Chapter 9 Tuesday Temptations
Tuesday Temptations
Tuesday morning, Darcy was so pleased by the events of the day before that he sought another romantic location.
Luckily, his aunt had plans to visit a neighbor, so when Mrs. Collins and Elizabeth came to call on Anne, he was able to whisk her away to the rose garden.
Anne was tired anyway, and with such a familiar guest as Mrs. Collins, she could entertain her in her private sitting room, which was surely preferable for Miss de Bourgh. He was doing her a service, really.
Thus he found himself strolling through Rosings’s extensive rose garden—Lady Catherine believed that a country estate was only as good as its rose garden and funded it accordingly—with Elizabeth on his arm, the bright spring sunshine making rainbows on her skin, and a twitch in his hand that longed to reach out and touch those rainbows.
“How long will you remain in Kent?” asked Elizabeth.
“I had thought I would stay through the end of the week. You are departing Saturday, are you not?”
“Yes, I am. My uncle’s man will accompany us.”
“You will ride the stage?”
“Yes, with Miss Lucas.”
He pinched his lips in a tight line.
“Why so stern-faced, Mr. Darcy?”
“I do not like the idea of you taking a stage.”
“I will be accompanied by a trusted servant. I shall not be unprotected.”
He continued to glare at a particularly robust rose bush.
“What do you find so offensive about this flower, sir? I see aught amiss. If you continue to glower at it so, it will wither away and die, I am certain.”
He stopped the quick rejoinder that rushed to his lips. Was she referring to more than just the flower? “I am not glaring at the flower, Elizabeth, which I’m sure you know rather well.”
“Will you not speak what is on your mind?”
He sighed. “I should like to escort you to Town.”
Her brows rose. “Oh?”
He nodded. “We had planned to leave at that time anyhow. Fitzwilliam and I can ride alongside if the weather holds.”
“And if it does not?”
“We may bring along a maid as chaperone.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Why were you fretting so over telling me this?”
He exhaled a whoosh of air. “I have had it impressed upon me recently that I am selfish and do not consider well enough the desires of others.”
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep herself from laughing at the comical look on his face. He did not seem pleased in the least by this latest discovery. “May I ask who impressed such things upon you?”
“I’m sure you know very well it was my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. He cannot mind his own affairs.”
She squeezed his arm. “Do not be too hard on the colonel. He has been very kind to me.”
He pressed her hand where it rested on his. “Very well, my dear.”
Elizabeth marveled at how quickly she was coming to like Mr. Darcy.
Or rather, she was coming to like being courted by him.
She had wondered if it was the novelty of courtship and the compliment to her vanity that she so enjoyed, or his presence in and of itself, but she was beginning to think it was the latter.
“I do not see why you should not accompany us. Your carriage is certain to be more comfortable than a public coach and I will use the money from my ticket to buy a new bonnet,” she added cheekily.
He smiled down at her. “I rather like it when you do not wear a bonnet.”
“Oh? Why is that, sir?”
“I’m certain you have noticed I am taller than you.”
“It had caught my attention, yes.”
“If you are wearing a bonnet, I cannot see your face when I look down at you.”
“Which is all the time, owing to your very great stature.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “I have seen you often enough without one to know you are not enamored of them either.”
“Do not let my mother hear that you have seen me without a bonnet. She will scold me heartily and insist on inspecting my apparel before I leave the house.”
“Are you saying I have leverage over you?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.
“If you have any care for me at all, you will not dream of saying a word.” They had come to a fountain near the end of the garden and she stepped up onto the low stone ledge that ran around its perimeter. “There! Now you do not need to look down at all.”
Darcy watched her with a warm smile, then stepped forward so he was only a few inches from her. She was taller standing on the ledge, but he still had to look down to see her properly.
“Well, when you are this close, you are even taller, but the step helps, does it not?”
She tilted her head back and smiled coyly. Really, she was smiling at him entirely too much, but he did seem to enjoy it and she could not help but be proud of herself for pleasing him so thoroughly.
“Much better.” He reached for the ribbon hanging from her bonnet and ran it between his fingers, his eyes on hers as he did so.
Oddly, she felt as if he were touching her and not her bonnet ribbons. Her breath came a little quicker, and she watched him move closer bit by bit until she could feel his breath on her cheek.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes, overcome with feelings she could not identify. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
He took a deep breath, then stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I wish you would call me by my given name.”
“Very well. What is it?”
“It is Fitzwilliam.”
“Where?” she asked looking about her with a slightly alarmed expression.
Darcy almost laughed. “Not my cousin, my name.”
“Oh. You wish me to call you Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes.”
“Not Fitz, or William, or Wills?”
“No.”
She pouted.
He tapped her nose playfully.
“It is terribly long.”
“No longer than Elizabeth.”
She sighed. “Very well. I suppose I cannot argue with that. Though my family calls me Lizzy.”
“I have heard Mrs. Collins call you Eliza.”
“She does. You may do so if you wish.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“I do not know. Lizzy was the name of my childhood, so it is only natural for those who knew me as a child to employ it. When I came out, everyone began calling me Eliza.”
“Do you dislike it?”
“No,” she said thoughtfully, “I do not dislike it, but neither do I love it.”
“And what of Elizabeth?”
“I like it very well.” She would not say that she particularly liked the way he said it, in his deep voice and the slight elongation of the second syllable.
“Then I shall call you Elizabeth.”
She raised a brow. “I do not believe I gave you permission to address me by my given name, Mr. Darcy.”
His brow raised to match hers. He wished to tease her in return, but he could think of nothing clever to say. “Is it too familiar?”
“Not at all, but a lady does like to be asked.”
Ah. “Miss Bennet, might I have permission to address you more informally?”
“You may, Mr. Darcy.”
He leaned a little closer to her, and she instinctively stepped back, forgetting that the ledge of the fountain was behind her.
She bumped the edge with her knees and lost her balance, prepared to fall into the fountain or gracelessly beside it in a desperate attempt to avoid a dunking, when Mr. Darcy’s strong arms came about her waist and pulled her flush against him.
All her breath whooshed out of her in one long exhale as she fell into him, feeling him pressed to her from her chest to her ankles. Her wide eyes raised to meet his and she felt something she could not identify pass between them.
“Are you well?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Quite well. You?”
“Perfectly well.”
They stood beside the fountain, holding one another indecorously close, until Elizabeth laughed nervously and peeled herself from him.
“I should go back to the house. Charlotte will wonder what has become of me.”
He nodded and offered his arm, and they returned to the house in silence.