Mr. Darcy's Forbidden Love-kindle (11 page)

“What do you plan to do?”

“I shall send an express to Charles asking him to come to London at once! This makes two ships in the last few months, and he will need to formulate a plan. He cannot operate a business without merchandise.”

~~~*~~~

Longbourn
A bedroom

Lizzy dropped down on the bed next to Jane, who sat staring at the invitation that had been delivered no more than twenty minutes before. Other than Mr. Bennet who was locked in his library, the house was empty, as their siblings and their mother had walked to Meryton.

“Are you actually going to dine with Caroline Bingley? I cannot imagine that she truly wants to get to know you—not after the way she avoided you at the assembly last night.”

“Oh, Lizzy, you are too quick to find fault with everyone. According to Mr. Bingley, Caroline did not feel well and almost decided to stay home.”

“Would that she had!”

“Lizzy!” 

“I am teasing, Jane.”

“I pray so. Caroline has never been unkind to me, and since she has been gracious enough to issue an invitation for me to dine with her and her sister, I do not see how I can very well decline.”

“I could.” At Jane’s frown, Elizabeth laughed.  “I said that I could! I know that you cannot, dear sister. You are too apt to see good in everyone. I just pray that you keep in mind what I have said.”

“I shall keep your warnings in mind. I promise.”

“Thank you. So, when is this grand experience to take place?  Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Now, if only Mama will not try to make more of it than a dinner invitation. I thought she was going to pull Charlotte out of Mr. Bingley’s arms when they danced last night.” Both young women giggled. Elizabeth continued, “I feared for her life at one point, but after Mr. Bingley asked you for a second set, Mama calmed down considerably.”

More giggles ensued until suddenly Jane sobered. She looked wistfully into the distance. “Lizzy, I have a secret.” She glanced to her sister who was listening attentively. “Lately I have begun to imagine what it would be like to be married.”

“To Mr. Bingley, of course!” Elizabeth declared making Jane blush.

“Yes. He is everything a gentleman should be… sensible, good-humoured—”

“Handsome, conveniently rich—” 

“You know perfectly well, that I do not believe marriage should be based on wealth.”

Elizabeth’s smile vanished as she said cynically, “I agree wholeheartedly. I will marry only for the deepest love. And I shall never again be fooled by a handsome face or pretty words!”

Jane reached to take one of her hands. “I am so sorry, Lizzy. I forgot about your Mr. Darcy. I would not have mentioned it had—”

Elizabeth interrupted, shaking her head vigorously. “Nonsense! In the first place, he was never
my
Mr. Darcy, and in the second, I have completely forgotten everything about him. If I met him today, I doubt I would remember what he looked like. We would meet as just indifferent acquaintances.”

Jane studied Elizabeth’s smile, but was not convinced. “Lizzy, you do not have to pretend with me. I know that you cared for him.”

Elizabeth pulled her hand from Jane’s and stood, moving to stare out into the gardens from their bedroom window. She wrapped her arms around her waist. Jane was about to say more when Lizzy offered, “Then let me pretend that it is true until it is so.” 

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane began but was instantly interrupted as Elizabeth hurried back to the bed to pull her to her feet.

“Come. No more talk of my folly. We shall look through the closet to find something for you to wear to impress the Bingleys. I am sure there is still time to add some ribbon or lace to please Mama.”

Jane lowered her voice in warning. “Lizzy!”

In unison the sisters collapsed on the bed giggling.

~~~*~~~

Later that evening when Jane was in another room helping Kitty with her embroidery, Elizabeth reached under her mattress to retrieve the book that Mr. Grant had delivered to the house whilst she was bedridden.  Though she had coveted it for months before its arrival at the bookshop, she had secreted it away because it reminded her of
him
—of their meeting in the bookshop and the fact that he quit Meryton without a word of goodbye. But three weeks had passed, and Elizabeth was determined to let go of the hurt that accompanied his memory. So she crawled onto the bed, piled a few pillows behind her head and reached for the tome.

As she lifted the book, however, a folded paper fell into her lap. Picking it up, she immediately realised that it was a letter written in a woman’s script. The recipient of the letter made her startle—Fitzwilliam Darcy. She blinked continuously until it dawned on her what must have happened. Mr. Darcy must have purchased the book intending to give it to her and then had Mr. Grant deliver it after he was called away. Her heart soared. Curiosity got the better of her as she eagerly opened the missive and began to read.

Dearest Fitzwilliam,

Our dear Georgiana is doing so much better in Bath. The change of atmosphere has been like a tonic, and her disposition improves every day. But as it has been several weeks, she longs to see you again. No one can take your place in her heart, and that is the way it should be.

We shall be back in London before the end of the month, and naturally she expects you to be waiting with a present from your trip to Netherfield. How you spoil her! We shall travel to Ramsgate next, but there should be ample time for you to be together in the weeks before we leave.

God bless you until we meet again,

Audrey Ashcroft

The elation Elizabeth had felt moments before turned to trepidation —her smile to a frown. Who was Audrey Ashcroft? And more importantly, who was this Georgiana who missed Mr. Darcy so dearly?

~~~*~~~

London
Grantham Townhouse

Gisela Darcy carefully examined her reflection in the large, gilded mirror that hung over her intricately carved dressing table just as she did every morning. With practiced acuity, she leaned closer to inspect her countenance for signs of aging, slowly gliding her fingers over every inch of her face and then down her long, slender neck. She was so proud of her neck that she had had all her necklaces refashioned into chokers to take advantage of what she perceived to be one of her best assets. Relieved to find no discolouration or wrinkles marring her flawless ivory skin, she was equally pleased that she had not found one grey hair among the dark blond curls now woven into an elaborate design, courtesy of her new maid.

Satisfied, Gisela stood and removed her robe and gown to peruse her body, inspecting it with equal diligence. She sought reassurance that her breasts were still pert, her waist still small and her hips trim. Turning this way and that, she smiled at the image in the mirror, pleased that she was still as shapely as a debutante. Many of her friends were overweight now, having given birth to several children and gaining considerable weight with each confinement. A good many others had just let themselves go once they had secured a husband.

At least being barren has its advantages. I shall never be fat like them! And, I shall never neglect myself, as is their wont. If those fat cows only knew the offers that their husbands have made me!

Her green eyes danced with delight, her lips curving into a smile as she recalled the men who had lusted after her. Nonetheless, the smile faded as the one man who had
never
wanted her came to mind. Instantly, she sought to reaffirm her allure.

Do not let Fitzwilliam’s rejection affect your attitude. Remember that you are still beautiful—even more so than any of last season’s debutantes! It is his loss if he chooses not to partake of your favours, and other men are eager to take his place in your bed.

However, having worked herself into a fury at the thought of her husband’s rejection, Gisela slipped on her robe and hurried into her bedroom, heading straight to a large closet, which held a secure chest. Using a key that was hidden in a secret place, she unlocked the chest and began removing several velvet boxes stacked inside. Returning to her dressing table with them, she was determined to think of more cheerful things—such as the Satterfield ball that night. She would choose her jewels for that soirée now.

As was her custom, she reached for the most spectacular of all her jewels and clasped it about her neck, though she did not intend to wear it that evening since her gown was dark green and thus called for her emeralds. Even so, the multiple strands of diamonds sparkled against her skin, and she smiled conspiratorially at the woman reflected in the mirror. The necklace, a choker five strands deep, had been the reason she had accepted Lord Stanley Grantham’s proposal of marriage… well, that and a half-dozen equally impressive pieces he had shown her in a bid to win her hand.

At that time, she had been young and naive enough to believe her mother’s assertion that the portly Earl of Chesterfield, who had never married and had no heirs, would most likely be dead of his heart ailments within the year. Thus, Gisela had accepted him and, as Fate would have it, he had lived for another decade. But as she fingered the finest of his many gifts, she allowed that she had made the right choice, as he was far too wealthy to refuse. After all, these treasures had been attained with little effort on her part. Grantham had made it clear from the beginning that he was too weak for marital relations and only wished to have a beautiful woman on his arm. He had even gone so far as to hint that he would turn a blind eye to any affairs she might have, as long as she was discreet.

As she exchanged the most expensive necklace for another consisting of emeralds and diamonds, she gloated at her good fortune. She had had many lovers during the ten years she was married and had welcomed widowhood as a chance to do entirely as she pleased with no need to hide her liaisons. It had been amusing at first. Grantham had left her quite wealthy and independent—she clearly need never marry again. Nevertheless, after bedding innumerable young bucks of the
ton
that were off to the next widow soon after leaving her bed, she had tired of the novelty of being merely a convenience.

Yet, due to her noticeable contempt for society during her season of indiscretion, the upper echelons had begun to shun her, and she began receiving less and less invitations. Thus, Gisela had come to a crucial decision. Vowing that there would be no more ugly, old men for her, she set out to find a respectable, wealthy
and handsome
second husband—one who could not only ensure her a place in society, but one she would welcome in her bed. The notion had been simpler than the execution of it, however. 

On the whole, the extremely wealthy men she encountered after her momentous change of course were just what she feared—old, ugly or married— in most cases, all three.

She had almost despaired of finding anyone who fit her criteria when she spied Fitzwilliam Darcy at a ball in London two years before. Having been only a boy when she had married Grantham, she had paid him no mind, but now he was every inch a desirable man. And as he walked into Matlock House that spring night, the tall, dark and handsome heir of Pemberley seemed the perfect answer to her predicament. Even now, her heart beat faster at the memory of how he looked that night.

Dressed in black coat and breeches, black boots, white linen shirt and a gold waistcoat, his dark curly hair, tanned skin and light blue eyes had mesmerised her when they were introduced, at her insistence, by her current
good friend
, Lord Norton. But in spite of her arts and allurements, that evening she was not able to coax a single smile from him or even an invitation to dance, though she hinted that she was without a partner. It was as though he was impervious to her manoeuvrings and, in fact, he seemed to grow more unreceptive the harder she struggled to gain his attention.

This she could not tolerate! Men had always been at her beck and call.  A little flirting and they grovelled at her feet—but not Fitzwilliam Darcy. Infuriated, she had taken the wrong stratagem by following him onto the terrace and openly propositioning him. Incensed, he had told her in no uncertain terms that he was not interested in anything she had to offer.

Instantly irate at the memory of his insult, Gisela hastily unclasped the emeralds and unceremoniously dropped them back in their case. Then picking up all the boxes, she headed back to the chest, no longer intrigued or entertained with her bounty.

Who is he that he should turn up his nose at me? It is not as though he is a paragon of virtue!

She missed a step and stopped, considering her last thought.

What am I saying? He IS the epitome of virtue! That is the problem! That strait-laced Puritan could never appreciate a passionate woman like me! I do not know why I bother to stay married to him!

Swiftly she hurried on to her task of replacing the jewels. Then returning to her dressing room, she considered the consequences of no longer being Mrs. Darcy—no more invitations to the Matlock’s soirées and rubbing elbows with the Countess’ friends in the
ton,
no more looks of envy from the women just learning that Fitzwilliam was her husband. She had no doubt that most of them despised her and would shun her without the Fitzwilliam’s cachet. Picking up a vase of flowers atop a stand, she hurled it across the room where it crashed into the hearth.

No! I relish being Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I love the doors that open to me because of his name. I shall never give that up! After the way he has humiliated me, I shall see to it that he never has another woman or an heir! I shall forever be a reminder of what his arrogance and disdain has cost him.

With that, Gisela pulled the cord to summon her maid, and Jemima briskly appeared in the doorway, looking nervously at the broken vase of flowers. As she moved towards the mess, Gisela’s outburst stopped her.