Chapter 1 The Remarkable Mr. Graham #2
I brushed past her and darted down the passage.
My steps halted at the entrance to the library, where a captivating scene awaited me: Elizabeth sat in a large chair with Bennet in her lap.
She read aloud from one of my son’s favourite books.
My thundering heart calmed. She appeared serene and radiated health and vitality.
I took another moment to savour the picture of my two most precious people on earth before crossing the threshold.
She lifted her gaze to me and grinned. “Fitzwilliam, you are home.”
My long strides covered the distance between us. “Mrs. Reynolds said you had fainted. Pray tell me, how are you feeling?”
“There is no cause for concern, I assure you.” She reached out, and my fingers threaded through hers. “I am well.”
I searched her countenance. Did I overthink the situation, or did she appear a touch too cheerful, as though she meant to conceal the extent of her distress? “Are you quite certain?” I placed my palm at her forehead and found no sign of fever.
“Yes, without a doubt.” Elizabeth’s lips curved in an abashed style. “I believe I did not drink enough today—a foolish mistake.”
With a taut attitude, I swallowed the words of admonition that danced on my tongue.
For my own peace of mind, I should have insisted that at least for the next few days, a servant remained with Elizabeth at all times, but she would be certain to object.
Instead, I kissed her forehead. “I am relieved to find you hale and hearty.”
Bennet grabbed several pages of his book, and Elizabeth gently worked his tiny hand loose so he did not tear them. She glanced up at me. “How was your ride?”
My mouth twisted before forming a weak smile. “I found it more stimulating than I might have preferred.”
“Oh?” She regarded me with her brows arched.
Before I could form a response, my son, perhaps weary of being disregarded, extended his arms towards me. “Papa!” Bennet’s demanding yet endearing tone caused my heart to clench.
I knelt before Bennet and embraced him. “How is my boy today?”
His nose crinkled, and he displayed a pout. “Want biscuit!”
Elizabeth shook her head. “He has been repeating that for the past ten minutes.” She bent next to Bennet’s ear. “You need to eat your dinner first, my love.”
“No! Biscuit!” Bennet scratched his forehead.
“It seems our boy has lost interest in his book.” She pointed to the set of wooden building toys set out for his use. “Would you like to construct a house with your toys?”
“Yes!” He climbed down from his mother’s lap and busied himself with his blocks of wood. For now, the biscuit had been forgotten.
Elizabeth directed an adoring smile at our son as he separated the wood pieces into separate groups according to their colours. She turned to me. “Considering his parents, it is no surprise Bennet has a sweet tooth.”
“That is true enough.” Until I met Elizabeth, I had formed the mistaken belief that my exorbitant fondness for desserts surpassed that of anyone else.
My son put together an unwieldy structure that could best be described as a trapezoid. With his attention rapt in this project, Elizabeth rose and pulled me to the nearby sofa, where we sat together.
She touched my arm. “What happened on your ride?”
With my gaze focused upon Bennet, I endeavoured to maintain an unfettered tone throughout my recital of my narrow escape from a fall.
Of course, I omitted the most disturbing aspects of the experience and minimised the risk involved.
Now, in the safety of my home with Elizabeth beside me, the experience almost seemed like a terrible dream.
Elizabeth lifted my hand and kissed my palm. She studied me, her pupils flared. “Thank heavens you did not fall. You do not appear to be hurt.”
“Not at all, although the incident unnerved me for a time.” I glanced at our son, who appeared to be rapt in his task.
“I have asked for bath water to be sent up with the hope that you would join me.” With my shoulders taut I awaited her answer, silently willing her to agree.
My utter need for her defied explanation.
She bit her lip, then a smile raised her cheeks. “That is the best offer I have had all day.”
A heavy breath slipped from me. At moments such as these, she made me love her even more, though it ought to have been impossible.
I rang for Bennet’s nurse, Miss Hunter, who took over our son’s care, and we proceeded upstairs hand-in-hand.
With the tub filled and several extra buckets of hot water nearby, I dismissed the servants and attacked the tiny buttons on Elizabeth’s dress. I mumbled a mild curse when my building anticipation caused my fingers to fumble.
“What did you say, my love?”
Blast—she always did have excellent hearing. “Forgive me, dearest. I lamented the excessive number of small buttons on this dress. Whoever made this must have had tiny hands.” I released the final button, discarded her dress, and moved on to her stays. “How long has it been since we shared a bath?”
“Well, it has been above six months.”
I did not miss the wistfulness in her speech, and my chest muscles constricted.
Several difficulties had troubled the estate over the past half a year that required my full attention.
Six weeks ago, my steward, Mr. Hughes, had resigned his position, declaring his intention to retire in Scotland.
Thus, I had spent precious little time with Elizabeth and Bennet of late.
Until I found the right person for that crucial post, a multitude of tasks fell to me that my steward would customarily have handled.
“Forgive me. I have neglected you, and I mean to do better in future.”
She spun towards me and raised upon her toes to kiss my cheek. “You have no reason to apologize.” Her deft fingers worked upon the knot in my cravat. “You have been extraordinarily busy since Mr. Hughes left, and that will not change until his position is filled.”
I dipped my hand in the water and found the temperature to be suitable before removing her chemise.
My heart thudded at the alluring sight of her figure, still light and pleasing, though it had altered in subtle ways from when we first wed.
Her unique beauty entranced me more than ever before.
I took a firm hold of her hand to steady her while she stepped into the tub.
My clothes soon joined hers on the floor, and I slipped in behind her.
We soaped and caressed each other, and I savoured the feel of her delectable form and silky skin when she leaned against me.
I left lingering kisses on every part of her within my reach.
My sight fixed upon her comely locks, and I removed several of the pins before her hand covered mine, halting me.
“Fitzwilliam, what are you doing?”
“I want to wash your hair. Do you mind?”
She turned enough to allow me a glimpse of her grinning profile, a delicate lift of her eyebrow on display. “No, I am content to indulge your whim, and my maid will thank you.” A soft laugh stirred her upper body. She found my fascination with her dark, glossy tresses amusing.
At length, we emerged from the tepid water, wrapped ourselves in towels, and raced to the bed in my chamber.
We lay together in an evolving mass of tangled arms and legs, kissing and touching each other with passionate, and at times, frantic movements.
Afterwards, we held each other, spent and satisfied, our feverish pulses easing to a regular rhythm. Emotion thickened my throat, and it took a moment for me to find my voice. “Elizabeth, I love you so much. You are everything to me. I hope you know that.”
“Yes, my dearest one.” Her expressive eyes glittered at me like sentient beings imparting her devotion. “And my love for you appears to be boundless.”
Thursday, 14 September
Darcy
I dipped my pen into the inkwell several times without moving it over the sheet of paper.
The precise words I sought eluded me, slowing the progress of the letter to my solicitor in which I proposed several intricate revisions to a tenant’s contract.
Despite my efforts to complete the communication, remembrances of the unsettling events of the day before intruded upon me.
At last, I stumbled upon the exact phrasing I needed and completed another paragraph. In the midst of composing another protracted and complicated sentence, a gnawing discomfort seized me, halting my movement—I had the distinct impression that someone watched me.
The hairs at the back of my neck bristled, and I perused the room despite the glaring absurdity of the act. I had complete privacy in my study. Notwithstanding, the sensation of being spied upon persisted to distract me.
I set down my pen, and my attention strayed out the window to the rose bushes swaying in the gentle breeze.
Somewhere along that path, Elizabeth had fainted yesterday.
My wife, who in the entirety of my acquaintance with her had never suffered more than the minor symptoms of a cold, had collapsed to the ground.
She had seemed perfectly healthy since then, but—
“Your penmanship is admirable—your lines so straight and neat!”
My hand wrenched along the paper, creating a sizable, unsightly blot in the missive as my head snapped towards the voice.
A tall, singularly handsome, blond-haired stranger hovered over my desk.
Devil take it! Where did he come from? The man, garbed in expensive, flashy attire, offered a disarming smile.
I shot up from my chair, almost knocking it over, and the legs scraped the wooden floor with a dissonant clamour. “Who are you?”
“Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Darcy. My name is Mr. Graham. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He made a flourishing bow.
What an odd, impudent character! I presented my most forbidding glower. “Mr. Graham, how did you find your way in here? Were you hiding in this room?”