Chapter 10
If Darcy disliked anything more than a ball, it was the flurry of activity leading up to one.
He didn’t care to think himself a creature of habit—but he did have a strong preference for quiet and order.
His patience was sorely tried by the noise: staff scurrying about, tradespeople delivering their wares, the squeal of feminine voices at each addition to the décor.
If Bingley were like most gentlemen, he would let Caroline oversee the preparations. But Bingley was determined that every detail should be perfect for his betrothed.
Yet Darcy could hardly go to Longbourn without his friend. He was stuck at Netherfield through the long hours of the day—until Bingley consented to let the staff carry out his orders unsupervised.
Not that the visits to Longbourn put Darcy in a better mood. Elizabeth was ebulliently happy, though it seemed to have nothing to do with him. A quiet contentment had settled over her since her sister’s engagement.
Elizabeth no longer seemed wary around him. She accepted his company with grace and civility. Yet she didn’t seek him out during his visits. Nor did she encourage his attentions.
It was an improvement. But their relationship was progressing far slower than he would have liked.
At least now, he had time. The union between Jane and Bingley meant Elizabeth would be a fixture in his life. He could court her slowly, if that pace pleased her.
It did not, however, please him. Whenever they were together, he ached with desire for her and burned at the memory of their kiss.
One afternoon, he was walking in the garden at Longbourn with Elizabeth on his arm. The trees were in their full autumn finery, orange and red and gold blazing against the deep azure sky. The sweet chirping of robins filled the air.
Darcy and Elizabeth circled the garden together, their silence companionable. Yet he felt a dolt—there were a thousand things he wanted to tell her. Surely the two of them were beyond the small talk stage now. She knew about Georgiana’s near elopement—his deepest secret. He could be open with her.
“Have you ever been to Derbyshire?” he asked. He nearly blurted the words. As soon as he’d spoken them, he wished he could unsay them. For as innocuous as they sounded, he understood what they implied.
Come to Derbyshire with me, be my bride, let us have a dozen children together…
But he could not pull back the words. He must let the conversation progress, and take care not to say anything stupid.
“I have not been so fortunate,” she answered. “My aunt Gardiner lived in Derbyshire for a time, though. She says it’s the most beautiful county in England.”
“I’m biased,” he said, “but I must agree with her. The peaks give it a majesty that’s missing in the south. And they afford spectacular vistas. If you ever travel there, I’d be happy for you to visit Pemberley. Georgiana is at an age now where she can serve as hostess.”
Elizabeth gave him a sly smile. “I confess, I’m curious to see Pemberley. Is it very grand?”
“I suppose it is, to those seeing it for the first time. To me, it’s just home.” His face heated. “I apologise if that sounded boastful.”
“Not at all. I’m picturing you as a boy—running through the great galleries, engaged in mock sword fights with your cousins.”
He chuckled. “That’s not an inaccurate picture. In my childhood memories, Pemberley is full of people. My uncle’s seat at Amber Glen is less than an hour’s distance away. My cousins were always visiting us, or we them.”
Emotion gathered in his throat, and he worked to tamp it down. “Now my cousins have all scattered, and are living their own lives. When Georgiana and I are the only ones in residence, Pemberley can be unbearably quiet.”
Elizabeth nodded pensively. “And so you accompany Bingley, or he accompanies you.”
“There’s no such thing as silence when Bingley is around.”
She smiled, and her eyes sparkled. His heart melted at the sight. Having her at his side felt right, as if they were destined for one another. But how to convince her of that?
She stopped for a moment and slipped from his arm. She approached a rose bush dotted with a late scattering of blooms. Raising one to her nose, she inhaled the fragrance. The pink of the petals reflected on her face, lending a pretty blush to her cheek.
Realisation thundered through him. If he wanted to court her, he ought to send her flowers. It was the most obvious thing in the world, yet it hadn’t occurred to him.
He was rubbish at this.
Flowers were an announcement. They weren’t a dalliance behind closed doors, but an open declaration in front of her family.
Besides, he loved the thought of Elizabeth surrounded by fresh flowers. He would see that she had them every day for the rest of her life.
And with that thought came a vision of rose petals scattered on sheets. Elizabeth splayed across them, her hair undone and spilling over the pillow. He wanted her in every way a man could have a woman.
“Are roses your favourite flower?” he asked.
She tilted her head, apparently considering the question. “I can’t say I have a favourite. Roses are one, to be sure. Also lilies and irises, and the tall spires of foxgloves. But I also love the patches of primroses that dot the pathways in spring, a sure sign that winter is over.”
He stepped closer. The desire to touch her was irresistible. So he took off his glove and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. A shiver ran through her and then him, like an electric circuit.
“The roses are more beautiful with you beside them,” he said. He wanted to kiss her but did not. He would take no more liberties until they were betrothed.
But to his surprise, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips to his.
The sensation lasted only a moment. Then, she pulled away and turned down the path, out from the cover afforded them by the rose bushes.
He stumbled after her, astonished, but they soon joined the others.
No words passed between them about the kiss. But Darcy’s heart sang.
∞∞∞
Lizzy sat at her vanity readying herself for the engagement ball.
Her gown was pale cerulean threaded through with silver.
Her hair was gathered into a knot at her crown.
Ringlets of curls hung down and framed her face.
Pearl earbobs shimmered in the candlelight, and a plain silver cross hung from a chain about her neck.
A tiny vase of lilies-of-the-valley sat in the corner of the vanity, fragrancing the air. They normally bloomed in the spring—these must have been forced to bloom out of season in a greenhouse.
Darcy had taken her words to heart. Sometimes he sent her bouquets of showy flowers. Other times he sent the tinier and more delicate ones that brought a quiet joy to her breast.
He was courting her. She could no longer deny it. Even her mother had remarked on it.
“Lizzy, what is this?” Mrs. Bennet had asked.
“That disagreeable Mr. Darcy is sending you flowers? Well, I suppose it would be a fine thing, to be married to a man with ten thousand a year. And with a house as large as Pemberley is said to be, you would hardly have to see each other. I know it’s tempting to refuse him, but think!
Jewels and carriages and the finest clothes you can imagine.
And he is friends with our dear Bingley.
You and Jane would be together as often as if you still lived in the same house.
I know girls these days have silly notions about love.
But it’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor one. ”
And then she went back to talking with Kitty and Lydia about the latest style of bonnets.
Lizzy didn’t know what had possessed her that day in the garden, when she and Darcy had been talking about flowers. Darcy’s skin on hers had set her aflame, so she’d kissed him. She hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t considered the consequences. Her body had simply taken what it wanted.
And ever since, he’d sent her the sweetest bouquets. She wouldn’t think about what that signified. Courtship didn’t mean he was ready to offer for her. She would take one day at a time, and see what happened.
Yet as she readied herself on this momentous night in her sister’s life, she couldn’t help wondering. Might it be momentous in hers as well? If Darcy was thinking about marriage…
He wasn’t the man she’d originally thought him. But she still hadn’t deciphered his true nature. She’d distrusted him from the beginning, and that was difficult to overcome.
Moreover, in her mind, she couldn’t separate him from his wealth. It was desperately unfair. He’d said himself, women pursued him for his money. It made him feel dehumanised. Lizzy wouldn’t do that to him.
But what did she know of him? He adored his sister. He was devoted to Bingley. He missed having a houseful of children at Pemberley.
He was intelligent and a little shy. He disliked dancing. He was an excellent conversationalist once he came to know you—kind and straightforward and wry.
But the key question—one whose answer she hadn’t yet discerned—was what he envisioned in a marriage. Lizzy’s father believed she could manage an estate the size of Longbourn, even without a husband.
Lizzy wouldn’t be a meek wife, content to run the household and accede to her husband’s whims. She wanted a say. She wanted full knowledge of their finances—of the concerns of their tenants—of the improvements made to the lands.
Could Darcy be happy with such a woman? He didn’t seem cruel or despotic, but that didn’t mean he would treat her as an equal. She must endeavour to find out.
As she dabbed a bit of perfume on her wrists and throat, the heat of her skin released the scent of sweet violets. She rose and gazed into the full-length mirror, satisfied with what she saw. She was ready for this night—whatever it brought.
∞∞∞