The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love (15 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

Darcy hurried down the steps of Alyssa’s townhouse and headed towards his waiting carriage, but he did not get in. He decided a walk might help to organize his thoughts.

As his carriage followed at a discreet distance, he slowly walked down Russell Street. It was still the shank of the night and the gas-lights burned brightly, illuminating his way. He looked around him at the crisp, clear, perfect night and could only wonder why any man who possessed wealth and position and was soon to be betrothed to a beautiful young woman should feel as confused and unsettled as he did at this very moment.

After all, his life was going exactly as he had planned.

Alyssa would make him the perfect wife. She was revered by the ton for her beauty and grace, her uncle had been of noble blood, she was well acquainted with social protocol, and she did not demand his undying declaration of love. Yes, she was in every way perfect for him.

So then why had he, yet again, evaded a proposal? And more curiously he wondered: Why was he not enticed to pursue a more physical relationship?

He had never pressed the issue. On the contrary, it was usually he who refrained from furthering the nature of their intimate encounters. Yet, he was sure Alyssa would have granted him that liberty had his passion been so aroused. But it had not. He had never felt an overwhelming desire to make love to her.

Make love
. . . the term caused his brow to furrow. In all honesty, he could not say that he had ever made love to
any
woman.

Oh, it was not that he was a man without needs. His body’s reaction tonight as he watched Elizabeth Bennet from across the balcony was certainly proof of that.

He had never been accused of being a prude, nor had love ever been a requirement for any of his previous sexual encounters. In his past ventures into the world of carnal delights, of the women who had willingly taken him to their beds, none had ever uttered the word
love
, much to his relief.

He could think of no logical explanation why he should not at least be tempted to bed the woman he had chosen as his future wife. Was there something about Alyssa that made him wary, or was he only foolishly making up excuses? With all of her charms his for the taking, why was he not eager to have them share that ultimate intimacy?

Was it because his conscience would dictate that once they did, his obligation to her would be irrevocable?

And if it was the thought of Elizabeth Bennet that was prohibiting this familiarity with Alyssa, he truly was a fool. For in truth, despite his desire for her and the connection he had felt between them, he would not be doing Elizabeth any favours by furthering their acquaintance. He may abhor the idea of her as Mrs. Collins, but a man who was unwilling to expose his heart to the possibility of love would not make her any happier.

He must put a stop to this foolishness! If he was waiting for a sign that he and Alyssa were destined not to wed or perhaps hoping that some divine intervention would miraculously change his opinion about love, he was indeed the
biggest
fool that ever lived.

He turned and motioned to his driver. He entered his carriage, his mind now completely made up on the subject.

********

Madeline Gardiner stepped down from the carriage as it stopped at the fashionable modiste on Bond Street. Her niece followed her descent, and the two women strode arm in arm into Estelle’s Boutique.

Mrs. Gardiner had visited the exclusive shop on a few occasions, and Madam Vestry, the proprietress, made it her business to know all of her clientele by name.

“Mrs. Gardiner, how lovely to see you again. How might I assist you this morning?”

“Good morning, Madam Vestry. This is my niece, Elizabeth Bennet. We have come to look at fabrics for her sister’s forthcoming wedding.”

“A wedding, how wonderful! And when is the happy event to take place?” she asked.

“In September,” offered Elizabeth.

“How perfect! Please come this way; let me show you some of our newest arrivals.”

They were led to an array of bolts of cloth that were spread out on a large display table, and Madam Vestry left them to peruse the delicate silks and satins while she assisted other customers.

When Mrs. Gardiner looked over at Elizabeth, she noted her niece’s lack of enthusiasm as her attention seemed somewhat diverted.

“Are you all right, Lizzy?”

“Yes, Aunt; perhaps a little tired. You have planned for my every moment in London, and I am quite unused to such constant activity.”

“Of course, I should have realized . . . Is your leg bothering you?”

“Only a very little. Really, I am fine.”

Elizabeth felt slightly guilty for her feigned excuse, for she was sure that her distracted state had less to do with her leg and more to do with last night’s encounter with Mr. Darcy.

Seeing him again had been sweet torture. She could no longer pretend that he had not engaged her emotions. Her only hope was that in time these feelings that she felt for him would fade. Oh, to be in such a wretched situation, hopelessly in love with a man who was soon to be wed to another woman . . . a quite perfect woman. Upon seeing them together last evening even
she
had to admit that they made a most handsome couple.

Hearing the name ‘Elizabeth Bennet’ immediately gained the complete attention of the young woman who stood a short distance away. Alyssa Marston lifted her eyes in the direction of the two women who had just entered the shop.

As she watched them, she again noted the prominent limp of Miss Bennet. Perhaps she had been too hasty in her conclusions last evening. For in the sober light of day, she could not imagine Fitzwilliam granting this poor unfortunate girl anything more than what polite civility might require.

But, of course, men will be men. Was it possible that this woman, a woman with such a patent imperfection, had experienced what she herself had failed to achieve? For she could not dismiss the look she had witnessed Fitzwilliam bestow upon Elizabeth Bennet last night. The look was one of pure desire and one he had never lavished upon
her
.

“Miss Bennet?”

Upon hearing her name, Elizabeth turned to look upon the beautiful woman who had just occupied her thoughts. “Miss Marston . . . how nice to see you again.”

A forced smile was Miss Marston’s only response to Elizabeth’s polite greeting, inquiring instead of her enjoyment of the prior evening. “Of course, I refer to the play.”

Unable to imagine what else she could possibly be referring to, Elizabeth responded, “Yes, I found it extremely entertaining. And did you enjoy your evening also?”

“I admit I was somewhat disappointed. I had expected a more agreeable ending.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed slightly. “But the hero and heroine ended up together; is that not a happy conclusion?”

“Oh, you mean the unfortunate young woman with no fortune or connections? I hardly considered
her
the heroine. But I suppose it is the unlikelihood of such an outcome that makes the play so appealing . . . for some.”

Elizabeth tried to think of an apt reply, but none came to mind.

“So, you were acquainted with Mr. Darcy in Hertfordshire?”

“Yes, our estate is but three miles from Netherfield, where Mr. Darcy was in residence.”

“And were you much in his company during his stay?”

Elizabeth could not help the flushed shade that her complexion had suddenly turned, as she thought upon their many encounters, specifically recalling the morning he had discovered her scars and their final moments alone together on the balcony at Netherfield.

“Well . . . as it happened there were a few occasions when we were prevailed upon to act as chaperones for my sister and Mr. Bingley.”

Noting the obvious blush her question had produced, Miss Marston narrowed her eyes. “I see. Oh, by the bye, Fitzwilliam and I are now officially betrothed,” she said, her silky voice effortlessly conveying the blatant lie. “He is so anxious for us to start our married life together that he is most insistent that we wed as soon as possible.”

Upon hearing this news, Elizabeth tried to smile as she offered her best wishes for their happiness.

A few more strained pleasantries were exchanged before Miss Marston made her departure. As she left the shop, she concluded that if the hue of Miss Bennet’s complexion was any indication, she had not been mistaken in her suspicions regarding Fitzwilliam’s secret dalliance in Hertfordshire.

********

Darcy stood and stretched his back. He had been sitting most of the day in Mr. Habershaw’s office, and he was anxious to get home and relax. Now that he had finally made up his mind to propose to Alyssa, he had called upon his solicitor to arrange a settlement upon her.

As he entered the foyer of his townhouse, Mrs. Bates informed him of the message which had been hand delivered by a young lad an hour before.

He had been planning on a quiet dinner and a night of reading, but as he picked up Alyssa’s personalized notepaper, he discovered other plans had been designed for his evening as he read her brief but quite explicit message. . .

Dearest,

I need to see you. How I long to be in your arms again and to share the intimacy that we have denied ourselves. Come to me tonight so that I may show you, without reservation, how very much I desire you. Please, please, do not refuse my request. I eagerly await you.

Alyssa

As he read her words, he suddenly felt ashamed. That the woman who was soon to be his wife should have to beg his company and rather overtly suggest that they share a deeper intimacy was unforgiveable. What the devil was the matter with him? Yes, he would go to her tonight and share the closeness she desired. He would give her, as well as himself, the proof needed of his commitment to their union.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

“On pleasure bent again?” her father chided. “First London, now Kent; had I known you would leave your poor father to suffer so often in your absence, I would never have encouraged you so.”

Elizabeth gave her father a quick kiss on his forehead. “That will serve to remind you to be careful what you wish for, Papa,” she coyly responded. “Besides, I shall enjoy seeing Charlotte again, even though I shall miss Florio almost as much as I shall miss you. The weather has just turned pleasant enough for us to start our daily outings, and now I must desert him.”

“I see no reason to leave him behind, Lizzy. Would you like him to accompany you?” he asked.

“Oh, so very much, Papa.”

Mr. Bennet eyed his daughter carefully, and a feeling of love and pride swelled within him. She had emerged from the dark hopelessness where she had lived for so many years and was now flowering into the confident young woman she was always meant to be. Of course, he took
some
of the credit for her transformation, but he knew it was Mr. Darcy who had truly rescued his daughter.

“It is an easy thing to tie him to the back of the carriage. But you must promise me, Lizzy, that you will not ride out too far on your own, as you are unfamiliar with the terrain.”

She gave her father a long embrace and thanked him over and over again. Besides Charlotte’s companionship, she would be able to look forward to riding Florio in a beautiful new setting, discovering new places and adventures. She smiled at the very thought.

********

Darcy pulled the watch from his waist coat pocket and checked the time; the ride to Rosings Park seemed to get longer every year. The rain had not stopped once since he’d left London, making his journey most arduous. But he consoled himself with the fact that at least the April temperatures had finally turned pleasant enough that he need no longer worry of snow; winter had seemed endless this year.

Once again he was on his way to meet his cousin Richard for their annual pilgrimage to Kent. It was a ritual they performed every Easter: spending the holiday with their Aunt Catherine and Cousin Anne, while they reviewed the books and toured the grounds, making note of any major repairs or renovations that were needed to the estate.

He was more apprehensive than usual this year due to the fact that he knew Mr. Collins was in residence at Hunsford. After their meeting in London over three months ago, he was now certain that Elizabeth had finally wed the obsequious clergyman. Darcy found it hard to imagine her in such a role, and witnessing it would be even more painful.

He was still avoiding Bingley’s letters as he did not want to actually see the words in black and white informing him of Elizabeth’s marriage. Such images would certainly be offensive should he bring them to mind. Was the clergyman now enjoying her kisses? Was he lying with her each night and taking his marital privileges?

The thought of that simpering man’s mouth on Elizabeth’s sweet lips, of his hands tracing her abundant curves, of his engorged . . . bloody hell . . . how could she have married such a man!

But who was he to talk? Had he not convinced himself that marrying Alyssa was the prudent thing to do? No, neither of them could to be acquitted on that account.

However, he was not the one who had expressed the opinion that falling in love would be a most exquisite experience or that never giving nor receiving love would be an unbearably lonely existence; those had been
her
words. Why, then, had she settled for a marriage of convenience?

He took a deep breath as he looked out the window of his carriage; he was still miles from his destination, and the rain had not abated. Darcy settled back, his head resting against the seat cushion. He recalled the events that had taken place in Alyssa’s parlour that night, the night he had received her explicit note summoning him.

***

As the door to the townhouse opened, Stivers seemed even more confused than usual. “Miss Marston is expecting me,” he assured the elderly man.

Stivers gave him a look of perplexity but nodded and led him down the hallway. As the butler opened the parlour door ready to announce his presence, Alyssa stood, a slight gasp escaping her lips.

Darcy entered the room and noted her look of shock. He then observed her disheveled appearance and the two half-empty glasses on the table, much the same as the night he had returned from Hertfordshire.

But something far more intriguing had now caught his attention as his eyes alit upon the coat that was flung casually across the arm of the loveseat, its deep shade of red now an exact match to Alyssa’s complexion.

“I . . . I can explain, Fitzwilliam.”

“I seriously doubt that, Alyssa.”

For a moment he stared at her, as if challenging her to come up with some sort of reasonable account, but when she offered nothing further, he turned towards the door.

“Wait!” she beseeched him.

He turned back towards her, and their eyes met. As he looked upon her, he wondered why his mind and emotions were not reacting as they ought. Why was he not angry, outraged? Where were the feelings of betrayal and loss? Astonishingly all he felt was . . . relief.

Grateful that he had not entrusted his heart to her, here was proof, yet again, that his convictions in that regard had been more than justified. Love . . . it was a word of use only to poets.

“Yes, Alyssa?”

She saw the look of abhorrence in his eyes and knew any effort to persuade him of her innocence would most likely prove useless, but still she had to try. However, as she opened her mouth to speak, a voice from the hallway effectively established her guilt.

“Alyssa, where the devil have you put my boots?”

Darcy’s spine straightened as the man who was the bane of his existence strode unbuttoned and bootless into the parlour.

Wickham stopped short but did not seem surprised by Darcy’s presence. “Ah, Alyssa, you did not tell me we had a visitor. I’m afraid we have been well and truly caught.”

Knowing her fate was sealed, Alyssa released her pent-up breath. Beyond any uncertainty, Fitzwilliam Darcy was now lost to her forever. But rather than remorse, it was anger with which she addressed him. “I imagine you will waste no time seeking solace in the arms of Elizabeth Bennet,” she accused.

At the mention of her name, Darcy startled. He tried desperately to maintain a look of composure, but a physical assault upon his person could not have been any less effective.

Wickham eyed him with curiosity. Despite his thorough study of the man over the many years of their acquaintance, he had never before witnessed such an unguarded reaction from him.

Just who was Elizabeth Bennet, he wondered, and why did the mere mention of her name have such an impact on Darcy? Was she someone Darcy had once cared for? From the exposed look of his countenance, perhaps he still did. Wickham silently vowed he would make it his business to find out.

“You are quite mistaken on the matter,” Darcy calmly replied.

He turned abruptly, and as he took his first step towards the door, a sudden thought plagued Alyssa’s mind. “May I inquire what prompted you to see me this evening, Fitzwilliam? Our plans were not until tomorrow.”

He reached into his coat pocket and produced her note. “It was delivered earlier this evening.”

Recognition of her personal stationery and the message she had written was reflected in her stunned look. She turned incredulous eyes towards George Wickham. Her mind was now formulating the truth of her situation: Wickham had planned for the discovery of her betrayal and disgrace.

“One day you will go too far, Wickham,” Darcy warned.

“I eagerly await that day, for I am curious to see just what it will take to finally break you.”

***

Darcy now shifted uncomfortably in his carriage seat. Although they had not professed love for one another, he had expected Alyssa’s conduct to be proper and respectable. He had assumed a contented marriage would exist between them. She would manage their social life, run his home and bear his children in exchange for the benefit of his money, land and place in society. It was shocking, to say the least, that on the very eve of their betrothal she had sought another man’s affections. The fact that the man had been none other than George Wickham, however, was beyond the pale.

She had betrayed him with his worst enemy. If he had been truly waiting for some sign that he and Alyssa were destined not to wed, he certainly could have hoped for something a little more subtle.

But what had been far more troubling was the fact that Wickham had undoubtedly witnessed his flustered countenance upon hearing the name of Elizabeth Bennet. Had his reaction placed her in danger? Darcy quickly dismissed his unease. Now that she was Mrs. Collins, he need not fear her becoming the next victim of George Wickham’s resentful vengeance. At least her marriage would save her from that ordeal.

He forcefully turned his mind from the memories of that detestable night and tried to think upon more pleasant thoughts. At least he was looking forward to seeing his cousin Richard again. His duties in the military had not allowed him a leave in almost a year, except for a short visit with Georgiana at Pemberley last September. Darcy had written to him, vaguely describing the events that had taken place over the last several months, but being a man of pride, he may have altered some of the details to accommodate his ego.

His description of the occurrences in Hertfordshire had left out many of the details, and certainly his letter made no mention of his attraction towards the young lady he had been asked to call upon. No, he had not revealed anything beyond the simple facts, though nothing about the entire situation now seemed simple.

As for the events that had taken place in London with Miss Marston, he felt some discretion was required, and he had not disclosed the indelicate nature of the situation. However, he was sure a man of Richard’s considerable experience did not need to have it spelled out for him.

His cousin had always had a way with the ladies. Despite his lack of fortune, his rugged good looks and congenial manner had practically guaranteed his success with the fairer sex. But Darcy doubted that any woman would ever induce him into marriage; he seemed more than content in his bachelorhood.

His cousin’s two rules were steadfast: be completely candid regarding his intentions and never engage an innocent. Darcy smiled to himself. There was no question about it; his cousin was definitely a rogue, but at least he was an honourable one.

He closed his eyes and eventually allowed sleep to overtake his thoughts. Hours later the carriage’s abrupt halt awoke him. He had finally arrived at Rosings.