A/N: Sorry it's a bit late! I try to post every weekend, but I got caught up watching season 2 of Downton Abbey on amazon instant video. *sigh*
Anyway, it's the first day of the rest of D & E's lives! Let's see if Darcy can polish up his old wooing skills and sweep Elizabeth off her feet. ;)
"One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place."
Elizabeth leaned back on her hands, her face turned towards the warm light of the sun as she listened raptly to Darcy's smooth baritone as he read aloud to her.
It was another perfect summer day. Once again, the Gardiners had allowed their niece a few moments alone, or almost alone, in her new suitor's company. Darcy had planned another picnic luncheon for the party, this time amongst the rose bushes in the formal garden. After the meal was consumed, the Gardiners had, as previously arranged, departed to take a stroll down towards the lake, giving the blossoming couple a few moments of partial privacy.
Darcy had taken the opportunity to fulfill his promise to read some of Byron's verses to Elizabeth. He had even worked up the courage to read her the particular poem that so reminded him of her that he had nearly memorized it during their long separation.
"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!" *
"How beautiful," Elizabeth mused as Darcy lay the book aside.
"Yes, very beautiful," Darcy whispered meaningfully, his eyes searching for Elizabeth's under the rim of her bonnet.
The double-meaning behind his words was not lost on Elizabeth, who, being not so very used to receiving a man's particular attentions that she could bear them with complete equanimity, searched her mind for a more neutral direction in which to steer the conversation. Finding nothing, she remained silent. Her powers of speech were further hindered when Darcy captured her hand in his, and she felt the caress of his warm lips against her wrist.
It amazed Elizabeth that Darcy could find so much to appreciate about the small sliver of bare skin between her glove and her sleeve. She had never thought of that particular part of her anatomy as holding any special allure or...well, anything special at all. Darcy, however, seemed to relish every opportunity to plant teasing little kisses along the surprisingly sensitive skin under which her pulse throbbed (rather faster than usual, of late). The sensation seemed to, curiously, spread like warm water through the veins of her wrist straight to somewhere deep within her belly, causing her to squirm in something akin to discomfort.
Darcy watched her reaction to his touch with eager fascination. She was so beautiful when the delightful pink tones in her skin deepened and spread and her hazel eyes darkened with newly-awakened desire. He failed to suppress a self-satisfied smirk as he noted the slight shift of her hips and the thrum of her pulse under his lips. Even in his younger days, Darcy had never considered himself a charmer, by any means, but he allowed that he had been doing an admirable job, thus far, of wooing Elizabeth.
"Have you ever been abroad, Mr. Darcy?"
Darcy was taken by surprise by Elizabeth's question. He had been rather absorbed in his ruminations regarding Elizabeth's apparent affectation.
"I beg your pardon, my dear. I was...distracted."
Elizabeth smiled indulgently at Darcy before repeating her question.
"I have," he answered simply. "If I may ask, what is it that provoked your curiosity regarding my past travels, Miss Elizabeth?"
"I was just thinking that, since you are courting me now, - unofficially, of course - we should make an effort to learn more about each other. It seemed as reasonable a place to begin as any."
Darcy chuckled openly at her delightfulness. She truly had no idea what she did to him with her unaffected sweetness!
"Will you not tell me about all the places you've been?" she pressed gently. She was beginning to understand that Darcy was the rare type of man who did not care to talk about himself. She thought it one of his most admirable traits. However, when she did wish for him to speak of himself, it often meant that some encouragement was required on her part to loosen his tongue.
"Well," Darcy began, "I first toured the continent after I graduated from Cambridge, and then once more the year after...after my wife passed."
Both looked down uncomfortably at the mention of Darcy's late wife. Elizabeth had to repeatedly repress the urge to be jealous of the woman who had first held Darcy's affections. She knew she was wrong to think thus, but seemed unable to quell the emotion.
Darcy disliked mentioning Anne to Elizabeth for the simple reason that he was supposed to be courting her, and the mention of his previous wife seemed to put a wedge of awkwardness between them that he couldn't like. He wished he had thought before he spoke and left the timing out of his answer to her question, but it couldn't be helped now. He had taken that trip as a way to distract himself from his grief, with limited success.
Elizabeth's next question caught him even more off guard than the previous one had.
"Do you miss her terribly, still?" He voice was quiet and controlled to hide the threatening emotion behind her calm exterior.
Darcy didn't have to think long before answering.
"Not very much, no. Not anymore."
For several moments, silence prevailed. Darcy felt terrible for bringing up the uncomfortable subject, and Elizabeth felt equally awful for asking such a direct personal question. She wasn't sure that their unofficial courtship gave her the right to pry into his private concerns.
After several deep breaths, Darcy reached, once again, for Elizabeth's hand. He strove to get his thoughts into some semblance of order, hoping that his tongue wouldn't fail him now. Elizabeth was clearly disturbed and in need of his assurances.
"Elizabeth...Miss Elizabeth, forgive me," he began. "I assure you that I would not have asked to court you, or any woman, if I was not able to give my whole self, unreservedly, and without any previous attachment remaining. I loved Anne, yes, but she has been gone these eight and twenty years. I was practically a different man then."
Shifting his position closer to Elizabeth's, Darcy allowed his fingers to gently trace the curve of her jaw, down to her sweetly pointed chin. Her skin was so impossibly soft, it nearly robbed him of all ability to speak.
"The man I am today, Elizabeth, wishes to be with you."
Elizabeth smiled serenely as she took in his bold declaration. For a man not given to verbosity, he always seemed to find the precise words necessary to quiet her insecurities and assure her of his regard. He was bold, without being inappropriate. Forthrightness had always been a trait Elizabeth valued in others, and she appreciated Darcy's dedication to speaking the truth without being overly forward or overly cryptic. It made her much more able to relax and simply enjoy his presence.
Darcy was becoming more convinced of Elizabeth's genuine affection for him with each moment he spent in her company. If only he could hear the words from her sweet lips, his joy would be complete. She was a lady, however, and deserved to be given proof of his unwavering devotion before she could be expected to hand over her heart completely. He sensed that she appreciated his honesty in regards to his feelings, and was sure that she would reciprocate when the time was right. Patience was, perhaps, not his strongest virtue, but he understood that some things were worth waiting for. Elizabeth was certainly one of them.
It had not escaped Elizabeth's notice that Darcy was exercising a great deal of courage in expressing his feelings to her without disguise when she had done so little to reciprocate. Perhaps if she felt less, she might have said more, but her heart was still too vulnerable to allow for much freedom of expression when it came to her deepest feelings. The truth that Mr. Darcy had yet to meet her family was ever-present in the back of her mind. She felt that she was somehow cheating him, allowing him to pay court to her, to open his heart to her, before he had seen the complete picture of what having her as his wife would entail.
Forcing her thoughts to take a more positive turn, Elizabeth turned her eyes back towards Darcy's face. He was so wonderfully handsome. Today he looked especially so. He had neglected to shave that morning, and Elizabeth found the slight silvery growth surprisingly attractive. She reached out with tentative fingers to touch the light shadow that framed his strong jaw, enjoying the roughness against her fingertips.
Not once since making her acquaintance had Darcy been so desperately tempted to kiss Elizabeth as he was the moment her fingers lightly stroked over his cheek and jaw. His heart raced wildly at this first tangible sign of affection she had offered him. It they had, at the moment, the blessing of complete solitude, he might have given in to his desires and claimed Elizabeth's lips with his. They were not completely alone, however. He could see Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner walking together in the distance. The most he could dare was to press his face into her palm momentarily before capturing her hand with his for yet another feathery kiss to her wrist. He adored her delicate hands, he truly did. But he looked forward, with restless anticipation, to the day when he could claim the privilege of kissing her full lips, her temples, those glossy curls, the ivory column of her tempting neck...
All that would have to wait for another time, and another place.
Pulling himself to his feet, Darcy extended his hand to assist Elizabeth in standing. He offered his arm, which she immediately accepted, and the pair made their way towards the pond to join the Gardiners.
A lonely widow meant a warm bed for the night, as well as at least one meal and several drinks, and all for only the price of an hour or so of dedicated attention to the woman's pleasure. Wickham had selected Bertha Young as his meal ticket du jour upon his return to London from his ill-fated sojourn to Pemberley. She was not the most attractive, or the wealthiest, of the lovelorn women in his rotation, but she was, arguably, the most desperate, therefore the most pliable.
Though the insatiable woman had demanded a great deal more of his time and energy than usual that night, Wickham reclined in bed beside her sleeping form feeling that he could not possibly have chosen his refuge better. His luck had deserted him where his godfather was concerned, but it had returned to him in the form of the sheltered young lady his bedmate was set to become companion to in the coming week. A wealthy young heiress, but sixteen years of age, with twenty thousand pounds to her name and residing in her own establishment without the constant supervision of her father or brothers. It seemed the perfect solution to his pecuniary difficulties.
Like Wickham, Mrs. Young was an unscrupulous type, willing to do nearly anything for financial gain. The promise of three thousand pounds and the position of his mistress, neither of which he had any intention of keeping, had been sufficient to secure her assistance in meeting and wooing the chit without the interference of her relations. A girl so young and impressionable should easily be convinced to elope with a handsome, charming gentleman who claimed passionate attachment to her. He had yet to come across any person of the female sex who did not show at least some degree of susceptibility to his charms. There was no doubt in his mind that his scheme would succeed and the twenty thousand pounds, and possibly more, would be his.
Probably more than I would ever have been able to milk out of Darcy in a decade. Besides, a comely young lady will certainly be more enjoyable to deal with than that ornery old sourpuss. A very great deal more enjoyable.
A licentious smile spread over Wickham's face as he pondered this new turn in his prospects. He was nothing if not resourceful. He would live for free, or nearly free, while he put his plan into action. When he succeeded, as he had no doubt that he would, he would have wealth beyond most men's imaginings. Not Wickham's, however. When it came to the subject of money, he could imagine quite a bit.
*from Byron's poem, "She Walks in Beauty." I used part of the first stanza in chapter 3.
Well, despite a slight change in circumstances, Wickham is still Wickham. At least he's leaving Darcy alone, for the time being. See ya' next time!
