Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (6 page)

His heart pounded in terror at the
thought. Reaching one hand to press trembling fingertips to his lips, he
relaxed. None of his dreams, as distinct and realistic as many had been, ever
felt like this. Her taste remained on his tongue, her lavender-scented hair
filled his nostrils, her passionate sighs rang in his ears, her adoring face
floated before his eyes, and the softness of her flesh tingled the nerve
endings on his hands. Darcy groaned and shifted in his chair, the irrefutably
genuine sensations affecting him physically.

No, there was no doubt whatsoever
that today was not a dream. It was a God-gifted miracle that he could never
thank the Almighty enough for. He certainly would try, once he was fully able
to wrap his mind around the reality of the miracle and accept that his dreams
had come true.

Elizabeth Bennet loves me.

Months ago, when he first proposed
in his arrogance and selfish comprehension of love, he had not given much
thought to the importance of Elizabeth loving him in return. It still shamed
him to admit how little he understood his own heart or the mysteries of real,
soul-bonding love. Deep in the throes of ardent love for her, and sure that she
would not refuse him based on his numerous qualifications—Darcy winced
anew at
that
remembrance—he had not considered the emptiness, even
if she had said yes, of marrying her without first winning her heart. Every
word she had said to him, each sentence as clear today as it had been then,
convicted him of his sins. Her truthful condemnation had taught him many
things, not the least of which was the importance of mutual love.

Until the summer day when she had
miraculously appeared at Pemberley, Darcy thought the lessons learned would
never benefit him personally. Still grieving, the concept of finding another
woman to take Elizabeth’s place in his heart was impossible to fathom. He
became convinced he had destroyed his one chance, and the logical, deserved
outcome was a life alone. Forever a man of faith, though perhaps not as
strongly as his grandfather, Darcy interpreted Elizabeth’s surprising
appearance at Pemberley as a message from God. Not that Elizabeth was destined
to be his or that he was being handed her on a silver platter. Indeed, he
immediately perceived that it was a chance. Nothing more. A chance to prove to
her—and most importantly to himself—that he
had
learned the
truth and was worthy of being loved by a woman of her caliber. If it took
months or years, so be it. If in the end he failed, somehow he would accept she
was better with someone else. The thought nearly killed him, but all that truly
mattered, he eventually realized, was her happiness.

Her happiness—and to a large
degree Charles Bingley’s happiness—was what had prompted him to hunt down
Lydia and Wickham. Guilt drove him as well, the sure knowledge that whatever
might have prompted Wickham to seduce Lydia Bennet, whether a sensed awareness
of her sister’s importance to Darcy or not, the fact remained that it never
would have happened if not for his abominable pride allowing Wickham to roam
freely. If a solution were within his power, Darcy would have done anything to
accomplish it so the Bennet family, especially Jane and Elizabeth, would not be
adversely affected by a scandal. Fortunately, crossing a line into an illegal
zone had not been necessary, but Darcy had prepared for that as well.

When it was finished, even after
confessing his error in judgment about Miss Bennet to Bingley and seeing the
positive outcome there, Darcy refused to allow himself to hope.

A knock at the door postponed
further musings and ignited fresh rumbles in his stomach. Samuel entered with a
heavily laden tray, sat it onto the low table by Darcy’s chair, and proceeded
to unerringly prepare his master’s coffee the way he liked it.

“Do you have any specific
instructions for me today, sir?” Samuel handed the hot cup to Darcy. “Should I
unpack the rest of your bags?”

“Yes.” Darcy winced at the scald to
his tongue but took another gulp of the restoring beverage anyway. “We will be
staying at Netherfield for a while longer after all. If I can have my bath
drawn in an hour, that would be perfect. And I shall be dining at Longbourn
tonight with Mr. Bingley. If my dark blue suit, and green and gold waistcoat
are clean, I would like to wear them tonight.”

He was staring directly at Samuel,
so Darcy noticed the slight lift of his valet’s brows. In a flash, the hint of
surprise was gone, a smooth-faced Samuel assuring that all would be as he
commanded. Once the door to his dressing room was shut, Darcy gave in to a
smile and chuckle. He knew why Samuel was surprised. In his over ten years of
service to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, there was probably less than ten times Darcy
expressed a preference for which garment to wear. Darcy honestly could not care
less most of the time, as long as he was clean, properly attired in the latest
fashion, and presentable. Darcy wondered if Samuel was thinking of the handful
of particular clothing requests he had made, realizing that the majority of
them were in the last year, when his day involved being in the presence of
Elizabeth Bennet.

“Probably not,” he muttered between
bites of jam-smeared toast. Samuel was an excellent manservant, but his
attention to Mr. Darcy’s personal life did not extend past knowing his schedule
so he could plan for the correct cravat knot and pocket fob. If Darcy had
mentioned his engagement, the response from Samuel would have been something
like: “Very good, sir. Congratulations. Would you like more salt on your eggs?”

The first plate was cleaned and
refilled before Darcy resumed his musings.

Elizabeth Bennet loves me.

The thought was no less gratifying
than before. The ridiculous grin and palpitating heartbeat continued unabated,
even as he chewed. Darcy knew she spoke the truth, Elizabeth never one to mince
words or speak falsehoods. It was simply so astounding that he struggled to
grasp how it had happened!

If he was being honest, the reality
was that after spending time with Elizabeth at Pemberley, Darcy
had
believed
her opinion of him had changed. He had not entirely trusted his ability to
decipher Elizabeth’s demeanor and actions after so hideously misinterpreting
them before. Nevertheless, after nearly four months of constantly replaying
every verbal and nonverbal exchange from the moment he saw her at the Meryton
Assembly to that disastrous day when she vigorously refused his offensive
proposal, he surmised his vision was clearer. While he had not thought for a
second that Elizabeth had developed affection for him, her general disposition
was not of a woman who actively hated him either.

So, yes, during their hours
together at Pemberley, he had allowed glimmers of hope.
If
he was
reading the sign from God correctly, and
if
he was finally interpreting
Elizabeth’s manner without bias, then perhaps they could start afresh.
Tragically, there had been no time to anticipate or plan beyond that initial
step. The letter from Jane Bennet reporting Lydia’s affair with George Wickham
violently destroyed everything, in Darcy’s dismayed opinion.

How could Elizabeth ever forgive
him? He who had the power to stop Wickham yet remained silent. It was a
dramatic reminder of his pride and failure. The only bright spots during that
whole sordid mess were a handful of vague comments by Mrs. Gardiner alluding to
Elizabeth’s favorable impression of Pemberley—and him. Darcy had tucked
them away in his mind but prohibited his heart from dwelling upon them.

Upon the few, brief interactions
when Darcy returned to Netherfield with Bingley, Elizabeth had not appeared
angry or disgusted. His heart had lifted, but he clamped down on the tiny
trickle. After all, her sister had just been proposed to! What woman would not
be in a fine mood with smiles and cheery conversation?

Every day for the subsequent week—while
Bingley danced with joy and gushed on and on about his great happiness—Darcy
had remained torn. Not only had he felt the urge to throttle Bingley—purely
out of his own heartache and not because he was unhappy for his dear friend and
Miss Bennet—but he had also disliked the train of his thoughts.

He had never suspected that
Elizabeth knew of his involvement with the Wickham fiasco but figured it
obvious to her that he had played some part in bringing Bingley back to
Hertfordshire—and to Jane. Add to that the natural romantic sentiments
that revolve around an engagement and promised wedding, and it was not a leap
in logic to imagine that, if he pressed Elizabeth, she may have been amenable.

While it made perfect sense on one
level, and had been hugely tempting, Darcy refused to win Elizabeth’s hand
under any sort of leverage or artifice. Frankly, woman or not, he doubted her
gullible enough to succumb to such emotional sentiments. Nevertheless, he
preferred not to take that chance. The lesson painfully learned in the spring
assured him that winning Elizabeth Bennet’s heart, wholly and unreservedly, had
to occur honestly. So he had decided that dwelling in London, rather than at
Netherfield, at least for a while, was best.

 A small voice inside had
doggedly whispered
Fool!
and
Coward!
without ceasing. He had
ignored it as best he could—aided by business endeavors and constant
activity—and had remained determined to give her space to enjoy Jane’s
happiness before he returned to the area. Then, so his nebulous plan had went,
he would proceed slowly and see where fate led as they found themselves
together due to mutual connections to Charles and Jane.

Then, Lady Catherine descended upon
Darcy House like a black tornado resolved to obliterate whatever positive
headway had been made.

Darcy drained the cup of coffee and
popped a fig into his mouth. Replaying yesterday’s scene with his aunt actually
made him smile. Envisioning what his cousin Richard’s response would be to the
scene broadened his grin. Darcy tolerated his mother’s imperious older sister, ignored
her attitude for the most part, and endured her rudeness for the sake of family
stability. Richard, on the other hand, had a difficult time holding his tongue.
He would thrill at the exchange, begging Darcy to describe her expressions in
vivid detail.

Thinking of imparting his momentous
news to Richard led Darcy to imagining the joy of telling of his great fortune
to all those who were dear to him. The sudden vision of Georgiana’s ecstatic
face and Mrs. Reynolds’ relieved pleasure supplanted any residual pique over
Lady Catherine. Besides, it was her interference, as horrid and misplaced as it
was, that prompted him to return to Hertfordshire immediately rather than
waiting until closer to Bingley’s wedding.

He had determined to speak with
Elizabeth as plainly as possible, as soon as possible. Nothing had been
certain, not by a long chalk, but the one irrefutable fact he clung to was that
Elizabeth Bennet, above all, was frank and unafraid to speak bluntly. If she
had decided absolutely and irrevocably against him, she would have promised
Lady Catherine instantly, probably adding gleefully to the list of reasons why
she considered Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy the “last man in the world” she would ever
marry!

Yes, hope had entered his heart.

Nevertheless, Darcy left the house
on this fine morning without the remotest inclination that he would soon be
engaged to Elizabeth Bennet. Even if an angelic whisper had hinted it was a
possibility, never would he have presumed she loved him in return.

Elizabeth loves me.

Darcy closed his eyes and let the
revelation sink deeper into his bones. The irrepressible joy bubbled under the
surface of his skin, with every muscle and nerve alive as never before. Heated
blood soared through his veins, and his mind raced with glimpses of their
future.

Then, he sensed an influx of
something profound steadying the euphoria. The reality of her love sobered him.
He did not yet comprehend how Elizabeth had fallen in love with him, or when or
even why, but that she had was an honor and precious gift he intended to
treasure and respect for all eternity. After everything that had passed between
them, Darcy fully appreciated how priceless her returned love was. He doubted
there was enough time allotted him on this earth to ever express the entirety
of his thankfulness and the breadth of his adoration. He refused to waste a
single second.

The latter thought instilled a
boost of energy. Darcy’s eyes popped open at the same moment he launched out of
his chair. A swift glance at the clock revealed only two hours had passed since
leaving her on the doorstep at Longbourn. It felt like a week or more.

“I miss her.” He spoke aloud, the
words and sentiment a bit startling.

For close to a year, he had longed
for Elizabeth Bennet whenever away from her. Nothing new about that. Yet after this
morning, the sensation had altered. No longer was it a mystery whether he would
see her again. No longer was it a one-sided desire that, if rewarded, would
entail gazing upon her face from afar and nothing more. Suddenly he realized
that while the pain of separation from her would grow as their relationship
evolved into deeper intimacy, the joy of reuniting in mutual pleasure would be
phenomenal.

He broke into a wide grin and
strode briskly toward the door to his dressing room.

* *
*

Darcy exited his chambers no less
buoyant or giddy than he had been before relaxing in a tub of warmed water and
submitting to Samuel’s careful attendance to his attire and grooming. A smile
danced on his lips, even as they formed into a pucker for the whistle yearning
to be released. Unfortunately, both the smile and whistle died at the sight of
Caroline Bingley loitering not four feet away from his door.