Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jane and Bingley spent many days at what would soon be their estate, and on one such day, Darcy and Elizabeth took advantage of the fine weather to take a long ride out to one of the farther vistas overlooking some of the rocky crags that defined Derbyshire.
They were rather indolent, resting next to a charming little stream that bubbled obligingly.
The air was a nearly perfect temperature, the sky was brightly blue, and the sun warmed them into a state of superb laziness.
Darcy lay on his side, reading to her from a book of poetry, but she scarcely heard him as she was lost in thought.
She was disappointed in herself. Since her confession to his sleeping form, she had not yet acquired sufficient courage to admit the truth to his conscious person.
She wanted to badly, and she often woke in the morning telling herself she would do it that day.
Various things would happen to prevent her: a servant or sister would enter the room, Henry would require their attention, dinner would be called, or Darcy would fall asleep.
There was always some excuse though she suspected that the true culprit was fear.
It seemed silly to lack the courage to tell a man she loved him, particularly as that man was so free in his expression of love for her.
Earlier that day, she went to look at Darcy’s portrait.
Unlike Henry’s, Darcy’s was completed after he became of age, and although young, one could already see in his bearing the man he would become: honourable and dutiful with a capacity for deep attachment and love.
Her heart had pounded as she looked at it, thinking, this is the man who loves me, who chose me and pledged himself to me.
It astonished her and gave her a queer sense of unworthiness.
Something in her could not apprehend how she had inspired ardent emotion in such a man.
The same queer sense stole over her now as she watched him read aloud. He paused, glancing up to catch her gaze with just the barest lift of the side of his mouth. “You are miles away.”
“You are making me fall in love with you,” she said quietly, running her fingers across the side of his face.
He made a little joke of it. “Truly? This is an extraordinary book then.”
She smiled and shook her head slightly. “No, it is not the book.”
He grew serious. “You need not dissemble, Elizabeth. I am happy; I am content with what I have.”
“I mean it with all my heart.” His face did not change, but she saw the warmth of true joy come into his eyes. She stretched out alongside him, propped on one elbow as he was. “Promise me you will not die. I could not bear to lose you.”
“You have my word,” he whispered, deeply moved. He pulled her close, kissing her cheek tenderly. “Do you have any notion of how very much I love you?”
“Yes, I have known for some time,” she whispered back. “But I am ashamed it has taken me so long to tell you that I love you.” She then kissed him deeply, pouring her heart and soul into showing him the depth of her feeling.
They kissed and caressed until it could be withstood no more, and they beat a hasty retreat to the house.
They arrived in their chambers breathless, warm, and eager to resume their activities. They enjoyed removing one another’s clothing, kissing and caressing as they went, and then Darcy, as was his custom, insisted on freeing her hair.
When her tresses had fallen about her, he lifted her, taking her to the bed and laying her down gently on the mattress. He took his place next to her and leant to kiss her, but she stopped him. Looking into his eyes, she said, “I love you, Fitzwilliam. I do, truly I do. I love you.”
He kissed her tenderly, promising, “I shall love you forever.”
She whispered, “I am glad, so very glad, to have the opportunity to love you. I realised at Warrington Castle that, for the first time, I did not wish to go back. Although I still feel some guilt for it, I know it is this life and this love I was meant for. I love you with my whole heart.”
Darcy said nothing in response to her declaration, but his eyes did not leave hers. They were lost in a gaze for several moments until he pulled her down against his chest. She cuddled into him, feeling the powerful beat of his heart against her and wished the moment would last for an eternity.
As September reached its end, the Darcys arranged to return to London. Viscount Saye had proposed to Miss Redgrave in May, and their wedding date was set for early October.
Darcy asked Elizabeth whether she wished to remain in town for some weeks to visit the theatre and shops. She agreed, planning to see her family as well. They would return to Pemberley at the beginning of December, the same time Jane and Bingley would take possession of their new home.
Georgiana considered remaining at Pemberley with Mrs Younge, but in the end, decided to go to town with her brother and sister. “After all,” she told her companion, “it might be nice to see a play or two and do a bit of shopping.”
Mrs Younge smiled knowingly. “And perhaps see an old friend?”
She frowned. Witnessing the good manners and behaviour of Elizabeth and her sister had made Georgiana wish to be more like them.
It could not be denied that both Mr Bingley and her brother were utterly enraptured by their wives.
She hoped that someday she too would have a man who would hold her in such esteem, and she knew that such sentiment could not be easily won.
She also realised George Wickham was not that man. Certainly, George was charming and handsome, but to have any sort of relationship with him would mean to cast off her family and friends. She did not want that—not for George Wickham, not for any man.
“Mr Wickham is an amiable gentleman, but I…my brother and sister would not approve if they knew. I should, perhaps, tell them, but it might be better to simply end the acquaintance.”
Mrs Younge did not reply for a moment, her attention ostensibly on the table in front of her where she organised Georgiana’s lessons.
“I want them to trust me,” Georgiana added. “If I make them unhappy, they will be angry and disappointed, and I shall be a child again, alone in my room while they enjoy themselves. I do not want that.”
She closed the case she had been packing, which contained her books for the carriage ride. With resolve, she said, “If George Wickham should call again, pray tell him he should not come around.”
“That seems a bit unfair, my dear.” Mrs Younge looked up from her papers, her lips pursed into a prim frown. “Do you not think you should see him and explain your wishes? It seems rather unkind to cut the connexion with no explanation whatsoever.”
Georgiana thought about it. “Very well. If he calls again, I shall see him just once more.”
The trip to London was uneventful, and on the first day of their return, Mrs Younge hurried towards a much-needed meeting.
The tavern was in the worst section of town but Mrs Younge scarcely noticed.
She hurried through the crowded, dirty streets with nary a look about her, her thoughts and fears on only one subject.
She found Wickham where he usually was: at a game table in the back of the public house with a loser’s scowl on his face and a publican at his shoulder holding an unpaid bill in his hand.
She gave the publican enough coins to satisfy him and then leant in to George. “We must talk—now.” Wickham immediately made his excuses to his fellow gamblers and followed her out of the tavern and into a deserted alley where they could speak freely.
“I thought you were in Derbyshire.”
“Mr Darcy needed to return to town for a short time, and this is your chance. Do not waste it.”
“I shall call on her tomorrow.” Wickham was casual—too casual and too confident—leaning back against a wall with great ease.
“She intends to turn you away.” Mrs Younge began to pace. “You are running out of time, and I begin to doubt your commitment to this plan.”
“Doubt my commitment?” Wickham laughed mirthlessly. “Need I remind you which of us has a death warrant over his head?”
“Then enough of your stupid plan of seduction,” Mrs Younge spat. “Finish it, now, before she stops seeing you—and then where shall we be?”
“Darcy is always around these days,” Wickham complained. “It is difficult to sneak in when he and that wife of his are about.”
“Mrs Darcy has devoted herself to her new sister and encourages her husband to do likewise. If the servants are to be believed, he dotes on Miss Darcy more than ever.”
“I need to know when they will be out: an evening engagement, preferably one with late hours. I shall visit her and—”
“And what? Flirt some more? You have accomplished nothing with that.”
Wickham flushed. “I had hoped she would think herself in love.”
“Listen to me,” Mrs Younge hissed. “I shall get you in and then you will do whatever is necessary. Take what you need to make this marriage an undeniable thing. Mr Darcy will only grant you her hand if he believes he must.”
“Give me the date, and it will be done.”