Chapter 23 A Simple Sunday and an Eventful Monday #2
Darcy began with merely holding Elizabeth’s hand. Their joined hands rested on her knee and all was perfectly innocent. Until he had tugged her glove off, one finger at a time, then slowly kissed each fingertip in turn, nibbling a little for good measure.
Elizabeth had squirmed in her chair, resisting the urge to audibly sigh, and eventually settled for resting her hand on Mr. Darcy’s thigh, just above his knee. She could not know how such a simple gesture would inflame him.
In retaliation, he drew circles on the back of her hand with his fingertips.
She drew them on his knee.
He reached across the back of her chair and played with the curls hanging down her neck.
She shifted in her seat until her entire left side was pressed against him.
He moved his right leg behind her ankles where they were daintily crossed in front of her. Her eyes widened as he moved his foot in a rhythmic motion along the backs of her feet.
She turned to face him, her eyes reflecting the sparse candlelight the only thing he could see, and her expression was more than any mortal man could be expected to resist. He leaned across the tiny space and closed the distance between her mouth and his.
Elizabeth reacted by placing her hands in his hair, running her bare fingers through his locks until his eyes crossed in pleasure.
Just before the lights came up for intermission, Darcy said he would fetch them refreshment and exited the box.
Elizabeth patted her hair, feeling that it was thankfully in place, and slipped her glove back on just before her aunt and uncle turned around in their seats to ask how everyone was enjoying the performance.
She stayed in the shadows near the corner, grateful her seat was at the very end, and told herself to behave with more decorum after the interval.
She did not.
By the time Darcy escorted them home to Gracechurch Street, she was a mass of longing and need, wanting nothing more than to continue her activities from the theater with Darcy.
She had heard of it, and read of it, but she had never before experienced it so potently.
Desire.
“May I take a turn in the garden with Miss Elizabeth?” asked Darcy as he escorted them to the door.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner looked at each other, then nodded their permission.
Darcy followed Elizabeth into the darkened garden, barely noticing the fragrance of the flowers or the sound of the wind in the trees.
He reached for Elizabeth’s hand and tugged her to him. “Elizabeth,” he growled. “Come here.”
She came willingly and nestled herself against him in a way he found positively delightful. “Yes, Fitzwilliam?”
She looked up at him and he said, “You have the most beautiful eyes.”
“They are a simple brown. Yours are a remarkable shade of blue. Like the sky after a storm has cleared out all the clouds.”
“Yours are the perfect shade of brown. Brown like Scotch whisky, and they make me equally lightheaded.”
She smiled. “You say the most delightful things sometimes, Mr. Darcy.”
He smiled roguishly and pulled her deeper into the garden, looking for a bench he remembered seeing there. Finally, he found it beneath a willow in the back corner and pulled Elizabeth down to his lap.
She gasped as she landed on his thighs, then settled her weight more comfortably and leaned against him.
He loved the way she sank into him so easily, so filled with trust. He could not believe she was his—after all the longing and the denial and the difficulty, she was happily sitting on his lap in the garden.
Her neck was in a perfect position to be kissed and he could not resist. She let out a little sigh of contentment and whispered his name. He could hold back no longer.
“Elizabeth, my love, my heart, marry me. Please marry me and be my wife.” He kissed her cheek and then her mouth, slowly, sweetly.
“I love you so, my darling.” He kissed her lips.
“Marry me.” He kissed her again. “Marry me.” His lips dragged back along her neck.
“Marry me, my love.” He suckled gently at the place where her shoulder met her neck, causing her to gasp in pleasure. “Marry me and let me love you always.”
She sighed, her heart light and happy. “Fitzwilliam, yes, I will marry you. Yes, my love.”
He continued kissing her neck and worked his way back to her mouth where he kissed her deeply before pulling back and looking straight into her eyes. “You did say yes?”
She nodded.
“I did not imagine it?”
She shook her head with a dreamy grin.
“You will marry me?” he asked again, a tentative joy overtaking his features.
She smiled brightly now. “Yes. I will marry you!”
He crushed her to him so swiftly she nearly lost her breath. “My love. I will make you so happy, I promise. You will not regret it.”
She smiled and rested her forehead against his, a feeling of contentment settling over her. “I’m certain I will not, my dear.”
“Elizabeth, I have not the words to tell you how happy you have made me.” He sighed, a surge of emotion threatening to bowl him over.
She stroked his cheek, saying softly, “I love you so, Fitzwilliam. I cannot wait to marry you.”
He sat up straight, nearly unseating Elizabeth in the process. “What did you say?”
“I said I cannot wait to marry you.”
“Before that.”
“Oh.” She smiled shyly. “I said I love you so, Fitzwilliam.”
He smiled more broadly than she had ever seen him do. “My very heart.”
“Darcy, I have excellent news! You must congratulate me.”
Darcy looked up as Colonel Fitzwilliam burst into his study late Monday night.
“What is it, Fitz?” He sounded disinterested and uncaring, but he could not be bothered about that. He could only think of Elizabeth. The smell of her hair, the feel of her lips on his face, the touch of her fingers on his chest.
“Darcy!”
“What?”
“I called your name half a dozen times.”
“Oh. Forgive me, Fitz. My mind wandered.”
“Judging by the look on your face, I can guess where it wandered to.”
He ducked as Darcy lobbed a pillow at him.
“What is this news you were crowing about?” asked Darcy.
“I spoke with Mother. I told her I had met a lady I would like to court and wed, but that I could only do so if I knew I could provide for her after the wedding. She agreed to talk to Father.”
“Was he amenable?” asked Darcy, suddenly all attention.
“He said that as long as the lady is not embarrassing or awful, his words, not mine, he would give me the estate and wish us well.”
Darcy leapt up and slapped his cousin’s back while vigorously shaking his hand. “That is wonderful news! Have you decided on Miss Covington then?”
“I have called on Miss Covington twice now. I am certain she returns my interest, and my regard is as strong as it ever was.”
Darcy smiled broadly, moving to pour them a glass of brandy from the decanter. “This calls for a celebration. My cousin, the perpetual bachelor, has finally been caught.”
“You are one to talk! I at least have made myself useful in the army while waiting to wed. You have been lolling about for no good reason at all!”
Darcy laughed. “Only you would consider running an estate to be lolling about.”
They toasted Fitzwilliam’s future happiness, his new estate where he would be free to loll about to his heart’s content, and the ladies they had rather shockingly fallen madly in love with.
“You are different,” said Fitzwilliam.
“What do you mean?”
“I do not know. There is something about your face—you seem lighter somehow.”
“Are you saying my face usually looks heavy?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Darcy! Tell me what it is. You look like the cat who got the canary.”
“I proposed to Elizabeth,” he said simply, a contented smile on his face.
“And?”
“She accepted.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam whooped and leapt out of his chair. “It is about time you came to the point. When is the wedding?”
“We have not decided yet. I must speak to her father first. But we had thought we might join Bingley and Miss Bennet in a double ceremony.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head, a wide grin on his face. “I wish you happy, Darcy. Truly. Miss Elizabeth is the perfect match for you.”
“Thank you. I hope you will stand up with me when the time comes.”
“Of course! I wouldn’t dream of missing it. And you must return the favor for me.”
“You would not wish for one of your brothers to be your witness?”
Fitzwilliam guffawed. “My brothers are either too young and na?ve or too old and cynical.”
“And I am just the right age?”
“It is more that you are just the right combination of innocent and cynical.”
Darcy threw another pillow at him.
“Can you believe it?” said Fitzwilliam, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. “In a few months’ time, we will both be married men.”
“I cannot believe it. I spent so many months wishing for Elizabeth, I have had to assure myself more than once that I am not dreaming.”
“I can assure you that you are not dreaming. Unless you were with someone else who would leave a love bite on your neck.” He pointed and Darcy clapped a hand over the offending mark. Fitzwilliam laughed uproariously. “It is a good sign, Darcy. Wear it as a badge of honor.”
Darcy grumbled.
“Do you know how many men wish their wives would leave such a mark on them? You are fortunate that you will have a wife who loves you and can abide your person.”
Darcy was looking dreamily at the fireplace again, and Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes and rose from his chair.
“I shall go to bed now. Enjoy your dreams, Darcy.”
He was nearly to the door when the pillow hit the back of his head.