The real deciding factor in waiting until a reasonable hour was the sorry state of his person when he took a long look in the mirror. The effects of drink and a strenuous journey had disappeared with hours of heavy sleep. The effects of accumulated layers of mud washed off negligently as they were last night were another story. His reflection was downright ghastly. A soaking bath was the first order of business, followed by a shave and trimming his unruly hair. He didn’t want to frighten his betrothed into a heart seizure days away from their wedding.
Not quite four hours later, an outrageous length of time as far as Darcy was concerned, he planted himself in front of the window facing the gravel driveway. He honestly was not aware of the coiled energy causing him to pace until Bingley laughingly admonished, “Darcy! For pity’s sake, man, please sit down. You are wearing a hole in my carpet.”
Sure, it was easy for Charles to sit calmly in his chair. He had been in the company of his betrothed every day all week.
“What could possibly be taking her…them, so long?”
“Be patient, Darcy. It is quite early, and the carriage left not an hour ago. Women need time to prepare, trust me. You might as well start getting used to delays. My sisters are always late.”
The last thing Darcy wanted to hear was even the remotest reference to Caroline Bingley. A sharp retort on his lips, his attention was diverted by a flash of black beyond the trees. Yes. Aware on some level that his beaming grin and bouncing leap in the direction of the door made him appear foolish, he simply didn’t care, not even when Bingley’s laughter nipped at his heels. Luckily, the butler had noted the arriving carriage and had the front door open, although he was forced to skip to the side or be bowled over. Darcy was down the steps and had flung the carriage door wide before the vehicle came to a complete stop. Revealing her anxiousness, Elizabeth had already half risen from the bench, her smile as giddy as his and her eyes were dancing.
Propriety be damned, he reached in, encircled her slim waist with his broad hands, and lifted her out of the carriage. When her toes were touching the ground, he let go only long enough to grab her into his arms, twirling about as they laughed. Truthfully, why he held himself back from kissing her passionately on the spot was moronic—some residue of what constitutes gentlemanly behavior pounded into his brain since he was able to toddle.
Instead, he cupped her face and leaned close, whispering, “I love you, Elizabeth.”
“Why, Mr. Darcy, I get the impression you missed me just a little.”
“More than I have the words to express, my sweet. Nor would I want to try. From this moment onward, only happy words of love, if we must use words at all over other, preferable methods of expressing our joy.” As he hoped, his suggestion brought a tint of pink to her cheeks, and she ducked her head. Clasping his arm, she nudged them toward the door.
“We feared your breakfast might have been interrupted,” Darcy explained loud enough for Charles and Jane to hear as they climbed the steps and entered the foyer. “I confess the early summons was entirely my idea. Bingley sternly exerted his good manners and sense of decency. He is not to blame for my blatantly ignoring him and badgering of the staff to do the same.”
Laughing, Jane lightly touched her future brother’s forearm. “Do not concern yourself, Mr. Darcy. Neither Lizzy nor I felt put upon. In fact, not a word of protest was given, nor did my sister waste seconds to frame a witty retort to Papa’s tease.”
“Indeed, that says it all then,” Bingley proclaimed, smiling at Elizabeth. “Just in case we caught our ladies with their hunger unsatisfied, we have a light repast prepared in the breakfast room. Come!”
“I could not eat a bite earlier, so I am starving,” Darcy murmured after sneaking a kiss to Elizabeth’s cheek. “Even so, what I truly hunger for are your lips. Perhaps a brief detour into yonder closet, Miss Elizabeth?”
“You, sir, are incorrigible!”
“Guilty as charged. Was that a yes, then?” It was a spontaneous joke, but he still felt faintly disappointed when she chuckled and shook her head.
The quartet, clustered at one end of the table, relaxed into the joyous reunion. Darcy truly was famished, eating heartily while chattily reporting the highlights of his week in between bites. Elizabeth nibbled and sipped absently, seemingly content to allow him to do all the talking. Gradually, the vague sense of disquiet stirred while reading her two letters, which he had all but forgotten, rekindled. As with her writing, he could not pin down the cause of his nebulous feelings but could also not shake them.
For instance, she held his hand a bit too tightly and was adverse to letting go, even when he needed it to cut his meat. Her eyes did not leave his face except for when he peered directly at her for longer than five seconds, her gaze always sliding away before he could decipher the odd shimmer within. A smile curved her plump lips but it never wavered, as if it were painted onto her face or molded from plaster.
Strangest of all, she said very little aside from a handful of perfunctory comments and superficial questions. Of note was when candidly recounting the evening of “bachelor debauchery” with Richard. He suspected she was not listening to a word he said since she had yet to laugh or insert a single sportive wisecrack, a suspicion verified when, in the middle of a sentence, she leaned into his side and interrupted.
“William,” she whispered softly into his ear, “I am elated to have you back. I missed you terribly and was devastated not to see you yesterday. Nevertheless, I must scold you for venturing into the storm. You could have been injured or—“ She gulped. “What would I do at the altar with no groom to wed me?”
He apologized profusely and sincerely. Each of them tried to make a joke out of the painful separation and of what could have been a tragedy. He told her of the journey, focusing on the pleasanter portions at the pub and glossing over the violence of the storm and the resulting road hazards. She seemed placated but not exactly cheered either. Simply put, she wasn’t the Elizabeth he knew so very well, and he had to find out why once and for all.
As the meal drew to the end, Bingley and Jane suggested a walk in the garden. Although the paths were likely to be wet, the sun was shining for the first time in days. Frankly, the prospect of an invigorating walk was highly appealing. A sidelong inspection of Elizabeth’s face changed his mind.
Rising from the table, Darcy stayed Elizabeth with a light press of his palm upon the small of her back. She glanced upward with a questioning lift of her brow, but Darcy directed his attention to Bingley. “A walk does sound lovely, Charles, now that the weather has decided to behave. If you do not mind, we shall join you in a bit. I have a gift for Elizabeth in the library which I can no longer wait to give.”
Bingley was understandably puzzled since he had not seen Darcy go anywhere near the library all morning, but he rapidly recovered, smoothing his features and leading Jane away.
“Another gift, sir? At this rate, I will be doing nothing but shopping for the first week of our marriage just to catch up,” Elizabeth said as they crossed the library threshold. Her attempt to tease was strained, as all of them had been that morning.
Leaving the door partially ajar, Darcy guided her to a far corner within eyesight of the entrance but well away from any curious listening ears. Rather than speaking, he enfolded her in his arms and bent to deliver the ardent kiss his soul had craved for over a week. Truthfully, it was a chaste kiss compared to the one he hungered to engage in, but he knew letting loose his need for her, even in a tempered fashion, would consume him.
It was extremely difficult to remove his lips from the warm, satiny skin of her neck, and harder still to release her from his embrace. Her passion-glazed eyes were nearly his undoing, but then he gleaned a hint of questioning deep within their chocolate depths. Talking to her was, at this juncture, more important.
Steering her to the sofa, they sat with knees touching and hands entwined. “Forgive me, Elizabeth, but the gift was a small deception. It is time for you to tell me what ha
s been troubling you.”
Her eyes widened and then swiftly darted to the side. “What do you mean?”
“My darling, do not play coy with me. We know each other well, do we not? I have felt that something was amiss all week. Your letters were not as merry as I thought they should have been, but I was willing to believe it my overwrought imagination. Now that we are together, I know that was not the case. You are not your usual lively self, Elizabeth. The fact that you missed a dozen chances to tease me is evidence enough. I can sense your distress.” Lifting one hand, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek, then gently used two fingers to turn her face toward him. “Please enlighten me. Allow me to comfort you, beloved.”
She did not glance away but was obviously struggling. He waited, willing his muscles to relax and face to remain neutral even though his stomach churned. Finally, she inhaled and spoke, the words halting and her tone heavy.
“You are correct, William. I am troubled. I need to speak of…a delicate, uncomfortable matter. Please, will you promise not interrupt? I do not want to talk of this. It will be difficult for me, and I will lose my nerve or train of thought if you interject.”
Elizabeth wasn’t a woman who exaggerated or dramatized a mundane problem. Her statement and the weighty emphasis revealed this wasn’t some minor wedding dilemma or premarriage jitters as he had presumed. He was seriously alarmed for the first time, making it nigh impossible to promise restraint. He had to trust her, however, so he bobbed his head once and said, “I promise.”
After another deep sigh, and with eyes focused on their clasped hands, she began. “Some of it is nonsense, I admit—me, just being a silly girl, a maiden with what I suppose are the normal fears faced on one’s wedding night. The unknown and the possibility of pain, which no one looks forward to.” She released a soft chuckle and briefly met his eyes.
He smiled, but she had already resumed her scrutiny of their hands. “Additionally, for me, there is the worry of displeasing you, of not bringing you the pleas—joy you are expecting when we are…together for the first time, and perhaps first several times.”
Darcy instinctively opened his mouth to refute such baseless worries but remembered his promise and clamped his lips tight.
Not bring me pleasure? Ah, my sweet Elizabeth, if you knew the depth of pleasure you give me by a mere kiss or touch of your hand, there would be no way you could question the rapture I shall experience when being inside of you.
“My aunt Gardiner, you may be surprised to learn, spoke to Jane and me at length, and in explicit detail. Suffice it to say, we were educated to a degree not expected for most young, unmarried ladies.”
Her cheeks were flushed a delightful shade of pink, and he knew she would look at him while such intimate “explicit details” swirled in her head. He wanted to laugh—envisioning Mrs. Gardiner having a frank talk about sexual relations with her two virginal nieces was highly amusing! He sent a prayer heavenward for women of common sense like Mrs. Gardiner, and felt the tension in his muscles ebbing away. He could relate to Elizabeth’s anxieties better than she realized.
“For the most part, none of these concerns greatly bothered me. I trust us, our love, and while it may take me a while to…be the wife you deserve in the…bedroom, I haven’t doubted our future. Or at least I didn’t think I did.”
A pause, another huge inhale and exhale. “I began having nightmares the night you left for London. And I know why, and this is the most difficult part for me to share.”
She released his hands and stood, walking a few feet away and turning toward the wall. Averted eyes shining with unshed tears, fingers kneading the edges of the fichu draped over her shoulders, and chest rising jerkily with each labored pant, she proceeded to report Mrs. Bennet’s marriage “advice” and her expressed fears for Elizabeth’s safety as his wife.
Darcy’s dismay turned to vexation, then to anger before accelerating into rage. He was so stunned that for a time he could not have spoken if begged to say something. The emotions coursing through his body were too numerous to decipher. Primarily, he was furious that Elizabeth had been forced to endure this torturous pain, while also mortified and profoundly offended that Mrs. Bennet would besmirch his character.
Topping it all and sending him over the edge into blind, murderous wrath, was Mrs. Bennet’s assurance of his future unfaithfulness and claim that he already kept a mistress, this one reason why he had gone to London.
“No!” he roared, shooting to his feet. “I will not hear another word! This is unconscionable! How could your mother say such things? Elizabeth, you must surely know this is entirely untrue. It’s absolutely false.”
She had violently started, swirling about and then taking a half-dozen steps backward when he jumped up. Her eyes were round as saucers, and mouth agape—and there was something in her eyes.
Frozen, incapable of inhaling deeply, he could only gasp faintly, “My God, you do!” Unable to bear it, he turned away and clutched onto a nearby bookcase for support.
This must be a nightmare. Wake up, Darcy! After all we have been through, surely our love will not die now, over this. It cannot be happening.
The silence stretched, seemingly for hours, although he knew it could not have been long or the pain would have killed him. A tentative touch on his arm brought him back to reality.
“William, please listen to me. I know you are not the man my mother spoke of. I never, not for a second, entertained the notion. I know you love only me, and would never hurt me. Our relationship is special, our love superior to that of my parents. In this I am absolutely confident.”
Her tender, truthful voice soothed him. The pain and rigidity eased. But he sensed a caveat coming, and was not strong enough to handle whatever doubts might be visible on her face.
“William, you must try to appreciate that there is much I do not understand about your world, or your past for that matter. I know you are not a rake, but I do read the Society pages, the scandals and gossip. You have spoken of it yourself. It is…confusing.” Her voice broke, catching in a sob. “I don’t want to know about your…experiences, so I am not asking for that. Perhaps I am an utter fool but I need your reassurances. You must help me to understand, please?”
My experiences? All of this hinges upon my past experiences? Will hearing the truth ease your mind and reassure? Or will it cause you to question my maturity, manhood, and competence from a different angle?
Sighing, he turned around. Tears streaked her face, and Darcy wiped them gently away. “Forgive my outburst of anger. I should not lose my temper so.”
He kissed her lips, a feathery touch, then drew her to his chest. Holding her in silence, he desperately tried to sort his thoughts. How in God’s name could he explain himself to her clearly?
“You are correct in that I must make you understand if I can. It will not be easy for me, I warn you. This is an awkward topic and involves delving into areas that remain painful for me. It will be my turn to beg your indulgence and patience in listening to me with an open heart. Can you do this?”
Lifting onto her toes, she kissed with the same featherlight pressure. “Of course I can, my love.”
Sitting again on the sofa, Darcy leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Where to begin?
“My earliest memories of my parents are of love—love for me, and, later, for Georgiana. Love for family and friends. Love for Pemberley and the people who depend upon the estate for their livelihood. But above all of this, it was the love my mother and father had for each other. A child takes such emotions for granted, of course. I did not recognize the special emotion as the rare gift it was. All I knew was that my parents were happiest when together, and somehow sadder or less animated when apart. It was obvious how their faces shone brighter when they saw each other and how they were forever touching each other—nothing wildly inappropriate, of course, but different than other couples. I started to notice how doors normally open in the daytime would be inexplicably locked, and that
my parents would disappear at odd times only to return an hour or two later with a particular glow upon their faces.”
He chuckled lowly. “Naturally, I had no idea what this meant until quite a bit older. Once, when I was perhaps nine or ten, I entered the parlor and caught my mother sitting on my father’s lap. They were kissing, not unusual in and of itself, but in a manner I had never seen at that point in my life. I left abruptly and went directly to Mrs. Reynolds. I was not upset, just curious. I shall never forget how she laughed, playfully pinched my cheek, and said, ‘It is perfectly natural, so never you mind. Someday you shall understand. But, in the future, Master Fitzwilliam, you would be wise to knock before entering a room.’ Thereafter, I always did.”
Darcy paused to collect his thoughts. Those were the happy memories easy to relate. Swallowing, he closed his eyes. “You know that Georgiana was born when I was almost twelve. What you do not know is that my mother was very ill all through her pregnancy. Georgiana’s birth was difficult as well, so I gleaned, and my mother almost died. In fact, she remained on the edge of death for weeks. My father was beside himself and in no shape to console me. Worse, I had come to rely on his temperate nature and implacable steadfastness. James Darcy was the type of man who could handle any crisis with wisdom, humor, and patience. These are not traits borne from a child’s hero worship of his father, Elizabeth. It was his reputation, the known facts. He could not handle my mother’s illness. Not at all. He rarely slept or left her side, and in his face was a fear I had never seen before. He was terrified of losing my mother.”
The pressure of Elizabeth’s hand over his clenched fist startled him, unaware in his preoccupation with past pain that she had scooted closer. Smiling wanly, he went on.