Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (5 page)

At the last second, Lizzy grasped
the handle and closed the door quietly behind her. Briefly she leaned against
the wood to catch her breath and still the fluttering of her heart—only a
moment’s respite, however, before she twisted about to look out the window.

There he was. His tall, sturdy
frame was easily visible on the open pathway ascending the gradual slope. His
coattails billowed with each stride, his long legs swallowing the yards. Lizzy
leaned her forehead against the cool glass, eyes steady on the retreating
figure of the man she loved. Suddenly he paused and glanced over his shoulder
toward the house. Impulsively she jerked and pulled back from the window.

I am his betrothed and can stare
at him as long as I want!

Chuckling at her folly, she stepped
forward until pressed into the transparent surface. Unfortunately, he was too
far away to see her through the glass, a fact she realized when unable to
clearly decipher the expression on his face. She did not doubt his countenance
was as sunny as hers, especially when he resumed walking. It took her a few
moments to solve what it was that struck her as odd. After all, it was not as
if she had been granted numerous opportunities to observe Mr. Darcy walking at
a pace as brisk as the one he was currently setting. Yet somehow she knew that
his normal gait was solid, each thickly booted foot planted confidently and
with the hint of arrogant domination present in his bearing. Today, however,
one would think he wore the lightest of house shoes or was seconds away from
dancing on a slickly polished floor. She half expected his mincing feet to
abruptly leave the ground in a balletic pirouette.

The vision was so ridiculous that
she burst out laughing.

“Lizzy? Is that you? Jane, go see
if that was Lizzy, and if so, bring her here. We have much to discuss!”

Lizzy’s laugh was replaced by a
groan at her mother’s query. She wanted to bask in her happiness, not be
subjected to an inquisition! She was already shaking her head and pleading with
her eyes when Jane’s face popped around the corner.

“No, Mama,” Jane finally said,
wincing at the untruth. “She must still be outside.”

Thank you
, Lizzy mouthed.
She pantomimed climbing the stairs, pointed in the general direction of her
bedroom, and then pointed at her sister and back toward the ceiling. Jane
nodded, her face calm, as always, but Lizzy detected the confusion and
colliding questions within Jane’s blue eyes.
Come up soon. I need to talk to
you.
Jane nodded once again before turning into the parlor to distract Mrs.
Bennet so that Lizzy could dart past the doorway and escape to the stairs.

Once in the bedroom, Lizzy dashed
straight to the window. It was ridiculous, of course. The angle from this
corner of the house was inadequate to visualize the twisting pathway that led
to Netherfield. Additionally, even if realities of geometric space and
obstructing trees were not an issue, Mr. Darcy would have traveled beyond the
reach of her eyesight by now. None of that kept her from trying anyway and then
sighing forlornly when his figure was nowhere to be seen.

He still loves me! And we are to
be married!

At her youngest and silliest age,
Elizabeth Bennet had rarely been a girl known for flighty antics and addled brain.
Vivacious and buoyant in spirit, indeed she was, but with a controlled demeanor
differentiating her actions from those of foolish youths, such as Lydia and
Kitty. Now here she was, at the mature age of twenty, giggling aloud and
fighting an intense urge to twirl about the room or sprint down the trail until
she had caught up to Mr. Darcy. In truth, she wanted to twirl
and then
run insanely after Mr. Darcy!

It was absurd in the extreme and
should have embarrassed her into sobriety. 

Instead, the ridiculous vision lead
her to imagining catching her betrothed on the trail, which in turn lead her to
imagining how pleased he would be and how he might express his pleasure, which
in turn lead her to imagining—vividly—his kisses.

Lizzy pressed her palms against her
flaming cheeks, closed her eyes, and inhaled several times. Finally, with a
modicum of control restored, she moved away from the window. Inadvertently, her
eyes opened to a reflection of her face in the vanity mirror.

The face staring back at her was a
revelation.

Lightness and gaiety burst from
within the chocolate depths of her eyes, startling her. It was a novel
expression yet instantly recognizable as what she had detected within Mr. Darcy’s
eyes while gazing at her in the garden. There were a number of alterations to
her mien that, if she were more her typical self and not overtaken by emotion, would
cause her to laugh mockingly. Had she not just yesterday teased Jane for lips
suspiciously plumper and ruddier than usual after her solitary walk with Mr.
Bingley to the stables? Lizzy’s lips were normally plump, but at the present,
they were on the verge of swallowing her face!

Love, it has to be, and perhaps
the residuals of physical desire.

This thought increased the warmth in
her already burning cheeks, and hysterical giggling again threatened to burst
forth. It did not help matters when she finally noted the condition of her
hair. The pins and combs hastily placed earlier that day to restrain her heavy
locks were loose and not at all where she had originally secured them. It was
as if her hair had come alive, with whole clumps purposefully deciding to veer
off into a different direction than nature, or her clips, intended. It was
truly frightful, and even the echo of a resonant male voice declaring she was “incredibly
beautiful” was insufficient to squelch the other voice that chided, “This is
how the future Mistress of Pemberley presents herself?”

Before she could analyze why that
second voice sounded more like Lady Catherine than her, the door opened. Relief
flooded her body when only Jane entered and closed the door behind her.

“Oh, Jane! Your timing is perfect!
I have much to tell you, but first you must help me with my hair. I am an utter
fright!” She turned back to the mirror, pins and clips tossed haphazardly onto
the vanity surface before attacking her snarled hair with a brush. “If Mr.
Darcy were to return and see me like this, I am sure he would change his mind.
You always were better skilled at arranging hair, and if only I had previously
attended to your instructions, I would not now appear a bedraggled mess. I am
mortified to recall how often I eschewed proper styling in my impatience.
Somehow he saw past that, thanks be to heaven, but at the least I can
henceforth attempt to
look
the part of a respectable woman worthy of
being his wife and mistress to Pemberley.”

 “You
are
in love with
him.”

Lizzy paused mid-stroke and
swiveled her head toward Jane. “Of course I am! Did you think I would consent
to marry Mr. Darcy otherwise?”

“I never imagined you marrying Mr.
Darcy under any circumstance, Lizzy! Consenting based on a mercenary
inclination or a sense of obligation to help the family is unimaginable, and I
have spent the past several hours arguing with Mama that this would not induce
you to accept him. I assured her your opinion of Mr. Darcy improved after your
stay in Derbyshire, citing this and perhaps greater appreciation for his
character—and maybe a burgeoning affection—as plausible reasons for
this stunning development. Never, however, did I entertain the notion that you
might actually love him! How did this transpire, Lizzy?”

“Oh, Jane! I am indeed a wretched
sister!” Lizzy crossed the room and clasped on to Jane’s hands. “You would be
justified to chastise and then never forgive me for being so secretive with my
feelings—”

“I cannot chastise for that, Lizzy.
Was it not I who so recently affirmed that I was indifferent to Mr. Bingley and
quite over him? I suppose it is just that while I knew full well you did not
believe my self-delusions any more than I believed them, I detected nothing
indicating you thought of Mr. Darcy at all, let alone were in love with him! I
suspect I am annoyed at myself more than I am you.”

Laughing together, the sisters fell
onto the bed.

“For sisters who care for each
other as deeply as we do and have inhabited the same limited space for nigh on
twenty years, we certainly can be ridiculous in keeping ourselves reserved. A
lesson to be learned fortuitously before we are wed and carry the unhealthy
attitude into our marital relationships, is it not?”

“I daresay it is, and”—Jane
patted Lizzy’s hand firmly—“you can practice your avowed newfound
openness by telling me how it is that you came to love a man you once swore to
loathe forever.”

“It is a tedious story, Jane.
Convoluted. Embarrassing in places. Dismaying in others. I hardly know how to
make sense of it myself or how to comprehend that I came to love a man I once
detested! I am not sure I can explain it.”

“You must try. I refuse to fix your
hair until you do.”

Lizzy ran both hands through her
snarled tresses. “I am a fright, yes?”

“Fairly so. But you are also
radiant, flushed, and your eyes sparkle as I have never witnessed. So, no
matter how convoluted the path you and Mr. Darcy have trod, I do not question
that you love him. Does he love you as ardently in return, Lizzy?”

“Oh yes. I can confidently state
that he loves me ardently.” And even as she blushed bright red at the
remembrance of
all
the reasons why she knew, beyond any shadowy doubts,
that Fitzwilliam Darcy loved her, Lizzy launched into her story.

* *
*

Darcy covered the distance between
Longbourn and Netherfield at a much faster pace than typical. Dimly he was
aware of hunger pangs from having skipped breakfast, and the prospect of his quiet
bedchamber where he could filter through his thoughts and emotions was
appealing, yet neither was the reason for his rushed steps. It was as if his
joyous heart and soaring soul lent buoyancy to his muscles, keeping his feet
from touching the ground. Twice he burst into spontaneous laughter, four times
caught himself whistling—and he
never
whistled—and he
strongly suspected the only reason he did not stop to marvel at a flower or
sun-kissed dewdrop was because he only saw Elizabeth’s face. Under any other
circumstances, such nonsensical behavior would have frightened him into seeking
help from a professional versed in mental illness! Today, while he would not
necessarily want anyone to witness his bizarre giddiness, he knew precisely the
cause and relished the unique experience.

Elizabeth loves me! And she
agreed to be my wife!

This time, a sort of dancing skip
accompanied the thought, not that Darcy even noticed.

He paid no heed to the passing
terrain, or the ground in front of him for that matter, and was startled to
realize he was at Netherfield’s north gate when he had just left Elizabeth’s
arms a moment ago. He could still feel her warm palms on his neck and the
exquisite pressure of her lips, the sensations so vivid and acute that he
groaned and turned around, as if she might actually be there.

“Get control of yourself, Darcy,”
he muttered, vigorously shaking his head in hopes of restoring clarity and
control before entering the house. It helped to a degree, although he did stare
at the gate’s latch for a full thirty seconds before remembering how it worked.
Fortunately he was able to slip in the side door and dash up to his suite
without encountering anyone.

His manservant, Samuel, was
straightening the bed when Darcy barged in. As if such antics were routine,
Samuel lifted a calm face to his master and inquired after his needs.

“Coffee, please, and a breakfast
tray if it can be managed. I left before eating.”

For five minutes after the valet
departed to carry out his orders, Darcy stood in the middle of the room. Always
a person who craved solitude and the peace that comes from silence, Darcy
breathed deeply and remained still for a purpose. He allowed the tranquility to
infuse his body and clear his mind. As it did, he gazed around the chamber that
had grown comfortable and familiar to him far more than any other temporary
dwelling place ever had. It was not because this suite was particularly
wonderful, but because it was while here, down the corridor from where
Elizabeth Bennet had stayed when Jane Bennet was ill, that Darcy had fallen in
love with her. Never mind that he had blindly denied his feelings. Netherfield,
located in Hertfordshire, a mere three miles from Longbourn, would forever be
associated with her. After today, and with the promise of happy moments inside
these walls in the weeks to come, the connection would be strengthened.

So, while he yearned for the day
when Pemberley and his bedchamber there would hold the premiere association
with Elizabeth—and in a far more intimate way—Netherfield and this
bedchamber were the current favorites. An odd sort of peace settled upon him in
these rooms where his thoughts had been filled with Elizabeth nearly from day
one.

 Shrugging out of his coat, he
tossed it onto the bed and sat on the chair near the low table, where his
breakfast would soon be placed. He bent to remove his boots, the ordinary task
occupying his hands while his mind sorted through everything that had happened.
Attempts to gain perspective and latch on to a logical vein were difficult with
his stomach growling like a caged tiger and Elizabeth permeating his being.

“Elizabeth.” He whispered her name,
a broad smile splitting his face. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes,
Darcy succumbed to the irresistible euphoria.

There was an aspect to his euphoria
that was unreal, like a beautiful dream so tangible that it stays with you even
after you wake. How long had he been in love with Elizabeth Bennet? How many hours
had he imagined kissing her? Was it possible to count the number of dreams in
which she was his? Was this just another dream that he would awaken from?