Chapter 11 #6
A delectable little frown pulled at her brow. “Then, you are not displeased with me for walking so far?”
He shook his head.
“Or that I went with little Bess?”
He shook his head.
She bit her lip guiltily, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes, rendering her absolutely lovely. “Know you that I served her chocolate in the Spanish Saloon?”
He nodded.
“You are not angry about that either?”
“Are you planning on making a habit of it?”
“No.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Then no.”
She gave a little huff. “Well, something vexed you, for it seemed as though you could not decamp from Mrs Powell’s parlour soon enough.”
He held her gaze and lowered his face close to hers. “There you go again, woman, wilfully misunderstanding me.”
There was time enough only for her eyes to widen slightly with comprehension before he kissed her.
Fanning his fingers out over her cheeks, he pulled her closer, pressing his mouth hard against hers in a bid to dispel all trace of his earlier panic.
Her arms wound about him, her weight fell against him, and it was several magnificent minutes before he recalled there were but twenty yards and a hedgerow shielding them from prying eyes.
He allowed himself one last lingering caress, and then, though her kisses were ambrosia to his fear-ravaged heart, he drew back.
She smiled up at him archly. “I stand corrected. But if you will insist on always looking so grave when you are thinking of seducing me…”
“It is a very serious matter and one that occupies my thoughts a good deal of the time. I cannot always be smiling when I am so constantly beset.”
“You poor thing!”
Offering his arm, he set them off along the path again. “It is some months since you mistook any look of mine, love. Might I enquire why you were so convinced this day that I should be displeased with you?”
She gave him a pained look. “Pardon me if I have offended you, Fitzwilliam. Actually, it never occurred to me that you would object until you arrived so fierce and severe. Then, I own, I did begin to worry Miss Bingley and Jane might be right.”
“They told you I would be displeased?”
She grimaced and nodded. He felt his lip curl into a snarl at the unpardonable audacity of both Bingley women.
“I would not usually have paid the slightest bit of notice to Miss Bingley’s disapproval,” Elizabeth continued. “But Jane’s was harder to overlook.”
Darcy chose his words carefully, for his opinion of Jane Bingley had never tallied well with Elizabeth’s.
“Much though I respect her, your sister is in no position to judge what will please me. And if she believes that showing compassion to my tenants will not, then she has greatly underestimated the value I place in you.”
“Mayhap she is an imposter, and my Jane is still at Longbourn. Either way, I do not think I shall be sharing any confidences with her on—my goodness, look at the river!”
They had reached the Rush. Darcy did not look but instead lifted her onto his horse, swung up behind her and nudged the animal forward.
“It is grown so fierce!” she exclaimed, leaning forward in the saddle and peering over the horse’s withers into the water. “It was not like this when I crossed with Bess. Look!”
“I have seen it,” Darcy replied, pulling her back and pinning her firmly against his chest. “I spent a good while looking in it for you on my last crossing.”
For several heartbeats, she made no reply and sat very still and very quiet in his arms. Too still and too quiet by far, in fact. He was unsurprised that, when she spoke, it was to tease him.
“You truly do have a penchant for the dramatic, do you not? You are always determined to think me injured—or dead!”
He held his tongue, glad she could not see his chagrined expression.
She was perfectly right, of course, but the woman already knew she divested him of all reason and was heartless to cavil so.
She said nothing more, though the look she gave him as he reached to lift her down on the opposite bank left him in no doubt of her vast amusement.
“Besides,” she said as he set her on her feet, “if you recall, you did not give me leave to die again.”
Her grin promptly disappeared, and she proceeded to fulfil all his fears by taking one step and slipping on the muddy ground, stumbling directly towards the river.
He tugged her sharply back towards him, but doing so lost him his own footing, and he skidded into his horse, off whose meaty shoulder he rebounded, colliding forcefully with Elizabeth before sailing past her to land unceremoniously on his seat in the mud.
If her hilarity was aught to go by, this was possibly the most diverting thing Elizabeth had ever witnessed.
She laughed the sort of laugh that made no sound for want of air in the lungs, and tears streamed down her face.
There was nothing to be done but fold his arms resignedly over his knees and watch his beautiful, vivacious wife slip and skate about on the muddy riverbank until she exhausted her mirth.
When, after several moments, she did not look as though she would, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down into his lap, putting an end to her laughter by commandeering her mouth for his own purpose.
They walked home hand in hand with the sun hot on their backs once more, delivering his horse to the stables and stealing into the house through a side door.
Not ready for their adventure to end, Darcy pulled her into an alcove and indulged in another leisurely kiss.
It rapidly grew less leisurely, and he transferred his attentions along her jaw and down her neck.
She made a little noise of pleasure in her throat that he felt on his lips and that was that.
How the woman did what she did to him he would never know, but he was instantly aching for her.
“Think you we could sneak upstairs unnoticed?”
“You certainly ought to try before Miss Bingley sees the state of you,” she whispered. “She would not approve of all that mud.”
“When did you begin to care for Miss Bingley’s opinion?”
“She has so many. They are difficult to avoid.”
He would have laughed were he not so aroused. Instead, her wit made him want her more, which meant his thoughts had taken on a decidedly lascivious hue by the time she added, “Just this morning I heard her say that I am beneath you.”
His nostrils flared. “That is where I prefer to have you.”
He savoured the look that earned him, but their interlude was not to last. A door banged open a short distance away, and a footman hurried out of the passage from the kitchen.
After him wafted the distinct aroma of cooking, and that was enough to turn Elizabeth’s fragile stomach.
She groaned and clasped a hand over her mouth, mumbling an apology through her fingers.
“Go! Get thee upstairs,” he whispered, nudging her in that direction. “I shall see to our guests.”
She nodded and disappeared around the corner at a pace. A heartbeat later, Bingley came around the same corner, his face overspread with concern.
“Darcy, you are returned.”
“We are.”
“Good. And, is everything—is Lizzy well?”
“She is, thank you.”
“You are certain? For I just saw her, and I must say she seemed rather distressed.”
Conscious of Elizabeth’s wish for discretion, Darcy dissembled with a vague reference to her being tired after such a long walk.
“She is not ill after being out in the rain, I hope,” Bingley persisted, frowning. “She looked uncommonly pale.”
“She was not caught in the rain.” She is with child—my child!
he wished to say, and though he did not, he found himself hard-pressed to keep the exultant grin from his face.
“Mayhap, the Derbyshire air does not agree with her. No doubt she will become accustomed to it in time. Or learn not to walk so far in it. Stop fussing,” he added when Bingley looked as though he would object.
“Elizabeth is perfectly well. She has only gone upstairs to change. As must I, now I have informed you of our return. Pray, excuse me.”
“Good God, what happened to you?” Bingley exclaimed as Darcy passed him by, apparently noticing his muddied apparel for the first time.
“Elizabeth happened!” he replied over his shoulder. “I tell you, Bingley, no one else’s wife seems to give them this much bother!”
Sunday 6 September 1812, Derbyshire
Bingley rose with the rest of the congregation, and since Darcy and Elizabeth had moved forward to speak to the rector, he offered Miss Darcy his arm and walked with her out of the church.
Their party numbered only four. Mrs Annesley, he was told, had gone to visit a friend.
Jane and Caroline had both cried off altogether, the former claiming to be indisposed and the latter making no claims at all, only failing to appear downstairs in time to join them.
Darcy had been in no humour to wait, and Bingley strongly suspected both his friend and his sister were still brooding over their exchange at dinner the previous evening.
He had little sympathy for Caroline. She really ought to have known better than to gainsay the Titan at his own table, but she would persist with her remarks on outmoded country town practices long after he decreed the matter of Elizabeth’s escapades closed to further discussion.
Darcy’s rejoinder that Caroline would be well placed to learn some country town humility whilst staying at Netherfield had silenced the table for a full ten minutes afterwards.
His disinclination to discuss Elizabeth’s kindness towards the little tenant girl troubled Bingley greatly.
It seemed Jane and Caroline had been correct.
He disapproved of her conduct. In an attempt to allay his concerns, Bingley had ventured to make some discreet enquiries.
They had brought him little in the way of encouragement.
Caroline had vigorously averred that Darcy’s dissembling was due to shame.