Rest assured alix33, mulberry fights are best conducted with overripe fruit that has fallen to the ground—it splats more spectacularly. The good stuff goes in pies.
Thanks Wingsofswallows for pointing out the omission in chapter 2. It has now been fixed.
I've updated the winning chapter titles for Cinder Lizzy on my profile. If you were a winner, please check that I have made no mistake in ascribing them, as the competition winners will be drawn from this list.
Suggestions for the title of chapter 37 were:
"Driving down the highway of Love" or "Games that Lovers Play by FatPatricia515,
"True Confessions" by Kaohing,
"Getting to know all about you" by justafan2111,
"Pressed Together" by Windchimed,
"In the Driving Seat" by ilex-ferox,
"Closed quarters" by Levenez,
"You drive me crazy", "Fishing for information", "Kiss and tell" by guest,
"Driving Lessons" by suddenlysingle,
"Mr Darcy's Women" by Stormwingqueen,
"And this one time at a brothel...", "Complete Frankness", "Watercolors are the new watercoolers" by SVMlover1378
Wow! Quite a lot of suggestions there. I liked "Fishing for information" and "You drive me crazy" but decided to go with "In the Driving Seat" by ilex-ferox.
Chapter 38 The person from Porlock
Lizzy was at war with her feelings. One part of her was so strongly attracted to Mr Darcy that she kept feeling sudden irrational urges to throw her arms around his neck whenever they were close together—much as she had done the other day at the cascade. Another part of her knew she had done wrong—friends just did not treat each other that way. Sometimes she just wished to flee back to London to her aunt, to peace of mind. But something tiny inside her whispered that was the coward's way.
At dinner that night there had just been the four of them. She had sat at Darcy's right hand side, while Georgie had sat across from her on his left with Mrs Annesley beside her. The arrangement made Lizzy feel she might already be married to Mr Darcy. But without Freddy and the Gardiners, the conversation had been slightly awkward and commonplace. Where had her wit gone? She felt completely stupid.
Lizzy noticed Darcy's eyes continually dwelling upon her. She felt the effort he exerted to tear them away when Mrs Annesley made one of her dull observations, like on the sweetness of the carrots, always couched like a question—as if servitude had stripped her of opinions.
Lizzy found herself trying to imagine what it would be like to be married to him. Living at Pemberley would be easy—she already felt a connection to the place, like she had always belonged there. But she would be alone with him, quite isolated, especially once Georgie married Freddy. How long would his infatuation last? When would the sarcasm begin? She knew he had it in him—'tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to dance with.'
After they had retired, Lizzy lay awake for some time, not feeling the least like falling asleep. Finally when the moon came up, she acknowledged defeat, lighting a candle with the tinderbox* so that she might view the ormolu* clock on the mantelpiece. It was midnight.
There had been occasions at Longbourn when Lizzy had also been unable to sleep—usually after her mother had done something particularly embarrassing at a social gathering, like declare Jane might marry a duke. While Jane seemed untroubled by such ambitions, falling asleep afterwards with ease, it had become Lizzy's habit on such occasions to warm herself some milk in the kitchens. She felt a little awkward about doing this in someone else's house, but perhaps the scullery maids would still be downstairs, cleaning the pots and pans.
Lizzy rose, pushed her feet into her kid slippers and pulled the wrap that Georgie had loaned her around her night gown. Taking the candle in her left hand and shielding it with her right, she skirted Madeleine's trundle bed then ventured out into the hallway.
All was in darkness—the candles in the great chandelier and the wall sconces of the vestibule had already been extinguished. But she could faintly make out the steps in the moonlight.
On reaching the base of the stairs she noticed the double doors that led to Darcy's study stood open and she peered curiously into the hallway. It stretched off into the darkness, impossible to gauge its depths, but a blue light seeped from under the first door on the right. It was not the warm yellow of candlelight but seemed too bright to be that of the moon, unless by some trick it was concentrated by a mirror on that very spot. Curious, Elizabeth opened the door.
A bright lamp stood on the desk. Beside it, Darcy's face looked up in surprise, bathed in the unnatural glow.
"Oh! I beg your pardon!" whispered Elizabeth. "I thought you must be in bed long since! I came down to get some warm milk and was curious to know the source of the strange light seeping under the door..."
"It is an Argand lamp*—it gives a steadier light to work by than candlelight. Some gentlemen think it too bright and wear tinted glasses to protect their eyes. I do not find it bothers me."
"But what are you doing up at such an hour?"
"I often stay up late. I thought at first you were Mrs Reynolds, come in to scold me. I am totting up the preliminary figures for the harvest. It looked like a bumper crop. I was curious to see if we had set a new record for bushels* to the acre."
"And have you?"
"Quite possibly. 'Though it is too early to be sure yet."
"This is a very interesting study," said Elizabeth, looking around, "—much larger than my father's. I would like to see it by daylight."
"Certainly," said Darcy.
A silence ensued.
"I think it is likely the kitchen maids are already in their beds," speculated Darcy. "Perhaps I could help you with the milk?"
"Well, maybe in a minute," temporised Elizabeth. "There are many volumes in here. Do you have any poetry?"
"These books are on business or are philosophical in nature. Most of the poetry is next door in the library except for this one," he said, laying his hand on a thin volume, "which I have recently finished."
"Perhaps, I could borrow that one?" suggested Elizabeth. "Together with the milk, it might help me settle down."
Darcy hesitated. "I do not think it is suitable," he suggested.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Is it some type of banned book?"
Darcy swallowed. "Noooo... It is the latest by Coleridge*, but quite different to his earlier works, and possibly not suitable for young ladies, which is why I have not transferred it to the library."
"This harks to our conversation the other day...," mused Elizabeth. "If one is to be continually shielded from these things, what a shock must be the wedding night! We ladies must face it, in ignorance, like an innocent Calantha."
"Good grief! You have not read that book?" asked Darcy, aghast.
"Glenarvon*?" asked Elizabeth. "Of course I have. It had my aunt in stitches. It was the first time she had laughed since her husband died. So, of course, I had to read it. But what a load of rubbish it was!—I suppose you just have to know the people involved to find it amusing. But as to restricted reading—surely it would be better to just talk of things rather than be loaded down with innuendo!"
"I'm afraid I do not think this is much better than innuendo and poppy-addled fantasy," said Darcy, indicating the volume of poetry. "Let me choose a more suitable volume for you."
Exasperated, Lizzy was about to dispute with him when she had a different idea. "Very well—on one condition."
"Name it," replied Darcy.
"Kiss me again," said Elizabeth.
Darcy's mouth opened in objection but then he closed it again and stepped towards her. "Very well," he said softly.
She looked up at him. His eyes seemed slightly unfocused by the weird light of the Argand lamp. He seemed to hesitate, so she closed her eyes and tilted her chin up.
She felt his hands grasp her elbows to steady her, pressing the cold thin silk of her wrap against her skin and making her shiver. Then his lips descended onto hers and she was caught in that delicious vortex that had hooked her beneath her navel the other day. The stab seemed to come more quickly this time and she made a weird sound, almost like a yelp, when she felt it.
The cry seemed to have some effect on him. His hands moved from her elbows to her waist and then slid lower over her bottom, pressing her closer to him. It was such a delicious feeling. She could hear his ragged breath; feel the stubble on his upper lip. He groaned, then suddenly let go of her.
Breathless, Elizabeth wavered on her feet after her sudden release.
"I think we had better get that volume and the milk," said Darcy.
He lit a candle from the flame of the Argand lamp, then walked swiftly to an interior door.
Puzzled at the sudden cessation of a very pleasant interlude, Elizabeth followed, noticing the hall door was slightly ajar when the light of the candle reached it.
In the library, Darcy quickly selected several volumes of poetry, then led the way to a door that opened into the hall.
They were crossing the vestibule when they were met by Mrs Reynolds who was wearing a nightcap, ready for bed. Elizabeth started when she loomed suddenly from the darkness carrying a covered lantern, but Darcy did not seem surprised by her abrupt appearance.
"Miss Bennet was having trouble getting to sleep," he explained. "She was hoping for some warm milk. Are any of the kitchen maids still downstairs?"
"I was just going to heat some milk for myself," declared Mrs Reynolds placidly. "If Miss would care to return to her room, I will bring it up directly."
There did not seem to be much to be said to this—it was said politely but in a tone that brooked no argument.
"Thank you," said Elizabeth meekly.
Darcy handed over the volumes of poetry and bid her goodnight. As he watched Elizabeth depart, he realised he was not feeling at all like totting up numbers anymore and decided to retire himself. But he first returned to the library to extinguish the lamp.
He was about to reach for it when he discovered that Mrs Reynolds had followed him back to the study.
"You will please forgive my interference, Mr Darcy, but I can only say I am surprised at your behaviour tonight. I cannot think your father would have approved of such goings on with a young lady staying as a guest in this house, when you are not betrothed."
Darcy sighed. He had seen Mrs Reynolds enter the study earlier before hastily retreating—that was why he had released Elizabeth so suddenly. He had been expecting something like this.
"Please know that I asked Miss Bennet to be my wife when we were at Rosings, Mrs Reynolds. She refused me. But I hold out hope that I might be able to change her mind."
"So it is like that, is it?" said Mrs Reynolds, knowing that Darcy had always been a very truthful child. "Well, the boot is usually on the other foot. Very well, sir. It is not my place to interfere. But be very careful."
When Mrs Reynolds delivered the warm milk to Elizabeth a quarter of an hour later, she assured her that she had only to pull the bell at any time of night to have someone wait on her—there was always a maid and a footman rostered on til the morning.
Footnotes
tinderbox—before matches, there were tinderboxes. Flames were most easily kindled from other flames—candles, the hearth. But they could be created de novo with a tinderbox, which usually contained a flint, a steel (striker) and some flammable material such as straw.
Ormolu—a gold-coloured alloy of copper, zinc, and tin used in decoration and making ornaments. The process, involving mercury, is no longer used because of its toxicity.
Argand lamp—The Argand lamp was invented and patented in 1780 by Aimé Argand. Its output is 6 to 10 candelas. The lamp used whale oil, seal oil, colza, olive oil or other vegetable oil as fuel which was supplied by a gravity feed from a reservoir mounted above the burner. These new lamps, much more complex and costly than the previous primitive oil lamps, were first adopted by the well-to-do. It was the lamp of choice until about 1850 when kerosene lamps were introduced. Wikipedia
Bushel—a measure of capacity equal to 8 gallons (equivalent to 36.4 litres), used for corn, fruit, liquids, etc. From Old French boissel, perhaps of Gaulish origin. See Pinterest board for a bushel basket.
Coleridge—the volume in question contains Christabel, Kubla Khan, A Vision & The Pains of Sleep. Christabel is a story of a lady who meets a mysterious woman, Geraldine. It is not clear if Geraldine is a vampire, witch or lesbian. Wordsworth suggested the poem be removed from an earlier published collection.
Glenarvon—a roman-à-clef by Lady Caroline Lamb about a rake, Lord Ruthven, based on Lamb's ex-lover Lord Byron. It caused a scandal and was extremely popular among the well-to-do who recognised its thinly disguised caricatures. Lamb Caroline characterised herself as Calantha, an innocent who is corrupted by a rake.