Mr. Darcy's Promise (27 page)

She sat up and looked at him once again. The moment had been perfect. He was smiling back at her, but his eyes were dark and intense. She gathered that if she stayed it would be quite acceptable to him, but it was late, and she knew it. She might have gotten a chance to sleep, but she knew he had not. She leaned against him and kissed him one more time.

“Goodnight, William. I was so worried about you,” she murmured, hoping that her tone would communicate the depth of her newly realized feelings for him. She wanted to stop and confess everything, but was halted by the clock chiming its quarter hour.

“You gave me quite a scare today as well,” Mr. Darcy said quietly, but smiled. “I suppose it was now yesterday. How is your head?”

She laughed quietly. Her injury was not what was making her head spin, but rather it was every kiss and embrace they shared that night. “I would say I am quite recovered from that episode, but do not think that a kiss will earn you the forgiveness you need! I believe, Mr.
Darcy, that you have not only thrown me in the mud, but in the water as well!” She jumped off his lap and gave him a saucy look. “Good night.” Her step was lively as she left the room, leaping from step to step. Things were about to change, she knew, and she could not help but delight entirely in the prospect.

M

r. Darcy watched Elizabeth saunter out of the library with a flirtatious skip in her step. He let out the biggest sigh.
Good Lord! How will I ever be able to sleep after a moment like that!
His body felt more alive than it had in some time, every bit of him tingling with sensation. Each embrace and each kiss replayed themselves over and over again in his mind. He almost stepped up, wanting to follow her to her room, but forced himself to remain in the doorway before he turned back. Perhaps everything he longed for would come true.

He glanced back towards the door, his fingers tapping impatiently against his thigh. A
distraction, that was precisely what he needed. Anything would do. He picked up the book nearest him, hardly caring whether it was a pamphlet on farming or an old encyclopedia. After opening it to a page in the middle, he realized it was Elizabeth’s book,
Sense and Sensibility. Perhaps not a romance novel,
he reflected ruefully, as it was hardly something that would help distract him.

Perhaps
ADictionary of the English Languag
e
,
he thought, searching for Samuel Johnson, or even a treatise on biological sciences that he had studied at Cambridge. That was guaranteed to put him to sleep! He tossed Elizabeth’s book back into its place, but it bounced off the edge of the table and fell open upon the floor. A letter had fallen out of the book and he reached over to replace it between the pages. He assumed that it was either from Jane or her father, but the familiar dark, slanted handwriting made him pause. Something else caught his eye after a moment. A name, a name he hadn’t thought of for some time . . . Wickham!

Without thinking of the intrusion, he unfolding the letter and stood, walking to the candle for better light. What was a letter from Wickham doing in Elizabeth’s book? Had they been corresponding?
For how long? A wave of nausea came over him, but his hands moved steadily, opening the letter fully before his eyes fixed on the words. He should not be reading this letter, he knew, but he could no sooner stop than he could dismiss any mention of Wickham.

I find myself thinking about our time together not too long ago. Your eyes that last night together told me you think about me too. I must say that your body language that night spoke volumes. You need to know that I do not give up easily. You may be with Darcy now, but eventually I will come claim what should have been mine all along. I am sure you can find a way to stay my hand. If I remember correctly you have an active and creative mind. I look forward to hearing from you and seeing how much your heart can give. For now, you can send any correspondence through Mrs. Forester. She is a favorite of mine, and owes me a great deal. Do not fret too much on the issue; just do what comes naturally in your blood.

Until I hear from you, sincerely,

Your dear Mr. Wickham

Mr. Darcy’s hands tightened around the letter before he returned to it, lingering over each word. There could be no other interpretation other than that they had been corresponding. Wickham was obviously referring to their kiss the night of the Netherfield ball! He had long wished to believe that Wickham’s advances were unwanted, but had never been able to fully convince himself. This letter proved that Elizabeth was an active participant. Darcy closed his eyes.
Your body language spoke volumes . . . 

How was it possible? After all of her softening towards him, all their gentle flirtations and time spent together–– and especially after their kiss— how could she still harbor such feelings for Wickham? He could not for
a moment think of any other reason that she would carry such a deeply intimate letter with her. The edges were frayed by constant folding and unfolding, and he could even see the faintest hint of where tears had smudged the ink. Clearly this was a letter she treasured. He pressed his hand to his mouth.

He was disappointed. Hurt, yes, but perhaps disappointed most of all. His heart ached and felt like it had been torn in half. He had done everything in his power to change her opinion of him, and yet her heart was still not his to claim. He had spent every minute possible with her, granting her whatever desire she expressed, asking only for whatever she would give him, and nothing more.

A voice of hope and practicality spoke up.
But she just kissed you of her own will! That has to count for something! You know her feelings for you have changed! Do not dismiss all that has happened because of that blackguard Wickham!
The voice of reason, though, was easily drowned out by the fury and heartache caused by the letter. It was no use. He had done everything to win her, but her heart had never considered coming home to Pemberley–– to reside with him.

He saw a bottle of wine and two glasses on the floor. He needed more than a little wine. There was a bottle of brandy he kept in his study for occasions like these. He folded the letter up into a tight, neat square, and then stood up. He would drink himself into oblivion with his brandy this evening. The morning would have to answer for itself.

*****

Elizabeth slept peacefully that night. She experienced all her now-familiar dreams again. William pushed her on the swing under the cedar tree. This time he not only reached around for her swollen abdomen but came around and kissed her protuberant belly. When he did so the baby fluttered inside her, as if saying it loved him too. He then put a hand to her face and pulled it to his own and kissed her lips ever so gently. She had never known such peace. When she woke from the dream, she lay in bed for a few minutes, luxuriating in the feel of it.

The slant of the sunlight through her windows told her that it was later than the hour she normally awoke. She usually was an early riser, and often found William was too. They had shared a walk nearly every day, weather permitting, since they had arrived at Pemberley–– sometimes before breakfast, and sometimes afterwards. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and sat upright. She knew he had a late night and did not want to miss another opportunity to be with William in case he was already awake. She selected one of her morning gowns, a pale rose muslin, and began to dress. She didn’t even ring for Serafina although she was eager to tell her that although they didn’t verbally express their feelings for each other, their lips had communicated quite nicely last night. Her heart started to beat faster, and she felt her cheeks flush. Those sweet kisses had led to something much more passionate and invigorating. She brushed her fingertips against her lips. Yes, last night had been absolutely lovely, and it was the first time in waking that she had felt some of the peace from her dream linger.

She finished dressing, not bothering to dress her hair beyond a simple braid, and went downstairs. She stopped Martin in the staircase. “Martin, is my husband awake yet?”

“Yes, madam. He breakfasted early and I believe is in his study.”

Her forehead creased up at that, but she didn’t want to reveal her disappointment. Especially not to William’s valet, who seemed to know him so well, and who Elizabeth sensed was protective of his master. Martin seemed to have an interesting relationship with both Mr. Darcy and the other servants. He was one of those people, she decided, who knew more than he let on. She liked him, certainly, but he had to be privy to the secrets of their marriage. It didn’t bother her that Serafina knew, and she couldn’t quite place her finger on why. Perhaps because she knew the secrets she revealed to Serafina, but she did not know the secrets Mr. Darcy revealed to his valet. He knew things about her husband that she did not. It was jealousy, she supposed. She wanted to know her husband and his secrets better than anyone else, and after last night, more than ever.

She shook the thoughts away. “Thank you, Martin,” she said simply, and decided to see him in his study. She felt a tingle of excitement. Perhaps they might share a kiss this morning. For the first time, she felt as if she was truly married. The clock chimed in the hallway, sounding nine times. He must have risen early, then, if he had already dressed, eaten, and was working for the day. She knocked on the door. She probably could have just walked in, but she felt his study was his sanctuary, and she never knew if he had important business he was working on. She waited for a little while, but no answer came. She frowned, raising her hand to knock again, when the door opened. Mr. Darcy was looking at her intensely and it seemed, somewhat impatiently.

              When he didn’t say anything, she spoke up, “I am sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you wanted to . . .”

“I am busy right now, Elizabeth.”

She was taken aback by the sharpness of his tone and the speed at which he had spoken. He had never been too busy before! She searched his eyes for an explanation, but there was none to be found in their dark depths. “Very well,” she said slowly. “Perhaps I will speak with you later.” Her words came out more questioningly than a statement, but he gave no indication that he intended to answer her. “I am just going to break my fast now.” She hesitated, and then turned. The door shut loudly behind her.

What in the world was that?
The reception she just received was nothing like the one she had expected! She hadn’t seen such a blank expression on his face since he had first came to Hertfordshire. She stopped in the hallway and leaned back against the wall. He had so completely transformed himself in her view that she scarcely recognized this severe stranger. She had gotten so used to his smiling eyes that she was a little off balance emotionally. Whatever could be wrong with him?

Perhaps the fire last night had something to do with it. Her heart lifted a little at the thought. Yes, he was surely busy handling the aftermath of the fire. How selfish she had been! She had not even inquired after everyone’s health and safety. Indeed, she didn’t even know which tenant’s house had burned down! Who at the estate was in possession of an orchard? Her heart sank at the realization that perhaps men and women had lost their lives in the fire. Her mind started going over the tenants she had visited
who had an orchard. She chastised herself for being so self-centered to have not even asked about it. She had barely asked him if he was well! She was beginning to feel very guilty for relishing in the events of last night when there had just been a tragedy! At least realizing that Mr. Darcy’s mood more likely stemmed from stress rather than displeasure with her made her feel better.

She ate breakfast alone, lingering over a cup of chocolate, when Georgiana finally joined her downstairs. “Good morning, Georgiana.”

Georgiana barely met her gaze. “Good morning, Elizabeth. My maid said the fire was finally extinguished last night. It always worries me when William goes out like that. He gets so involved in those situations that he scares me. Have you seen him this morning? I imagine he got in late and should still be resting, but knowing him he hardly slept. He gets so focused on a problem that he hashes it out over and over again until he finds a solution. I imagine he will be much consumed with this for the next little while.”

“He is quite committed to his tenants, is he not?” Elizabeth felt a flash of relief at Georgiana’s confirmation that William was simply preoccupied with the disaster.

“You cannot find a more devoted master or brother,” Georgiana said, and they shared a smile at the familiar statement. “Nor husband, I imagine.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam came in, overhearing the last few comments, “Ah,
are we talking about Darcy behind his back? I am all in! If you must know, he was quite the hero last night.”

Elizabeth was eager to hear the details of the fire. “What happened?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam settled into his chair, gesticulating wildly as he told the story. “As soon as we arrived, flames were coming out every which way! And you hear this horrible, high-pitched sound coming from the house, but no one knew what it was. Darcy demanded to know where the residents of the house were. It was entirely chaotic, with buckets and helpers going every which way. There was a child outside who would not stop crying, and no one could find his parents. He said nothing besides ‘Baxter, Baxter, Baxter!’ He could not have been more than five years old.

“Of course, our first impulse was to move the child away from the fire, no matter who Baxter was. But then once he was safely out of harm’s way, the child ran straight towards the burning house. Darcy caught him just before he entered, but the child continued to cry for
Baxter. He could not speak as to who or where this ‘Baxter’ was, but Darcy promised to find him if the child would remain safely outside and away from the fire. Now, we had no idea who this Baxter could be. Darcy did not recognize him as any of his tenants. All the same, Darcy picked up a bucket of water, drenched himself with it, and went directly through the door!”

Elizabeth felt her heart hasten its pace, and clutched her fingers together. “What happened next?”

“We wait a few moments, but no sign of Darcy. I was about to risk the flames when I see Darcy signaling to us from the second-floor window! He has a puppy in hand, but by this point the front door is nearly consumed with flames. All the while the little boy is screaming, we are rushing to get him a ladder, and Darcy has to step out onto a ledge. By now, my dear Elizabeth, I am worried that you are going to be made a widow. But the ladder is safely found, and Darcy and the dog both are rescued. He is quite the hero with that lad, I assure you.” Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair signaling that the story was finished.