Chapter 18 #2
“Oh. My. God!” Charlotte, her reflexes dulled and her tongue thickened by three glasses of Two Buck Chuck, threw her arms in the air. “You don’t hate his socks anymore? I knew you liked his ankles.”
Elizabeth burst into laughter while Jane beamed at her.
A week that might have meant long evenings together and a home-cooked dinner or two instead turned into a test of patience.
The three-hour time difference and work demands limited their actual conversations.
Elizabeth was caught up in planning press events for the upcoming book rollout, and Darcy was tied up in meetings, lunches, and dinners.
Texting became their primary mode of communication: narrating their activities, making funny observations about their days, and anticipating the weekend ahead at the beach.
A few times that week, Darcy had to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming this new reality—that Elizabeth, in fact, had truly become part of his life.
Certainly, his dreams were full of her, erotic dreams that left him aching in tangled sheets.
He sent her flowers on Tuesday and stumbled over the message he asked Sara to add to the card.
The best he could come up with was a simple, “Missing you. XO.” Even that turned his ears red.
He was back in New York late Thursday. By midmorning Friday, Elizabeth had arrived at his place, weekender slung over her shoulder.
He’d argued with her, preferring to pick her up himself.
But she’d laughed at his misguided, albeit chivalrous sense of geography—“I’m in Jersey, we’re going to the Hamptons”—and finally relented and agreed to take the town car he sent to fetch her.
“Hello, Miss Bennet.” The doorman smiled at her and sent her upstairs in the elevator.
She tapped her foot impatiently as it rose slowly skyward.
When the elevator doors opened, a gray-haired woman in a wrap skirt and sneakers, canvas tote in her hand, was standing before her.
Elizabeth flashed a smile and stepped into the hallway.
“Miss Bennet?”
Why does everyone know me? “Yes?”
“I’m Alice Reynolds. I wanted to say hello.”
Oh. Oh. Elizabeth quickly shook off her surprise and extended her hand. “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds. It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard such nice things about you from Will.”
She couldn’t miss the older woman’s raised eyebrows. “As I have about you, Miss Bennet.”
“Call me Elizabeth, please. Did he tell you how much I enjoyed your soup last weekend? It was fantastic.” She paused, wondering how much the woman knew about her and the long and painful journey of her relationship with the man. “You take such good care of him.”
“I do the little he allows me.” The older woman smiled. “I left a cooler for you two to take to Pemberley. Would you please remind Fitzwilliam to check the freezer while he’s there? There are a few things inside that I think you’ll both enjoy. A cheesecake and chocolate ganache.”
Where have you been all my life? Elizabeth nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Good. Have a wonderful weekend.” Mrs. Reynolds stepped into the open elevator car and turned to face Elizabeth. She smiled warmly, but her eyes were serious. “Take care of him, won’t you?”
Elizabeth nodded and raised her hand to wave goodbye. The hallway, she decided, was dimly lit on purpose to hide the dust that suddenly made her eyes water.
She watched Darcy drive, his large hands gripping the wheel.
He had beautiful hands. Last fall, she’d sneered at his soft, manicured hands, and now she yearned for them to touch her.
Today, he was sockless, his lean frame in plaid shorts and a faded blue polo.
She’d felt those legs wrapped around her on his sofa, and this weekend she anticipated much more.
He’d already lit the fuse by forgoing a morning shave. God, I love him scruffy.
He was a careful driver. Elizabeth thought about her first time in his car.
She’d assumed then that it was because Coco was curled up in the backseat.
Now she knew better. She hoped to know much more before they drove back to the city.
Exploring Fitzwilliam Darcy was her mission for the weekend.
It had begun an hour earlier with their reunion at his apartment.
He’d barely closed the door before they were in each other’s arms, her back against the door, him supporting her with his strong arms, and her holding on tightly around his neck.
Only the worry about weekend traffic jams had pushed them out the door—along with some lingering concerns about impulsive behavior.
She wasn’t a woman who believed in having a quickie, and she now knew he wasn’t a man who would want one.
Since reconnecting a week ago, they’d kissed. A lot. Lips had roamed, but hands had been surprisingly shy. She worried his physical reticence was her fault—more fallout from their behavior at Netherfield.
Her thinking was not far off. Darcy had done little on his flight home but think about all the places he wanted to explore on her body, from the soft curve of her neck to that hipbone that jutted out when she stood, hands on hips, and teased him.
Her kisses lit him up in unexpected ways: He had nerve endings in his toes?
From a kiss? He could barely wait to get her to Pemberley.
They’d have nearly three days, and in this hot weather, he’d like to see her in as few clothes as possible.
If that’s what she wants. Whatever Elizabeth wants.
He was fairly confident they were of like mind, but he needed, almost desperately, to show her how he felt.
And he needed to tell her he loved her. As much as he felt them, he hadn’t been able to say the words.
Blurting out last April that he’d fallen in love with her was perhaps the most impetuous act of his life.
Now, when he most needed to summon the courage, he found it difficult.
But he would tell her while they were at the place he loved best. He would.
Elizabeth had spent more than a few hours of their four days apart thinking about their first meetings.
A football game. A train station. A stream and the barn at Netherfield.
Some of them by chance, some intentional, and some rather magical.
As they pulled into the private road to Pemberley, a thought bloomed in her: a recognition of a place she needed to see again with him.
“Fitzwilliam, that spot near the lavender where I found you in May?” She smiled at him, putting her hand on his arm. “Will you take me there?”
“Certainly, if you’d like. We can walk up later.”
“And to the gardens where Coco is?”
He nodded.
The air was so hot and their bodies so fevered that they both found the idea of putting on swimsuits and plunging into the water appealing. They carried their bags and the cooler inside to a long wooden bench in the entryway.
“Are there really nine bedrooms in this house?” Elizabeth’s eyes scanned the gleaming white space. The foyer is as big as my living room and bedroom put together.
“Yes,” he replied, watching her. His eyes lingered on her hair; she’d worn it up, and stray tendrils threatened escape. He tucked one behind her ear. “Two are in the south wing. They’re set up dormitory style, meant for the slew of Fitzwilliam grandchildren.”
“The slew? Oh, what a concept.” She was relieved to think his childhood had been happy. “And you slept there?”
“Oh yes,” he replied with mock gravity. “We were exiled.” He hefted the cooler and headed toward the kitchen.
Elizabeth followed him, enjoying the view of his retreating backside. He’s too thin. Has he always been so thin? “Why, out of ‘the slew of grandchildren,’ is this your house?”
He paused and turned, looking at her steadily. “My mother and her older brother and sister each inherited a house. Aunt Catherine has the one on Park Avenue, and Rich’s father, my Uncle Michael, took the one in East Hampton because it has stables. My mother loved this one. She adored the beaches.”
“Do you still sleep in the dormitory?” she teased. “In a bunk bed?”
“Alas, my silly girl, I’ve moved up in the world. I have my grandparents’ old master suite. It’s the one room I ask guests not to use.” Noting her raised eyebrows, he elaborated. “It’s rather eccentric. My grandfather put in a wall safe, and there’s a hidden doorway or two.”
“Awesome!” Elizabeth began unloading the cooler into the refrigerator, marveling at the thoroughness his housekeeper had shown in packing salads and sandwiches. “Oh, sweetheart, check the freezer. Mrs. Reynolds said she put some special desserts in it.”
When he didn’t move, Elizabeth closed the refrigerator door and turned around. “What’s wrong? I told you I met her.”
His eyes were shining, and he pulled her toward him. “‘Sweetheart?’” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said shyly. “It’s a much better endearment than Ferdinand, isn’t it?”
He kissed her gently, his fingers light on her cheek.
Elizabeth’s skin tingled at his touch. A wave of emotion hit her, and she leaned into his hand.
She remembered an encounter at a refrigerator last fall when, crouching down, she’d eavesdropped and judged him, not for the first time, to be a stuffy jerk.
He was nothing that she’d assumed or misjudged him to be.
She’d missed, rather deliberately, his real essence.
She looked up into his face, his dear face, and covered his hand with hers.
“I love you.” Her heart full and pounding, she let go a tremulous breath.
His mouth fell open. “Elizabeth.” Darcy’s voice was full of wonder. His eyes widened, and his expression, already soft, dissolved into a joyous smile. He leaned toward her and touched his forehead to hers. “You must know I love you, too. So very, very much.”