Chapter 1 Stalemate #2
She was not surprised. The two cousins were not only family but close friends. Her husband thought the world of his older, battle-worn relation and often spoke about the honour and prowess the colonel had exhibited on the battlefield.
Elizabeth liked Colonel Fitzwilliam well enough. He was an excellent conversationalist, but she did not worship the ground he walked upon, as her husband did. Their acquaintance was of much shorter duration, though. Perhaps a more profound fondness would grow with time and familiarity.
Elizabeth sighed in defeat. The gentlemen must be lingering in the billiard room, which was on the floor below, on the opposite side of the main staircase.
She was not about to venture that far in her nightgown and robe, not when Fitzwilliam was busy entertaining his guest. She might as well find herself something to read while she had the luxury of so many books to choose from.
The gentlemen might revel into the early hours of the morning, if the humorous tales her husband told were true.
She drifted about the room, perusing the shelves, searching for something to distract her. Preferably a tome of something utterly dull to lull her to sleep, like geography or crop rotation.
Raising her candle to read the spines, she recognised the section containing novels, which was not what she wanted.
Venturing deeper into the room, she cursed her neglect in not taking the time to familiarise herself with the layout of the library; she had found scarcely any spare time between taking on her household duties and the pleasures of her husband’s attentions.
Finally, she found the shelf she had been looking for.
A volume on the history of tapestries looked tedious enough to have the desired effect, as well as practical knowledge for an estate owner’s wife.
She tried to ease the volume from its cramped position, but the stubborn book would not budge.
It was wedged between the many other historical tomes her husband and his ancestors had collected.
She put her candle on a side-table to free both hands to pull out the confined book whilst preventing its neighbours from following in its wake.
A warm breath on her neck made her quiver with pleasure.
She loved it when her husband kissed her neck until she grew breathless and needy.
His hands slid around her waist and trailed upwards, creating a strange sensation through the multiple layers of clothing.
She preferred his hands roaming without the cumbersome fabric obstructing the delicious sensations tingling all over her skin, now that she had become familiar with the notion.
His lips trailed across her neck until her breathing became laboured. This is not the time nor the place. I should stop him before it gets out of hand. There is, however, no doubt that I have married a passionate man.
“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered to deter him as light suddenly flooded the room.
Drat. It was probably a footman who had noticed the faint light in the library.
The servants of Pemberley were diligent in their work.
She could not tell which of them it was until he lowered the lamp and allowed her to see his face.
Fitzwilliam released her, and she was launched forwards by his abruptness. She regained her footing and avoided crashing into the bookshelf before she turned her head towards the door.
“Richard! I have found the last bottle of…what the devil is this?”
Mr Darcy’s voice spoke from the threshold, but that was not possible.
Horror flooded her veins, and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she could barely hear her own gasp.
She whirled round and looked straight into the colonel’s amused countenance.
Her head whipped back towards the door while she backed herself into the bookshelf.
Her husband approached in long strides, and the rage suffusing his features made the hair on the back of her neck rise.
“It is not what it seems…” Elizabeth hastened to say.
“What? Am I blind or asleep? Walking about in a terrifying dream?” Mr Darcy spat.
“I thought he was you!” Elizabeth explained. “He came upon me from behind and acted as you would.”
That tidbit of information did nothing to appease her husband’s anger. His eyes narrowed into thin slits whilst his lips curled in disgust. She glanced at the colonel, who should, if he was an honourable gentleman, confirm her rendition of the event, but he remained silent.
“Fitzwilliam happens to be both our names, if Christian and surnames are comparable, but the similarities end there. How could you? How could either of you betray me like this?” Mr Darcy’s glare shifted between them.
“Especially you, Elizabeth! Pretending to be affronted when the colonel wanted to address you by your Christian name whilst not minding giving him your most intimate favours. What a fool I have been!”
“You are no fool, Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth denied vehemently. “Please believe me, I swear to God I thought he was you. It was too dark to see. My candle was on the table beside me, and you often approach me from behind to kiss my neck…”
Elizabeth now understood what it was really like to be regarded with utter contempt by Mr Darcy. The looks he had sent her during their previous dealings in Meryton and Kent were nothing compared to the cold blackness he directed at her now. Not a shred of warmth remained.
Mr Darcy turned his forbidding gaze towards his cousin, who leapt at the opportunity to defend himself—by defaming Elizabeth.
“She is as wanton as you described her, Darcy. Ready and willing at all times.”
Elizabeth balked at the derogatory and utterly false depiction of herself. She stared at her husband, who said nothing to contradict the colonel, who had not finished.
“Do not look at me like that. I am three inches shorter than you, and my hands are half the size of yours. Even if I had not made myself known when Elizabeth entered, she must have noticed the difference. You know how she flirted with me at Rosings, sought me out at every gathering, and hung on every word I uttered. I thought I should give her a test, which she obviously failed miserably.”
“Excuse me!” Elizabeth cried in outrage, but the gentlemen did not acknowledge her.
“Is it not better you discovered her duplicity late rather than never, Cousin? We Fitzwilliams look out for each other. Would you truly rather not have known?” The colonel walked over to Mr Darcy and swatted him jovially on the shoulder.
Elizabeth would have liked to smack the colonel with something hard, preferably over the head. Instead, she clenched her fists until her knuckles ached. Mr Darcy would surely see through his cousin’s flagrant despicable lies. He had to!
“Good riddance, I would say.” The colonel smirked at Elizabeth, who felt like a combination of a skittish foal and an enraged dog.
“I would have preferred to have known before I married the treacherous woman, Cousin,” Mr Darcy sneered, not taking his eyes off her.
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy glared at each other, head-to-head in a battle of wills. Elizabeth afforded her husband ten seconds to come to his senses, never shrinking from the scowl he bestowed upon her, but he remained in silent concord with his cousin.
“You must be drunk, both of you!” Elizabeth scoffed.
“How many tumblers of brandy have you had?” She could not believe her eyes or her ears.
Nothing made sense except for Mr Darcy’s anger.
She could well imagine how the scene must have appeared to him, but surely, once his temper had calmed, he would see reason.
“Not enough, obviously,” her husband replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You should know enough of my frankness to realise I would not lie to you,” Elizabeth said in an attempt to remind him of their previous dealings. Unfortunately, that did not have the desired effect.
“Yes, I know your frank opinions of me well enough, madam, and can only regret being taken for a fool. I. Want. You. Gone. Both of you!”
“Gone?” Elizabeth whispered. Dread filled her chest to the detriment of her ability to draw breath. “Why?” she asked, bewildered. Her precarious position had yet to penetrate her addled mind.
“Because I cannot stand the sight of either of you. Should I never lay eyes upon you again, it will be too soon. Get out of my house!” Mr Darcy roared at the top of his lungs.
His anger was by no means abating, yet he could not truly mean to throw her out of the house. She must apply to his rationality and so modulated her voice to the appearance of calm.
“It is the dead of night in the middle of winter, Mr Darcy. Are you throwing me out into the cold wearing nothing but a nightgown and robe?”
Mr Darcy raked his eyes over her informal attire.
“You should have thought about that before engaging in a liaison with my cousin in my library.”
She had tried to no avail to defend herself. Neither her explanation nor her reasoning had made any difference; charity was her last resort.
“You want me to freeze to death?” she asked weakly.
Mr Darcy frowned. At last she had penetrated his anger and resentment.
“Scurry up to your room and change into something warm, then you may leave. I shall give you fifteen minutes. If you are not out of the door in the allotted time, I shall throw you out in whatever you are wearing. So, I would make haste if I were you.”
The colonel had been suspiciously quiet during this last conversation.
He looked shocked, but Elizabeth assumed he could not be as stunned as she was.
What could have possessed him? It was as if he wanted to be caught, relying on his long-standing relationship with her husband to secure him forgiveness for his transgressions.
“You too, Colonel Fitzwilliam. You need not darken my door again either.”