Miss Darcy Falls in Love

  “That is kind of you, my lord, but an exaggeration to be sure.”

  “Not in the least! But tell me truthfully, are you recovering as expected?”

  She nodded, smoothly extricating her hand from between his palms under the pretense of securing her robe. “Please have a seat, Baron.” She indicated the chair positioned purposefully near her feet. “I remain fatigued and with a slight headache and ringing in my ears that causes dizziness if I move too swiftly. But the doctor assures this is normal after a fever.”

  “You are young and healthy. I am sure your total recovery will be swift. Nevertheless, it does my heart good to lay eyes upon you for reassurance. Thank you for allowing me entry into your private chambers.” He glanced around the room quickly, returning to pleased contemplation of her face. “I fear I have been quite a pest. Lord Matlock, by rights, should have tossed me out on my rump, but mercy prevailed.”

  “He would not have done that, Baron.”

  “No, I suppose not, especially knowing of our relationship.”

  Georgiana cringed, praying the reaction did not invade her face. This was the opening waited for, but before she could gather her thoughts he went on, apparently oblivious. “Of course, I was not the only visitor who sought information as to your condition. I am surprised the bellpull did not break!”

  Georgiana blushed, ducking her head modestly. “I have been overwhelmed by the extravagance of well wishes and expressed concerns. I guess I did not comprehend the wealth of friends I have made in Paris.” Her voice fell, eyes involuntarily closing in pain at the marked absence of the one friend she most desperately wished to hear from.

  The baron misinterpreted her expression, scooting his chair closer and grasping on to her hand once again. “Are you feeling unwell? Should I call for your aunt?”

  “No. I am fine. It is simply humbling, and dismaying, to have caused so much angst among those who care for me. It has been unexpected and somewhat embarrassing.”

  “You have dozens of friends here, Miss Darcy. They love you genuinely.” He smiled, squeezing her hand. “It is easy to love one as kind and wonderful as you.”

  His voice lowered into a soft caress, one thumb beginning to trace tenderly along her knuckles. He cleared his throat, preparing, she knew, for a repeat declaration or renewal of his address—the request for a formalized courtship that she continued to evade. “Miss Darcy—”

  “Lord Caxton,” she interrupted, forcing her eyes to engage his and again extracting her hand, “I wanted to see you today for a dual purpose. I know you have been troubled over my well-being, and this anguishes me while it touches me.”

  “Indeed, I have been troubled, but it is a paltry price to pay for the happiness I derive from your company and my feelings for you.”

  She winced. “Please, Lord Caxton, I beg you to allow me to finish before I lose my will. You have honored me, immensely, with your suit and constancy. Even in the face of my indecision, you have been the soul of patience. I truly do not deserve your regard, my lord, and pray you will believe me when I tell you it does break my heart to decline your entreaty for a deeper commitment.”

  “I do not understand,” he interjected harshly.

  “It is entirely my fault for not being bolder. I have been confused and unsure of my sentiments, but now I know. Please forgive me, Baron, as I never meant to cause you pain.”

  “I have rushed you and been overbearing. I apologize. But, Miss Darcy, this is what a courtship is designed for! An opportunity to grow closer and learn about the other and to clarify one’s affections. You know, surely, how strongly I feel for you? I love you and have no doubts about us. However, if you require time I shall be more patient—”

  “I do not require time.” Her tone was slightly shrill and she faltered, swallowing and inhaling deeply to calm the rapid pounding of her heart.

  Lord Caxton looked as if he had been slapped. His cheeks flared with color, lips pressed together firmly, and dark eyes smoldered.

  “I am so sorry. This is awful!” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, begging the dizziness and ringing to disappear. “I am saying this wrong and creating a muddle of it. Perhaps I should have waited until I felt better. But I refuse to procrastinate further, thus protracting your suspense and worsening the disappointment. Lord Caxton, I—”

  “Does this have to do with Butler?”

  She should have anticipated this, but the surprise knocked her breath away. Treading too close to the tangled situation with Mr. Butler was nearly more than she could tolerate, the mere mention of his name sending shivers of longing up her spine. The epiphany of her consuming love for the absent musician, whether returned or not, had indeed cemented her decision. Her decency and ethics would not allow her to marry one man while her heart was firmly fixed upon another.

  Nevertheless, there was a voice sequestered into a hermetic chamber that wondered. Was she making a terrible mistake? Could she eventually fall passionately in love with the baron? Should she be so hasty and concrete? Was she sentencing herself to decades of loneliness and regret?

  She did not know the answer to all the questions spiraling inside her brain except for one. Looking into the baron’s stormy visage and hurt eyes swelled her pity and remorse, but that was all. She did not love him.

  “Mr. Butler has nothing to do with us,” she replied firmly.

  “I am not unaware of your affection for him, Miss Darcy. Trust me when I tell you he does not return your interest. Do not close the door on us because of a one-sided infatuation without a future. Mr. Butler is one of those men who waste their lives on pursuits that have no lasting benefit. He is driven, which is admirable, but prevents caring for anyone outside himself.”

  “Whether I agree with you regarding Mr. Butler or not is irrelevant, and it is a topic I do not care to discuss. I am honored by your request, my lord. My sincerest hope is that you will not hate me for being immature and capricious. I truly never intended to”—she paused, struggling to find the right word—“lead you on. You are a decent, good gentleman—”

  “Enough! I do not want to hear how wonderful I am followed by assurances of finding a more suitable mate. I want you! I choose you!”

  He lurched to his feet. Gazing at her with arrogant command and faint undertones of sympathy, he declared, “You have been unwell, Miss Darcy. I shall impose upon you no further today. We can discuss this matter when you are restored to full clarity and health. I am confident that you will see our relationship in its proper light.”

  “Please, do not expect me to change my mind, Baron! I know my heart and this is my final answer. Please try to understand and accept my sorrow over hurting you!”

  He stiffened and his eyes flared. “As you wish, madam. I will trouble you no further with my unpalatable presence. Bear in mind, however, that I am not a fool. Do not expect me to run back when you realize your error in judgment. Good day, Miss Darcy.”

  And with a smart bow, crisp pivot, and swift stride, he was gone, Georgiana’s whispered apologies and wrenching sobs dampened by a slamming door.

  ***

  Sebastian knew he was a coward. The idea of leaving, probably to never lay eyes on her again, was ripping him apart one thread at a time. Therefore, facing her and attempting composure as he lied about his reasons for quitting Paris were beyond his ability.

  With this reality in mind, he rode into Île Saint-Louis at a quarter hour before nine on the night of an exhibit of paintings by Théodore Géricault, Lady Warrow having commented that Miss Darcy was finally well enough to attend her first public appearance.

  Suspicions as to his grandmother’s motives for sharing this news gave him pause, but lack of trust in his self-control did not overrule common decency. Miss Darcy may not love him, but she did care for him, this he knew. The friendly note telling of his departure to Vienna for an impromptu educational program at the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde was secure in his pocket and would have to suffice.

  The bu
tler greeted him formally and admitted him without question.

  “Sorry to disturb, monsieur, but I shall be quick. I need to retrieve a portfolio of music I left with Miss Darcy some weeks ago. May I search the music room?”

  “As you wish, sir. Did you wish for me to inform Miss Darcy of your presence?”

  Sebastian drew in a sharp breath, his eyes darting about the foyer before he could reassert control. “She is at home?”

  “In her room, sir. Resting.”

  “Ah, then no. Please do not bother her. She needs her rest. I will be only a moment.”

  He hurried into the room, intent on grabbing the folder containing his psalms, leaving his letter, and departing. If the compositions were not there, he would sacrifice the work gladly to prevent having to face her, such was his state of mind. He knew talking to her would cause the fragile remains of his heart to shatter completely.

  But he was not prepared for how his senses were bombarded by merely entering the music room and laying eyes on the piano. All the hours spent at her side, happier than I have ever been while witlessly denying my emotions. You are a fool and deserve to suffer.

  He ran his fingers lightly over the keys. His leather portfolio sat upon the lid with several of the psalm sheets propped on the rest and scattered over the gleaming wood. The crisp pages written with the distinctive boldness of his notes showed numerous slight curls along the edges and faint smudges from tiny fingertips indicating her frequent playing. He rifled through the parchments, collecting the psalms from among the compositions written with her delicate strokes. There were at least a dozen songs that they had collaborated on, the pages filled with notations and music in both their penmanship, each sparking a crystalline memory.

  Moisture stung his eyes and he shook his head violently to dispel the images.

  Enough!

  Fury rushed through him and angrily he gathered the sheets and stuffed them haphazardly into the folder. He snapped the case closed, slapping it harshly against the rim of the piano before shoving it under his arm. Reaching into the inner breast pocket of his jacket, his fingers brushed the folded letter but stiffened seconds later.

  “Mr. Butler! I did not know you were here.”

  His head jerked backward, every muscle twitching as if a knife had plunged between his shoulder blades. He froze, his hand falling to grasp the edge of the piano.

  “I did not wish to disturb your rest. I came to retrieve my music,” he whispered, harsh and rasping without the slightest hint of warmth.

  “Oh. I see. I apologize. I should have returned them long ago. Please forgive me.”

  He closed his eyes, rigorously willing his body to not betray him. “There is nothing to forgive, Miss Darcy. I hope you enjoyed them.”

  “I most assuredly did, very much. I confess I shall miss having them in my possession, but as I have memorized all of them, I suppose it does not matter. Thank you, again.”

  Her voice was soft, tender even, but with a hint of confusion that he detected with tremendous remorse. Relaxing slightly, he turned to face her. He glanced briefly into her gorgeous eyes, noted the sadness therein, and quickly looked away.

  “You look well, Miss Darcy. Are you fully recovered from your illness?”

  “For the most part, yes. I have a residual weariness that I cannot seem to shake and my memory of that evening is hazy at best.” She stepped further into the room, drawing closer to him. “I recall seeing you there, Mr. Butler, by the staircase, but cannot be certain. Were you there?”

  “Yes,” he murmured, reluctantly meeting her eyes and holding the gaze. “I was there. Very near Lord Caxton, your rescuer,” he finished with a bitter twist to his lips and low snarl to his voice.

  She was frowning as if sorting through a puzzle. There was a question within her eyes, as if she were begging him for something, but he did not know what.

  “Did you see me? Before my rather dramatic entrance, that is? I thought… that is, for a moment it seemed… but I am not sure.”

  “Yes, I saw you,” he whispered.

  “I was unsure and have wanted to ask, but our paths have not crossed. Until now.”

  Sebastian’s mind was blank. Her words were spoken lightly but he sensed her encouraging for an explanation. The pain was threatening to overwhelm him and he had a sudden, savage need to escape.

  “I apologize for my disassociation, but under the circumstances it is for the best. Pardon my intruding upon your solitude, Miss Darcy. I… I must be going.”

  He ducked his head and lurched forward in a rush to pass her body, but she impulsively reached out and grabbed on to his forearm. Her grip was not overly strong, yet it halted his momentum as surely as a noose thrown about his chest. He gasped, his jaw tightening as the sensation of her touch pierced through him.

  “Please! I beg of you, please tell me what I have done, what I have said to lose your friendship! I cannot bear it, Mr. Butler. I thought, I thought that you cared for me, that our friendship was real and—”

  “I cannot be your friend,” he snapped.

  She dropped her hand, stunned. “But…”

  He lifted his head, piercing her with eyes dark from agony and suppressed passion. “I cannot be your friend. I will not be a friend when I want so much more! I will not watch you with him… God, Georgiana! I love you!”

  And then he clasped her face between his palms, closed the small gap, and claimed her mouth in a hard kiss.

  Georgiana stiffened in momentary shock. The declaration and impetuous movement startled her, but the feel of his warm, soft lips, even in the wild roughness of his attack, was intoxicating and amazing. She melted, pressed into him, and grasped onto his forearms for support. Instinctively, her mouth responded, her lips parting slightly and softening.

  His crazed longing took advantage and with a groan he plunged his tongue between her lips. The kiss became more demanding while strangely tender, the grip about her face relaxing as he explored every aspect of her mouth. Then she opened wider, tentatively meeting his seeking tongue, Sebastian moaning as he sensed all control spiraling wildly beyond his reason.

  The squeeze of her hands on his arms and soft curves pressing against his chest penetrated the haze of his passion. He wrest out of her grasp, releasing her lips with a strangled cry of pain. Desire was instantly replaced with numbing recrimination. I have forced a kiss from a lady who belongs to someone else! It was unconscionable. Shame nearly buckled him. The assault of emotions rendered him unfit to interpret her eager response for what it signified. He could not look at her, instead running a trembling hand over his face and stammering incoherently as he stepped away.

  “I… I am sorry.”

  Georgiana stood immobile long after the reverberating thud of the slammed front door was gone. She raised her fingers to touch her swollen lips and ruddy cheeks, both of which tingled from his touch. She was shivering uncontrollably, breathless, her heart pounding a soaring rhythm in her ears. It was glorious! The single most incredible moment of her life!

  Already she knew she was lost, addicted, and desperate for more of him. In that instant, she suddenly comprehended precisely why her brother and Lizzy were continually drawn to touch each other. She also finally understood what Mrs. Annesley had meant by her analogies of unquenchable fires burning within. Merely from the touch of his lips, an inferno raged through her insides, ignited unknown places, and infused her with life as never sensed before.

  This fire was nothing close to the simmers felt when in the presence of Lord Caxton. Suddenly, every shred of doubt evaporated and her fate was utterly sealed. All from three simple words and one kiss.

  “It was not a fever dream! He does love me!”

  Slowly, a beaming smile spread over her face and a deep laugh erupted from her throat as she performed an uninhibited pirouette with her arms waving freely. Then, after three exuberant twirls she abruptly stopped. She saw the truth behind his absence over the past weeks, his withdrawn posture and cold indifference in s
harp contrast to the warmth prior, his desperation and agony as he kissed her, and mostly his references to Lord Caxton. Suddenly, the scene from the ball flashed through her mind clearly as if an act in a play.

  “Oh, Sebastian,” she cried, dropping into a chair. “We are the biggest of fools, you and I!”

  Her heart was freshly pounding but not from desire. That he was suffering with the false impression that she loved another caused all air to vacate her lungs. Panic rose within her chest. She had to talk to him… now! He had to know the truth of her feelings, so they could end this craziness.

  She launched from the chair prepared to run the miles to his residence if need be. Damn propriety! But voices and laughter of the Matlocks and de Valdays entering the foyer halted her. The thought of Mr. Butler hurting for even another second was intolerable, but she must be sensible.

  “Aunt Madeline will know how best to proceed,” she whispered, the uncontainable smile breaking out again. “Be patient, my love. Soon I shall be yours.”

  ***

  Like Lady Warrow, Lady Matlock was aware of the tangled web her niece and Mr. Butler had unconsciously woven, watching the unfolding drama as patiently as possible. A large part of it was speculation on her part, since Georgiana possessed many of the typical Darcy traits so expertly wielded by her brother. Deciphering the thoughts of one who so adequately hides them behind silent composure is a difficult task. On several occasions, Lady Matlock felt that Georgiana was close to divulging, only to have her taciturn nature exert itself. Questions were deflected, conversations were vague, and replies were noncommittal. Georgiana made light of the situation, but the spoken hints and observed actions were enough for Lady Matlock to know that her niece’s heart was captured by the young musician, and Lady Matlock was convinced he was equally enthralled by Georgiana.

  Georgiana’s pyrexic mumblings confirmed Lady Matlock’s suspicions. When confronted, Georgiana elaborated on their meaning to the sympathetic Lady Matlock, Lady Simone, and Mrs. Annesley, the full story thus revealed. Lady Matlock’s advice was to seek the aid of Lady Warrow, judging that she could solve the puzzle of Mr. Butler. Georgiana balked at this; her natural timidity and insecurity regarding his feelings paralyzed her.