Chapter Nineteen #5
“I would have preferred you to see it all lit up,” he whispered.
Only a few of the lanterns had been lit, and several large taper candles arranged on a credenza, but it was enough for Marianne to scan the cavernous dark of the room and imagine it filled with such elysian beauty.
“It is the most magnificent thing I have ever seen,” she breathed. “Like something from a fairy story.”
“Just as you imagined, I hope,” Mr. Bingley replied.
Marianne felt a slight tug at her garment, and realized that Mr. Bingley had begun fidgeting with a ribbon that hung from the back of her gown. She smiled so widely her eyes crinkled shut. “When I spoke of how a ball outdoors would be infinitely better….”
“Exactly – I knew it was just what I should like, though I thought chiefly of what would make you happy. I did it for you.”
Marianne’s heart swelled with elation as she tore her gaze from the splendor around her and looked up at Mr. Bingley. He moved a little closer. “Do you approve of it?”
“I love it!” She bounced on her toes in excitement, and swayed a little; Mr. Bingley instantly reached out to steady her.
And then they heard noise in the next room. “Who’s there?”
They both glanced back at the door, which had been left slightly open.
Mr. Bingley reached up and swiftly grazed his fingers against the hanging lanterns, which all trembled and extinguished at his touch.
In a fluid motion, he doffed his coat and arced it toward the credenza, fanning out the flames of the remaining candles.
As they were plunged into darkness once more, his hand briefly rested on her elbow, before his fingers slid down her forearm to clasp her hand. And then he was leading her hastily into the concealment afforded by one of the large marble pillars placed near the corners of the room.
Their bodies collided as they came to a halt behind the pillar, and Mr. Bingley remained huddled close to Marianne as he peered past her, peeking into the dark room.
A dim orange light grew closer, and then the hinges creaked.
Marianne knew she was in no great danger, beyond being discovered by a servant, but still she trembled.
Mr. Bingley drew back enough to rest his coat about her shoulders, and then he pulled them both further into the recessed darkness. “If anyone’s up to some mischief… well, you had better not be!”
Marianne recognized the voice of the housekeeper Mrs. Nicholls, perhaps the least imposing woman she had ever met. She brought the lapel of Mr. Bingley’s coat onto her face to muffle her laughter. Beside her, Mr. Bingley also shuddered with the effort of concealing his mirth.
Another voice joined the kindly old lady’s; the butler Mr. Templeton had joined the housekeeper, grumbling something Marianne could not make out.
The pair seemed determined to wait out the miscreants they hoped to catch, though they stepped only a few paces into the room, and their lantern shed no light on the two young people who were nearly clinging to one another from amusement.
Marianne had never been so close to a man, not even Willoughby.
She felt warm and giddy, and might have been content to linger there even after the orange glow began to recede.
His breath was warm on her neck, and Marianne knew that if she turned her face, it would touch his; whether it was the brandy or some irrepressibly wicked impulse, she did just that.
Her cheek brushed his and he went utterly still beside her.
She hesitated, some distant voice in her mind recalling her to sanity and propriety, but then another slight shift brought her lips to his.
Mr. Bingley instantly withdrew. “I cannot… not like this,” he said in a strangled voice.
Marianne pressed her eyes closed and let out a shaky breath, silently cursing her own foolishness.
The voices and candlelight were now gone, and in the moonlight she saw him step out from behind the pillar.
Her eyes pricked with tears of mortification, but he extended a hand to her, beckoning her to come out of hiding.
“I think it is safe, but you had better go back to your room, alone. There is another door – I will go that way.”
Marianne nodded. She took a step away from him, and her fingers began to slide from his grasp when he tightened his hand around hers.
He tugged her toward him, and she spun as he drew her close, his other arm encircling her waist. His hands traveled up her back, tangling into her hair as he kissed her, and her own arms wound around his neck by force of instinct.
His lips moved against hers, and then his tongue grazed the corner of her mouth in the most blissful moment of her life, though it was over far too soon.
He held her against him as he drew in a deep breath.
“I had imagined something like that,” he whispered in a dazed voice, before brushing his lips against hers once more, a gentle and fleeting motion.
Marianne hummed in contentment before she slowly took a step back, again clinging to some shred of good sense. “I should go to bed,” she murmured.
Mr. Bingley pressed her hand in his own before releasing it, and she hastened toward the door. She stopped and leaned against the doorjamb for a moment, staring back at his silhouette in the moonlit ballroom. He extended a hand to her once more, then turned and retreated into the darkness.