Loving Mr. Darcy

  Here, in the feeble moonlight, all regulation faded and he kissed her as he had yearned to do every moment of every day for over a year. He cupped her face and began with tasting her lush lips gently but thoroughly, the tenderness lasting the span of several heartbeats before ardency flared. Elizabeth circled his waist under the open jacket, hands flattening on his back as she pressed into his heated body and the kiss. With a throaty groan, he insistently parted her lips, exploring rapturously, and kissing hungrily. It was only five minutes of blinding ecstasy before they were jerked to reality by Mr. Bennet's voice calling his daughter's name. Darcy recoiled, melting into the shadows by the wall, guiltily forced to abandon Lizzy to salvage her reputation, which she did with surprising aplomb, while he was left shaken and shockingly aroused for quite some time.

  The next afternoon, the Bennets and Gardiners had again been invited to Darcy House to dine, arriving earlier as Darcy had specifically requested the time to acquaint Lizzy with one of her future homes. Mr. Bennet had trailed along for most of the tour before becoming waylaid in the library. Darcy and Lizzy had not spoken of the previous night's interlude; in fact, they had not seen each other all day, and now the interwoven wall of embarrassment and seething heat effectively rendered them distracted, mute, and nervous. It was an odd and uncomfortable situation, the two of them having previously reached a place of blooming freedom and communication. As the tour proceeded with Darcy droning on and on about inane topics in a desperate effort to fill the silent void, Lizzy's discomfiture turned to irritation.

  Her frustration boiled over quite by accident. They were in his mother's chambers, Mr. Bennet having been forgotten. Darcy fidgeted, fingers flicking unremittingly and white-knuckling the now wrinkled edge of his jacket, as he stammered something about redecorating from his ramrod post by the wash basin. Lizzy wandered inattentively about the room, barely listening to a word he said nor noting a single feature, suddenly catching her foot on the curled up edge of a rug. She stumbled ungracefully and would have fallen, but Darcy was there in an instant, grasping her arm so that she fell against his chest instead.

  Time stopped.

  She could feel his radiant heat, harsh respirations, and wildly beating heart; his close proximity affected her as greatly. Before she could even contemplate moving, he had buried his face into the curls atop her head, breathing deeply and hoarsely murmuring her name. She tilted her face upwards, and in a flash, he claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss lacking all restraint. She was paralyzed only for a fraction of a second before responding in kind, arms rapidly circling his shoulders and fingers laced through silky hair. They were delirious. Strong, probing hands moved all over her back, down over her hips then up to her waist, halting for a exquisite interval of gentle squeezes, before traveling further to just under her arms. He held her tightly, the kiss absorbing and fierce, concurrently pulling her greedily into his body while tracing thumbs lightly over the swell of her breasts.

  Lizzy gasped in enraptured astonishment, sending a bolt of appalled horror through Darcy. He released her so abruptly she nearly fell. Pivoting with a strangled cry, he lunged to the nearest window, leaning onto the sill with hands balled into fists of steel, whole body trembling alarmingly.

  Lizzy swayed, her mind in chaos. He spoke suddenly, voice harsh and tremulous, “Elizabeth, you need to leave this room now! Please!”

  She stepped to the open door in hypnotic compliance but could not make herself leave. Time stretched and at least ten minutes passed with both of them breathing erratically and emotions in pandemonium. Unexpectedly, Lizzy discovered she was filled with anger. She shut the door firmly and walked to where he stood hunched at the window.

  “No, William, I will not leave. Tell me truthfully; am I to conclude that our mutual love and desire are emotions to be disdained and ashamed of? Is this contempt and repugnance to continue after we are wed? Or is it that you honestly reckon you are such an uncontainable beast that you would hurt or defile the woman you love? Or do you have so little faith in my own self-control and decorum that you assume I would willingly allow you to ravage me like a bought woman?”

  Her hands were clenched into fists and countenance a mask of monumental rage. She leaned toward him as he stood petrified with mouth hanging open and face pale, utterly shocked and mortified. Add a torrential downpour and it would be Kent all over again.

  “Well!” she demanded, stepping even closer and lifting on her toes until only inches from his stunned eyes. “Answer me!”

  Darcy was speechless, the pain lancing through his heart unbearable. “No, Elizabeth, I”—he swallowed—“I love you! Please… I have never wanted anything in all my life as I want you. You… are my life… you must know that? Surely…”

  Elizabeth interrupted him, voice controlled somewhat, “Fitzwilliam, I do not believe any of the questions I asked are true of you. However, this is what I do believe: You are afraid of letting go of your emotions. You are wrapped in an inflexible cocoon of discipline and righteousness and are terrified that if you loosen one single cord you will unravel completely. You love me and desire me, yet resist showing me how much because you fear I will be disgusted or disappointed to discover you are not the towering paragon of virtue and excellence you deem yourself.”

  She paused for a deep breath, suddenly drained of all energy and anger, cut to the quick by the tears shimmering on Darcy's cheeks and consumed with a fresh rush of irrepressible love.

  Placing both hands about his face, sobs catching in her throat, she whispered, “My God, William! Do you not yet comprehend how deeply I love you? You can be free with me and I will always love you. I trust you with my life, my virtue, my body, and my heart! You have nothing to fear from me and I fear nothing from you. All I fear is distance between us.” She began planting kisses all over his face, his arms now tightly around her waist. “I beg you, my love, do not push me away!”

  “Elizabeth,” he groaned, responding blissfully to her kiss, relief palpable as a tangible barrier in his soul surrendered. The power of their love crashed over him anew, and for the first time, it wholly dawned on him what it meant to love her and to be loved in return. The veracious definition of Two Shall Become One, as she had embroidered on the bookmark for his birthday, was suddenly clear.

  The following weeks of their betrothal were a liberating experience for him. Their solitary moments together were brief and stolen but imbued with a heightened communion without the guilt of before. Darcy was always a gentleman, never crossing any permanent lines of propriety, but no longer so rigid or afraid to express his attraction to her. Oddly, the license to exhibit their passion for each other in regulated ways made it easier to control themselves overall. Additionally, the bridled but playful physical indulgences taken enhanced their communication and strengthened their commitment. By the time they were officially declared husband and wife, they were so intertwined and attuned that taking the final step of consummation was effortless and rapturous.

  Now, Lizzy sat at Darcy's desk in the combined library and study of Darcy House, lost in pleasant memories as she dazedly peered out the tall window facing the garden, an enormous lilac bush gently swaying in the breeze.

  “There you are.” Lizzy glanced up at her husband as he entered the room, a ready smile on both their faces. “No one knew where you were hiding. Are you well, dearest?” He stooped for a brief kiss but she grasped his face in her hands, halting him for a consuming exchange.

  “I am fantastic, my heart, and even more so now that you are home.”

  “That is quite the delightful greeting. May I assume, therefore, that you missed me terribly?” He lifted a brow, and she laughed softly.

  “I pine for you if you are gone from my presence for more than a minute. All day is tortuous. Now hush and kiss me again, husband.”

  Some ten heavenly minutes later: “Why were you sitting here in the twilight staring out the window?”

  She snuggled closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder. They sat
on the sofa, having transferred there for comfortable cuddling and kissing. “I spent the afternoon familiarizing myself with the house and ended here. I believe Mrs. Smyth has decided I am mad.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Lizzy laughed. “She caught me opening cupboards in one of the guest bedchambers and offered to help me find whatever I had ‘lost.’ I tried to explain that I was simply acquainting myself with the rooms, but she persisted in questioning me. I finally gave up and left, but every time I turned around that tall footman—Hobbes is it?—was lurking, pretending to not be watching me. So I retreated here.”

  Darcy was frowning. “This is unacceptable behavior. They have no right to question you or follow you. I will speak to Mrs. Smyth and Mr. Travers straightaway.”

  “No, William, please. If it becomes an annoyance, I shall deal with it. For now I think they simply do not know what to make of me: ushered in fainting and green, sleeping all hours of the day, hardly showing my face for two days, and then finally appearing only to peak through cupboards! Gracious, even I am beginning to believe I am mad!” She laughed, but he was still frowning.

  Lizzy rubbed a finger over the small creases between his brows, smiling impishly. “I know how to cheer you up, Mr. Darcy. Before you arrived I was reminiscing of how you so brazenly took advantage of my innocence in this very study.”

  Darcy guffawed and coughed. “Really! Perhaps you are going mad, Mrs. Darcy, or becoming feeble minded with advanced age at two and twenty…”

  “I am still twenty-one!”

  “Not for much longer, and senility may be the root cause of your hideously skewed memory of the events you speak of.”

  “I daresay, is that very wall not the one you pinned me against while taking shocking liberties along my décolletage?”

  “I seem to recall an astonishingly strong armed fiancée forcefully ejecting me from my chair and nearly ripping the lapels off my jacket when she dragged me bodily to the indicated wall, kissing me all the while.”

  “Hrmph.” She pursed her lips and pretended a pout. “Strong armed I may be, and thank you for the backhanded compliment, but you are a stalwart fellow and could have contested had you wished to do so.”

  “Well, there you have it, my dear. I did not wish to escape, and furthermore, my duty as your future and current husband is to please you in any way I can, so I was caught in the proverbial rock and hard place. I chose the path of least resistance.”

  He was grinning broadly and Lizzy chuckled. She sat up suddenly, hiking her skirts just enough to free her legs and straddled his lap. “Correct me if my scattered wits are failing me yet again, but did we not end up in this exact pose?”

  Darcy smoothed the hair back from her face and kissed gently. “Yes, and I shall confess that ending here was my doing, although it was a result of my knees nearly buckling from the breathless exhilaration of your lips on mine and the creamy lusciousness of your neck. However, I did comport myself as a true gentleman once we were in this compromising position.” He kissed her again then smiled smugly. “Therefore, it appears to me that we have reenacted the event and have ascertained that the entire episode was your fault from the outset, and I judge there was no innocence taken advantage of!”

  “Very well, I will concede defeat, this time around.” She began playing with the knots of his cravat. “Speaking of senility and advanced age,” she said as she smirked and fluttered her lashes earning two raised brows, “it probably has yet to occur to you, but we are married now and gentlemanly restriction are a non-issue, so…?”

  “I will show you advanced age!” And with a growl he pulled her tight to his chest, kissing as only married couples are freely allowed to do, and euphorically tossing all gentlemanly restriction out the window.

  THE BINGLEYS, WITH MARY and Kitty Bennet in tow, arrived from Netherfield in time for luncheon the next day. Darcy was absent, attending to business and birthday concerns, leaving Elizabeth and Georgiana to greet them and host the meal. The rooms assigned to Kitty and Mary were next to Georgiana, and the girls vacated the table immediately after dining to settle in, giggle, and gossip as young girls do, and make plans for the sojourn in Town. Charles and Jane stayed briefly, leaving for the Bingley townhouse to rest and regroup before dinner.

  The Bingley townhouse was four streets south of Darcy House, on Hill Street. Although located in the Mayfair District and near Grosvenor Square, the house itself abutted Berkley Square, despite Caroline Bingley's preferred assertions that they lived at Grosvenor Square. Bingley's great-grandfather had purchased the house when acquiring his fortune, moving his wife and baby daughter from Cheapside. Half the size of Darcy House, it nonetheless was plush and beautiful, constructed of red bricks with large windows and an ornately landscaped garden with a small pond nearly equal to the Darcy's garden in size.

  As with Lizzy, Jane had viewed her future home during her engagement. Thankfully, the Hursts and Caroline had been vacationing at Bath for that week, so the soon-to-be Mrs. Bingley had been free to become acquainted with the manor and make tentative plans for changes. Charles had previously tolerated his younger sister, within reason, decorating as she wished, with the consequence being rooms overstuffed with furniture, gaudy wall coverings, and a plethora of overly ornate knickknacks. Jane was blessed with the gift of innately excellent taste and instinctively recognized where the alterations needed to be. A battle was fated to ensue between she and Caroline, who would require months of steady and frequently heated reminding by Charles before she finally accepted that she was no longer the Mistress. Jane would display a surprisingly stern backbone belied by her naturally serene and unassuming character. In the end, she would revamp the house as she wished, creating an atmosphere of welcome splendor so perfected that the Bingleys would discover themselves residing there for months out of each year.

  Tonight, however, the conflicts were yet to come. Word had been sent ahead, so the staff was awaiting the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley with instructions to prepare for a small dinner party that night. Caroline had readily transferred from the Hurst townhouse on the fringes of Mayfair at Bedford Square as soon as she knew her brother was expected, the past six months of living with her sister and brother-in-law having been a torture of boredom and exile to her way of thinking.

  Caroline's dismay at losing Mr. Darcy had been acute. Until the very moment the actual vows had been recited, Caroline had harbored a frantic hope that the bewitched Darcy would come to his senses. She had so endlessly badgered Charles to talk sense to “the poor man” that even her infectiously amiable brother had snapped impatiently, begging her to desist at threat of strangulation. Mr. Darcy had not been safe from her barbs and embarrassingly forward advances either. The situation had become increasingly awkward, culminating with a horrid episode three weeks after the engagements had been declared.

  Within days of the joint Bingley and Darcy betrothals, Caroline had arrived unannounced to Netherfield, ostensibly to congratulate her brother. However, it rapidly became clear that her true intent was to sway Darcy away from his “horrible mistake.” The fact that an honorable gentleman could not withdraw an offer of marriage once rendered did not seem to penetrate her consciousness. Mr. Bingley was distressed and Darcy extremely uncomfortable, but mostly they were both angry at her thinly veiled insults directed to both Bennet women.

  Darcy's patience was at its end on the day Caroline accosted him in the library. On the day in question, he stood beside a bookcase picking a volume of poems he conjectured Elizabeth would appreciate, when Caroline entered.

  He looked up and frowned slightly but bowed properly. “Miss Bingley.” He took a step toward the exit, but she swiftly crossed to block his path, drawing near.

  “Mr. Darcy, I was wondering if you could assist me. I was searching for a copy of Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. Do you know if there is one housed here at Netherfield?”

  Darcy strongly suspected she was fabricating an excuse to detain him, as she was not much
of a reader, but he indicated the shelf of Shakespeare's works. “I believe there is a copy in the collection.” He walked to the case primarily to place distance rather than any desire to serve. He retrieved the book she asked for, turning to hand it to her, only to discover she had trailed and was less than a foot away from his body. He flinched and stepped back, encountering the impenetrable bookcase. “Pardon me, Miss Bingley.”

  She moved even closer and reached for the proffered volume, fingers firmly caressing over his. Leaning forward until her bosom brushed his hand and gazing upward through her lashes, she said in a throaty voice, “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. You are the soul of kindness. Is there any way I can express my thanks?”

  Darcy was furious. He sidestepped so abruptly that Caroline pitched into the case. Drawing stiffly to his considerable height, he gifted Caroline with the full intensity of the Darcy glower and with a brusque bow excused himself, voice cold as ice. By the end of the day, Caroline was bundled off to London to join her sister on their trip to Bath. Jane and Elizabeth were not informed of the truth, as their private relief to have the troublesome Miss Bingley gone overrode any curiosity.