Chapter 25
The carriage did not stop at the front of the house, but continued all the way to the carriage house.
"I would have preferred to use the front door, but your aunt is right. It would not serve us well to have people talking. In the morning, we will sort out what we will do. Though, if your father remains in London—"
"Please, I … not now. For just a little while, I do not wish to speak or even think of him." She bit her lip and turned her face aside.
"We can never speak of him again if that is what you desire, my love. My only concern is for your comfort. Come, let us go into the house."
He helped her down from the carriage and into the house. The housekeeper greeted them in the kitchen. Excellent woman—she betrayed no look of surprise at their remarkable entry.
She curtsied. "Tea, sir?"
"Yes, in the parlor please, and instruct the staff to wait until they are called. I do not wish to be disturbed."
"Yes, sir."
He placed his hand on the small of Elizabeth's back and guided her to the rear of the house.
She went to the open window and leaned out slightly into a sunbeam. "Your garden is lovely."
"It is nothing compared to you." He moved to her side. "You like the roses?"
"I like everything I see. Everything is so well cared for and in order." She turned to him. "I think it is very much like you."
"I suppose it is." How did she do it, know him so well without ever once prying? "I hope you do not find it dull and predictable."
"You have been criticized for that? Your cousin finds you tiresome and informed you that the most desirable ladies prefer a gentleman who can recite poetry as though he had written it inspired by their beauty."
He chuckled. "How do you do it?"
"So I am correct?"
"Of course. But I no longer care what Fitzwilliam's desirable ladies prefer. I only care what you prefer." He edged behind her, pressing his chest against her back.
She leaned into him.
Thank heavens, he had said something right. He slid his arm around her waist and pressed his cheek to the side of her face. Was he taking advantage of their privacy? Perhaps, but she would surely tell him if it was too much.
"You asked what I prefer."
She turned in his arms and peered directly into his eyes. "I do not need poetry or flowery words. I do not need, nor do I want, surprises or excitement. I have had far too much of that and it is entirely overrated. You are dependable and trustworthy, thoughtful and sensitive, and that is everything I have ever desired."
What was a man to do upon hearing such words? Only one thing came to mind. He leaned down to kiss her.
The warmth of her lips on his, that he expected, but the heat that coursed down his spine and suffused into his being caught him unawares.
She answered his kiss tentatively, but she answered. His dear, precious treasure!
She pulled back and looked at him with her dear little probing eyes. "You were not certain I would be pleased?"
"I suppose no man ever is."
"Then I must be absolutely clear." She rose on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Every baser feeling and every finer one welled up and collided in his chest, exploding in an effusion of light and fire. He wanted her in every way possible, to possess and to protect, to ravish and to honor. He crushed her to him and devoured her kiss.
She met him with a fervor that matched his own, dainty fingers knotting in his hair. Her soft bosom pressed against the planes of his chest. Dear Lord, what she did to him!
A soft knock at the door and they jumped apart. He stalked to the door. Should he sack or reward whoever stood behind it?
The housekeeper handed him a tea tray and walked away, making no attempt to peer inside. A reward was in order, indeed.
He kicked the door shut and turned back to her. She had moved away from the window, into the shadows of the corner by the bookcases, face turned away and head down.
The tea tray could not land fast enough.
"Elizabeth…Elizabeth." He panted beside her, hand hovering over her shoulder. "Have I frightened you? Shall I open the door, ask a maid in to chaperone? I would not for all the world have —"
"No, not at all." She turned to face him, uncertainty in all its forms written in every crease on her face.
"Then what, dearest?"
"Are you not troubled that I am not afraid?"
"You are speaking in riddles."
"I thought I was plain enough."
"Not all of us are so supremely observant and understanding as you."
She covered her face with her hands. "Do you wonder why I am not afraid?"
"I had not thought to question my good fortune."
"Perhaps now that is enough, but at some time you will ask."
"And you are afraid I will not like the answer?"
"Do you believe you will?"
"Tell me." He tipped her chin up and met her gaze. "You do not have to be afraid. Tell me the source of my good fortune."
"Do you consider it good fortune that I am without the delicacy proper for a maiden betrothed? I am blessed—or perhaps cursed—in that people are most unguarded in their speech around me."
"And you have been privy to—"
"Much more than I should."
"My dearest, the only thing that displeases me is that your father and mother should have been so lax as to leave you in a position of distress. I still consider myself very lucky that those experiences would not leave you afraid, but so very—"
"Improper?"
"So very much my ideal. Why do you keep asking me to criticize you, showing me fault to find in you? You ask for my disapproval as fervently as that Bingley woman demands praise. I cannot fathom it."
She distanced herself, arms wrapped around her waist and walked along the bookcase toward the fireplace.
Dare she try and answer his question? Could she expose such a very deep and intimate truth, something not even Jane understood? Surely it would be better not to, to leave the subject alone. The disappointment when he did not understand was more than she could shoulder now. Why ask for it?
Fingertips brushed her shoulder. "Elizabeth?"
He was there, so close beside her, almost whispering in her ear. His warmth, his scent, all calling to her, demanding her honesty.
She turned her back to him. These were not things to be said where he could see her face, no that intimacy was far too much. "I do not think you will understand. It is foolish, I suppose."
"More criticism? Why do you not let me be the judge of what I will call foolish?"
Why did he have to be so persistent? Could he not allow her this? "When one knows one will have fault found with them, it is…more manageable if one—"
"Offers up what is to be criticized, like a sacrifice? It is less painful than having it torn from you?"
She spun and sought his eyes. "How?"
"My father was an exacting, demanding man, better at offering correction than care. He had many fine qualities, but…"
"Understanding was not among them?"
"No, that was my gentle mother's realm."
She lifted her hand to his face and pressed it to his cheek. "I had no idea."
"You need not be so concerned. Though he could be difficult to please, he was a good man." He pulled her into his chest.
His heart beat so loud, so strong. The rhythm reassured and comforted her as his strength encompassed her.
"I do not want such a sacrifice from you, Elizabeth. Please, please stop. I do not take well to anyone criticizing my beloved, even you."
A sob welled up, but she swallowed it, merely shuddering against him. She nodded against his chest.
He pressed his face to her, lips so warm and demanding, hungry against hers. She surrendered into him and allowed her passion to flow, unchecked. Oh, that spot on her neck—how could he know what she herself did not? He kindle a craving for something she could not even name? If only he might never stop, holding, touching, kissing.
"Oh, Elizabeth," he pulled back, panting, and leaned his forehead on hers. "No woman has ever brought me to the edge of self-control as you have. You are the completion of everything I am, and I want it all so badly I can taste it. But you have had far too much taken from you. Though you might even give me what I most dearly desire now, we cannot begin our lives together that way. You are worthy of every respect, of everything right and proper. Though it may kill me, we shall wait."
The strain in his eyes was too real for his words to be hollow. So this was what it meant to be truly loved. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
"I love you and will spend the rest of my days making sure you know that. Trust me."
"I do."
The next morning he stood at the door to her chambers. His hand was poised to knock, but he hesitated. She was an early riser by habit, or at least she had been so in Kent. But last night had been so late and so very difficult. If she still slept, it would be inconsiderate to wake her.
He had slept little that night, enduring the torture of having her so close by, but not in his arms where he might comfort her. His longing for her company won out, but he knocked softly as a compromise.
"Come in." Her sweet voice was only a shadow of its usual brightness.
He swung the door open. Oh, heavens, she was lovely, silhouetted in the sunbeams! The morning sun did too many exquisite things to her and his self-control should not be so taxed so early in the day. His hands locked on the doorframe lest he give way.
"Did you sleep well? Was the room to your liking?" None of those things were what he wanted to know, but they seemed the right and proper things to say. How was one to greet the woman who was to be his wife when what he truly desired was so improper?
She turned to face him. "The room is delightful, the most comfortable I have ever known. But sleep was an entirely different matter. Know though, it was through no fault of yours, your staff, or your home. I do not think you slept either."
That look in her eye! How did she do it? Without a word, she knew even his deepest hidden musings. His cheeks heated. "Only a little, but that was because I knew you were safe here with me."
She cocked her head and lifted her brow. Could someone laugh without making a sound? If this was a taste of his future life, then it could not begin soon enough.
He offered his arm. "Join me for breakfast?"
She went to him. "It is early for that, is it not?"
"Yes, but I cannot shake the sense—"
"That the day will be challenging and you prefer to be ready in case you must act quickly?" She slipped her hand in his arm.
Someday he might grow tired of having no secrets, but for now it was sheer pleasure to be understood so completely. "Have I ever told you how great a pleasure it is when you anticipate so?"
She stiffened and turned aside.
"Your father is an ungrateful fool who will soon regret your loss. I suspect he already does and is simply too proud to say anything."
"Perhaps." The teasing play was gone from her voice.
Blasted man! Would he ever be evicted from their home?
They finished the walk to the morning room in silence. He poured her a cup of chocolate and a little light returned to her eyes. Chocolate would grace their morning table every day. "Are you in a mind for making plans?'
"What kind of plans?"
"When and how we may be married."
"Oh!" Her cheeks flushed.
Was she pleased or—
"You have not changed your mind?"
"No, but are you—"
He grabbed her hands. "Do you know, from the moment you came to Georgiana's rescue at Rosings pianoforte, I have been utterly captivated by you? My aunt's ploys only strengthened my resolve toward you. The actions of your father and your family— beyond Miss Bennet and my concern for Bingley—have never been of concern to me."
"Has Mr. Bingley…"
"…stayed resolute in his devotion to your sister? Yes. I left both she and Georgiana in his care when I came to London. It was difficult to persuade him not to have his share in the search for Miss Lydia. He was quite keen to do something on Miss Bennet's behalf."
"You mean something more gallant than being their protection at the Inn?"
"You must admit, it is a rather unromantic charge."
"Unromantic perhaps, but certainly one less arduous."
"He has put his time to good use. They have already begun to read the banns for their union." If only he could be so fortunate.
"I am glad this will not hinder their happiness. He is a very good man, as befits Jane. Do you know, they already invited me to live with them after they are married?" Her eyes shone and lips quivered.
"There is a reason I consider him my best friend—now more than ever, I think. I shall have nothing to repine in being connected as family to him." He stroked a tiny tear from her cheek. "I am afraid they will have to be disappointed as I now claim that privilege of having you to myself."
"I cannot keep secrets from you, you know … I am afraid … I do not think I am sufficient to run so large an establishment as even this house, much less Pemberley."
"Stop. You are exhausted and overwrought and, for this once, entirely wrong. I saw what you were capable of in the way you managed the denizens of Rosings Park. You were more mistress there than my aunt ever was. How you managed to care for its people despite Aunt Catherine's determined efforts not to—all the while managing both your father and my aunt. Anyone who can succeed in such a feat can certainly manage Pemberley. There will be challenges, no doubt, but I have great faith in you."
She swallowed hard and smiled a convincing imitation of a smile. That was some improvement.
"I shall begin with my solicitor today, to work on the settlement. I would like to submit it to your uncle for his approval, as well as your own. I want Gardiner to know exactly how you will be cared for. He deserves the courtesy."
"I know of no other who would be so willing to submit himself to a man below him—"
"His is another connection I do not repine. Anyone who loves you as they do is a welcome connection to me."
Oh, that she might always smile that way at him!
"It may be difficult to get Papa to release—"
"—your dowry? That is the least of my concerns at the moment. We can resolve that over time if need be. More important—how shall we marry? I can obtain a special license and we might stand up with your sister and Bingley."
Tears poured down her cheeks. "You are the most thoughtful person I have ever known."
"I am sorry for that." He handed her his handkerchief.
She dabbed her eyes. "As much as I would like to stand with Jane, I have little desire to return to Kent. I would be content to marry from Gracechurch Street, quietly, with my Aunt and Uncle and Jane, and of course any of your family you wish to attend. I know Georgiana and Col. Fitzwilliam would sorely miss it if they were not among our witnesses. I need nothing more."
"Is it what you want?"
"In that Mama and Papa are unlikely to ruin it, yes, it is exactly what I want."
"Then I shall make it so."
"Excuse me, sir." The housekeeper curtsied from the doorway. "Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are come to call. Are you home to them?"
"Yes, show them here."
"Very good, sir." She disappeared.
He leaned close and kissed her forehead. "It does not matter what news they bring. Nothing will interfere with us."
She cupped his cheek with her palm. "You are the very best of men."
So long as she believed that, he could accomplish anything.
"The Gardiners," the housekeeper announced.
They turned toward the doorway. He should be concerned for her family's reaction to their most improper position, but he was not. He had not violated their trust and, with one look at Elizabeth, they would know that.
Elizabeth slowly rose and went to her aunt and uncle. "I am glad you have come."
"As are we," Mrs. Gardiner said, gripping her hands and kissing her cheeks.
"Please come, sit. Take breakfast with us." Darcy waved the housekeeper to set more places .
They sat and Elizabeth poured cups for them, an act as simple and natural as if she had always been mistress here.
"You have had a very long and difficult evening?" Darcy said.
Gardiner laughed, but with a touch of bitterness, not humor. "While that is true enough, I fear it is far too obvious to earn you credit for your powers of observation."
"Your smile suggests you were able to obtain at least some level of agreement from him." Elizabeth lifted a brow in a delicate arch.
Uncle took a deep draw from his cup. "Yes, I will spare you the details, but he did, at last, accept your most generous offer, sometime well into the small hours of the morning."
"It is not unknown for the wee hours to be the best time to make him see reason." Elizabeth's eyes were far too sad—how many times had she been forced to do just that?
"I shall begin making arrangements immediately. I wrote a letter to the school mistress last night, anticipating such a turn of events." More precisely because he could not sleep and it seemed one of the few useful things he could do, but they did not need to know that.
"How has Lydia taken the news?"
Aunt Gardiner rolled her eyes. "She is angry and resentful—utterly unable to discern her great good fortune. She is as stubborn as her father—and mother— and more concerned with not getting her way than the blessing offered her."
"I hardly expected anything else." Elizabeth shook her head.
The housekeeper burst in. "Excuse me, sir—" she held out a silver tray with a calling card.
Darcy took it and grumbled under his breath.
"Papa?"
"Yes." He stood. "Excuse me. I will receive him in my office."