Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (36 page)

“Much appreciated.”

“Furthermore, I will ensure my
wedding guests return to London. Your guests are up to you to manage.”

Bingley nodded, his eyes forward on
the trail as they had been all through the short exchange, as were Darcy’s
eyes. And that was the end of the discussion touching on sleeping arrangements
with their new brides.

Darcy was unsure how comfortable
Bingley might normally be in openly talking about matters of sexuality. The
reason for his lacking knowledge on Bingley’s attitude toward the topic was
Darcy’s reticence when it came to divulging private thoughts. Intimacy was not
the only personal topic Darcy hesitated to speak of, but was the last area he
would ever willingly blather about. Thus, if Bingley were the type to engage in
ribald humor or bragging about conquests—and Darcy doubted Bingley
was—he would have to do it with another man.

Some said that airing one’s
thoughts or feelings with another person, even a stranger, could alleviate
one’s angst. To Darcy, the concept of talking to a stranger about a personal
topic was unfathomable, but on a handful of instances, he had gained relief or
perspective by sharing with his father, cousin Richard, or other close friends.
Daily his assurance grew that Elizabeth would be a truly complete confidante in
time. He longed for this more than he had previously imagined he would with a
wife. Furthermore, he was surprised to recognize how fervently he prayed for
their communion to include candor in the bedroom.

Anticipating such a future was
glorious. In the present, he needed to maintain a tight rein on his passions.
Chatting with Bingley, or anyone, about male-female intimacy would surely be
counterproductive. It was also best to approach the honeymoon with a focus on
the logistical aspects, rather than solely the privacy of the inn or size of
the bed.

Keeping the finer details secret
from Elizabeth helped maintain his self-restraint and sanity. Plus, it was fun,
as he discovered that afternoon when the couples enjoyed their habitual
afternoon stroll.

“Papa tells me you plan to abscond
with your new wife seconds after I recite my vows.”

“Not quite.” Darcy contested,
frowning. Briefly he wondered why he bothered to speak privately with Mr.
Bennet at all when the older gentleman apparently enlightened Elizabeth anyway.

“Then I shall be allowed to eat
first? That is a relief! I would hate to be famished to the point of fainting
from lacking energy minutes after we arrive at our destination.”

Elizabeth’s arch tone and smirk
tied his tongue for a couple seconds. God knows he could imagine nothing worse
than her weak or sleepy on their wedding night! Did she seriously fear the
same? And if she was referring specifically to intimacy, could he resist the
sudden urge to lower her to the grassy ground beside the trail, crush his body
over hers, and kiss until they were forced apart to breathe?

Speaking despite the tightness in
his chest and throat, Darcy charged, “If Mr. Bennet said I wished to depart
seconds after the wedding, he was exaggerating my words for humorous effect.”

“Shocking! I cannot envision Papa
ever doing such a thing!”

“Indeed, quite a surprise.” He
matched her feigned amazement, and then they both laughed. Less tense after a
joke, Darcy assured, “What I did say is that we would leave after the wedding
breakfast and a reasonable time for congratulations and farewells.”

“So by this vague statement I can
deduce we are not spending our wedding night at Netherfield?”

“You are remarkably astute, Miss
Elizabeth.” He squeezed her arm and grinned.

“Thank you. I try to keep my
brilliance in check so as not to astonish too greatly. So, are we heading in a
northerly or southerly direction?”

“One of those two, yes. With
perhaps a bit of east or west added in.”

“That narrows it down
considerably!”

“If I give too much away, your
astounding brilliance will be left unchallenged. I would hate to be the bringer
of such disappointment.”

At that, she playfully punched him
in the arm. “I am getting the distinct impression you mean to keep our
honeymoon a surprise.”

“I shall repeat: you are remarkably
astute.”

Further cajoling was answered with
similar evasiveness. Darcy enjoyed the game that would continue to be played up
to the minute they entered the carriage on their wedding afternoon. Elizabeth’s
liveliness and love of laughter frequently provided the diversion necessary
when his love, or frank lust, threatened to get the better of him—when,
that is, her utter adorableness was not enhancing his passion. Truthfully, as
marvelous as it was to be with her, Darcy struggled daily against the
tightening coil of wanting her. Not much he could do to rectify the matter
other than pray for time to speed by and God to grant him superhuman control.

* *
*

The night before the fox hunt
passed in much the same way as every night had during the week since Mr.
Darcy’s return from London. With Caroline Bingley gone and most of the citizens
of Meryton and the nearby communities already acquainted with Mr. Darcy and Mr.
Bingley—the news of the Bennet daughter’s joint engagement not the prime
topic of gossip anymore—dinner was enjoyed at Longbourn with only the
Bennet family.

Mr. Darcy assured Lizzy that dining
in a semiformal manner with cuisine flavorful if simple in preparation was
satisfying, and no longer quite as strange and discomfiting as initially. She
felt she knew him adequately to believe his claim. He certainly ate heartily.
Lizzy was amazed that a man who dined delicately with regulated pacing could ingest
so much food. The relaxed manner of conversation the Bennet family enjoyed
while eating would likely never be his preference. Lizzy accepted this as one
example of how different their upbringings. Since she would soon be leaving her
home for Pemberley, learning to dwell in his world meant dining in a higher
style, among many other things. Until then, it was a relief to witness her
betrothed loosen enough to intermittently engage in light banter and not appear
continually startled by the rambling flow of conversation.

After dinner, the couples strolled
outside as they typically did. Kitty joined them with her puppy, the small
animal impervious to the chilly air as he dashed from person to person. His
tail wagged in a blur of motion and yips were ongoing unless he paused for a
welcome pet or was stifled by a stick in his mouth. The latter was tossed by
whomever he ran to, including Mr. Darcy. Lizzy marveled at his overt pleasure
in interacting with the dog he had paid scant attention to thus far.

“I did not suspect you were one to
cavort with dogs, William. Do you have pets at Pemberley?”

“Not pets precisely.” He threw the
slimy stick into the darkness, smiling as the puppy launched bravely into the
shadows. “My mother had a corgi when I was young. She was a gift from Lady
Catherine, who has several of them. She lived to a ripe age. The corgi, that
is, although one can presume the same will be true for my aunt. As Wordsworth
wrote, building on Defoe, ‘The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as
summer dust burn to the socket.’”

Lizzy snickered, partly from the
humor of his comment and partly because it still shocked her when he jested
even remotely crudely.

Darcy continued, “Who can resist
playing with a young animal? As with children, they have such lightness and
innocence. I suppose adults see it as an opportunity, however brief, to revisit
a time when life was endless play and joy.” He bent to retrieve the stick,
bestowed a quick scratch behind the dog’s ears, and tossed the stick further
away. “Animals are not kept inside the manor on a regular basis. My mother’s
corgi was the only one. Georgiana has had two or three cats over the years.
They never wished to stay indoors for long though and soon joined the mousers
roaming the property.”

“So you were not a fortunate youth,
with young animals to share your innocence and lightness.”

“I did not say that. Remember, I
tended to spend large portions of my days, then and now, in the stable complex.
I never managed to entice a foal to fetch a tossed stick, but they are quite
playful. The gamekeeper compound was my second favored place. Mr. Burr is
Pemberley’s head gamekeeper. He is a remarkable man with an affinity for any
animal species, as is Mrs. Burr, for that matter. They raise the mastiffs, who
guard the estate, and the hunting hounds. Dogs are vital assets. While not
exactly pets, with breeding comes multiple litters of puppies for an active boy
to cavort with.”

They chatted about animals for a
while longer, the others joining the conversation with amusing reminiscences
from their childhoods, but sooner than desired, the cooling night air drove
them inside. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were already in sedate repose in the parlor.
Mary “entertained” on the pianoforte, thankfully located in the room across the
corridor.

Mrs. Bennet jumped up to fuss over
the gentlemen, as she inevitably did no matter how often they assured her they
were in need of nothing. Before either man could sit, tumblers of brandy were
thrust into their hands. Darcy accepted the glass with a kind thanks and
incline of his head. Mrs. Bennet flushed and spluttered, but Darcy turned away
to acknowledge Mr. Bennet, where he hunched in a corner chair.

While her fiancé and father
conversed, Lizzy retrieved her embroidery basket from the closet and the book
Mr. Darcy had left sitting on the foyer table:
A Tale of the Four Dervishes
,
translated into English some three years ago and sent to Darcy by his uncle,
Dr. George Darcy, who knew the author, Mir Amman, from his time dwelling in
Calcutta—another tidbit of fascinating information about her future
husband and his family.

What remained a mystery was whether
translated novels from foreign countries were his typical reading fare. Lizzy
had paid scant attention to what Mr. Darcy read during their times together
before they were engaged, but she was fairly sure the books she recalled in his
hands had varied. Oddly, he had been carrying this book around for weeks.
Noting the strip of ribbon marking his place, the page was near the beginning
of the book, as it had been when she first saw the book sitting on a table at
Netherfield shortly after his proposal.

Before she could puzzle through the
possible explanations, it abruptly dawned on her that the ribbon doubling as a
bookmark belonged to her. Stopping midstride, a sweet pressure tightened her
chest and warm moisture welled in her eyes. She remembered the day vividly for
several reasons, not merely because it was the day after his return from
London.

That morning had dawned with blue
skies and fair temperature, so the couples had decided on a picnic at Oakham
Mount. Kitty and Mary were invited, as had been Matty Beller at Darcy’s behest.
The afternoon had proceeded as one expected with a group of cheerful people
enjoying the out-of-doors. At one point, well after eating, Mr. Bingley and
Jane had set out for a stroll along the edge of the creek, while Mary and Matty
had wandered in the opposite direction down the gentle slope to pick from the
clusters of blooming wildflowers fighting the looming winter. Fifteen minutes
passed before Kitty had abruptly sprang from the spread blanket to chase after
the adventurous puppy. Other than glancing up and laughing at the scene of her
sister being bested in the race, Lizzy had resumed reading aloud from a
dreadfully written mystery novel serving to entertain.

Another ten or more minutes had
ticked away before her awareness that they were utterly alone crept in and her
reading trailed to a stuttering halt. A swift look had noted Mary and Matty so
far down the hill as to be big dots. Jane and Bingley were almost as far away,
sitting on a large rock facing the water. Kitty and the dog were nowhere to be
seen. She had not needed to lift her gaze to know Mr. Darcy was acutely aware
of their solitude. She had
felt
the intensity surrounding the space he
occupied on the blanket. A slight shift of position and peek from the corner of
her eye confirmed his familiar penetrating stare.

Heat had flooded her face, and she
had been seized by a magnetic pull toward him, no amount of nervousness
powerful enough to stop her. Never would she remember how they closed the
space. She only remembered meeting his eyes, and then the caressing pressure of
his mouth followed by an intense surge of delight pounding head to toe. She
might have gasped, or maybe he did, but as rapidly as the kiss began, it had
ended. That much she knew for sure.

“William,” she had whispered, eyes
closed and mouth seeking.

“I love you, Elizabeth.” His raspy
declaration had passed through lips so close they brushed delectably against
hers. Yet rather than close that tragic gap, he had withdrawn further, the
fingertips feathering across her jaw the only contact.

When she had finally gained the
strength to open her eyes—minutes or hours later—he had been
watching her with a soft smile and twinkling blue eyes, but no other sign of
wild desire. For a moment, she had wanted to slap him! She knew he possessed
phenomenal self-control and suspected he called upon this command in a
multitude of situations, but did he have to employ his talent for restraint at
the
one time
they were gifted a measure of privacy? Or worse yet, was
kissing her so mundane that after a ten-second exchange, he was done?

He had given her no chance to
ruminate upon those disturbing questions or blurt them—which may have
been a benefit or detriment depending on the answer. Instead, she had been
distracted by his playful tug on a green ribbon loosened from the intricate
knots and bows on the right side of her bonnet.

“One tiny kiss and you literally
unravel, Miss Elizabeth.” The shakiness of his voice had restored her sinking
spirits somewhat. Then he had twined the narrow ribbon around his fingers, the
strip detaching completely from the hat, and her swipes to grab it promptly
became a game she was doomed to lose due to his considerably longer arms.
Before either had tired of the diverting foolishness, Kitty returned and then
shortly thereafter the others, ending any opportunity for privacy, with or
without fiery kisses.