The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love (23 page)

BOOK: The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love
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While Mr. Wickham may have been a most proficient lover, it was obvious the man had no scruples whatsoever. Yes, Mr. Wickham’s betrayal of her trust was something she would long remember.

However, now she could put all of that behind her. She’d had her little adventure, but now it was time to be practical. And nothing could be more practical than marrying one of the richest men in England.

“Of course, I will marry you, Mr. Clavering. It is my greatest wish come true.”

He kissed the back of her hand. “Then we shall not tarry too long. I will inform my family of our betrothal, and we shall be married as soon as they have deemed a proper amount of time has transpired.”

“Now that we are promised, may I address you less formally, sir?”

The look on Mr. Clavering’s face conveyed his disapproval. “I think it best to wait until our betrothal has been officially announced and the banns have been read at my parish. We would not wish to provoke any gossip.”

Alyssa gave him an indulgent smile. “Undoubtedly, you are quite right, Mr. Clavering. Please forgive my rashness. You may trust that I will do anything to avoid a scandal, sir.”

 

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR

The grand house just beyond the lake came into his view, and Darcy pulled back slightly on the reins. He had made the trip home a day earlier than planned as he had business to attend with his steward that could not wait.

Usually the sight of his beloved Pemberley inspired feelings of tranquility, but as he cast his gaze upon his ancestral estate, his anxiety did not lessen. This tightness in his chest was now his constant companion.

He slowed his pace and finally stopped at the top of the slope that led to the water’s edge. His journey, coupled with the heat of the July sun, had his body longing for some relief. Darcy dismounted and strode towards the lure of the cool waters. He began the removal of his clothing, starting with his cravat.

As he untied the neck cloth, his mind was again reflecting upon the agonizing scene of his and Elizabeth’s last evening. Though her words of rejection were painful to recall, it was the remembrance of her kiss that had him reliving their final moments together. He could still recall the taste of her sweet lips. It was her kiss that would not allow him to give up hope.

But it was much more than simply the passion of their kisses. She had somehow rendered his fear of love inconsequential compared to the frightening prospect of never having her.

He longed to share every moment of his life with her, to protect her and cherish her, to learn every detail of her by heart: every look, every smile, every curve of her body.

He wanted to walk with her on crisp autumn mornings and talk of frivolous things; things only they would share.

He wanted to watch the amber lights in her eyes turn dark with desire as he tenderly made love to her on soft summer nights.

He wanted her to gaze upon him with complete trust as he held her in his arms while together they danced a lovely waltz. If only he could make her see herself through his eyes. For to him, Elizabeth Bennet was the most perfect woman of his acquaintance.

Darcy peeled off his waistcoat and vest as he continued his descent towards the beckoning waters. Even nature was conspiring against him as he deeply breathed in the overpowering fragrance of the jasmine that surrounded him.

By the time he reached the bottom of the hill, only his breeches and shirt remained of his clothing. He sat momentarily to remove his boots, and then he walked to the edge of the lake.

Pulling the hem of his shirt from his waistband, he stared into the clear waters at his grim reflection; the reflection of a desolate man who now must face up to the truth. He could label it whatever he wished: attraction, infatuation, desire or regard. As hard as he had fought against it and as terrified as he was by the notion, he could no longer deny it. For the first time in his life, Fitzwilliam Darcy was in love . . . desperately in love . . . and it was proving to be just as painful as he had always imagined.

********

He emerged from the lake, his wet shirt clinging to his body as he gathered his clothing from the ground. Picking up the reins of his mount, he strode purposely towards the house. One of his grooms met him as he approached the meadow, taking his horse back to the stables.

As he neared the rear portico, he watched as an unfamiliar carriage pulled away.
More curious travelers visiting the estate
, he thought. He was glad he had missed them; he was in no mood to humour tourists.

Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper, was the first to be aware of his presence as he entered through the rear passageway that led to the kitchen. She was overseeing the preparation of the evening meal and looked up at him in surprise. His damp, informal attire, combined with the dark ringlets of wet hair framing his forehead made it impossible for her to look directly at him without betraying her amusement.

“Welcome home, Mr. Darcy,” she said as she bit back a smile and forced her eyes to look downward. “I was not expecting your return today. Your letter said you would not be arriving until tomorrow.” As she spoke she quickly discovered that there was nowhere safe to look as she now tried to focus her eyes away from the puddle of water that was now forming at his feet.

“I had business to attend with Mr. Owens that needed my immediate attention.”

“Georgiana will be so happy to see you. She is just finishing her music lesson with Mrs. Carson.”

Darcy could hear the faint sound of music emanating from the pianoforte in the music room just above them. He momentarily glanced upward. “I will see her as soon as I have changed,” he said as he absentmindedly stole a piece of the apple she was paring for tonight’s dessert.

Mrs. Reynolds smiled to herself. It seemed very little had changed since that wide-eyed four year old had first snuck into her kitchen. With no children of her own, for the past twenty-five years, Mrs. Reynolds had happily bestowed all of her maternal feelings on first the very young Fitzwilliam and then ten years later, on his sister, Georgiana. She loved them as dearly as if they had been born to her.

“I see there were tourists visiting the estate. I hope they were not too much of a burden.”

“Not at all, Mr. Darcy. On the contrary, they were very congenial.”

He gave her a dubious look as he had often encountered many ill-mannered and overly curious visitors whose only purpose was to invade his privacy.

“It is unfortunate that you missed them as the young lady said they had previously made your acquaintance. She even admitted that she thought you were quite handsome.”

“Really,” he replied dryly. There was only one young lady who held any interest for him at all and, according to her last letter to Georgiana, she was touring the Lake Country at the moment.

Concentrating on her task of now slicing the peeled apples and placing them into a bowl, Mrs. Reynolds muttered to herself. “Now what was it again? Brenton? Bennis?” She shook her head, as she unsuccessfully struggled to remember the young lady’s name.

When she finished slicing the last apple, she wiped her hands on her apron and looked up. Suddenly her eyes widened as she met Mr. Darcy’s bemused countenance. “No wait, it was Bennet! Yes, the young lady said her name was Miss Bennet—Miss
Elizabeth
Bennet. I understood that she and her companions are staying at the Lambton Inn.”

In all the years she had attended the Master of Pemberley, never before could she recall him looking quite so pale.

“Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Darcy?”

********

We are alone on the dimly lit balcony, and the strains of a lovely waltz drift towards us. His disappointment at my answer is reflected in the pained expression he bestows upon me. But then suddenly he takes me into his arms, and we begin to slowly dance.

We are much closer than propriety would allow, but I do not seem to mind at all. I enjoy this social intimacy that the dance provides as I inhale his unique redolence. Wordlessly we move together, in time with the music, and his mere touch arouses every one of my senses. I am lost in the simple pleasure of just being held in his embrace while the rhythm of the waltz dictates our movements.

He bows his head as his lips brush against my neck, and softly he whispers ‘Sweet Lizzy’ in my ear. I gaze up at him, and our eyes meet just before he captures my mouth with his.

I have no desire to stop him as I eagerly return his kiss, our bodies melding together. I part my lips slightly, encouraging the invasion of his tongue, and he quickly heeds the unspoken invitation. Our hands begin a slow but impatient exploration, each of us eager to touch and be touched by the other.

Our dance now forgotten, breathlessly he tears his mouth from mine. “How can you kiss me like that and still refuse to be my wife?” he asks in disbelief.

I answer him, even though I seem to have no air within my lungs. “I am not immune to you, Mr. Darcy.”

His eyes darken and his stare is intense upon me. “Nor am I to you, Miss Bennet,” he replies as he pulls me back into his embrace and captures my lips once again.

My arms reach up to him, encompassing his neck, and quickly I close the gap between us. I feel his hands caressing me everywhere; at my waist, the small of my back, then downwards, cupping my bottom as he presses his body against mine.

“Tell me you have changed your mind, Elizabeth. Tell me you will marry me,” his insists.

As I look deep into his eyes, I long to give him the answer that he wishes to hear, but I remain reticent.

“I can offer you everything your heart desires, sweet Lizzy.”

I look up at him and hold his gaze. “What of love, Mr. Darcy? Can you offer me your love?” I ask.

“Elizabeth, Elizabeth . . .”

“Elizabeth, Elizabeth! Time to get up.”

No, no, no! Just let me return to his arms for a few minutes more.

“Your uncle and I will be leaving soon.” Her aunt’s voice, accompanied by a gentle knock on her door, had suddenly awakened her, and Elizabeth opened one eye. “Are you sure you do not wish to accompany us? Mr. and Mrs. Hastings are old friends; I am sure they would not mind.”

Reluctantly Elizabeth opened the other eye and became accustomed to the light filtering into the unfamiliar bedchamber of the Lambton Inn. She sighed. Alas, the dream was gone. No doubt yesterday’s visit to Pemberley had prompted the return of her nighttime fantasies. To see the beautiful place where he lived had been thrilling, though somewhat intimidating. And to think he had offered it all to her, a young woman with an ungraceful limp and no connections. Now he was free to offer it all to someone more fitting.

Perhaps she should be grateful for her aunt’s intrusion upon her dream, for this one was bound to have ended as all of her others had. Even her dreams could not elicit a declaration of love from Mr. Darcy.

Besides, with his obligation to her father long fulfilled, he had surely moved on with his life. Perhaps he was already courting someone new, some socially acceptable embodiment of perfection. Certainly he had his pick of all the impeccable young ladies in London.

If ever he was willing to offer his heart to someone, it could never be me.

The thought of some other woman embraced in Mr. Darcy’s arms was painful to imagine. She could not bear the thought of his mouth bestowing his kisses on some other young lady’s lips or his strong masculine hands tracing the curves of another’s body. Struggling to erase these disagreeable images from her mind, she closed her eyes, attempting to bring back the pleasurable memory of her dream. Once again his warm breath was provocatively sweeping against her neck as he softly whispered her name.
“Sweet Lizzy.”

Another sigh escaped her lips
. Yes, that’s better.

********

The late morning sun was at his back as his mount galloped the short distance between Pemberley and Lambton. The sweet agonizing anticipation of seeing her again, however, made the five miles that separated them seem more like a hundred. His thoughts were plagued with questions. What was she doing here? Had she visited Pemberley in the hope that they might meet?

When he reached the Lambton Inn, he was informed that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had gone out for the morning, but that their niece was still in residence.

He nervously stood there with his hand poised to knock as he took in a deep breath. Would she be happy to see him? Was she still angry? Was he about to make a fool of himself? Releasing the breath he had been holding, he rapped lightly on the door.

The door opened and he watched as her expression slowly transformed. A look of shock first overtook her countenance, but then her lips began a subtle curve upwards until they formed a most tempting smile. The amber in her dark eyes flashed brightly, and her cheeks flushed as their eyes met . . . and hope suddenly filled his heart.

She looked so beguiling that he had to catch his breath at the sight of her. How he had missed her. He reflexively performed his functionary bow. “You look . . . you look quite well, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth’s flush blossomed further upon his words. “Mr. Darcy,” she breathed. “What an unexpected surprise. We were at Pemberley just yesterday, sir,” she confessed with no little embarrassment.

“Yes, Mrs. Reynolds informed me of your visit; I am sorry I was not there to greet you personally.”

“It was not our intention to intrude upon your privacy, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth. “We had been well informed you were from home, and we were quite content just to tour your lovely house and grounds.”

“And did you find Pemberley to your liking?”

“One could hardly find fault with it. You have a beautiful home, and the gardens are most magnificent.”

How odd it seemed to be having this perfectly normal conversation with him as though they were mere acquaintances. Anyone observing them would never have suspected that they had once shared such tender intimate moments, that their lips had met in kisses so fervent that they had literally taken her breath away. She now found herself staring quite blatantly at his mouth.

“The garden in the atrium was one of my mother’s favourite places. She took great pride in its planning. I have tried to maintain it as
she
would have, but I fear it needs a woman’s touch.”

“I do not recall seeing the atrium. I’m afraid I lingered too long in the portrait gallery and had to hurry to catch up with my aunt and uncle.” Her complexion deepened once again as she recalled how she had stared up at the almost life-size likeness of him for an unseemly long time. “Has Georgiana no interest in horticulture?” she asked.

BOOK: The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love
4.65Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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