Chapter 38 #2
“Of course I do,” she exclaimed. “I could never forget the expression on Caroline Bingley’s face when she saw me.”
He winced. “That situation was… unfortunate.”
“That is one way of saying it,” she said. “Although it certainly gave me a rapid insight into your character, as well as Mister—that is, as well as Bingley’s. I still cannot call him Charles yet.”
“Well, I had never been so… unsettled. I was attracted to you, and I idly wondered how my ancestors would feel if I were to marry someone like you.”
“Impertinent and mischievous?” she said with a coy smile, batting her eyes at her.
He grinned. “Well, yes, in part… but mostly due to religion.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he waved it off and said, “Allow me to finish, my dear. It was quite a surprise for me to realize that all my logic could hardly repress my urges to go to your room.”
A shiver of excitement coursed through her, and she gasped in mock affront. “Mr. Darcy, how scandalous!”
He did not so much as attempt to deny it. “Entirely so,” he said, his voice low, his eyes fixed upon hers. “You must understand, I had never before been tempted in such a manner. It was… most discomposing.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, though a smile threatened.
“And yet,” she said lightly, “you resisted.”
“Barely.”
The word lingered between them, and her breathing hitched, just slightly.
“Well,” she said, lifting her chin with a touch of playful defiance, “I am gratified to know that I posed such a danger to your well-ordered life.”
He stepped closer. “You did more than that,” he said quietly. “You altered it entirely. You proved to be my undoing.”
The teasing slipped, just for a moment.
Elizabeth felt it—felt the truth in his words—and something in her softened in response.
But she could not let him have the last word.
“And now?” she asked, her tone turning just a shade more daring. “Do I still present such a threat to your self-command?”
His gaze darkened, intent and unwavering. “Now,” he said quietly, “I find I have the same inclination—and no reason at all to resist it.”
Her lips curved slowly. “Well then,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “I should hate to see you return to your former habits of self-denial.”
That was all the invitation he needed.
He strode forward, kicking the door closed behind him with a decisive motion. The next instant, his hands were at her waist, lifting her as though she weighed nothing at all as he scooped her into his arms.
“Darcy—!” she began, half laughing, half protesting—
But the words were lost as his mouth found hers.
The kiss was not the gentle, teasing exchange of a moment before. It was deeper—warmer—filled with all the restraint he had once prided himself upon and now very willingly abandoned.
Elizabeth clutched at his shoulders, the faintest laugh escaping her before it, too, disappeared beneath the press of his lips.
He carried her to the bed without breaking from her, setting her down only long enough to draw her closer still—
And just before the rest of the world fell away, only one clear thought was left in her mind—
That she would never tire of being his undoing.
∞∞∞
An hour later, Darcy found himself seated in the drawing room at Netherfield, his outward composure entirely restored—at least, to all appearances.
Within, however, his thoughts were decidedly less orderly.
Lady Catherine, Lady Anne, and Georgiana had all pleaded fatigue after their journey and opted to remain in their rooms, with Jane insisting—most kindly—on sending up trays for them rather than pressing them to join the party below.
Thus, it was only the four of them.
Elizabeth sat beside her sister, her expression bright with happiness, the two of them speaking with an ease and intimacy that spoke of long affection and recent absence keenly felt.
Darcy watched her more than he listened, content simply to observe the animation in her countenance, the warmth in her eyes.
It was… exceedingly difficult to recall that he was meant to be attending to the conversation.
Dinner was announced, taken with equal cheer, and afterward the ladies withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their port.
Darcy poured, sat, and made a very sincere attempt to attend to his friend.
Fortunately, Bingley was in a state of such eager enthusiasm that it required very little from him in return.
“…and of course, I cannot help but wonder—whether it will be a boy or a girl. Though I assure you, I shall be equally delighted with either—though Mrs. Bennet has already declared it must be a boy, and at least two of her neighbors have agreed with her—”
Darcy nodded at what he hoped was an appropriate interval. In truth, his thoughts continue to stray rather persistently upstairs.
Bingley, accustomed to his friend’s silences, continued his chatter.
“I cannot tell you, my dear fellow, how extraordinary it all feels. A father! I had not quite imagined it so soon, and yet—well—here we are.”
Darcy allowed himself a faint smile.
“Yes,” he said. “Here you are.”
Bingley leaned back, still smiling. “And you? How do you find being returned to Hertfordshire? I wondered—whether it might feel… awkward. Particularly with Mrs. Darcy wishing to visit Longbourn.”
Darcy’s brow lifted slightly.
“No one allows Elizabeth to do anything,” he said dryly. “And heaven help the man who attempts to forbid her.”
Bingley laughed—though there was a hint of nervousness in it. “Yes—well—quite. I suppose we have each chosen wives suited to our dispositions.”
Darcy’s mouth curved, just slightly wicked. “Elizabeth would prove far more than you could manage, I think.”
Bingley’s eyes widened. “Oh, I do not doubt it. Jane is quite enough for me.”
There was a brief pause, then Bingley leaned forward, his tone shifting. “In all seriousness, old man—how are you?”
Darcy considered for a moment before answering. “If Mr. Bennet had not come to Rosings,” he said, his voice even, “and if Elizabeth had not chosen to forgive him, I should not have returned to this county.”
He took a slow sip of his wine. “Nor permitted her to do so,” he added. “At least not until the man was safely in his grave.”
Bingley winced slightly. “Then I do not feel quite as guilty about Mr. Bennet discovering you at Rosings so quickly.”
“You told him where we were?” Darcy was incredulous. “Good Lord, man! Why?”
“Not me!” Bingley raised his hands. “No, it was… it was Caroline.”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. “Of course it was.” Then his brow furrowed. “I thought she was in the north with your family.”
“Yes, well, she arrived the day after the wedding. She was infuriated she was too late to stop us—apparently a broken axle on the coach delayed her travel, thank heaven.”
“I imagine that was an unpleasant surprise to awaken to after your wedding night,” Darcy said dryly.
Bingley’s face turned red. “Yes, well… unpleasant is one way to put it. But by the time I was informed of her arrival, she had already learned that you two had disappeared. When Mr. Bennet said there was no sight of you on the north road, she concluded you must have gone to Rosings.”
Darcy nearly choked on his port. For someone as oblivious to reality as her, she certainly has an uncanny knack of knowing where I will be.
“I beg you not to concern yourself,” Bingley added quickly, oblivious to Darcy’s inner thoughts. “She has… rather fallen out of favor. Entirely, in fact. She has taken a house of her own and, by all accounts, is quite miserable.”
Darcy raised a brow. “Indeed?”
“She is presently in Bath,” Bingley continued, “endeavoring to persuade a baron—one already in possession of three daughters—that he stands in need of a wife to provide him with a son.”
Darcy huffed a quiet breath. “I wish her every success. It would be a mercy to us all if she were otherwise occupied.”
Bingley laughed.
“Oh—and one more thing,” he added. “Your in-laws have invited us all to dine at Longbourn tomorrow evening. A family gathering—and to celebrate Mrs. Darcy’s birthday, since she will be attaining her majority next week.”
Darcy leaned back slightly, considering.
“I shall leave the decision to Elizabeth,” he said. “Though I suspect she will wish to go.”
“Yes, I thought as much.”
Darcy’s gaze drifted briefly toward the door through which she had withdrawn.
After all—
It could scarcely prove more eventful than the last time she was at Longbourn.