Her Husband's Gifts: After the Wedding #2 by Cora Aston

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"I will see him punished," Mr. Bennet said, his face drawn tight with fury.

Elizabeth sank into a chair, knees having finally given out after recounting the entire story. "Mr. Darcy or Mr. Wickham?" she asked in an attempt to inject some levity into the situation.

Her father fixed her with a long, awful look. Normally a genial man with a subtle sense of humor, at the moment he appeared more the avenging angel. Or devil. Elizabeth had known her father would be displeased, but she had been unprepared for the shock of his vengeful intent.

"Both," he clarified.

"Only if I fail to locate Mr. Wickham first."

"You absolve Mr. Darcy of all blame?"

She considered her answer carefully. Had Mr. Darcy been caught kissing her, and most passionately? Yes. Had he come to the library with the intention of kissing her, or much less compromising her? Certainly not. That mischievous, ill-bred friend of his had thought it a fine lark to lock them both in the library at Lady Catherine's house party. Afterwards leading a party of the worst gossips and stiff-necked society gents to 'discover' them. By that time both she and Mr. Darcy had been missed . . .

. . . and by that time, several months of past misunderstandings had been resolved and they discovered in the resolution a deep, mutual affection, which warranted further exploration. True, he had kissed her. There had been no intent to harm her reputation, and if they had not both been so engrossed in the other that it took both Wickham's cough and Lady Catherine's shocked exclamation to part them . . .

"It was only a kiss, Papa," she said, knowing full well the import of a 'mere' kiss.

"Only!"

Elizabeth sighed and straightened her shoulders. At least her mother had retired to the bedroom to enjoy her hysterics in the company of more sympathetic ears. "Well, this is not the first scandal our family has weathered and, I daresay, it will not be the last. Perhaps I should stay with the Gardiners until more salacious news draws attention from this petty shame."

"You will not. I shall call on Mr. Darcy, and I am certain when I am through speaking with him, the situation will be satisfactorily resolved."

She pleaded, argued, reasoned, and shouted for two hours. Mr. Bennet was moved by neither logic nor an attempt to emulate her mother's hysterics.

"I refuse to wed a man forced," she said flatly. "That is final. So even were you to gain his agreement in this mad scheme, it would be for naught. I do not understand you, Papa! You were perfectly willing to allow me to refuse Mr. Collins."

"You did not kiss Mr. Collins, Elizabeth. And you admit Mr. Darcy did not force his attentions on you."

Her mouth thinned. "You would have me married to a man who resents me?"

"Neither did you force your attentions on him. He liked you well enough to kiss you. He will like you well enough to wed. In this manner, the young learn there are consequences for poor actions."


Elizabeth fled the house after an hour of pacing, unable to sit and await her father's return. She half-feared he would drag Mr. Darcy back to Longbourn with him. The entire situation was Wickham's fault. Well, this would be the last practical joke he played on an unsuspecting innocent if she had anything to say about it. She marched along the path to Meryton, determined to seek him out at the tawdry little tavern he frequented and demand he not only apologize but admit to everyone he had set his former friend up. After all, her reputation was already in tatters, so what harm could entering a tavern do?

Why had he done it? It made no sense why he would wish to compromise Elizabeth. They had enjoyed a merry, if somewhat mutually disdainful, acquaintance. Elizabeth thought him a dandy and a rake and he admitted to having the opinion that the second eldest Miss Bennet was naught but a bluestocking destined to become a spinster. After months of bickering, they had settled into a comfortable like-dislike, mostly because they both tacitly agreed each was safe from the marriage-minded machinations of the other. Wickham was handsome, an officer, and a wild charming wit besides. He had often admitted to finding Elizabeth's acerbic company soothing. He could be sure she would never attempt to entrap him into marriage.

So knowing how he felt about entrapment, why had he done the same thing to Darcy? Darcy, with whom she had also spent months in bitter bickering but with the sort of intensity which, were it any other pair, she would have sworn heralded deeper feelings. It made no sense.

Vibrations under her feet warned her moments before the staccato canter of horse's hooves. Elizabeth paused and turned. She did not believe in coincidence or that a horse should be heading her way at such a speed so soon after she departed her home.

The chestnut stallion came into view, slowing to a walk as its master pulled alongside Elizabeth, where he stopped and dismounted.

"Mr. Darcy." Her tone was all stiff politeness. She did not quite have it in her to turn her back on the man and stride off. He had not deliberately ruined her reputation and, as her father said, Elizabeth had been more than willing to receive his kiss. She met his sharp blue eyes as he approached.

"Why did you run away, Elizabeth?"

"I do not recall giving you permission to use my Christian name."

He ignored her protest. Perhaps any man would, even a gentleman, when the evening before his lips had grazed a lady's neck. "Your father came to speak to me. I would rather you had come with him."

"Is that what you would rather?" Politeness gave way to sarcasm. "That I come with my father on bended knees with a pretty proposal of marriage? Beg Mr. Darcy to save me from the consequences of my ruinous actions—"

"You are not to blame," he said, a flash of steel in his voice. "However, fault or no, the fact remains that I did compromise your reputation, and my honor will not allow me to do anything less than what—"

"Honor dictates?" Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "Do not trouble yourself, sir. I will away to London for a season or two, and we shall have both escaped the marital noose."

"Is marriage to me so repugnant a prospect?"

Her brow arched. "To you? A handsome man of means? No. But marriage to any man who is forced to it is repugnant. I would rather live as a spinster with a ruined reputation than being resented by my own husband."

A faint smile touched his lips. "So your father said. I assured him that, while I am not in the habit of kissing ladies, I found myself unable to resist. The truth, Elizabeth."

She held up a hand, his words causing her heart to race in her breast. "I do not wish to hear it."

She turned sharply to leave, a niggle of wonder at her own behavior in the back of her mind. Why was she so against such a match? He was, indeed, both handsome and rich. Despite a disagreeable arrogance of manner which she could now admit was rather more due to a natural reserve, he conducted himself with dignity and decorum. Which one could not say of Wickham, the cad.

So why did she not rejoice and leap at the chance to wed Mr. Darcy? Pride. He had not wanted her enough to offer marriage before her father had come calling, and she was true in her desire not to endure the same kind of cold union she had seen other couples endure when married for reasons other than mutual respect and affection.

His hand around her arm pulled her out of her thoughts. "Hear me out, Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Darcy said, the thin veneer of pleasantness gone.

Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock as he turned her to face him. "Unhand me, sir! This is most untoward."

"I will not expect my wife to always agree with me, or to even always enjoy my presence. But I do expect her to obey the basic strictures of courtesy. You will not walk away from me again while I am speaking to you."

"Then it is just as well I am not your wife." Elizabeth paused, temper rising, and she debated the merits of throttling it or letting it loose. He certainly deserved the punishment of an irate Lizzy Bennet. Let him see if he would be so eager to wed her then! But her damnable curiosity got the better of indignation. "And if I did?"

His head lowered, eyes glinting. "There are certain punishments a husband is allowed when his wife misbehaves."

She inhaled. His voice, deep and dark, struck an answering chord inside her. "So you admit you mean to beat me if we were wed?"

Darcy smiled slightly, but the expression was no comfort. "I do not have to resort to such thuggery, my dear. There are other methods at my disposal."

She wondered what those other methods were and why they produced the look on his face. Flared nostrils and bright eyes, as if wickedness was on his mind.

"Think of the benefit not just to yourself," he said.

"What?" She paused, his words intrigued her.

"What marriage prospects do your sisters have now? And what prospects might they have once I am their brother-in-law? I know for a fact Bingley has some hesitation in offering for Jane, though his heart leads him her way. I would be persuaded to put in a good word for the match, especially as it will make it all the easier to wed the younger misses. "

Elizabeth's eyes widened. Unspoken was the truth that by marrying her or Jane, a gentleman would have to worry about eventually supporting Mrs. Bennet and any unwed Miss Bennet's as well, since the estate was entailed to their cousin. Even if her younger sisters never wed, between Darcy and Bingley their combined fortunes and nerves were capable of sharing the burden of feminine in-laws.

Bluntness was a trait she preferred in people, and the hard truth of the situation was a strong blow. "Are you implying that without your patronage, my sisters will be unable to make suitable matches?"

His brow arched, but he said nothing for a moment. "I believe matches might be made, but perhaps not so advantageous. And, Elizabeth, do not discount the other benefits of being my wife."

Darcy stepped closer, a blatant invasion of the space around her body, and looked deep into her eyes, a hand coming to rest on the curve of her waist. No light touch, but firm and possessive.

She inhaled, and wanted to step back but was somehow fixed to the ground, nearly mesmerized. His head lowered and his lips met hers and, for several moments, all faded to the background. All she knew was the heat of his body and the satin press of his mouth and how he body sparked under his touch.

"I believe," he said after releasing her from his capture, "that we are in accord, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."