ahead felt an
eternity. Yet he knew these days were precious and that they would speed by, so
he welcomed the dreams of loving Elizabeth as a means to prepare himself for
the reality.
Practice sessions
, as he jokingly referred to them.
Not all of his dreams revolved
around marital intimacy, however. More often they consisted of rehashed
conversations and moments from their days together. Others were jumbled image
collages that were illogical, but lovely nevertheless. Expressly delightful
were dreams pointing to future possibilities, such as them surrounded by hordes
of children while walking across the gardens and lawns of Pemberley. The
sweetness of these placid, soothing dreams was surprisingly powerful and went a
long way in easing the urgency instigated by the sensual dreams.
There was a beautiful balance to
his dreams, leaving him renewed and eager for the day.
Darcy’s valet, Samuel, assisted him
in a truncated toilette. No need to shave or bathe thoroughly nor don a fine
suit. Instead, he dressed quickly in one of his numerous casual ensembles
designed specifically for riding his horse.
It had been over a week since he
and Parsifal had embarked on one of their daring, wild races. Few activities
delivered the freedom and sense of adventure as thoroughly as when bent low on
the back of his stallion. Reins held loose in his hands, he and the powerful
animal flying as one across an open meadow, leaping over or dodging around the
obstacles in their path. Since a young boy, Darcy turned to his horses as the
preferred outlet for his bottled energy, frustrations, grief, or merely the
need to disengage. Physical exertion in various forms—fencing, hunting,
swimming—were an essential aspect of Darcy’s life, but none offered the
complete gratifying experience as riding his horse.
Whistling, he bounded down the
stairs and entered the empty dining room. The servants were setting up the pots
of coffee and boiling water for tea, half of the additives not yet on the
table. The Netherfield butler apologized, but Darcy waved it away, smiling as
he assured the man he was early and would be more than content with coffee and
toast.
Minutes later, both items were
provided, and Darcy walked onto the rear terrace. Standing by the railing, he
ate the raspberry jam–smeared toast and drank the hot coffee, taking his
time with it despite his fervor to be riding, because the morning was simply
too beautiful not to savor. The brisk air, hint of a breeze, lush smells of
earth and foliage, and filtered beams of the rising sun casting shadows and
illumination on the array of autumn colors augmented the sensations of health
and joy pulsing through his body. Fresh from sleep and vivid dreams, and with
the anticipation of another remarkable day with the woman he loved, Darcy
almost felt as if he could fly. Not literally—although there had been a
handful of odd moments when he swore his feet did not touch the ground—but
in the sense that his spirit felt alive and invincible.
As a man noted by everyone,
including himself, to be far too serious and somber, the sensations were
surprisingly wonderful. Not for the first time, he recognized how akin his love
for Elizabeth was to the euphoria experienced while racing his horse. Of
course, with Elizabeth the euphoria was constant and penetrated into the marrow
of his bones.
Tossing the last edge of toast onto
the grass, Darcy’s smile widened as three blue jays dove to the ground and
commenced a heated battle over the delicacy. Indeed, even common acts of nature
were now a source of amusement and joy. Shaking his head at the folly but still
smiling, he headed toward the stable compound.
It was quiet inside the brick
structure, or relatively so. The horses nickered and neighed softly, some
munching hay and oats or shuffling lazily inside their stalls. Intermittent
dull clanks drifted from the smithy to mix with the sporadic sharp ring of
metal tools. Hushed conversation and laughter came from a trio of grooms
sitting on a bench drinking coffee, none of whom noticed Darcy enter. Another
groom glanced up from the bridle he was repairing, inclined his head respectfully,
and then went back to his task without saying a word.
Within days of his first stay at
Netherfield the year prior, the stable workmen learned Mr. Darcy was supremely
particular when it came to the care and handling of his horse. Typically, he
preferred to groom and saddle Parsifal himself, today no exception, so being
ignored suited him just fine.
Stealthily, he walked directly to a
large enclosure in the back where his faithful mount waited. It had
unconsciously become a sort of game, Darcy sneaking as silently as possible,
trying in vain to surprise. Parsifal, as always, poked his head over the wooden
gate long before his master was visible, his welcoming nicker a combination of
Happy
to see you!
and
It’s about time you came!
“Good morning, Parsifal,” Darcy
murmured, one hand stroking the horse’s neck while the other offered a sugar
cube confiscated from the breakfast room. “Plenty rested?”
Parsifal flicked his ears and
released a snort. Darcy laughed, correctly interpreting the sarcastic
Of
course I am.
Parsifal butted his nose against Darcy’s
shirt-no-waistcoat-covered chest, and then snagged the lapel of his plain
jacket between his teeth, tugging once.
“Yes,” Darcy answered, “we are
going to race today. No need to avoid mud puddles to keep me clean. Happy now?”
Lifting his head in an exact mimic
of a nod and swishing his tail vigorously, Parsifal expressed his happiness at
the idea. The firm nudge into the locked gate was quite clear too, Darcy
soothing him with another sugar cube and rub between the ears. “Be patient.
Give me a minute to gather your gear.”
Despite their mutual enthusiasm to
run, Darcy took his time saddling Parsifal, the horse not minding the delay too
much. The occasional jab with his nose or pawing leg revealed his impatience,
yet the familiar routine was an enjoyable interlude for man and beast. For
Darcy, raised with horses since birth, it was an ingrained necessity to run his
hands over his mount’s body, testing and examining for anything amiss, while
simultaneously strengthening the bond established when Parsifal was a foal.
The last buckle was being cinched
when Darcy heard voices. Paying minimal heed, his ears perked at the pitched
tone of a female, and then he swore when identifying Caroline Bingley.
“Mr. Darcy! I am in luck. I hoped
you had not departed as yet. Gorgeous morning for a ride, is it not?”
“It is indeed, Miss Bingley. If I
may suggest, the trails through the east wood are wide, easy to traverse, and
provide adequate shade.” He tugged on Parsifal’s reins, the horse all too happy
to comply, but Caroline stepped directly into their path.
“Those paths are lovely; however, I
am in the mood for a faster pace.”
“The avenue skirting the wood is
even, as is the track encircling the pond. Perfect for a moderate speed, yet
safe.”
“I prefer a bit of danger…when
riding. Dare I challenge you to a race, Mr. Darcy?”
Parsifal tossed his head,
apparently in agreement with his rider on the ridiculousness of
that
notion. Unavoidably smirking, Darcy said, “It would be a pointless endeavor to
do so. Apollonia is a fine mare, but no match for Parsifal.”
“Perhaps,” Caroline countered,
moving closer, “although until the end, nothing is certain. Besides, it is the
race itself that thrills and heats the blood. Even if I lose the sprint, I will
catch you in the end, Mr. Darcy.”
Belatedly, Darcy realized that she
was misinterpreting his discourse as an invitation to ride with him, and
peppering her response with personal messages. Steeling his facial muscles, he
moved to the right, placing Parsifal nearer to Caroline.
“Therein lies the problem, Miss
Bingley. I have no desire to engage in a race with you today, or any other day
for that matter. If you tried, I can assure we would not be caught.” Pausing,
he leaned forward, training his stony eyes on hers. “Take my suggestion. Stay
to the safe pathways, where you will not run the risk of being hurt.”
As if on command, Parsifal emitted
a harsh blow out his nose and stomped his front hoof inches from Caroline’s
feet. She yelped and jumped aside, Parsifal accepting her submission and
stepping past her. Darcy said nothing else nor did he look back. The second
they were outside the stable, he swung into the saddle, one brush of a
booted-heel the only signal Parsifal needed. Within minutes, they had cleared
the compound and swiftly left the orderly areas of Netherfield Park behind
them.
They ran hard for a good mile,
during which Darcy steamed at the persistent advances from Caroline Bingley. He
was not so foolish as to expect her to admit defeat so easily. Worst of all,
her ploy that morning hinted at a determination greater than suspected, even
after the scandalizing fashion exhibition the night before. In all his years of
knowing her, never had she risen so early in the morning. Not to ride a horse—an
activity she was not overly keen on in the first place—or for anything
else.
And how had she known he was awake
and heading to the stables? He had not mentioned his agenda the night before,
except to Elizabeth, but Caroline had sat at the far end of the dinner table.
Either she was talented at lip reading or a servant was spying. He rather
doubted the first, and the latter, while not shocking, was disconcerting. Taken
altogether, it increased his apprehension that a confrontation was inevitable.
Eventually the exhilaration of cool
air whipping his face, the potency of flexing muscles charging over the earth,
and profound unity with his mount as they moved together overcame his unrest.
Caroline was forgotten. Anything troubling was forgotten. There was only the
connection with Parsifal, their power and control synchronized as the terrain
rushed by, hooves pounding a rhythmic beat in time with Darcy’s heart.
